Prince of Malorn (Annals of Alasia Book 3)

by Annie Douglass Lima

  It had been raining for most of the last two days, tonight’s storm rising out of a persistent drizzle that seemed to have been following him, quenching all hope of a campfire. No wonder the Mountain Folk don’t travel in this area if they can help it. The weather was awful, the terrain inhospitable, and there was almost nothing to eat. Though he had seen plenty of birds and rabbits, he had no way to catch or kill them.

  Mount Nezkodney was turning out to be further away than it had looked, and he had spent those three days hiking up and down foothills in between. He was finally close, though. The low clouds kept him from being certain, but he thought he was at least halfway up Nezkodney now, and he guessed he would make it to the top tomorrow. From there he should be able to see Mount Clinja, though he had no idea how far away it was.

  Lightning streaked across the sky overhead, momentarily illuminating the rugged hillside across from him and the stream that wound its way down the valley below – a stream that would probably be swollen full by morning. The flash was followed an instant later by a boom of thunder so sudden and close that it made Korram jump even though he was expecting it. The thunder echoed off the cloud-swathed peaks on every side, back and forth, like a pack of giant beasts bellowing to each other from the darkness above.

  Korram wrapped his arms more tightly around his drawn-up knees. Who knew what real beasts might be lurking nearby? Did wolves venture out to hunt on nights like this? What about snowcats? The heavy stick he had picked up just after he set off lay in the mud beside him, but he wondered if he would have the strength to fight off even one hungry predator, let alone a pack. With any luck they would all be curled up in their dens right now, waiting out the storm.

  Perhaps it was just because he was already thinking about animals, but when another flash of lightning lit the valley, Korram could have sworn he caught a glimpse of movement near the bottom of the opposite slope. He strained his dazzled eyes, but as night returned once again and the thunder roared around him, he could see nothing beyond the rocks a few feet away. Had it been an animal? A person? Merely a tree tossing its branches in the wind?

  Korram fixed his eyes on the spot where he thought he had glimpsed the movement, waiting for the next flash. But as his vision adjusted to the darkness, his heart soared at the unmistakable sight of a small red flicker. Fire! Someone was lighting a campfire, though where they had found dry fuel and how they could keep it burning in this weather were more than he could fathom.

  Or perhaps lightning had struck a tree and it was just a natural fire. But Korram didn’t think that was likely. The glow didn’t look big enough to be a burning tree, and surely all the trees in the area were far too wet to catch fire by now anyway. Besides, didn’t lightning strike the highest point? He was still miles from the top of the peak. No, it must be a campfire; and this far into the Impassables, that could only mean one thing. A family of Mountain Folk was camped across the valley after all, and that meant food and shelter.

  I’m dressed like one of them, Korram reminded himself, glancing down at his sodden deerskin jacket and leather breeches. I don’t look like a Lowlander. That meant they would welcome him to join their camp, right? He had gotten the impression from Ernth’s family that Mountain Folk generally got along well even if they hadn’t met before.

  Korram didn’t need any more convincing. Scooting out of his scanty shelter and snatching up his staff, he rose to his feet, bracing himself against the full force of the rain and wind. Not that it mattered. He was soaked through already. Though the deerskin was waterproof, the wind-driven rain had no problem forcing its way down his neck and through every other opening between his garments and his skin.

  Ignoring the discomfort, Korram scrambled down the muddy hillside. In a few minutes he would be sitting beside a crackling campfire, probably drinking goat milk and eating roasted meat. Perhaps his hosts could loan him a set of clothes or at least a blanket so he could change out of his dripping tunic and breeches. Maybe if he were lucky someone would even have room in a tent so he could finally catch up on his sleep. He had hardly slept at all last night, the chilly drizzle preventing him from even trying out his pocketful of firestones. He had spent the night curled up in some damp leaves under a tree, shivering and dozing fitfully. Tonight had promised to be even worse, and he was exhausted from lack of sleep and from scrambling up and down steep slopes on a nearly-empty stomach.

