Quintana of Charyn

‘They mightn’t be able to shoot from where they stand, but we don’t take chances.’

Gargarin wasn’t listening. He shrugged free and continued to walk. Froi dragged him back again.

‘Gargarin, I must suggest that we continue,’ Perabo pleaded. ‘They want you so that Bestiano has no one stopping him from taking the Princess and her child back to the palace. If that happens to Charyn … then Tariq of Lascow died in vain.’

Gargarin’s eyes were still fixed on Arjuro as if he could see into his eyes. And for the longest of time no one spoke. All around them the cracking and rumbling of the thawing ice rang in their ears and Froi knew that nature would be crueller than an approaching army.

‘Gargarin,’ Perabo prompted softly.

‘No,’ Gargarin said. ‘I won’t walk away from my brother.’

‘You’re making a mistake,’ Perabo insisted. ‘You’re placing your emotions before this kingdom.’

‘This kingdom has taken my lifeblood!’ Gargarin shouted. ‘I’ve given it everything! What else does it want from me?’

Perabo turned to Lirah.

‘Talk to him, Miss Lirah. Is this what you want for him?’

‘What I want for him is peace,’ she said, her voice low. ‘And if he walks away from his brother, he will never find it.’

‘His brother is a dead man standing,’ Perabo said. ‘You’ll lose them both. This kingdom will lose them both.’

Gargarin’s stare had not strayed from where Arjuro stood and Froi knew Gargarin would not turn his back on his brother. Not after Arjuro had spent ten years in a Lumateran dungeon for him.

‘Give me your robe,’ Froi ordered. ‘And your staff.’

Gargarin turned to him questioningly.

‘The moment I give the signal, you get on the horse and you ride and you don’t stop riding,’ Froi said, walking behind Beast, who would shield him from the eyes of the riders. He removed his own cloak and cap.

‘Perabo, you stay and when all hell breaks loose, you wait for Arjuro and then you follow them and don’t stop until you’re off the lake.’

‘What are you planning, Froi?’ Lirah demanded to know.

‘Give me your robe, Gargarin,’ he said again. ‘You want me to make decisions, then trust me.’

‘Why would I trade one misery for another?’ Gargarin demanded, but Froi heard sorrow in his voice.

‘Because the misery standing behind this horse has a better chance of surviving than Arjuro.’

‘No,’ Lirah said. ‘No!’

‘These are the options,’ Froi said. ‘Gargarin walks to his death. Arjuro is torn to pieces by four hundred flying arrows. Or else we all live and later speak about looking on the side of wonder!’

‘Take Froi’s offer, Gargarin,’ Perabo begged. ‘Let’s fight them on our terms.’

Still Gargarin refused to move.

‘Don’t you trust me?’ Froi asked.

Gargarin stared at him over Beast’s head and then wordlessly stepped behind the horse, hidden from the riders. He removed his robe with trembling hands and placed it around Froi, covering his head with the hood.

‘Remember,’ Froi said, taking the staff, ‘don’t let them suspect anything. Let them think we’re all watching Gargarin walk away. Don’t get on your horse until I give the signal.’

Froi handed his longbow to Perabo and heard the protests.

‘All I need is your axe,’ he told the keeper of the cave.

He didn’t dare look at Lirah. He didn’t wait for goodbyes or arguing. Instead, he began to limp towards Arjuro. From this distance, Dorcas and the riders would not suspect, but Froi could not be so certain once he reached midway. All he prayed for was that the riders didn’t move within striking distance before he reached Arjuro.

The axe felt heavy on his shoulder and somehow he was back on Lord August’s farm and they were walking home from felling timber. He remembered that day well because he was happy, because Lord August had put his arm around both Froi and the boys. ‘My lads did well today,’ he had said, and as Froi crossed this icy tomb it occurred to him that he might never see Lord August and Lady Abian again. That he had never told them the truth. Finn and Isaboe had taught him to love, but the village of Sayles had taught him to belong.

Let this work, he begged silently. Let this work. Because he wanted to see all of their faces again.

When he reached Arjuro, his teeth were chattering through blue lips as the wind tore through the Priestling’s robe. Arjuro was muttering a prayer to the gods, his eyes watering from the cruel wind.

Before Arjuro could speak a word in surprise, Froi embraced him.

Over Arjuro’s shoulder he saw Dorcas and the riders already advancing towards them.

‘Will you trust me and do as I say?’ Froi asked.

‘What could you possibly say that would have me leave you here alone?’ Arjuro asked, his voice broken.

‘Your brother is waiting for you, Arjuro. I can protect myself, but I can’t protect you at the same time.’ Froi watched as the riders gained ground on horseback. He was running out of time.

‘So will you trust me and do as I say?’ he asked again.

Arjuro’s arms tightened a moment and then let go. His eyes met Froi’s. And then Arjuro nodded.

‘Go!’

Arjuro ran and within seconds the first of the arrows flew past Froi. He swung around to signal Gargarin and Lirah to mount their horse and then began hacking relentlessly at the ice with his axe. When the surface broke beneath him, it sounded like the demons of young Froi’s dreams, devouring the earth and swallowing him whole. He heard the roar of men’s voices and he stumbled as the world tilted and he plunged through the ice, escaping the sharp tip of an enemy’s weapon, but finding himself falling into a freezing abyss.

Froi tried to make his way to the surface, but solid ice surrounded him and he struggled to break free of the tomb he had created for himself. No matter how hard he tried, he could not find an opening that would let him out. He felt a sob rise in him from pure fear and panic, and he pounded a clenched fist at the ice, his knuckles burning and his chest tightening. He thought he heard words from far away say, ‘Retreat! Retreat!’ and his only comfort was that it meant Bestiano’s men were turning back and Gargarin and Lirah and Arjuro would be safe. He couldn’t think and he couldn’t breathe; his head, his chest, everything felt as if it would explode and he tried to count, tried to remember anything … think of her name. Think … nothing … someone’s there … name … name … you know his name …

Don’t close your eyes, Froi.

Tariq!

How can you find her with your eyes closed, Froi?

Reginita.

But he had nothing left inside him to keep him awake and he was scared and he wanted to be with them because Tariq and the Reginita were safe and they’d take care of him.

Go back, Froi. Go back.

And suddenly he was someplace else … on the streets of the Sarnak capital … and he could see himself tossing and turning on his bed of lice and hay in that sewer he shared with the rats, awoken by a voice … how could he have forgotten that voice … the voice … it sang … Sprie. One word promised him a life he hadn’t dared to imagine, and so he travelled from the Sarnak capital to the town of Sprie, where he stole a ring from Evanjalin of the Monts … she and me? We’re the same … we live … we do anything to make that happen … that’s the difference between us and the others …

He opened his eyes and saw a face.

Tariq!

Hurry, Froi. Those from the lake of the dead are coming for your spirit.

Suddenly the ice broke above him and Froi swam up towards the blinding light. Later, he couldn’t say how he climbed out of that hole, but Beast was there, pounding at the ice with his hoof, his teeth pulling at the shirt on Froi’s back until he was lying on the ice, Beast down beside him, the hot air of his breath warming Froi’s face. And with the last strength he had left in his numb body, Froi crawled onto the saddle and then they were flying across