Audiobook Version

https://youtu.be/q7yMO4to8fU

If this is my last sunrise, at least it's a good one.

To the west, the sun's first rays were painting the mountain tops orange. Above him, wispy clouds were ablaze. To the east, the vast rolling grasslands of The Endless Plains were silhouetted as the sun peeked over the horizon.

"Beautiful," Alam whispered to himself.

"I didn't know you felt that way," said a voice behind him. Alam turned his head and saw Tajar sitting with his blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

"Not you, idiot, The Plains," smiled Alam as he sat up and wrapped his own woolen blanket around himself. He glanced around the camp. "Are we the first ones up?"

"No, Chief Urlock has walked to the river, and Serik went to check The Trail."

Alam nodded. Serik was the clan's scoutmaster. It was his job to find suitable caravans to raid. Alam reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a chunk of flatbread. He ripped it in half and threw Tajar the larger piece. Before taking a bite he sent a silent prayer to the Heavens.

Please let us all return home in safety.

As he ate, he started rolling up his blanket. Without its warmth, the crisp spring air sneaked through his loose shirt, causing him to shiver.

"When we get back home I need to get a bigger mat and blanket," said Alam. "These hardly covered me last night."

"I knew it!" said Tajar.

"Shh! You'll wake everyone!" Alam hissed.

"I knew there had to be a drawback to you being so tall!" Tajar pressed on, "other than always hitting your head when you enter tents. And being a slower runner. And being an easy target for archers. And looking ridiculous on horseback. Actually, just looking ridiculous in general."

"Alam doesn't look ridiculous," said another voice. Alam and Tajar turned to see Shaleh propped up on her elbows. "At least not all the time," she amended.

"Thank you, Shaleh. You're a big help," Alam replied. "Did you sleep well?"

"In a raiding party surrounded by snoring men? No. Not at all. Actually, since you two are almost men..."

"Almost men?" Alam raised an eyebrow.

"...Maybe you can tell me. Why do men snore so much more than women?"

Alam and Tajar shrugged their shoulders in unison.

"Come join us for breakfast," said Alam. He extended his piece of flat bread towards her.

"Sure," she said as she gathered her blanket around her shoulders, picked up her saddle bag, and padded over to the two young men. "But keep your food, Alam. I have my own."

Alam shifted where he sat to allow space for her next to him. Even so early in the morning, with messy hair, and a face slack from sleep, she was still lovely. Her oval face, dark eyes, and heart shaped lips were hard to stop staring at.

Unlike Alam and Tajar, who wore simple undyed woolen shirts and leggings, Shaleh's knee-length woolen shirt was deep red and had been embellished with delicate cream embroidery of flowers along the hems.

"Do you think Serik will find a suitable caravan for us to raid?" Alam asked.

"The chances are good," Tajar replied. "This early in the spring it's more likely that small, fast caravan will pass this way. Bigger ones will come when the weather is more settled, but they won't be any good for us. Hopefully a small one that we can scare into handing us their goods without a fight is on The Trail."

"I hope so," said Alam.

"Don't worry," Tajar put his arm patronisingly around Alam's shoulders. "If it comes to fighting I'll look after you."

"With your piddly arms?" Alam pushed Tajar away.

Tajar pumped his biceps and pulled the loose sleeves of his tunic back to reveal the muscles. "These have captured the hearts of a thousand women."

Shaleh fanned herself with her hands. "Oh! Be still my heart! Such splendour! Such magnificence!"

Alam laughed and pushed Tajar roughly to the ground, yet he had to admit that Tajar's physique was as close to ideal as a young man of around twenty summers could have. He was also more handsome than Alam, with bright, almond shaped eyes, an infectious grin, and straight black hair which he generally tied up in a simple bun near the back of his head, as was common among young warriors in their clan.

As Alam, Tajar and Shaleh ate their morning bread and joked with each other, the rest of the camp stirred to life. Food was eaten, sleeping mats and blankets were rolled up, and horses were groomed.

