Tens of thousands had come to the wide flat lands that Khashbal Clan set aside for the Meet. It was a riot of tents, carts, horses, and running children. Each Clan set up their own camp with their banners fluttering from guy ropes. It made for a colourful - if chaotic - view. An air of excitement was prominent, but there was an undertone of tension. For countless years they had all raided, or been raided by, neighboring clans, and some memories were hard to forgive.

Empa Clan was one of the first clans to arrive, so Urlock made sure they had a central location near the Khashbal tents. Once their own small village of tents were up he sent his people out to help other clans set up. He reminded them that being friendly and helpful to others was the best support they could give to strengthening their Clan.

"Friends do not attack friends," he had quietly told them. "And we need all here to be our friends. Not only so they do not raid us in the coming years, but also so we can find the best possible husband for Shaleh. The way we behave in the next moon will do much to foretell our future. A single kind word could win us a powerful ally."

Pim held Shaleh's hand to keep her back as the rest of the clan spread out amongst their neighbor's tents.

"Not you, daughter," she said. "You have something more important to do."

"What's that?" Shaleh raised an eyebrow.

"We have to see to your dress."

"My dress?"

Pim smiled. "You won't like this, but until it is time to introduce you to your potential husband you are to stay in the tent."

"Why?" she asked angrily.

Pim pushed open their tent flap and led Shaleh inside.

"To make the best possible introduction. First impressions are very important. You need to be a surprise when he and his family first see you. We don't want a potential suitor seeing you dirty and sweaty. They need to see you as a perfect flower so they want to draw closer to you."

"But I'm a warrior, not some ornament! And anyway, wives on the Plains need to be sensible and strong."

"That is true. But what you have to remember is that all men are stupid. They don't really think with their head when it comes to us. They think with other parts of their bodies."

"What? With their toes?" smiled Shaleh.

"Yes, something like that."

"I hope that the husband you and father find is not so shallow that he will judge me only on my appearance."

"Sweet one, remember what I just said? All men are stupid. Some are less stupid than others, but they are all still stupid. Now let's start on your dress." Pim opened up a wooden box and pulled out a wide roll of shiny yellow fabric.

"Silk! Where did you get silk!" Shaleh exclaimed.

"Shh!" Pim said as she raised the bale of silk so that it caught on the beam of light entering from the top of the tent. Her eyes were sparkling. "It is an excellent story that maybe I will tell you one day. In the meantime lower your voice. We women sometimes need our little secrets. This is one of mine, and I don't want you to spoil it by shouting at the top of your voice."

Shaleh reached out to touch the shimmering fabric. Pim quickly slapped her hand away.

"No! Your hands are too rough. I don't want the threads to pull! After a few days sitting around doing nothing we'll see if your hands become soft enough to touch it."

"A few days? I have to stay in here a few days without going out?"

"At least. Probably more like seven."

Shaleh groaned in despair.

"Look on the bright side," said Pim. "Your cooking will have a chance to improve."

Shaleh groaned again. "Stuck in the tent for seven days cooking. I feel like a slave already."

"Wait until you have children, Sweetness."

Shaleh smiled for a moment before a question she had been meaning to ask came to mind.

"What will you and father offer as my dowry?"

Pim's smile vanished. "We haven't decided, but I am going to suggest to your father that we offer a princess' dowry."

"What does that mean?"

"Ah!" said Pim. She leaned forward and raised her hands as she always did when about to tell a story. "A princess's dowry referred to a time so far back it is somewhere between history and legend. A powerful Chief had seen a young woman with flashing eyes and a fearless heart when he raided and decimated her clan. Something about her, beyond her youth, was branded in his mind, and he found that he could not stop thinking about her. So, he determined to take her for his bride. He returned with his brother, thinking that they would steal her away, but were driven off by her family. The young woman had joined in the fight and the powerful chief marveled at her grace and courage. As he and his brother fled she shouted to him not to return unless it was with honour, and not like a thief. A few moons later the chief returned, but this time alone, and with a banner of peace in his hand rather than a sword. When he asked for the young woman's hand her father said that they could not let her go, because if they gave a dowry the rest of the clan would starve. As the disappointed Chief was preparing to leave the young woman stopped him. She said that since the Chief wanted her he should pay the dowry to her father, not the other way around, as was, and still is, the custom. He agreed, saying that she was the finest princess the Plains had ever produced. It is said that she went on to rule the clan after the Chief's death and was credited with numerous famous victories."

"Do you think the story is true?" asked Shaleh.

"I don't really know, but I hope so. Its legacy is that now when someone offers a princess dowry it means that the bride is so extraordinary that the groom's parents should pay the dowry."

"And you think I'm good enough to deserve a princess' dowry?"

"Of course I do! Actually, I think all women are, but you especially."

Shaleh smiled. "Who else do you know of that was given a princess' dowry?"

"No one, Sweetness." Pim admitted.

"No one? Not ever?"

"Never. It's a legend. And the only hope for our clan is that you, your father, and I can somehow bring the legend to life."

***

Alam, Tajar, Frost, and Prall were accompanied by Nurlan and Tolegan into a large, plushly adorned tent. Furs lined the floor, the wooden lattices that held the tent up from the inside were decorated with intricate carvings, a brazier smoked in the middle of the tent giving off a gentle fragrance of incense. A handful of warriors lined the walls. Kirill was pacing eagerly as they entered. His small wife was, as always, stooped over her embroidery and did little more than glance up as they entered the tent.

