Prince of Malorn (Annals of Alasia Book 3)

by Annie Douglass Lima

  Several horses wandered close enough to eat some of the farthest pieces, but all wandered off again. If Arden were here, he would probably start singing and make every horse within earshot love him. But Korram had no such skill, so he lay back and laced his fingers together behind his head, enjoying the sunshine and fresh aroma of the grass around him. There’s no hurry.

  The little river murmured past, and now that he was still, he could hear the soft hum of bees busy in the flowers at its bank and the whisper of a breeze in the meadow around him. He watched a ladybug crawl up a long grass stem beside his face and then spread its tiny wings and sail off with the breeze. Dragonflies darted over the water, butterflies fluttered from bloom to bloom, and a little mound of dirt nearby twitched as an unseen gopher enlarged its burrow. In this tranquil setting, he could almost believe that his recent trials had been part of a dream or one of Arden’s stories. Except, that is, for the stiffness of his limbs, his sunburned skin scraped raw by icy winds, and the scrapes and bruises he could feel all over his body.

  He was close to dozing off when a dark bay mare with a black mane and tail and four black legs approached. She stopped and gazed right at him. As their eyes met, Korram felt an odd sensation, as though she were studying him carefully, trying to decide what she thought of him.

  This is the one. Somehow he was sure of it.

  He sat up slowly. “Hello, there,” he murmured, keeping his voice soft and gentle so as not to startle her.

  The mare pricked her ears forward and seemed to regard him thoughtfully. “My name is Korram,” he told her. “You’re a beautiful horse.”

  The horse stepped forward and bent to munch one of the pieces of pear as he went on. “I came here from the Lowlands to try to convince the Mountain Folk to help me, and they said I needed to get a horse. Would you be interested in coming back with me?” It still seemed silly, talking to an animal, but he hoped the sound of his voice would set her at ease. From the way she was watching him while she chewed, he could almost believe she understood.

  Korram pulled another piece of fruit from his pocket and held it out on the palm of his hand. “If you want to, it would mean leaving your home, and eventually leaving the mountains. You’d have to come back to Sazellia with me, and probably even carry me into battle against Rampus and his followers.” He faltered. It seemed cruel to think of taking this lovely wild creature out of the valley that had been her home all her life, bringing her into the city, strapping a saddle and bridle on her and shutting her up in a stable at night, not to mention thrusting her into the dangers of battle. It wouldn’t be fair. What right did he have to change her life like that?

  But she was stepping closer, her movements steady and decisive. Before he realized it, the horse had bent her head, and he felt her breath against his hand as she took the chunk of pear with her lips.

  She didn’t back away, but stood regarding him as she chewed. Slowly, Korram rose to his feet and held out his hand again. She let him stroke her neck and her velvety nose, completely unafraid. When he stopped, she nuzzled him in the chest until he started petting her again. After a moment, he took a few steps away just to see how she would react. Without hesitation, the horse followed.

  Korram felt as though he were under a spell. Though he had always enjoyed riding and had ridden many of the horses in the palace stable, he had never had – or thought he wanted – one horse to be his very own. Actually, he had never owned an animal of any kind. This feeling of closeness, of connection, with a creature who seemed to like him was an entirely new sensation. Is this how Kalendria feels about Sir Fluffle?

  The horse was gazing at him again with her dark eyes. Just beyond her, Mount Clinja loomed against the sky, echoing the shape of the horse’s head and ears with its steep twin peaks. The mountain, and this valley beyond it, had been Korram’s goal for so long that its very name had come to represent the difficulties he had struggled through and his hope for success.

  “That’s what I’ll call you,” he whispered. “Clinja.”

  The moment he spoke the name, he knew it was the right one for her. Clinja twitched her ears as he repeated it several times to get her used to the sound. He thought her expression showed approval.

  That evening she stood at a cautious distance from his fire, watching as he roasted freshly-caught fish for supper and to bring along on the trip home. They ate together, the horse dining on grass while Korram feasted on fish and pears and more wood sorrel.

