Honor Found (The Spare Heir) (9 page)

“More than likely.  I counted six men.”

“There were four more in the tents.”

“You got inside the tents?” Jorem asked, clearly astonished.

“I probably could have,” Hector said with a smile.  “I just slipped around the back and cut a small peep hole in each tent.”

Jorem shook his head in wonder.  He thought he’d gotten close to the camp.  Hector had been in the camp and not been noticed, neither by the men nor by Jorem.  Jorem knew he would need a lot more practice before he’d be willing to try a stunt like that.

Chapter XIV

It didn’t take long to report on the camp Jorem and Hector had found.  The squad leader, a pug-faced man by the name of Clay, wanted to march into the camp and demand the bandits’ surrender.  One look at Hector, and Jorem knew the scout felt the same way he did about the idea.  Jorem decided the best way to explain the situation was to be as blunt as possible.

“Your men aren’t good enough,” Jorem said flatly.  “No offense intended, but most of the men in that camp have had private weapon trainers since they could walk.  If you try to take them on head to head, they’ll cut you and your men to ribbons.”

It was obvious Clay wasn’t happy with Jorem’s assessment.  The silence between them hung in the air for a while.  Eventually the squad leader nodded.

“All right,” Clay said. “I don’t like it, but if you’re both in agreement on this, I’ll have to accept it. But I’m not leaving a band of ne’er do wells at my back.  What do you suggest?”

“Well,” Jorem said thoughtfully, “We can’t leave them there, and based on the signs we found, I think they send out someone to check for travelers in the area.  There’s no way they’ll miss our tracks, so if we come back later, they’ll be expecting us.”

Grabbing a stick, Jorem began drawing the canyon and campsite in a bare patch of dirt.  Hector lent a hand, adding a few details Jorem missed.  While they were drawing, the rest of the squad gathered around them.  They used rocks and sticks to identify tents and the various obstacles they had seen.

“If we go charging in,” Hector said, “they’ll hear us and have plenty of time to get ready.  Even if we march in like we’re on a regular patrol and they let us get close, they’re better trained than we are.  They may not have trained together, but individually, we have to consider them very good with their chosen weapons.”

“What we need is an edge,” Jorem stated.

He studied the crude drawing intently.  There had to be a way to take the bandits without too much risk.  The layout of the canyon didn’t offer many options.  If they had more men they might be able to intimidate the bandits.  An idea started taking form.

Jorem looked up at the men gathered around him.  “Are any of you good with a bow?”

As luck would have it, two of the men were fair archers.  Both men had their bows and a dozen arrows each.  Jorem explained what he had in mind to the others.  Some of the men suggested ways to improve the idea, and by the time they finished they had a plan.  It was a plan that, with a little bit of luck, might even work.

Eight men including squad leader Clay marched up the canyon.  They marched in two columns, four men to a column.  Their pace was steady if a little slow.  There was no sense being exhausted when they arrived.  If anyone had seen them, they’d have thought it was a daily routine.

The men didn’t sneak or try to conceal themselves in any way.  Nor did they make more noise than was necessary.  The idea had come up for them to walk in unison until it was pointed out that they were marching uphill through a wooded area.  It would be a sufficient challenge just to stay in formation.

When they came within view of the camp, the squad leader called them to a halt.

“Ho the camp,” the squad leader yelled out.

“We hear you,” someone yelled back.  “What do you want?”

“We are the King’s guard.  May we approach?”

A moment of hushed whispers, then, “Come ahead.”

When they got in the camp, the squad spread out.  They stood eight abreast, about two arm lengths apart.  Close enough to defend each other, yet far enough apart to stay out of each other’s way.  Clay stood near the center, Jorem just to his left.

“What is your business here?” Clay asked.

“Hunting,” said one of the men as he stepped forward.

The squad leader stood quiet for a moment, tapping his fingers on his leg.  Jorem counted all ten men Hector and he had identified earlier.

“I’m going to have to ask you to accompany us to our encampment.  If everything is in order, you can return to your hunting.”

