The canyon was quiet. Alam walked alone. He had been here before. A robed man with a bald head appeared. Alam's axe was in his hand. He charged. Someone was huddled at the robed man's feet. Alam stopped running.

"Shaleh?"

A woman in front of him lifted her head.

"Why did you leave? We need you. I need you," she said.

"Shaleh! Move away! He's the sorcerer!" Alam shouted.

She turned her face to the bald man in horror as he plunged a knife downwards.

Blood.

Blood everywhere.

A river of blood. His legs were covered in it and his hands were stained by it.

"Shaleh! No!" Alam jerked himself awake to the cold darkness of his cage.

"Shhh," Danat said from the cage next to him. "Be calm. It was only a dream."

Alam wiped damp hair off his forehead.

"Sorry," he muttered. "Did I wake you?"

"I think you woke up the whole clan. Now calm down. Tomorrow is a big day."

***

Horses and carts were laden and pawing the ground. They were ready to move. Thousands of people from the Khashbal Clan were ready to depart for the Meet. It was the only thing people had been talking about for the past few days. The excitement in the air was so thick it was like a tangible force. Even the four prisoners felt it as they were loaded onto a specially made caged cart. It was large enough to fit all four of them inside. The floor of the cage cart was covered with a thick layer of straw, on top of which cushions and woolen blankets were piled.

"At least we will be comfortable as we ride to our death," said Tajar loudly.

The moment the last of them stepped inside the cage its door was locked behind them. Wide lengths of cloth in dark green, red, yellow and blue were then unrolled from the top of the cage, obscuring their vision out of the sides of the cart. Instantly the cart lurched forward and they were on their way.

"What is going on?" protested Tajar. "Why can't we see where we're going?"

"It's not to stop you seeing out," said a voice on the other side of the cloth. "It is to stop others seeing inside. Your identity is to be concealed until Kirill can unveil you properly at the Meet." Alam thought he recognised the voice.

"Nurlan, is that you?" asked Alam.

"Yes. I am to be your escort."

"Ha!" said Tajar. "We are to be protected in this cart. You can't touch me, or my hair, in here!"

"Don't be so sure," Nurlan pushed himself between two coloured banners so that he was between the bars of the cage and the colourful cloth. He raised his sword. "I have sharpened my sword specially for our journey."

"Frost, be careful not to get too close to that madman," Tajar advised. "He has a liking for chopping off hair."

"Ah. He is the reason you are so ugly," she replied without the least trace of a smile.

"Ugly?" Tajar said with genuine worry.

Alam saw that her eyes were locked with Nurlan's. There was a tense seriousness in both of their faces.

"Have you two met before?" Alam asked, as he looked back and forth between them.

"Yes," replied Nurlan. "It was I who put her in the cages."

All the joy and levity of the day shriveled away. Frost sat stone still with her ice blue eyes fixed on Nurlan's. The rest of the cart looked back and forth between them, and between each other, as the silence stretched beyond discomfort. Outside the cart the air was full of summer heat, and the noise of wheels, horses and excited people; inside it seemed as cold as the first frost of winter. Finally, Nurlan broke the silence.

"Master Prall. It is pleasing to see you again. It has been too long."

"Who are you?" Prall asked confused. "Do I know you?"

Nurlan bowed humbly towards Prall.

"You knew me when I was a child," he said while opening his tunic to exposed the red silk shirt he wore underneath. He bowed slightly again and pushed back out of the lengths of coloured fabric so that the cart was again shut out from the world around it.

"As a child?" Prall muttered. His face wrinkled in puzzlement. "I don't remember... red silk... there was no child... silk..." suddenly he sat up straight with his eyes wide.

"Boy!" he cried out. "Boy! What's your name? I didn't hear before!"

"His name is Nurlan," Alam supplied.

Prall jumped up smacking his head on the bars at the top of the cage. If if felt the pain he did not show it. He moved to the side of the cart and pulled back the coloured cloth. He pressed his face to the bars in an attempt to look out.

"Boy! Come back! Boy! Come back!"

"Prall, who is he?" asked Tajar standing up next to him.

"He is the boy."

No matter how much Tajar questioned him, he gave no more information. When Alam turned his gaze to Frost he found that she was staring at him with her icy blank look. Alam felt uncomfortable being stared at so openly and quickly looked away. As soon as he could, without making it obvious, he scooted away from her.

***

That night, after a full day of travelling, Nurlan and Bignose appeared again and passed food and water to the captives. Nurlan positioned himself near Alam.

"Lord Kirill has asked me to befriend you," he muttered.

"Why?" asked Alam.

"He thinks I have a better chance of getting you to talk than Tolegan does."

"Well he's right about that," Alam snorted. "What is he hoping that I will say?"

"He would like to know about the box."

"Isn't he going to be upset that you are speaking so plainly to me?"

"Yes. But I don't spend much time wondering what will, or won't, upset Lord Kirill."

Such an open show of disloyalty perplexed Alam. He might have grumbled a little about Urlock to Khalesar every once in awhile, but to openly speak contemptuously of one's chief in front of a member of another clan was unthinkable.

"Do you ask on his behalf alone, or are you asking for yourself?" whispered Alam.

"I am vaguely curious, but no more than that," replied Nurlan. "To me it seems like a small oddity that does not deserve this fuss, but Kirill is concerned that it is magical and could be valuable. He probably hopes that it is a weapon that Khashbal could use it against our enemies."

