One
Betrayal
Christopher Ames
© Christopher Ames 2009. All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people or events is purely coincidental.
Website: http://www.maybeepic.com Email: onemorenameless@gmail.com
Prologue
This is not the perfect spot the woman thought, surveying the river and the surrounding forest. Though the Worslouth forest was home to scores of various large bushes, engulfing ferns and old, proud trees, this area was all but devoid of greenery. For perhaps a halfdozen metres in any direction of the woman the dirt was clear of plants and the ground was relatively flat; here and there an old root bulged out of the ground or a broken branch had been blown, but that was it. The river had diminished here to no more than a quiet stream, defining one side of the clearing. The water was shallow and flowing slowly, light from the gaps in the trees above illuminating the riverbed.

For the woman it looked amazingly clear compared to the polluted waters of her city’s own river. There, discarded rubbish and the feet of playful children would dirty the water to almost undrinkable. Staring at the water here, it was hard to imagine anything more foreign than a fish floating past. Easily accessible and clean drinking water was the kind of thing that was sadly neglected in Umbrah. This was the kind of spot that would no doubt be taken advantage of on a regular basis by the natives. Perhaps it would not be as frequently as the woman could have hoped, but nevertheless often enough. It was unlikely she would find anything closer without risking discovery, assuming she had not been discovered already.

But it is close enough.
The woman stepped quietly out of the foliage and into the open, shielding her eyes from the sunlight pouring into one side of the clearing. The woman had been fairly small before her journey, but the last several weeks had left her slighter than ever. Her usually goldenblonde hair was streaked with brown dirt and held back with a small elasge band. As well as what was once a simple white shirt, she was dressed in a long, pale blue skirt. Although the purchase had seemed like a fine idea in Frilge, now out in the difficulty of forest she sorely regretted her choice. Clutched protectively around her was a noble green cloak fastened by a single golden clasp. Once its fine craftsmanship and embroidery might have betrayed her origin, but after several days of travel it looked no finer than any other piece of cloth a peasant might wear. The woman wore no footwear, her light feet making little sound crossing the wilderness. At her side the woman held a wicker basket she had woven herself, padded with the long, soft feathers of a phouri. Inside the basket was a baby.
The woman approached the edge of the stream. Sighing to herself, she once again silently cursed the child’s mother. She should have been here! How many times had she pleaded that there was a better way? Too many to count. At the very least she should have been the one to leave him, but she was not prepared to risk even that. Too many would have noticed her disappearance. It was a miracle in itself that the mother had manage to keep the pregnancy a secret at all, feigning prolonged illness in the final months. Aside from herself, nobody had known about the birth. Or so she desperately hoped.
A bush rustled in the distance and the woman turned in fright, but after several moments could neither see nor hear anything untoward. Had it been the wind, or just her imagination? It was getting hard to tell. Ever since a young child she had been instinctively nervous, jumping at shadows all too often. At one time it had made her parents laugh.
The difference was that now her shadows were real.
The woman took one last look at the child she held and fought back a sob as his face smiled back, his mouth opening and closing in wonder. Despite her better wisdom, she had let herself grow attached to the child over the last few weeks. Still, she convinced herself, this was for everyone’s good. If the Houses were ever to find out what had happened that night there would, no, could, be no forgiveness; not even for the child unwillingly conceived.
The woman heard movement from the forest and a fragment of deep laughter from somewhere within, and this time she knew she was not imagining it. Hastily she shook herself from her reverie and placed the basket down on the ground near the stream. She turned to leave, then on an impulse tore the clasp from her cloak and dropped it into the basket. For now she accepted this abandonment was necessary, but perhaps when the child was a child no longer …
The woman watched for just a second longer as the child instinctively clutched the clasp, and then she fled.

Garrak stepped forward slowly, feeling the dirt underneath his foot carefully. There were a few blades of grass growing in it, and the dew of these chilled him almost as much as the cold morning air. Satisfied, he placed his foot down slowly and began checking his next step. This process was slowing his progress through the forest considerably, but a single mistake and he could lose his opportunity.

As he stepped forward Garrak shivered, accidentally landed on the top of a loose stone and slipped. He stuck his hands out to steady himself and lightly brushed against a tree branch. A small sanin had been resting on it. Normally Garrak was quite fond of the sight of the cheerful, rainbow coloured birds, but today his actions had disturbed one and it chirped loudly, fluttering away. Garrak winced. A deer that had been grazing up ahead turned its head and saw him. Frightened, it sprang away quickly. Garrak cursed to himself and kicked a tree, which gave a satisfying thud and a less satisfying dull pain to his bare foot.

Garrak had been hunting, if unsuccessfully. He had been stalking around the forest for many hours now, and the sun shone high above him. The deer had been the third animal he had sneaked up on today. Unfortunately it had also been the third to get away. Garrak wasn’t an especially good hunter at the best of times, but alone and with only a crudely sharpened stick as a weapon and a loincloth as attire he was having more trouble than ever. Normally there was plenty of protective gear and well-crafted weapons for him to use and he’d had grown used to these. Too used to them as it turned out. He didn’t want to be out hunting with so little protection, and the fact that winter was approaching only made it worse.

Garrak didn’t really enjoy hunting at the best of times; sneaking around and killing things didn’t really appeal to him, although it was obviously a necessity for survival here and had been expected of him from a young age. He would have even less of a choice for the next week. Going out into the wilderness with only the barest of essentials, in this case just minimal clothing (the spear he had constructed himself afterwards with rock, branch and vine), was the first part of his initiation trial into the Stone Axe clan.

The Stone Axe clan was a moderately large group of barbarians that lived out in the Worslouth forest, several thousand in number. The clan had been around for a long time and the original founders of it were unknown, though the Leader claimed to be descended from a direct male lineage. Despite the name, no one had actually used stone headed axes for generations; the weapon’s size and weight were impractical fight and hunt with. The Leader still kept a single entirely stone axe from long ago as a symbol of his leadership. As time passed the clan rejected the growing society around them, preferring huts to houses and hunting to farming. They survived on the meat that they hunted, fruit and berries that the women in the clan would gather, and the supplies they would occasionally pillage from travellers or nearby towns. In general they only relied on the latter if all other supplies had been depleted; the clan may have been barbarians but they were not inherently evil.

Garrak had lived with the clan for almost all of his childhood. He had been told that he had been found abandoned near a stream when he was young and the Leader of the clan at the time had taken pity on him. Garrak did not know his real name. Indeed, Garrak was a shortening of ‘unknown child’ in the barbarian’s ancient language. Garrak had never been given a second or family name, his family being unknown to him. He had been raised by the clan collectively, although most took no pleasure in his presence. Once the previous Leader of the clan had died Garrak had had to work much harder to prevent the clan throwing him out. The clan had seen how well he coped, and began to train him harder to realise his potential.

He had thought about leaving the clan before, but by the time he was old enough to consider it properly he had come to enjoy his life with the Stone Axes, and besides, where would he go? He had no significant physical possessions or friends outside the clan to support him. Now that Garrak had reached the age of sixteen, or as his exact birth date was unknown, close enough to it, he had to undergo the initiation trial to become an ‘official’ member of the clan. He would admit it only to himself, but Garrak was surprised that he had to take the trial. Usually only outsiders would have to complete it, while those born within the clan were automatically accepted. Although he’d not been born into the clan, Garrak had thought that over a dozen years of his childhood within it would have proven enough!

The initiation trial consisted of three separate tasks. To add to the difficulty the person undergoing the trial would not know what the tasks were until it was time to undertake them. Garrak had been woken early in the morning yesterday and instructed on what to do. His first task was to go out into the wilderness with nothing but a loincloth and survive for a week. If he came back earlier then he would fail the task but be given another chance. If he failed a second time he would not be allowed back into the clan’s village. If he managed to succeed he would be given several days to rest before the next task, whatever it might be. To ensure that he did not cheat in any way, several highly ranked scouts or trackers within the clan would take it in turns to follow and check on him over the week. Garrak had not been pleased with the task, and to tell the truth he thought the whole thing was rather pointless, but was confident he could manage it. He had already managed to fashion himself a crude weapon and was now trying again to hunt one of the larger creatures that lived in the forest, both for food and to try to create some kind of clothing from its skin. So far he had failed abysmally, and the only edible plants he had noticed out here were several small mugje, a depressant and mildly hallucinogenic mushroom that probably wouldn’t help matters. Now he began to fear he would simply have to fast for the week.

Garrak mused upon his situation as he began yet again to carefully navigate the maze-like forest. He had managed to start a small fire the night before and assumed he could do the same thing again if needed. He knew it was dangerous to light an open fire at night since it could attract certain predators to him, but the cold night would have otherwise been unbearable, if not dangerous in itself. He had been lucky last night that nothing had happened, but even so had slept poorly and his tiredness was starting to show in his clumsy movements.

Garrak began thinking of various warning devices he could construct when he heard a whistling noise nearby. Garrak instinctively collapsed to the ground, hearing a soft thud above him. Garrak looked around worried, then blanched as he saw an arrow partially stuck into the tree behind him, barely a whisper below where his throat had been seconds ago. Garrak abandoned all stealth and dived behind the tree. A lone stick on the jabbed into his leg, but Garrak ignored it and listened intently. After several minutes he had heard nothing and risked a look out in the direction of the shooter.

He couldn’t see anything unusual. Whoever had fired the arrow must have managed to sneak close enough to him to get a clear view while he was thinking. More time passed before Garrak slowly moved from his defensive position, pulling the bloodied stick out and tossing it carelessly aside. He had no way of knowing if his unseen enemy was still there or not, but if whoever it was had sneaked up behind him once there was no guarantee they couldn’t do the same while he hid.

Garrak raised himself up and took a closer look at the arrow. It was of simple design and made entirely of wood, save for two small red feathers sticking out from the end. There were some markings on it that Garrak did not recognise, but what drew his attention was a small section of parchment that had been attached to the arrow. Garrak tugged tentatively at the rough paper and felt it move slightly. It was lightly stuck to the arrow with something unidentifiable. Garrak peeled the paper off, accidentally tearing it in two. He laid the two pieces of paper out on the ground and examined them. The paper was covered in small, messy writing. Thankfully Garrak prided himself on being one of the few members of the Stone Axe clan who had bothered to learn to read and write well. Writing was seldom used by most in the clan, the only such communication being lists of chores for each member, either for the individual or the large public roster in the centre of the village. Most of the members were taught to read enough to understand those, but no more. Garrak though had been convinced by his superior to be tutored further, and found himself quickly becoming sufficiently literate to read the few tomes that there were in the clan. He wasn’t sure why he had bothered, but had done so with the thought that it might help him one day if he ever left the Stone Axe clan. As for now, Garrak could make out the scrawling. It read:

Scum Axe clan! You have become too much of an annoyance to us and our master. The land which you have wrongly claimed as your own belongs to us by ancestral right! Unless you leave the forest and flee the Arklong Chain or surrender to us we will send our armies and those of our mighty allies to rain destruction upon your pathetic clan. You have seven days. – The Dark Tiger tribe.

Garrak’s eyes widened as he read the note. Just like everyone else in his clan, he knew well about the Dark Tiger tribe. They were a clan not unlike his own, but significantly larger and far more ruthless. It was not unheard of for them to have wiped out entire villages in the past to get what they wanted. If the Stone Axes were attacked the clan would be lucky to avoid a rout. Once the shock had left him, Garrak realised something else bothered him about the message; he could not recall any mention of the Dark Tiger tribe having allies before, and especially not any master. Who would dare ally themselves with such a treacherous and untrustworthy group? Unless their allies were more powerful than the tribe themselves … or perhaps the tribe was just bluffing to scare his clan. Either way Garrak knew he had to deliver this message to the Leader as soon as possible. It would ruin his first chance to complete the trial, and earn much dishonour among other clan-members, but under the circumstances he had little choice.

It was not much later that day that Garrak jogged through the final leafy bushes beyond the outskirts of the clan village. As he approached the effective border two other clan members approached. Garrak recognised one of them from his briefing the previous day,. Both of the men were tall, muscular and armed with large spears. They didn’t look particularly pleased to see him.

“You’re Garrak aren’t you? What are you doing back here? You are not allowed to return to the village or any camp during the time of the trial!” the first guard said sternly, lowering his weapon. Garrak swallowed and showed the paper he was still carrying.

“Forget the trial. If needs be I’ll fail my first chance. I need to see Drugtar immediately!” Garrak demanded in a rush. Drugtar was Garrak’s immediate superior in the Stone Axe clan, and also a relatively close friend. He was one of the few people who had stuck by him when the older Leader had perished and the main reason Garrak was allowed to stay within the clan. Drugtar lost his temper quickly, but as long as Garrak was careful not to annoy him he was friendly and calm enough.