  Briefly, he debated with himself whether to try tying her up in some way so she wouldn’t wander off. But he knew the Mountain Folk never tied their horses, and their horses never ran away. He decided to leave Clinja free for now and see what happened.

  Eventually they both dozed off under the stars, the river’s murmuring lullaby filling their ears. In the morning Korram awoke to birdsong and the tickle of a large ant crawling across his neck. Brushing it off, he sat up, his sore limbs complaining, and stretched to work some of the stiffness out. Rubbing his eyes, he looked around. He half expected Clinja to have wandered off, but there she was, grazing just a few yards away. The other horses were scattered throughout the meadow, paying him no attention. But Clinja stopped chewing and looked over at him when he stirred, nickering when he said her name.

  The first thing I need to do, Korram decided, as he shared a pear with her for breakfast, is figure out how to ride her. He knew the Mountain Folk didn’t use saddles, but he had ridden bareback a few times himself, so he was all right with that. But even their horses wore simple bridles of soft leather straps, and he had nothing but his belt with which to try to make one. Untying it, he laid it out on the grass and crouched in front of it to consider the possibilities. Clinja’s whiskers tickled his ear as she poked her head over his shoulder, for all the world as though she were examining it too.

  “How am I going to do this?” he wondered aloud. He had nothing to cut the leather with, and even if he could, the pieces wouldn’t be long enough to fashion a bridle and reins. Finally he tied it in a loose knot, but instead of pulling it tight, he left a loop in the middle of the belt big enough to slip over her muzzle, assuming she would let him. He could hold the ends in either hand for reins.

  Clinja backed away the first few times he tried, but he spoke to her softly, and at last she let him slip the loop over her face. Her ears went back and she shook her head, snorting, to try to dislodge it. But Korram kept talking to her, telling her that it was all right and she would get used to it. Stroking her neck with one hand, he held the trailing ends of his belt with his other so they wouldn’t flap around and alarm her further. Finally she settled down, and he rewarded her with another half a pear.

  Now to see if she would let him on her back. Mounting would be hard without any stirrups; Korram was used to stepping on a mounting block or getting a hand up from a servant.

  He stroked Clinja, still talking to her, still holding the ends of his belt in one hand. She let him lean on her, resting part of his weight on her back, though she turned her head to peer at him as though puzzled. He pulled off his jacket and let her smell it, then draped it over her back so she would get used to the idea of something that smelled like him resting on her.

  The whole time, he kept wondering, Am I doing this right? He had no idea how to train a horse, but so far the process seemed to be progressing smoothly – almost too smoothly. Weren’t wild horses supposed to be, well, wild? Didn’t they buck and kick and struggle when trainers first handled them? But Clinja just stood there, putting up with everything with that puzzled but accepting air that made him feel as though this were too easy to be real.

  Finally, bracing himself with one hand on her withers and the other on her rump, Korram heaved his way up onto Clinja’s back. He squirmed into a sitting position, clutching her mane and his makeshift reins, gripping tightly with his legs in case she tried to buck him off. But the horse merely tossed her head as though startled, pranced sideways a few steps, then stopped and turned to stare at him as t
hough wondering what in the world he was doing now. Korram patted her neck, speaking to her softly once again and telling her how proud he was of her, and eventually she relaxed and bent her head to graze.

  Next he tried kicking her sides gently to make her go, but Clinja obviously had no idea what he wanted. How do you teach a horse to go when you kick her?

  After a moment, she took a few steps to reach a juicy clump of grass. As she did so, Korram kicked her again to enforce the idea that kicking and walking went together. When she stopped of her own accord, he gently pulled back on the reins so she would connect that feeling with stopping.

  He let her graze a little more as a reward, even though he guessed a real trainer wouldn’t allow a horse to stop to eat in the middle of training. Eventually she took a few more steps, and he repeated the process, determined to continue until she understood.

