Chapter 3

Jorgarn awakened stiff and sore the next morning. He had overdone things the day before and his body was telling him about it.

He hoped he wouldn't have to put on another display. Grudgingly he exited his chamber for his morning meal.

"Gentlemen," he said to his cohabitants. "How are you this day?"

Both Fieth and Renoit looked at the other before speaking.

"We are well, Master Jorgarn," Fieth said. "And yourself?"

Jorgarn groaned.

"Intolerably sore," he replied. "I am afraid some of my activities yesterday were more than I'm used to."

"You didn't appear tired at the training session," Renoit said. "In fact, you seemed completely rested at the end."

Jorgarn looked up from his meal.

"Oh, yes," he said. "That wasn't what I was talking about. I'm used to hours and hours of practice. I worked the sails on the ship that brought me here. I had the night watch and I'm afraid pulling those lines and adjusting the jib worked muscles I'm not used to working."

His tablemates goggled at the other.

"You mean you helped to sail the ship here?" Fieth exclaimed. "Then you bested the best noble trainee without problem? Then you went through the rest of us and everyone else? Creator, are you human?"

Jorgarn looked embarrassed.

"Uh, really, it sounds better than it is," he said. "I expected to have a day or so to acclimate myself here. So I took the night watch on the ship. They were short-handed. The rest of it just sort of happened."

Renoit shook his head.

"Today is likely to be a day for resting wounds," he said. "You will not be the only one with sore muscles. At least you have few bruises to worry about. None us managed to touch you."

Jorgarn held out his hands, palms up. They were cut and swollen.

"Lord Creator," Fieth said. "You should have had the medic look at those. Did your practice sword have a nick?"

"Ropes from the ship," Jorgarn said with a shake of his head. "I was not smart enough to wrap my hands and it took me a while to notice that the others did. I believe stupidity should have consequences. These are mine."

Renoit glanced fleeting at Fieth before deciding to speak up.

"Symington will not take your actions easily," he said. "You will need to vigilant. I will offer to watch your back, although I doubt you would accept my help. Even if you did, my skill is somewhat lacking and I would probably only delay him a moment."

Jorgarn considered what the man had said and decided to focus on only a portion of it.

"You need to exercise your wrists and hands," he said. "You have skill in the initial flurry but you tire easily. Here, watch this."

Jorgarn walked to the entryway and reached above the cross section of wood above the door. He proceeded to lift his entire weight off the ground several times using only his fingertips for leverage.

"You need to gain strength in your wrists and forearms, Master Renoit," he said as he effortlessly lifted himself time and again. "It will help you develop stamina. Master Fieth, you should probably work on your quickness if you wish to improve. Each of you could help the other or I would be willing to assist you."

He lowered himself back to the floor to find a young boy of about seven years standing in front of him.

"Master Elmwood?" the boy inquired with a curious expression on his face.

"Indeed, I am," Jorgarn said as he extended his hand to the boy. "And you are?"

"Merg," the boy stammered. "I am a page for the castle. I was told to deliver this to you."

The boy ignored the outstretched hand and instead stuffed an envelope into Jorgarn's paw.

"Thank you, kind Merg," Jorgarn said as he ruffled the boy's hair. "Please, come join us for breakfast while I read this. Are you expected to await an answer?"

The boy gulped and nodded. He had delivered messages for the Royal Household on several occasions and had always been expected to wait outside even during a heavy rain. But he knew better than to refuse a request from one of the trainees. He meekly followed Jorgarn inside.

Jorgarn noticed the boy was rail thin. He was sure Merg was fed regularly but a boy that age could eat almost constantly and never be full. He ladled out the remainder of the oatmeal into his cleaned bowl and added a healthy amount of milk and sugar to it.

Merg's eyes were even wider and he wondered when the man would kick him or mock him. He watched the man's preparations carefully to make sure there was no rat droppings or urine added to the mix.

Jorgarn smiled as he put the bowl in front of the youngster. He noticed Merg eyeing the bowl carefully. He could see the boy wanted to eat it but was concerned. Jorgarn remembered some of the cruel pranks his brother had played on him as a child.

"Let me get a spoon," Jorgarn said. "I'll take a couple of bites so you know it isn't poisoned."

"Oh, no sir," the boy said as he picked up his own spoon. "I would never think that."

"I would," Jorgarn said with a chuckle. "I was the second son and I've met some of the people you must have to deal with. I believe if I were in your place I would be suspicious of almost everyone."

Jorgarn scooped up a big mouthful and ate it. He was no longer hungry but he wanted to put the boy at ease. Once Merg started to scoop the food into his own mouth, Jorgarn opened the missive.

He almost dropped it when he saw it wasn't from Sir Torbert but, rather, from the King himself.

"Oh, cläda," he said, reverting to his native tongue. The Longview curses worked so much better and didn't translate well into Emerti.

Fieth and Renoit had sat quietly while Jorgarn had served the common-born boy. It was unheard of for someone of their station to act in such a manner. Then they noticed the look of adoration in Merg's eyes. Jorgarn had just acquired an ally a nearly invisible, inconspicuous ally in the Royal Household.

It took them a moment to wrap their mind around how seamlessly it had been accomplished. The boy had delivered letters for Symington several times. He had even brought orders from Sir Torbert or the other trainers to Fieth and Renoit. At no time had they considered befriending the boy.

Jorgarn's strange oath brought them out of their thoughts.

"What is it?" Fieth asked.

"What did you say?" Renoit wanted to know.

"Uh, just something from Longview," he answered Renoit first. "Nothing polite. I apologize."

