Prince of Malorn (Annals of Alasia Book 3)

by Annie Douglass Lima

  Korram didn’t bother to reply. He let Trayven pick up his pack as he strode toward the door, the servant trailing along behind.

  It had grown light outside, and a few early risers were out on the streets, probably heading for the morning markets to buy breakfast. So much for getting out of Sazellia without anyone seeing him leave. But at least this way Rampus couldn’t send anyone after him to kill him in public.

  The guards were still out there, talking quietly amongst themselves now – discussing the sudden change in plans, most likely. They fell silent and straightened up to stand at attention as Korram appeared, and one of them led his mule forward. Another brought two more mules to the front step of the inn, one saddled and the other loaded with bundles. Trayven strapped Korram’s pack onto the second animal along with the other bags and mounted the first one himself.

  Apparently I won’t be carrying my own luggage after all. But under the circumstances, Korram couldn’t complain. The road still stretched open and welcoming before him, the craggy peaks of the mountains ahead silhouetted against the dawn sky. He was still alive, and no guards were accompanying him. Soon he would be far away from Rampus and his control. There’s hope for my life and mission yet.

  Breathing a sigh of relief to be out of the regent’s presence, Korram kicked his mule into a trot and once more rode out to meet his destiny.

  Chapter 2

  Ernth stood on the ridge beside his cousin Thorst and gazed down into the valley below. Dozens of tents were scattered along the banks of the stream at the bottom – not normal tents made from soft goat hides or deerskin, but big, stiff, gray-green tents, angular and unnatural looking. Lowlander tents. Lowlanders themselves walked about or crouched over campfires around the valley, talking noisily as Lowlanders always did.

  Sniffing the smoke that rose through the cool evening air, Ernth wondered what nasty concoctions they were cooking up. He knew a hearty, wholesome meal of roast rabbit and lumjum cakes would be waiting for him and Thorst back home by the time they finished this job, and the thought perked him up a little.

  “Well, we definitely came at the right time of day,” Thorst pointed out, adjusting the three leather milk pouches that hung from the strap draped over his shoulder. “Some of those people are bound to want milk to go with their suppers. Come on; we may as well get it over with.”

  Ernth followed him down the slope, gripping his spear with one hand and steadying his own load of milk with the other, wishing they didn’t have to interact with these people. He couldn’t look at Lowlanders without thinking of what had happened a year and a half ago. He clenched his jaw, thinking of that awful day when everything had gone wrong. Jenth had barely breathed her last when a whole crowd of Lowlander villagers had come charging toward him with bows and clubs, and he had been forced to abandon her body and run for his life. He had caught up with Rith and then the two of them had found Otchen back with the flock, but the villagers were still coming. They had no choice but to leave the goats and flee, eventually managing to hide in thick brush some distance away. The three of them had finally staggered back into camp heartbroken, terrified, and not entirely sure that they hadn’t been followed.

  The family had been shocked, of course, and the rest of the day had been full of grief and fear. After dark, every able-bodied adult had seized a spear and crept back to the spot where the tragedy had happened to see if they could at least take back Jenth’s body for a proper burial and round up their scattered goats. They had found watch fires outside every building in the Lowlander village, armed men standing guard beside each one, anxious and alert. No doubt they were expecting Jenth’s family to return for revenge. The goats were nowhere to be found, but surprisingly, Ernth had discovered Jenth’s body lying in the meadow, her jacket folded neatly beside her and her spear lying nearby. The Lowlanders had obviously left her there for the family to find, probably so they wouldn’t have to bother disposing of her themselves.

  The family had buried her back by their campsite, placing the customary marker of heaped stones on top of her grave. On a large flat rock, Ernth had painstakingly drawn the story of her death with the point of a knife. Eventually the weather would wear it away, but for the next few years at least, anyone who passed by would know what had happened.

