“It’s hard to say.” Thest shrugged. “Maybe no one; maybe one or two families. We seldom know exactly who’s traveling where.”
Korram considered this. “But if I could talk to a few families,” he began, “then they could spread the word to those they meet, and those in turn could spread the word to others.” And at that rate it would take years and years before all of them heard, he finished silently, knowing even as he said it that that was no way to recruit an army.
“There’s a quicker way to tell everyone of this idea,” put in Carch quietly. The old woman had not spoken much, but Korram could tell she had been absorbing everything he had said. Now, by their expressions, Korram knew there was something she and the others weren’t sure they should tell him about. Ernth was shaking his head hard, clenching one fist around something in his pocket; but most of the others looked uncertain. Biting his tongue, Korram waited.
“We should talk this over when Silanth and Korth are back,” Relth suggested finally. “They ought to hear this idea for themselves.”
What idea?
The others nodded. “Go away now,” Chun ordered Korram abruptly, “and we’ll call you back this evening.”
Korram spent most of the day exploring the valley and the surrounding area. He hiked up and down the steep slopes, waded across the stream that wound its way along the bottom, and surprised a family of rabbits in the bushes on the opposite side. Returning to camp for his bow, he spent an enjoyable hour or so hunting among the trees and brush before returning to his own camp with two fat rabbits. He handed one to Trayven to skin and roast for their noon meal and saved the other to take with him when he went back to talk to the Mountain Folk. Perhaps bringing a gift would make them a little friendlier toward him.
After lunch Korram found two more patches of lumjum growing on the slopes and picked several of the plants, proud of himself for recognizing them by their leaves. Cleaning the roots as he had seen Ernth do, he set them aside with the rabbit.
All day he kept one eye on the Mountain Folk busily working in their own camp and around the valley. Though he kept his distance, he could see that some of them were hunting or fishing, others gathering firewood or lumjum or other plants, still others sitting near the tents engaged in quiet projects. Even little Thisti and her brother Sench seemed as busy as the rest, and none of them stopped for lunch.
In the late afternoon, the flock of goats returned, two more of the Mountain Folk with them. Korram watched from a distance as the family herded them into the makeshift corral formed by their circle of tents and then proceeded to milk them.
Supper for Korram was leftover rabbit with fish that Trayven had caught, plus dried fruit from their packs. He could see the Mountain Folk partaking of their own supper around their fire, hear the low murmur of their voices as they ate. It wasn’t until after they had finished that one of them – Chun, he remembered after a quick glance at the family tree he had drawn – stood up and headed in his direction.
“Come back over,” Chun ordered, stopping a good distance away from Korram and Trayven as though reluctant to approach their camp.
Trayven snickered under his breath at the way the Mountain man had addressed the Prince of Malorn, and Korram shot the servant an irritated look. “I’m coming,” he replied, jumping to his feet and gathering up his gifts. “You clean up our supper things and water the mules,” he commanded Trayven over his shoulder, determined to remind the servant who was in charge here.
Dusk had fallen, and the large campfire cast flickering light across the faces of the Mountain Folk sitting around it. They looked up as he approached, eyes darting curiously to the rabbit and lumjum in his arms.
“I brought these for you,” he explained, setting them on the ground before seating himself in an empty spot in their circle.
Their faces were puzzled. “You want to trade them?” wondered a man Korram had not met yet – Korth, probably. “We only accept money for our milk.”
Korram shook his head. “No, they’re a gift, to thank you for being willing to talk to me. I thought maybe you could use them for your breakfast tomorrow.”
There was a startled silence, and Korram thought the family’s expressions showed both surprise and confusion.
“Lowlanders give gifts?” demanded Thisti, rising from her seat by her mother to peer at his offerings. “I thought they just take things away from people.”
“Not all Lowlanders are like that,” Korram told her. “Some of us want to treat you fairly. I would like to be friends, if you’ll let me.”