Renoit laughed.

"No need to apologize," he said. "None of us understood it. How about the letter? Does Sir Torbert want you to single-handedly take down a charging elephant?"

Jorgarn laughed mirthlessly.

"I would prefer that, I think," he replied. "It seems my presence is requested for the nightly meal with the King."

"Impressive," Fieth said.

"You must be honored," Renoit added.

Neither of them had ever graced the King's table. Symington was a frequent occupant, which he never failed to point out to them.

"Nothing good can come of this," Jorgarn said as he shook his head. "My stepmother is the King's niece. I gather she was not held in high regard in Emertland. Sir Torbert likes her but I do not think he is the norm for noblemen."

Both Fieth and Renoit laughed at Jorgarn's understatement. Sir Torbert's disdain for nobility was only tolerated because of the position he held within his family.

"Will the Princess be there?" Fieth asked eagerly.

"The Princess?" Jorgarn asked. "Oh, her. My stepmother mentioned the King had a daughter. I don't know. It doesn't say. I am afraid my language skills are not up to decoding the hidden message. It is rather, uh, obtuse I believe is the word."

Fieth held out his hand.

"May I?" he asked politely. He was interested in seeing Jorgarn's reaction. Symington refused to allow anyone to see the messages he received from the Royal Household.

"Oh, certainly," he said as he handed it over. "Maybe you can tell me what it really says. Merg, we're out of oatmeal but there is some milk left. Would you like some?"

The boy nodded eagerly. He was surprised when Jorgarn got out of his seat to get it for him.

"Thank you, sir," the boy said with downcast eyes when Jorgarn handed him the cup.

"I am Jorgarn," he replied. "I am not a sir. I am no more than you are. I was just accidentally born into a different family."

Renoit paused from his reading for a moment to consider what Jorgarn had said. It was obvious that he meant it. He pondered the implications of the statement.

"Hmm," he said to himself thoughtfully. It made a certain amount of sense to him.

Jorgarn looked to see what Renoit had read that was so interesting but he found the man staring at the wall.

"Find something?" Jorgarn asked.

Renoit snapped his attention back to the paper.

"What?" he asked. "Oh, no, sorry. I was just thinking about something."

Fieth elbowed his friend in the ribs.

"Thinking about how you wish you were dining with the Princess," he said with a smirk. He had put special emphasis on the word "dining."

Renoit sat up straight.

"No," he said. "Actually, I was just thinking about the accident of my birth."

He nodded toward Jorgarn.

"It makes sense, you know," he said. "I thank you for giving me something to consider. Now, from what I can glean, it is a formal invitation to dine tonight with the Royal Family. If it had said 'Royal Household' it would be an informal occasion. 'Royal Family' suggests that Princess Denae and Queen Lorida will be attendance and possibly Sir Torbert, as well. He is the King's brother, as you probably know. Ah..."

Renoit's finger traced a line at the end of the letter.

"Traditional dress is requested," he said with a puzzled look on his face.

"Perhaps they think I dine naked," Jorgarn said with a laugh. "I'm certain you two are thankful that is not the case. I know I'm glad you two don't eat that way."

Both Renoit and Fieth sat back quickly. They hadn't realized Jorgarn had a sense of humor at all. He had been serious and rigid during the entire day they had known him.

"It means you are asked to wear what you would wear to a formal dinner in Longview," a voice said from behind them. The trio turned around to see Sir Torbert standing in the doorway. He smiled brightly when he saw Merg drinking a cup of milk.

"There you are, you ragamuffin," Torbert said as he tousled the boy's blond hair. "You shouldn't have fed him. He'll be like a stray cat now, turning up at mealtime."

Torbert smiled at the boy again to show he wasn't serious.

"He looks like he could use it," Jorgarn rejoined with a laugh. "Don't you people at the castle feed him?"

"We had him checked for a hollow leg last month," Torbert said. "We're thinking of invading Velotta just to get enough food for him."

Again, Fieth and Renoit watched the byplay with interest. They would never have considered inviting the boy to dine with them and they certainly would never attempt to trade barbs with Sir Torbert. In fact, they had seen the Captain more in past day than in the preceding two months. But Jorgarn seemed as at home with the common boy as he was the King's brother.

"So, do you have clothes you can wear?" Torbert asked. The formality of the day before was gone. He no longer referred to Jorgarn as "Master Longview" or "Master Elmwood."

Jorgarn seemed unsure of the answer.

"I have never sat at a formal dinner," he answered. "They were infrequent in Longview. I have what would be considered state dress. Lady Eslada insisted that I might need finery. However, given what I saw from Master Symington, I am not certain what is considered finery in Longview is adequate for here."

"Bring it out," Torbert suggested. "I'll give my opinion but the ultimate decision is yours. No one will know the difference."

"If it is unacceptable to you, Jorgarn," Fieth said, "I'm certain between the three of us we can come up with something you deem appropriate."

Jorgarn nodded his thanks. When he pulled his tunic and pants from the bag, he was sorely disappointed.

"Cläda," he muttered. The bottom of the bag had gotten wet and his tunic and trousers were soaked along with his soft-soled boots.

"That is no way to talk," Sir Torbert chided jokingly. "What is the problem?"

"They are wet and I didn't unpack them yesterday," Jorgarn said as he looked helplessly at his clothing. His tunic was deep green and made from spun wool. The trousers were made from the same material but were light brown.

Torbert looked at them with a critical eye. The colors were more muted than the traditional garb of Emertland but he thought it would be a nice contrast and set Jorgarn off from the others who visited the King's table.