The horses were ready. The carts were packed. Empa Clan was ready to travel. The last ten days the Clan had worked hard. The palisades were now strong; they had been packed with mud and had raised platforms behind them built for archers to stand on; a front gate had been built that could be propped from the rear making it almost as strong as the walls; a ditch had been dug in front of the palisades to make it more difficult for attackers to reach the walls. The Clan had done much in a short time.

As Shaleh gazed at it from the family cart, with all her worldly possessions bundled behind her, she wondered if it had been a waste of time. They were to leave it empty as the entire Clan traveled to the Meet. Yes, the clan would return after Clan Meet, but if someone else had claimed it in their absence what would her father do? Try to take it back? Or move on again to find another camp? Either way she would not see it again. By the end of the Clan Meet she would be promised in marriage to a stranger. She knew that it was her duty, and that it would help bring safety to her friends and family, but the sacrifice was enormous. She would leave behind everything and everyone she had known. And for what? A strange clan and a strange home. She might get a good husband who would treat her well, but what if he were a tyrant? What would she do if he was violent? Everyday since Alam had been banished and the Clan had moved camp she had tried to fight rising waves of misery. At nights she would tell herself to be strong, that it must be done, but in the morning she would see her family and friends again and the misery would rise up and overwhelm her.

"Shaleh, you look unhappy," her mother said softly. Her eyes were full of concern. Shaleh had been so absorbed in her thoughts that she had not even been aware that her mother had approached the cart. "It's understandable to still be sad about Gultan's death. That was a horrible night."

"Yes, I am still really sad about losing her, and I feel sorry that her little girl will grow up without her, but it's not just that." 

"What then? Are you worried about leaving? Or about joining another clan?" her mother asked.

"Both."

Pim nodded her head. "It was the same for me when I was to come and live with your father."

"Were you nervous?" asked Shaleh.

"I was terrified! Luckily for me your father is the best man on the Plains."

"What if my husband isn't a good man?"

Shaleh's mother looked directly into her eyes. "We will do our utmost to find you the best man we can. We won't accept a bad husband for you, even if he is the chieftain of a powerful clan."

"Thank you, Ma," she said relieved. "Are you sure Father feels that way? Lately he hasn't been talking much to me."

"Of course he feels that way too. It's just that he is worried about many things like the clan's safety, his decision to banish Alam, the upcoming Clan Meet, and most of all, you."

"He doesn't seem worried about me," said Shaleh.

"That is just because he doesn't know how to show it. He is afraid that if you knew he was worried you would start being afraid of what is in front of you."

"Too late," Shaleh laughed. "I'm terrified." Her mother took her hand and squeezed it. "So Ma, if you were scared of marrying father, what did you do to steady yourself before you got to know him?"

"I went to bed with a big, sharp knife," she smiled.

Shaleh's mother climbed onto the cart and put her arm around her daughter's shoulder.

"Ma?" Shaleh said after they had been silent for a while.

"Yes?"

"I keep thinking about Alam and Tajar, and wondering if they are safe." She spoke softly.

"Of course you have. So have I."

"I miss them," she said. Her eyes started stinging with tears.

"We all do," she replied gently. "I know that it is painful, but you can't do anything about it. How likely is it that you will ever see them again?"

"Not very."

"Exactly. It is hard to believe, but your father is right - the sooner you allow yourself to let him go, the sooner you will heal."

"What if I never heal?"

"You will. In the meantime, you must hide your pain. If any suitor gets even a hint that you have feelings for another man your chances of a good match will be destroyed. Now dry your face, and put your smile back on. Your father is coming."

Shaleh wiped her face and pinched her cheeks. She forced her lips into a smile as Urlock's horse cantered up to the cart. She hoped he was too preoccupied to notice her red eyes and nose.

"Everything is done," he announced. "It is time to go. I have a good feeling that this Clan Meet will be just what we need. The contests will bring joy, and the trading of our raid prizes will bring us wealth. We certainly need more joy and wealth at the moment."

His gaze fell upon Shaleh and he frowned slightly. "Are you alright Shaleh?"

"Fine, father," she smiled broadly.

He did not look convinced but chose not to say anything. Instead he nodded his head and took a deep breath. He stood up in the stirrups and shouted to his people.

"Empa clan! We have a five day journey in front of us, followed by a month of festivities! We will return to this place rich from our trades. But for now we ride!"

As one the Clan lurched into movement. Shaleh closed her eyes and willed herself not to look back.

***

Nurlan, horseman of Khashbal, walked slowly, but purposefully, through Kirill's rambling stone house. He did not want to give any impression of hurrying to respond to the summons. He had made sure that his armour and clothes were in perfect condition - there would be nothing to criticize on that score. He entered the large circular room and presented himself by removing his helmet, bowing, and lowering his gaze. Nurlan knew that Khashbal's chief, who had the gall to call himself King, would make him wait. But to show any sign of impatience would mean a small victory for the ruler of the clan. The minutes passed in near silence. The only noise being the panting of Kirill's pack of dogs lounging at his feet.

Kirill made a show of finishing two pieces of parchment that he was supposedly reading and raised his head towards Nurlan. As the parchment was dropped to the ground Nurlan saw that Alam's engraved black box lay on Kirill's lap.

