Prince of Malorn (Annals of Alasia Book 3)

by Annie Douglass Lima

  “I know I will.” Korram grinned back, but inside he wasn’t quite as confident as he tried to sound.

  The conversation around the campfire that night didn’t help Korram’s nerves. Excitement was in the air, and people kept asking him if he remembered how to choose good firestones or identify poisonous plants or what he would do if he encountered a snowcat. He could tell most of them were nervous for him, and with good reason. After all, though they had probably been about his age when they had been Accepted, they had spent their whole lives up to that point learning the necessary skills. He had only been preparing for a few weeks.

  The next morning the family stood around watching him as they drank their milk, smiling with the knowing looks of those who have lived through a difficulty which someone else is about to experience for the first time. Finally Korram could take it no longer. I might as well just start out and get it over with.

  “Any last words of wisdom?” he asked, setting aside his half empty milk pouch.

  Chun chuckled. “What you need to know, you’d better know by now, boy, or else you’re not ready for this.”

  Nevertheless, nearly everyone had something to suggest. “Get yourself a sturdy staff as soon as you can,” Thont advised, “and keep it with you all the way to Mount Clinja. Don’t wait till you hear the wolves howl to search for one.”

  “And remember to look for firestones right away,” added Silanth. “The right firestones will keep you alive when nothing else can.”

  “Drink all you can hold whenever you find water,” Therk suggested, “because you won’t always find it when you want it.”

  “If you get mountain sickness, climb lower before you stop for the night,” Korth told him. “You’ll feel better that way.”

  “Stay away from snowcats,” advised Charr. “If one finds you, back away slowly – don’t run.”

  “Mother ran away from a snowcat when she was getting Accepted, and she nearly got killed,” announced Thisti proudly. She grabbed Charr’s arm and pulled up her sleeve to show Korram a long, jagged scar that ran from wrist to elbow.

  “I should have known better,” Charr admitted, looking embarrassed, “but I panicked. I’m lucky I survived at all.”

  Little Sench, his upper lip white with a milk mustache, looked up from his pouch long enough to announce, “And the snowcat is still out there somewhere, waiting to eat foolish children who wander away from camp alone.” Apparently their mother’s misadventure had become family legend.

  Carch had been digging through one of the packs, and now she shuffled over with a bundle under her arm. “You’ll wear these,” she stated, handing Korram a pile of clothes. “Korth’s extra breeches and a tunic from Thorst. The jacket is Thest’s. We’ve all agreed that if you succeed, you can keep them.”

  “And if you don’t, we’ll probably never see them again anyway, so it makes no difference,” Ernth added dryly.

  Korram chose to ignore Ernth’s comment as he took the clothes from the old woman. He had never in his life worn another person’s used clothing, and he knew Kalendria would have found the idea repulsive. But what did it matter? His own were on the point of falling apart, and he would need warmer, sturdier ones for his quest. Smiling in thanks, he took the garments into the tent he had been sharing with Ernth to try them on.

  The tunic and breeches were both made of dark, tanned leather. The tunic was long-sleeved, with two large pockets in the front. It was a bit loose, but there was a long leather belt to tie it in with. The breeches, which fastened with a drawstring, were too long; and Korram wished, as he so often had, that he were a few inches taller. But they worked all right when he tucked the legs into the tops of the boots. The deerskin jacket was heavy and warm, with a deep hood, though the sleeves extended almost to his fingertips.

  In spite of the ill fit, the others nodded approval as Korram reappeared. “Now you look like what you’re trying to become,” Chun told him. “You can’t become one of us in Lowlander clothes.”

  “Not that it really matters, of course, considering he isn’t going to make it very far anyway,” Ernth put in.

  Korram scowled. “Wait and see, Ernth.”

  “I will, Prince of Malorn,” Ernth shot back. “You’ll probably be back in two or three days, starving and defeated, admitting that we were right all along. You’re a Lowlander, after all. Even our people don’t always make it on their first try.”