The guards didn’t look convinced, and Garrak was irritated to see one of them was laughing quietly to himself.
“You, who are not even an official member of us and have just given up on the first initiation task, demand a meeting with a busy supervisor and hunter? Our law dictates that you may be given a single chance to re-take the trials, but there is no chance that you will be able to meet with an important-” the second guard began lecturing. He was trying to stay stern, but Garrak could see it was all he could do to keep a straight face.
“This is important. I don’t have time to wait for him to have a free moment. I-” Garrak angrily burst out.
“Look kid, we don’t have time for this. Just go back to your hut and await further instructions. I can appreciate you’re feeling a bit stressed at the moment but that’s no excuse to order us around like women. Now get out of here,” the guard said, no longer chuckling but looking quiet annoyed. After this dismissal he turned around back to his post. Garrak was feeling stressed, but considered the message he held enough to warrant some anger.
“The Dark Tiger tribe is practically declaring war on us!” Garrak yelled at the guard’s retreating back. Both of the men instantly turned around.
“What? Look, this had better not be a joke or something because if it is I will have you cast out right now,” the first guard said. Garrak walked up and handed both parts of the note over for inspection. The guard’s eyes opened in shock and he quietly handed the note over to his partner. The second guard reacted similarly. At least, after having the first whisper the message to him. Garrak reached to take the note back with a slight smugness, but the guard ignored him.
“Oh. I … I’d better show this to Drugtar,” the second guard said. He began running off quickly. The first guard frowned.
“Garrak, return to your hut. I’ll have Drugtar speak with you as soon as possible,” the first guard said. He then walked off without another word, leaving Garrak standing alone. Garrak sighed to himself and began to walk the familiar path that lead to his small hut. He knew that the message was urgent, but would it have killed them to apologise?

Garrak’s hut was one of the smaller in the clan, only a few metres from one side to the other and barely high enough to stand in. Garrak hoped he’d be assigned a larger one once initiated and leave this to some woman or child. It wasn’t as if he spent much time inside the cramped space, but the design was poor and the nights weren’t getting any warmer.

The hut was constructed mostly from wood, but the roof was made from several large leaves of a ghori. The ghori was a fairly common plant that frequented the forest near the village. They were large ferns that could grow as wide as ten metres in diameter. Each leaf of the fern could be as much as several metres long and half a metre wide, and was fairly thick and tough. The ‘floor’ was simply a patch of long dead grass the hut had been built on, and thick vines held the whole contraption together.

Along one side of the hut were several crude wooden shelves on which Garrak kept his clothes, weapons and food supplies. The food was given out each week and it was up to the individual to ration it; Garrak was a very long way from having the few female cooks prepare any real meals. Garrak found that what he was given never seemed enough for his still-growing body, and often he would make up for it with meat that he had hunted with others or leftovers from the few other members he was sociable with. At the moment the spot where he kept his food was empty; he had eaten the last of it before leaving on his trial. The clothes were nothing special, just a few rags and warm garments sewn from animal skin and fur. There were only four weapons resting on the shelves: an axe, which was rarely used for reclearing paths through the forest, a knife used for skinning, preparing meat and the like, a spear that Garrak had learnt to hunt with and a rusted long sword.

Every male member of the Stone Axe clan was trained with either spears or bows from an early age so they would already be experienced with them by the time they came of age. Each male would only be trained in one, to allow for greater skill, and afterwards the weapon would determine what animals he hunted. Since Garrak had had few friends in the clan he had spent much of his spare time training himself as well with a sword and shield, an unusual choice. While many clansmen trained in additional weapons in case of another war, they usually preferred large and simple weapons like clubs or great swords. Though Garrak was tall for his age he had never been especially strong and had difficulty with these heavy weapons, instead preferring weapons that required slightly more skill and slightly less brute force.

Unfortunately since that choice was so rare in the clan, the only member he could find willing to teach him was an old trainer Ketadag. Ketadag was always positive about Garrak’s skill, but truthfully neither were particularly masterful after all their sessions. By the age of fourteen, or thereabouts, Garrak had already outstripped Ketadag’s aged abilities and the sword had been mostly left unused since then. Seeing it made Garrak wonder if he would need to use it sooner than he thought. Perhaps he should ask Drugtar to have it polished and sharpened. Most armour and high quality weapons were kept in the armoury near the village centre. Garrak would often take throwing spears hunting, or borrow a shield for fighting on the rare occasions he used his sword any more. However, the truly excellent weapons were withheld for the hunters that owned them, not to be taken by anyone else.

The hut also contained a hammock. Normally Garrak would sit or lie on it as it swung gently during heavy winds, let in by a hole in the wall where the wood had rotted away. For the last month he had been protected from the same wind by a heavy blanket made from part of the fur of a massive brezz bear. This was where Garrak now sat, bored and thinking. He had been sitting and waiting for the good part of an hour, wondering how long it would be before somebody gave him any further instructions. There were several other places he could have waited in the village, but he didn’t really want to see any of the other members until they knew about the threat had had caused him to return early.

From Garrak’s time in the clan he could guess how they would respond to the threat. There was no way they would give in; the clan were too proud for that. Yet the message was far too hostile for them to merely ignore, especially once the general population knew of it. Garrak looked around his hut nervously wishing someone would come with orders. He had slept many nights here, but if the threat was real who knew how many more he would have left.

Garrak finally became too restless to sit still. He stood up and opened his chest. Like most members of the clan he had built it himself, largely and crudely, to store his few personal possessions. The chests had no locks or other security, but it was an unwritten rule that no-one would look into another person’s chest without their permission. Even after several years Garrak had never bothered to replace it (and was hardly entitled to be given a sturdier one) and it had become half-rotten and disturbingly slimy from the humidity and leaks in the hut. Garrak carefully lifted the lid and looked inside.

His chest was mostly empty save for a few keepsakes. A crown made of feathers and flowers that he had made many years ago. It too had fallen into disrepair and would fall apart if worn, even if it still fit his head. There was a toy sized rock axe that he had apparently been given once the clan had decided to raise him. Aside from a small chip in one corner and a small patch of moss it was in perfect condition. Garrak hoped that soon he could pass his initiation trials and throw the old keepsake away – as it was, the axe was all that technically marked him as allowed to live within the clan.

Carefully placed down at the bottom of the chest was a small golden clasp with a signet of two eagles, each a mirror image of the other, diving onto a single rat. This clasp was precious to Garrak and nobody else knew of it. While Garrak could remember very little of his arrival and initial years in the clan, he could dimly remember that he had been carrying the clasp with him as he entered – or was he carried? – into the village. Even then he had somehow felt the clasp was a valuable thing, so he had kept it clutched to himself. He assumed he had dropped it somewhere while wandering off, because it wasn’t until years later he had been lucky enough to rediscover it while playing alone in the dirt. For most of the days since then the clasp had lain in the bottom of his chest. It was the only link Garrak had to his unknown past, and he hoped that one day he could find the meaning of it and why he had been carrying it that day.

Near the top there was a crumpled piece of paper detailing his chores in the clan. Garrak had long since memorised these, but kept it just in case. Looped around everything was a long length of sturdy rope. Garrak had found the rope once while trekking through the wilderness near a small village, though he had forgotten which one. It had been tied in a loop and seemed to be a poor attempt at a trap. Garrak had easily taken the rope without harm. He didn’t know exactly what the rope was made of, only that it was surprisingly strong and hadn’t deteriorated over time, and that it was coloured somewhere between a dark green and grey that camouflaged itself somewhat into the forest. Garrak pulled the tangled rope out and began to loop it into a neater circle. The movement disturbed some of the items in the chest and a small handkerchief came to the top. The handkerchief was dark grey, though it had once been a bright white, and the edge was decorated with a golden thread. It had been resting inside his chest for several years and he had forgotten about it. Garrak stopped his looping and stared as memories came back to him.

It was several years beforehand that it had happened. The kingdom nearby was growing, and another village was to be built near the Worslouth forest as a place for extra food to be hunted and gathered for the kingdom. The Stone Axe clan had known about the plan months before, since the construction of the village had been delayed or halted several times due to some dispute or another. In order to protect the village the king had ordered many soldiers to defend the site and aid in the working. The Stone Axe clan had not wanted to share the resources in the woods, but the army was large enough to deter any attacks. In the end it was agreed that the clan would relocate their small colony to the north to avoid confrontation.

Not everyone agreed with this though. Some saw the moving as a retreat or surrender, and they did not want to give up their ground so easily. Only a few days before the move one of the Leader’s Assistants, furious at the village, had escaped the clan and betrayed them by claiming to the soldiers they had been planning to attack. Before the sun had set that day the clan were involved in battle with the soldiers. The traitor himself disappeared. The Leader sent a scouting party to sneak into the village and find out what had happened to him. They took one young man hostage whom they thought had helped him hide, and tortured him.

Garrak had been around ten at the time, and had just begun to perform various chores for the clan. He hadn’t really understood what was happening, other than the clan was at war. He was not old enough to fight, so he had been ordered to go about his regular duties unless the soldiers actually reached the village. Garrak had been on his way to help clean and sharpen the weapons when he had passed the hut in which the prisoner was being tortured. A strong wind had blown the cloth draped at the entrance, and he had been presented with a clear view of the unpleasant happenings within. Garrak had been shocked at such cruelty and stood watching for a moment. The prison must have been in terrible pain, but for just a moment he glanced up and laughed at Garrak, feebly trying to wave. The wind had dislodged his handkerchief and blown it out of the hut before the door fell slowly shut. Garrak had taken the handkerchief, ignorantly hoping to return it to the its owner once he was released.

Seeing the handkerchief again brought back unhappy memories. While at the time he may not have understood everything, Garrak had still suffered. The sadness of losing many of the clansmen he looked up to, the pain of an accidental arrow wound that he had gained, the hunger that never seemed to end, and above all the constant fear overwhelmed him. The thought of the clan falling into war again frightened him.

Garrak shook himself from his thoughts and finished looping the rope. He dropped it back in the chest and closed the lid. From behind him Garrak heard a quiet thud. He turned around to find Turev standing in the doorway.

