Alam was pushed, and Tajar was dragged, into the dark, sprawling stone building. Inside was thick with the smell of ingrained smoke and men who bathed less often than they might. It was the first stone building Alam had been inside, and its narrow gloominess was not to his liking. After being jostled through the rough corridors he was pushed into a large, round room made to look like a traditional tent on a grand scale. A fire pit dominated the centre of the room, with its corresponding opening in the roof above. The ceiling was supported with intricately carved beams of wood of beautiful craftsmanship. Around the walls silk banners, embroidered with depictions of legendary accomplishments, hung proudly. A number of low dining tables and cushions adorned the room. But what grabbed Alam's instant attention was the round, aging man sitting on a wide chair near the firepit. On his right sat a diminutive woman of similar age, who was so occupied with her embroidery that she scarcely took the time to look up and see those entering the room. At their feet lay a pack of lean hunting dogs.

The warriors dropped Tajar on the ground and forced Alam to one knee. They then knelt and awaited their chief's word.

"What have you brought me, Nurlan?" asked the chief.

Nurlan rose. "King Kirill, these two claim to be Empa. They were found on the western border of our land."

"Tell me all," ordered Kirill. Nulan recounted, with excellent detail, all his dealings with Alam and Tajar.

"And what do you think of them, Nurlan? Do you think they are spies or poachers?"

"I bow to your wisdom, King." said Nurlan with bowed head.

"Humour me. Everyone knows that your men consider you wise." Alam thought he heard a touch of sarcasm in the King's voice.

"As you wish," nodded Nurlan. "No, I do not think they are poachers. They would be very stupid poachers indeed to come into our lands with just two people and hope to be able to lead a worthwhile number of beasts away. My observation of them, so far, is that they are not stupid. Unwise? Undoubtedly. Naive? Certainly. But not stupid. More importantly, they possess none of the tools that cowherds use. As to them being spies, I think not."

"Why, noble Nurlan, do you say that?" asked the King.

"Because they were carrying these." Nurlan held forth Alam's axe and Tajar's unstrung composite bow. Whether Nurlan had deliberately stood in the shaft of light from the hole in the roof, or it was some timely accident of life, the dazzling result was the same - the beam of light twinkled and flared off the weapons as if they were from an enchanted land. All in the room gasped; Kirill's wife took her eyes from her embroidery momentarily; even Alam, who had seem them many times before, was struck by their beauty.

Kirill was the first to find his voice.

"And how do these weapons explain that they are not spies?" he asked.

"Spies try to mingle and be unseen. They blend in. There is no way anyone carrying these would be able to blend in. Quite the opposite. For a moment I considered that they are assassins; that perhaps the bowman was to shoot his target and the axeman to protect him until he was able to make his killing strike. But that doesn't make sense because they were nowhere near the only possible assassination targets in Khashbal, and were heading due north away from any targets, rather than towards them."

"You think a lot about assassination do you, Nurlan?"

"I think a lot about protecting my king and clan."

"Of course you do."

"They also had this in their possession," said Nurlan as he approached and handed the engraved box to Kirill.

"A box?" Kirill tried unsuccessfully to open it. "How does it open?"

"No one has been able to, King Kirill. These two prisoners," he pointed to Alam and Tajar, "have refused to say anything about it. As you can see the engravings are of a style quite different from our own, and the wood is darker than any we have on the Plains. Where it comes from, and what is inside it, I do not know, but I suspect it has something to do with their reason for trespassing on our lands, for they will not tell me anything about it."

Kirill turned it thoughtfully in his hands. "Curious," he said and passed it to his wife who examined in and shook it gently.

"Thank you Nurlan for your insightful assessment," Kirill continued. To Alam's ears the praise was insincere. "I will ponder on what to do with them. In the meantime take them to the cages."

"What?" Alam burst out. "Will you not at least listen to our story and request?" Alam implored.

"Why?" King Kirill asked. "Was Nurlan's report untrue?"

"No," Alam conceded.

"Did he miss some significant detail?"

"No..."

"Is there some additional information you are wanting to tell me?"

"No, but we have done nothing to harm the Khashbal Clan. We have taken nothing, nor have we harmed anyone. We simply wish to travel north."