By the time the scoutmaster had returned, everyone was ready to ride. Serik rode to Chief Urlock and exchanged a few quiet words. Urlock nodded, then turned his horse to face the rest of the raiding party.

"Today will be a good day!" he shouted. "A small caravan is moving towards us. They have armed guards, but we outnumber them. We will use the valley to welcome them into our lands. Mount your horses and loosen your swords, for wealth and glory await us! You are all brave, and I know you will do your duty!"

Alam nodded in agreement.

Protect the chief. Protect the clan.

As Chief Urlock passed Alam, Tajar and Shaleh, he paused.

"Alam, you ride with me."

"Yes, Chief."

"Shaleh, you ride with Serik and Tajar."

"But father," Shaleh started to argue.

"No. You will be safer with them than with me." The chief kicked his heels into his horse's side and led the riding party forward.

"I can fight!" she said.

"Yes," replied Chief Urlock over his shoulder. "Right next to Serik and Tajar."

Alam looked at Shaleh and shrugged his shoulders. He then nudged his horse forward to take his place behind the chief.

"How big is the caravan?" Alam asked Chief Urlock.

"Four carts. Serik says it looks like they are in a rush. Not that it will change anything. We are faster."

"Do you think it will come to blows?"

"No, I have done raids like this many times. We outnumber them so much they will have no choice but to agree to our terms. How many raids have you been in?"

"This is my fifth," Alam answered.

"And how many have come to blows?"

"Only that one where you broke that caravan driver's nose."

"Yes," Urlock snorted. "He was a stubborn one." Chief Urlock looked at Alam and slowed his horse down. "Even though it is unlikely that force will be needed, it is always a possibility. Therefore, a warrior must always be ready so that you are never taken unaware. You must be constantly vigilant."

"I understand," Alam said as Chief Urlock urged his horse forward again.

***

The new season's sandflies flitted from one piece of exposed skin to the next. It was hard to be still.

Those are going to itch tomorrow.

If I'm alive.

The rock that Alam crouched behind barely concealed his lanky frame. He wiped strands of long, wavy black hair out of his face and peeked around the rock. There was still no sign of movement along The Trail that lay a mere ten paces away.

On the hilltop above Alam three archers lay in wait. On the opposite side of the ravine another three archers hid in tufts of the fresh spring grass. The bushes and rocks on either side of Alam concealed a further twelve warriors.

This will be easy. Nothing's going to go wrong.

"You look terrible Alam. If you're going to wet yourself again do it downwind, and preferably not while I'm around," whispered Tajar from the cover of a shrub next to him.

Alam rolled his eyes in an attempt to look nonchalant, but inside his stomach was churning.

Calm down. Breathe.

The first sounds of the approaching caravan bounced around the ravine. He shut his eyes in an attempt to steady himself. His heart doubled its pace. He tightened his grip on his axe and examined it in an attempt to ignore his nerves. Its simple wooden handle, roughly the length of his arm, had numerous dents below the blade from practice drills,  its functional blade was two hands wide and very sharp.

He imagined the blade sinking into someone's skin and nausea well up inside. He swallowed and closed his eyes to stop himself throwing up.

"Our fifth raid and you're still scared?" teased Tajar.

"I'm not scared," Alam lied.

"Then why is your face that odd shade of green?" he smiled.

"Shut it!" hissed Chief Urlock, a few paces away.

Alam kept his eyes closed and waited. The moments passed slowly. The air was still. Every hoof fall was amplified. The caravan was close enough for snatches of conversation to be heard from them. Still they waited. The first cart rolled alongside him. Finally Urlock's bird call sounded. As one, the raiding party stood with drawn weapons. Bow strings tensed. Swords flashed in the mid-morning sun.

The trap was perfect. Shock and fear were written on the faces of the caravan.