Turev was one of the few people in the clan whom Garrak would consider as a friend. Turev was not much older than Garrak and had only become an official member two years ago. He hadn’t had to complete the trial though, since he had been born in the last village. Turev’s mother had been one of the cooks in the tribe and the father of the birth had never owned up, so he was almost as much of an outcast as Garrak was in the clan. Physically, they couldn’t have looked much more different. Garrak was tall, Turev was slightly short. Garrak’s hair was cropped and pale blonde in the rare cases it was clean, Turev’s was messy, rarely cut and dark brown. Garrak was told his face was stretched, whereas Turev’s was squashed. Only their eyes and skin shared a baked brown tone.
“Garrak. I thought you were taking the initiation trial this week,”
Turev said.
“I did,” Garrak said simply. He was unsure of whether Turev
knew about the note, and did not want to be the one to tell him. “You gave up? I never would have thought that you would have
given up, especially this early. That’s pretty weak,” Turev said, his
voice becoming less friendly. Garrak sighed inwardly. He would get
far harsher words from the other clan members.
“I had important news to deliver,” Garrak said.
“That’s the same excuse Jozev gave, and you know what
happened to him,” Turev said. Garrak shuddered at the mention of
Joseph. The year previously he had failed his trial twice, and even
though half-starved was refused re-entry. The guards had stood
ignoring his pleas until a pack of wolves had eventually passed by and
feasted.
“It wasn’t an excuse. I was nearly shot dead with a damn arrow,”
Garrak recalled. Turev glanced at the dried blood on Garrak’s lowered
leg and raised an eyebrow.
“An arrow wound? I knew you were raituri, really,” Turev said
jokingly. Garrak shuddered again anyway. He was human as far
anyone knew, but he didn’t know his family and it wasn’t the first time
someone had commented on his recovery or temper. Such heritage
going unknown was a baseless worry, he knew, but even Turev could
be sure his parents were true blooded humans.
“That was a twig, when I was ducking from the war tidings,”
Garrak replied.
“Tidings of war? What are you talking about?” Turev asked.
Garrak winced. He had hoped that the news would have spread around
by now, but the Leader must be keeping it secret until he had decided
on what to do.
“I shouldn’t speak of it now. Undoubtedly you will hear of it
once a formal response has been made by our Leader,” Garrak replied. “I guess. But if it’s something minor they might not tell anyone.
You know how in the dark they like to keep us,” Turev said. “It would be reasonable to assume you will hear about this in
due course,” Garrak considered darkly. The two were silent for a
moment until Turev spoke again.
“Anyway, I didn’t come here just to ask questions. Hell, I didn’t
even know you were back until Drugtar spoke to me,” Turev
commented. Garrak had been expecting this, and motioned with his
hand for Turev to continue. “There is to be an Upper meeting tonight
at sunset, and you are to attend.” Garrak was surprised by this, though
he tried not to show it. An Upper meeting was generally attended by
those higher up in the clan. This group was chosen by the Leader each
year and called the Highly Ranked Representative Individuals, though
they were known to most simply as the ‘Uppers’. It was held in an
open spot not too far from the Leader’s hut – in fact it was as close as
almost all members were allowed to be. There was a large bonfire in
the centre as well as several stone seats on which the Uppers sat.
Generally the area was used for celebration, initiation ceremonies or
trials, but it wasn’t too hard for Garrak to figure out what was going to
be discussed this time. He hadn’t expected that he would be invited,
even if it was him who had ‘found’ the note. A grunt’s word was
respected little, especially an uninitiated grunt.
“Noted. Do you have any instructions on what I will be doing
until that time?” Garrak enquired. Turev shook his head.
“Nothing. I doubt the Uppers will bother with someone as minor
as you until these ‘tidings of war’ have been dealt with, though why
they would require you at a meeting I wonder … You might as well get
something to eat and brush up on your hunting skills,” Turev said,
glancing at Garrak’s stomach, which growled in apparent agreement.
“Or maybe you’ll need to do that in the other order.”
“Well, I can agree with you on one count anyway. I don’t think
my hunting is entirely to blame though, there seemed to be a lot fewer
animals around than usual,” Garrak said.
“I would assume you were just trying to protect your own ego,
were it not for the fact that you’re the fourth person in the last two
days who has said that. Our rations seem to have been smaller as well,
but that could just be my imagination,” Turev said. Actually, Garrak
had just been saying that to protect his own ego, as Turev put it, but
now that Turev mentioned it there hadn’t been much life about the
forest even considering the season. It could just be a coincidence, but
Garrak wondered about the person who had shot the arrow. What if the
Dark Tiger tribe had been hunting in the same area? It was unlikely the
tribe could have moved so close to theirs without being noticed,
especially with the clan’s best hunters around. On the other hand, if the tribe’s unknown ‘allies’ were as skilled as they had been made out to
be …
“It’s probably just bad luck,” Garrak finally said. Turev didn’t
look entirely convinced.
“Hmm …” Turev mused. “Anyway, I have a very important
meeting to get to, so I’d better be going.” Garrak raised an eyebrow.
Somehow he couldn’t see Turev being invited to an important meeting
any more than he could himself.
“And pray tell who this meeting is with?” Garrak asked. “It’s, uh, confidential. You wouldn’t understand it anyway.
Initiated members only,” Turev said, making a hasty retreat. Garrak
watched him leave. Funnily enough he had never heard of any
confidential meetings, ever. Considering that Turev seemed almost
embarrassed at the mention of it, Garrak’s only hope was that he
remembered his own history well enough to change his mind.

It was already darkening by the time Garrak had collected and organised his week’s rations from Gandeen. Gandeen was one of the few well-known names among the females, but Garrak still didn’t know much about her personally other than that she was often blunt to the point of rudeness. She organised the food each week, and also went with the other women when picking berries and the like, but Garrak had heard she wasn’t very successful because of her age. As far as he knew Gandeen was the oldest woman in the clan. Gandeen herself had never admitted her true age, which only furthered the rumour.

Unsurprisingly, she was not pleased to see him. He had not been expected back until the next week, so there was very little food left available to him. Garrak’s rations usually comprised only the basic food, since the delicacies such as berries were left for those high up in the clan. Today though his rations didn’t even include most of that; he had at best enough bread and meat to last him three or four hungry days, and no vegetables to speak of. He wasn’t too worried. If he joined a group to go hunting in his free time he would get to share in the meat, plus he knew a few people who might lend him some of theirs, even if they would make sure it was at his own cost afterwards.

Garrak was concerned about how little bread there seemed to be left. Extra meat could be hunted without too much trouble, usually anyway, but since the clan had failed to grow their own wheat they usually sent a few members to Elitar, a large city that was only a few days travel away. Knowing the Uppers it would take longer still to convince anyone to walk among the commoners (or ‘Downers’ as a few Uppers had been known to rudely call them) since they’d never agree to trust anyone else with the items with which to barter. If there really were fewer animals around the forest now, food could be scarce for a while.

During the visit to collect his rations Garrak had been seen by several clan members, and soon enough most people knew that he had given up on his trial. Garrak had hoped they would be considerate to his situation, but most openly mocked him when they passed. It pained Garrak not to be able to tell them why he had had to come back. What annoyed him the most was that some of the people who had taunted him Garrak knew to have themselves failed the first time on one or more of their trials. When he had answered back to them, they had only insulted him worse. Before long Garrak just gave up trying to convince people, and ignored their calls. This didn’t stop the insults, but it was easier than continually thinking up retorts.

Garrak was one of the first people to arrive at the meeting. He wasn’t especially early, and it surprised him how few others arrived early or even on time. The only people who had arrived before him were one of the Leader’s personal Assistants and Torgak. Garrak didn’t know Torgak well, but everyone in the clan knew of him. Torgak was the best hunter in the clan and led all of the larger hunts. He had trained Garrak with several other younger members of the clan a while back. Torgak was tall and looked rather old for a clan member, maybe forty or fifty. In the past few years he had gone almost completely bald save for a few patches of white hair above each of his ears. Total baldness was considered a sign of wisdom in the clan, and Torgak would be no exception. There was talk that even the Leader considered him an equal. Garrak didn’t know much about his personality, other than he was supposed to be very calm and quick thinking in any situation. Garrak cautiously sat down on the outermost stone ring, opposite Torgak and a good distance away from the Leader’s Assistant. He had never been at this kind of a meeting before and could only hope there was no particular seating plan for those attending.

As the sun set other higher members of the clan began to slowly arrive and sit on the stone ledges that surrounded the fireplace. There were some faces Garrak didn’t recognise, but most of the Uppers were familiar by sight, at least. Some of these included Unklock, the clan’s speech deliverer who had made the announcements to most of the clan for as long as Garrak could remember. Drugtar’s superior, Siough, who he talked about a lot, was there. She was the highest ranking female in the clan, and most people weren’t quite sure how she had managed to rise so high. Garrak suspected her body had something to do with it, although Drugtar assured him that Siough was a very calming and understanding person to talk to. Not that it had stopped Garrak once walking in on the two kissing, and being equally bribed and blackmailed by Drugtar to stay quiet. Garrak had never really spoken with Siough himself, but with that and rumours he wasn’t particularly convinced.

Garrak was surprised to see Gandeen at the meeting as well, and wondered if perhaps she had some other job that he was not aware of. There was even a third female at the meeting, and although Garrak thought he might have seen her once or twice in the last few weeks he did not know who she was. She was young, barely older than Garrak, and long, black hair fell around her face when she sat. Her eyes had seemed tired and sad when Garrak had seen her before, but now she looked slightly nervous and out of place. Drugtar was at the meeting too, probably because he was one of the first to see the note. Guy was fairly sure he wasn’t normally invited. He didn’t see the two guards.

The Leader was deliberately the last person to arrive, accompanied by his other personal Assistant. The Leader wore his usual decorative costume, complete with a large hood shrouding his face. Traditionally only his two Assistants spoke with him, and they delegated his instructions where necessary. In practise it didn’t take much for the current Leader to speak for himself to encourage or order the clan.

As well as his two Assistants, each Leader also chose five Associates. The Leader’s Associates were a small group of five members that were chosen from different groups within the clan. The group consisted of one of the skilled hunters, one of the few that trained the younger members of the clan, one of the workers that built and expanded the village, as well as kept it in good repair, one of the female gatherers, and one other highly ranked member chosen for any miscellaneous reason. The Associates were generally not known to most members, with the exception of the fifth member to whom any could speak to and suggest ideas to that would be forwarded to the Leader. In practise this rarely occurred for any but those whose word was already respected, effectively the Uppers. That current Associate was Siough.

The identity of the Leader was traditionally kept a secret, known only by his two Assistants, five Associates as well as two or three others necessary – fosters parents, and the original woman who gave birth to the Leader. The secrecy surrounding the Leader had never been ignored as far as Garrak knew. Even when a Leader had passed away the body was concealed and buried, and the new Leader was, usually around a week later, secretly initiated into the position. The new Leader would usually be the previous Leader’s son, although while growing up the son would not be known to the public – or even to himself for safety, which Garrak could imagine leading to some surprises when they were informed. Usually any children born by the Leader would be given to foster parents, who would raise the child as their own and swore an oath not to reveal the child as the Leader’s. In the cases where no son had been born, the Leader would choose a trusted member to be the Named, and they would take the place of the Leader in the same way.

Of course the obvious problem with the plan was that when a new Leader was initiated the clan would be scoured by the curious in an attempt to discover who had left that could actually be the Leader, and more often than not the clan knew his identity anyway. As far as Garrak knew the present Leader had been narrowed down to about four possible contenders, but unlike most he had never really cared much who was doing the job. To him the whole secrecy surrounding the Leader just seemed unnecessarily complex and pointless.

By the light of the fire Garrak could just make out the torn note in the Leader’s hands. All in all there were around a half-century of people at the meeting, only filling around a third of the available seating. After a moment the Leader spoke.

“I presume you all know why we are here?” the Leader asked. The Leader’s voice was very deep and slow, and Garrak guessed that he was not talking naturally. He had heard this current Leader went to great pains to protect his old identity since it had been narrowed down. Garrak still thought it was pointless. After a moment it seemed that everybody had been told, or at least wasn’t about to admit that they hadn’t.

