Free Betrayal by Fiona McIntosh Page A

they would help. He could not fault Merkhud’s generosity of purse but would need to be frugal after this.
    Both men whistled through their teeth. The offer was irresistible, Tor hoped; to his relief Riss nodded. They each took a handle of the cart and the wheels squealed as Tor pushed from behind. He had no idea where they were all headed but he was grateful to the two soldiers who mumbled quietly to themselves as they navigated a path down the crowded main street.
    Tor squeezed Cloot’s arm. Not long now he eased gently into the pained mind of his friend.
    There was no reply, save another pull on his strength.
    The scenery began to change: they were on the fringe of the town in a more rundown district. Turning into a cobbled alley they bumped their way through the narrow pass overhung with densely built houses. At the end of the alley they entered a small square which was a mass of activity and riotous colour. Bright bunting was being hung and stalls were being set up. The smell of onions cooking and various meats beginning to sizzle took hold of Tor’s stomach and squeezed tightly. He was ravenous.
    He caught up with Riss. ‘What’s going on?’
    ‘They’re crowning the King of the Sea tonight.’
    ‘King of the Sea?’ Tor looked confused.
    ‘I thought you were from around these parts, Gynt. How come you don’t know about the Harvest Festival?’ Riss spat expertly.
    ‘I’ve led a quiet life, Riss. I remember my parents talking about this once, but I’ve never been out of the district until now. What happens?’
    The cart rumbled slowly around the large square as Riss explained to Tor that although Hatten was generally a wealthy town now, the people had not forgotten its humble beginning when the area began to build its wealth on fishing and wine. Its grape juices were not as fine as the smaller vineyards of the sundrenched valleys south of the capital, but this region supplied most of the Kingdom’s commonly drunk wine. Each year at the end of summer, when the huge schools of prized lokki fish arrived to fill the fishing trawlers and the vines were laden with bunches of fat fruit, the farmers and fishermen gave thanks.
    A festival had grown up around the annual harvest, based on choosing a King of the Sea and a Queen of the Vines. It was believed that when the royal pair lay together they would propagate the following year’s harvest. The ritual had been observed for almost two centuries and these days it was a huge event for Hatten.
    All the fishing boats would be in port tonight and the inns filled with landowners, captains, sailors and vineyard workers as well as visiting merchants and ordinary people passing through to observe the festivities and join the fun.
    No wonder there’s nowhere to stay, Tor thought.
    ‘And as this year’s Queen was crowned last night, tonight it’s the turn of the King, and then the merrymaking for them and the town begins,’ Riss continued.
    Golag’s grimy face and yellowed teeth leered into view. ‘Perhaps I’ll be chosen. Wouldn’t mind giving that Eryn one.’ His voice sounded like boulders rubbing together, and he grabbed his crotch to emphasise his point.
    The men stopped the cart.
    ‘Who’s Eryn?’ Tor asked as they lowered the front end.
    ‘Aw, she’s just one of the whores chosen as Queen by the town’s menfolk. But I don’t think Golag stands a chance, eh, Golag?’ Riss poked his grubby friend in the ribs and laughed.
    Tor frowned. ‘So now the women choose the King. Is that how it works?’
    ‘No, boy. The Queen chooses her own. Light strike me! That Eryn won’t be spreading her legs for anyone ugly tonight. Fucking the likes of us is strictly on a pay as you go basis.’
    ‘Pay as you come,’ Golag corrected, pleased with his jest.
    Both soldiers found this most amusing; their mirth became even louder when they saw Tor blushing.
    ‘Er, right. I think I understand now. Thank you, Riss.’
    Tor’s attempt at a polite end to the conversation