Under the Mountain - Part 1
Masterpost
The water from the stream was icy on Adam’s skin, and he couldn’t quite keep back a small gasp. He leaned a little farther forward, to keep the droplets from dripping from his face onto his clothing, and splashed another handful onto his eyes and cheeks. Some of the ornaments and pendants dangling from chains and leather ropes around his neck dipped into the water, but Adam didn’t mind. They’d certainly seen worse over the course of the last two years.
Two years, two long, long years, and he could hardly believe how close he was to home. The ground beneath them had been climbing steadily for some time, horses tiring more easily now that they were almost at their destination. Adam wished he could say that this short moment’s rest was for the animals, to graze and relax before the last, steep stretch, but he knew that it was he himself who needed a moment to collect himself.
Adam wasn’t a coward by any means. No one would even dare to insinuate it. No, he was a Prince of the Mountain, and the mountain bred them tough. The frail, the fragile, the vulnerable, they didn’t survive very long. And these people, the advisors, foreigners he had brought home, would thrive on the mountain, Adam was sure of it. Allison, Monte, and Isaac - as different as the seasons, and yet each one a survival artist, confident and tough as nails.
Monte’s head was cropped close - a mark of those in mourning, Adam had learned. He didn’t fill the air with needless chatter. It didn’t bother Adam; he did enough of that for the both of them. But when Monte did speak, he said useful things. He knew how to read the wind and the trees, he knew when to let his sword rest and when to send it singing into another man’s flesh. Most importantly, however, Monte was patient with Adam. He understood the importance of appearance, knew that sometimes it wasn’t simply vanity to be concerned about looks. Knew that sometimes, it was about other people more so than oneself.
Isaac, on the other hand, had no such understanding. He’d plucked an apple from a tree somewhere, firm and ripe, or maybe snaked it from a vendor that morning when they’d passed through town, who knew.Now, here, he made a point of eating it noisily, crunching the crisp fruit between his teeth, probably to remind Adam of the tales he had spun about the feasts, the glorious food they had under the mountain. It was the sort of thing he’d do. The ends of the colorful scarf he had tied around his forehead to keep the hair from falling into his eyes whipped around in the sharp breeze, but Isaac didn’t seem to notice.
He leaned against a boulder next to Monte, keeping an idle eye on the horses, while Allison sat perched on top, eyes drifting across the barren, bitter landscape.
Allison, Adam knew the most about. He knew that she was exiled from her village for refusing to name her secret lover, and later abandoned by that same man who refused to leave the comfort of his home for the woman who had given up everything for him. The fool had been blind to how precious that kind of loyalty was. Adam was not.
He scrubbed his hand over his forehead, trying to wash away the grime from his skin without smearing the color around his eyes. He wished the stream was still enough that he could see his own reflection, but here, this far up, it was fed year-round by the melting ice covering the distant mountaintops. It never remained still for long.
He startled backwards when the sad remains of an apple core hit the ground no two hand lengths from where he crouched and tumbled into the water, disturbing the stream even further.
“Take your time, Princess,” Isaac called.
Adam’s only response was a rude gesture thrown over his shoulder. Isaac, as far as he could tell, was the least damaged of the bunch; a second son, he’d left his parents’ farm when famine years threatened the survival of a too-large family. His relatives were well, his home open to him should he wish to return, so naturally, he was the most cynical, stubborn, sarcastic man Adam had ever met.
He did not even know which part of Isaac’s prickly nature appealed to him so much.Or perhaps it was Isaac’s sweet side, which the man would never admit to; his artistry, his vision. He had made two leather armbands for Adam in exchange for an escort through a dangerous stretch of forest, both black with depictions of intricate flowers and trees, laced up at the wrist. He had completed the work with Adam watching over his shoulder, both taking no more than half a morning, and yet Adam had found himself completely captivated by the man and his talent.
But maybe it was that, then, that was the problem - he was fascinated by Isaac, tended to forget that he was unused to the ways of Adam’s people. He couldn’t expect the man to understand how important it was for Adam to return as a triumphant warrior prince, proud and strong, and not as a dusty, weary straggler.
“I’m hungry,” Allison said, kicking her legs against the trunk of the tree. She wasn’t whining, Adam knew; she just liked to share whatever popped into her head. Still, he dunked his hair into the frigid stream, tossed it back in a water-soaked arc that had both Monte and Isaac exclaiming in protest, and got to his feet.
“It’s not far, now,” he said. “We’ll get there soon enough.”
And they did. The sun had barely moved in the sky when the ground beneath their feet began to rise sharply. Adam rode ahead, guiding his horse along the difficult path, carefully watching the hooves as they moved through the first autumn leaves.
“Adam,” he heard Allison call behind him, but he didn’t turn. He knew what she wanted to say - that this could impossibly be the right way because the path ended where sheer rock began. Most travellers thought so. They were meant to think so.
He pulled lightly on the reins and vaulted off his horse, pulled off his heavy gloves and ran his fingertips along the stone, searching.
His friends didn’t bother to dismount, or perhaps they were simply too confused. Adam didn’t care much either way.
“Adam, this is a rock,” Isaac said.
Adam grinned at him over his shoulder, wild and feral, he knew. “This is no rock,” he said. His fingertips settled on the mark worn into the stone, an eye with a pupil thinly cut like a cat’s. “This is the mountain.”
He could tell from Isaac’s silence that the man wasn’t impressed, but even Adam had to admit that there was nothing to be impressed by yet. To a stranger, it would look like nothing but sheer rock face, rising tall and impenetrable from the barren ground. Above it were tough green weeds and trees clinging to the side of a mountain ridge that climbed fast and high, impossible to cross unless you knew which paths and passes to take. Not many knew the way, and even less of the ones who attempted a crossing ever returned.