“Actually, I do not know why we are all here. Why has the boy come?” Torgak called out.
“The boy was the one who discovered the note,” the Leader replied.
“The boy gave up on his trial and disgraced himself. Any other could have found the message,” Torgak said. Garrak frowned in the darkness at being referred to as ‘the boy’.
“Yet they did not. The boy found the message and had a responsibility to deliver it to the clan. If he had not given up then we would have found out all too late to do anything,” one older male, who Garrak did not recognise, came to his defence.
“He could have left the note. Several of my best scouts were checking up on him twice a day, and they would have found it themselves. What the boy did was nothing but giving up,” Torgak said with disdain.
“He did not just give up! Garrak stopped his trial because he knew the note was of greater importance, and because he knows that he can easily succeed on his second chance!” Drugtar defended in annoyance.
“Will you all stop talking like I’m not here?!” Garrak yelled irritably, standing up. While he did manage to quieten the whispers and mutterings that had been gradually building, many of the people began to look at him with disgust and surprise or even chuckle under their breath.
“Oh, so the boy speaks now does he? You aren’t even a member of the tribe and yet here you are at our highly ranked meeting. I hardly-” began one Upper, cut off in mid-sentence by Garrak.
“Yes, I do! Whoever ordered my appearance obviously believed that I had something I could add to this council. I may tolerate the insults behind my back, and the accusations of cowardliness to my face in other situations, but I will not be forced to sit silent while people attack my honour for the amusement of others!” Garrak called, losing his temper. As soon as the words were out of his mouth he regretted them, and sat down in silence.
“So the boy has some cheek in him. Ha. Go back to your hut, unknown child. You have no right to speak thus in front of yours superiors,” the Upper replied scornfully.
“Nor you, yours. Be silent Sharg! Whether or not Garrak is at fault is not to be discussed further. I was the one who invited him here and you will respect that decision,” the Leader said, looking at each person in turn. Garrak felt uncomfortable as his gaze briefly landed on him. “Garrak! Explain to us all what exactly happened. Leave out no detail, however minor.”
Garrak spent the next few minutes explaining, in great detail as requested, where he was, what he had been doing at the time, how the arrow had been fired at him, and the note attached. At the appropriate time the Leader’s Assistant also read out what had been written on the note. The group mostly stayed silent during the story, though Garrak noticed a few people still muttering to each other, Sharg among them. Once Garrak had finished up to the point where he had handed the note to the guards the Leader spoke again.
“Torgak! Tell us what you know of the Dark Tiger tribe’s forces,” the Leader requested. Torgak stood up and paused in thought for a moment.
“As you know, the Dark Tiger tribe is the closest clan to our own of any significant size. I have had two of my most trusted men keep watch on them; my own talents, especially give the recent shortage of food, have been best spent hunting rather than watching and waiting,” Torgak began. It did not surprise Garrak to have his suspicions of a shortage confirmed. As Torgak spoke, several Uppers glanced at Garrak as though worried of what he might repeat elsewhere. Garrak had no desire to spread such information around the clan though, even without the punishments that would inevitably be dealt to him. It wasn’t like many people would trust the word of an uninitiated coward, even if there were already rumours. Garrak ignored the glances, and focused on what Torgak was saying.
“Unfortunately one of the men has not yet returned today, and I do not know his situation. Nevertheless the other has reported and can give you a full report better than I can,” Torgak said to the crowd, waving his hand as though the probable death of a top hunter was nothing out of the ordinary. The unfortunate part was that in recent times, it wasn’t. There had been several disappearances in the past months, all credited to the Dark Tiger tribe. Torgak sat down again and on cue a hunter stood up near the front. Garrak had not noticed him standing in the shadows.
The hunter introduced himself as Guntrock and began a detailed description of the area he had been scouting and the Dark Tiger tribe members around the area. Garrak didn’t understand much of it, but he got the general gist that the Dark Tiger tribe hunters were moving closer to the Stone Axe clan’s territory, and some had even been brave, or foolish, enough to venture within their ‘turf’. A great deal of the tribe’s hunting patterns had been wrested from one such hunter before he was put to death. When Guntrock had finished talking he sat down again and seemed to disappear into the shadows. There was several seconds of silence while the group absorbed the information.
“This is … worrying,” the Leader said thinking out loud. There were a few worried murmurs around the crowd. Garrak assumed from this that the details had been bad. “The Dark Tigers have rarely hunted this close before, even in times of dire shortage.”
“They are almost certainly doing it deliberately to scare us,” Torgak said confidently. “The tribe may be weak but they are not stupid. They know that even if we didn’t have someone watching them before, we will do know, especially with one of their hunters ‘missing’. By moving their forces closer to our clan they intend both to intimidate us and fool us into thinking they have grown in numbers.”
“Who’s to say they are fooling us? For them to issue such a direct challenge they may well have grown in numbers,” a tall, gruff member called out.
“No one would dare challenge the Stone Axe clan without many times greater numbers than our own!” another member called out. There were a few calls of agreement.
“I have been watching the tribe for some time. It is unlikely they could have concealed a greater threat before now,” Guntrock spoke.
“But not impossible?” the tall member asked. Guntrock was quiet for a moment before speaking.
“No, it is not impossible,” he admitted. At this many members began yelling out, and the meeting briefly fell into chaos. Garrak sat back and tried to listen for the voices of those he recognised, but had trouble distinguishing one from another. As the crowd argued, Garrak felt eyes on him, and glanced around to see Sharg staring at him. Sharg smirked and turned away. Garrak frowned and listened in. From what he could hear it sounded like most of the Uppers either believed the Dark Tiger tribe were too weak to dare try to attack the clan, or that they were only bluffing. Few even considered the allies mentioned in the note, instead arguing over the tribe’s motives and strengths. Gradually the voices became louder, angrier and more panicked. It sounded to Garrak like the Uppers were more afraid of a Dark Tiger tribe attack than they cared to claim. After several minutes, the Leader raised his hand, and within seconds all were silent again.
“If such a trivial matter as a discussion can throw us into disruption then the Dark Tiger tribe have already won!” the Leader spoke angrily. The crowd were silent, but appeared no less angry than before. “Before all else we must consider perhaps the most important note of this message: The mysterious allies.”
“With all due respect,” Guntrock spoke out, “I very much doubt these ‘mighty allies’ exist.” With the Leader’s silence he continued. “Who would ally with the Dark Tigers? There are no cities or towns that do not know of them as they truly are, marauding savages, and they would never bow to another force.” Several mutters and calls of agreement came from the crowd, and Guntrock waiting patiently for silence before continuing again. “The other possible option is that another clan has allied with them, but I very much doubt that would ever happen. The Dark Tiger’s nature would prevent them from joining a clan as equals, and no clan would ever reduce themselves to such a dishonourable level as to surrender to the group. Besides, in recent years we have been aware of no other clans this side of the Great Divide that would in any way cause a threat to us.”
“Perhaps, but there are more ways for a tribe to gain allies than conquest and control,” Sharg said.
“Like what? Befriend a dragon? Train an army of brezz bears?” one person called out, causing some scattered laughter among the crowd. “There is no other power that could cause us threat, even if they could somehow gain its alliance.”
“All I am suggesting is that we do not take their threat lightly,” Sharg said.
“Let us for the moment assume that the clan’s threat is simply a bluff, though I make no claim it might not be otherwise. Why would the Dark Tiger tribe threaten us now? They claim ancestral rights, but this, if not anything else, is obviously false. If they had thought this the tribe would have made threats when we first moved here several years ago rather than wait until we have fortified the position and increased in strength and power,” Torgak spoke.
“If their claims of an ally are true, then they may have been too weak themselves to attack us earlier. While we have become larger and more powerful, so too may have they,” one person suggested.
“True enough. But even so, to attack now when even they must lack supplies would be madness. There may be a shortage in the forest, but this is not the first time such a shortage has occurred. In previous hardships the tribe has kept its distance from us and taken refuge in the forest further up the mountains. If they try to take over our tribe now the only thing it will achieve is to lessen the resources available, doubly so if we surrendered.” Torgak spoke. At this suggestion a gasp rose from several in the crowd.
“We shall never surrender to the Dark Tigers!” Several people called out, or similar.
“I did not mean to suggest we should,” Torgak continued, “In fact I would strongly advise we do not, not only for our pride, but for our survival. If, and only if mind you, either clan were to join the other they would have to live together, and hunting trips would have to travel further and further away from the village to find enough food for the extra people. It would be an unsustainable scenario. This makes one thing clear: whatever the reason, the Dark Tiger tribe does not want or expect us to surrender.”
“Your theory is a good one,” the Leader replied. “But it does leave several questions. Why would the tribe possibly want our land? Why wait until now, when a shortage threatens both our clans? If it were just for the extra hunting land they could move up north, so it can’t be just for food. And why even offer surrender, instead of just attacking us while we are unprepared?”
“If they do not want us to surrender, they may have waited until another shortage so that it would be impossible for us to do so safely. And they offer us a warning not to surrender, but for us to flee. The clan knows we have moved in the past, and so can not value any individual place higher than our own survival. My theory now is this: The Dark Tiger tribe send us the message, and offer us a week to flee. They include threats about an ally and hunt boldly on our own land to give us the illusion of strength and power. They wait until a shortage so we can not possibly stay or wage a war, as either would leave us both crippled and in danger of starvation. They do all this so that we will flee, and they can expand their own power over Worslouth,” Torgak concluded. The whole crowd was quite for a moment, thinking this through.
“Wise words indeed, Torgak. It seems likely that is the reasoning of the Dark Tiger tribe. But even knowing all that, we are still left with the question of how to respond,” the Leader pondered, breaking the silence. In an instant the crowd again began yelling and calling their opinions. Garrak gave up trying to follow the arguments, but he could get the gist of it just from the tone of the voices, and the body language. Most people wanted to attack the tribe and defend their land. Garrak had lived through one struggle of the clan’s and had no desire to see another one. He knew that going to war, especially against someone as large as the Dark Tiger tribe, would cost many lives in battle before it was finished. While the hunters fought the tribe there would be little meat to eat, and during the current shortage of food it seemed likely many would die starving. Garrak stood up, and was distracted for a moment to see Sharg staring at him again.
“Why don’t we just surrender then?” Garrak suggested boldly. Most of the talk in the area ceased immediately, and he suddenly found not just Sharg, but most of the Uppers staring. “If the Dark Tiger tribe obviously do not want us to surrender, that would seem the most logical choice to make.”
“Are you out of your mind, boy?!” one person called angrily. “The Stone Axe clan will never surrender!”
“We will not give up our land because of some empty threat!” cried another. Several others yelled at Garrak, but he remained standing up stubbornly. Garrak found himself shaking slightly, and hoped that no punishment would come from his forwardness later.
“If we surrender in this shortage there will be nowhere near enough food to feed us all! Besides, there is no guarantee the clan will not simply slaughter as all anyway,” Drugtar said, the first to consider Garrak’s suggestion seriously.
“I am not suggesting we simply surrender and give up!” Garrak said in annoyance. “If we surrender the tribe’s guard will be down, and if we attack then we shall have the advantage. If some hunters stay away with our weapons, while the others let themselves be taken to the Dark Tiger tribe’s village we will have the advantage of surprise.” There was silence for a moment as the group considered Garrak’s suggestion. Garrak crossed his fingers.
“Fool,” the Leader said. Garrak frowned, and became worried. This probably wouldn’t end well. “Do you honestly believe the Dark Tiger tribe would be so foolish as to let their guard down for such a trick, or we so dishonourable to attempt one? No, do not answer. I allowed you the privilege of entry into this meeting so we could hear your story, not your opinions. Be gone from this meeting, and if a single word spoken from us is uttered from your lips hence you shall be denied your second chance at the initiation.” There were several quiet laughs and mutters among the crowd.
“But mighty Leader, surely he should not lose his chance for the trials because of this?” Drugtar asked cautiously.
“Whether or not he was right in delivering the message is left open for debate. But either way our laws are clear: there is no excuse for giving up. You too are here on special privilege; be silent on this issue or you shall leave as well,” the Leader ordered. Drugtar scowled slightly. Garrak stood up and took one last glance around the mocking glares and poorly concealed laughter of the group. To his surprise he saw the young woman watching him almost sympathetically. He had barely noticed before she look away again. Garrak turned aside with as much dignity as he could muster and walked moodily away back to his hut in the village.

Garrak slept poorly that night. In his dreams he walked alone and naked down familiar paths through his village, but wasn’t sure where he was heading or even which way he was travelling. Jeering and laughter followed him everywhere, and he found himself raging, furiously throwing spears at shadows, but never wielding the skill to hit them. Suddenly there were flames and arrows everywhere, piercing his flesh all over and then everything was red.

Garrak awoke with a gasp. He sat upright and blinked a few times to clear his vision. It was already morning and light glared in from the window and various cracks in the walls. Garrak found himself dripping with cold sweat. He pushed the fur blanket aside, and it fell to the floor. He was surprised that he had not been woken earlier by Unklock. Most mornings Unklock would travel around the huts waking everyone up to begin the various morning chores. Garrak had assumed that his chores would be filled in during the week of his trial, but he had also thought that after giving up he would have had to do them and, knowing the way the clan treated cowards, more. Perhaps those in charge had simply had their mind on more pressing issues than a few chores. Garrak heard another loud rapping from outside, and he turned his head to see Turev standing in the doorway of his hut. As soon as he turned, Turev began tapping his foot and drumming his fingers in feigned exasperation.

“Come on, wakey, wakey sunshine! Get your lazy arse out of bed, it’s past the third hour already,” Turev said. Garrak was surprised that he had slept so late. Normally he required no assistance in rising at the first hour of the day. It seemed the previous days, or more probably nights, had worn him down more than he had guessed. Garrak sighed inwardly, and hauled himself out of the hammock. Turev continued his thrumming while Garrak pulled on his lightest clothing, unsure of what he was expected to do. If he was expected to retake his trial this soon it would not matter what he wore, since it would be taken off him anyway, but if was to be joining the hunting anything heavy would slow him down.

“Hey, I heard you caused a stir at the meeting last night. Spoke out against Sharg himself! It’s a wonder you’re still in one piece this morning,” Turev commented. Garrak grinned at this.

“Sharg? Ha! Sharg is nothing. I’m obviously far more skilled than he is, but of course as the Named I’m not allowed to say so,” Garrak said, rolling his eyes and walking out of the hut. Turev glanced around nervously.

