Tolegan escorted Alam, Tajar, Frost, and Prall past wrestling circles and archery lanes. Even these early days of the games drew thousands of cheering and jeering spectators. As the four prisoners moved through the crowds their colourful clothes captured attention and enticed an ever growing mob to follow them. By the time they reached The Pit hundreds of curious people were in their wake.

"Listen up!" Tolegan shouted while hammering a large bronze bell. The crowd's cacophony ceased.

"King Kirill's champions are weak and need some practice before they face their challenge at the end of the games. There is silver for anyone who can beat them!" He raised a small leather bag high in the air and threw it into the pit. "Paint sticks will mark blows." He pointed to barrels of red paint, with various sized sticks protruding from them, on opposite ends of the pit. "One hit on the head or torso eliminates a warrior. Two hits on legs or arms does as well. Clans can put forward teams of four to battle our champions. Who will be first?"

The crowd burst into voice again as the four prisoners were led into The Pit. It was a naturally occurring, bowl-like depression in the land, surrounded by rocky outcrops. It measured some hundred paces from side to side. The audience crowded on the stone outcrops and looked down upon them. Water pooled in the centre of The Pit before dribbling away between a couple of boulders in a small stream heading south. Within The Pit there were a few rocks here and there, protruding from the earth, but they provided little cover.

The prisoners walked to the barrel of sticks. Alam's heart was pounding and his breathing was shallow. The thought of all the eyes on him was torture. He pulled a long stick out of the barrel and saw that its paint soaked tip had been wrapped in cloth. Not only did the cloth blunt the stick, but it also absorbed more paint.

"Thoughts anyone?" Alam asked.

"You call the formations," said Frost.

"But Prall taught them to us," he argued.

"But you're not crazy," laughed Tajar as he slapped Prall on the back.

"When I get angry I only see death," said Prall.

"See?" Tajar said as if Prall was agreeing with him.

"Fine. Grab your sticks," said Alam. Tajar picked up a long stick and turned to the crowd, spinning it. Paint sprayed all over his companions. The crowd roared with laughter. He bowed in exaggerated humility.

"I think it is made from berries," said Prall licking his stick.

"I don't think it is..." frowned Alam.

The bell rang out, silencing the crowd. "We have some challengers!" Tolegan shouted. "Sufere Clan wants the silver!"

Four men entered on the other side of The Pit joking, pushing and shoving. More than one of them were unsteady on their feet. They chose long sticks, dripping with paint, and advanced in a loose group.

"Damn they're big," said Tajar.

"Just bigger than you, little brother. Let's go meet them." Alam started walking forward. He set his back straight and his chin low - trying to look strong and confident. The truth was he could not get the unease of being watched by the crowd out of his mind. It made his hands shake. Two of their opponents were pointing and sneering at Frost.

"They don't seem to be respecting you, Frost," Alam pointed out. "Shall we change their minds."

"Yes," she replied.

"What formation?" Tajar muttered.

"Patience little brother," said Alam. "Frost. When I say your name, get behind them."

The four Sufere Clansmen looked at each other, shouted a battle cry as one, and charged forward in a ragged line. Their weapons spun around their head spraying excess paint. They hit the stream. Water and mud sprayed forward. One of them slipped and fell.

"Arrow! Forward!" Alam shouted. He stepped forward. Tajar tucked in on his left. Prall on his right. Frost behind.

The three standing Sufere crashed on them. Strong blows rained down. The power jolted Alam's arms and shoulders. But the blocks held firm.

"Steps on three!" Alam shouted. "One two three!" They thrust the painted sticks forward and stepped into the space they created. The fallen Sufere man at the back stood up out of the mud.

"One, two, three!"

Again their sticks jutted out. Prall caught one on the chest. A red splat of paint was left behind. A bell pealed out. The painted man moved away in shame.

One down.

The Sufere were forced to step back again. They found themselves in mud near the stream. The prisoners stepped into the gap again.

"Frost!" Alam cried.

She sprinted around Tajar's side. A Sufere man wildly waved his stick at her chest. She ducked under it and stepped behind him. The man was turned. Tajar broke formation to stab him in the side. Red paint dripped down his ribs. Again the bell rang.

Two down.

A Sufere with black leggings saw Tajar and swung his stick. It struck his right arm before Tajar could draw back into formation. By then Frost had them flanked. With a burst of speed she hit the man on both arms and on the back of the head for good measure. The bell pealed. He cursed and threw down his stick like a tantruming child.

Three down.

"Circle!" Alam shouted. He stepped back. Prall and Tajar stepped to the sides. The muddy, remaining Sufere spun around, looking for an opening.

"Put your weapon down," said Alam. "You've lost." The man did not answer. To the side his companions shouted conflicting advice.

"I'll take him," said Tajar stepping forward. The man turned to meet him. Frost calmly threw her short stick like a throwing knife. It hit the man in the middle of the back. Red paint splatted explosively across him.

The crowd cheered and hooted.

"Hey!" Tajar turned to Frost. "I said I was going to take him!"

She shrugged and smiled.

A horn blew on the rocky outcrop. Tolegan held his hands up.

"The champions have won today thanks to a little luck, and a lot of alcohol in the Sufere clan's bellies! Tomorrow the silver will be doubled." Around the pit men hurried to Tolegan to put their names forward.

"Good work, friends," Alam said.

"'Friends'. Is that what we are?" asked Prall, licking the paint flecks off his arms.