But Adam knew what to look for. There was a rocky outcrop perhaps half of the way up, no more than a natural formation that would eventually be worn down by wind and rain. There was a gaping wound in the rock underneath, wide enough for two grown men to stand side by side. It was where Adam had last seen his mother and his father and his brother, watching him ride out into an uncertain future.
He’d been so different then.
Still, the thought of seeing his family, his people, again, quickened Adam’s heart. He balled his hand into a tight fist and smashed it against the rock face, where he knew the cracks and crevices in the stone would allow the sound to carry upwards, alert the others to his presence.
“I demand entrance,” he thundered.
There was only quiet, not even the sound of birds chirping in alarm. Isaac’s horse nickered quietly and Adam saw the man calm her with a hand to her neck, but even he didn’t seem to dare break the silence.
And then a face appeared, halfway up the rock face, a young man with a suspicious frown. Could it really be Gareth? When had he gotten to be old enough to be a guard?
“Gareth.” Adam could barely hide his delight. “It’s good to see you.”
The boy frowned at him. “Identify yourself,” he said, voice sharp but face dawning with realization.
“It’s Adam. Your prince, Gareth,” he called upwards. “As you damn well know. Let us in.”
A moment later, a second face appeared underneath the outcrop. It was an older man, with a scraggly beard that he hadn’t had at Adam’s departure, but Adam recognized him nonetheless.
“Marcus,” he called. “It’s me, I’ve returned.Let us in!”
Marcus said something, quietly, to Gareth who flushed a bright red and scuttled away, before the man turned back to Adam and his companions. “We’ve been expecting you, boy!” he called back, face splitting into a mangle-toothed grin. “Adam. We thought you might have died. It’s been a long time.”
“Like I would give you the satisfaction,” Adam retorted. “I’m alive and well and found myself my advisors. My Wandering is complete.”
“Your parents will be pleased to hear,” was the reply. “Go on, get down there, we’ll meet you there.”
Adam lifted his hand in reply. He swung himself up on his horse and gestured for his companions to follow. He lead them along the rock face, a few minutes ride before they reached a crack in the wall, so narrow a horse could barely squeeze through, the remains of a rockslide covering the rest.
Adam was through first, on foot again, despite Monte’s disapprovingly narrowed eyes. Monte was careful, and that was good, but this was Adam’s home. There was nothing he knew better than these rocks.
His horse hesitated a little when he leadher forward but she came, following him into the dark corridor beyond with a nervous whicker. After a few seconds in which he shuffled forward blindly, he could hear the telltale footsteps and hoof sounds of the others following.
“Are you sure this is the right way?” Allison asked somewhere behind him. Her voice was distorted ever so faintly by the tunnel’s structure.
Adam had to laugh. “Fairly sure, yes.”
Allison drew breath to say something else, but then Adam took the last few upward steps and found himself saying, almost involuntarily, “We’re here.”
He was the first out of the tunnel - had he always had to duck his head to avoid splitting it open on the rock? - and stepped into the clearing. He had grown up with this, this enclosed garden that blossomed in what was little more than a crack in the rock face, twenty paces wide and maybe thirty long from end to end. There were two trees, small and bare of fruit, a few bushes and even a small creak that bubbled up from the rock on one side and disappeared underneath it again on the other. He had grown up with it, thought it nothing special, but his companions’ quiet gasps reminded him that maybe it was.
There was a large overhang on one side, shielding one old and two young horses from the weather, and from it Marcus emerged with another young man - Jeffrey? Jeremy? - in tow. Before Adam had had a chance to compose himself, he found himself wrapped up in a forceful hug.
“Adam, my boy!” Marcus said loudly. He snapped his fingers at the boy hovering uncertainly behind him. “Go on, boy! Get their horses.”
His companions insisted they help, of course, and it wasn’t long until all four animals were scrubbed dry with straw and their saddles stored in a large wooden crate. Marcus picked up two lit lanterns from the ground and, handing one to Adam, motioned them deeper under the overhang.
Adam could hear his companions stifle their surprise when they crowded close only to find another walkway leading up into the rock, climbing steeply. It was not an easy walk. The lanterns were small, their light dim, and the ground was uneven and rough. Several times, everyone in their party except Allison had to duck their heads to avoid smashing them open on raggedy ceilings. Cracks and crevices opened to the left, right and above, sometimes even in the ground, some no bigger than a finger, others big enough to fit a small child. Hearing Monte quietly mutter a prayer, Adam had to stifle a grin. Sometimes, he couldn’t help but marvel at the fact that the rock had not yet come down on them all.
They walked for another few short minutes before they reached the busier caverns, where children washed their clothing and men and women wove baskets and tanned leather. Most stopped their activities to stare, some had smiles and greetings for Adam, but Adam was still caught on how small everything was.
In his memories, the halls of the mountain had been vast and endless, a labyrinth of corridors to navigate and lose yourself in. Now, his steps seemed to carry him farther than before, or maybe the halls had shrunk in his absence. Had it really always been only a few short strides from their main hall over to the crevice where mothers watched over their squabbling children? The path had seemed endless when Adam had left his home barely two years ago.
He felt Allison’s hand on his arm and smiled down at her. “What do you think?” he asked.
“It’s amazing,” she breathed, and Adam had to chuckle at her wide-eyed wonder.
“I can’t believe it. It’s like a city built into the rock.”
“Most of these caves are naturally formed,” Adam told her, freeing his arm from her grasp and slinging it over her shoulders instead. “We’ve only expanded on them here and there.”
“Amazing,” she whispered again.
Adam grinned. “You saw the creek outside, didn’t you?” he asked. At her nod, he gestured into one of the caverns they passed, at the water gushing through it. He laughed when she stared in amazement, tugged her into another corridor, leaving Marcus and his boy waiting with a nod, glanced behind him to make sure Isaac and Monte were still following behind.