“I wouldn’t go joking about things like that. It is treason to speak against the Leader, or any of his Associates,” Turev said seriously.
“Sharg is one of the Leader’s Associates?” Garrak asked in surprise. Garrak had previously assumed that it would be Torgak who would take the position from the hunters, being by far the most reliable hunter in the time Garrak had been with the Stone Axe clan. Perhaps that was why he was not – he was too much in the spotlight for a position that was intended to be kept secret.
“Uh. I mean, I think so. I’m not really sure, of course,” Turev elaborated, looking slightly shifty. Garrak frowned.
“And for that matter, how did you know about my outburst during the meeting? That hardly seems like the kind of news that would be publicly available,” Garrak said in suspicion.
“Oh that? Yeah, apparently one of the Uppers decided it would be in the public interest to tell … well, everyone,” Turev explained, looking glad for the subject change. “First quitting the trial, now speaking out at an Upper meeting? You’re the talk of the clan, and not in a good way. If I were you I’d lie low for the next few days. You’re going to be taking a lot of grief from most people otherwise.” Garrak thought back to the previous night’s meeting, and scowled. Garrak was never one to gamble away his rations like some of the members enjoyed, but he’d have bet his whole week’s worth it was Sharg who had done that. It was just the kind of thing he could see an Upper doing to rub his nose into it. Not for the first time, Garrak cursed the Dark Tiger that had fired the arrow at him.
“Do you have any information regarding my duties within the clan? I had assumed that I would be doing them as normal, but it’s pretty clear I’m not – at the moment anyway,” Garrak asked.
“Damn straight you’re not. I got stuck with your cleaning job this morning, and it stunk. According the roster you’re not doing any chores for the rest of the time you should have been on your trial,” Turev said, gesturing at his clothes. Garrak looked down and noticed several dark stains he hadn’t been aware of before. Garrak was glad he had not been, if anything, condemned to more chores since he had quit his trial, but was still suspicious. He didn’t believe for a minute he would be doing nothing for the week.
“At least that’s something,” Garrak said. Turev broke into a huge grin that worried Garrak in a way that no threats of war could quite achieve.
“It gets better. You’ve been designated to go along with the women each morning and night instead, starting tomorrow,” Turev said. Garrak scowled. The women were technically intended to be equals in the clan, but foraging in the dirt was just one of the tasks they were required to do daily. To go with them was nothing better than an insult. Not only that, but it would prevent him from going with the hunters, subsequently capping the food he had for the week; there was, after all, no personal achievement in pulling up mushrooms. At least he had the day to rest.
“I swear, I will kill Drugtar when I see him. This is just the kind of thing he would find funny,” Garrak seethed. The two were silent for a moment, and then Garrak heard a loud drum beat. Garrak only had to listen to the pattern for a moment before he recognised it: It was for a full clan meeting in the village centre. Unlike an Upper meeting, a full clan meeting required everyone of any ranking to attend. Normally one was held each month, when the moon was at its largest. It had only been ten days since the last, and it didn’t take much for Garrak to guess what the topic would be at this one.
“That’s the other thing,” Turev spoke slightly louder, “In case you hadn’t noticed, there’s to be a full clan meeting at the passing of the third hour. Which is, yeah, about now. So that whole ‘hiding in your hut for the day’ thing is actually going to have to wait.”
“Great. Just what I need,” Garrak said without any enthusiasm. He and Turev began walking the path down to the village centre. As the drum died down, Garrak shivered in the cool wind. He wished he had had the forethought to grab a blanket or shawl, but it was too late for that now. If what Turev said was true, he would have to bear a lot more by the time the day was through.

Despite its name, the village centre was not actually anywhere near the centre of the village. In the old Stone Axe village it had been a large, cleared, circular area in the very middle of the village, with a huge tree stump in the centre that Unklock had stood above the crowd and spoken from. The story was that that same tree was the first felled by the original founder of the clan in preparation for building huts. Several years previously the disorder of the clan’s forced relocation and the general chaos of war had meant a new village centre was the most vital thing for the new village. Rather than waste valuable time and energy clearing an area, the Leader had chosen a large mostlyunderground system of caves on the edge of the forest that could be both a somewhat defendable retreat position (or, as it was put at the time, the core element of a reserve strategic repositioning plan) as well as a gathering and storage area. When the fighting had finally finished the village was built properly in the forest nearby. Because the caves were still close to the village, nobody had bothered to clear a proper village centre at the time, and since then it had never seemed important enough to get around to, so the ‘village centre’ remained where it was.

The giant clan drum used to beat out messages to the whole village was placed instead near enough to the centre of the village, close to the weapon storage building. The caves that were used as the village centre were near enough to the storage area, only a brisk few minutes’ walk away, but naturally Garrak’s hut had been placed at the opposite end of the village so for him it was closer to ten.

During the walk there, Garrak was not especially surprised to find just about every other ranked member jeering or mocking him. Several actually walked out of the way to avoid him, or just shook their heads in disgust. Thankfully not everyone viewed Garrak’s outburst so negatively. Like Turev, some other members found his actions rather amusing, or even congratulated him. Especially with his quitting of the trial, those people were still far in the minority and Garrak found himself in a foul mood before he arrived at the caves.

Unlike the Upper meeting, almost everyone arrived promptly for this meeting. Despite the large size of the cavern it was quickly filled by the some two thousand Stone Axe clan members, and Garrak found himself squashed against everyone nearby. The cave was fairly bare too, with nothing to sit on, so the clan had to remain standing during the whole meeting. This quickly became a pain as sometimes meetings could stretch on so long that several hours would pass before their completion. Thankfully they normally did not last long; the meetings were for messages only, as any discussion would have been done at an Upper meeting previously. It was standard procedure for the clan to wait a third-hour for any stragglers in the nearby forest had the time to arrive before the meeting would start, but today Garrak had barely arrived before Unklock stood upon a natural small stone platform and motioned for silence.

“There is much that the Highly Ranked Representative Individuals must begin organising today, so this meeting will be kept as brief as possible. You have all been called here today because of a problem that could have negative impacts upon the Stone Axe clan in the coming months,” Unklock began. Garrak rolled his eyes slightly. That’s not exactly the way he would have phrased a war. Unless Unklock was not, in fact, referring to the threats at all.

“As some of you may have noticed during the past month, the amount you have been receiving as your weekly rations has been smaller than it has been previously.” At this there was much grumbling and muttering among the crowd. Garrak frowned. So the Uppers had decided to officially recognise the shortage. By the way the crowd was reacting, pretty much everyone had known about this already. Garrak guessed that the reason he hadn’t really taken much note until now was that he got unusually small rations anyway, still being a child in the eyes of the clan.

“This is because the Highly Ranked Representative Individuals have decided that due to the unforeseen shortage of game in the Worslouth forest a new and improved rationing system must be put in place to ensure that the shortage outside the village does not cause a shortage of food inside the village during the coming winter months.” Neither Garrak nor anyone else in the crowd was particularly pleased by this idea. As much as Unklock tried to put a positive spin on it, the message was simple: they were to be given less food. Garrak didn’t think a meeting would be called just for this though; if that were all, the Uppers were more likely to have just sidestepped the issue altogether. “In addition, in order to maximise what potential produce the-”

“Stop speaking garbage!” Garrak heard a rather impatient member call out from the other side of the cave. Many members began muttering agreements. Garrak, too, couldn’t help but agree.

“Just get on with it!” another called out.
“Ahem.” Unklock coughed deliberately. As the frequent bearer of bad news, he had had to put up with this kind of response often, and did not look even slightly fazed by the crowd’s response. “In addition, in order to maximise what potential produce the forest still offers, until the shortage can be resolved all standard training will be temporarily put on hold. All the usual trainers, and many of those younger members being trained, will instead be joining the hunters on their expeditions each day. A full list will be inscribed on the roster as usual and your group leaders will have new chore lists available within the week.” This news was met with a more positive response among the younger members, several cheering.
“The women’s crops will be expanded where possible, of course, and regular good production and trading with Elitar will be arranged in future months, but in the short term, our Leader has decided to lead a mission to the nearby town of Cornesh in the hope of receiving assistance with the shortage.” Garrak snorted to himself. Yeah, that was likely to happen. Cornesh was the same town that soldiers had been sent to in order to fight the Stone Axe clan, and eventually force their relocation. Even all this time later Garrak doubted the town would give support willingly. “If Cornesh does not agree to aid us, then we will be forced to take advantage of their prosperity without their permission. It is with great regret that we may be forced to take such an unfair action, but our preservation must come before our social standing!”
This was followed by some scattered cheering and applause, but mostly the clan didn’t seem especially surprised. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Garrak had half expected the announcement himself, but he was only waiting for the news, or lack thereof, concerning the Dark Tiger tribe’s threat.
“This mission shall depart upon the passing of the sixth hour today. All who have been designated for the mission shall arrive here a quarter-hour before then, taking what they need from the stores beforehand. Any who are late shall be dealt with severely.” Unklock took one last look around the cave, before finishing. “That is all.”
Immediately hundreds of irritable members began leaving the caves, in a far from orderly fashion. Garrak stood thinking for a moment. He was surprised that the threat had not been mentioned at the meeting. If the Uppers had decided to surrender or flee they would need to begin preparations soon; perhaps that was what Unklock had been referring to in his opening? No, to move the whole clan would take the whole clan to organise, and Garrak did not believe for one second the Uppers would seriously consider surrender. If the clan were to go to war against the Dark Tiger tribe they would need to be instructed to familiarise themselves with their various weaponry, and putting all training on hold was practically the opposite of that. What were the Uppers planning then? Garrak mused on this as he began the slow progress through the crowd back to the village. There was only one possibility that made any sense: the Uppers were calling the Dark Tigers’ bluff. Garrak shuddered inwardly as he remembered just how close to death he had come in the forest. Whatever the Uppers might think, he didn’t think the Dark Tiger tribe was bluffing.
“Dunno what the hell they’re going on about, bloody smaller rations. Those things have been smaller for a while now, anyway. If they make them much smaller we’ll all starve,” Turev complained, pushing his way towards Garrak.
“I don’t know what you’re complaining about; I’ve barely got enough food to last for a few days,” Garrak complained, his rumbling stomach reminding him of the previous day’s visit to Gandeen.
“It’s more food than you would have got out in the forest,” Turev countered. “Speaking of that, funny we didn’t hear anything about, what was it, ‘tidings of war’.”
“We didn’t hear much about the Leader’s Associates either, funnily enough,” Garrak said.
“Touché,” Turev muttered, and the two walked in silence out of the cave. After a few minutes Garrak spoke again.
“What do you think of the mission to Cornesh?” Garrak asked, breaking the silence. “I can’t help but feel it’s a mistake. I can’t see any way they would help us after what has happened between us before, and if the Uppers are to resort to violence there are other, less defended towns.”
“Cornesh is a reasonable hunting town. For all we know the shortage in the forest might have been caused by them! If Cornesh is going to steal our food then we have every right to steal it back!” Turev countered. Gareth could see several obvious flaws in that opinion, but kept them to himself.
“Nevertheless, there are other towns that would be more likely to give aid voluntarily. If we start another war now, all that will happen is that getting food from other towns will just become more difficult in the future,” Garrak argued.
“Anywhere else would take too long to get to and reason with. We can’t afford to wait longer to get food. You should have seen the size of the rations I was given this week!” Turev said.
“Surely such a dire shortage could not have fallen upon us so quickly? If Cornesh were over-hunting it would be a gradual process. If food was so short, the Uppers would have known about it long beforehand, and could have organised something like this earlier,” Garrak countered.
“Well, perhaps not so quickly. But quick enough,” Turev admitted reluctantly.
“I think not. There may be a shortage, but there is still food left in storage and animals in the forest. This whole mission just seems very sudden, compared to the shortage,” Garrak pondered. Then a thought struck him: the decisions by the Uppers may be very sudden compared to the shortage … but the shortage was not the only danger threatening the clan. If the clan were forced into another war supplies would be crucial, and while there may be plenty of time before they ran out, there was not plenty of time before the Dark Tiger tribe had threatened to attack. But from what Garrak had heard it sounded like the clan were ignoring them for the moment, and starting another fight now would be madness. The Uppers receive a threat of war, and respond by raiding a town that hated them? It didn’t make sense, but Garrak was sure they were connected.
Before he knew it, Garrak found himself standing in front of the public roster. The public roster stood near the storage huts and where the rations were given out. Garrak could see Gandeen standing nearby, looking grumpy as usual. The roster itself was written with a type of ink made largely from animal blood, along with the sap from some trees and certain crushed flowers that gave it a darker colour. The roster was a large, thick sheet of crude paper. It was updated each day if necessary but usually only once a week, by which time the ink began to smell foul. Garrak noticed that the writing on it was messy and had dripped slightly, indicating it had been done in a hurry. Garrak frowned to himself, wondering what could possibly require something this hasty. He was sure there was something he was missing.
Garrak shrugged and began to scan the roster, looking for his own name on the huge list. The list was rarely written in any given order, and especially with the messy writing several members nearby were getting very frustrated. Garrak ignored them, and finally saw his name. His heart sunk as he saw he was indeed to be sent with the women the next day. He had hoped that perhaps Turev had just been having another one of his ‘jokes’.
Garrak was about to leave when he noticed his name a second time: amongst those listed to go to Cornesh. Garrak sighed, and scanned the list of other members going on the mission. So much for his day of rest. At least he might have a chance to find out more about this spontaneous mission. Aside from himself, he also noticed that Drugtar was going on the mission. The mix of highly skilled hunters like Torgak and Guntrock, as well as poorly trained members such as himself and – Garrak was surprised to see – Unklock, was confusing. If this mission was very important, surely only the best would go along. And equally, if the mission was not important there would be no need to include the most skilled, who could instead be hunting. It was almost as if the list were intended as a mixed sample of the clam, even with a couple of women. Garrak walked off wondering why.

