Honor Crowned by Michael G. Southwick Page B

couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had a chance to bathe.  At the moment, he didn’t have the energy to get up, let alone arrange for a bath. “Maybe in the morning,” he thought to himself.
    He was just drifting off to sleep when he felt a tingling at the back of his neck.  Before his mind had time to process the feeling, Jorem was on his feet, sword drawn.  An instant later, Neth and two others were at his side.  All of them were casting about, searching for signs of a threat.
    “What is it?” Neth asked.
    “Magic,” Jorem responded.
    No one questioned his source.  They just accepted that he knew something they didn’t and readied themselves for an attack.  Jorem closed his eyes to see if he could “see” where the magic source was.  When he perceived a slight sparkling, he turned toward it and opened his eyes.
    He faced the doorway, flanked on either side by the others.  The air in the doorway began to shimmer.  Slowly, the light from the hallway beyond the doorway dimmed until a black hole filled the entire door frame.  The tingling on Jorem’s neck intensified and he braced himself for whatever was to come.  A stick figure of a man in a black robe stumbled out of the blackness and fell to the ground.  The moment the man fell, the black hole disappeared.
    The man lay face down, the black robe twisted and tangled about his body.  Gray hair stuck up at odd angles from his head.  A groan escaped the man’s lips as he slowly rolled over.  The wrinkled old face peeking from behind the tousled gray hair and beard were not what Jorem was expecting, but it was a most welcome one.
    “Pentrothe!” Jorem exclaimed.
    Sheathing his sword, Jorem rushed to the wizard’s side.  Kneeling beside his prostrate friend, Jorem carefully helped him to his feet and straightened Pentrothe’s robe.  Pentrothe looked exhausted and the dark circles around his eyes seemed to deepen as Jorem watched.
    “Jorem?” Pentrothe asked with a doubtful look.
    “Yes sir, it’s me,” Jorem assured him.
    Pentrothe hesitated only a moment before wrapping his arms around Jorem and pulling him into a warm embrace.  Jorem, for his part, held the old wizard as tightly as he dared.  Pentrothe had never been a heavy man, but Jorem had never realized just how thin and bony he was.
    After far too short a time, Pentrothe released his grip.  Jorem stepped back and noticed that Neth and the others still had their weapons drawn, though they made no move to interfere.  Jorem motioned them back and they relaxed a little.  Neth still glared at the wizard with suspicion.
    “Pentrothe, what could possibly be so important you would risk using magic to bring yourself here?” Jorem asked, not bothering to hide his delight at his mentor’s appearance.
    Pentrothe seemed to come to his senses.  “My boy, the King has sent an assassin to eliminate you!”  Pentrothe gripped Jorem’s arm, his whisper of a voice even harsher than usual.  “You must beware.  Keep those you trust close about you.  Have your men…,” Pentrothe waved at the others in the room until his eyes lit on Jacobs.
    “You!” Pentrothe cried.  “Seize him!  He is the King’s blade!”
    Before things had a chance to get out of hand, Jorem stepped between Pentrothe and Jacobs.
    “Calm down!” Jorem ordered.  “Everyone calm down.  Jacobs and I have already discussed the situation and we’ve decided that, for now, we’ll refrain from killing one another.”
    “Actually,” Jacobs commented, “Prince Jorem spared my life.  I followed the King’s orders to the best of my ability and now I find myself with a life debt to Jorem.  Maybe if I follow him with the rest of you I’ll gain a little ground on the scales of life.”
    Pentrothe looked at Jorem in disbelief.  The others in the room eyed both wizard and assassin with equal distrust.  Jacobs held his hands out to his sides and held very still.  Jorem sighed and rubbed his forehead with