Honor Crowned (9 page)

With a lunge, Jorem dodged away from the voice.  In the blink of an eye he leaped, turned, crouched and drew his sword.  Looking to where he’d been sitting, he saw Jennifer staring at him with a surprised look on her face.

“Jen!?” Jorem said, taking a step back.  As he stepped back, his foot caught on a root.  Unceremoniously, and with a significant lack of dignity, he fell, landing on his rear.

“Are you all right?” Jen asked as she walked over and knelt beside him.

Jorem looked up at her and his voice caught in his throat.  She was dressed in white with a pale green cloak about her shoulders.  Her short brown hair had a tousled look to it.  When he looked into her warm brown eyes, they enveloped him.  He nearly forgot to breathe.

“Jorem?” she asked again.

Pulling himself out of the trance he’d slipped into, he shook his head and chuckled.  “Luckily for me I lost my pride long ago, so I shouldn’t even be bruised.”

Jorem gathered himself, stood and sheathed his sword.  When he reached down to help Jen up, his hand passed through hers.  It felt like he was waving his hand through a heavy mist.  Jen looked at her hand and then at Jorem. 

“This feels like a dream,” Jen said, “but I know it’s not.”  Her form stood up next to Jorem.  She had always been shorter than he, but now, either her image was distorted or she had grown considerably.  Her eyes were nearly level with his.

“If it is a dream, it’s the best one I’ve had for a long time,” Jorem said quietly.

Jen reached up and brushed her fingers against his cheek.  Her “touch” felt like feathers gently caressing his skin.

“You look tired,” she said with concern.

Jorem hesitated before responding.  Finally he decided there was no point in keeping anything from her.  “Things are not looking very good for us here.  There is an army coming at us and many of the people here either can’t or won’t leave.  I can’t leave them defenseless.  With so much to be done, I haven’t gotten much sleep.”

It was Jen’s turn to hesitate.  Finally in a whisper she asked, “Do you have time to talk?”

“Of course,” Jorem responded quickly. “Why don’t we sit down?  That way there’s less of a chance I’ll fall down again.”

Jen smiled at his jest and they went back to where he’d been seated when she had arrived.  Sitting next to each other, they talked about her time at Dawnsword.  When she asked about the army Jorem had spoken of, he explained the situation as succinctly as he could.  She accepted his decision to stay without question, though she seemed very subdued when he finished.

“Jorem, are we still just friends?” she asked, staring resolutely into the trees.

Jorem waited until she looked back at him before he answered.  “I will always be your friend.  Nothing will ever change that.”

The words came so easily, Jorem was surprised.  Usually when he tried to talk about his feelings, especially to a girl, he got all tongue-tied and confused.  This was more like talking to himself.  Perhaps it was because Jen wasn’t really there; perhaps it was because of the bond they shared.

Those thoughts flashed through Jorem’s mind and he dismissed them.  No, this was easy because it was Jen.  She was his friend.  He cared about her and he knew she cared about him.  That friendship, developed so long ago, made these new emotions he was feeling easier to express.

“Jen,” Jorem said quietly, “I have very strong feelings for you.  Feelings I don’t really understand.  I’ve never felt like this before.  Maybe it’s the bond we have.  The Folk say we’re like two halves of a whole, sundered apart and finally come together.  That’s how it feels to me.  Without you, I’m not me.”

Jen laid her hand atop Jorem’s.  They both watched as her hand dissolved into his.  Her head turned in, toward his shoulder, touching but not touching.  It was the most peaceful feeling Jorem had ever experienced.

“It feels like one of those romantic tales, like how I feel when I see mother looking at father.   The feeling that makes a family what it should be,” Jen murmured.

“I’ll have to take your word on that,” Jorem said with a wry grin.  “My family wants me dead.”

Jen rolled her eyes.  “Okay, not your family.  It’s like how I feel about Jeseph and Mother and Father, only stronger.”

Jorem remembered how much Jeseph cared for his sister.  It reminded him of Ben and Jannet, the blacksmith’s family back in Broughbor.  They each shared a closeness Jorem envied, even if he did not understand it.  If Jen was right, if they felt what he was feeling toward her, it was no wonder they were so protective of each other.

Family.  Could Jen and he be family?  The thought both thrilled and terrified him.  It was something he desperately wanted, but this was not the time.  First, he needed to survive the next few days.  Then they could see where this would lead.  It did, however, provide ample motivation to survive.

Chapter XV

When Jorem awoke the next morning, the sun had not yet crested the horizon.  He was still sitting propped against the trunk of a tree.  Light dew covered everything, including him.  Levering himself up, Jorem stretched to get the kinks out from sleeping on the ground.  Jen was nowhere to be seen.

They had talked for some time about their families, friends, hopes and dreams.  At some point, Jorem had drifted off to sleep.  He couldn’t remember all they’d spoken of but he clearly recalled her asking him to be careful.  “As careful as I can,” he’d replied.

Jorem shivered in the cool morning mist.  He was not looking forward to this day, nor the days to come
.  “As careful as I can.
” With a shake of his head, Jorem headed back toward the Keep.  When he emerged from the trees, he entered the clearing next to the only remaining building outside of the Keep.