The man before them smiled.  “I don’t think so, and I don’t think you can make us.”

Clay reached up and rubbed his ear.  An arrow thudded into a tree trunk at the edge of the camp.  Several of the “bandits” jerked, startled at the sight of the arrow appearing so suddenly.  For some of them this was likely the first time the thought of personal danger had crossed their minds.  The two archers had snuck up around the sides of the camp well ahead of the squad.  They had positioned themselves so as to cover the whole camp by the time the squad had arrived.

“We’re not exactly alone.  I would suggest you come peacefully.”

With no warning, the speaker for the bandits sprang fo
rward, plunging a knife into Clay’s chest.  As he did so he screamed, “Kill them all!”

The fray that ensued was fraught with screams, yells, the whistling of arrows in flight, and no little bit of terror.  Jorem’s sword was out in a flash.  Without hesitating, he punched the man attacking Clay with a fist weighted with the hilt of his sword.  The bandit fell back from the blow.

A glance told Jorem the squad leader was sorely injured.  Jorem grasped Clay’s hand and pressed it to the wound.  Blood had already begun to soak through his coat.

“Keep as much pressure on it as you can,” Jorem said urgently.

Jorem took the squad leader’s sword from its scabbard and flung himself into the battle.  The bandits had lost all semblance of sanity.  They were like savages, lost in the lust of blood.  The other members of the squad were not faring well.  Two had already fallen to the ground and, as Jorem engaged his first opponent, another fell.

Suddenly, Jorem found himself facing three attackers.  There was no surrendering to these men.  Even if the thought to run had crossed his mind, there was nowhere to go.  The clang of steel on steel and the grunts of pain and strain filled the air.  Jorem gave himself over to the training pounded into him over the past year.

There was no chance of pressing an attack.  Facing three men, and now four, all Jorem could do was defend himself.  He spun and twisted, slashed and jabbed.  Every trick Neth had taught him came forth.  There was no time for thought.  To think was to die.

He knew he was inflicting damage on his attackers, more often with an elbow or a kick, than with his sword.  One of the men Jorem was fighting crumpled to the ground, an arrow protruding from his chest.  Another bandit rushed to take his place.

Time lost all meaning.  There was just the fight.  Fight or die.  Arrows whistled through the air.  Men screamed and fell.  Jorem fought on.  He had wounded several of the bandits, but they would not yield.  Facing so many he couldn’t manage a fatal blow.

The archers made all the difference.  Whenever a clear target presented itself, a bandit fell to the ground.  Jorem braced to block another onslaught that never came.  All ten bandits lay crumpled on the earth.  Not one of them had survived.  The archers had managed to take down every one of the bandits.

Of the squad, two would fight no more.  Only the archers had gone unscathed.  Hector sat with his back against a tree.  A nasty gash ran the length of his forearm.  Jorem leaned down and wiped his sword clean on the tunic of one of the bandits. 
“Clean your sword before you sheath it.  Getting blood out of a scabbard is nigh unto impossible.”
  Neth’s voice scratched inside his skull.

Jorem cut strips from the side of one of the tents and began binding the men’s wounds as he came to them.  The others of the squad that could did the same.  When they were as well off as they were apt to get, they dragged the bodies of the dead to a small ravine and pushed dirt over them.  It wasn’t a good burial, but it was all they could do.

One of the men built the fire back up.  They gathered around the fire as much for mental comfort as physical.  Jorem pulled out the map he’d made of the route for the day.  They weren’t far from the highest point of their journey.  There were two more ridges, not much higher than where they were now, and the rest would be downhill.

“What are your orders, sir?” Hector asked.  It took Jorem a moment to realize the scout was talking to him.  At Jorem’s questioning look, Hector explained.

“Clay’s passed out.  Considering the pain he’s in, it’s probably best he did.  Aside from him, you’re the closest thing we have to an officer.”

