Gretch had watched the coloured tents all day from inside a neighboring tent. He had been forced to cover the woman and man's bodies with blankets to stop the flies getting to them. Even so the stink was nauseating. But he got what he needed when the crowd returned in the afternoon from the games. They were loud and joyful. At the head of the crowd were four prisoners - three men and a woman. He decided the thieves had to be the two young male barbarians - the tall one that looked more like a slave than a barbarian, and the shirtless one with short hair. The big laughing one wearing green couldn't possibly be the thief, and the woman with white hair... She was a complication.

That night he crept around the back of the tents, resolved to quietly cut his way in while they slept. But as he drew near a figure detached itself from the shadows and stood before him. His sword was drawn.

"What do you want?" Gretch whispered.

"Leave," Serik replied.

"It was you watching me the other night."

"Yes. Leave."

"I could cut you down like wheat." Gretch hissed.

"Yes. But not before I wake the entire camp. Do you think you could kill all of us?"

Instead of answering Gretch said "Do not follow me."

"You know I will."

"Then you will die."

"We must all die someday."

Gretch silently examined the man. Moonlight showed that he was far past his prime, but had the quiet confidence and readiness in his stance of a true warrior. There was no sign of either fear or arrogance. Gretch's priorities changed as he backed away.

First the old man, then the thieves.

Serik allowed him to leave and then cautiously followed.

***

Alam's days came and went in a steady rhythm of expectation and disappointment. Each morning he would wake up hopeful that he would see Shaleh. He would scan the onlookers while he and the other prisoners went through their morning drills; as they were transported to The Pit he gazed eagerly around the tents they passed; and reaching The Pit he would look up to the high position from which she and Nurlan had watched. They were never there. He would then focus all his attention on the game so that she would not be disappointed should she be somewhere in the crowd. Once the game was finished, and he was deposited back in his red tent, he would sink into misery.

The games became increasingly hard. Eventually a team of Astaevka warriors, placed behind two large barriers on opposite sides of the pit, were able to defeat the prisoners who were put between them with no cover. The Astaevka warriors hooted loudly as they claimed the eight bags of silver.

"This is a good day for us," Alam told his paint speckled companions as they were shepherded back to their tents..

"Really? How?" snorted Tajar.

"Now we know to avoid open areas where archers can kill us. We also know that we're not invincible."

"Yes, but that game was completely unfair," argued Tajar.

"Do you think Kirill will give us a fair fight in the final challenge?" Alam asked.

Nobody answered.

***

Day followed night, and night followed day, and still Serik trailed the large man in an endless game of cat and mouse. Both men ate little and rested less. Serik knew that he was no match for the wild man's speed and power. He also knew that he would run out of energy before the big man did. And when that happened he would be dead.

Gretch's initial attempts to turn the tables were to find blind corners and dark shadows to lurk in. Serik was not trapped so easily and avoided them all. Gretch's next strategy was to try and lure him out of the city of tents. Serik let him move away into the tall grass. He watched Gretch's movements for as long as he could, but did not follow him. In this way Gretch was able to slip out of sight. Serik was not so naive as to think he was gone for good. He went to find the Khashbal captain who wore red silk below his armour to warn him that a murderer stalked the camp. The red silk man was not available so he left the message with an arrogant squat one with the long warrior's braid. Confident that guards would be set around the perimeter of the tent city he found some food before setting himself to watch Alam and Tajar's tents.

***

Shaleh spent her days in a horrible mix of cooped-up boredom and emotional uncertainty. Pim refused to allow her to leave the tent and instead gave her a string of domesticated chores to keep her busy, especially cooking. She was nowhere as good a cook as her mother, but her pastry was improving, her mutton stew and goat's cheese were passable, and the milk tea she made was as good as anyone's.

Since the day Nurlan had seen her weep over Alam in the Pit, he had visited her only once. He had been guarded in his speech. She tried to smile and jest with him as her mother prompted, but she knew that he had realised her feelings for Alam. He would not take her now. Why he had not declared as much was confusing. Her anxiety increased whenever she considered that if he refused her she might not have enough time to find an alternative husband. Underlying all her anguish was the realisation that she did not want to marry him. She would do so out of obligation, but she did not wish it. He was polite enough, and certainly did not seem as brutish as many men, but he was far too serious and intense. Although he was not as handsome as Alam, at least he was not smelly. If there was one thing she could not stand, it was men who did not know how to bathe or wash their clothes. Nurlan's age, on the other hand, did worry her. He had told her that he was not yet thirty summers old, which was still young, but he seemed far older.