  Korram folded his arms across his chest and raised his chin proudly, looking him in the eye. “I’ll take your challenge. I’ll wager that I will make it on my first try. I won’t come back here without a horse of my own from beyond Mount Clinja.”

  The promise reminded him of his last conversation with Regent Rampus. A quest within a quest. Returning in failure isn’t an option in either one. “And if I don’t succeed,” he added, “I promise to stay away and never bother your people again.”

  Ernth raised his eyebrows. “All right, Prince of Malorn. We’ve all heard your promise, and we’ll hold you to it. If you don’t succeed, you won’t come back.”

  “And what if I do make it?” Korram demanded, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling that he might have spoken too hastily. “What will you do then?”

  “Besides letting you come to the Mid-Autumn Gathering? What else do you want?”

  “I want you to admit that you were wrong about me. That I’m not like the stereotype you have of Lowlanders. I just want you to acknowledge that and start treating me like a regular person.”

  The others were all looking at Ernth to see if he would agree to this. The young man shrugged. “If you do return with a horse, Prince of Malorn, you will be a regular person. You’ll be worthy of honor. You’ll be one of us. But if you don’t make it, it’s not likely you’d even survive to return. You’ll probably starve up there, or freeze to death, or be eaten by wolves or snowcats in the mountain passes. Someone will find your scattered bones next summer and wonder who you were.”

  Korth cleared his throat awkwardly, breaking the silence that had fallen as everyone watched Korram for his reaction. “Well, no need to discourage the boy before he begins. Go on, boy, you’d best be starting out. You know the way, more or less?”

  “I do.” Korram looked around at all of them and was warmed by their encouraging smiles. It was plain to see that apart from Ernth, they really wanted him to make it.

  Thisti dropped her milk pouch and ran forward to hug him around the waist. “I wish it was me going to get Accepted,” she confided. “You have to tell us all the stories of your adventures when you come home again.”

  “I will.” Awkwardly, Korram patted her on the back. “Well, goodbye, everyone. I’ll see you when I return with my horse.”

  It felt strange not to have any pack to carry, but he stuck his hands into his pockets and strode off up the slope without looking back. As he left, he heard Ernth say to the children, “Wave goodbye to the Prince of Malorn. We’ll probably never see him again.”

  For the first few hours, the going wasn’t too hard. The slope was steep, and in some places the grass underfoot gave way to loose shale, but Korram’s new boots were sturdy and supported his ankles well. He kept Nezkodney, the snowy mountain Thest had pointed out, straight ahead, stopping once in a wooded grove to look for a dead branch he could use as a staff. Finding one of suitable length, he stripped off the smaller branches, pleased that he already had a tool that could help him succeed in this quest. It came in useful right away when he struggled to keep his footing on the steep sections.

  I’m really doing this, he thought as he hiked. I’m really striking out on my own, attempting something very different from anything I’ve ever tried before. It filled him with pride and excitement, just as leaving home in the first place had.

  As much as he appreciated her wisdom and support, Mother tended to be a little overbearing at times, trying to oversee every detail of Korram’s life. Departing for the Impassables had felt like an escape to freedom, a chance to spread his wings
and see what he could do without her help. Having to bring Trayven along had squelched some of that excitement, though Korram was forced to admit he could probably not have managed without the servant at first.

  But this was truly exhilarating. Korram had never really gone anywhere on his own before. Back in the palace, he had always been surrounded by servants or officials, and he couldn’t leave the grounds without guards and escorts. His journey into the Impassables, even with an attendant, had still been a huge step of independence for him; but this was far better. For once, no one is watching me. I can do things my own way, prove my abilities to myself in private. No one will stop me; no one will help me. That last thought might have made him a little nervous if he had stopped to dwell on it, but Korram chose not to. Striding along in the summer sunshine, he had never felt so gloriously free. And when I return after succeeding all on my own, it will prove to Ernth and his family that the Prince of Malorn can do what they’ve done. And it will prove to my family and all of Malorn that the future king is capable of anything.