Another few turns and they had arrived at the cavern Adam had used to call his own, before his departure. No one had dared take it, it seemed, despite the two long years that had passed, and he gestured at his friends to drop their things by the stack of furs and blankets that lay piled against one wall.
Allison stretched in delight, lifting her hand to one of the cracks in the ceiling. “It’s cold,” she said, surprised, not complaining.
Adam nodded. He gestured upwards, towards a crack in the stone above them, stark contrast against the light rock. “Warm air is bad air,” he said. “The colder the air, the cleaner it is.” He crossed his legs and sank down on his pallet. The other four followed his example after a moment, forming a tight circle, and Adam set the lantern down between them.
“These always burn,” he said. “They give light, yes, but they also stay ablaze to keep us alive.”
At the blank looks on his companions’ faces, he smiled a little, opened the catch and carefully broke the candle from its base. He twisted around to drip hot wax onto a rocky outcrop behind him and pressed the bottom of the candle into the mess, securing it against the rock.
“When the air is clean like this, when it comes straight from the outside, the candle will flicker, but it burns bright. When the air is used up and old, the flame grows small. Don’t ever let a candle die - it’s dangerous, and there’s no natural light here to guide your way.”
Three heads nodded their understanding; Adam smiled, but he knew they wouldn’t fully grasp what he meant until they had first woken up terrified, expecting to see the gleam of stars above them and instead finding nothing.
“So what now?” Allison asked when the silence stretched just past the point of being comfortable.
“Now.” Adam smiled at them all. “How would you like to meet the king and queen?”
By the time they had reached the council hall, Adam and his friends had managed to amass quite a following. News of the oldest prince’s return seemed to have spread like wildfire, and men, women and children stood gathered in the walkways, calling out greetings or reaching out to grasp Adam’s hand.
The king and queen, Adam’s parents, were seated on the throne carved into the rock at one end of the hall. There was no doubt that they had heard of his arrival, not the way they watched the entrance intently, but they did not rise until Adam pushed before them and bowed, deeply and respectfully.
“My King,” he said. “My Queen.”
His father’s hug was impossibly tight and would likely have gone on forever if his mother hadn’t stepped in, pushed between them and wrapped him up in a hug as well. She had tears in her eyes when she pulled away, pressed a hand to his cheek.
“You’re back,” she whispered.
Adam nodded.
His father beamed at him, tearless. He pressed a hard kiss to Adam’s forehead. “Your days of Wandering are over, my son,” he said, and Adam felt his throat grow tight.
It was a rite of passage and he had performed admirably, he knew that, but seeing the pride spread across his father’s face still made something skip in his chest.
The king turned, waved someone in the group forward. “Neil, come greet your brother.”
Adam looked up just as Neil took a hesitant step forward.Two years ago, Neil had been scrawny and sharp, barely more than a boy despite the quickness of his tongue.He was still the shorter of the two of them, Adam noted with some satisfaction, but there was no doubt now that Neil was fast becoming a man.
Adam could only hope that he would.
He and Neil were the only surviving of their parents’ children, and Neil had yet to go Wandering. Who knew what would happen to him during the two years he had to spend away - maybe he’d fall sick, or injure himself, or fall in love with a pretty girl somewhere and decide to stay. Life on the mountain was harsh, and it wasn’t hard to conceive that someone would decide not to go back. Adam had to admit that even he had been tempted once or twice, but in the end, he would never give up the mountain - he had been raised by it, and it was a part of him. He would never be able to leave it behind.
Maybe his melancholy was reflected on his face, or maybe it was something else, but a few feet away, Neil’s steps faltered. “Welcome,” he said, voice inflectionless, face uncertain.
Adam couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Two years, and this is the greeting I get?” he asked, closing the distance between them and enveloping his brother in a hug. After a long moment, he felt Neil relax into it.
“Welcome,” he whispered again.
“It’s good to see you,” Adam replied, just as quietly.
Then he extracted himself, took a step back. “My King, my Queen - my people,” he said, ushering his friends forward. “May I present my companions: Allison,” a radiant if nervous smile,” Isaac,” a wave, “and Monte,” a formal bow.
“Welcome,” Adam’s mother said, smiling brightly.
“Welcome,” his father echoed. He bowed formally. “I hope you will advise my son well.”
“I have no doubt that they will,” Adam said with a smile.He took a step back, startling when his father seized his hand. When he tried to tug it away, his father’s grip only tightened.
“It’s alright, Father,” he said. “I’ll leave you to your council. We’ll talk tonight.”
His father shook his head. “You’ve only just returned to us, Adam,” he said. “The council can wait until tomorrow.”
“You know it can’t.” Adam folded his free hand over his father’s. “I promise I will see you tonight. But for now, you have a council to hold and my companions are weary from traveling.”
His father nodded, albeit reluctantly, but instead of letting go, he drew Adam in for another hug. “It’s good to have you back, son,” he whispered in Adam’s ear, and Adam couldn’t help but murmur back the same.
If Adam hadn’t seen it happen so many times, it would have been hard to believe that the council hall during his parents’ meetings was the same room as during the new moon feast that night. The cavern was filled wall to wall with people of all ages and sizes. There were drummers, dancers and musicians, storytellers. There was food and drink. Children, cats, and dogs were underfoot wherever they turned, and Adam saved himself to one wall, dragging his companions with him.
“I refuse to sing,” Isaac announced from his place at Adam’s side, which Adam thought to be a rather wise decision. The other man had a knack for instruments, for melodies, for comedic timing, but his voice was rather gruff.
Most of the mountain people sang well - heritage, perhaps, but more likely that they all began early, did it all their lives. In the long, cold winter months, there wasn’t much else to occupy their time.
This time, however, when the singing began to take precedence over the dancing, he made his way over to the seat his parents used as a throne to talk to both of them. He told them about his travels, which he promised to also do for anyone who wanted to hear, at some later date. He asked about their lives, let them touch him to their hearts’ content. By the time everything was said, he had talked himself hoarse, and when his parents finally let him be for a moment, he allowed himself to lean back and let his gaze sweep over the crowd.