Later that day Garrak returned to the caves, waiting for instructions with the fifty or so other people chosen for the mission. He had spent what was left of the morning preparing himself for the journey. Having paid a visit to the armoury, he was now wearing some slightly more protective padded armour. It wouldn’t stand up much against any sharp weapons but Garrak hoped he wouldn’t have to get into a fight, and it was much warmer than his other clothing. On that note, he had also taken one of the public short spears from the armoury. It wasn’t in the best of condition but it was light and easy enough to use one-handed as Garrak preferred. He’d gone to take a shield as well, but found the few usually kept in storage already taken by others. He’d searched further and even requested the help of a few members (who had, unfortunately, still regarded him as a coward who was not fit for protection) but all he had turned up was a small wooden shield used in training. It was far too small to be of much use to someone of his stature, so he had discarded it and went to the caves armed only with the spear.

Garrak was not waiting long before Unklock motioned for silence. While Unklock drew breath to give the inevitable speech, Garrak looked around. Most of the members gathered were wielding various weaponry from bows to clubs, though not all looked especially happy about it. In particular the three women carrying knives looked very nervous and edgy, having never been taught to fight at all. The constant looks of disgust coming from the higher ranked members weren’t exactly helping either. In fact, the higher ranked members did not look very happy about their company at all, while the lower ranked or younger members just looked puzzled and intimidated. Compared to his presence at the Upper meeting, this group didn’t faze Garrak at all.

“Chosen members of the Stone Axe clan,” Unklock began, addressing the waiting group. “We are gathered here this day for a mission. You all know what this is, so I will not waste precious time going over it. However there are one or two things that you will undoubtedly be wondering about that the Highly Ranked Representative Individuals have decided it would be wise to clear up. First of all, in order to maximise the chance of Cornesh aiding us voluntarily, you have been chosen as a broad sample of members in the clan. By doing so, we show the town that it is us all that require aid, and that we come primarily for peace.” Garrak didn’t believe a word of this. There was no way Cornesh, or for that matter the Uppers, would seriously consider peace. There had to be some other reason for the spread, but what it could be Garrak couldn’t guess.

“Secondly, already the Uppers have had several inquires about the speed at which this mission is taking place. Aside from the obvious need for additional food, there is a specific reason for our rapid departure today. In Cornesh, and many other towns and cities beyond, today is a holiday for the celebration of their false god Uulanti. From the eighth hour and onwards the people in Cornesh will be at a festival celebrating. While they do so, we will be able to sneak in around the back of the town and take what we need.” Very peaceful.

Garrak thought back to what he had picked up over his years in the clan for a moment. From what he had heard from new members coming from outside the clan, as well as the few open-minded among the teachers, Uulanti was the creator god from the most popular religion across Ulasiare. When Ulasiare was first created many thousands of years ago, there was only Uulanti. The story went that Uulanti created the world, the mountains and oceans in the first day. In the second day of Creation Uulanti divided himself into four separate gods: Tor, the god of life; Schwilah, the god of order; Shyn, the god of growth; and Gheteraih, the god of death. On the third day of Creation Tor created life on Ulasiare; all life from dragons to deer were all created equal, although humans and other ‘higher’ forms of life were not supposed to have existed yet. On the fourth day of Creation Schwilah created order among the creations, and laws and rules were set down (not, Garrak had heard, that that had ever stopped their believers frequently being fickle in regards to their own tracts). On the fifth day of Creation Shyn created reproduction and growth among creatures, so they could multiply and change into unique and wonderful things. On the sixth day of Creation Gheteraih created death, for all must die eventually. And on the seventh and final day of Creation the gods divided themselves once again into the thousands of deities, because choice of worship was choice of life, and thus choice was created.

Though many people worshipped many of the different deities, some more popular than others, on five days each year all the people and races (raitur aside, of course) would join together to worship the original gods, as celebration for the wonderful things they had made. Each celebration was different depending on the god. Uulanti’s was a time for feasting and new beginnings, often ending with proposals and such. Gheteraih’s celebration was a grim affair, the day many murderers and criminals would be hung. Beyond that Garrak could remember little, though he thought Tor’s celebration might have something to do with the only orgies considered holy. Garrak’s official teachings in the clan had never really mentioned the gods and traditions of the world, as the clan did not believe in such foolishness. Garrak certainly wasn’t convinced, but didn’t think it really mattered to him either way. Nevertheless he had deigned to learn what he could. Know your enemy, if nothing else.

Garrak’s mind drifted as Unklock briefly outlined the plans for entry into the village, where the major storage buildings were, what to do if you were spotted … It was rather clear from the speech that there was never any real plan of negotiations. The general plan was once they had arrived at the village, the group would split up and move towards a large number of various storage areas. The more skilled hunters and warriors would go for the tougher targets, while grunts like Garrak would just be checking out some of the outer lying farms. It was a good plan, though rather risky for the higher ranked members despite their skill. What surprised Garrak was just how well planned the mission was. There was no way the Uppers could have planned it overnight, or without having previous, and rather recent, information about the town. Garrak was wrong about one thing: they must have been planning this for some time. Although he still couldn’t figure out why they would leave it until so soon before to tell everyone. The execution still seemed rushed, even if the planning did not.

“Now, we must hurry if we are to get there and be finished by nightfall when the celebration will end and the peasants will return to their homes. It will certainly be dark before we return, but that does not matter. Once we are out of Cornesh we will be able to risk torches. Let’s go. And remember, the Stone Axe clan relies on the success of this mission!” Unklock finished, raising his voice towards the end. Not surprisingly, there were very few of the group that looked any more enthused than before.

Garrak and the others trudged out of the cave, grabbing several large elasge sacks, in which they would be carrying back what they could find. Elasge was a curious material and sadly did not grow in the Worslouth forest, making items such as these uncommon in the clan. The bark of the elasge tree could be stripped and either used as is or split and woven into material. Unlike most bark, elasge could be stretched to many times larger than its initial size without breaking, and on release would slowly return to its original size and shape. Should those on the mission find a large store of food this meant they could carry far more in the sacks than otherwise possible, even if it did mean much more effort hauling them back to the clan’s village.

The group exited the caves, and quickly organised themselves into the standard pattern for travelling, lined up in twos with the higher ranked at the front. Garrak was at the back, with only the three women beside and behind him. Since Unklock was leading the mission, which Garrak again felt was a peculiar choice when members such as Torgak were involved, he took place at the front, and the group began to jog away from the village.

“Hey, Garrak!” Drugtar called from nearby. Garrak turned and jogged over to him. It was over three hours into the trip, and the group had long since abandoned the original formation. The higher ranked (and generally fitter) members had simply travelled ahead, and were probably already at the town by now. Garrak had done his best to keep up, but eventually had just dropped back with most of the others. Even so, after three hours of continual jogging he was beginning to tire, and dreaded the trip back burdened with whatever he could find. Suddenly Garrak was glad he was only going to a small farmhouse – with any luck the produce from the farm would be stored in bulk elsewhere. Garrak had known was Drugtar was in the group, but had opted to keep his distance and was surprised to see Drugtar now travelling further back in the progression. Garrak was worried to see him frowning greatly, a sure sign that he was about to lose his temper.

“Hello Drugtar,” Garrak said cautiously.
“Garrak. What the hell were you THINKING?!” Drugtar yelled. Garrak moved a bit further away, involuntarily. Garrak heard several other members nearby sniggering at him.
“If this is about last night-” Garrak began, but was cut off.
“No, no it’s not Garrak. It’s about your choice of attire. Green is not your colour,” Drugtar said angrily with heavy sarcasm. “Of course it’s bloody about last night!” Garrak sighed quietly and mentally tuned out. “Don’t you sigh at me! You deserve everything you get! How could you be so completely STUPID! Speaking out against the Leader himself, suggesting disgrace against the clan, and all this after you were privileged by the Leader himself to attend the meeting! And you nearly got me kicked out with you! You think it’s unfair to be placed with the women? It’s lucky you weren’t kicked out of the clan! Except you aren’t even IN the clan yet! Are you listening to me Garrak? Are you–” Garrak gritted his teeth for a moment, then snapped.
“Don’t you dare talk to me like that! You might happen to be my superior, but the only right that gives you is giving orders, not another tired attempt at public humiliation! You had no more right than me to be at that meeting!” Garrak yelled back, stopping jogging altogether. Around him several other members stood by watching the spectacle in silence.
“As your superior I have EVERY right to change your chores as I see fit! It’s not my problem what others might think of you for them. And after how you acted last night you could learn to use a bit of humility!” Drugtar sneered.
“Humility?! What the hell has that got to do with it?! This is just your pathetic attempt at getting back at me for making you look bad!” Garrak retorted.
“Er, Drugtar sir, perhaps now isn’t–” one of the women spoke tentatively.
“Shut up!” Drugtar and Garrak yelled simultaneously. The woman retreated quickly.
“Anyway, haven’t you at least stopped to think about anyone else? What about all those who now will have to do my chores? What have they done to deserve extra work?” Garrak argued.
“They … It doesn’t matter! I’m sure they’d agree that you need the punishment, even if it meant a bit more work for them! You deserve it after what you dared suggest last night!” Drugtar said, faltering slightly.
“Oh for …” Garrak swore loudly, shocking everyone nearby, if it was possible, even more than he had already, “Why should I be punished for offering a suggestion? That’s the whole point of those meetings! If they didn’t want my opinion they should have said so beforehand!”
“But to be so cowardly as to dare offer to–” Drugtar began, only to be interrupted by a familiar, commanding voice.
“Silence! No details of the meeting were to be mentioned outside, period. If you two cannot hold your tongues I will have the Leader cut them off,” Torgak spoke disturbingly evenly. Garrak spun around to see him standing behind him, along with Guntrock and Unklock.
“Torgak! I am so sorry, I-” Drugtar began babbling, but was cut short a second time.
“Save it,” Torgak said. He then turned to the watching crowd. “We have mission to complete! We are nearly at Cornesh, so get on with it or stragglers will be punished!” The crowd muttered quick apologies and affirmations, then dispersed, continuing with Unklock back on the route to Cornesh. Torgak nodded to Guntrock, and he too left.
“Please, let me apologise properly. I am so very sorry about this. How am I to be punished?” Drugtar asked with a tone of inevitability in his voice. Garrak remained silence. He didn’t like to think what might become of him after a second outbreak. Torgak paused before answering.
“You are not,” Torgak decided, surprising both Garrak and Drugtar. “These are tough times, tougher for those who know the most. But that is no excuse. If either of you speak out again, especially you, Garrak, I shall recommend your expulsion from the clan. We can not afford to have lost tempers in the coming weeks.” Torgak did not wait for a response, but immediately strode off towards the village. Drugtar cast a cold glance at Garrak and jogged off after him. Garrak stood still for a moment, feeling both worried and relieved. More so than these, he felt like he wasn’t being told something. Garrak frowned and jogged off towards Cornesh, once more wishing he had privy to the minds of Uppers.

It took Garrak only another half-hour to reach Cornesh, but by that time he was already exhausted. As he broke free of the last accursed ghori, he saw the town in its full glory; although it wasn’t particularly glorious. Garrak had only seen two other towns while in the Stone Axe clan, and both of them were certainty more advanced, if not necessarily larger. Cornesh didn’t really seem to have changed much since Garrak had last heard of it, in a state of war. The town was surrounded by a tall wooden wall, tipped with carved spikes, but this didn’t worry Garrak at all. Unklock had described a weak spot at the back of the town that would be undefended because of the festival. Above the wall Garrak could see thatched roofs sticking up, perhaps a four or five hundred in total. It was hard to estimate from this side of the town’s defences. Garrak looked around to see Drugtar disappearing around one side of the wall, so Garrak followed him.

As much as Garrak trusted the word of Unklock on the mission, he still moved around the town out of sight in the bushes. After a while Garrak gave up this approach, since he couldn’t manage to spot the weak point from a distance. Frustrated, Garrak walked out of the bushes and moved next to the fence. Without leaves and distance clouding his vision he could make out the weak spot on the fence, and walked up to examine it. The promised weakness was a single board of the fence on which the binding had frayed, ground worn away and interwoven wood rotted, so when enough force was applied the board could be pushed aside enough to squeeze through.