"Welcome, my champions!" Kirill thrust his arms out expansively. "I said I would treat you as privileged guests, and today you shall see that I keep my word!"

Alam and Tajar exchanged a quick doubting glance. Beside them Frost was impassively still while Prall bounced up and down on the balls of his feet with his hands balled into fists. His face was screwed into an expression of barely contained rage.

"Calm down, Crazyman," whispered Tajar out of the side of his mouth.

"In a moment you will be taken to your personal tents. As my guests you will be supplied with the finest food. You will be expected to practice daily in front of your tents... Sorry, I can't resist asking any longer," Kirill said. He pointing to Tajar. "Why does that Empa spy have no shirt?"

"He lost it gambling," Nurlan explained. "He," Nurlan pointed to Prall, "won it." Prall was wearing Tajar's shirt over the top of his own despite the fact that it was too small for him and looked absurd.

"Well, see that he gets a new..." He stopped mid sentence. His wife had quietly cleared her throat. Kirill walked over to her and bent his head towards her mouth. She whispered a few words.

"Excellent idea," he said to her before turning his attention back to the Tajar. "During the contest and your daily practicing you are to be shirtless."

"Why?" asked Tajar perplexed.

"Because my wife suggested it and she is always right about these things. Now as I was saying, to show my generosity I will give you your weapons to train with. You may also use them for the contests. When you are not training you are to stay in your tents and rest, but you will not be locked up."

"Really, King Kirill?" questioned Tolegan. "Is that wise?"

"They will not try to escape. Not only would the warriors that protect their tents stop them, but if they try, the combined might of the Khashbal Clan will hunt them down and slaughter them. I don't think even the most clever of them," he spoke with quiet menace and looked squarely at Frost, "would be able to evade us for long."

Frost returned his gaze unblinking and impassive.

"Now for your banners!" Kirill said, suddenly joyful, as if he were giving out precious gifts. He wobbled over to a pile of bright coloured strips of cloth. They were the same colours as the lengths of cloth that had been on the cart cage. The tossed a dark green banner to Frost, a blue one to Prall, a yellow one to Tajar, and a red one to Alam.

"You will wear these in whatever way you wish when training or during the contest as long as they are visible. Now go and see your tents. Tomorrow you go on parade!"

***

Pim and Urlock walked in the long grass beyond the tents so they would not to be overheard.

"I have decided that you are right. We should start with the most powerful clan. I will talk to Kirill tomorrow," Urlock said.

"Good. I'm glad that you have decided to see sense. It has only taken two weeks," she smiled. "What are your thoughts about Shaleh's dowry?"

"To be honest I do not know. We have enough from the raid in the ravine to tempt him, but if we use that how will we feed and protect our people through the winter? On the other hand if we fail to form a powerful alliance we could easily be destroyed by other clans before winter even comes."

"It is the weakest clans that are attacked in autumn," said Pim

"And this year that is us. We have everything to lose, and nothing to give."

Pim stopped walking and looked Urlock hard in the eyes. "We are giving our daughter. That is far from nothing."

"I did not mean that..."

"But it is what you said."

Urlock sighed. "What I mean is that I do not see a good way forward."

"There is," Pim said tentatively, "one other option."

"Yes?"

"I have told Shaleh that we could offer a princess's dowry."

Urlock frowned. "That is a very risky idea."

"No more than the other options."

***

As Nurlan escorted the prisoners through the camp Tajar puffed out his bare chest and flexed his arms. "Did you hear? The Queen wants me to fight like this. And we all know why."

"Let me guess," Alam laughed. "Is it so you don't disappoint all those young women you said are looking forward to seeing you?"

"Of course! Now what I really need is a belt. If I have to fight like this my pants will fall down for sure."

"What's wrong?" asked Frost. "If they do will it disappoint all those young women you were telling us about?"

Alam burst out laughing. "Frost just told a joke!"

"Too bad it wasn't a very good one," Tajar smiled.

In the middle of the sprawling camp four small colourful tents had been erected for the prisoners - dark green, red, yellow and blue. The colours of the tents matched the banners that they had just received. Two warriors stood at the doorway of each tent.

"These are your new homes," said Nurlan. "You will stay inside until you are fetched tomorrow."

"I see we are swapping a cage of steel for a cage of felt," said Alam.

When Nurlan refused to reply, Tajar did instead. "At least it is more comfortable." Tajar patted his friend on the back and entered his tent.

The inside of Alam's red tent was a tiny haven of luxury. A small stove with a neat pile of wood took up the centre of the tent. Next to it, resting on a small low table were tea making supplies, a bowl of berries, a large bowl of mutton stew, and a pile of flat-bread.

He let out an impressed whistle.

A raised pallet bed laid out with blankets and cushions were on the side of the tent furthest from its small door. Alam fed some wood into the stove to make tea and settled down to the bowl of stew.

Maybe I will see her tomorrow...

Alam finished the food and laid down on the bed. His thoughts wandered aimlessly, but always returned to Shaleh's face. Around him the excitement of the camp was heard long into the night, long after the light from the small stove was gone. He longed to be able to go and join the revelry, but knew better than to try.

We just have to win the contest and then we will be free again.

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-Y. V. Qualls