"Well, you can tell him what I would tell him - that I don't know what it is, or how to open it. To be honest, I am beginning to think that it is actually a curse. Ever since I first laid eyes on it disaster has beset me and my friends. I have been attacked, banished, imprisoned, and if your chief has his way, will soon die for sport in front of an enemy clan."

"You see Khashbal as your enemy?" asked Nurlan.

"Yes, of course. All other clans do."

"It was not always this way," said Nurlan. His face was clouded by a frown.

Suddenly Prall's eyes lit up with recognition. "Boy! You were here this morning!"

Nurlan bowed slightly in agreement.

"Where is your father?" the big man asked eagerly.

"Sorry Master Prall," answered Nurlan, "I have not seen him for a long time."

"If you see him will you tell me? I need to tell him to be careful. There is a traitor in Khashbal."

"When I see him you can be assured that I will tell him, Master Prall." Nurlan bowed his head and slipped away back through the cloth and out of sight of the cart.

***

The cart lurched and swayed forward. Alam was deep in thought and had stopped eating.

Shaleh will be there, looking for a husband. I would like to see her one more time. Unlikely with me stuck in the cages.

Unless she comes to the contests.

I hope I don't die in front of her. But if I do I'd better make it a good death. No weakness or grovelling.

"Are you going to finish that?" asked Tajar, pointing to the half eaten piece of flatbread in Alam's hand.

"You can have it," he tossed it across the cart.

"I will play you for it," said Prall.

"With what Crazyman? We don't have any dice," Tajar replied.

"Bean," said Prall.

He referred to a game of subterfuge and sleight of hand involving hiding a bean in a hand and cunningly shifting it from hand to hand until the opponent thinks they know where it is and makes a guess. To those who do not know how to play, it appears to be a primitive guessing game with a half and half chance of guessing correct. But in the hands of a skilled player the location of the bean was far from random.

"Sure," agreed Tajar. "But where will we get a bean from?"

"We use a pebble instead," he said holding up a small smooth stone.

"Fine. Play," said Tajar. Prall put the pebble in his right fist and placed it on top of his left fist, letting the pebble fall concealed from hand to hand. Swapping back and forth, the pebble would often fall through, but occasionally he would fake so that it would look like it was shifting, but in reality stayed where it was. Prall's hands were good enough to fool a child, but not enough for Tajar's quick eye.

"Stop," he said after half a minute of watching Prall's poor attempts to hide it. "It's in your left."

Prall frowned as he begrudgingly opened his left hand. It was empty. He opened his right showing the pebble. Tajar's jaw dropped. Prall burst out laughing as he took the bread from Tajar's hand.

"I think you've met your match Tajar," said Alam.

"Best out of three!" Tajar challenged.

"You have nothing else I want."

"First pick of next meal."

"Sure," Prall smiled. "Do you want to play or guess?"

"I will play," he said as he took the pebble. He placed his fists on top of each other and started playing. He shifted it back and forth, by letting it drop sometimes, faking other times. Tajar was good. Alam had no idea where it was. But Prall was better.

"Stop. It is in your left." Tajar looked crestfallen as he opened his left hand. Sure enough Prall was right.

"Best out of five?" asked Tajar.

By the time Tajar conceded defeat Prall had won eight times in a row. Tajar had lost all meal rights for two days, and given him his belt, which Prall saw as particularly hilarious.

"How did you get so good?" Tajar asked.

"I have been in the cages a long time."

Alam closed his eyes as his thoughts slid back to Shaleh.

Please, Mighty One, let me see her once more before I die. I know it's selfish, but one last time would be wonderful.

***

The following day Nurlan appeared with shears while the cart had stopped for the midday meal.

"Tajar, come here and hold very still." He held up the shears and squeezed them, making them snick.

"About time! Wait... Do you know how to cut hair?"

"I have never done it before, but it looks simple enough."

"Well, it can't be any worse than it already is," said Alam.

"I suppose..." Tajar agreed reluctantly. "But please do your best. A lot of young women will be very disappointed if I am not looking my best."

"You are a dreamer, Tajar," said Frost.

"I would rather be a dreamer than a nightmare," he said.

"That makes no sense."

"Women are often bewildered around me. Oww!"

Nurlan tugged his hair and mercilessly chopped a handful off.

"Someone bring me something I can see my reflection in! I don't trust this man!"

Nurlan's shearing work was quick, rough, and unpracticed. It was as if he thought Tajar was a sheep. It was, without a doubt, the worst haircut Alam had seen, but it was still infinitely better than the half-short half-long style that he had been living with.

Finally having his hair cut filled Tajar with even more than his usual confidence and good spirits.

"So Frost, am I still ugly?"

"I must admit, short hair improves you greatly."

Tajar winked at Alam. "See? She likes me... Prall! Where is that pebble? It's time for another round of Bean."

In less than an hour Tajar lost a week of meal rights, his socks, and his shirt to Prall.

As the sun was setting, Alam's spirits soared. Ahead of them, carried on the wind, came the familiar noises of tent stakes being hammered into the ground and the laughing of scores of clanspeople. Soon he caught, wafting on the breeze, the mouth watering smell of cooking fires and mutton fat. Alam reached through the cage bars to make a gap in the lengths of cloth blocking his view. He was able to make a small parting. He pushed his face to the gap and peered out.

They had arrived at Clan Meet.

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Thank you for all of the comments and votes! I love them. Don't be afraid to point out any errors you find.

-Y. V. Qualls