"Ambush!" yelled a middle-aged man that rode a huge war horse at the head of the caravan. Everything from his muscular build, to his battered armour, indicated that he was a warrior.

The caravan acted. The drivers of the carts pulled together. Their co-drivers lifted crossbows. The escort guards drew swords.

"Peace!" shouted Urlock as he calmly stepped forward with a hand in the air. Alam had no idea how the clan leader could be so steady.

"Why say you 'peace' when you approach with drawn weapons?" replied the veteran.

"We want no blood shed," Urlock smiled with confidence. "We offer a simple trade. You have many supplies – we do not. We have many warriors – you do not. I propose that you hand us some of your provisions. In exchange my warriors will let you live."

"I do not bargain with anyone at sword point, especially barbarians," spat the veteran.

"Now that was not nice." Urlock smiled as if it were a game and he held all the dice - which he did.

"I will handle this," said a man sitting in the front cart. All eyes swung to him.

He wore a holy man's rough brown robes. He was past youth but not yet old. He had a weathered look, with darkened skin, and a face prematurely wrinkled from squinting in the sun.

"Excellent! Someone with sense," said Urlock. He walked towards the man. "Please tell your men to unload the goods and you can..."

"There will be no trade today sir!" interrupted the man in robes. "Let us pass! Our travel can not be delayed! It is too important for us to suffer anyone to slow us down! Every moment of pause puts you, us, indeed the entire Endless Plains, in danger!"

"I do not heed threats, especially ones made by someone outnumbered and surrounded. It will be much faster if you just..."

"He will not listen," cut in the holy man. "Ride on!"

"Ride!" joined in the veteran.

The caravan riders whipped their horses into action.

After the briefest moment of shock Urlock shouted "archers! Volley!"

Madness erupted.

Arrows rained down upon the caravan, unseating one of the drivers, and injuring an escort guard. In return crossbow bolts hurtled upwards to the hilltop snipers. Alam watched in frozen horror as Bakar, a boy on his first raid, looked down at the bolt feathers sticking out of his chest. He tumbled to the valley floor where he landed less than five paces away. Alam had known Bakar his whole life. He had an amazing way of imitating bird calls. He would never whistle again. His legs and arms were bent at horrible angles.

"Alam! Move!" shouted Tajar from in front of him.

Alam tore his gaze from Bakar's twisted form and took stock of the battle. He had frozen, but for how long he knew not. Each of the four carts were the scene of a small clash as clan raiders struggled with cart riders. Urlock and the veteran were exchanging blows. A handful of people already lay on the ground.

"Push on!" screamed the holy man. He swung a thick wooden staff that hit a clan member and knocked him to the ground.

Alam looked for Shaleh. She was alive and fighting near Tajar.

Thank the heavens.

Alam sprinted towards Urlock and the veteran.

Protect the chief. Protect the clan.

Above him another crossbow bolt found its mark. A clansman tumbled down the cliff. Alam did not look to see who it was. On the cart to his right Shaleh finished off the driver of the second cart. In front of him, Urlock ducked beneath the veteran's sword swipe and jabbed his spear. It slid off of the man's shield. Alam raised his axe. He allowed the fury to flow as Urlock had taught him. He let out a primal scream and threw himself at the veteran.

Before his blow found its mark his vision unaccountably doubled, and then tripled. Everything split into multiple pieces, like an image in a broken mirror. Uncontrollable dizziness hit him. All sense of up and down, left and right, were gone. He tumbled to the ground. Through fractured vision he saw Chief Urlock collapse in front of him. A second later the veteran tumbled heavily from his saddle. His horse fell moments later.

Twenty paces beyond the squealing horse the fractured lines of Alam's vision converged. The spot of their convergence was impenetrably blurry. Looking at it made Alam dizzy. And then, as suddenly as his vision shattered, it healed. But in the place of convergence six men were now standing.

Magic.

He had heard legends of magic, and had always wanted to see it. Until now.

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-Y. V. Qualls