At last he stopped, panting, to gather up what was left of his temper. He was still furious, but he had to take control of himself. He didn’t know if he would ever see Trayven again, but if he wasn’t careful, he would never see his family or his home again either. I have to make a new plan. All his plans so far had assumed he would have access to basic supplies while he was up here in the mountains.
Taking a deep breath and letting it out in a sigh, Korram turned and began to trudge back down the slope, still trying to wrap his mind around what had happened. Trayven had left him with nothing. Yes, he had known all along that the servant must be a spy for Rampus, and he hadn’t really liked the man, but he had never expected to be robbed by him. Was this Trayven’s revenge for being dismissed? Surely he knew he would never get away with his crime once Korram returned home. If Korram was able to return home, of course; if he didn’t perish out here without his supplies.
So was the servant planning to sell everything and start a new life somewhere where no one would find him? Korram’s sword alone would be worth a lot of money. Or – an unnerving thought – was marooning the prince in the wilderness with no provisions an indirect assassination attempt? Maybe Rampus did tell him to kill me, and this was the only way he knew how.
If so, Korram vowed fiercely, it would not succeed. He would find a way to survive and return to the Lowlands, and when he did, he would hunt Trayven down and see that he received full payment for services rendered.
But what do I do in the meantime? He had no tent or blankets for the night, no supper, no fishing gear or bow and arrows to hunt a supper, no flint and steel to start a fire – the list of what he didn’t have was endless. In short, he was stranded in the Impassables with only the clothes on his back and the ring on his finger, at the mercy of the Mountain Folk.
In this gloomy frame of mind, Korram pushed through the trees and approached the fire where his neighbors were all gathered, enjoying what smelled like a delicious meal. His stomach growled with an unnecessary reminder that he had eaten nothing since morning, and he swallowed hard. He didn’t know what to say when they all looked up at him from their goatskin mats.
There was a moment’s silence, and then Relth rose to her feet. “Here, come and join us. We’ve enough to share. And we’ve been talking about you.”
Most of the others nodded, shifting around to enlarge the circle. Not moving aside to avoid him, as they had done that first day, but merely rearranging themselves to make room.
Gratefully, Korram sat and accepted the wing and drumstick Carch handed him on one of the large leaves they used for plates. Chun passed him a pouch of milk and Therk gave him a pile of boiled leafy vegetables on another leaf.
There was little conversation while they ate, but young Sench, beside him, suddenly looked up from his own supper and put a sticky little hand on Korram’s knee. “I sorry your friend went away,” he whispered with his mouth full, and Korram’s heavy heart stirred at the unexpected compassion.
“Thank you,” he replied gruffly, not bothering to explain that Trayven had never been his friend. He felt his dark mood lift just a little.
When everyone had finished eating, they rinsed their hands from the water pail and wiped them dry on their clothes. Then, finally, Thest spoke up. “Well, boy, Thorst and Relth have told us what you told them earlier. We’ve agreed that it might be a good idea to speak to the rest of our people about how you plan to help us. If you can solve our Lowlander troubles, there are many who would follow you. Besides, we’ve watched you a long time now, and you don’t treat us like the other Lowlanders do.”
“There’s still a problem, though,” Ernth muttered from across the fire, but his sister Charr shushed him.
“But first, we want to see what you can actually do to change how Lowlanders treat us,” Thest continued. “We’ve been needing some supplies anyway, so in the morning we’ll break camp and move on, and in a couple of days we’ll come to a Lowlander town. We’ll see what you can do there to make them treat us fairly, and if we like what we see, we’ll consider helping you find a way to talk to all our people.”
The way he said it made it sound as though he already had a plan in mind, and Korram felt his spirits lift a little more. There is a way, then.
That night Korram curled up restlessly in Ernth’s tent, wrapped in a borrowed fur blanket. Ernth had objected indignantly, of course, but the family had voted, and in the end he had given in. As the only unmarried adult, he was the only one with a tent to himself, and there was nowhere else for Korram to sleep. Ernth had immediately volunteered to take the first watch that night, and had volunteered Korram for the next shift, probably so that he would have to be near him as little as possible.
When Korram awoke the next morning, still tired after keeping an eye on the camp for two hours in the middle of the night, Ernth had already left the tent. Korram crawled out to join the others, feeling an unaccustomed sense of belonging at waking up in the Mountain Folk camp. Thisti, rubbing her eyes, gave him a sleepy smile, and several of the others nodded in greeting or wished him a good morning. It was like being part of a family again, though a much larger family than Korram had ever had.
No one took the goats off to pasture that morning. As soon as they had finished their milk, cleaned up, and put out the fire, the Mountain Folk packed their belongings and loaded them onto the horses. Korram was interested to notice that the horses all stood quietly, though not tied to anything or restrained in any way. He had noticed before that the Mountain Folk didn’t use saddles, and now he saw that even their bridles were quite simple, consisting merely of a circle of leather fitted loosely around the horse’s face a few inches below the eyes. The reins – a long looping strap – fastened to it on either side. The horses were so docile and seemed so genuinely attached to their owners that apparently nothing more was needed to control them. Even now, as the Mountain Folk shouldered packs of their own and prepared to set off down the valley on foot, Korram saw that they were guiding their horses with only the loosest of holds on the reins. Some of them merely rested an affectionate hand on their horses’ withers, others draped an arm around the animals’ necks, and the party was off.
