HONOR BOUND (The Spare Heir) (10 page)

“I see you managed to find something to eat.”  The captain’s eyebrows rose when he saw the amount of food on his plate.

“The cook was very generous sir,” Jorem replied cautiously.

“He’s a fine cook,” the captain spoke as he walked with Jorem to another table set up for eating.  “He’s just not used to being around nobles so he might be a bit nervous.

Jorem noticed that the captain hadn’t called him prince or any other honorific.  His tone wasn’t rude.  Actually he was acting almost friendly.  Knowing how his brothers would react to such a lack of “respect” as they called it, Jorem decided he preferred it this way.  He took a bite to eat then looked at the captain and smiled before he responded.

“With cooking like this, I’m surprised some duke or lord hasn’t lured him away from the guard.”

The captain chuckled then he said, “A few have considered it until they found out he’s from Shellaste.  Then they turn tail and run.”

Shellaste and the Kingdom had been at odds for generations.  Mostly it was just political snubbing and occasional skirmishes on the border.  Once, many years ago, there had been a massive war that had nearly decimated both countries.  Jorem had read several histories written by both sides.  From that reading he had learned that the people from Shellaste weren’t that different from his own people.  The problem, as Pentrothe had pointed out, lay with the rulers and their pride.

Something else that Pentrothe had told Jorem popped out of his mouth before he thought about it.  “A man should be judged by what he does, not who he is or where he’s from.”

The captain looked at Jorem as if he wasn’t sure who he was.  “Sound words to live by.”  The captain’s head came up.  “Ah, it appears the King is up and about.  I’d best see that his guards are in place.”  He turned, took a few steps and turned back.  “How’s your hand doing?”

Jorem automatically flexed his fingers before he looked up at the captain.  “Fine. It was just a minor fall, nothing serious.  Healer Trainee Jennifer fixed it up for me.”

The captain’s lips twitched into a crooked smile.  He nodded his head, turned and left Jorem to finish his meal.  As Jorem watched him walk away he had the feeling the captain wasn’t so easily fooled.  The feeling went away as Jorem concentrated on consuming the heaping plate of food in front of him.

It wasn’t long before everything was repacked and they were ready to set off again.  Jorem climbed up onto the wagon and sat down beside Jacobs.  His brothers were snarling and snapping at everyone.  Jacobs sat slouched in the wagon and chuckled at the scene.

“’Peers them that was so cocky yesterday done woke up in a foul mood this mornin,” he said.

Jorem was about to respond when Jacobs suddenly sat up straight and saluted.  The captain of the guard rode up and looked the wagon over.  “Everything ready here, Jacobs?” the captain asked, returning the salute with a smile.

“Yes sir,” Jacobs said smartly.  “Ready to move out at your signal, Sir.”

Jorem looked at Jacobs in surprise.  The country accent and slurred words were gone.  It was as though a completely different person were sitting beside him.  The change in the man left Jorem wondering whether Jacobs was the old country codger he had supposed him to be.

“Prince Jorem!” the captain snapped out.  Jorem found himself being inspected by the captain, a not altogether comfortable sensation.  “Where is your weapon?” the captain asked in a voice that brooked no argument.

“It’s in the back sir, with my things.”  Jorem’s reply was timid and nervous.

“Do you think a bandit will wait for you to find it before he attacks?” the captain asked almost mockingly.

“Bandits?” Jorem’s voice squeaked when he said the word.  “Um, no sir, I suppose not.”

“Always go armed when traveling.  Chances are you won’t have need of it, but safer is always better.”

“Yes sir,” Jorem replied, trying to meet the captain’s eyes.

“Now!” the captain barked.

Jorem jumped at the command and scrambled into the back of the wagon to retrieve his sword.  Digging through the pile of packs he finally found his sword and clambered back into his seat.  He was trying to figure out how to strap it on in a sitting position when he looked up at the captain.  The captain was holding out a long piece of what looked to be doeskin and a piece of leather lacing.

“Have Jacobs show you how to put this on,” the captain said.  “No sense in ruining Healer Jennifer’s hard work.”

Dropping the items into Jorem’s outstretched hand the captain winked, turned his horse and rode away.  Jorem looked at Jacobs suspiciously.

“How did he know?” Jorem asked.