From beside her, little Sench pulled his thumb out of his mouth long enough to declare, “But all Lowlanders are enemies,” before popping it back in again. He sounded as though he were reciting a line he had heard his elders say over and over.
“We don’t have to be enemies,” Korram assured the little boy. “All that can change, especially if we work together; help each other.”
“We don’t need your help,” retorted a woman who must be Korth’s wife, Silanth. “But we heard how you want us to help you by joining this – this army, as you call it.”
“It’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard,” Ernth burst out. “You’re a Lowlander. Why would any of us want to join you, much less fight for you?”
“I explained my reasons earlier,” Korram replied, determined not to lose his temper. “Anyway, all I want is the chance to tell the rest of your people. Then they can all decide for themselves whether they’d like to join me. Didn’t you call me back to tell me how I can do that?”
Silence fell, and again they traded glances while Korram waited.
“The biggest question is, why should we trust you?” Thont, Thisti’s father, finally spoke up. There was a murmur of agreement all around the circle.
It was a good question, and Korram didn’t have an answer. “Well, I did come all the way up here from Sazellia,” he ventured.
Ernth laughed harshly. “Why should we care how far you came? You’re not one of us. You’re a Lowlander. We don’t trust your kind.”
“I’m the Prince of Malorn,” Korram shot back, tired of being called by less complimentary titles. “In a few more months I’ll be the king – the highest ruler in the kingdom. People all over Malorn know me and respect me.” Well, sort of. Those not on Rampus’s side.
Ernth laughed again. “Well, Prince of Malorn, we don’t. You Lowlanders are always murdering our people, or cheating us, or stealing from us. You’re probably just looking for a way to make us go back with you and work for you.”
Thont nodded. “You can’t expect us to trust you and want to join you just because you have some fancy Lowlander title. The fact is, you’re still a Lowlander, and your people have shown us again and again that we can’t trust any of you.”
“We can’t know what a person is like until we’ve been around him for a time,” gray-haired Carch spoke up. “Do you really want us to get to know you, boy?”
“Yes. Yes, I do. Then you’ll see that you can trust me.”
“That’s it,” murmured Korth, nodding. “That’s how we could do it.”
“You can’t be thinking that, Uncle,” Ernth protested. “We should just send him away. Even if we could trust him, why should we care about his plan?”
“Well, it would be useful to have money to buy more of the things we need,” Korth pointed out. “And it’s true about there being more and more Lowlanders around these days. There could be worse ideas than having a few of our people get experience in the Lowlands.”
“It would probably only be for a few moons,” put in Korram quickly. “And think of the adventure in traveling to new places!”
“You stay out of this,” Ernth snapped. He turned to the others. “He’s a Lowlander! We can’t trust him around the children. He’ll be a bad influence on them!”
“He probably will,” agreed Thorst. “But we can keep him at a distance. He doesn’t have to actually live in our camp.”
“But then how would we get
to know him properly?” Charr, Ernth’s sister, argued.
“We could just have him join us in our work,” Thorst suggested. “He doesn’t have to sleep here or eat every meal with us.”
There was a pause while they considered this, and then heads began to nod all around the circle, except for Ernth, who set his jaw stubbornly. “Well, then we’ll have to make sure we never leave him alone with our horses or goats. And every day we’ll have to talk over what he said and did and decide if he’s worth keeping around for another day.”
Thest, the old man, nodded. “That’s fair enough. Yes?” He glanced round the circle, and this time everyone nodded in agreement.
His wife Carch turned to Korram. “Well, boy, what do you say? Are you willing to do that for a while?”
Pushing down his growing irritation at being discussed as though he were not present, Korram nodded and forced a smile. “As Thest said, it’s fair enough. Then when you see you can trust me, you’ll explain how I can meet more of your people?”
“Perhaps,” Thest allowed grudgingly. “We’ll discuss it if the time comes.”