It was a simple square structure made of stone and mortar.  A quick look revealed a single room with a rough plank floor.  A small wood stove occupied one corner of the room and a sturdy workbench was built into the wall opposite the door.  Jorem guessed that the building was used for processing food and such from the harvest.  Any tools and implements usually kept here had already been removed.

Looking at the room, a wicked idea came to mind.  If they survived the horde of monsters, when the army arrived, this room, as the only existing building, would likely be where the mages would stay.  If they could set up some kind of trap in the room, maybe they could nullify the threat of magical attack.  He’d have to get with Conrad, Pentrothe and the others to see if they could think of something that would work.

Jorem knew from his reading that the best way to fight a mage was with a stronger mage.  Pentrothe had admitted that his magical reserves had been depleted in his coming.  It would be weeks before he would be recovered enough for any kind of serious magic.  Lady Dragon Mage Zensa was the only other mage Jorem knew and she had very strict rules about involving herself in the affairs of humans.

Long ago Jorem had asked Zensa why the Dragon Mages didn’t just fix the problems people had and stop all the fighting and wars.  Her answer had not made sense to the boy he’d been.  Even now, it left him wondering as to the motives and compassion of Dragons.

“Give a man a fish and he’ll ask for another fish.  Give a man a fishing pole, he’ll ask you to bait the hook.  Teach him to fish and he will complain the fish don’t bite.  Men will grow when their success and failure lies in their own hands.  If
men wish to succeed, they must learn to catch their own fish.”

“But what if they die before they learn?”
Jorem had asked.

A sad look came to Zensa’s face and Jorem knew that she had seen that very thing happen.

“Everyone dies, Jorem,” she said gently, “some sooner than others.  I cannot change the fate men place upon themselves and I am not allowed to alter the course mankind has chosen.”

Jorem’s stomach chose that moment to growl, bringing him back from his ruminations.  Turning from the building, he started across the clearing.  Ribbons tied to sticks marked safe passage to the Keep.  Those would be taken down as soon as the last of his men got back to the relative safety of the Keep.

As he entered the Keep, he found the atmosphere one of determination rather than depression.  He realized that the elderly had most likely been through similar situations.  The youngsters didn’t know any better and so they reflected the attitude of their elders.  These people had not given up.

Gathering strength from the fortitude of those around him, Jorem stood a little taller.  He may not think himself the man these people needed, but he was what they had.  Somehow, some way, they would get through this ordeal.  He knew few of them by name, but even so, he’d come to care for these people, even the ornery oldsters who argued with every idea he came up with.

The dining room where the bows had been stacked was empty save for the tables, the stack of barrels and a few bows left here and there.  Jorem picked up a bow and found it to be cracked along its length.  The rest of the remaining bows had similar defects, making them of little value other than for firewood.

The map still hung on the wall and Jorem walked over to it.  While he studied the map for an advantage he might have missed, he could hear the inhabitants of the Keep beginning to stir.  A slight rustle of fabric and quiet, yet familiar footsteps let him know that Neth was approaching.  With her came the aroma of freshly baked bread.

Jorem turned to greet her as she drew near.  Before he could say a word, she held out a thick slice of bread slathered with butter and honey.

“Eat first,” she said.  “Once everyone else finds you, I doubt you’ll get the chance.”

“Okay,” Jorem said with a smile.  “While I eat, tell me where we stand.”

Neth held out a mug for him to take and then leaned back against one of the tables.  Jorem took a sip from the mug and grimaced.  He wasn’t sure what the drink was, but it was black and bitter.  If there had been anything else, he’d not have drunk it, but this was what he had, so this was what he drank.

Leaning his back against the wall, he nibbled at the honey-coated bread.  The sweetness of the honey almost covered the bitterness of the drink—almost.

“Anyone not able to notch an arrow,” Neth began, “has been taken down to the chasm.  There were enough bows for nearly half of everyone to have one.  Those without bows have armed themselves with pitchforks, shovels and scythes.  Stockpiles of arrows have been located all around the Keep and have been manned with runners to resupply people as needed.  I think we’re as ready as we can be unless you can think of anything else.”

Jorem thought for a moment.  “Have barrels of water set up around the Keep, as many as we have, and a ladle with each barrel.  People get thirsty and there’s no sense having someone running all the way from the kitchens.”

“Right,” Neth said.  “I’ll get men on that right away.  Anything else?”

Jorem shook his head.  “I can’t think of anything more inside the Keep.  How many men do we have out harassing and setting traps?”

“Three: Conrad, Hector and Janson.  As soon as they are in, we’ll pull the crossing boards.”

Jorem looked around the nearly empty room and spied the small barrels, casks really, he’d seen before.  “What’s in the casks?” he asked.

“Powder,” Neth replied.  “We opened a few, and they all appear to be filled with some powder that nobody recognized; nothing that would be useful that any of us know of.”

Jorem walked over to one of the casks.  It had already been unsealed so he lifted the lid, revealing the powder Neth had mentioned.  Carefully scooping a handful out, he let the powder run through his fingers back into the cask.  The powder was a pale blue and finely ground.

