HONOR BOUND (The Spare Heir) (12 page)

“Young man,” the Duke interrupted, “I can see that you’re willing, but a smith’s tasks are hard work.  Maybe when you’ve put some meat on your bones you could be of help, but”

Jorem was just opening his mouth to argue his point with the Duke when he felt hands settle on his shoulders.  Looking over his shoulder he saw Jacobs standing behind him.  Jacobs stood tall and proud, this eyes locked on those of the Duke.

“Rodney,” Jacobs said, “Prince Jorem is a fine young man.  You give him a task and he’ll do it, or break himself trying.”

As Jacobs spoke the Duke’s eyes grew wide.  “Cobren?” the Duke gasped.

The corner of Jacob’s mouth twitched but his gaze held steady.  “Jorem says he needs to do this; I say you let him.”

The Duke took a moment to regain his composure and then nodded to Jorem.  “That’s good enough for me.  Majesty, what say you?”

The King stood contemplating Jorem for a moment before replying.  “So be it,” he said with a sigh.  Then without hesitation he barked, “Captain, confine those four to their rooms.”

They stood and watched as the four brothers were herded back to the inn.  Being held at sword point had apparently sobered them a little bit as they managed not to stagger on their way to the inn.  The King stood staring after them in silence.  The door to the inn closed and the King sighed again.

“Under the circumstances,” he said, turning to the Duke, “I think it would be best if my sons and I returned to the capital.  There’s no point in dragging this mess into the knighting of your son.”

“As you wish, Your Majesty,” the Duke replied.  “I’ll have my quartermaster send down supplies first thing in the morning.”

The King nodded acceptance of the service.  “If you gentlemen will excuse me, it’s been a long day and I’m very tired.”  Without so much as looking at Jorem, the King turned and strode back to the inn.

The Duke watched the King as he left.  He glanced back at Jorem and a look of concern crossed his face.  “You are the King’s son, aren’t you?”

Jorem felt a reassuring squeeze on his shoulders.  “Yes sir, I’m Jorem, last born of Queen Tervena.”

Understanding came to the eyes of the Duke.  “She was a fine queen, always caring for the less fortunate.  Well, that’s neither here nor there.  If you’re going to be staying for a while, you might as well come along up to the keep so we can find a place for you.”

Jorem saw the disgruntled look on the face of the blacksmith.  It wasn’t difficult to see why he would be unhappy about him staying at the keep.  The time it would take to travel from the keep to here and back again would cut into the time he spent with the smith, even more so if he ate his meals at the keep.  No, staying with the Duke was not an option if he was to do right by the blacksmith.

“Thanks for the offer sir,” Jorem said, “but I think it would be better if I stayed here.  I should be on hand whenever the smith needs me.  Perhaps you could arrange for a room here at the inn.”

The Duke scratched his chin as he thought about the idea.  “I don’t have a problem with you staying here, but I’m not so sure the King will allow it.”

“We could assign him a room in the officers’ wing,” Perth suggested.  “Whether or not he uses it would be his own choice.”

The Duke smiled at his son.  “An excellent idea.  If anyone asks,” the Duke said to Jorem, “you’re staying at the keep.  Where you choose to sleep is entirely your own affair.  Perth, would you have one of your men make the arrangements with Biorne?”  Then the Duke turned to the blacksmith, “Will this be satisfactory to you, Franks?”

The blacksmith still didn’t look very pleased with the situation and said, “Can’t say as I’m happy ‘bout getting the runt o’ the litter, but I suppose ‘tis better than nothing.”  Looking at Jorem, he said, “Y’be at the smithy first thing in the morning.”  Then the blacksmith left to check on his son.

Meanwhile, the Duke’s son had turned and walked over to the men that had first arrived to rescue Ben.  After a brief discussion one of the men jogged over to the inn and slipped inside.  A moment later he reappeared and rejoined the group of men.  Perth waved to his Father then he and the men with him disappeared into the darkness.

“I see you still have the night watchers active,” Jacobs said.  “Perth’s a good choice to lead them.  I’ve never seen anyone that can handle a sword the way he does.”

The Duke looked at Jacobs warily.  “How long have you been with the King, Cob?”

“Long enough, Rod, long enough.”  Jacobs had an odd glint in his eyes when he replied.  “You take care and say hi to Pat for me.”

“I’ll do that,” the Duke said as he turned and walked to where his personal guards held the horses.  They mounted and rode off without another word.

