Froi of the Exiles

‘Not out of my mouth,’ Froi said, feigning innocence and spitting blood to the ground from a cut in his lip. ’Must have been someone else.’

Around the sycamore, soldiers of the Guard were picking themselves up, curses ringing the air while the lads in training began collecting the practice swords and shields.

‘If he goes for my nose again, I fink I’ll hang him up by his little balls,’ one of the Guard said, getting to his feet. Froi tried to ignore the mockery.

‘Nothing little about me,’ he grunted. ‘Don’t take my word for it, Hindley. Ask your wife. She seemed happy last night, you know, with the size and all.’

Hindley snarled, knew there was no truth in the words, but the danger was in having spoken them aloud. Froi saw the snarl as an invitation and all hope of ignoring it failed as he lunged at the man, wanting nothing more than to connect a fist to Hindley’s nose for the third time that day. Because no matter what, the taunts still stung. Three years ago when he hardly knew a word of Lumateran, his tongue would twist around all the strange pronunciations of his new language, causing great amusement amongst those who saw Froi as nothing more than street scum. Here comes the feef wif nofing to show for, they’d taunt. Finnikin had once told Froi that the greatest weapon against big stupid men was a sharp mind. It was one of the reasons Froi had agreed to continue his lessons with the Priestking. Three years on, he had exceeded everyone’s expectations, including his own.

Today they had set up their drills in a meadow close to the foot of the mountains. Finnikin and Sir Topher had business with the Ambassador from the neighbouring kingdom of Sarnak and they had chosen the inn of Balconio as the meeting place.

‘You’re not as nimble as you used to be,’ Perri said, as they walked towards the horse posts by the rock hedges of a Flatland farm that had long been deserted. Lumatere was filled with empty farms and cottages, a testament to those who had died during the ten years of terror, which ended three years ago when Finnikin and the Queen broke the curse and freed their people.

‘He’s talking to you,’ Finnikin said with a shove.

‘No, he’s talking to you,’ Froi replied with an even greater shove. ‘Because I’d probably kill a man who called me nimble.’

Perri stopped in his tracks and Froi knew he had gone too far. Perri had a stare that could rip the guts out of a man and Froi felt it now. He knew he would have to wait it out under Perri’s cold scrutiny.

‘Except if it came from you, Perri,’ he said seriously. ‘I’d prefer the word swift, though. And you can’t say I’m not swift.’

‘What have I told you about talking back?’ Perri’s voice was cold and hard.

‘Not to,’ Froi muttered.

He knew he should have counted. It was the rule to count to ten in his head before he opened his mouth. It was the rule to count to ten if he wanted to smash a man in the face for saying something he didn’t like. It was the rule to count to ten if instinct wasn’t needed, but common sense was. It was part of his bond to Trevanion and Perri and the Queen’s Guard. Froi did a lot of counting.

They began walking again, silent for what seemed too long a time. Then Finnikin shoved him with a shoulder and Froi stumbled, laughing.

‘He’s filling out more than we imagined, Perri,’ Finnikin said. ’Perhaps it’s true what they say, after all. That he comes from River folk.’

‘Wouldn’t mind being known as a River man,’ Froi said.

Still nothing from Perri.

‘Not as a Flatlander?’ Finnikin asked.

Froi thought about it for a moment. ‘Perhaps both.’

He saw Perri’s look of disapproval.

‘You can’t stay working on Augie’s farm much longer,’ Perri said firmly. ‘Sooner or later, you’ll have to join the Guard.’

The topic of where Froi belonged came up more often these days. What had begun as a roof over his head three years ago with Lord August and his family, had become home. And Froi’s kinship with the village of Sayles had strengthened as he toiled alongside them, day in and day out, to restore Lumatere to what it had been before the unspeakable. But Froi’s place was also with the Captain and Perri and the men of the Guard in the barracks of the palace, protecting the Queen and Finnikin and their daughter, Princess Jasmina. Once a boy with no home, Froi now found himself torn between two.

‘I can do both.’

‘No, you can’t,’ Perri said.

‘I can do both, I tell you!’

‘You’ve a warrior’s instinct and the skill of a marksman, Froi,’ Perri said. ‘You’re wasted as a farm boy. It’s what I tell Augie every time I see him.’

‘Lady Abian says I’m probably eighteen by now, so you’ll have to start treating me as one of the men,’ Froi muttered. He hated being called a boy.

This was followed by another stare from Perri. Another round of counting to ten from Froi.

‘I’ll treat you like a man when you act like one,’ Perri said. ‘Agreed?’

Finnikin shoved him again and Froi tried not to laugh because Perri hated it when Froi didn’t take things seriously.

‘When I’m as old as my father, they’ll still be calling me a boy,’ Finnikin said. ‘So why shouldn’t you endure the indignity of it all as well?’

‘Oh Finn, Finn, the indignity of it all,’ Froi mocked and Finnikin grabbed him around the neck, squeezing tight.

At the horse posts, Froi tossed the stable boy a coin as they collected their mounts. The boy gave Finnikin a note and Froi saw irritation and then a ghost of a smile appear on his friend’s face.

‘I’ll ride ahead to the inn,’ Finnikin said.

‘Not unescorted, you won’t,’ Perri said.

‘It’s around the bend in this road. Nothing can happen to me from here to there.’

Froi rubbed noses with his horse. He knew this argument would last a moment or two.

‘Anything can happen,’ Perri said.

‘Suppose around the bend are ten Charynite scumsters, waiting to jump you,’ Froi said, mounting the horse.

Finnikin shot Froi a scathing look. ‘You’re supposed to be on my side, Froi. And how do you suppose Charynite –’

‘Scumsters,’ Froi finished.

‘How do you suppose Charynite scumsters got up the mountain and passed the Mont sentinels?’

‘All it takes is for one of them to slip through,’ Perri said.

But Finnikin was already on the horse, trotting away.

‘I’ll see you at the inn,’ he called out over his shoulder. He broke into a gallop and was gone.

‘I think he forgets his place sometimes,’ Perri murmured, staring after Finnikin. ’He still believes he can come and go as though he’s some messenger boy.’

There was silence between them again as they rode to the inn. Froi watched Perri carefully. He wondered if Perri would stay mad for long. Despite most things from Froi’s mouth coming out wrong, he hated disappointing Perri or the Captain.

‘I can take leave from the farm, Perri,’ he said quietly. ‘Especially when it comes time to travel into Charyn and do what we have to do.’

Perri was silent for a moment. ‘What makes you think I’m taking you to Charyn?’

‘Because you’ve taught me everything I know about …’ Froi shrugged. ‘You know.’

‘Killing,’ Perri said bitterly.

‘And when I’m not training with you or working on the farm, then I’m with the Priestking being taught to speak the tongue of our enemy.’ He gave Perri a sidewards glance. ‘So the way I see it, that says you’re taking me to Charyn.’

Perri was silent for a moment. ‘You know what the Priestking says?’