“I truly don’t know,” Jacobs said as they watched the captain ride away.  “What that man wants to know, he finds out.  That’s why he’s the captain of the guard, I suppose.”

As the wagon started forward Jacobs settled back into his customary slouch, the reins trailing through his hands.  Jorem settled back and began wrapping the grip of his sword with the strip of soft leather.  Occasionally Jacobs would point out a better way to place the wrapping.  When he had it finished he held it up for Jacobs to inspect.

“Not bad,” he said.  “Got better as ye went.  Take er off’n try it again, only this time do it tighter”

Jorem had to do the wrapping over and over until finally Jacobs was satisfied with the result.  With the gem-studded pommel covered the sword took on a more serviceable look.  Jorem’s fingers had grown sore from the unaccustomed work of pulling and stretching the leather.  It had been a tedious task, but it helped to pass the time.

Over the next few days the landscape they traveled through gradually changed.  The gentle rolling plains of home became steep mountains with peaks that seemed to touch the sky.  The wide meandering rivers were now bubbling brooks and crystal clear streams that dashed against boulders, rolling and churning as they rushed their way toward the plains.

The trees, sparse at first, now crowded themselves together.  The sides of the mountains looked like patchwork.  The clusters of broadleaved trees, colored yellow and red with the onset of fall, were interspersed in the dark green pine forest.  Squirrels and birds chattered and squawked at them as they passed by.  Thick underbrush filled any gaps between the trees.

The road they traveled on was no longer straight and smooth.  Instead it wound back and forth through ravines.  In some places it seemed as if the road twisted and curved so much Jorem thought it might be turning back onto itself.  The wagon bumped and bounced as it crossed deep ruts and cuts in the road where recent rain showers had eaten away the soil from the mountainside.  Even with the pillow for a cushion Jorem was certain he would have bruises on his backside by the end of the day.

The deeper into the forest they traveled, the more vigilant the guardsmen became.  The rugged mountains and dense forest gave ample opportunity for bandits to wait in ambush.  Though Jorem saw no sign of danger, he noticed many of the guardsmen rode with one hand on their swords.  Jacobs drew his sword and laid it on his lap. Not sure exactly why, Jorem did the same, though he made sure the point of his sword was away from Jacobs.

Jorem glanced over at Jacobs and saw that he was looking intently into the trees.  “Not to worry, lad.  When bandits and the like sees yer ready for battle, they tends ta steer clear.”  Jacobs didn’t take his eye off of the forest when he spoke and his voice, though gruff, was quiet.

“Are there really bandits out there?” Jorem asked, peering into the trees.

“Oh, aye, that there are.  Seen their sign here an’ there.  A sodden lot they are and not too bright.  Mighty hard to sneak up on folks when ye smell that bad.”  The old guardsman tapped his nose to emphasize his point.

Jorem sniffed the air.  Unable to detect any odors, he looked questioningly at Jacobs.

“Ye gotta train yer nose to see the smells.  Close yer eyes and concentrate on what ya smell.  Let yer mind put a picture to each scent.”

Jorem closed his eyes and sniffed the air.  After a moment he looked at Jacobs to see if the man was teasing him.  Then he closed his eyes and tried again.

“All I can smell is pine trees, dust and horses,” Jorem said.

“Patience lad, takes time and patience.  Knowin the scents of the trail’s a mighty handy thing.  Ye can do the same thing with listenin’ if’n it’s quiet enough.  Just takes lots of patience.”

Jorem sat quietly for a while listening to the sounds around him.  Mostly though he thought about Jacobs.  The man was a puzzle.  His words were those of a country bumpkin, yet he was in the royal guard.  Every once in a while, like when he spoke to the captain of the guard, the words he used, even the sound of his voice, changed to that of an educated man.

His curiosity getting the better of him, Jorem turned to the guardsman and asked, “Where are you from?”

Jacobs looked at him with mild surprise.  “I’ve been to many a place lad.  Ain’t spent much time in any one spot.  Ceptin’ maybe here wi’ the guard.  Man’s past is sometimes best left in the past.”

Jacobs went silent and thoughtful.  Jorem decided not to question him further.  The company moved on through the forest, the wagon rumbling and bumping as it went.

Mid-day of the seventh day of travel, they crested a ridge that gave way to a small valley nestled between the mountain peaks.  In the distance they could see what appeared to be a sizeable town.  A large stone building stood at the center with numerous smaller buildings surrounding it.

