Engraved - The Hunted Warrior

Chapter 9.2 Khashbal

The ride towards Khashbal was tedious, but Alam and Tajar were treated well by their captors. Although their hands were bound, they were fed and watered generously. Six of the warriors stayed behind to continue their charge of looking after the herd of cattle. The four that escorted Alam and Tajar were polite but distant, usually ignoring anything that the prisoners said to them.

They learned that the red silk wearing man who led them was named Nurlan. He commanded quick obedience and respect from the other warriors, who treated him with deference and plenty of bowing.

"You are a noble aren't you, Nurlan?" asked Tajar one morning after one of the warriors brought Nurlan tea without it being asked for.

"I am a simple warrior," he replied.

"I don't believe you," said Tajar thoughtfully. "I bet you are a prince. Probably the youngest in your family, which is why you are on cowherd duty."

"Keep asking questions, and I will be sure that you are a spy and will kill you myself."

"No! I've got it!" exclaimed Tajar excitedly. "You are in love with your older brother's wife, but he caught you trying to charm her, so you have been sent away in shame!"

Nurlan's jaw dropped.

"How on earth did you know that?" he asked.

"What? I was just making rubbish up," Tajar's mouth split in an amazed smile. "Is that really what happened?"

"No. It isn't," said Nurlan. The other warriors burst out laughing. "It is nowhere near the truth. Now shut up or I will use my blade." He stood up and drew his sword.

"Just a moment," Tajar said. Alam hit Tajar on the shoulder to silence him, but he plowed on anyway. "Your mother is the Khashbal lord's..."

Tajar did not get to finish because Nurlan calmly grabbed a handful of Tajar's long hair and in a quick upward sweep cut off all of the hair on the right side of his head.

"Get away from me!" screamed Tajar, shrinking back from him with his bound hands pressed to the newly shorn side of his head.

"I suggest you shut your mouth now, spy, or I will make other improvements to your appearance that are less to your liking," replied Nurlan.

The other three guards rolled around on the ground pointing and laughing at Tajar. Even Alam had a difficult time stopping himself smiling.

"At least cut the rest of it off so I look decent!" complained Tajar.

"Men," Nurlan said. "It sounds like our spy hasn't learned yet. Let's move on to blindfolded ear piercing. Does anyone have something to cover my eyes?" he asked, taking a hunting knife out of its sheath.

Tajar closed his mouth.

***

It took three days to reach Khashbal. Whenever he could, Tajar would ask one of the warriors to trim his hair so that he did not look so ridiculous. They ignored him completely. During the final day of travel Nurlan and his warriors became increasingly sullen and grim.

"What do you think is going on with our travelling companions?" Alam whispered to Tajar as they stopped for a saddle break.

"I don't know, but they don't seem happy about going home." he whispered back.

"No, they don't."

Before reaching Khashbal, Nurlan made all the warriors tidy up their clothing. He re-tied the bindings on Alam and Tajar's hands and gave them strict instructions to be silent until spoken to.

"There are some far less kind than us in Khashbal. They will not hesitate to kill you. So unless you want to die," he said pointedly to Tajar, "keep your mouth shut."

Khashbal was situated on one of the curving arcs of the mighty Laroleh River - a river completely different from the small, swift, clear ones that Alam and Tajar were used to. At the foot of the mountains, where Empa Clan's streams were, the waters swelled and raced in spring and died slow deaths at the end of summer. The Laroleh River, in contrast, was fat, lazy, and brown. It was in no rush but also did not seem to know where it was going. It snaked aimlessly back and forth over the Endless Plains. All along its banks, trees and animals made their homes.

Khashbal Clan's camp was in reality a town. It had started as a camp of traditional round tents generations ago, but as the Clan's power and size had increased permanent buildings of stone replaced many of the felt ones, giving it a mismatched appearance. The size of the place dwarfed Empa Clan's camp.

Alam stared around in awe.

There must be over a thousand people here! Maybe even two thousand!

As Nurlan led his prisoners past the light brown stone houses and more colourful felt ones a growing stream of inhabitants came to gawk at, and follow, them. Children cheered at the warriors, and jeered at the captives, as they ran alongside the horses. Within a minute it had turned into a parade. Soon they found themselves before a sprawling, single storied, stone building decorated with red banners that snapped in the wind. Warriors came eagerly out of the building to meet them.

"What do we have here?" asked a squat warrior of solid muscle and a long warrior's braid.

"Probably nothing," Nurlan spoke calmly. "We found these two on the edge of our lands."

"I do not recognise them," said the man.

"No. They claim to be Empa," replied Nurlan.

The squat man pointed at Tajar. "What ridiculous and ugly hair traditions the Empa have!" The warriors with the squat man sniggered and jeered at Tajar. He then turned to Alam.

"Are you poachers or spies!" he demanded.

"Neither," replied Alam as calmly as he could, though his heart was pounding in his chest.

Without warning, the man grabbed Alam's shirt collar and roughly pulled him out of his saddle. With tied hands there was nothing he could do to stop the fall. He hit the ground hard. The air was forced out of his lungs. Behind him he heard Tajar call out and then hit the ground as well.

Chaos erupted.

The parade turned into a mob. People rushed forward. Dust was kicked into Alam's face. He rolled into a ball as fast as he could but not before a kick landed on his ribs close to the spear wound from the dargu assault. He covered his head as well as he could. Blows came thick and fast. It was a blur of pain. He had no idea what was happening to Tajar. Through the swearing and insults of the mob him he heard Nurlan's voice rise up.

"That is enough!" he shouted. "These two are for our Chief and King."

Miraculously the kicking stopped and the mob pushed back. Alam dared not move, but he risked opening his eyes a crack. Tajar lay still and limp at the feet of the squat man.

They've killed him!

Fury rushed into Alam.

"What have you done?" he bellowed and staggered to his feet. Pain was gone and forgotten. He charged head first at the squat man. Nurlan took a step towards him and effortlessly tripped him. With Alam's hands still tied in front of him he fell heavily onto his face. Nurlan pounced on top of him and savagely whispered.

"Control yourself or he will kill both of you."

Alam lifted his head and glanced at Tajar's motionless form.

The squat man with the long warrior's braid spat on him.

"Welcome to Khashbal."

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Thank you for any comments and votes.

-Y. V. Qualls