Tajar was burning with fever. He drifted in and out of delirium. Frost sat behind him and held Mist's reins. She held him tightly between her arms, supporting him to stay upright in the saddle. Alam jogged beside the horse. He was tired and sweaty, but life on the Endless Plains had accustomed him to running long distances. As time passed Alam found his anxiety growing. Tajar was getting worse by the hour, and they still had not found The Trail.

"Frost," he said between breaths. "Please tell me about where you are from. I could really use a story to distract me."

She was silent for a moment while collecting her thoughts. "The land I come from is different in every possible way to The Endless Plains - apart from the cold. Both places are cold in winter."

"Everywhere is cold in winter."

"Not so, Alam. There are many places to the South that are hot all year round, and never see snow. But not Surabel - that is the name of the land I was born in. It is a mountainous land with deep valleys, jagged cliffs, and dark green forests. People do not live in clans. They live in towns and cities. When I was last there it was ruled by a king known for being strict, yet fair. He was also known to be addicted to drink, and a flagrant spender of money."

"Do you know this king?"

"No," she replied. "The rest of the world is different from the Plains. Here, most people know their chief. The king of Surabel, like the kings, queens and emperors in most lands, rules hundreds of thousands. They are removed from normal people."

A coughing spasm suddenly overtook Tajar causing him to slump forward. Frost held him tightly and pulled him back against her. When he seemed settled again she continued.

"I was raised in a town near the castle. Every once in awhile I saw the king and his family charging here and there on horseback, looking grand and important, but I never met any of them. Mine was a different life. I was the second eldest of five children. My father, like the king, drank heavily. I am not sure, but I suspect he died years ago in a ditch without a coin to his name. I certainly hope so. He loved the drink more than he loved his family. We were often without food, but he always managed to find a bottle. A particularly bitter winter took my mother. She wasted away from hunger, I think. I realised too late that she was depriving herself to feed us children. In the end I suppose the hunger and cold were too much for her. Father's grief and shame were terrible, but the bottles helped him forget the pain. They also helped him forget to feed us. Five days later the winter took the baby."

"Water... is there any water?" Tajar mumbled.

Frost pulled back on Mist's reins so Alam could reach up and tip the mirky river water from his water skin into Tajar's mouth. Most of it dribbled down his chin and onto his chest, but he either did not notice, or did not care.

"Thank you Alam," said Tajar as he closed his eyes again.

Frost gently kicked Mist into a walk again.

"Then one night a knock came at the door," she continued. "A strange woman wrapped in a hood and robes told him that she had heard of his grief. She held out a  bag of coins and offered to buy us. I was certain he would shout at her and chase her away, but I was wrong. He took the money and made a show of remorse, saying we would be better without him. At the time I felt that he had stabbed us in the back. But now I see that we would have just died if we had stayed with him. So maybe he was protecting us in some way after all. It's more likely he just wanted the money. Whatever his reasons, I have hated him ever since that day. He was a coward, and his weakness ruined every happiness for me and my brothers."

"Your father sold you?" Alam's eyes were wide with shock. "What of the rest of your family? Your uncles, aunts and cousins?"

"I do not know. I think I had some, but no one ever came for us."

"What about your town? Why didn't your people help?"

"People in my cities do not look out for their neighbors like they do in your clans."

"Why not?"

"They are too busy being busy, and making sure that they survive."

Such a notion was despicable to Alam.

"If you were sold does that mean you are a slave?"

"I am not a slave, but through the rest of my childhood and youth we were treated like slaves. We were more like prisoners. We were taken to a hidden place with the sole purpose of turning us into killers. We were given enough food to make us strong, but not enough to make us heavy. Every day began with drills in combat and stealth. We were shown no mercy, kindness, or pity, and were expected not to give any either."

"Are your brothers killers too?" asked Alam.

"I am the only one of us that survived the training. There were other children as well, but only the very best live. The world does not need dozens of mediocre assassins. Two or three gifted killers in a kingdom is enough."

"Rubbish," Alam panted while shaking his head. "No kingdom needs assassins. What you do is wrong. The woman who bought you is wrong. Whoever trained you to be lower than animals is wrong. It's a perversion of nature."