Raising his hand, he lightly touched his tongue to his finger.  The residue on his finger tasted sweet, so sweet it almost hurt—a taste he recognized from long ago.  Never, though, had he ever seen it in this quantity.  Pentrothe had never possessed more than a small vial of it.

“Binder,” Jorem muttered.

“What?” asked Neth.

“The powder,” Jorem replied absently.  “Pentrothe calls it
binder
.”

“Is it of any use?”

“Maybe.  If we have time after today, it might be very useful.  Where is Pentrothe?”

“The last I saw of him he was in the library.”

As Jorem turned to go in search of the wizard, Nethira placed a hand on his arm. 

“Jorem,” Neth said softly, “why are you here?”

              Jorem stopped, puzzled by the question.

             
“What do you mean?” he asked.

             
“I’m here because these are my people,” she stated.  “These people are here because it’s their home.  Your men are here because they’re following you.  The King has a death sentence on you, so I’d say you’ve no obligations there.  So, why are you still here?”

             
Jorem looked her in the eyes.  Did he see uncertainty there?  Was she worried he might abandon them?  Or was she trying to convince him to leave?

             
“Neth,” Jorem started, and then paused before continuing.  “I’ve never fit in anywhere.  No matter where I am, I’m different.  I have abilities, some I was born with, some I’ve learned.  Whatever I am, wherever I go, I have to help.  I don’t know why, but I do.  These are good people and I intend to help them.  That’s just the way it is.”

             
Without warning, Neth grabbed hold of him and held him in a tight embrace.  She held him so long he started to feel uncomfortable.  When she finally released him, there were tear track running down her cheeks.

             
“Thank you,” she whispered.  Then with an angry shake of her head, the fiercest fighter he had ever known marched herself out of the room.

************

              After a short but animated conversation with Pentrothe, Jorem spent some time walking about the perimeter of the Keep.  He stopped and talked with everyone he encountered, giving words of encouragement, a pat on the back, whatever he felt they needed.  He wasn’t sure it was doing any good, but he figured it certainly couldn’t hurt.

             
A signal from the edge of the clearing told him the last of his men were near.  He made his way to the gate to meet them when they arrived.  Neth was already there waiting.  The sun was well into the sky, and a few large puffy clouds drifted lazily by.

             
Jorem breathed in the cool mountain air.  Even in the bright noon day with the sun beating down, the air here was cool and crisp.  The peaceful quiet belied the coming battle.  All too soon there would be no peace here.  Neth was in her battle attire.  She wore no armor, just leather trousers and jacket, mottled gray in color.  She stretched her arms and sighed.

             
“It is a good day to die,” she said as she gazed out at the clearing, all sign of her previous emotions blocked from view.

             
“No!” Jorem replied.  “I think not, not today.  Today we live.  Death will have to wait his turn.  Never say die until you’re already dead.  Even then, I’ll fight for another breath.”

             
Neth just grinned at his remark, her bared teeth more a snarl than a smile.  For such an attractive woman, she seldom showed any softness.  She was like her blade, hard, sharp and deadly.

             
“Ah, there they are,” she said, nodding her head. 

             
Two figures emerged from the trees.  As the figures crossed the camouflaged trenches, others pulled the crossing boards and retreated with them.  As they drew nearer, Jorem was able to recognize Conrad and Hector.  Both men looked grim and cast glances back at the tree line.

             
“What of Janson?” Jorem asked when the two men arrived at the gate.

             
Conrad shook his head.  “Somethin’ got him.  The critters weren’t even close an’ he just disappeared.”

             
“Do you think he might have run?” Neth asked.

             
“No, not Janson,” Conrad replied.  “He wouldn’t know how.  Just wasn’t in him to run away.  No, somethin’ got him.”

             
“Any idea what it might have been?” Jorem asked.

             
“I looked,” Hector said.  “No tracks, no sounds.  There was an odd odor, musty like.”

             
The description was much too familiar for Jorem not to recognize it.  Although a fair amount of time had passed and his wounds had healed, it was an experience he would never forget, an experience he survived only because of his odd ability to see magic and because of the timely arrival of Jen.

             
“A shimmerik,” Jorem said flatly.

             
Conrad and Hector both blanched at the statement.  Jorem hadn’t spoken much of his encounter with the beast, but what he had said, they knew.

             
“What’s a shimmerik?” Neth asked.  “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

             
“A beast of tooth and claw that hides itself with magic,” Jorem told her.  “They float a hand span or so above the ground, so they leave no tracks.  I met one once and I should have died for the meeting.”

             
“Will the trenches stop it?” Neth queried.

             
“I’m not sure, but I doubt it.”

             
“How can we stop something we can neither see nor hear?” Hector’s voice carried his concern.

             
“That’s a good question,” Jorem responded.

             
He knew he could sense the creature’s magic.  He had done so before.  What he didn’t know was how close the beast had to be.  The last time had been, well, much too close.  If he could maintain a good vantage point and remain vigilant, he might be able to “see” the beast’s magic and point it out to the others.