Garrak pushed against the plank trying to move it, but it stayed stubbornly still, something keeping it place. Garrak stepped back and slammed into it with his shoulder, throwing all his weight against the plank and hoping that Unklock was right about the ‘no guards’ part. The plank finally swung aside, knocking against another loudly. Garrak rubbed his shoulder and was glad his padded armour had absorbed most of the blow. Garrak carefully eased the plank forward until there was enough space and pushed his way through. Once on the other side he pushed the board back into position, and was annoyed at how much easier it moved from this side. It was a wonder it had not been found and fixed by the guards before.

Garrak gazed around at the town. His first thought was that Cornesh looked a lot bigger from the inside. The town was mostly made of wooden buildings, but these were larger and far more well constructed than anything in the clan’s village. Garrak wondered how well the town would cope if a fire started, given how closely placed some of the buildings were. He remembered Unklock mentioning a well, but still …

Looking around, Garrak was glad to see that there was nobody about. Slowly he began to make his away around the edge of the village, following one of the empty dirt paths. The farms in the town were supposed to be placed outside of the town’s main structures, but just inside the fence line where he was now. It only took Garrak a few minutes of walking before he reached the first one. The farmhouse was scarcely any larger than the other buildings, but it was quite a distance away from them. It was built very close to the fence, with perhaps a bit less than a metre between them, and it more resembled a barn than a house. Garrak suspected that only the produce was stored here, and if so, he was in luck. The farm itself stretched out around the building in all other directions. Most of the fields were empty at the moment, but even if they had been full there would not have been too much grown there. Garrak guessed the farms were only to supplement the town’s main diet of meat and imported grain, like the tribe’s own. From where he was standing Garrak counted four similar barns, on the side of four distinct paddocks. Once again there was nobody nearby that Garrak could see, so he just walked up to the nearest one. It was unlocked.

As Garrak opened the door of the building it creaked loudly, and he stepped back instinctively. A moment later he heard something faint from inside. Some animal? Garrak drew his spear slowly out of its crude holder as he stepped back inside. The interior was much as Garrak had expected. Most of the building was just one large room, about two thirds of the total building. At the end of the room another closed door lead inwards. Lining the walls were dozens of large wooden crates stacked upon each other, each with a sign on the side indicating what was inside. Garrak read a few of them, and found the crates contained mostly vegetables. Judging by the number and size of the crates, Garrak guessed that the whole farm’s produce for the year had been stored in this one spot. How they would manage to keep it all fresh was beyond him.

One crate near the end of the room was open, and Garrak looked around suspiciously. He heard a familiar creaking sound, and saw the door at the end of the room open slightly. Through the crack Garrak could see someone peering out, and their eyes met. For a moment neither moved, then the door quickly slammed shut. Garrak’s instructions on how to take care of any witnesses had been clear: they should be killed or, as Unklock had suggested only half-joking, have their tongues and hands cut off. Garrak frowned, then strode purposefully up to the door and flung it open.

Beyond the door there was another small room that seemed to be used for preparation of the vegetables. Along the sides of the room there were a few more crates, and in the centre of the room was a long, battered bench. Standing behind the bench was an old farmer, who looked to be well into his fifties at least. The farmer stood nervously clutching a large knife that Garrak assumed he had been cutting vegetables with moments ago.

“Go away! Go away!” the farmer order feebly. Garrak stepped forward and aimed his spear. A second later he stowed it. Despite his orders, he couldn’t bring himself to kill an innocent man. The farmer certainly posed no threat to him or the clan, and there was no one else around to see anyway.

“Farmer. What is your name?” Garrak asked, stepping back into a more open posture. The farmer did not move, and only clutched the knife more tightly.

“Leave me alone! Get off of my farm! Go away!” the farmer ordered hysterically. Garrak could see that there would be no reasoning with him, and drew his spear again. Garrak lunged forward quickly, trusting his training. The farmer jabbed forward with his knife but missed, and Garrak swung the spear sideways. The tip grazed the farmer’s arm and caused him to drop the knife out of fright. Garrak dived forward and grabbed the knife. Quickly rising again, he put his spear away. The farmer stumbled backwards and fell to the floor, cowering.

“Farmer, I could have killed you and my orders are to do so. I have no wish for bloodshed. Leave now and do not speak of this meeting or I shall come back with less of a care!” Garrak said in his most commanding voice. Garrak was aware this voice was somewhat lacking, but the farmer whimpered and got up off the floor, eyeing Garrak nervously. Slowly he began to edge around the bench. Garrak moved out of the way to give him ample room to pass by, and then heard a loud creak from the front of the building. Garrak kicked his foot out and kicked the inner door shut. He knew that if another member found Garrak with the farmer, the old man would be put to death, and Garrak shamed again in the eyes of the clan. After what Torgak had said he couldn’t afford it. Garrak glanced around the room and pointed towards a nearly empty crate.

“Get in!” Garrak hissed. The farmer must have heard the panic in his voice, or else longed to be out of sight for his own sake. In any case he scrambled over to the crate and dived in. Garrak pushed the lid on top and threw the knife out of sight, before turning to the door and swinging it open. Walking towards him was Drugtar.

“Drugtar, greetings,” Garrak said, their previous argument ignored if not forgotten. Garrak walked forward to meet Drugtar, casually knocking the door closed behind him. Drugtar appeared tired, and was carrying two sacks mostly full from wherever he had gone. As Garrak approached Drugtar stopped and dropped the sacks onto the ground.

“Garrak, why are your sacks still empty?” Drugtar asked critically.
“I have only just arrived, and thought to see the contents of the whole farm first. As it turns out, there is nothing back there but a few crates of rotten vegetables and a foul smell,” Garrak lied, jerking his thumb at the middle door. Drugtar nodded distractedly.
“Garrak, I’d just like to apologise for my behaviour earlier,” Drugtar said awkwardly. Garrak stayed silent, knowing that Drugtar was not very good at apologising. Which was surprising considering how often he had to, Garrak thought to himself. “It was out of line, as a friend, and I shouldn’t have said anything. As a way of apologising, I will change you back to your regular chores when we arrive back at the village.”
“Once it’s light enough to write by, that is,” Garrak pointed out. Drugtar shrugged.
“Yeah, I guess. Anyway, a lot of my superiors have finished, and they got a pretty good turn out. This town seems to be storing far more food than they need for themselves. They were probably going to send it to Elitar or something. Guntrock has already set out, but Torgak’s staying back to make sure everything is going okay. One of the women got caught by a guard, and there was a skirmish, but the guard was dealt with. Nobody else heard, but it would probably be a good idea to get out of here sooner rather than later,” Drugtar said, and turned to leave.
“Tell me one thing, Drugtar,” Garrak said as Drugtar took up his sacks and began to walk away. Drugtar stopped and turned around. “You were at the Upper meeting for the whole time. Are we on this mission because of the Dark Tiger tribe’s threat?” Drugtar seemed to mentally struggle with himself for a moment, unsure of what to say. Eventually he spoke again.
“I … I can’t tell you. You heard what Torgak said. Sorry,” Drugtar said, but his face told enough of the story. Garrak had learned to read Drugtar’s expressions since he was first assigned as Garrak’s superior, and after one of his moods it was even easier. Garrak was right; there was a connection between the two. Drugtar bent down to pick his sacks up again.
“Okay,” Garrak said, and turned back to the crates. Beans, cabbage or cucumber? Garrak chose beans. He looked around and grabbed a crowbar leaning near the open crate, then began to force the lid off.
“By the way …” Drugtar began. Garrak stopped his work and turned to him. “If you can find a set of keys, I’d keep them. Just in case, right?” Garrak opened his mouth to query, but Drugtar turned and left. Garrak stood for a moment puzzling this over. Why would they need keys? After finding so much stolen from their storages the Cornesh inhabitants would increase guards and reinstall new locks eventually anyway. Garrak wasn’t sure about the rest of the town, but they wouldn’t need them unless …
Unless they were coming back. Garrak cursed to himself for not realising it before. That was why the group had been so spread out over the town, so they knew the layout and weaknesses of the whole town. But if they were not even going to try to convince Cornesh to aid them, why bother including all types of members on the mission? Perhaps only to guide others, rather than scattering the stronger fighters. That was why they needed to remain completely undetected, so the guards wouldn’t know it was their clan. The Uppers had something important to organise quickly, it had to be their return. Garrak found himself slightly overwhelmed by the idea. The Uppers must be planning for a huge force to enter Cornesh undetected and … what? This mission may have been a concept before, but the Uppers must have decided to do it now because of the Dark Tiger tribe’s threat. If the clan were to go to war against them they would need far more supplies than they had now. Or a place to defend. Garrak stared at the beans below him. No, it couldn’t be. But it made sense. The Uppers planned to take over Cornesh, and use it as a base to defend against the Dark Tiger tribe.
Garrak began loading vegetables into his sacks, his mind still slightly numb from the realisation. As he was just finishing filling them he heard a scratching noise from the other room, and remembered the farmer. Garrak shuddered at the thought of what would happen to him and every other inhabitant of Cornesh if what he guessed was right. Despite the years that had passed the clan still had a grudge against the town for their forced move, and he guessed they would either end up as slaves. Or dead. Then again, perhaps not. If they managed to gain control of the town, there would be no need to kill anyone else, morale qualms aside. Garrak doubted the clan would let anyone leave in case they called for reinforcements, but they would still be able to continue their jobs and lives inside the town while the war was on.
Garrak turned towards the inner door and opened it. The farmer had managed to get out of the crate himself, and was standing behind the bench cutting up a pumpkin. The farmer glanced up nervously as Garrak stepped in, and stepped back again. Garrak glared at the farmer and drew his spear out slightly, reminding him of his previous threat. The farmer nodded in fear, but there was something else there too, almost a look of defiance. Garrak turned around warily. He stepped back towards the inner door then noticing the silence instinctively jumped to the side. The knife flew past Garrak, landing outside the door. Garrak cast an angry look at the farmer and picked up the knife. The farmer flinched as in one swift movement Garrak rammed the knife hard into the wall and snapped it downwards. Feeling he had made his point, Garrak turned and walked out of the building, sacks in hand.

The walk, for the sacks weighed down too heavily for constant jogging, back to the village was proving to be a long and exhausting one. When Garrak left Cornesh the sun was already beginning to set. Garrak feared it would be long into the night before they arrived back at the village, and suddenly the idea of foraging with the women seemed almost preferable. At least they didn’t start until several hours after he would otherwise be woken. Garrak was not the first to leave and head back to the village; most of the higher ranked members except for Torgak had gone ahead. On the other hand, there were still a dozen or so others who had not yet finished their jobs when Garrak had left.

For most of the journey so far Garrak had walked alone, dwelling on what he had been told. Garrak wanted to talk to Drugtar, but when he tried to walk with him, Drugtar just avoided him. Garrak guessed he was regretting his decision to clue Garrak in, even if what he said was technically not breaking any rules. Garrak just felt like he had to talk about it to someone, or it would drive him mad. He felt a strong desire to tell Turev, but knew that that was a bad idea. For the time being Garrak just kept to himself and walked through the bush.

Garrak had long since taken a torch from Unklock. The circle of light emanating from the flame was small, but it was enough for him to see what was in front of him. Forcing his way through the bush was slow going though, especially when carrying the two sacks of vegetables. Garrak found himself frequently wishing he had taken a machete rather than spear from the storage to help cut a path through the bush. Despite the darkness, and being for the most part alone, Garrak had no fear that he would become lost. He had been out around this part of the woods often while hunting, and knew the area well. As the night wore on, Garrak found himself becoming drowsy and also hungry. Despite strict orders not to, Garrak dipped into one of his sacks to take a few beans from inside. There was no one around to see, and besides, a handful was hardly going to make any difference. Garrak chewed on the beans and found an unsurprisingly minimal amount of strength return to his limbs. Sighing, Garrak pushed aside yet another large leaf and gasped as the pale light of the torch illuminated a body.

The body lay on its side in the dirt, in a pool of blood. Beside the body were a long bow and several arrows; whoever this was must have been getting them out to defend himself, but too late. Garrak tentatively stepped around the body and peered at the face. He was shocked to find it was Guntrock. Guntrock was definitely dead, and looked like he had been that way for several hours. Garrak could see Guntrock had been killed by another archer: three arrows had pierced his body: one in his arm, one that had just gone through the edge of his leg, and one that had gone straight into his heart. Another arrow lay nearby, as if it had missed its target.