  But it wasn’t long before he wished he had finished his milk that morning. Midday had not yet arrived, and already he was hot and thirsty. He had long since taken off his jacket and tied it around his waist, and now he gazed longingly up at the cool, sparkling snow that was probably still at least two days out of reach.

  His stomach was growling when he caught sight of a patch of familiar dark green among the grass. Lumjum! Korram stopped and knelt among them, grasping the leaves to pull one of the plants up. I’ve found food all by myself. His journey was off to an excellent start.

  He had no way to cook it, however, not having found any firestones yet. And come to think of it, how was he supposed to cook lumjum without a pot? Could he roast it on a spit? He wasn’t sure, and anyway, he had nothing to carry it in.

  If only I could have brought along a few useful supplies. But he knew that was part of the point of this quest: proving he could survive in the wilderness with only what he could find or make along the way.

  At least he did have those pockets in his tunic. Maybe this was why they were so big. Korram picked a second lumjum root, snapped the leaves off both, brushed off most of the dirt, and stuffed one into each pocket. He would experiment with cooking them as soon as he could build a fire.

  When the sun was at its highest point, Korram stopped to rest in the shade of some trees. Though the Mountain Folk didn’t stop their work for a noon meal the way Lowlanders did, his stomach was telling him he needed some lunch, and his dry mouth and throat were desperate for a drink. He thought wistfully of the late breakfast the family always ate an hour or two after they shared the morning milk, and the snacks they indulged in throughout the day until their early supper. There must be something around here he could eat raw.

  Examining the shrubs and bushes near where he sat, he finally found a plant he recognized. What was that little one with the clusters of three heart-shaped leaves and the yellow flowers? Wood sorrel; that was what it was called. He knew the Mountain Folk often munched on it when they were out working. Little Sench particularly enjoyed it. It wasn’t very filling, but the tangy leaves Korram plucked helped to moisten his dry mouth. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much of it, and when he stood up to resume his journey, he felt as hungry as before.

  The afternoon’s hike was harder than the morning’s. Korram trekked up and down countless ridges and valleys, each ridge a little higher than the last. His legs were starting to feel shaky, and he was thankful for the help of his staff as his steps slowed more and more. His head throbbed, his dry throat burned, and his mouth seemed to have turned into a desert. Was this what dehydration felt like?

  At last, when he could stand it no longer, he pulled out one of his lumjum roots. He was so thirsty that he didn’t even feel hungry anymore, but if the lumjum was the slightest bit juicy, it might help. Korram took a bite, discovering that the root was hard and crunchy, like a raw carrot. It had a bitter flavor, only partially masked by the taste of the dirt that still clung to it. But he didn’t care. It was a little juicy, and he was desperate for anything to moisten his dry mouth. Sitting under the shade of some bushes, he devoured both his lumjum roots.

  He felt stronger after that, and walking was easier. But it wasn’t long before pain began shooting through his stomach and he was forced to stop and drop to all fours, doubled over in agony. Was raw lumjum poisonous? Or had he just gobbled it down too quickly? Korram wasn’t sure, but either way, he felt awful.

  Eventually the pain faded a little and he forced himself to rise to his feet and stagger on. The sun was starting to sink now, and he knew he should find somewhere safe to spend the night before it got dark. And he needed some firestones, but the rocks underfoot didn’t look like the right kind. His best chance at finding good ones, smooth and rounded like the type Silanth had shown him, would be by a stream. There must be water between here and Mount Clinja, otherwise not even Mountain Folk would survive this trek.

  The sun had just dipped behind a snow-covered peak when Korram, pausing to rest at the top of a ridge, caught sight of something that made his heart soar. At the bottom of the valley before him wound the narrow, glittering ribbon that he had been hoping to find all day. With a dry-throated shout of triumph, he gathered what was left of his strength and dashed down the steep slope, slipping and skidding and twice tripping and sprawling headlong, until finally he dropped to his belly before the stream and buried his face in the cool, rippling water.