Totally bewildered by the conversation he had just heard, Jorem turned to Jacobs.  “You call the Duke ‘Rod’?  And who in blazes is Cob?”

“Let’s just say that the Duke and I go way back and leave it at that.  More than that, you’re better off not knowing, for now at least.”  Jacobs reached out and ruffled Jorem’s hair.  “You take care lad.  With luck, we’ll meet up again some day.  I’d best report to the captain that you’ll be residing at the inn.  Even if the King thinks you’re at the keep, it would be best for someone to know where to find you.”

Jacobs left him there in the darkness.  The stars still twinkled up in the sky and the breeze still ruffled the leaves, but somehow it was different.  Maybe it was just that his toes were growing numb with the cold, but something felt different.

Chapter XIII

Jorem woke early the next morning.  He wanted to make a good impression with the blacksmith, so he quickly dressed and headed for the common room.  When he got there, he found a large pot of some brownish, bubbling paste hanging over the fire.  He leaned over the pot and sniffed, trying to discern what it was.

“Best eat something,” a voice said behind him.

Jorem jumped at the sound.  He had thought he was alone, but when he turned around he saw two of the royal guardsmen.  They were sitting in a shadowed corner making them almost impossible to see.

“Good…,” Jorem’s voice squeaked out. “Good morning.”

“The chow’s good an filling,” said the guard on the right.  “If you’re going to be working in a smithy, you’d best get your fill.  It’s hard work and it lasts all day long.”

Dishing up a bowl of the gooey stuff, Jorem sat down and cautiously put a spoonful in his mouth.  He recognized the flavors of the oats, nuts and what was likely honey, but there were spices and subtle hints of flavors that he had never tasted.  Before he knew it, he was scraping the bottom of the bowl with his spoon.  He thought about having another bowl, but realized that he was quite full.  Standing up, he turned to head out the door.  Before he was halfway across the floor one of the guardsman hailed him.

“Before you go, Jacobs said to give this to you.  Something about you needing working clothes and such.”

As the guard spoke he tossed something small and shiny to Jorem.  Catching it, Jorem found that it was a coin, a gold crown.  This was enough to feed and clothe a family for a year.  Surely a set of work clothes wouldn’t cost this much.

The guard noticed Jorem’s confusion and added, “Winters get mighty cold this high up.  See that you have plenty of warm clothes as well.”

Jorem nodded to the guard and headed out the door, carefully placing the coin in his pocket.  The sun was not yet showing above the peaks as Jorem stepped out the door.  After allowing his eyes time to adjust to the dim light of dawn, he headed off toward the blacksmith shop.  It wasn’t far to go and, following the directions the innkeeper had given him last night, wasn’t hard to find.

Having never been to a blacksmith’s shop, Jorem wasn’t sure what to expect.  The building he approached didn’t appear to be very large.  It was a wooden structure and bits of light shone through the slats of the walls and the frame of the door.  The door didn’t have a handle, just a rope with a knot in the end.  When he opened the door a wave of heat struck him with such force he gasped.

The room was a clutter of benches, barrels and a tangle of what looked like farming equipment.  One end of the room was filled with a large brick column.  In the center of the room was a table made of brick with a fire pit in the center of its top.  The other end of the room was covered with mounds of rocks and scraps of metal.  Everything was covered with a thick layer of black dust.

Jorem stepped into the room but saw no sign of the blacksmith.  Waves of heat radiated from the pit in the table centered in the room.  Wisps of smoke rose from the pit into a large, upside down funnel that hung suspended from the ceiling.  Jorem peered into the pit and was surprised to see that it contained rocks.  The rocks were splotched with gray and black on the top, but underneath they glowed a sullen orange with bits of flame flickering here and there.

Jorem was still studying the fire, mesmerized by the burning rock, when he heard the door open behind him.  The surprised look on the blacksmith’s face left Jorem wondering if the blacksmith had actually expected him not to come.

The man recovered quickly though and said, “You’re here in good time. I’ve got much to get done.”  Looking Jorem up and down he continued.  “Best you put a smock on or you’ll ruin them clothes for sure.”

Reaching back, the blacksmith plucked a long gray shirt from off of a peg beside the door.  He shook the smock before handing it to Jorem and a cloud of black dust billowed out and slowly settled on the floor.