There weren’t many foreigners among his people, not many he didn’t know. Some of them he didn’t recognize if they’d grown up too fast or aged too poorly, but he knew the names and faces of all but a few. The children, he doubted he would be able to name. There were so many, and all of them had changed so much, that Adam felt as though it would be years before he once again felt comfortable naming them all.
He amused himself for a while, trying to guess which name from his memory belonged to which new face, but grew weary of it when he began to remember the names and faces of the people he had met while away instead, men and women and children that had never even seen the mountain from a distance suddenly grinning at him in the halls. He scoffed, looked around for someone to bring him another mug of something strong, when a shock of hair, the color of straw amidst a mass of browns and blacks, caught his attention.
He’d seen men and women change the color of their hair while he was travelling, seen them sap all color from it or add dyes until they looked as colorful as a field of flowers. The small man’s sun-golden hair was positively plain in comparison, but Adam knew he would have been fascinated by it a few years ago.
And while it was certainly the man’s most noticeable feature, it wasn’t the only interesting thing about him.He was a hunter, that much was obvious. Above the plain, grey tunic that fell partly down his thighs, laced at the throat and cinched at the waist with several rounds of a long strip of braided leather, he wore a jacket patched together from many different types of animal hide - leathery and tough on the outside, but Adam could see the tufts of grey, black and golden fur peak out along the collar from where he sat. A curved predator’s tooth dangled from one earlobe, brightly colored feathers from the other.
He had his sight set firmly on a group of giggling young women around Adam’s age, so Adam had ample opportunity to stare, unabashed. Adam’s boots reached up to his knees, and they were sturdy - light enough to move easily, but designed to protect against sharp rocks from below and wayward hooves from above. The other man’s looked like nothing more than strips of supple leather climbing halfway up his calves - thin soles that allowed him to feel every twig and leaf, silent and deadly.
He was focused, too, the way Adam expected a hunter to be, eyes fixed on the dancers twirling around the open space left clear in the middle of the hall. Adam tried to make out who he was following so avidly with his gaze, but couldn’t - His eyes seemed to skit from one girl to another, fixing each one with a heavy look, but there was something intent in his gaze that said he had already chosen a favorite.
Adam oughtn’t to have been surprised that it was one of the dancer girls. They were pretty and feisty, the lot of them, and the hunter was bound to have developed an attachment to at least one of them.
The prince turned his gaze away and let his eyes drift over the rest of the assembly.
There was another person he didn’t know, a small, dark woman with two unsteady children curling their fists into the leather of her hunting garments. She turned her head away when he smiled at her, and Adam took this, however obscurely, as a sign. As permission.
He laid a hand on his father’s arm who turned immediately, face lighting up in a smile that made Adam’s heart soften. It must have been hard for his parents to have a son out there and not know if he would ever return - know that if he had died somewhere on the road, they would never learn of it.
“Anything you need, son?” his father asked, and Adam shook his head.
“Some answers, Father,” he said.
The king gestured for him to carry on, and Adam shifted a little closer, pointing out the leather-clad woman. “The huntress, over there. Who is she?”
“That’s Sasha,” his father said without hesitation. “Her children are Elia and Lianne. She came to us the spring before last, I believe. Our hunters found her in the forest. She was traveling towards the seaboard after her husband had died.”He laid his hand over Adam’s thigh. “She’s made it quite clear that she doesn’t want another, I’m afraid.”
Well. She wasn’t the reason Adam was asking, after all. Instead, he gestured towards the blond-haired man, allowing his father to follow the line of his arm. “What about him?”
His father kept his eyes on the crowd for a moment. “Oh. Tommy,” he said, and Adam whispered the name to himself simply to test out how it felt on his tongue.
Tommy.
“A mountain runner,” his father said. “He came seeking asylum when his family was killed.”
A mountain runner. Adam had heard of them, briefly -a prince of the mountain had to know about all creatures they shared it with, be they mountain goats or people who lived as though they were. Runners clung to the hillside like spiders, carving their homes into the rock face up where the plains people could barely breathe. They were hunters, often archers, small and tough and unpleasant to strangers. They had no desire for community. They lived in small families that stayed well clear of one another, claiming territories so big you could scarcely see from one end to the other, but they could occasionally be coaxed into leading caravans across the mountain, for the right price, and only in the summer.
“What happened to them?” Adam asked, because runners were fighters and they knew the mountains too well to fall prey to its treacheries. There was no way they could have been caught off-guard by a rockslide or an unexpected storm.
His father turned his head to give him a look. “Slaughtered, he says. Says when he returned from his hunt, it was to find traces of riders, many of them, with his mother and father felled where they stood and his sister dead with her dagger still in her hand.”
Adam nodded, his eyes once again finding Tommy across the room. “Has he hunted for them?”
“All summer.” His father covered Adam’s hand with his own. “But you know how runners are. The dead are dead, and the living go on living.”
“When did he come here?” Adam asked. If Tommy had been hiding himself away here while Adam was out seeing and tasting everything the world had to offer, he was going to be extremely displeased.
“Around summer solstice,” his father replied after a moment. “Perhaps since the new moon feast before. No earlier than that.”
Not too long, then. He would likely still feel like a stranger, like a solitary man lost in a crowd of weather-beaten faces.
Adam was still deep in contemplation when the king got to his feet.
“You’ll forgive me,” his father said when a hush fell over the crowd, inclining his head. “It’s late, and the day has been full of excitement. Our oldest son has been returned to us. My wife and I will retire to our beds and rejoice in private.”