Jorem considered their options.  They could send someone for help, but only he and Hector had a chance of finding the main group.  If they waited long enough for one of them to go and for a relief party to get back, they’d lose Clay and maybe one of the others as well.  If they tried to make it back on their own, there were a number of challenges.

Of the seven remaining men besides himself, two would have to be carried.  In addition, two of the men, including Hector, had injures to their arms preventing them from helping with the carrying.  Considering the condition of the rest of the men, it was unlikely any of them would make it the whole way without collapsing.  The only chance they had was to send  Hector to get help headed their way while they got themselves as close to camp as they were able.  The sooner they got these men’s wounds tended to the better chance they would have.

After showing Hector the route he intended to take with the rest of the squad, he sent the scout off to get help.  The rest of the able men set to making litters for the more seriously injured.  While they were doing that, Jorem rummaged through the tents.  Any information he could find could be useful.  What he found gave him cause for concern.

The bandits had been in the employ of someone identified only as “the dark mage”.  Their task was to kidnap or kill someone of some importance coming through this area.  Jorem couldn’t think of anyone important even considering coming to this remote area, and he was certain no one knew he was here.

From the various papers he found, Jorem was able to identify all of the so-called bandits.  If the names of these men and their intentions were made known, a rift would certainly be torn through the kingdom.  There was little enough trust between nobles and commoners already.  This news could cause a civil war, leaving the kingdom open to attack from without.

“Hey Rim,” one of the men said, poking his head inside the tent.  “I mean, sir.  We’re ready to go.”

Jorem gathered all the papers he’d found.  “I don’t recall anyone pinning an officer’s badge on my chest.  What say we stick with Rim?”

The man grinned and ducked back out.  Jorem carefully tucked the papers inside his shirt.  When he stepped out of the tent he found the fire out and the men ready to go.

It was a long and arduous trek.  By the time they met up with the relief party Jorem felt like his arms were going to fall off.  Even going downhill, carrying the litters had been a grueling task.  They had only stopped a few times to catch their breath and, with no one to spell them off, they were weary to the bone.

When they arrived at the main camp, the captain’s aide informed Jorem he was to go directly to the command tent to report to Captain Jonas.  Jorem had figured this would be the case and had been thinking about it for some time.  How does one report that several nobles were committing treason and attacking the royal guard, without causing a kingdom-wide uprising?

The captain wasn’t in the command tent when Jorem got there.  Seating himself at a table, he pulled a sheet of blank parchment from a stack kept on hand for sending messages.  With quill and ink, he wrote down the names of the two guardsmen who had died in the battle with the bandits.  What he was going to do next would bring honor where there was none and pride where it was most needed.

Taking the papers he’d found at the bandit’s camp, he shuffled through them until he had the names of each of the noblemen.  He wrote these names below those of the two guardsmen.  He made certain to include the full tittles of the nobles so there would be no doubt as to their identity.

Jorem had just finished the list when Captain Jonas arrived.

“Rim,” the Captain said, “before you report, I want you to understand that I’ve sworn both Clay and Hector to silence concerning the identity of the bandits you found.  I expect the same from you.  Do you have a problem with that?”

“No, sir,” Jorem replied. “Probably best for everyone if it weren’t spread around.”

“Good.  Now start from the beginning and tell me exactly what happened.”

It took a while to get the whole story out.  When Jorem finally finished his report, Captain Jonas leaned back in his chair and shook his head.

“What a mess,” the captain said in exasperation.  “If word of this gets out, the whole kingdom will be in turmoil.”

“Captain, sir,” Jorem got up from his chair as he spoke.  “I would like to request that Hector and the men in the squad be given medals of Honor for their actions today.”

“Yes, of course,” Captain Jonas replied dismissively.

“Sir, I think the families of the men who died should receive medals as well, something to remember them by.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged.”

“Here’s the list of their names, sir.  These men died so the kingdom could persevere.

Jonas read through the names.  When he was done, he looked up at Jorem and quirked an eyebrow.

“Handled right, this could do a great amount of good,” the captain said quietly.  “Rim, would you consider taking Clay’s place as squad leader?”