"Nurlan. It is a pity it took so long for you to arrive. I expected you earlier."

"Please forgive me Lord. There were issues around feeding my warriors that needed seeing to."

"Surely a good commander knows how to delegate such mundane tasks."

"Usually I would do just that, but when my warriors return from a lengthy patrol of the Plains, and find that all of their rations have been taken by others, I like to see to it personally. I would hate for what must have been a simple misunderstanding to turn into a fight."

Nurlan suspected that Tolegan or even Kirill himself had removed his warriors' food in the hope of causing just such a fight.

"I am sure you know best," Kirill smiled an insincere smile. "There is something I want you to do Nurlan."

"Yes?" Whatever Kirill had in mind, Nurlan was sure that he would not like it.

"The two young Empa warriors that you captured trust you, I think."

"I doubt it, Lord. After all, I did capture them and bring them here as prisoners."

"I think they do," insisted the wide man. "I have decided what to do with them. They, along with the white-haired spy, and Prall the lunatic, are to fight for their lives at the Clan Meet. You will be their escort to the Meet and look after them once we are there."

"I mean no offense Lord, but such a task could easily be carried out by any number of our warriors with fewer duties than I have," Nurlan said.

"No. It has to be you because of this." Kirill raised the box. "You are to use all of your guile and intelligence to get them to tell you what it is and how to open it. It seems enchanted to me, and I would very much like to know more about it. It could hold something inside of great value to our people."

"I sincerely think you are choosing the wrong person," objected Nurlan. "I am not skilled at deception."

"Then you had better learn fast for your sake, their sake, and the sake of our lands. Now go. There are many things that occupy my time at the moment." Kirill waved Nurlan away and turned his back on him while examining the box.

***

Although the first training day had been a disaster, subsequent days had gone surprisingly well. On the second day the only ones training were him and Tajar while Prall waved various sticks around aimlessly, and Frost simply watched the two friends impassively. But on the third day it had suddenly changed. Frost joined in the drills that Alam and Tajar were practicing. Her speed and reflexes were astonishing, even if her physical strength was less than the two young men. It took her no time to pick up the movements. Yet again Alam couldn't help but think that the drills looked like a dance when she did them. During the last hour of their practice Prall surprised them all by joining in as well. In many ways he was the opposite of Frost. Age and captivity had slowed him down so that his defenses were poor. But on the other hand he seemed almost impervious to pain. It was like he didn't feel it at all. In fact, the blows seemed to waken some spark of mirth within him. Whenever a blow would strike his torso he would chuckle. By the end he was laughing so hard he had no chance of stopping the blows that Frost mercilessly rained on him. She, for her part, seem to have no compunction against whacking every bit of him as he rolled on the ground in hysterics.

On the fourth day Prall surprised them again.

"Square. We should practice being a square, and an arrow, and a fist," he said enthusiastically.

"What are you talking about, Crazyman?" asked Tajar.

"Don't call him that," Alam said slapping Tajar's shoulder playfully. "What do you mean, Prall?" asked Alam.

"A square," repeated Prall as if it was obvious.

"We have no idea what you are talking about, Crazyman," said Tajar. "I mean Prall," he amended after Alam cuffed him on the back of the head.

"Square formation. When we are surrounded or moving through large open areas with bad vision." He manhandled them until they were all back to back facing the four corners of a square. "Square. This way we defend each other. It is strong but movement is slow and difficult. Now arrow." He pulled and pushed them until he had all of them facing the same direction in an elongated diamond shape with Alam at the front, himself and Tajar on the left and right and Frost at the rear. "This is for fast movement through enemies. Now Fist." He maneuvered them into a formation that looked like a 'T' with Alam and Prall side-by-side at the front, Frost behind them and Tajar directly behind her in the rear. "This is for movement in confined spaces, protecting the middle position," he pointed to Frost, "or when we can use a bow," he indicated Frost and Tajar.

Tajar clapped Prall on the back.

"Crazyman," he laughed, "you are full of surprises. How do you know this stuff?"

"I used to be a man," he replied. The sparkle vanished from his eye and his arms went slack. "Not this useless thing." He held out his arms and cast his eyes over himself.

Tajar and Alam exchanged a worried glance.

"You still are a man!" Alam joined Tajar, clapping him on the back in an attempt to jolly him back. "Come on, run us through those formations."

The final days of training were a joy. Even though it rained, and their footwork was sloppy as the dirt became mud, Alam, Tajar and Prall finished the sessions smiling. Alam even caught a tight smile play on Frost's lips once for a few seconds.

"Frost. You should smile more," Tajar said.

"Why on earth would I want to do that?" Despite herself the smile returned to her face.

"For one thing, it makes you look nice."

"And why would I want to look 'nice'?"

"I don't know. Most people do."

"I am not most people."

"Isn't that the truth," laughed Tajar. Although she did not return the laugh, the smile stayed on her lips.

It was the most words Frost had strung together in the days that they had known her. Alam was pleased how quickly the four of them were cementing as a team.

--------------------

Your feedback is really important to me. Please comment and vote.

-Y. V. Qualls