"But death happens in nature all the time. Animals kill each other all the time," Frost argued.

"But they do it either to protect themselves, or to feed," asserted Alam. "Only humans kill for sport or for political gains. Even then it is against our nature."

"What a hypocrite," said Frost. "You are a warrior are you not?"

"Yes..."

"And what do warriors do?"

"They protect their clan and raid other clans," Alam replied.

"And you do this by killing people. I assume you have killed before?"

Alam's head dipped as a vision of his axe striking the sorcerer from the valley sprang in front of his eyes. "Yes. I have killed. Many animals, one hellcat, a handful of dargu, and one man. It is not to my liking."

"Then you are in the wrong line of work," Frost said mercilessly. "You and I are both trained killers. There is no difference between us."

"Yes there is," said Alam, but he was having a difficult time putting his thoughts into words.

"No there isn't. In this world you either kill or are killed. I know which one I would rather be."

"I think there are some times when it is better to be killed than to kill," said Alam.

"You are lying to yourself Alam," pressed Frost. "When it finally comes to it, no sane person would rather die than live. You might think that you're noble and good, but you have the same self-preservation instinct that everyone else has."

"That is true," he replied. "But I have seen my own friends die in raids to protect their families. They could have run and hid, but they chose to fight and die instead. And what about Prall? Why do you think he rushed that hellcat by himself?"

"Because he was crazy and stupid," replied Frost, but Alam could tell she did not mean it.

"No. He did it to protect you. We needed time to lift you from the pit and he gave his life so we could. He preferred to die than for you to die."

Frost turned her head away and closed her eyes. Alam let the silence stretch out between them. For a couple of minutes the only sounds were Alam's laboured breaths, Mist's footfalls, and the hissing of wind in the grass. When Frost turned her face back to Alam her face was expressionless.

"Then why did my father sell me? For a handful of gold he gave his own children to a witch who beat us, yelled at us, and allowed my brothers to die."

Alam answered softly. "When drink takes people it takes everything from them: their family, dignity, happiness, wealth, and sometimes their lives. There was a man in my clan who drank his life away as well. But none of us can ever really know another's heart. Perhaps your father really did think he was giving you a better chance at life."

"Well, I hope he died a slow and painful death. And if not, I hope I can meet him and give him one."

"You don't mean that."

"Yes I do," Frost stared into Alam's eyes.

"My mother told me that revenge is a rot that  consumes the mind that feeds it. Even after vengeance is taken the rot will remain," Alam said.

"So if it was your father you would wish him well and embrace him as a long lost friend if you saw him again?" challenged Frost.

"To tell you the truth, I don't know what I would do. I think I would be angry like you are."

"The wind is nice," Tajar muttered with closed eyes. "I feel hot."

Frost took the reins in one hand and gently loosened his tunic so more of his chest was bare.

"Is that better?" she asked. When it was clear he was not going to answer she looked back to Alam.

"What about your parents?" Frost turned the conversation. "You mentioned your mother just now, but Gretch is right, you do not look like a Clansman."

The change of topics took Alam a moment to adjust to.

"I might not look like one, but I am one," Alam said. "I was raised in the Empa Clan along with Tajar. My mother may not have given birth to me, but she is still my mother. No-one knows where I am from. I was found lying in the grass. There was no-one with me, and they couldn't find any tracks to show where the people who dumped me went."

"You were found alone in the grass?"

"Yes."

"Perhaps your parents abandoned you just as my father did me."

"There is no way to know, but the Empa clan became my family, and for that I am... Hey! Look!" Alam pointed ahead and slightly west. "That looks like dust!

Frost shielded her eyes. A row of small dots some distance ahead of them were moving slowly from west to east, kicking up dust behind them.

"I think it's The Trail!" Alam beamed.

Tajar stirred on Mist's back. He groaned and flopped his head onto Frost's shoulder and turned his face towards her neck.

"Hmm, you smell nice," he mumbled.

Frost ignored him, knowing that she smelled of dirt and sweat. She used her sleeve to wipe the perspiration from his brow.

"I hope it is," she said to Alam. "Because he's getting hotter. I don't think he'll have long at this rate."

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-Y. V. Qualls