  After an hour or so of this, Clinja had figured out that he wanted her to walk forward when he kicked and stop when he pulled back on the reins. Deciding that was enough of a lesson for now, Korram dismounted and took off her makeshift bridle to give her a break, delighted at their progress.

  They both enjoyed a drink from the stream and a few minutes’ rest. As he considered what to practice with her next, an idea came to Korram. He pulled all his remaining pears apart into quarters, a messy process with his bare hands. Filling his pockets with the sticky fruit, he licked the juice off his fingers and put Clinja’s bridle back on. Then he pulled himself onto her back again, resolving now to teach her to turn left and right.

  He nudged her sides with his heels until she started walking, remembering to pat her and tell her how well she was doing. Then he tossed one of his pear pieces to the ground just ahead of her and to the right, at the same time tugging on the right rein to turn her head in that direction.

  Sure enough, Clinja turned right and took a step toward the fruit, and Korram pulled back on the reins when she was about to stop anyway. He let her reach down and eat it, and then repeated the process, tossing the next pear to the left.

  He could hardly believe how quickly she was learning. After several more pieces, she could turn right and left at his signal even when there was no fruit involved. Finally Korram couldn’t help but dismount and throw his arms around her neck, running his fingers through her mane and telling her over and over what a clever horse she was. He was certain no horse in the Lowlands would have learned so fast, let alone allowed him on her back and put up with everything he was doing so calmly. Clinja was perfect, just perfect, and Korram was overwhelmed with how lucky he was.

  After lunch – a pear and a couple of fish for him and plenty of grass for his horse – Korram slipped Clinja’s bridle back on and mounted again for more practice. He had hoped to start the return journey today, but perhaps it would be better to take the rest of the day to get to know his horse better. They could start back in the morning when they would have a full day to try to get over the pass. In the meantime, he would explore the valley with her.

  Clinja was feeling frisky after her rest and the meal. Korram took advantage of her energy and let her trot and canter and even gallop when she felt like it, always accompanying the increased pace with a little extra kicking on his part so she would learn that meant she was to go faster. He imagined that the other horses were watching in amusement as the two of them passed, making their way across the meadow beside the stream and then uphill among the trees.

  Korram was impressed at the serene beauty of Horse Valley: the sunlight slanting in through the stately pines, the clusters of colorful wildflowers, occasional glimpses of deer or the quick scurry of smaller animals darting out of the way as they passed. He saw no sign of predators of any kind. Arden would love this place.

  Once again he felt guilty at the thought of taking Clinja out of her peaceful home and introducing her to a new life, especially one that would eventually involve cities and battle and danger. But when he dismounted back at the stream hours later, Clinja nuzzled her head against his chest and gazed into his eyes with her dark soulful ones, and he was sure she didn’t want to leave him any more than he wanted to leave her.

  Korram spent that evening spearfishing again to add to his food supply, thankful he didn’t have to go hungry but still daydreaming about meals that didn’t involve fish. His stomach comfortably full once again, he stretched out beside his campfire and smiled up at the stars. Tomorrow I start back. Ernth and his family will see that I’ve done it, and he’ll have to admit he was wrong about me. I’ve been Accepted by a horse, just as they said I had to be, and they’ll consider me one of the Mountain Folk now. They would bring him to the Mid-Autumn Gathering, he would recruit an army, and he would return to Sazellia to challenge Regent Rampus. Korram was a little hazy on exactly how that confrontation would go, but he intended to make certain that Rampus was out of the picture by the end. Then when I turn eighteen early next spring I’ll be crowned king.

  He fell asleep wondering what Father would have thought of his accomplishments.

  The next morning after breakfast, Korram carefully threaded his spear through the gills of all his remaining fish so he could carry them on it. Then he mounted Clinja, who was grazing nearby, and set off through the trees in the direction of the twin peaks. Though he was feeling much better after his two-day rest in the valley, he could tell he wasn’t back to full strength, and it was a relief to be riding instead of walking up the slope.

  They made a slight detour so he could fill his pockets once more with pears from the tree he had found. And then they were off again, following the tiny stream that had led him down here two days ago.