Korram awoke early the next morning, if it could even be called morning, to the sound of goats bleating and voices carrying across the hillside from the other camp. The baby – Chenth, he remembered, after a moment’s thought – cried briefly and then was still. From the bushes all around, he could hear the now-familiar chirp of crickets and other night insects.
Drowsily he crawled out from under the warm blankets and pulled on his clothes. Ducking out of the tent, he stood up and stretched, yawning in the chilly pre-dawn dimness. Overhead, the stars were just beginning to fade, and distant mountain peaks were silhouetted against a sky turning from black to gray. The three mules dozed peacefully nearby, tied to a tree branch, their saddles and packs a collection of dark lumps on the ground. Not a sound came from Trayven’s tent, but their neighbors had a fire lit, and they all seemed to be up and about already.
I’d better get over there and see what they want me to do. This would be an interesting experience for Korram. He was used to working hard and keeping busy; back at the palace most days were a long procession of lessons with his tutors, archery and fencing practice, High Council meetings, formal visits to and from dignitaries and nobles, and the occasional unavoidable ball or banquet that nearly bored him to death. But working with the Mountain Folk, he knew, would be a totally different kind of busyness.
He had grown accustomed to physical labor over the last few weeks of travel, and he knew he was stronger now than before he had set out. Life in the palace seemed so stifling sometimes; it felt good to hunt rabbits and gather firewood and set up a tent under the open sky. Now Korram was eager to learn the skills that made up the Mountain Folk’s lives. A future king should have firsthand knowledge about all the kinds of people in his kingdom.
He wondered if his father would have agreed. Korram had never heard him mention Mountain Folk back when he was alive, but he knew Father had regularly visited all sorts of businesses and industries around Malorn. Sometimes his son had been allowed to accompany him; those had been among the few occasions when the two of them had actually spent much time together. But to the best of his knowledge, Father had never gotten his hands dirty actually learning any of the skills or doing manual labor of any kind. I’ll be ahead of you there, Father.
Perhaps these experiences would even make him a better king than his father had been. The thought felt almost disloyal, but Korram allowed himself to think it with a defiant sort of pride. You never taught me much about how to be a good king, but I’m going to figure it out without your help. And it will start with a day of work among the Mountain Folk.
Remembering that they didn’t eat breakfast first thing in the morning, Korram bent over the food pack and dug out half a loaf of stale bread, purchased at the last village he and Trayven had stopped in over a week ago. He ripped a hunk off of it and chewed on his way over, excited at the thought that the Mountain Folk were letting him spend time with them while they considered his request.
Most of them were busy milking the goats, but Korth looked up and called him over. “Here, boy. Do you know how to milk a goat?”
“Not yet,” Korram admitted, stepping into the circle of tents. An unpleasant musky odor rose to meet him as he squatted down among the animals.
“Well, it’s like this,” explained Korth. “I’ll keep her still, and you take hold like so.” He guided Korram’s hands and showed him the squeezing, pulling motion that brought streams of creamy milk frothing into the wide-mouthed leather container below. “Careful, you’re spilling it on the ground! Here, aim for the pouch.”
Korram did his best, but it wasn’t easy. The thin jets of milk squirted every which way, including onto his clothes, and Korth kept scolding him for being too slow. The goat bleated continually with what Korram thought must be annoyance, and from all around, the men and women busy with the other goats kept looking over at him and chuckling. Finally, with an impatient grunt, the older man pushed him out of the way and took up the job himself. “Never mind. You hold her still, and I’ll finish it.”
Korram tried to watch and learn, but he could see that he would need a lot of practice to master the skill of milking. Korth was finished in just a moment, and when they stood up, Korram saw that the two of them were the last ones done.
They joined the others by the fire, where the fresh milk was being carefully divided up into smaller pouches. When these had been handed out to everyone, including Korram, the extra bags of milk were hung from a tree branch nearby. Perhaps they would be used in cooking later.
