Froi of the Exiles (52 page)

‘You need to hold on tighter,’ Froi ordered as Lirah and Quin-tana galloped past them.

‘Why?’

‘Because I’m one of those reckless fools with a need for speed.’

Halfway up the Turlan Mountains Froi knew they were being watched. He pulled at the reins and stopped their horse, looking around at rock, wild tufts of dull brown grass and little else. Someone who knew how to stay concealed was out there and Froi was not taking chances. He steered his horse to Quintana and Lirah’s, circling them.

‘If I say bolt, you head down the mountain,’ he said quietly to Lirah, who was holding the reins. ‘Regardless of what she says,’ he added, his eyes meeting Quintana’s.

Arjuro rode up beside them. ‘This is a mistake,’ Arjuro said. ‘There’s something strange here and that’s not the coward in me speaking. It’s the gods’ blessed.’

‘Which is exactly why we’re here, Priestling,’ Quintana said.

Gargarin made a sound of displeasure. ‘They’ve not come down this mountain to speak for themselves for more years than I can remember, Your Majesty,’ he said. ‘So they’re going to be suspicious of anyone travelling through their land.’

‘Find me someone in Charyn who is not suspicious,’ she said. ‘Come. We’re wasting time.’

Later that afternoon, they came across a lone cottage and a hound accompanied them for a stretch before turning back. Froi could see that the peak of the mountain was at least another day’s ride and that they would have to stop soon to set up camp. The autumn days were short and he didn’t want them travelling in the dark. Soon after, however, they reached a village and from where they sat astride their horses, Froi could see views of Jidia below. Depending on the Turlan numbers, any army that chose to ride up that mountain didn’t stand a chance.

In an instant, they were joined by one man after another – from cottages, stables and further up the mountain – and as Froi had suspected, some of the men had followed them from the mountain below. They were accompanied by their goats and cattle and even a family of ducks decided to join in. But no women. Froi cared little for the way they stared at Lirah and Quintana. Although there was no trace of the malevolence seen in the Citavitan street lords, the Turlans were ripe with a barely suppressed spirit that unnerved Froi. They were called mountain goats by the rest of the kingdom and in his entire existence, Froi had never seen men with so much hair sprouting from heads, faces, arms, chests. They were solid, unlike most Charyn men he had come across.

When they dismounted, Gargarin led Froi and the others to what looked like an outdoor ale house. The younger Turlans shoved at Froi as he passed them.

‘They’re just playing with you,’ Gargarin said quietly. ’Do not react.’

‘I was never one for playing with others,’ Froi snarled.

His anger seemed to excite the Turlan lads even more.

A man clothed in calf hide and a fleeced coat approached, his hair long and coarse and fair.

‘We’re on our way to Paladozza and hoped to beg a place to stay for the night,’ Gargarin said. Froi was impressed by the lack of fear in his voice and his very practical aim of securing accommodation for them all.

Before another word was spoken, the man walked to Arjuro and backhanded him across the face. Arjuro toppled to the ground and Froi charged for the Turlan. Instantly, two others grabbed both his arms. Gargarin was at his brother’s side, fury in his expression.

‘We come in peace and you greet us like the enemy!’ he shouted.

The man spoke a strange dialect and Froi watched Gargarin shake his head with confusion. Arjuro tried to lift himself from the ground.

‘We have no one you want,’ Quintana said. She turned to Gargarin. ‘That’s what he said. “
We have no one you want
.” ’

Arjuro sat up, wiping blood from his mouth.

‘We are searching for the dying man of Turla,’ Quintana announced coldly.

The man stared, as if noticing her for the first time. He walked towards her and roughly grabbed Quintana’s face in his hand. She snarled and bit his hand and Froi struggled against those holding him back.

‘Why travel over the mountain when you can take the pass?’ the man spoke in Charyn. He seemed to be the authority in the village. Perhaps even the mountain. His question was directed at Gargarin.

‘The girl dreams of the dying man of Turla. That’s all we can tell you,’ Gargarin said with honesty. ‘My brother is the last Priestling of the Citavita godshouse and a physician. It may be that he has a purpose here.’

The Turlan leader continued to study Quintana’s face. ‘Is she a lastborn?’ he asked warily. There was silence until Quintana nodded. There was regret on the Turlan’s face and he shook his head.