Adam bowed his head like the others did when his parents departed hand in hand. There was some tittering afterwards, some people deciding to leave as well, others electing to stay. It took a few moments before Adam found the pale-haired man in the crowd again, but rather than on the girls, Tommy’s attention was fixed on Adam now. His gaze was heavy and hot, so dark Adam thought he could feel it prickling against his skin, and when he saw Adam looking, he didn’t avert his eyes - he smiled.
Adam crooked his finger at him and he came, weaving his way through the throngs of people. Adam lost sight of him for a moment when a young pretty girl offered him a plate of fruit. He took an apple and nodded his thanks, and then Tommy was at his elbow, dipping into a bow.
“My Lord Adam,” he said.
Adam grinned. He leaned away from Tommy, against the other armrest, and allowed his legs to sprawl.
“You know who I am,” he said.
Tommy clasped his hands before his body, but while the gesture might have looked demure on anyone else, on him it looked slightly mocking. “Everyone knows who you are, my Lord Adam,” he said. “It has been trumpeted from every treetop all day.”
“Do you always speak to people this way?” Adam asked mildly.
Tommy returned his steady gaze with a smile. “Usually, yes,” he said. He hesitated. “You’ll find that mountain runners are not known for their manners, my Lord.”
Adam let his hand drift over and lightly tugged on the bottom hem of Tommy’s tunic. “Neither are the people of the mountain, if you take stock in plains people’s gossip.”
Tommy tilted his head to the side. “Yes.” The corners of his mouth quirked upwards. “But then again, who gives a damn what the plains people think?”
Adam inclined his head in acknowledgement. He looked down at the apple in his hand, polished it with the cuff of his tunic.
When he glanced up, Tommy’s eyes were fixed on his fingers. Smiling lightly, he offered the fruit to the other man, who reached out to take it before he hesitated, eyes flitting to Adam’s.
“We’ll share it,” Adam offered, pulling a small but sharp knife from his belt. He nodded at the arm the chair. “Sit,” he said. “Entertain me a moment.”
“Whatever you wish, my Lord,” Tommy said, but it did not come out as sarcastically as might have been intended.
Adam let his legs slide to the floor, and a moment later, Tommy sat perched on the ledge carved into the rock, his feet sliding easily between Adam’s thighs. The leather covering his skin was too thick for there to be any heat, but Adam could still feel the outline of his feet, small yet broad, against the fabric of his pants.
He cut into the apple slowly, juices trickling over his fingers, from two angles. The first piece he slipped into his own mouth, feeling Tommy’s eyes on him with every movement, the second he held out for Tommy to take, giving him the option of pulling it from the knife’s blade with his teeth or plucking it off with his fingers.
Still, he felt the familiar stirring of want low in his belly when Tommy chose the former option, pink lips tightening around the apple’s yellow flesh.
“It’s sour,” Tommy said, when he had finished his slice, the rest of the apple forgotten in Adam’s hands.
“It’s early yet, for apples,” Adam said. “They’ll grow riper still.”
“I hope so,” Tommy murmured, but Adam was no longer interested in the topic.
“Have you sworn your allegiance?” he asked, eyes fixed on Tommy’s face, watching him for a flicker of deceit, but the other man shook his head.
“There aren’t many asking allegiance from a mountain runner,” he said.
“That’s their mistake.” Adam slipped his fingers into Tommy’s hair, watched the other man lean into his palm. “I would have yours,” he said. “If you would offer it.”
Tommy smiled slowly. He uncurled Adam’s fingers and guided them downwards to rest against Tommy’s cheek. “Ask me again in a month,” he said. “If you still want me then.”
With those words, he slipped from the seat’s arm, plucked the apple from Adam’s limp fingers, and disappeared into the crowd.
It wasn’t long before most of the crowd had cleared. Adam was not surprised when his companions came to find him fairly quickly after Tommy had left. Allison was the first, curling under Adam’s arm while he talked with a woman who had chosen a seat nearby to rest. Her name was Stacy, he recalled. He remembered that she had had sunburn on her nose the day he had left. She was younger than Adam, but a guardswoman now, her stomach swollen and round. She was resting because her child’s ceaseless kicking wore her down.
She took her leave when Monte appeared at Adam’s side, weary-eyed but alert, hand resting on the handle of his short-sword like it always did. Isaac took the longest. Adam thought he might have been making eyes at Sophia, one of the women seated at the hearth to dole out food and drink, but when Isaac finally found his way over, his face betrayed nothing.
“Shall we sleep?” Adam asked, nudging Allison whose eyes were fluttering closed.
She nodded in agreement, finding enough energy to right herself and stumble after Adam from the hall, Monte and Isaac bringing up the rear. Adam called several goodbyes but didn’t stop until they had reached the small cavern that had once been his. Someone had brought in more furs and blankets that laid out on the floor in invitation.
Isaac wasted no time bedding down at the entrance, knife in hand, and Adam rolled his eyes in Allison’s direction when she settled down next to him.
“You’ll keep me warm tonight, won’t you?” she asked with a hopeful little smile.
Adam smiled at her. “Of course I will,” he said. He ran a hand over her hair, smoothing back the wayward strands. “Don’t ever doubt that.”
He stayed awake long enough to watch Monte light the candles and crawl into his own bedding, settling down between Adam and the wall. Tommy, he thought, no more than a flicker in his mind before he slept, but he couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like if it was the smaller man he had in his arms.
Adam was the first to regain consciousness, the others not as attuned as he was to the sounds of the mountain stirring awake. He lay quietly, eyes fixed on the colorful strands in Allison’s hair, remembering what had occurred the night before.
Only his reluctance to wake the girl in his arms kept him from covering his eyes with his hand. An idiot was what he was. He couldn’t believe he had asked Tommy to be a part of his inner circle based on looks and half a conversation. He’d likely cause enough of a stir as it was, bringing three foreigners with him instead of the usual one or two. Mountain people valued outsiders, expected their princes and princesses to bring with them a foreigner from Wandering that kept their minds sharp and their views fresh, but there was a difference between asking for an outside opinion and flooding the halls with foreigners.