  The stream at the bottom of the valley was already almost twice as wide as it had been that afternoon when he had first stopped to drink from it. Gingerly, Korram planted his staff in the streambed and set one foot on a rock sticking up above the water, tottering as he put his weight on its slippery surface. Placing each step carefully, he nevertheless was not in the least surprised when halfway across his boot slipped and an unsteady stone rolled out from under him. Flailing his arms for balance, he managed to land on his feet in the icy water, which surged just above his knees. Gasping at the cold shock of it, Korram stumbled forward, steadying himself with the staff, not bothering to try to hop along on the stones anymore, just making for the opposite bank as quickly as he could. The current tugged against him as he struggled across it, banging his shins against invisible rocks and catching his feet on an occasional submerged branch. Once, he slipped again and nearly toppled over, which would not have made much difference since he was already drenched to the bone.

  At last he staggered onto the bank and started up the slope, water sloshing in his boots with every step. He made for the spot where he thought he had glimpsed the red flicker, though it was no longer visible from this angle. But the fire couldn’t be far away. Korram was sure he had seen it no more than a hundred yards from here.

  If only he didn’t feel so shaky from hunger, on top of the cold and exhaustion. But a meal and a dry place to rest were just around the corner now, he reminded himself. Gathering his strength, he pulled the hood of his jacket lower over his face to shield his eyes from the rain and trudged forward.

  Stumbling around the edge of a particularly large boulder, Korram finally caught sight of the firelight again. It was to his right, nearly level with him now and not far away. Elated, he turned and hurried toward it, his wet boots slipping on the muddy slope. He could see a friendly-looking red-orange flicker from what looked like the mouth of a small cave. Good. A cave would be much better shelter than a tent tonight.

  As he drew closer, gusts of wind brought Korram the acrid smell of smoke, along with something else, something that made his mouth water and his poor empty stomach growl louder than ever. Roasting meat. Rabbit, if he wasn’t mistaken.

  A solitary figure sat behind the dancing flames, warming its hands from within a narrow crack in the side of the mountain. As Korram approached, it jumped to its feet, snatching up a burning brand and waving it threateningly.

  “Who’s there?” the figure demanded over the splattering of the rain, peering out into the dark.

  The voice was female. Korram could see no one else nearby. A solitary traveler like himself?

  “Hello,” he managed, staggering the last few steps between scattered boulders up to the entrance of her shelter. At that moment a flash of lightning lit up the valley once again, and their eyes met in its sudden illumination. The stranger was a girl of about his own age, dressed in deerskin as he was. A small pile of firewood lay on the cave floor beside her, and a skinned rabbit hung on a homemade spit above the welcoming flames. Perhaps she had been too hungry to wait for the fire to burn down to coals. He didn’t blame her.

  “Oh! I thought you might be a wolf,” the girl exclaimed in relief, her voice muffled by another bellow of thunder. Reflections of golden-red firelight danced in her eyes.

  Shivering, Korram stretched out his hands to the warmth of the flames between them. The campfire sat right in the middle of the cave’s narrow entrance, and he could see now that the interior was small, stretching only about six feet back before the sides squeezed together. It would be cramped, and there would be no beds or clean cloth
es, but at least it was dry. Wasn’t she going to invite him in?

  “Quite a storm, isn’t it?” the girl laughed, bending to poke her stick back in among the flames and straightening up again to peer out into the night. “It’s the worst I’ve seen all year, though I know they’re common in this area. Imagine what it must be like up on the passes right now!” She grinned at Korram. “I don’t know about you, but I can hardly wait. It’s been an exhausting journey on foot. But just think, we’ll be on horseback when we start for home in a few more days!”

  Korram nodded numbly, shuffling closer to the flames. His hands were starting to warm up, but the rain was streaming down his clothes, and he couldn’t stop shivering.

  “So where’s your camp?” the girl inquired conversationally.

  My camp? “I d-d-don’t have a c-camp,” he managed through chattering teeth. “I c-came over to ask if I c-could come in out of the rain.”

  The girl hesitated as though caught off guard. “Wait a moment. You mean you aren’t here for the same reason I am?”