‘We will not protect her, so don’t even ask,’ he said. ‘We have enough of our own to protect.’ He stood before Arjuro, who was still on the ground.

‘My name is Ariston and I’m leader of this village,’ he said. ‘The first time I saw the dying man of Turla, I was a boy. That was forty-five years ago and the one thing I remember him shouting was not to trust the men in black robes, for they will take your children.’ The Turlan’s eyes were hard. ‘We may not have children to speak of, Priest, but if you bring harm to any of my people I will choke you by the hood of your robe.’

Arjuro stared. ‘The Priests would never take a child.’

‘Are you calling me a liar?’ Ariston asked.

‘No,’ Arjuro said. ‘I’m saying you’re mistaken.’ He looked at Quintana. ‘Now more than ever I need to meet this dying man to know the truth.’

Ariston of Turla studied them all. ‘The dying man lives on the other side of the mountain, half a day’s ride from here. I’ll lead you there myself soon enough.’ He turned his attention back to Gargarin. ‘Your name.’

‘Gargarin of Abroi.’

There was a snicker. One of the Turlans made a sheep sound at the word Abroi. Froi started counting. The moment they let him go he was going to have to hurt someone.

‘And your women?’ Lirah asked tersely. ‘Are they not here to greet us?’

Ariston appraised her with satisfaction.

‘At this time each year, the women travel up the mountain before they make a sacrifice to the goddess of winter to protect us through the cold months. They cleanse their spirits, for the goddess will not accept their gifts if they smell of the stench of man.’

‘A wise goddess indeed,’ Lirah said. ‘You have no reason to hold back our lad, so let go of him now.’

Ariston gave a signal to his men to let go of Froi.

‘Tomorrow we hunt the wild boar to prepare a feast for the women. Your lad there looks strong. It’s a privilege that we allow him to join us.’

‘Joust!’ one called out. Another stepped forward to shove Froi back. Another thumped at his own chest twice.

‘Our younger men have felt a need to relieve the tension.’ Ariston laughed.

‘Our lad isn’t one for fighting,’ Gargarin said in a dismissive tone.

‘Who are you trying to fool, Gargarin of Abroi? Your lad came up this mountain with a fight in his spirit and an eye out for danger.’

There was a shrewd, questioning look on Ariston’s face. They may have been mountain goats, but they were no fools.

‘We might want to keep him for ourselves.’

They weren’t quite savage, Froi thought the next day. Just untamed. As though up in these mountains they had become one with the wild. They were coarse, and quick with a bow, and he managed to please them by taking part in the hunt and contributing at least one arrow to the boar they caught. But for all their fierceness and skill, they were vain. Froi had seen peacocks once and the men of Turla resembled them in the way they strutted. Sometimes, back in Lumatere, Finnikin would imitate the way the Mont lads walked. He’d take off his shirt and pound at his chest and he’d walk in the same way they had seen birds walk in Yutlind. The Queen and Froi would laugh at the sight of his lanky milk-white body. But the Monts had nothing on these men.

Display followed display of their might, yet they never tired of competing or showing off. A joust. Sword challenges. Target practice. Races of speed. Races of endurance. Every sentence spoken between them was a challenge.

That night there was a feast, but still no women. The ale was plentiful and that made Arjuro happy, at least.

After dinner was wrestling, just in case the men of Turla had not had enough of an opportunity to show their skills and attributes. They had an annoying habit of finding any opportunity to walk around Quintana and Lirah with bare chests and their trousers worn low. Rings pierced their bodies in places that made Froi wince at the thought of the pain inflicted. Lirah did nothing more than roll her eyes with irritation, but Quintana seemed strangely relaxed with the Turlans in a way Froi hadn’t seen before. Then one of the younger men decided to carry over a litter of pups to her and Froi thought Quintana the Indignant was back when she allowed the dogs to lick her face. He’d prefer Quintana the Indignant to appear right about now. She was an innocent when it came to men. This Quintana understood desire. She had proven it that night they were together. And now in the way she allowed the Turlan lads to stand so close.

‘It’s a primitive bond,’ Arjuro explained. ‘They’re mad. She’s mad. Don’t try to compete.’