Thoughts spinning round and round, Adam did finally extract himself from Allison, letting her sink into the bedding with a sigh. He dressed quietly, taking his boots outside with him, and snuck away to the council hall and the promise of breakfast.
There were only a few people around, Adam guessed most of them were already hard at work, and it wasn’t long before he was handed a bowl of oats and warm milk, with a generous helping of fresh berries. Adam looked up in surprise, and the woman who had served him, Ginger, gave him a wink.
“Welcome back, Prince Adam,” she said.
She waved off his thanks and moved on to someone else, and Adam set off to devour the food she had given him.
He had barely pushed the bowl aside when a hand fell on his shoulder.
“Look who’s finally awake!” Neil dropped down at his side, a grin splitting his face. “I’ve been up since dawn, and you’ve only just found your way out of bed?” He clasped a mock-conciliatory hand on Adam’s shoulder. “Brother, I’m afraid your years of Wandering have made you weak.”
Adam snorted. Neil’s words couldn’t be farther from the truth, but at least the impish gleam in his eyes assured Adam that he wasn’t actually serious.
He threw his arm out, too quickly for Neil to have any chance of defending himself. The younger boy kicked and squirmed, but his face was red with laughter by the time Adam had managed to pin him to the ground.
“I think you’ll find,” Adam said, grinning down at him, “that I’ve grown rather tough.”
“Tough like dried meat after a long winter,” Neil said. He kicked his legs, grunting when Adam easily immobilized them with his own. “And you smell just as unpleasant.”
“You little brat.” Adam couldn’t help but laugh. “Maybe I ought to take a dip in the stream, then,” he said. He dug his fingers into his brother’s ribs, finding the ticklish spots easily despite the time that had passed. “Take you with me?”
“No!” Neil cried out.
“No,” someone agreed, and they both tilted their heads back to find their mother standing over them, an empty basket tucked under one arm.
“Unfortunately,” she said, “Neil has a task assigned this morning. And you, Adam, ought to look in on your advisors. See if they’d like some breakfast.”
“Yes, my Queen.” Adam pushed himself up from his seat on Neil’s chest, pulled his brother to his feet.
Neil immediately went for Adam’s ribs himself, but the elder slapped his hand away.
“Hush,” he said, not unkindly. “You heard the queen. We can talk more later.”
“Promise?” Neil asked. His lips curved into a smile, but his eyes were honest, strands of hair falling into his forehead, and he looked so young standing there that Adam felt his heart clench.
“I promise,” he said. He gave Neil a light push. “Go on, do your duty.”
“I’m going,” Neil said, taking the basket from their mother, mock-scowling over his shoulder as he went, and Adam couldn’t help but laugh at his antics.
When he returned to the cavern in which he and his companions had bedded down, the only one still curled up under the covers was Allison, who burrowed away from his gentle hand.
“Where are the others?” he asked her.
“Outside, I think.” Her voice was muffled in the bedding. “Said you should join them.”
Adam smoothed down a few tangled strands of her hair and left her to her rest.
It wasn’t hard to find them. The moment he stepped out of the tunnel into the autumn-sharp sunlight, he heard the sharp, sudden clash of two blades meeting mid-air.
They had attracted a small audience to their practice ground, a patch of grass swept free of fallen leaves. A handful of children stood gathered a safe distance away, the youngest staring openly, the older ones sneaking furtive glances at the two fighters while they sorted through their baskets full of collected nuts and berries.
Isaac and Monte broke apart when they saw him approach, both men raising a hand in greeting. Isaac had stripped to the waist, chest glistening with sweat, his familiar scarf keeping his hair from falling into his eyes.
Monte still wore a light tunic but it, too, was soaked - stained dark at his throat and along his back. He shifted his sword from his left to his right hand and grinned.“You against the two of us?” he offered. “How about it, Adam? Feeling up to a challenge?”
Isaac grinned as well from where he had knelt down to take a swig from his water skin, revealing two rows of sharp, even teeth. He turned to the cluster of children. “Wouldn’t you like to see Prince Adam fight?”
A ragged cheer rose between them, startling away a nearby bird, and Adam rolled his eyes. He stripped off his outer tunic, leaving the one underneath safely in place, rid himself of his scabbard and stepped into the makeshift ring, his sword in his hand. He kept his eyes on the two men when they turned towards him.
They were both good fighters, despite their differences: Isaac was skinny and lanky, using his superior height and reach to overpower an opponent before the other could reach him. Broad, stocky Monte relied on his strength, throwing his body weight into every blow he delivered. Adam had fought both of them countless times, sometimes in jest, sometimes just crossing the border into serious, but he knew better than to underestimate either of them.
Isaac was the first to move, predictably. Monte preferred to observe an opponent before engaging him, so Adam parried Isaac’s sword once, twice, before he sidestepped the blow Monte aimed at his back. He ducked out of Isaac’s reach and aimed an elbow at Monte’s side, laughing when Monte scowled.
His amusement died quickly when he turned, only catching sight of the sword aimed at his side when it was already too late. Isaac’s blade curved upwards at the last possible moment, its impact with Adam’s own sword rattling his bones, and Monte clucked his tongue.
“Watch your left,” he called over.
Adam nodded, scowling. Despite his many years of fighting, he had yet to learn to keep his left elbow down, his vulnerable side protected. It rankled him, and his friends knew better than to tease him about it, only drawing attention to it when he might have gotten himself killed.
“That’s right, Adam,” Isaac insisted dramatically. “You need to step up your game. My three year old cousin could beat you.” He flapped his hand at himself and Monte, dismissing them as opponents, and startling a chuckle out of Adam.