  Though Ernth had rejoined his own family after the next Mid-Autumn Gathering, he knew that Otchen and his family were still struggling, still trying to rebuild their flock with a few goats they had traded from others. And it was all the Lowlanders’ fault. As far as Ernth was concerned, every one of them was to blame. His fingers clenched around the scrap of Lowlander trash he carried around in the pocket of his tunic. He had chosen to keep it with him as a reminder of Jenth’s death, of why he hated all Lowlanders.

  But his family needed supplies, needles and thread and a new cooking pot to replace the one that rust was eating holes in, and for that they needed money. If Ernth and Thorst could get a good price from selling their milk to these miners today, it might be enough to buy what they needed at Zumin’s Creek, the Lowlander town he knew lay a day and a half from here.

  At least that’s one good thing about these mining camps, Ernth thought, using his spear as a staff to keep his balance as he trudged down the steep slope. Fresh supplies are so hard for the miners to come by that they’re usually willing to pay plenty for what we have to offer. When they want it at all.

  The Lowlander by the closest tent sat back on his heels and watched Ernth and Thorst suspiciously as they approached. He cradled a saucepan full of some disgusting-looking mixture in his arms as though he thought they might try to steal it. His colorful, flimsy Lowlander clothes were faded and threadbare. “What are you doing here in Nugget, Mountain Folk?” he demanded.

  Bristling at his tone, Ernth hefted one of the leather pouches hanging from his shoulder. “We’re selling milk. You want some?”

  “No. Why would I want to buy milk? There’s free water in the stream here.”

  Ernth shrugged, and he and Thorst moved on toward the next tent, staying near the edge of camp where it felt safer.

  “Do you want to buy some goat milk?” Thorst asked the next man as they approached.

  Straightening up from over the fire he was trying to build, the man pulled a grimy-looking square of cloth from his pocket and paused to wipe his sweaty forehead. “How much?” he demanded, his eyes darting from one to the other of them suspiciously.

  Ernth untied one of his pouches and held it out. “Ten coppers if you just drink it. Add an extra piece of silver to keep the pouch.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” the man protested. “It wouldn’t cost a third of that back in Sazellia.”

  “What are you going to do, go back to Sazellia to buy some?” Thorst challenged. “You want fresh milk up here, this is what it costs.”

  “Is it really fresh?” the man inquired doubtfully. “The last time I bought milk from one of you Mountain Folk, it went sour before supper time.”

  “It’s from this evening’s milking,” Ernth assured him. He uncorked the bag and let the Lowlander take a sniff. “You can put the pouch in the stream to keep cool if you aren’t going to drink it right away.”

  The man sighed. “I wouldn’t even consider it except that I’ve got my son to think of.” He glanced toward the stream where a couple of half-dressed youngsters were splashing and playing in the water. “I suppose a growing boy ought to have some milk now and then. Goodness knows he’s been without plenty of other things since we came here. But that’s all right; any day now I’ll strike it rich and then we can go back to the city and make a better life for ourselves.”

  He fished in his pocket and pulled out a drawstring bag, counting out ten copper coins and one silver one into Thorst’s hand. Ernth handed over one of their bags of milk, and he and his cousin continued toward the next tent.

  “What are Mountain Folk doing here without horses?” the next man demanded, looking up from the dish he had just filled for himself. “Don’t you fell
ows have horses you bring everywhere?”

  “Not everywhere,” Ernth told him stiffly. “Do you want to buy some milk?”

  “No, but I’ll buy a horse,” the man told them, shoveling food into his mouth, “especially if you have one that isn’t too big. I need one to pull the ore cart in my mine over yonder.” He jerked his chin toward the opposite slope.

  “We don’t sell our horses,” Ernth growled, bristling at the thought of his precious Hungry tied to a cart in some dark tunnel.

  “Are you sure? I can pay you in pure gold. I’ve got me a pretty good mine, you know. It hasn’t produced a lot yet, but I know it’s only a matter of time. If you give me the horse now, I can probably pay you by –”

  “No!” snapped the two cousins in unison. They pushed past the fellow, both scowling furiously at the thought of handing someone they loved over to this odious Lowlander.

