Sometimes it’s the heart, not the experience, that qualifies you for the job.
“Are you sure about this m’Lord?” the boy protested, “I’m only a squire.”
It was one of the reasons Joram liked him so much. The squire was only fifteen, bright and alert, eager to be of service, but also passionate to do what was right. That’s what counts, Joram told himself. The boy kept shaking his head in disbelief, but continued to prepare the horse as ordered. It would not be right for a squire to take a job from someone more worthy or important, so it was natural he should hesitate.
Joram placed a firm hand on the youths shoulder, “The King said I was to choose a man I can trust, not a man of station. You’re the only one I can trust implicitly, Josiah. So get that through your thick head.”
The youth looked embarrassed, smiling sheepishly at the compliment, “I won’t let you down, my lord.”
“Your job is ride hard and get to Andilain. Change horses at each village and ride through to the capital.” He handed the youth the paper, “This is a letter from the King, and it has the royal seal. If you have a need, or if anyone questions you, present this. Use it to get horses, supplies, anything. With Til-Thorin’s main force gone, we’ll need every man available if we’re to defend this keep, and the kingdom.”
“But sir,” the squire pleaded, “the capital is more than a weeks ride in one direction. Even if I do get an army to return, it will take weeks to march back to Til-Thorin…”
Joran smiled reassuringly and patted the youth on the shoulder. “We will defend the pass. You’re job is to deliver this to the Head Steward. Don’t concern yourself with anything else, Josiah.”
The boy hesitated, staring at the seal on the letter. A gust of wind passed between them, and with it, the scent of bread from the keeps kitchen. “Do,…I come back?”
Joram gave the youths forearm a firm squeeze, “Yes, Josiah, come back with the army.”
Hesitation transformed into relief.
Stepping back, Joram studied the boys outfit. Dressed warm, cloak, sword and a short bow strapped to the mount. He patted the small pouch of raw wheat attached to the saddle, “You won’t have time to eat, so suck on the wheat as you ride, chew it when it softens. I know it’s a hard ride, but you can do it.”
He grabbed the youth by both shoulders, “You’ll have one of the Rook at your side until you reach the valley. I know you’ve never ridden through the night before, but trust the horse. You’ll do fine.”
They both paused in the silence, then came together in a powerful embrace.
“The Gods be with you,” whispered Joram.
Josiah squeezed harder, “Have faith, father.”
Without delay, the youth threw himself up onto the mare and rode away from the stables in a flurry of dust. Joram watched his son join the waiting Rook at the front gate. The hooded elf raised a thin hand in gesture under the torchlight, then rode away. Joram’s heart beat heavy in his chest.
“Your son?” the voice came from the shadows between stables.
“Yes, sire,” said Joram. Josiah was gone from view, but Joram’s stare lingered on the gate. “Only fifteen and the finest man I have ever known.”
The King remained in the shadow of the building, watching the countenance of Til-Thorin’s captain. “You could have sent someone else.”
“Rumors of your betrayal among the people have grown over the years, sire. Whispers grew that you care more for the elves than you did for your own people. Rumors that have tainted the hearts of even the most stalwart of men.” The weight of the words caused the captain to round his shoulders and lower his head.
“There was a time, not long ago, when but two men were left in the Keep, besides Lord Garrif, who refused to yield to the whispers. Men who refused to participate in the backbiting, the arguments, the sedition spreading among your people. One who would die, rather than betray his king or shirk his duty…the other, inexperienced in faith, yet determined to prove his loyalty and subjection to duty, until he could develop it.”
The King shifted his stance, “So you send your son, that he may prove his loyalty to his King. I understand.”
Joram finally turned to face King Robert, head held low. “No, Sire. I am afraid you do not understand. I sent Josiah, that I may prove my own.”
