Because you’re my mother, he wanted to shout.
‘I stay here,’ he said, turning his back to her. ‘Go back to your cave and don’t bother me again.’
Arjuro accompanied him outside one day, regardless of whether Froi wanted the company or not. The stream was the best source of food, but it was guarded day and night, all the way to the northern wall of the gravina. After a good bout of rain the day before, Froi watched one of the riders collect a bounty of fish and eel, placing them in a sack that writhed with life.
‘If you could get that stash it would last us days,’ Arjuro whispered from where they hid in a small ditch behind a cluster of reeds.
They waited for most of the morning and when the rider was satisfied with his catch, he picked up the sack and walked away, disappearing into the copse of poplar trees that led to the Charynites’ camp.
‘Stay here and whatever you do, don’t move until I return,’ Froi ordered.
He followed the rider, leaping across stepping stones to avoid using the dirt track that could easily alert the others to him. The Charynite stopped soon after and placed the sack on the ground, standing against a tree to relieve himself. Perri always said that there was an advantage in attacking a man with his pants down. Most men went to protect their private parts before anything else and if a pursuer was to give chase, it would also take a moment for the victim to pull up his trousers. So Froi came up from behind and knocked the man across the temple with the handle of his short sword before grabbing the sack of writhing fish and eels, and then he bolted.
‘He’s here!’ he heard the rider bellow. ‘This way.’
At the stream where Arjuro was hidden, Froi forced the sack into the Priestling’s hands.
‘Run!’ Froi hissed. ‘I’ll lead them away.’
Without waiting for Arjuro’s response, Froi raced back the way he had come and found himself face to face with the first of the riders. He leapt up and gripped the tree limb above, one boot each pounding in both men’s faces. Jumping back onto the ground he took the path that circled the riders’ camp, knowing it would draw them away from Arjuro and their cave.
He reached the wall of the gravina heading north and saw the tunnel through the thick stone that he had travelled through Zabat on their journey to meet Gargarin. It would take Froi to the road leading him to Alonso and then Lumatere. Home, he thought. Home. And the fury he had felt in the caves towards Quintana and Lirah and Gargarin and Arjuro, and the knowledge that they would be left with a small bounty of food, steered him to take the path home.
Without looking back.
Chapter 26
Aldron arrived one morning with instruction from the palace. Although Lucian knew he had the full support of his cousin Isaboe, it still shamed him that he could not restore order amongst his people. There had been a week of hostility on the mountain and he had begun to wonder if it was best to send Yata down to the palace to keep her safe from the bitter words and simmering unrest.
‘If you’re here to guard the prisoner, Aldron, we’ll help you,’ Jory said, strutting to where Aldron was dismounting outside Lucian’s cottage. Everyone knew Trevanion and the Guard were keeping an eye on Jory, and he was the envy of most Mont lads his age. Usually he would receive a friendly cuff to his chin from one of the Guard in response to his remarks. Except for today.
‘I’m not here to guard the prisoner,’ Aldron said coldly. ‘I’m here to protect him.’
Aldron’s order was to take the Charynite down to the valley and shackle him to a tree on the Lumateran side of the stream. It was a safer option than keeping him up on the mountain.
Later that day, Lucian and Aldron escorted the prisoner through the crowd that had gathered outside. Tension was rife and under the watchful gaze of most of the Monts even Aldron looked uneasy. ‘What’s going on here, Lucian?’ he asked quietly.
‘The Monts being Monts.’
From where he sat on a horse tethered to Lucian’s, Rafuel of Sebastabol caught his eye.
‘You honestly don’t think they’re going to ride down that mountain and come for me,’ he asked. Lucian repeated his words to Aldron.
‘Tell him I have orders to keep him alive,’ Aldron said. ‘So if my orders are to keep him alive, he stays alive.’
Lucian translated.
‘And if his orders are to kill me?’ Rafuel asked.
‘Rest assured that you’ll be dead before you have time to give it a second thought,’ Lucian said.
When they reached the valley there was no one to be seen on their side of the stream. Lucian climbed up the oak that shaded the camp and saw Tesadora and her girls chatting with Phaedra and Cora in the vegetable plot that the Mont boys had once destroyed. Chatting. Lucian had noticed that ever since Lady Beatriss had sent down the clay cooking pot, his wife and her people had become friendlier to one another, but chatting to Tesadora and the novices was something new, and Lucian was determined to put an end to it.
Aldron pitched the tent beside a tree and as per Trevanion’s instructions he shackled Rafuel securely. Tesadora and the girls walked over and Aldron asked for the chronicle Tesadora held. He leafed through it.
‘Two hundred and forty-seven of them?’ he asked. ‘There are more Charynites in the valley than Monts on the mountain.’
‘We would have more Monts on the mountain if you two would return to your homes,’ Lucian told his cousins Constance and Sandrine, who had been living in the valley for two weeks now with Tesadora. They gave Lucian a look that would curdle milk and he thought it best not to say another word to them.
‘Is the Queen going to set him free?’ Sandrine asked, studying their Charynite prisoner carefully. ‘They are a puny lot, aren’t they?’
‘Despite it all, they are quite pleasing to the eye,’ Constance added. Tesadora gave them both a scathing look.
‘Yes, well it’s a pity you weren’t introduced to some of the Charynite soldiers during our ten-year imprisonment,’ she said, her tone acid. ‘I doubt any of the girls were cooing at how pleasing to the eye the enemy was when they were forced into their beds.’
The girls looked away, horrified and ashamed. ’We meant no offence, Tesadora,’ Sandrine said.
Tesadora gave the Mont girls a meaningful look, flicking her eyes towards Japhra before picking up the pots and walking away towards the stream. Lucian looked over to where Japhra was staring at Rafuel. Lucian knew little of her story except that she had been dragged to the palace by the impostor King when she was twelve. Years later, Lady Beatriss had managed to smuggle her out of the palace and they travelled for days across Lumatere until they reached Tesadora and her hidden cloister at the Sendecane border. The girl was said to be damaged, but she had a fierce attachment to Tesadora and a talent for healing more powerful than Lucian had ever seen. When her eyes looked past Lucian to their prisoner, he noticed that Rafuel was returning her gaze, and suddenly a rage came over Lucian. The rule was never to forget who the enemy was, and there had been times these past weeks when Lucian had forgotten. But not today. He grabbed Rafuel by his hair, pulling his head back. ‘You don’t look at our women,’ he hissed. ‘You don’t talk to them. You don’t touch them. Is that clear?’
Rafuel didn’t respond and Lucian saw sorrow in his expression.
‘Lucian. Aldron.’
Tesadora came running out from the trees that concealed the other side of the stream.
‘Riders,’ she said when she reached them. ‘Coming from the direction of Alonso.’
Lucian and Aldron crept towards the stream, the waterberry tree keeping them hidden. Across the stream Lucian could see the cave dwellers standing, ten or so horsemen riding towards them.