This was how he had first encountered Isaac, prize fighting for the entertainment of a handful of farmers in exchange for food and a bed for the night. They hadn’t become friends until their paths crossed again, until Adam had already met Monte and Allison, but even then, even while fighting, Isaac’s sharp tongue had made him laugh.
He nodded to his friends, his good humor mostly restored, and allowed himself to get lost in the movements, thrust and parry, thrust and parry, sidestepping where he could and blocking where he couldn’t. He forgot about his growling stomach, about the late summer sun beating down on his arms and no doubt littering him with freckles, about the ache in his muscles. His entire focus was on his sword, on his opponents, on keeping his body moving.
“Tommy, let’s go,” someone said.
Adam felt the words like a jolt to his spine. He signaled a rest and turned, gaze immediately finding the pale head among the watchers. Tommy stood a little to the back, bow slung over his shoulder, lips parted and a flush high on his cheeks, the image enough to have Adam’s labored breathing hitch a little.
He colored even more strongly when Adam caught him looking, dropping his eyes to avoid the prince’s attention.
“Tommy.”
It was Sasha the foreign hunter who had spoken, her hands tight on the bow in her hands. Tommy ducked his head but he didn’t move, stood transfixed between the trees without taking his eyes off Adam. A bow and a quiver of arrows were slung over his shoulder. Another hunter, an older woman called Ona, stood impatiently a little further away. Adam had no doubt they were off to check the traps that kept the mountain in supply of meat to dry for the winter.
Everyone who lived under the mountain knew how to hunt, of course, knew how to keep him- or herself alive, but some were more suited for it than others. Just like Cassidy was known for his skill with the needle, so Ona and apparently Tommy and Sasha were in demand for their skill with a bow and arrow. They were the ones who provided the skinny rabbits and the tough deer that helped them survive the cold season, huddled together in caverns lined with frost.
And here was Tommy, waylaid from such an important task by the sight of Adam, swinging a sword. The thought had something pleasantly warm uncurling in Adam’s belly, and he smiled.
Sasha, on the other hand, looked less than content, short bow tapping against her thigh. “Come on, Tommy,” she insisted. “If we want meat tonight, we need to be on our way.”
“Yeah, Tommy, come on.” That was Neil, emerging from the trees with three basket-laden children in tow, no doubt charged with overseeing their efforts. The smile he gave Tommy was all teeth. “You lusting after our Prince won’t satisfy anyone’s hunger. Not that way, at least.”
Where Tommy had been reddening before, he now turned pale, quickly heading for the trees without making eye contact, with nothing more than a muttered “Come on, Sash.”
Adam watched the light shock of hair fade into the undergrowth before he turned his attention on his brother. “Neil,” he sighed.
Neil shrugged, unrepentant. “If he wants to live underneath the Mountain, he needs to pull his weight like the rest of us.”
Adam let his face show his disapproval. “I hope you plan on working especially hard this harvest season, to lead by example.” He eyed the girl at Neil’s side, clutching a bulging basket, and his brother’s empty hands.
Neil rolled his eyes but kept his mouth wisely shut even as he jerked the basket out of the girl’s hands and hefted it under his arm. He muttered something under his breath as he stalked away, too quietly for Adam to hear, and there was nothing for Adam to do but turn and face his companions once again.
He was sharpening weapons with Isaac, the rhythmic slide of metal against rock soothing to his frazzled nerves, when Stacy come to a breathless stop in front of him.
“There’s something going on in the council hall,” she said.
Adam cast a look at Isaac who motioned for him to go, and he left.
There were several people crowded around the hall’s entrance, though not as many as he had expected, and he managed to push through with little trouble. Inside, he found his father’s war council as well as Neil. Tommy, Sasha, and Ona stood against the wall, still in hunting leathers, their expressions tight.
Monte stood waiting towards the back of the hall, and Adam slipped into place next to him. "What's wrong?" he asked.
Monte shook his head, tilting it towards Adam's mother and father who still stared at the three hunters with stony expressions.
"Father?" Adam asked, taking a step forward. "Mother? What's wrong?"
His father turned to fix him with a serious look. “Greymen,” he said, and the word alone was enough to send a cold dread creeping up Adam’s spine.
Greymen. For as long as Adam could remember, he had heard the word spoken like the plague. They ravaged the forest like wildfire, like pests, taking whatever they could and giving nothing back. They cheated, stole, lied. They thought their women too weak to fight, and yet they left them on their own, undefended, while they pillaged and plundered their way across the foothills.
“Greymen?” Monte echoed behind him.
The king caught the question and scoffed. “Wandering nomads. Parasites that cling to the mountain, feast on others’ hard work. For years now, they have tried to cross to the other side of the mountain in search of riches, wreaking havoc there as they do here.”
Monte nodded, took a quiet step back, but Adam could still feel his easy presence.
He took a steadying breath. “Here?”
His father nodded towards the three hunters waiting along the wall. “They all say the same thing: riders, on horses, coming our way.”
"Where?" Adam asked, turning towards the three himself.
"Out by the ridge," Sasha said. She raised her eyebrows. "There were Greymen," she insisted.
"Several," Tommy added. "They were searching for something."
"Something?"
Tommy rolled his eyes at Adam’s question. "Something like the entrance to an underground city, something."
“They won’t find it,” Neil said, utterly self-assured, and Adam found himself giving him the same disbelieving look that he could see on Tommy’s face.
“What makes you so sure?” Adam asked, stepping forward.
Emotions flickered across Neil’s face - surprise, distaste, something like betrayal - before it finally settled into a blank mask. “They won’t. They never found us before, and they never will.”
“They’ve never been this far south,” Adam reminded him. He looked to his father in confirmation, who nodded. “When I left to go Wandering, they had never even been south of the Black River.”
“They’ve grown more insistent, more ruthless,” his mother said. She turned towards Adam, mouth set into a firm line. “Do you remember that settlement of plains people where the Black River and the Green River meet?”