Why am I even worrying? He won't take me so I need not think about it.

Although no-one brought her direct news of the games, every day Shaleh heard through the walls of the tent how Alam and Tajar were faring. She waited with eagerness each afternoon to hear the voices of passers-by talking about them, but when she did it simply brought on fresh sadness.

She had nothing to look forward to, and could not see a time when she would.

Each afternoon her father would enter the tent with news about the day's trading. The plunder from the valley raid made excellent trades. During the first days of trading Urlock would burst in excitedly and tell his wife and daughter about the successful day. But after her day at the games he had been more quiet around her and watched her with sidelong glances and a worried face.

"Are you truly so miserable, Shaleh?" he asked one evening while the family were seated and sipping milk tea. He resolutely avoided eye contact and stared into the flames of the cooking fire.

The direct question hit a nerve. She dipped her head, willed herself not the cry, and fought against the muscles twitching at the side of her mouth. She waited until she was certain she could speak in a steady voice.

"I hate this waiting everyday in here, and I don't love him," she replied quietly. "I'm trying to be a dutiful daughter, but yes, I'm miserable."

Urlock inhaled deeply, swallowed, and in an uncharacteristic display of affection placed his hand on her shoulder.

A knock sounded on their tent flap.

"Who will that be?" Pim whispered.

"Yes?" Urlock called out. "Who is there?"

"It is Nurlan, Chief Urlock."

Pim looked in alarm at Shaleh's red nose and eyes.

"Quick, dry yourself off," she whispered. She stood up and pulled Shaleh to her feet.

Urlock slowly walked to the tent flap and opened it. "Greetings," he said.

"May I enter?" Nurlan asked.

"Please do. You are very welcome," Urlock replied.

Nurlan stepped inside and looked at Shaleh. His brows were knit together and his jaw looked grim.

"Greetings," Shaleh said while bowing slightly.

"Greetings," he replied. He bowed deep and respectfully first to her, and then her parents.

Shaleh smiled softly at him. He flicked a small smile back to her, but it was so brief that it did not have time to light up his face, let alone melt his frown. Her hands began to shake so she balled them into fist and stealthily put them behind her back so he would not see her nerves.

"It's good to see you again," said Shaleh. She was not sure if she meant it. She swallowed but nerves fluttered in her stomach.

"I am sorry that I have been so inattentive," he said gravely to her. "I had many duties to see to, and many things to consider."

"Have you finished considering them?" asked Chief Urlock.

"Yes. I have decided."

***

Liege Marext anxiously paced around his chamber. He had allowed the fire to die down to embers. The darkness helped him to focus his thoughts.

It has been a whole moon. The Hunter should have returned by now.

Surely he is not slain.

"If he has become a traitor it will go ill for him!" he muttered to the empty room.

But he seemed so concerned for our arrangement to be resolved. Have I been deceived? Surely not. Not by a mere slave.

He crossed the large, simply dressed room to his working table. It was the only thing in the  room that was untidy. The slaves knew their life was forfeit it they touched any of the books, papers, strange metal instruments, or bloodsmeared knives that rested upon it. He lifted a small brass bell and shook it gently. No use making it peal loudly; a good slave would hear the bell no matter how quietly it sounded.

Two quiet knocks sounded on the door. His manslave then entered silently and waited to be instructed.

"Some days ago I sent forth the Hunter named Gretch. There is a slave working in the house that he is fond of, is there not?"

"Indeed, my Liege. A boy. It is rumoured to be his son, though I do not know for certain," replied the manservant.

"Bring him. I wish him to be close to me. Oh, and ensure Berlavi is well fed and ready to fly. I may need him soon."

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This marks exactly half way through the book. Thank you for your continued support. I really appreciate all of the votes and comments.

-Y. V. Qualls