“Broughbor,” Jacobs said wistfully.  “City of the Mountains.  You should see her in the spring when all is green and fresh.  Look there, you can see the crops have already been harvested.

Jorem looked at the fields in the distance, but he had no idea how to tell if they had been harvested.  Looking at Jacobs he noticed the intensity of the man’s gaze as he looked out at the city of Broughbor.

Jacobs, as if sensing Jorem studying him, shook himself, pasted a grin on his face and said, “We’ll be stayin’ at an inn tonight, The Broken Arms most likely.  It’ll be late by time we get there so the King’ll have to wait ‘til morning t’send an envoy.   Thas okay, though. The Broken Arms’s got good strong ale an’ soft beds t’boot.”

“You’ve been here before?” Jorem asked.

Jacobs laughed.  “Oh aye lad, that I have, a time or two at least.  You can sit back an’ relax fer the rest o’ the trip.  The Duke, he don’t put up with bandits.  Has the road patrolled right reglar.”

They lost sight of the city as the road wound down into the valley.  The forest was not as thick here as it had been before, but even so it was difficult to see more than a few wagon lengths into the trees.  They passed a few areas that had been cleared for farms. Jorem saw that the crops had indeed been harvested.  A few small herds of cows grazed on the stubble and grasses that remained.

It was well past sundown when they finally reached the inn.  A broken spear and shattered shield heralded it as the Broken Arms.  It was a fairly large structure with numerous smaller buildings surrounding it.  It would almost be a small town if it weren’t bordering the larger city.  The area was quiet save for the sound of the horses and wagons.  Jorem joined the others as they entered the inn.

The common room of the inn was brightly lit with numerous tables scattered about.  A large fire pit surrounded by benches took up the center of the room.  A large cauldron filled with a bubbling liquid hung over the fire.  The aroma of stewed meats and vegetables mingling with wood smoke filled the room, causing Jorem’s stomach to growl.  Tired as he was, the thought of a warm meal took precedence over thoughts of sleep.

A short man with a round face and a wide smile greeted them.  “Welcome, welcome!  Your rooms are prepared and ready for you.  If you are hungry there is a fine stew at the fire.  Help yourself to as much as you would like whenever you would like.  We have a variety of meats and cheeses as well as freshly baked bread.  We also boast the finest ale and wines in the city.  If you would like anything, please ask me or one of the serving girls and we will see to your needs immediately.”

A boy a few years younger than Jorem led them to their rooms then scampered away on some other errand.  Jorem’s room, though small, was neat and clean.  There was a bed against a side wall and a writing desk against the far wall.  It was an interior room so there were no windows.  A candle on the desk gave the room a warm glow and, with the door closed, very little of the commotion from the common room could be heard.

When Jorem returned to the common room after getting cleaned up he seated himself by the fire, Jorem inhaled deeply the smell of the stew.  Before he could even ask, a woman set a plate of sliced meat, cheese and a loaf of bread in front of him.  She deftly ladled out a bowl of stew and set it down next to his plate.  Not pouncing on the meal was a strain on Jorem’s will, but he managed to politely thank the woman.  Then he pounced.

Jorem had already finished his first bowl of stew before the others started arriving.  As they sat down, the same woman who had served him began distributing plates of food and bowls of stew among them.  Another woman emerged from a back room with a tray of mugs.  She began passing the mugs out to everyone in the room.  Without thinking, Jorem grasped the mug in front of him and took a large swallow.

Whatever was in the mug, it was not what Jorem had expected.  The smell of the drink alone was strong.  The taste was far stronger.  It was bitter and sweet at the same time, and its potency made Jorem’s eyes water.  He set the mug back down and blinked his eyes a few times to clear them.  Whatever the liquid was, it had completely covered the flavor of the stew he had been savoring a moment before.

“Is everything to your liking young man?”

The short man that had greeted them earlier was standing next to Jorem.  He stood with his hands clasped in front of him.  The expression on his round face showed a pleasant interest in Jorem’s response.

Pointing at the mug, Jorem asked in a whisper, “What is that?”

“Why, that’s only the finest ale in all the land!”  The man’s pride in the drink was obvious.  “I brew it myself right here at the inn.  Have you ever tasted anything to match it?”