  Korram stared at her, uncomprehending.

  “You know,” she prompted. “The Rite of Acceptance? I’m on my way to Mount Clinja to get my horse. If that’s not what you’re doing, why are you out here all alone?”

  “Th-that is what I’m doing,” Korram told her.

  Her face hardened angrily. “Well, then shame on you! Where’s your honor?”

  “What?”

  “I’m not going to cheat! I don’t care if no one will see; it isn’t right. Go find your own shelter.”

  “Ch-cheat?” Korram stared back at her stupidly. “I’m not t-trying to ch-cheat. It’s j-just that I’m freezing and starving and –” He swallowed and looked hungrily at the roasting meat.

  “You know very well that helping each other is cheating,” the girl retorted. “We have to do it on our own. If you can’t find your own food and shelter, maybe you aren’t ready to be Accepted; but in any case, you can’t have mine. Go away.”

  “Please,” Korram begged, knowing he sounded pathetic but past caring. “J-just one bite. I’ve hardly eaten all day. Surely one bite won’t matter.”

  In answer, she pulled a heavier stick out of the fire and brandished it at him. “Go away! Now!”

  Korram jumped back to avoid being hit in the face. Losing his footing, he slipped and sprawled onto his backside in the mud. The girl didn’t laugh – actually, he thought she looked sorry for him – but her posture remained threatening. “I mean it. Go find your own cave.”

  Korram staggered to his feet and backed away, his hopes crumbling. It was no use. Even if there were more caves in this area, he would never be able to find one in the dark. Bashing his elbow against another boulder, he felt his way around to the leeward side and curled up at its base. It blocked most of the wind and a little of the rain, and it was as good a place as any to huddle miserably in the mud.

  I’m probably going to freeze to death here, he thought despondently. Ernth was right. In the morning that girl will find my frozen remains, and if she has any heart at all, she’ll wish she had helped me. I’ll never get my horse, and I’ll never recruit a Mountain Folk army, and I’ll never be king. One of these days Regent Rampus will put on the crown that’s supposed to be mine and take total control of Malorn. Mother and Kalendria will cry, and Arden will compose sad songs about it, but no one back home will ever know what happened to me. And it will all be that girl’s fault. Sunk in misery and self-pity, Korram shed a few tears of his own, immediately washed away by the incessant rainwater.

  Another whiff of wood smoke and roasting rabbit tantalized his nostrils, and he groaned in ravenous anguish as lightning lit the valley once again. Thunder, a little slower in response this time, shook the ground beneath him.

  The night crept past, one spasm of shivering after another, the storm eventually wandering off to terrorize some other mountainside. Korram lay huddled at the base of the boulder, freezing and miserable in his wet clothes, his toes numb in his water-filled boots. Hours later he finally drifted off to sleep, but he kept waking up, cold and miserable, wondering if this endless night would ever be over.

  When he finally opened his eyes again, the rain had stopped. He was surprised to see that the sky overhead was pale blue, with only a few wisps of cloud snuggling over the tops of the nearby peaks. The mountains on every side were cloaked with fresh snow, stretching much further down than it had yesterday.

  Korram struggled to his feet, damp and stiff, his clothing caked in mud. His knees buckled and he had to clutch the boulder to stay on his feet. He was weaker than he ever remembered feeling before, and lightheaded with hunger. If I don’t find something to eat this morning, I won’t be able to go on.

  Could the girl have left any food behind? By now she had probably resumed her journey and taken any leftovers with her, but even a discarded bone with the smallest mouthful of meat on it would be a feast. Korram staggered toward the cave to check.

  She had apparently stamped her fire out, but a few embers still glowed from a little heap of ash and half-charred sticks. The tiny cave was deserted, but as Korram peered inside, his spirits lifted. There was a pile of rabbit bones and fur and – yes! Meat! Not just a scrap or two clinging to a bone, but an entire leg lying untouched on the rock floor.

  Korram stumbled over the remains of the fire and snatched the leg up. No royal banquet had ever tasted as good as that cold roasted rabbit. As he tore into it, he could feel strength returning with every bite.