  Korram discovered that if he wedged the butt end of the spear into the side of his boot, it would stand upright and he could hold onto the reins with both hands. He whistled cheerfully as Clinja carried him uphill, excited at the thought that the return journey would be much easier and quicker on horseback. The horse was full of energy once again, trotting and even cantering whenever he urged her to, and they made excellent time.

  At noon they stopped for lunch among the last of the trees. There was a thin layer of snow on the ground now, but he was thankful that Clinja found enough bushes and shrubs poking up above it to satisfy her hunger. He dined on fish and they both quenched their thirst from the little stream, which trickled along between snowy banks. While his horse grazed, Korram gathered firewood to use later, wondering how he was going to carry it. He could no longer bundle it together with his belt; not if he wanted a way to steer. Perhaps he could tie it up with strips of bark.

  Using the tip of his spear, Korram scraped and pried off pieces of bark from nearby trees and held them up to examine them. Most were too stiff to be of much use, but he discovered that the thinnest pieces from the greenest trees were supple enough to wrap and tie. It took a few more tries until he had a strip long enough, but finally he was able to bind his firewood into a bundle that he could balance across his lap.

  He hurried Clinja up the slope that afternoon, alternating between cantering and walking, anxious to get over the pass and as far down the other side as possible before dark. Though she obviously didn’t like the snow, the horse plunged gamely through it, and Korram laughed in triumph when they finally made it over the pass.

  He let Clinja pick her own way down the slope, and she chose her footing carefully. He found that sitting on her back made the return journey warmer as well as much easier.

  When the sun finally sank between two peaks, they were still surrounded by white; but the snow was only ankle-deep, and dark rocks jutted up from it here and there. Korram dismounted by the largest boulder he could see, hoping there would be no unexpected snowcat encounters this time. He couldn’t imagine Clinja getting along as well with a snowcat as he had. Using his boots, he cleared away the snow from the lee of the rock so both of them could spend the night on dry ground in its shelter.

  Arranging his wood, Korram built a fire and crouched beside it to enjoy its warmth. He had plenty of fish for s
upper, but he realized to his dismay that he had neglected to plan a meal for his horse. He dared not offer her more than a few pears, afraid that too much fruit would give her a stomachache. Well, at least she wouldn’t have to go hungry for as long as he had. They both ate a little snow before falling asleep beside the crackling flames.

  The next morning it took only a couple hours’ travel to leave the snow behind. Korram let Clinja stop and graze as soon as they were surrounded by enough grass to make it worth it. While she enjoyed her brunch, he turned and gazed back at the twin peaks behind them.

  We made it over Mount Clinja, he thought proudly. Now there’s just Nezkodney left. Though the end of his journey wasn’t exactly in sight yet, they were past the worst of it.

  Their trek across the valley and up Nezkodney’s lower slope was quick and easy. To Korram’s disappointment, he couldn’t find the blueberries he had stumbled across before, but he did discover a patch of lumjum growing beside a stream. He ate one raw for lunch – slowly, this time – and stuffed two more in his pockets.

  They stopped for the night just below the tree line, where there was still plenty of grass. Korram tried to roast another lumjum root on the end of his spear, but the result was a burned and blackened mess that was still hard on the inside and tasted no better than the raw variety. He forced it down anyway, along with the last of his fish, which smelled none too fresh by now. But it didn’t matter. In a few more days he would be back with Ernth’s family, dining on lumjum cakes and goat milk.

  The trek over Nezkodney was, to Korram’s relief, as uneventful as the one over Mount Clinja. Though a light snow whispered down for most of the next day, there were none of the blizzard conditions he had feared. It was as though the mountains had been trying to keep him from succeeding in his quest, but now that he had, they saw no need to waste their energy on him any longer.

  Korram and Clinja took their time crossing the next valley, the horse weary from floundering through snowdrifts. Now and then Korram dismounted to pick wood sorrel or look for grubs. When they came across a stream, he stopped for a few hours to fish.