Kirill looked blankly at Alam and then turned to the squat warrior who had pulled Alam and Tajar off their horses. "Tolegan, as I said earlier, take them to the holding cages. I will summon them when I have decided what to do with them."

***

Alam and Tajar were not the only ones accommodated in the cages. Three others were also held. A large man muttering and pacing was the first sight to greet them as Alam was pushed and Tajar dragged into the dark cool room. His was also the first smell to greet them. The large man had left behind all concepts of personal hygiene a long time ago. Everything about him from his ragged clothes, to his filthy face, and matted hair, was repulsive. In the cage next to him was someone that could not have been more different: a slight woman with hair the colour of snow. Alam had never seen such hair before, and could only stare at it in amazement. The woman returned the stare impassively and silently. Her skin was also unusually light, not the bronze colour of the People of the Plains. She was immaculately clean - itself a remarkable achievement - and dressed in strange, close fitting foreign clothes of black and dark green. There were two empty cages between her and the final prisoner. This final prisoner slept on a simple litter with his back to the rest of the room in a cage much bigger than any of the others. It was large enough for furniture: a table with a bowl of fruit, and a chair covered in soft furs, as well as the litter he slept on.

The guards dropped Tajar into the empty cage next to the woman and pushed Alam into the one next to the sleeping man. Doors of wood and metal bars were shut. Lengths of chain were looped through them and the closest metal bars, and were then secured with heavy locks. Unlike the prisoner with the big cage, the other cages were bare of any comfort except for a pile of straw against the wall. The straw was mostly clean.

The squat warrior with the the long warrior's braid shook his head at Alam. "Stupid Empa pig," he snorted before leading the Khashbal warriors out of the room and closing the door behind him.

The weight of hopelessness made Alam want to throw up.

What was it all for? Kicked out of the Clan. Never to see Shaleh again, or Khalesar. And now locked away in a Khashbal cage. Probably for the rest of my life. And I've dragged Tajar into my idiocy. All because of wanting to know why a stupid box gives me visions. And now they have the box anyway.

He started pacing the cage.

"Come on Tajar. Wake up," he muttered to himself. "Don't die. Don't die." His breathing became quicker as he paced around his cage. Anger took over from the hopelessness. Anger at the mob for hurting his friend; anger at the man with the warrior's braid for setting the mob on them; anger at Kirill for imprisoning him. Strongest of all was the anger at himself.

Ever since the raid everything I've done has ended up hurting the people I care about.

The shame, and injustice, of it all burned inside of him.

Tajar stirred.

"Are you alright?" Alam asked softly. He moved to the side of the cage to be closer.

"Not feeling my best, I must admit." His voice was muffled and lisping. Tajar rolled over so that he faced Alam. It was the first opportunity for Alam to see his friend's face up close since being pulled off the horses. It was a mess. One of his eyes was swollen closed. His hair was matted with blood and his mouth was swollen. A dust filled gash surrounded by a purple bloom of bruising had smeared blood across his cheek and jaw.

"Oh no... your face..."

"Pah," Tajar weakly dismissed, "I didn't need that tooth anyway."

Anger boiled up. Alam clenched his fists and knotted his jaws.

"They kicked your teeth out?"

"Only one. I have plenty more." Tajar tried to smile.

A roar burst out of Alam. Fire flooded into his veins. He shook the bars uselessly before turning his fury on the door. He launched himself on it. Fists and feet did nothing. He backed up to the end of the cell and rushed at it. His hip and shoulder connected. A satisfying sound of wood cracking fueled his rage. He kicked over and over. Each blow created another small but encouraging cracking sound. With a mighty push from his heel two of the thick planks separated slightly. He attacked them with his hands. No good. He turned back to his feet. Thoughts of what he would do once through the door had not occurred to him. Two more massive kicks and the door was cracked. He squeezed through. He had enough clarity of thought to register shouting voices from a nearby room. He did not care. He turned to Tajar's door and started savagely kicking it.

Three or four guards rushed in with shields and clubs. They slammed into him as a group and drove him into the ground. Their clubs rose and fell. It only took a couple of blows before he blacked out.

---------------

I would love to hear your comments, and I truly appreciate your votes.

-Y. V. Qualls