  Two men standing in front of a nearby tent had heard the conversation and waved them over.

  “Do you want –” began Thorst, holding out a milk pouch, but one of the men cut him off.

  “You Mountain Folk know this area pretty well, right? How about telling us the best place to dig for gold?”

  “We’re here to sell milk, not help you mine,” Ernth informed him. “Do you want to buy some?”

  “No, but we’ll pay you to work for us,” the second man put in in a wheedling tone. “Listen, we can make it worth your while. Lead us to the best spots, and we’ll pay …” he paused and glanced at his friend.

  “We’ll pay you a hundredth share of everything we get,” the other man finished. “You’ll be the richest Mountain Folk in the tribe! What do you say?”

  The offer wasn’t even worth replying to. Ernth and Thorst turned their backs and moved on, looking for likelier customers.

  A moment later they heard someone calling out to them. “Hey! Hey, you two over there! You Mountain Folk!”

  Instinctively, they both gripped their spears as they spun around. But the fat Lowlander waving at them from the mouth of a tent across the water didn’t look hostile.

  “Is that milk you’ve got?” he called over the gurgling of the stream.

  “Yes,” Ernth called back as he and Thorst made their way toward him. “You want to buy some?”

  “Yes! Yes, I do! Wait a moment.” The man turned to tie the flap of his tent closed, rolled up the legs of his gray cloth breeches, and pulled off his shoes. Even from this distance, they could smell the stink of his filthy socks. But the Lowlander pulled those off too and splashed across the stream toward them, a broad grin on his sunburned face. “I want to buy all the milk you’ve got,” he told them, panting. “Five pouches? Is that all you have?”

  Ernth and Thorst exchanged surprised glances. “For now, yes,” Thorst told him. “We could come back with more after tomorrow morning’s milking.”

  “Yes, all right.” The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen any of you Mountain Folk here in Nugget. I’ve been wanting milk for a long time.” Then he hesitated. “Actually, do you know what I really want?” He paused, gazing from one to the other as though to make sure he had their full attention.

  Ernth didn’t care what the man wanted as long as he gave them his money. But Thorst raised his eyebrows. “What?”

  The Lowlander hesitated. “I don’t suppose you’d consider selling me one of your goats as well?”

  Once again Ernth and Thorst exchanged glances. It was not an unreasonable request, though of course they would have to check with the rest of the family first. True, their goats were an important part of their lives, but not in the way the horses were. They could probably spare one. It would mean one less to slaughter before winter, a little less dried meat to see them through the cold weather, one less skin to tan and sew into a mat or part of a new coat or tent. But if they could get a good price for their goat, the supplies they could buy would more than make up for the loss.

  “I use the milk to make cheese,” the man explained, as though they cared. “I owned a dairy back before I came up to make my fortune in the Impassables, and I brought some of my equipment with me. If I can just get access to a steady supply of milk, I can set up business here and make money selling cheese to the other miners. I’m sure it would be a lot more profitable than working myself to the bone all day just for a pinch of gold dust or the occasional nugget when I’m lucky.”

  Which means he’ll probably be willing to pay almost any amount we ask. Ernth guessed by Thorst’s grin that his cousin was thinking the same thing.

  “Come on, then,” Thorst offered, gesturing through the camp and back up the slope. “We’ll have to talk to our family, but I think we can probably work something out.” He led the way, the man puffing along barefoot behind him, Ernth bringing up the rear to keep an eye on the stranger just in case. You never knew, with Lowlanders.

  The man waited at the top of the slope while the two of them descended into the next valley where their family was camped. After the ugly Lowlander camp, the gentle humps of their six mottled tents beside the grazing horses were a relief to the eyes. The goats chewed their cuds peacefully from within the circle of tents, the family busy at various tasks nearby. Just the sight of his home made some of the tension Ernth always felt around Lowlanders start to fade.

  The savory aroma of roasting rabbit tantalized their nostrils as they approached. Though they hadn’t been gone long, Hungry and Thorst’s horse, Blisters, both raised their heads and trotted over, nickering in welcome as the two young men patted their necks and stroked their soft noses. As if we could ever sell our horses. Lowlanders don’t know anything.

