Chapter 31
Their plans were changed the next morning by Quintana.
‘We go over the mountains,’ she said. ‘The dying man of Turla is waiting.’
The others exchanged a look. When the cold Quintana spoke, there was an uneasiness in them all, even Lirah who knew her best.
‘I say we choose another time for that, Your Highness,’ Gargarin said in a firm, but polite voice. ‘It will add at least a few days’ ride to our journey if we take the mountains to Paladozza and not the underground pass.’
‘There will be no other time,’ she said dismissively, looking at Arjuro. ‘Are you ready, Priestling? I have a sense that the gods are leading us there for a reason.’
She walked away towards the three horses they had been given, and Froi knew the decision was final.
‘I like it better when I’m blessed Arjuro,’ Arjuro muttered.
With great patience, Gargarin put away the map he had studied all night.
‘Let’s all agree that we’re going to try to get out of Turla with no marriage contracts, no broken bones and no body parts sacrificed to the gods,’ he said.
He poked a finger at Froi’s shoulder. ‘And you’re going to have to control any need to prove yourself as a man.’
‘I’ve never had to prove my worth as a man to people I don’t care for.’
Gargarin sighed. ‘Then you’ve not met a Turlan.’
Lirah easily mounted one of the horses and Froi followed suit, directing it to where Quintana stood. But she wordlessly chose to travel with Lirah, and Froi saw no reason to get on the wrong side of both women today.
‘You’re going to have to ride with me,’ he told Gargarin.
‘If you’re one of those reckless fools with a need for speed I will travel with Arjuro.’
Arjuro’s horse had already taken off with little control from its rider, so Gargarin had no other choice but to clumsily climb onto the horse.
‘How does our path differ from your plans yesterday?’ Froi asked, grabbing Gargarin by the sleeve of his coarse undershirt to secure him on the horse.
‘We go over the mountain and not under. It’s about a day’s ride to the peak.’
‘You need to hold on tighter,’ Froi ordered as Lirah and Quintana galloped past them.
‘Why?’
‘Because I’m one of those reckless fools with a need for speed.’
Halfway up the Turlan Mountains Froi knew they were being watched. He pulled at the reins and stopped their horse, looking around at rock, wild tufts of dull brown grass and little else. Someone who knew how to stay concealed was out there and Froi was not taking chances. He steered his horse to Quintana and Lirah’s, circling them.
‘If I say bolt, you head down the mountain,’ he said quietly to Lirah, who was holding the reins. ‘Regardless of what she says,’ he added, his eyes meeting Quintana’s.
Arjuro rode up beside them. ‘This is a mistake,’ Arjuro said. ‘There’s something strange here and that’s not the coward in me speaking. It’s the gods’ blessed.’
‘Which is exactly why we’re here, Priestling,’ Quintana said.
Gargarin made a sound of displeasure. ‘They’ve not come down this mountain to speak for themselves for more years than I can remember, Your Majesty,’ he said. ‘So they’re going to be suspicious of anyone travelling through their land.’
‘Find me someone in Charyn who is not suspicious,’ she said. ‘Come. We’re wasting time.’
Later that afternoon, they came across a lone cottage and a hound accompanied them for a stretch before turning back. Froi could see that the peak of the mountain was at least another day’s ride and that they would have to stop soon to set up camp. The autumn days were short and he didn’t want them travelling in the dark. Soon after, however, they reached a village and from where they sat astride their horses, Froi could see views of Jidia below. Depending on the Turlan numbers, any army that chose to ride up that mountain didn’t stand a chance.
In an instant, they were joined by one man after another – from cottages, stables and further up the mountain – and as Froi had suspected, some of the men had followed them from the mountain below. They were accompanied by their goats and cattle and even a family of ducks decided to join in. But no women. Froi cared little for the way they stared at Lirah and Quintana. Although there was no trace of the malevolence seen in the Citavitan street lords, the Turlans were ripe with a barely suppressed spirit that unnerved Froi. They were called mountain goats by the rest of the kingdom and in his entire existence, Froi had never seen men with so much hair sprouting from heads, faces, arms, chests. They were solid, unlike most Charyn men he had come across.
When they dismounted, Gargarin led Froi and the others to what looked like an outdoor ale house. The younger Turlans shoved at Froi as he passed them.
‘They’re just playing with you,’ Gargarin said quietly. ’Do not react.’
‘I was never one for playing with others,’ Froi snarled.
His anger seemed to excite the Turlan lads even more.
A man clothed in calf hide and a fleeced coat approached, his hair long and coarse and fair.
‘We’re on our way to Paladozza and hoped to beg a place to stay for the night,’ Gargarin said. Froi was impressed by the lack of fear in his voice and his very practical aim of securing accommodation for them all.
Before another word was spoken, the man walked to Arjuro and backhanded him across the face. Arjuro toppled to the ground and Froi charged for the Turlan. Instantly, two others grabbed both his arms. Gargarin was at his brother’s side, fury in his expression.
‘We come in peace and you greet us like the enemy!’ he shouted.
The man spoke a strange dialect and Froi watched Gargarin shake his head with confusion. Arjuro tried to lift himself from the ground.
‘We have no one you want,’ Quintana said. She turned to Gargarin. ‘That’s what he said. “We have no one you want.” ’
Arjuro sat up, wiping blood from his mouth.
‘We are searching for the dying man of Turla,’ Quintana announced coldly.
The man stared, as if noticing her for the first time. He walked towards her and roughly grabbed Quintana’s face in his hand. She snarled and bit his hand and Froi struggled against those holding him back.
‘Why travel over the mountain when you can take the pass?’ the man spoke in Charyn. He seemed to be the authority in the village. Perhaps even the mountain. His question was directed at Gargarin.
‘The girl dreams of the dying man of Turla. That’s all we can tell you,’ Gargarin said with honesty. ‘My brother is the last Priestling of the Citavita godshouse and a physician. It may be that he has a purpose here.’
The Turlan leader continued to study Quintana’s face. ‘Is she a lastborn?’ he asked warily. There was silence until Quintana nodded. There was regret on the Turlan’s face and he shook his head.
‘We will not protect her, so don’t even ask,’ he said. ‘We have enough of our own to protect.’ He stood before Arjuro, who was still on the ground.
‘My name is Ariston and I’m leader of this village,’ he said. ‘The first time I saw the dying man of Turla, I was a boy. That was forty-five years ago and the one thing I remember him shouting was not to trust the men in black robes, for they will take your children.’ The Turlan’s eyes were hard. ‘We may not have children to speak of, Priest, but if you bring harm to any of my people I will choke you by the hood of your robe.’
Arjuro stared. ‘The Priests would never take a child.’
‘Are you calling me a liar?’ Ariston asked.
‘No,’ Arjuro said. ‘I’m saying you’re mistaken.’ He looked at Quintana. ‘Now more than ever I need to meet this dying man to know the truth.’
Ariston of Turla studied them all. ‘The dying man lives on the other side of the mountain, half a day’s ride from here. I’ll lead you there myself soon enough.’ He turned his attention back to Gargarin. ‘Your name.’