Korram thought it was encouraging that no mention was made of paying for the milk he had been handed. “You’re not much good at milking, are you?” observed Thisti from across the fire, a milk mustache smeared across her upper lip. Korram could feel himself turning red as everyone chuckled.
No one in the palace would dare to speak to me like that or to laugh at me. Of course, they would talk and laugh about him behind his back instead.
“Not yet, maybe,” he replied, controlling his annoyance, “but this was my first try. I’m going to get much better.”
“My father says no Lowlander could learn to do these things properly,” the girl announced.
“Hush, Thisti,” snapped Thont. “Finish your milk.”
When they were all done, Ernth and his cousin Thorst took up leather water flasks and filled a rabbit skin bag with leftover food from the night before. Then they drove the goats out of the enclosure and began to lead them across the valley while Therk took the empty milk pouches down to the stream to wash.
“Come with me, Lowlander,” Ernth’s father Chun ordered, picking up a woven basket that lay beside one of the tents. “Apparently you’ve had some experience picking lumjum. Let’s see if you can find some and show me you know what to do with it.”
Korram led the way to one of the lumjum patches he had found the day before, glad he had learned to recognize the dark bushy leaves growing amidst the grass and other shrubs. The sky was much lighter now, and it was easy to find and identify them. He spent the next half hour or so pulling up the bulbous roots with Chun, who watched him closely as though wondering if he would remember what to do. This time Korram made sure to kneel down as Ernth had before he pulled the roots up, and to his relief, he had no more embarrassing falls.
When their basket was full, they washed the lumjum and brought it back to camp. Most of the Mountain Folk had spread out to work around the valley, but Ernth’s aunt Silanth was sitting there skinning the rabbit Korram had brought last night. A large pot of water, its sides discolored with rust, was starting to boil, balanced on three rocks at one end of the large fire. At Silanth’s instruction, Korram took up a knife and chopped the lumjum into chunks, which she dropped into the pot. Then he helped Thest slice the rabbit meat into thin pieces, which the old man proceeded to fry up in a skillet on the other side of the fire.
When Carch judged the lum
jum to be sufficiently soft, Korram helped her pour out the water and mash the lumjum pieces in the pot with a wooden spoon. The old woman added some milk and broke in a handful of tiny eggs that Relth had climbed a tree to find. To Korram’s surprise, she added the meat that Thest had just finished cooking, stirring it all up into a lumpy gray-brown batter. In the fat left in the skillet, she dropped the batter a spoonful at a time, frying it on both sides until the little cakes were firm and golden brown.
When she had finished, Thisti and Sench were sent off running to call their older family members from around the area, and the Mountain Folk set aside their tasks and trickled back over to the fire for a late breakfast. Charr had gathered a stack of the large leaves they used as plates, and Therk brought a tin pail half full of water from the creek for people to rinse sticky hands in during the meal. Carch divided up the rest of that morning’s milk for everyone to share, and Thest handed out the food on Charr’s leaves.
There was a brief argument about whether or not Korram should be allowed to join them, but in the end the adults present voted five to four to let him stay.
Today’s lumjum cakes were completely different from the kind they had served yesterday, but Korram decided he liked them just as much. A little salt or gravy would have improved their flavor, but they made a hearty, wholesome breakfast.
After everyone had finished the meal, Korth and Silanth took Korram up to the opposite ridge to pick raspberries. Two of the horses trailed along behind, stopping to graze near the berry patch.
“Eat as you go,” Korth advised, popping a berry into his own mouth. He plucked several more and held them out to his horse, which ate them from his hand with obvious relish. “Our next meal won’t be until after the evening milking, so best eat from what you find while we work,” he told Korram.
By the time the sun was high in the sky, Korram’s back was aching from all the bending over, his hands were scratched and stinging, and trickles of sweat dripped off his face and down his neck. He was thirsty too, in spite of the juicy berries he had been munching. But he could feel the two Mountain Folk watching him, so he fixed his mind on the task, determined not to complain.
Prince of Malorn (Annals of Alasia Book 3) Page 7