  He could have wept in relief. He wouldn’t starve. He was going to make it. He would have the strength to go on, and maybe – just maybe – he would get his horse after all.

  Korram devoured every remaining scrap of rabbit, sucking the flavor out of every bone and licking the grease off of his grubby fingers, until he was certain not a shred of nourishment was left in the remains. Then he rebuilt the fire using the little heap of extra wood the girl had left nearby. After stripping off his wet clothes and boots, he spread them on the ground to dry while he lay down in the cozy little cave.

  He awoke hours later, after the longest nap he had ever taken. Clambering to his feet, he yawned in the bright sunshine streaming through the opening. It must be past noon. Time to get up and decide what to do next.

  Though dry on top, his clothes were still damp where they had lain against the stone, but he knew they would dry the rest of the way soon enough. Korram pulled them on and stood looking across the wet green valley, smiling at how good it felt not to be weak with hunger anymore. Oh, he was still hungry, but at least he had most of his strength back.

  I need to find more food before I go on, he decided. The task would be easier now than when he was weak and starving once more. He couldn’t afford to just start walking and hope that he would eventually find more lumjum or some wood sorrel. No, he needed to look for food first.

  Staring down at the stream, now a muddy, frothing torrent, Korram decided that his best hope was fishing. He had seen plenty of fish in there yesterday, and fish would provide more energy than plants. But with no hook and no way to make one, he would have to try another method. Spearfishing, perhaps, the way Chun had taught him.

  Beneath a nearby cluster of trees, he found a broken branch with a sharp, jagged end, undoubtedly blown down in last night’s storm. He snapped the twigs and smaller branches off of it until he had a more-or-less straight pole. But was it sharp enough to spear a fish? Korram didn’t think so, but how could he sharpen it without a knife?

  Maybe a sharp stone would work. He searched the bank of the stream until he found a wide, flat rock that he thought might do. Sitting down and gripping the pole between his knees, he scraped at the end awkwardly with the sharpest part of the rock. That didn’t work well. Changing tactics, he set the pole on the ground and tried again. That worked better, and he soon had a rhythm down, scraping a little and then rotating the pole a few degrees, scraping some more and rotating again.

  At last he set down the stone
and picked up the makeshift spear to admire his handiwork. It was noticeably sharper, but a closer inspection revealed that the tip wasn’t very strong. It would probably bend before it pierced a fish’s scales.

  Abruptly, Korram remembered the step he had left out. Mountain Folk always fire-hardened their wooden tools and weapons.

  Clambering back up the slope to the cave, Korram was relieved to see there were still a few live coals left from his fire. He blew on them until they glowed brighter, and then thrust the end of his spear into their midst. Forcing himself to be patient, he waited, turning it every so often to make sure it heated evenly. Now and then he pulled it out to make sure it was browning nicely but not burning. At last it looked right, the same color as the tips of the arrows he had watched Korth make this way last week. A few experimental taps against the cave wall showed that the head of his spear was now hard and firm.

  Back at the stream’s edge, Korram found his sharpening stone and attacked the spear again. I should have tried using the fire first. He found the hard, dry wood easier to work with, and it soon had a fine, sharp tip.

  My very own spear. Korram held it up, admiring his handiwork. It had been hundreds of years since spears had been widely used in the Lowlands, though in times long past they were the weapon of choice for most Malornians. The two on the royal seal still reflected that piece of history. Now, their use was considered uncivilized, a reminder of Malorn’s primitive past; but Korram didn’t care. For anyone but a blacksmith, they were the easiest weapons to make. And this one would help him survive and succeed in the Rite of Acceptance.

  Now to catch some fish. Korram pulled off his boots and rolled his breeches up past his knees just in case, though he didn’t intend to get wet again if he could help it. He walked quietly upstream at a little distance from the bank, looking for a spot where the water wasn’t moving as fast. Finally he found a pool with one end in shade where trees overhung the water. Just the kind of place a nice fat trout might be waiting, or so he hoped. On tiptoe, he crept closer to the water, spear at the ready.