  The family gathered around and the two of them shared their news. After a quick eight-to-three vote, they agreed to sell one of their animals, the only question being how much money they should ask for. Never having sold a goat before, they didn’t know the going rate.

  “Ten pieces of gold,” Ernth’s mother suggested.

  “I’m sure a goat would be worth more than that,” Uncle Korth objected. “And even if it isn’t, it sounds as though this fellow might be willing to pay quite a bit.”

  “We should ask for at least double that, and then we can bargain down if he says it’s too expensive,” Ernth’s older sister Charr suggested.

  “Thirty,” Uncle Korth decided, and everyone nodded their agreement.

  “Can I come?” demanded little Thisti, jumping up and down in her eagerness. “Can I come back with you and see the Lowlander? I never saw one up close before!”

  “No, Thisti,” Charr replied, squatting down to wrap an arm around her young daughter. “Lowlanders are dangerous. You’re staying here with me.”

  Thisti crossed her little arms and stuck out her lower lip in a pout as Uncle Korth chose their oldest goat from out of the flock. Korth and Mother returned with Ernth and Thorst and the five pouches of milk that the Lowlander hadn’t paid for yet. They found the man waiting where they had left him at the crest of the ridge.

  “Thirty gold coins? I’m afraid that could be a problem,” the man admitted when they named their price. He stroked the goat’s white head and fondled her ears. “Thirty is a bit expensive, but by gold country standards, I suppose it isn’t an unreasonable price. Unfortunately, it’s more money than I’ve got at the moment.” He emptied his pockets, showing them a handful of silver and copper with two lone gold coins crowning the little pile.

  “However, there is another option, if you’d be willing to consider it.” Stuffing the money back into his pocket, he glanced around as though to make sure no one else was watching, and then reached into the front of his tunic and pulled out a little bag that hung from a string around his neck. While they watched, he emptied the contents of the bag into his palm and showed them three small, shiny-bright pebbles.

  “I dug up these gold nuggets the other day,” he told them in a low, excited voice. “I’ve been putting off a trip to Zumin’s Creek – the closest tow
n with a gold office – because the government takes a full ten percent in taxes now. It’s robbery! Citizens aren’t supposed to do business with unprocessed gold except to trade it in for money at the nearest gold office, but no one has to know, right?” He picked up the biggest of the lumpy little nuggets between a grimy thumb and forefinger and carefully emptied the others back into his bag. “This one here is worth a fair bit more than what you’re asking, but I’d be willing to trade it for the goat and those five bags of milk. You see, if I went and turned it in for cash, I’d lose out on a tenth of the value. You could take it to the gold office down in Zumin’s Creek and tell them you dug it up yourself, and they’d give you what it’s worth fair and square.”

  Ernth stared at the man, trying to understand what he was talking about and figure out if he was telling the truth. Taxes, offices, governments, and percents were as foreign to him as lumjum, blizzards, snowcats, and spear making probably would be to this fellow. As a rule, Ernth mistrusted all Lowlanders, and yet this one did seem to be sincere. He had shown them his money, after all, and his obviously precious collection of gold pebbles. Considering that the four of them could easily have overpowered him and taken all he had – which was a tempting idea – he was showing great trust in them at the moment. Grudgingly, Ernth admitted that he was probably not trying to deceive them.

  “But if we take the gold to that office to get the money, won’t the government take some of it from us too?” his mother wondered.

  The man chuckled. “That’s the good part. You’re Mountain Folk. Everyone knows Mountain Folk don’t pay taxes. You don’t use any of the services that the government provides, after all. You don’t travel on the roads or receive protection from the military or send your children to school. Lucky you, you’re the only group of people in Malorn who don’t get taxed.”

  The four of them looked at each other, smiles starting to replace the hesitation in their faces. “We’ll do it,” Uncle Korth decided, speaking for all of them as the oldest one present.