As the four prisoners were led back to their tents Tajar leaned towards Alam and indicated Frost, who was walking in front of them next to Prall.

"What do you think of her?" Tajar whispered. There was enough noise around them that there was little chance of being overheard.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what do you think of her?"

"I think it's amazing how fast she can move, and I think she's much nicer to be around now than when we first met her. Is that what you mean?"

"I guess so... Do you think she's pretty?"

Alam frowned and looked at Tajar. "You're not serious are you?"

"I can't figure out if I think she is or not," Tajar pressed on. "Her white hair is weird, and her features are a little sharper than I'm used to, and blue eyes are strange, but I think maybe I like her face. And you can't deny that she has a nice figure."

Alam stared at him. "You can't be serious. Have you forgotten that Kirill said she's killed in cold blood?"

"Of course not. I'm not saying I want to marry her, I'm just saying that for a foreigner she's pretty. That's all."

***

On the second night in the camp Gretch the Hunter located the Empa tents. It had been difficult. All he had to go on was the memory of the warriors with lanterns in the rain outside their palisades many days ago. He could not simply ask someone. His foreign face, with its sharp nose, would be remembered and talked about. Nor could he kill another guard for information. Too many deaths would create complications: the camp would be patrolled, people would be suspicious. It was not worth it.

But finding the Empa camp did not help him locate the two barbarian thieves, or give him any idea about they looked like. He knew they were prisoners, and that they were in the camp somewhere. But he had been unable to find a tent that looked like a prison. The only tents that had guards were the Khashbal Chief's tent, and four small, brightly coloured, tents that surely belonged to the chief's concubines.

He resolved to sit in the darkness and watch the Empa Chief's tent. Perhaps something would come to light. It was a warm night and pleasant to sit under the stars.

He had been sitting for a couple of hours. The noises of the camp had reduced to snoring and the occasional sound of someone leaving their tent to pee. He suddenly realised ,with shock, that he was being watched. To the side of the Chief's tent someone - a man, he thought - was sitting watching him. His features were covered by the night.

How long has he been there?

Gretch decided to do nothing. So did his watcher. When the first rays of dawn warmed the horizon Gretch unfolded his stiff limbs and crept away before his features became visible.

***

The second day in The Pit had been more difficult for Alam, Tajar, Frost, and Prall. Empty carts were scattered around the Pit, introducing cover. The challengers were sober and worked more as a team than the Sufere men had. In the end the prisoners won by having Alam and Prall drawing attention with big, loud, movements while Tajar and Frost flanked and took them from behind. Prall was eliminated during the game as he rushed forward at the end, but they still won.

The third day's challenge saw the introduction of bows. The arrows had paint soaked felt heads that were slow in the air and hard to aim. But it did not stop Tajar from dispatching two opponents before Alam finished off the other two once the arrows were gone. Yet again Prall was eliminated as he rushed forward laughing.

The crowds had grown in size, as had the reward for defeating the prisoners. As the third challengers left the Pit with their heads bowed in embarrassment Tajar jumped up on one of the empty carts. He held up his hands for silence. To Alam's amazement the crowd complied. Behind him Alam saw Tolegan order his warriors to move to Tajar.

"People of The Endless Plains! We are happy to serve you!" Tajar called out. "Though King Kirill, as he likes to call himself, feeds and shelters me and my friends, we don't get much pleasurable conversation! If you would like to meet us, by which I mean if you would like to meet me," he addressed a group of young women who had been cheering loudest, "then come to our tents later in the day! Or better yet! Later in the night!"

Tolegan's warriors pulled him down, but not before he was able to shout out "I am Tajar the Unmarried!" Alam could not help but laugh at his friend despite the rough way the warriors dragged him to the ground.

"You are good at giving orders," Prall said to Alam as he wiped and licked the red paint off his face where the eliminating blow had landed. His eye would be swollen and purple in the morning.

"Thank you Prall. Why didn't you try to block that blow?"

"I knew it wouldn't hurt."

Alam considered explaining the rules of the game to Prall for the fourth time, but shrugged his shoulders instead. He then noticed Frost watching Tajar with the faintest of smiles on her face.

"Is everything alright, Frost?" Alam asked.

"I don't think I have ever met anyone like him," she said as Tajar blew kisses to the crowds above while guards struggled to restrain him.

"Which is just as well," Alam nodded. "I'm not sure the world is big enough for two Tajars."

As the guards led them out of the pit Alam walked next to her and decided to ask a question he had been wondering for days.

"Kirill called you Xantia. Is that really your name?"

She did not answer. Alam interpreted her silence as a yes.

"Would you prefer us to call you Xantia, or Frost?"

"Frost. Here, that is who I am. That other name is another person. One you would treat differently."

"Then the other things that Kirill said about you," he did not mention the words murderer and thief, "are true as well?" Again he took her silence as a yes.

The prisoners merged into the crowd which pressed around them. A few young women pushed to the front of the crowd. One of them reached out and touched Tajar's bare shoulder as he passed.

"Girls, you can touch me, I don't mind!" he shouted. A small wave of giggling erupted as four young women almost tackled him. Tolegan's warriors pushed them back rougher than was needed, but not before one of them pressed an apricot into his hand.

"Thank you!" he shouted as the warriors dragged him forward. "I also like cherries!"

By the time the prisoners arrived back at their brightly coloured prisons a small pile of cherries were resting in front of Tajar's tent.

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-Y. V. Qualls