They traveled for the rest of that day, keeping a leisurely pace because of the goats, who wouldn’t be hurried. Through pine-scented woodlands, across flower-dotted meadows, up and down shale-covered slopes and along winding valleys, the little group made their way deeper into the Impassables. They stopped for breakfast and other short rests now and then, and once they paused to pick and munch on some berries they found growing along the way. Shortly before dark, they made camp in the tall grass by a stream surrounded by jagged crags.
The next day they reloaded the horses and set out again just after the morning milking. That day’s travel was much like the one before, until Thorst called a halt at about midafternoon. They stopped and unloaded their horses beside another of the many little rivers that laced the Impassables like threads across a garment. Downstream, a small town lay spread out on both sides of the water, two separate bridges straddling the banks, half a dozen dirt roads crisscrossing here and there between the buildings.
It was strange to see an actual settlement after so many weeks in the wilderness. Korram, who had been enjoying the open freedom of the mountain slopes, couldn’t quite decide if he was glad of this glimpse of civilization or not. He and Trayven had stopped to buy supplies in two separate towns before they had found the Mountain Folk, but that seemed long ago now. Both times Korram had said nothing of who he was and ordered Trayven not to address him by title. He had kept a close eye on the servant for fear he would try to leave a message for someone to take to Rampus, and the two of them had left again as soon as they had what they needed.
“I wonder what town this is,” he murmured now, trying to work out exactly where in Malorn they were.
“The Lowlanders call it Nilvey,” Thont replied, squinting down at the timber buildings. “We’ve been here a few times for suppl
ies, and it’s the only place near here where we can buy the needles and thick thread we need to make winter shoes.”
“Oh, I’ve heard of Nilvey,” Korram told them. “So we’re in Southeast Malorn, further south than I thought.”
This didn’t seem to mean anything to the others. “Doesn’t matter where we are, Lowlanders are Lowlanders,” Thont told him. “They cheat and mistreat us here as much as anywhere else.”
“I’m sure not all of them do that,” objected Korram.
Without warning, Charr began to laugh, and the others turned to her in surprise. “I’ll tell you what,” she exclaimed, her eyes alight with her idea. “Here.” She tugged at the deerskin jacket her husband Thont had tied around his waist. Pulling it free, she handed it to Korram. “Put this on.”
“Why?” demanded Korram and Thont together.
“Just do it.” Charr pointed at Korram’s feet. “And take off those Lowlander shoes of yours. It won’t hurt you to go barefoot for a while like the rest of us.”
“Why?” Korram repeated, not liking her commanding tone.
“So you’ll look more like us, of course. Let the Lowlanders in the town think you’re one of us, not one of them, and watch and see how they treat you. Then you’ll understand what it’s like.”
The others chuckled, and finally Korram shrugged and did as he had been told. Why not humor them for now?
After a quick vote, it was decided that Thest, Thont, Ernth, and Charr would accompany Korram into town to buy supplies. They left the others to keep an eye on their horses and goats while the five of them walked single file downstream, spears in hand. Even Korram held a spear, borrowed from Thorst at the whole family’s insistence, to help make him look more like one of them.
Nilvey was typical of many towns in the foothills, he saw, as they passed the first little buildings and the path widened into a cart track. There looked to be a couple hundred houses, many surrounded by gardens. An open-air market by the river sold fruit and vegetables and fresh fish. Hand-painted signs announced the location of the local blacksmith, cartwright, tailor, cobbler, schoolhouse, and gold office.
“Look at all the food growing here,” murmured Thont, eying one of the gardens as they passed. “But if we try to pick any, the Lowlanders will be angry and come out shouting at us as though they owned it all.”
“They do own it,” Korram told him. “These are their gardens. They planted the food that’s growing here, so if you take it, that’s stealing.”
“We’re not talking about taking things from inside their buildings,” objected Ernth. “Any food that grows is there for whoever picks it first.”
“No wonder Lowlanders accuse you of stealing their crops.” Certain things were starting to make sense now. “If they planted them and tend them, they have a right to eat them. You should offer to trade if you want some of their fruit or vegetables.”
“Hmm.” Thont didn’t sound convinced, but neither did he try to argue.
“I forget which of these buildings sells what we need,” Charr muttered, glancing nervously around. “It’s been a couple years since we’ve been through here.” Korram saw that all four of his companions looked nervous, and the townsfolk they passed seemed to share the feeling. People stepped all the way off the road to give them a wide berth as they went by, turning to stare suspiciously after them. Parents pulled their children behind them, and Korram even saw hands reach toward weapons. In response, the Mountain Folk drew closer together, clutching their spears and glaring defiantly at those they passed.
“Well, it’s no wonder the townsfolk aren’t very friendly toward you,” Korram pointed out finally. “You’re looking at them as though they’re enemies.”
“They are enemies,” snapped Ernth. “And anyway, they were looking at us like that first.”