“Of course he does, Mother,” Neil cut in before Adam could affirm. “He’s still Adam. Perhaps he has gone Wandering, but he’s not grown into a different person.”
“Perhaps not.” It was the king, and his voice was harsh. “But he’s learned many things since then, grown wise. He has gone Wandering and it would do you well to remember that you have not.”
Neil’s face grew stiff. He tilted his head away, gave a mocking little bow, but remained silent.
“The settlement, my Queen?” Adam pressed lightly, if only to ease the tight knot that had formed in his stomach.
She beckoned him closer, closer still so she could draw him down to sit on his father’s other side. “Around the time when the strawberries grow ripe, we heard that the settlement had been attacked. Greymen had raided it, said they’d spare their people if they could tell the Greymen how to cross the mountain or tell them of someone who could lead them to the other side. They couldn’t, and the Greymen killed their leaders, left the others scattered to the winds.”
“We can.” Neil, again. “They must know of our map by now.”
“All the more reason to avoid them,” Sarah, one of the King’s council, spoke up.
“Not at all,” Neil insisted. “They want to cross the mountain, we want them gone. Why not give them the map and send them on their way? Why should we continue to fear them, day after day, when we can be rid of them, and happily, so easily?”
“Greymen are dangerous,” Tommy cut in, face a tight mask. “You cannot trust them. They killed my family because we did not grant them passage across the mountain. Don’t think they won’t do the same to yours.”
“Not if we grant them passage,” Neil said with a wave of his hand like he was shooing away a fly. “Why should they harm us if we give them what they want?”
“Because that won’t be all they want,” Tommy said. “They ask for passage, and then they’ll ask for your women, and your children, and your goods. They won’t stop until they have taken everything.”
“So you know them personally, do you?” Neil asked, and Tommy instantly fell silent.
“Perhaps we should consider Tommy’s words,” Marcus,of the king’s council, cautioned. He turned to Adam’s father, who nodded. “If the Greymen are coming, we’d best be prepared.”
Neil shoved off the wall. "This is ridiculous," he said.“Fighting the Greymen will only lead to bloodshed.Bloodshed that can be easily avoided if we only bargain with them.”
"Are you really willing to take that risk?" his father cut in before Adam could say something scathing. "What if we bargain with them, and they betray us? What then?"
“Then we will face them down,” Neil said, chin lifted haughtily into the air. “And we will triumph over them.”
“And why should we take that risk,” Adam shot back, “when we can simply not bargain with them at all? I say we tighten our defenses, we lay low, and should the Greymen really make their way here, we’ll be ready to fight.” He caught Neil’s gaze and held it. “Were you not the one insisting that the Greymen would never be able to find us?”
Neil kept silent, eyes ablaze.
Around them, Adam saw the council members pass quiet nods.
“Wandering makes men grow wise,” he heard Sarah murmur to Marcus.
Neil must have heard it too, because he rolled his eyes. “Since it appears that no one values my opinion very much, I ask to take my leave, Father.”
“Go,” their father said, curling his hands like he himself was about to lose his temper, and Adam couldn’t blame him.
Adam watched Neilstomp towards the exit, brows steadily climbing up his forehead.
His mother sighed and leaned across his father’s lap to cover on of Adam’s hands with her own. “I cannot remember you ever being this difficult,” she said.
“I’m sure I was, Mother,” Adam lied. Truth be told, at Neil’s age, he had already had responsibilities and commitments driving home that he would likely be King of the Mountain one day, and he had known better than to flounce about like a petulant child.
Between them, his father sighed. “We shall make the necessary arrangements,” he said, raising his voice to be heard above the hubbub. “Keep on the look-out. Do not roam the forest alone. Greymen are not to be trifled with.”
“Are we really going to believe the foreigners?” someone called out.
Before Adam could turn and tear him down for his attitude, his father shook his head. “If you will not believe the foreigners, trust in Prince Adam. Princes of the Mountain bring home wisdom and advisers, that’s the way it is.”
The chatter only rose at that, and Adam’s gaze was once again drawn to Tommy when the slim man turned, hands balled into tight fists.
“May I take my leave, my Lord?” he asked, and at the king’s distracted wave of a hand, he turned and left the hall, swiftly and silently.
Adam watched him go. He felt the sudden, burning desire to run after him, but instead he asked his leave also and returned to his cavern to find his companions, his friends. Isaac sat fully dressed, sharpening his knives still while Allison rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Monte, who had gone ahead, was carefully inspecting his shirts and pants for holes and loose seams, and from Allison’s first question when he sat down next to her, Adam figured that Monte had already filled them in.
“What’s so important across the mountain, anyway?”
“No one knows.” Adam smiled a little. “Well, mountain runners know, but they refuse to share the secret.”
Secret, Allison mouthed, and Adam had to grin as he resettled against the rocky surface behind him.
“There are rumors, of course - myths about a land where fruits grow year-round on the trees and snow never falls. The rains are short and never sweep away newly-planted crops, and the sun burns so hot that you can leave the clothes you washed out to dry even in the winter.”
It was possible he might have been exaggerating a little, so Isaac’s scoff was hardly a surprise, annoying as it was to see Allison’s enchanted smile fade.
“There is a legend,” he said brusquely. “A Greymen legend that tells of an enchanted land on the other side of the mountain. Maybe they’ve heard tales of it, or maybe they believe that it used to be theirs. Either way, some, the ones stronger in their beliefs, they think that they need only cross the mountain for all their troubles to be over. And they will risk anything to do so.”
“They’re delusional,” Isaac concluded.
“Don’t you think it’s a little bit romantic, though?” Allison asked him. “I mean, enchanted lands where all your dreams come true, isn’t that worth fighting for?”
“Is it worth killing over?” Isaac asked, and although Adam wanted to smack him once again for making Allison droop the way she did, he had to admit that the man had a point.
Part 2