‘Why would I possibly want to do that?’ Froi snapped, eyeing the way her face lit up each time a Turlan spoke to her, young or old. He could see from gestures that one was explaining the rules of wrestling to her, which was ridiculous because there were no rules at all. The young Turlan even dared to place an arm around her shoulders as he pointed at what was taking place in the match. Froi wanted nothing more than to pull the ring on the man’s chest through the flesh and cause as much pain as was humanly possible.

After what seemed like an hour of men in bare chests rolling around in dirt, a stocky lad with an abundance of hair came to stand before Froi. He waved two hands towards himself in an invitation to fight.

‘A friendly wrestle, perhaps?’ Ariston called out from where he sat beside Gargarin.

Gargarin waved the offer away on Froi’s behalf.

‘Our lad is bashful,’ he said.

The Turlan who sat beside Quintana heard the words and whispered something in her ear. Froi saw her lip curl in amusement.

He leapt to his feet and removed his shirt.

‘The thing is,’ Arjuro said, rubbing the ointment on Froi’s bruised body later that night in the cooper’s cottage the five of them shared. ‘I probably would have stayed down the tenth time the human bear had your head between his thighs.’

‘Did you not hear me call out to stay down that last time?’ Lirah said.

‘He’s never been one to listen,’ Gargarin muttered, sitting opposite Lirah at the table, scribbling in his journal. ‘Deserves all the pain.’

Froi closed his eyes, wincing. ‘I would so appreciate it if everyone refrained from expressing an opinion.’

When he opened his eyes again he felt the force of Quintana’s stare.

‘There’s no shame in losing against the Turlans,’ she said.

‘I didn’t lose,’ he said, just as Arjuro finished. Froi got to his feet, really wanting desperately to stay calm. ‘And you would have known that if you had watched instead of playing with those yappy dogs at the exact moment I snatched victory!’

Quintana’s stare continued, but she refrained from speaking.

‘And I’ll have you know that not once have I lost a fight this year against anyone from the Lumateran Queen’s Guard!’ he added, sitting next to Lirah, who was trying to remove blood from the trousers he had worn in the wrestle.

‘You said they were forty years in age, Froi,’ Quintana said, irritated. ‘Can you honestly compare the Turlan lads to the old?’

Arjuro made a rude sound. Even Gargarin looked up from his writing, slightly wounded by her words.

‘The younger men would like us both to join them for tale-telling time,’ she said.

‘Wonderful idea,’ Arjuro said. ‘Perhaps you can join them and they can pierce both your bodies with blunt instruments and leave us old and decrepit alone to get some rest.’

Quintana turned her stare to Arjuro. After a moment she smiled. ‘You’re very funny, Priestling. The funniest man we know.’

Arjuro was wary of her mood. ‘What?’ he asked. ‘Funnier than Bestiano? Because I hear he is hilarious.’

This time she laughed and then Lirah joined in and Froi couldn’t help laughing himself, although it caused him pain. He caught Gargarin’s stare.

Quintana reached out and touched Lirah’s mouth and then Froi’s.

‘When you laugh, you look like your boy, Lirah.’

Princess Indignant was back the next morning as they prepared to leave. She spent her time skipping after the hound pups, looking up at Gargarin longingly.

‘Are they not the most beautiful pups you’ve ever seen, Gargarin? It’s as if the gods are begging us to take –’

‘No,’ Gargarin said firmly.

Ariston joined them on horseback and Froi had a feeling it was more about keeping an eye on them, than the need to help.

‘We missed your women last night, Ariston,’ Gargarin said smoothly. ‘Is the goddess of winter keeping them from you?’

‘The cleansing takes time,’ Ariston replied.

Gargarin and Ariston spoke amongst themselves most of the way up the mountain. From what Froi could hear it was mostly about produce and irrigation and it wasn’t hard to see that both men were impressed with each other, despite their lack of trust and the very little they had in common.

Froi and the others were quiet for the rest of the way and he could see that Arjuro was curious about this strange visit to the dying man. No matter how much Arjuro had tried for the last two nights he had not uncovered the reason for Ariston’s warning against the godshouse Priests. Froi wondered what had taken place forty-five years ago on an isolated mountain peak to warrant such an accusation.

As Ariston had promised, it was half a day’s ride and Quintana slept against Froi’s back most of the way.

‘Why is she always tired?’ he asked Lirah.

‘Because she’s making a baby,’ Lirah said quietly to prevent Ariston from hearing. ‘In the first few months when I was carrying mine I was weary to the bone.’