“You should try being friendly,” Korram suggested. “Most people will respond in kind.”
“Not to us, they won’t,” retorted Thont. “Try it and see.”
So Korram did. He smiled at people they passed and greeted them with a cheerful “hello” or “good afternoon”, but not one replied. Instead he was met with looks of surprise and suspicion. He began to doubt that anyone was actually going to recognize him. He had never been to Nilvey before, after all, and it was unlikely that people traveled to Sazellia very often from a town this remote. Probably none of them had ever seen him before, not even from a distance.
At last they came to the general store, which the little group might have walked right past if Korram hadn’t read the sign. They stopped on the street, staring at the building as though reluctant to enter, and no one objected when Korram shouldered past the others and led the way.
But the door opened before they could get there, and a man, evidently the manager, stepped out. He shut the door firmly behind himself and stood in front of it, one hand on a large dagger hanging from his belt. “What do you want?” he demanded, frowning down at them from the doorstep.
Korram bristled at the man’s rudeness, but bit his tongue to hold back the instinctive sharp retort. I have to show the Mountain Folk how to get along with Lowlanders.
“Good afternoon,” he replied with forced politeness. “We’d like to come in and buy a few things.”
“You dirty shoplifting vagabonds aren’t coming in my store,” the man growled. “You want to do business, we’ll do it out here.”
Korram clamped his lips together just in time to hold back another indignant retort. Taking a slow breath, he made himself count to ten as his mother used to remind him to do when he lost his temper as a child. “We’re here to buy some needles and thread,” he told the man, keeping his voice calm with an effort. “The strong kind for sewing leather.”
“And a cooking pot,” whispered Charr from behind, nudging him.
“And a cooking pot,” Korram added. “A big one for a large family.”
The man stared at them suspiciously. “I don’t trade with your kind. You got money?”
“My ‘kind’?” Korram stared at him, offended in spite of himself. “Excuse me?”
“I said, you got money?” the man snapped. “I don’t want your milk or animal skins or any other Mountain Folk garbage. It’s money or nothing. You show me your money or go away.”
From behind him, Thest silently pulled out a handful of coins, probably the same ones Korram had given the family for milk and information when he had first arrived. The shopkeeper glanced at them and nodded.
“All right, stay here and I’ll get the things you want. I just put on a new coat of paint last month, so don’t touch the walls with your dirty hands.” Reaching behind him for the door handle, he backed inside and shut the door. They all heard the sound of a bolt turning.
“You see?” sneered Ernth. “It doesn’t matter how you treat them. All Lowlanders are rude like that.” Deliberately, he walked up to the building and rubbed a grubby hand across the wall, leaving a faint but noticeable smudge on the clean white surface.
“Speaking of rude.” Korram scowled at him. “You shouldn’t do that. You’ll just reinforce his negative view of Mountain Folk.” Ernth smirked.
Korram stepped forward and stuck his head through the open window. The inside of the building was dim and cluttered, filled with rows of overflowing shelves. The whole front wall was covered with a painted list of goods and their prices. “It looks as though the largest cooking pots cost two pieces of silver each,” he told the others, craning his neck. “I don’t see a price listed for needles and thread, but I suppose they can’t fit everything up there. I’ll ask the man when he comes back.”
“I hope we have enough money,” Thest muttered, jingling the coins in his hand.
A moment later the man appeared at the window with a wooden spool of heavy dark thread, a long steel needle thrust through one side of it. In his other hand was a large pot. “This big enough for you?” he demanded.
When they nodded, the man set the items on the window sill and reached out a hand. �
�That will be eight pieces of silver.”
“Eight!” exclaimed Korram. “You’re joking! How can they possibly cost eight?” He was sure the Mountain Folk couldn’t have anywhere near that much money.
The man held up the items one by one, speaking slowly as though Korram were stupid. “Two for the needle. One for the thread. Five for the pot. You know how to count? Two plus one plus five makes eight.”
Korram felt himself flush angrily. “Don’t speak to me that way. Of course I know how to count, and I know how to read, too. According to your price list, pots only cost two silvers, and I know needles can’t be worth that much, so don’t try to overcharge us.”
“Don’t tell me what to do, you ignorant illiterate savage,” snarled the man. “As if you had any idea what my price list says. You’re bluffing, and we both know it, and it isn’t going to work. You can pay me eight pieces of silver or get out of here.”
“We have enough for the needle and thread, anyway,” Thest sighed, resigned, counting out coins from his hand.
“Don’t be ridiculous. We’re not buying from this man,” Korram told his companions angrily. “If he won’t give us a fair price, we’ll take our business elsewhere.”
“Fine. Go away, then,” the man snapped back. He yanked his goods back inside and then reached out and closed the shutters with a bang.
Korram was so angry he felt like stamping his feet and slamming his fists into something the way he used to do when he was little. The man’s rudeness was bad enough, but it was humiliating to be proven wrong in public.
There were people watching them from the street and through the windows of nearby houses, so he stuffed his clenched fists into his pockets and turned on his heel. “Come on. We’re leaving,” he growled, and his four companions followed him without argument.
Prince of Malorn (Annals of Alasia Book 3) Page 10
