Froi of the Exiles

Froi nodded, surprised by the words.

‘Despite our years apart, I can pick my brother’s lies in an instant.’

‘Then where is he?’ Froi asked.

‘Is that excitement I hear in your voice?’

‘No,’ Froi snapped, but his heart was beating hard. ‘Go on.’

‘Very rude to speak with your mouth full.’

‘Hmm, pity my family weren’t around to sit me down and teach me how to behave proper.’

Something flashed in Arjuro’s eyes. He reached into his pack and retrieved a bottle, holding it up in the light from the fire.

‘Mead, not wine, but it will have to do.’

Arjuro took a swig and handed the bottle to Froi.

‘Where is he?’ Froi asked quietly, despising himself for wanting to know.

‘He could still be struggling down this gravina,’ Arjuro said. ‘I travelled after you and didn’t come across him. He probably stayed a while in Upper Charyn, deliberating. He likes to deliberate, my brother does. When we were boys he’d spend hours and days deliberating about whether it was safe to escape from my father.’

A rare flash of pain crossed Arjuro’s face at the memory.

‘And in the palace prison I can assure you he deliberated for eight years.’

Arjuro’s eyes met Froi’s. ‘As we speak, he’ll be deliberating about whether he should have explained that he ordered his son home to Lumatere because he wanted him safe, or whether his son will despise him for the rest of his days if the words remained unspoken.’

His son. Froi had never been anyone’s son, although at times he had sensed a father in Perri. Even Lord August, after a good day’s work, would gather his sons and Froi together in thanks. Something inside Froi’s gut twisted at Arjuro’s words. Oh you fool, Froi. You’ve always wanted to be someone’s son.

Arjuro smiled sadly. ’He’s probably wondering about whether it’s better to trust his instincts.’

‘What do you think his instincts are telling him?’

Arjuro shrugged. ‘Does it matter? I’m going to follow his example, Dafar.’

Froi shuddered at the sound of that name.

‘I’m going to tell you to go home to Lumatere and not look back,’ Arjuro said gently.

Froi held a hand out for the bottle, took another swig. ‘I’ve only come this way for my weapons.’

‘Good.’

Froi nodded, handing the bottle back to the Priestling. ‘But do you want to hear what my instincts are telling me right now?’ He didn’t wait for Arjuro’s response. ‘My instincts tell me that Lirah took Quintana to the only place that has ever been safe to her and that Gargarin is searching for them. He needs absolution. That’s what I’ve discovered about him these past few weeks. You see, Gargarin returned to the Citavita to tell you and Lirah the truth and then to kill the King. He failed at all three.’

Froi’s instincts were good. He could tell. Arjuro stopped, mid-swig.

‘He’s heading towards the cave you both claim as yours,’ Froi continued, almost cheerfully. He liked being right. ‘The one where you hid the Oracle and where I first saw Gargarin’s scowling face. Where he took Lirah and you took De Lancey once upon a time when life was joyful.’

Arjuro gave nothing away.

Froi continued. ‘Lirah mentioned the cave. You mentioned it. In between getting his bones broken and being imprisoned, Gargarin mopes in the cave. De Lancey fantasises about the cave.’ Froi shook his head, mockingly. ‘If those frescoes could talk, they would blush from what they’ve seen the brothers of Abroi get up to in that cave.’

Arjuro was silent, but after a moment Froi saw his mouth twitch.

‘Still shocks me that you’re not as stupid as you look, runt.’ Rain fell throughout the night making their journey down the gravina even more difficult than when Froi had climbed it weeks before with Gargarin. Arjuro cursed and grumbled for most of the time and if Froi didn’t know every Charynite curse word when he set out that day, his companion had introduced him to most by late afternoon.

When rain came pelting down again they crawled into the closest cave, its ceiling too low to stand. Arjuro sat for most of the night at the entrance of the tiny space, brooding.

‘My brother’s an idiot,’ he said, refusing to lie down. ‘He’s probably dead at the bottom of the gravina, stacked on top of the rest of those bodies they tossed down.’

Later, Froi was awakened by the sounds of voices, but then he heard nothing and thought he had imagined it.

‘What are the chances of someone other than Gargarin being down here?’ he asked Arjuro in the dark, knowing the Priestling was awake.

‘Apart from Lirah and the girl, probably none. This isn’t exactly the fastest way to the rest of the kingdom. People only come down here to catch trout and I don’t think anyone in Charyn feels like fishing at the moment.’

The world was silent again and it was at such times that Froi missed Quintana most. Missed the solace he felt as they lay beside one another. He fell asleep thinking of their last night together in the palace, when her legs had wrapped around him and he had heard the cry in her voice as she buckled against him. ‘Again,’ she had whispered. ‘Again.’

He woke to a sound and realised he had groaned aloud.

‘Think of an ice-water bath,’ Arjuro mocked from where he sat. ‘It always kills any desire in me.’

Early next morning they heard the sound of shuffling along the path outside the cave.

Arjuro made a strange bird-like sound and Froi could have sworn that there was excitement on the Priestling’s face.

‘You haven’t spoken to him for eighteen years and you still share a whistle?’ Froi whispered.

‘Nothing wrong with a whistle.’

Froi chuckled. ‘You would like Finnikin of Lumatere. He has a passion for whistles. One for his wife. One for his hound. One for his daughter. One for his father. And then there’s the one for when he’s merely enjoying the day.’

A moment later they heard the birdsong return.

Froi crawled out of the cave. Gargarin was sitting low behind a rock ahead of them, as though trying to avoid being seen by someone further down. Gargarin turned, held a finger to his lips and beckoned Froi over, not even questioning what he was doing there. Gargarin pointed down into the gully. Froi saw the cave where he had hidden his weapons, marked by the image of the fan bird. But further down, where the stream passed Gargarin’s cave, he saw horses.

Froi pointed up and quietly climbed to a higher rock. From there he saw the palace riders instantly. At least ten of them had set up camp downstream from Gargarin’s cave.

‘Not good,’ he said when he climbed down. ‘They’re here for something and I don’t think it’s us.’

‘Have you seen Lirah and the girl?’ Arjuro asked, joining them.

Gargarin shook his head. ‘But I saw two men watch our cave for some time.’

Gargarin said the ‘our’ unconsciously. ‘Then your man arrived, Froi.’

‘My man?’ Froi asked, confused.

‘That whining idiot, Zabat.’

‘With palace riders? Bestiano’s? You’re wrong.’

‘Not wrong at all,’ Gargarin retorted, as though he was never wrong. ‘First Dorcas entered with two riders. Then another rider arrived with Zabat. Zabat entered and I’ve not seen the three inside since.’

‘Zabat,’ Froi whispered again, trying to understand what Rafuel’s messenger was up to. ‘With Bestiano’s men?’

He thought a moment. He needed to get his short sword and daggers and then he would work out a way to speak to Zabat. ‘Follow me.’

Ensuring that the path was safe, they moved quickly down towards the rock marked with the fan bird. Froi lay on his stomach and squeezed his way to the rim of the cave. He felt around in the darkness, but there was nothing there.