Finnikin of the Rock

night.'

'Do you know what I think?' Sir Topher asked, tears in his eyes. 'I think Prince Balthazar made a decision that night. I think he was a warrior of the gods. You wanted him to live for all the right reasons, my boy. But more than anything, you needed him to live because you feared the inevitable.'

Finnikin was silent as Trevanion and his men returned. He could tell from the grimness of his father's expression that their surveillance from the top of the hills had provided them with more than just a scenic view of Osteria.

'Tell us good news, Trevanion,' Sir Topher implored.

Trevanion shook his head, his mouth a straight line. 'From our vantage point we had a clear view of the river and into Charyn. There are soldiers there. At least fifteen. Swords in hand. Exiles at their feet.'

'Sweet goddess,' Sir Topher said.

'I counted at least forty,' Moss said.

'Why are you so sure the captives are Lumaterans?' Finnikin asked. 'Might they not just be Charynites camped by the river?'

'They're exiles,' Moss said firmly.

'Evanjalin? Froi?' Sir Topher asked.

Trevanion shook his head.

'Do they move freely?' Sir Topher asked. 'Are you sure they are under guard?'

'They have separated the men from the women,' Perri said bitterly. 'Never a good sign.'

'Since when have exile camps been under guard?' Sir Topher asked.

'Since the rumor of the return of a king,' Trevanion said. 'If there is one thing that will threaten the royal house of Charyn, it is talk of the curse on Lumatere being broken and the impostor king revealing the truth. Charyn would consider any group of exiles a threat.'

'I say we cross the river. We can take them by surprise,' Perri said. 'They are weakened by ale and boredom. I can see it in their sluggish movements.'

'Except we have a guest. Remember?' Moss said, pointing up to the peak of one of the smaller hills to the east of them. Finnikin followed his line of sight and made out a figure crouching.

'He may belong to one of the autonomous communities,' Finnikin said. 'It wouldn't be rare for them to be traveling the hills.'

'Not a traveler, Finnikin. He is spying. On the Charynites and the exile camp. He cares little if we are aware of his location but does not want to be seen by the soldiers on the other side of the river.'

Finnikin sighed, shading his eyes with his hand, trying to think. He looked at the figure again. The youth was standing now. He was almost Finnikin's height but much broader, dressed in clothing cut from the fur of animals. There was an aggression in his stance, an arrogance that instantly made Finnikin bristle. As if sensing Finnikin's anger, the youth removed an arrow from the quiver strapped to his back and cocked his longbow, holding the arrow at eye level and pointing it straight toward Finnikin.

'Provoke him, Finn,' Trevanion instructed, aiming his crossbow in the direction of their intruder. 'Let's see what he does.'

Finnikin grabbed a blunt-tipped bolt from his quiver. 'Do you want me to discharge?'

'No, leave that to us if he chooses to attack. He seems focused on you. Find another way to provoke him.'

Finnikin thought for a moment and then raised his hand and made a gesture with two of his fingers twisted together, pointing them toward the bridge of his nose and then jutting them forward with force.

The others stared at him, amused. Trevanion and Perri even barked out a rare laugh.

'I think that's the River people's way of telling one to do something quite obscene with their mother,' Moss mused.

'Just something I used to see you all do when I was a child,' Finnikin said with a grin.

'You'll have to try another one,' Perri advised. 'It won't work as provocation. It's purely a Lumateran insult. Unknown to the rest of the land.'

'How proud we must feel,' Sir Topher said dryly.

The men laughed again, but when an arrow landed close to Finnikin's feet, they leaped back in alarm, diving for cover behind a cluster of rocks and cocking their weapons.

'Bastard!' Finnikin muttered.

With their backs against the rocks, the realization hit them all at the same time.

'He recognized the gesture.'

'An exile, perhaps?'

'But armed?'

Finnikin crawled over to his saddle pack and pulled out an ochre-colored stone, then retrieved an arrow from his quiver and handed it to his father.

'Hold it still while I write.'

Across the stem of the arrow he scribbled the words Finnikin of the Rock before stepping into the open and aiming toward the figure on the hill. He followed the arc of his shot, pleased when the youth jumped back, and he could tell by the youth's stance that he was less than happy about the close proximity of the arrow between his legs. He picked up the arrow and then stared at it before disappearing. They were disappointed when he failed to reappear.

'We go to the river,' Trevanion said finally, 'and ask the Charynites to kindly let the exiles cross.'

'Just don't ask me to be kind for too long,' Perri muttered as they began to climb the hill.

They stood on the riverbank not five steps away from where the Charynite soldiers held the exiles captive. Finnikin thought it seemed wrong not to wade across and end it all right there. The moment they arrived, the soldiers had casually made their way toward the opposite bank. Huddled behind them were the exiles, divided into three groups: women and children, grown men, and then the youths. While the males were seated, the women and children stood, clutching each other with fear. One of the mothers held a hand over the mouth of her wailing baby, her face stricken with terror at the thought of what would happen if she failed to silence the child. Finnikin knew what the guards planned to do with these people. Worse still, the exiles knew it too. He could tell that most of them came from the main village of Lumatere. The villagers were merchants and craftsmen and had a distinct personality. There was a humility and dignity to them that the queen had encouraged her children to emulate. 'If you do not get what you want in life, Balthazar,' Finnikin would hear her say, 'take it like a villager. Hold your head up and accept the inevitable.'

One of the older exiles raised his head from where it rested on his knees and saw them on the bank. Finnikin watched as his expression changed from despair to recognition to elation. He nudged his neighbor, and an excited whisper went through the group. There was no such reaction from the Lumateran lads. Unlike their fathers and uncles, they had no idea who Trevanion and Perri were. As far as they were concerned, the five men standing before them on the Osterian side of the river could easily add more woe to their situation. Death was inevitable. Finnikin could see it in their faces.

A soldier stepped closer, his boot touching the water between them. 'Go back to guarding the garbage,' he instructed his men. 'I'll take care of this.'

Finnikin felt Sir Topher stiffen beside him and was relieved that Trevanion, Moss, and Perri did not understand the Charyn language. As Perri had said, these men were bored. It was their job to guard a rarely used crossing two days' ride from the capital. Taking thirty unarmed exiles hostage and doing to them whatever they desired was a way to relieve the boredom. In the prison mines, Finnikin had asked his father how humans could treat each other in such a way. 'Because they stop seeing their victims as human,' Trevanion had responded quietly.

The soldier with one foot in the river was young; Finnikin smelled his ambition and saw the look of dogmatism in his eyes. He would have preferred to have been dealing with a madman full of anger than someone so blinded by self-importance. The Charyn soldier stared at them. Finnikin imagined what he was thinking. Five men, swords at their sides, longbows in their hands. They had enough bolts in their quivers to create havoc among fifteen restless guards.

'On behalf of the government of Lumatere, we order you to release our people,' Sir Topher said in the Charyn language. Finnikin heard the tremble of rage in his voice.