“It’s a bit big fer ya,” the man said, not even noticing the dust cloud.  “I’ll send a note over to Biorne fer him to get some proper work clothes fer ya.”

“Thank you sir,” Jorem said doing his best not to notice the black smudges that the smock left on his hands.  “I was told that I should get some winter clothes as well.”

“Aye, that would be wise,” the blacksmith said, “but you’ll have time to do that on yer own.  I’ll have you pumpin’ the bellows fer now.  Ol’ Vern’ll have my head if’n I don’t get his plow blade mended this morning.  First snowfall’s due soon an he likes to plow it under.  Around the other side of the forge, just lift the handle up an’ push it down.” 

At Jorem’s blank look, the blacksmith led him around to the other side of the table and pointed down at a strange contraption connected to the side of the table.  It looked like a bag with baskets woven on its top and bottom.  The top basket was upside down on top of the bottom basket like clamshells.  A wooden pole was connected to the top basket and pointed away from the table.

The blacksmith reached down and grasped the pole and lifted it up.  The top basket came up with the pole forcing the bag to fill with air.  Then the blacksmith pushed the pole down.  The top basket squeezed the bag, pushing the air out of the bag.  Sparks rose from the pit in the table.  Jorem realized that the air from the bag was being forced into the pit.

“Up and down, that’s all there is to it,” the blacksmith said.  “Don’t go too fast or you’ll pop the nozzle outa the forge.  Just slow and steady.”

“Yes sir,” Jorem replied, “Slow and steady.”

Jorem stepped up to the bellows and grasped the pole with both hands.  The pole had been worn so smooth it looked polished.  Like everything else, it was almost black.  It was at just the right height so that he didn’t have to bend over to reach it.  He lifted the bar up as he had seen the blacksmith do and then pushed it back down.

“That’s right, just keep pumping and I’ll get started,” said the blacksmith.

While Jorem continued pumping the bellows, the blacksmith wandered about the room looking for something.  After a bit, he reached down and picked up a shovel.  Then he walked over to one of the piles of rocks and scooped up some of the rocks with the shovel.  Winding his way around the benches and piles of metal objects, he carried the rocks back to the forge.  When he got back, he dumped the rocks into the pit and tossed the shovel aside.

Curious, Jorem asked, “How do you get the rocks to burn?”

The blacksmith looked at Jorem as if he hadn’t heard the question correctly.  “That’s coal boy.  Haven’t you ever seen coal afore?”

“No sir,” Jorem said all the more curious.  “What is it?”

“Why it’swell it’s…” The blacksmith looked puzzled and scratched his head.  Finally he shrugged his shoulders and said, “I don’t rightly know—burns though.  It burns hotter than wood and lasts a sight longer.

Jorem had paused while talking to the blacksmith.  “Keep pumpin’ the bellows.  I don’t mind ya talkin’, but keep pumpin’.  Makes the coal burn hotter.”

The blacksmith turned and started searching through the piles of metal until finally he pulled out a wide curved piece of rusted metal that was bent at the tip.  This he then slid into the burning coal until only a small portion was left exposed.  While that was heating he began rummaging through the piles of tools that littered the tops of the benches.  It took a while for him to find what he was looking for.  When he returned he was carrying a heavy set of tongs and a large hammer.  With the tongs he gripped the heating piece of metal and pulled it out of the fire.  The metal was glowing bright orange.

The blacksmith held the heated metal against a large anvil mounted on the end of the table and struck it several times with the hammer.  The clang of metal striking metal rang in Jorem’s ears.  The blacksmith peered at the metal for a moment and then thrust it back into the forge.  Several times the blacksmith repeated the process of hammering and heating the metal and occasionally adding coal until he was satisfied with the shape of what Jorem now recognized as the blade of a plow.  Franks then carried the plow blade over to one of the barrels and lowered it into the barrel.

Steam erupted out of the barrel with a wild hissing.  The white mist of steam continued to billow out of the barrel as Franks slowly lowered the plow blade into the barrel.  Once the plow blade was completely in the barrel the steam slowed from its mad rush to escape to small wisps of a feathery mist.  At the dramatic display of steam Jorem had stopped pumping the bellows.  In truth, he was ready to collapse.  His arms throbbed from the continuous exertion.  His back and shoulders ached as though he had been beaten.  His clothing was soaked through with sweat and his damp hair hung in his eyes.  Some time ago, he had gone into a sort of trance, allowing his mind to ignore the pain while his body continued to work.