  When at long last he had quenched his thirst and sat up, he realized twilight was falling on the valley. Korram pulled off his boots and splashed across the stream to where another patch of wood sorrel grew on the other side. It wasn’t much of a supper, but he had no way to catch the plump fish he could see darting here and there in the water, and he was too tired to search for anything else. Besides, his stomach still hurt, though the worst of the agony had gradually faded over the course of the afternoon.

  He knew he ought to light a fire, but the night wasn’t especially cold, and the few trees scattered here and there beside the water and across the slope didn’t promise to yield much firewood. Besides, it wasn’t light enough anymore to look for firestones.

  He pulled his jacket back on and curled up in a clump of bushes near the water’s edge. The ground was hard and pebbly, but he raised his hood, pillowed his head on his arm, and closed his eyes. If the Mountain Folk can do this, I can too, he told himself firmly. Tomorrow will be a better day. I’ll have plenty of water in the morning, and I’ll get myself some good firestones first thing. Then the next time I find lumjum I can cook it and I won’t feel so sick.

  But as he lay there waiting for sleep, a tiny voice of doubt began to nag at the corner of his mind. What if there is no more lumjum? What if I can’t get a fire lit later when I’m up in the snow? What if the wolves find me and I’m too weak with hunger to fight them off?

  “Shut up,” Korram ordered himself firmly, and went to sleep.

  He was awakened a few hours later by the sound of something scurrying through the grass nearby. Sitting up with a start, he fumbled for the staff he had set down by his feet. “Who’s there?”

  The only answer was the quick rustle of some small animal bounding away. Korram peered around in the moonlight, his heart pounding, but he could see only the dim shapes of bushes and trees. It had probably been merely a rabbit or a fox, on its way to drink from the stream. Perhaps this was why the Mountain Folk never camped beside water.

  He lay down again, still tense. Where there was one animal, there were probably others. Could there be wolves nearby too? I should have lit a fire. What was I thinking? It took a long time for his pulse to return to normal and his eyes to close once more.

  He woke again just before dawn when a beetle crawled across his face. Groaning sleepily, Korram brushed it off and rolled over. But a rock dug into his ribs; and opening his eyes, he saw that most of the stars overhead had faded, so he decided he might as well get up. He was exhau
sted, cold, and hungry, and he wished grumpily for a cup of coffee and a plate of sausage and eggs. And a warm bed to crawl back into after that.

  But wishing would get him nowhere. Korram drank long and deep from the stream and then walked up and down the bank, searching for berries, nuts, or any other edible plants. As the sky lightened, however, he found nothing more filling than wood sorrel.

  The sky was gray with clouds this morning, but as long as it didn’t rain, that was all right by him. At least it would be cooler. Korram searched the pebbles at the water’s edge until he found several that seemed likely candidates for firestones. Just to be on the safe side, he pocketed half a dozen possible handstones and as many strikers. Tonight he would try them all out and find the ones that worked best.

  Ignoring his growling stomach, he bent for one last drink and then straightened up. Time to start off again. Mount Clinja was waiting.

  Chapter 10

  Korram huddled beside a boulder at the base of a rocky slope, trying to hide in its meager shelter. In the darkness, rain splattered on his exposed legs and arms, the wind whipping it into his face. Shivering, he tried to scoot further back, but the rock behind him was as unyielding as the Impassables themselves.

  This is ridiculous. What are you doing here? You’ll never make it, Lowlander. The voices of doubt were loud tonight, almost as loud as the growling of his empty stomach. He had been following a stream since yesterday afternoon, so at least there had been plenty of water. But Korram had eaten nothing that day except some berries he had found in the morning, nothing the day before except the wood sorrel he had picked by the stream and a little more raw lumjum in the early afternoon.