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"That sounds like a good reason."
By lunch time, bored with language lessons, they switched back to Tengu.
"Ever hunt in the mountains?"
"Near the summer palace. It s south of the low pass mountains, but not as big as yours."
"With a bow?"
Kiron nodded.
"You ll like our mountains. Rabbits, goats. Climbing fun too. May take a few days to get used to it."
"What do you mean?"
"Harder to breathe high up. Not bad at Haraldholt, but you re used to the plains. Over the high pass
everyone has trouble, even us and we re the highest hold in the Vales."
Before dark the riders reached the Silverthread, turned up it into Mainvale. At the first farmstead Niall
rode ahead, returned shortly.
"Dinner, beds in the hayloft."
The next day was spent riding, at times walking, as the vale narrowed and grew steeper. Where they
stopped for lunch its sides were linked by a wall of weathered stone twice the height of a man, a narrow
gap for the stream, the road beside it. Kiron looked at it curiously; Niall answered the unspoken question.
"Two hundred years ago, to keep Westkin from the upper vale, back when that s where the people were.
Oldest wall in the vales."
"It isn t all old. See."
"That s one of the bits Father talked folk into patching when he heard about His Highness s swimming
pool."
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It was almost dark when they reached Haraldholt. Niall led the other two to the stable, where they
unsaddled and rubbed down the horses with the assistance loosely speaking of half a dozen younger
members of the household. As they came out of the stable a woman met them, a bundle of cloth over her
arm. She looked inquiringly at Niall. He spoke slowly in Tengu.
"Mother, this is Kiron, the Second Prince s son. Father sent him to guest with us for a while. Kiron, my
mother Gerda Bergthordottir."
"Be welcome." Gerda nodded to a grandchild, who stepped forward; the plate held a chunk of bread, a
small bowl. She reached into the bowl, sprinkled the bread with salt, offered it to Kiron. He took the
bread, ate it.
"My thanks for your hospitality, noble lady."
Gerda returned his smile, handed the bundle of cloth to Niall.
"All three of you I can at least send Knute back home clean."
"Yes, Mother."
Niall led the other two through the woods to a small house. For a moment Kiron thought it was on fire,
then realized it was steam.
"Hot spring. Reason they settled here, first folk over the pass."
The next day Niall spent introducing Kiron to the hold and its occupants. The day after he found his guest
a longbow and they went hunting. Three hours and a lot of scrambling later, they were on their way home
with two rabbits and a bird.
"That s a lot of work for lunch. Wouldn t a mountain goat be better?"
"Less fun. More food. Aren t any this close."
"I might at least be able to hit the thing."
"Just need practice. Strange bow."
Kiron looked skeptical.
"You re mine."
Kiron looked up, startled; a moment before there had been no one there. The youth had a bow in one hand,
the other pointed at them.
"Fair enough." Niall handed over their catch. "You get to clean them."
He turned to Kiron.
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"The bandit who has just ambushed us is my nephew Asbjorn; it s his favorite game. Bjorn, this is Kiron,
guesting with us a while."
Kiron spoke slowly in the vales tongue. "Honor defeated so valiant a hunter by."
Asbjorn looked at his uncle: "He noticed."
Kiron watched as Asbjorn, booty in hand, vanished downhill. Niall spoke in a puzzled tone:
"Noticed what?"
"What language he was speaking. He knew who I was. How young do they go for caravan guards?"
"Not that young; learned from Father. Tells a story in our tongue, mixes in Tengu, Llashi. Been doing it
since Bjorn was little. For us too."
"He wasn t one of the ones I met yesterday, was he?"
"Arrived last night, across from Newvale. Boy climbs like a goat. Pretty good at stalking, too. Caught
Father once above himself for a week. Till Father caught him."
"And?"
"Took a mountain goat off him had spent two days hunting it."
Over the next weeks, Kiron learned what he could of both hunting and stalking, including one fruitless
afternoon under cover watching the path they thought Asbjorn would come home on. Evenings were spent
learning the language, trying to make sense of the busy chaos around him. One evening, as he sat watching
the children play, he heard a footstep, looked up. Gerda was watching him. She spoke slowly in her own
tongue.
"I hope my son is taking proper care of you."
"Yes. Not boring. Different."
"The language. Is it a problem?"
"Hard. Learning. Slowly."
"You are doing very well." This time she spoke in heavily accented Tengu. "Better than I would so short
time."
He switched with relief to his own language.
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