Garrak picked it up and saw what he was afraid of: two small red feathers sticking out. Guntrock had been killed by the Dark Tiger tribe. Garrak put the arrow down to examine the body closer, then saw something that caught his eye. Stuck onto the arrow through Guntrock’s heart was another note. Garrak knew he should wait until he could find an Upper to even touch it, or at least Drugtar, but his morbid curiosity proved too much. Garrak reached down and carefully pulled the note off the arrow, leaving the arrow itself in the wound. As he bent down the smell of blood caused Garrak to wrinkle his nose and almost vomit. He managed to control himself, and unfolded the note to read. The note was written in the same small, messy writing, and the poor light and several bloodstains didn’t make reading it any easier.

Scum Axe clan! We see you have been far too busy to … Here there was a section Garrak could not read. … cowardly to even reply? Fools! Know that we have every intention of seeing through our threat. We shall accept no surrender! The … There was another bloodstain frustratingly blocking the words. … your death. Flee, or die. The choice is yours, though we do not doubt for a moment which you pathetic cowards will chose. You have six days. – The Dark Tiger tribe.

Garrak folded the note up and placed it on a tree stump nearby. After a moment Garrak picked up the note again and sat down himself. He stared at the dead body of Guntrock and massaged his forehead. This was just too much. Garrak did not doubt for a moment what the purpose of this note was: it was written to incite the clan. Why did the Dark Tiger tribe want a war? Garrak tried to think through everything that had happened, but he was too exhausted and overwhelmed. Garrak heard a rustling in the bush nearby, and called out.

“Hey! Help!” Garrak called. Garrak heard the person come closer and burst through the bushes. Garrak was relieved to see it was Torgak that had heard him. At least he could hand this insane discovery over to someone far more capable than him.

“What’s going – Oh gods, what have you done?!” Torgak exclaimed in horror, seeing his fallen ally and friend. Garrak stood up and mutely handed over the note.

The rest of the night seemed to pass as a blur. Garrak vaguely recalled Torgak running further ahead to fetch the rest of the hunters on the mission, and leaving Garrak alone with the body. When the others arrived, Garrak was forced to sit and retell what he had done (frustratingly little) several times over. After what seemed like an eternity of close discussion between the hunters Garrak was allowed to return to the village, being ordered not to disclose anything as yet. At least Drugtar had felt sorry for him, and he and one of the women offered to carry Garrak’s sacks back to the village. When at last Garrak reached his small hut he found it hard to get to sleep. Even when he did his sleep was disturbed by the same nightmare of failure and flames, only now Guntrock’s dead face scorned him restlessly.

When Garrak awoke the next morning he felt like he hadn’t slept more than an hour, though he guessed several hours of daylight had already passed. Garrak groaned aloud, and pulled himself out of his hammock. At least Drugtar had presumably had the courtesy to relieve him of his morning chores, again. When Garrak looked around he was not entirely surprised to see that it was once again Turev who had woken him and was standing at his doorway. For a moment Garrak had an ominous sense of déjà vu.

“Hey, wake up! Damn, I dunno, sleeping in and skiving off chores all the time,” Turev spoke somewhere between annoyance and jest. Garrak pulled on some fresh clothing and placing the armour aside for return later. He had evidently not bothered changing last night when he arrived, but at least had remembered to place the spear on the floor against the wall before sleeping. “Honestly. I had to do your chores again this morning.”

“It’s hardly my fault,” Garrak complained.
“Actually, as far as I know, yes it is. I don’t know why Drugtar is so lenient with you,” Turev said. Garrak suddenly recalled everything that had happened the previous night, and remembered that Turev almost certainly wouldn’t know anything about what had happened yet.
“Uh, yeah. Right. Of course,” Garrak said lamely, knowing Turev clearly wasn’t for a moment fooled.
“I am clearly not fooled for one moment,” Turev said, eerily confirming Garrak’s thoughts. “Especially given that you seem to have been granted special permission to attend an Upper meeting. Again. Obviously Drugtar just expects me to have an IQ about the size of my rank.” Turev rolled his eyes.
“I guess they just want to apologise to me for their rude treatment last time!” Garrak guessed with optimism he didn’t feel.
“Yeah or maybe not. Anyway, I’m sure I’ll find out in due course. Hey, I heard you got lectured by Torgak last night on the mission. How did that go anyway?” Turev asked, changing the subject.
“It went … well. However I am fairly sure that I’m not permitted to go into any details about that either,” Garrak considered.
“Man. you never tell me anything. Are you sure there isn’t anything else you’re not allowed to tell me that you might just briefly mention in passing to frustrate and enlarge my curiosity even greater than it already is?” Turev asked sarcastically.
“Probably,” Garrak answered truthfully.
“I hate you sometimes, you know that?” Turev asked. Without waiting for a response Turev began walking away.
“What time is the Upper meeting?” Garrak called.
“About now,” Turev said without turning around. Garrak panicked. The Uppers may get away with being late to a meeting, but he doubted very much that he would. Garrak angrily abandoned all plans for breakfast and left the hut at a quick pace.

As it turned out, nobody even noticed that Garrak was a few minutes late to the Upper meeting. When he arrived he was irritated to find himself still one of the first to arrive, and took the same seat (or rather, stone ledge) at the back of the area.

When the rest of the Uppers had arrived, most of them seemed to be a cross between irritated at having to attend a second sudden meeting, and anxious at what might have caused them to be gathered again. A couple had noticed Guntrock’s absence, and were discussing it in hushed, worried voices. Several others had noticed Garrak’s presence, and were pointing and commenting under their breath. Garrak wondered if rudeness was a prerequisite for becoming an Upper, or if it was caused by it. As he scanned the Uppers he noticed the same young woman sitting on the outer stone circle, in the same position as before. Her nervousness was gone, but she seemed disappointed with each Upper who arrived. Garrak frowned, and wondered why someone so young, and a girl, was apparently sitting in on the meetings. Eventually the Leader arrived, accompanied by one of his Assistants as usual. As he arrived, a sudden silence fell over the group without the Leader needing to signal anything.

“Some of you know why we are gathered here again so soon,” the Leader began. Though he was still putting on the same disguised voice, Garrak could hear worry through it. It was the first time he had heard the Leader seem anything but completely confident, and this worried Garrak more than anything else. “And some of you do not. I have much still to plan and discuss with my Associates, so I shall keep this meeting as brief as possible given the circumstances.”

“Should we not wait for Guntrock?” one member asked tentatively.
“Guntrock is dead,” the Leader spoke, causing a gasp to rise from many in the group. “He was killed by the Dark Tiger tribe to deliver another threat.” The group was silent, waiting for further detail. “Yesterday as Guntrock was returning successfully from the mission to Cornesh he was shot thrice by a Dark Tiger tribe hunter who had, in the absence of our usual guards, managed to sneak near the village. Guntrock was surprised by the hunter, and shot in the leg first. He readied his bow to fire back, but was then shot in the arm, causing him to drop it. Wounded, he was then shot in the heart, this arrow readied with another message to us. Once Guntrock was dead, the attacker left a single distinct arrow nearby to make it clear who the attacker was. Guntrock was discovered barely an hour later by Garrak.” At this, all eyes looked around at Garrak.
“Why is he here again?” Sharg called out in irritation. “I suppose he found the body, but we already know what happened. It’s certainly a surprise to find that rudeness, stupidity and cowardliness are apparently welcomed traits at our meetings now. Or perhaps he is to serve as an example of what not to do?” Garrak had been expecting this, but that didn’t stop his growing anger. Garrak was beginning to dislike Sharg intensely.
“Garrak is here because it was he who not only was nearly killed two days ago, but also discovered the dead body of a much loved clan member yesterday. Mayhap he acted unwisely. He is only a boy! It is my belief he has a right to be here, perhaps more so than most of us,” the Leader explained, not taking his eyes from Sharg. Sharg fell silent, but stared back at the Leader evenly. Garrak felt a strange tension between the two, but was more concerned with the Leader’s defence of him. Perhaps he was young, but if not initiated he had still come of age in the clan’s laws!
“Is it truly wise to trust so young a person, not even yet a member of our clan?” one member asked. There were several mutters of agreement at this.
“Perhaps, perhaps not. But Garrak knows too much already: If he were to dare do something as foolish as to betray his Leader he could have done so already,” the Leader said. Garrak wondered exactly how much they knew he knew. Had one of the Uppers talked to Drugtar? “In any case Garrak needs to be here, in relation both to the Dark Tiger tribe and to the problem of his initiation trials.” Uh-oh. Garrak didn’t like the sound of that. He had still held some petty hope this conflict could be resolved without any further involvement on his behalf. “First though, we have other matters to attend to. Torgak! How did the mission to Cornesh go yesterday?” Torgak stood up, looking rather bored, and began his report.
“The mission, excluding the murder of Guntrock, went relatively well. Amongst those chosen, only six did not manage to return with supplies. One woman was spotted by a guard, and a skirmish took place. However the guard was killed and she escaped unscathed, so there is no trace of our clan. The mayor of Cornesh will no doubt be more suspicious, but there was still nothing left behind that would indicate it was our clan that had invaded the town. The amount of food we retrieved will not make much of a difference should the shortage worsen over winter, but will benefit us significantly in the short term at least. Unklock will be able to present a complete report once all the food has been inventoried fully.”
“As for the surveillance, we were successful in discovering the key weaknesses in the town, important buildings and other valuable information for the attack on Cornesh. Unfortunately it was Guntrock’s talent at stealth that had obtained the most important information about the mayor’s building and surrounding barracks so we are lacking somewhat there. Again, a fuller report can be given by myself, Putrik or Dirtle during later planning for our assault,” Torgak explained in brief. Garrak was not surprised to find his suspicions of an attack of Cornesh correct, but his stomach still tightened slightly hearing it confirmed.
“Hmm,” the Leader mused, “We shall simply have to act without that information. If we can move our forces that far undetected there should be little problem.”
“Is it really wise to risk it? I do not mean to question your decision Leader, but perhaps it would be best to wait until we have all the necessary intelligence,” one member questioned.
“We can wait no longer to move our forces; we must have taken control of, and well defended, Cornesh before the Dark Tiger tribe attack. Another surveillance mission would be too risky for a single sector of the town, and there are no opportunities for such a mission in the near future in any case,” the Leader answered.
“Are there no other ways to gather knowledge? We may be faced with a potential shortage of food, but we still have some of their old money. Gold lubricates the mouth better than beer, as they say,” another member suggested.
“At the coming of chaos gold shall be worth naught,” Gandeen said. The words sounded vaguely familiar to Garrak, but he couldn’t remember where from. “Taken somewhat out of context perhaps, but the meaning holds true. You would be lucky to find any willing to sentence their own home to chaos for any amount of money.”
“You’d be surprised at what some people will do for money,” the member replied.
“Tell me then: are there any here who would betray the Stone Axe clan for any amount of money? Go one, speak up!” Gandeen said, looking around the crowd. There were a few nervous mutterings, but nobody put up their hands.
“Of course no one would admit that they might betray the clan in front of the clan! Yet I would not be surprised if there was at least someone here who was a spy!” the member proclaimed.
“Silence! You will not accuse my most trusted members of being treacherous!” the Leader called.
“What about your less trusted members? How can you be sure there aren’t lower ranked member spies? Garrak could have been paid to spill the secrets of the clan! Do you trust him?” the member continued. Garrak’s anger rose, again.
“I would never betray the clan, and you have no reason on which to accuse me!” Garrak called out.
“Obviously you’d say that even if you were going to, so that’s hardly much of a defence, is it?” the member pointed out.
“Look!” Garrak said, standing up. “This is just unfair! If that were me making such suggestions, I would have been thrown out of the meeting long before now! How can you complain of my suggestions and then just let him blatantly accuse people?!”
“Silence, the both of you!” the Leader said. “Garrak, as only a lower-ranked member, not even initiated yet, your opinion is worth nothing in this meeting. You were invited …” Yeah, right, Garrak thought to himself. Ordered, more like it. “… to attend this meeting because it is my opinion that you have a right to know, and because some of our recent decisions related directly to you. Lurkur, as much as your, or any, opinions of the Highly Ranker Representative Individuals are welcomed and encouraged during this meetings, what you are suggesting is out of line. To falsely accuse anyone of treason is treason in itself. Do you make an accusation of treason upon any here?”
“No, Leader. I was wrong in making such wild suggestions, and I apologise for them and any grief they may have caused,” Lurkur said blandly.
“Then be silent or you shall be demoted from your rank,” the Leader ordered.
“Yes, Leader,” Lurkur replied, slightly more emotively from the threat. There was an uneasy silence for a moment.
“Are you sure that invading Cornesh is really necessary? With all our forces rallied, there are very few that could stand against us in battle!” one hunter said, breaking the silence.
“And the Dark Tiger tribe is one of those few,” Torgak answered. “We may be able to rally a strong force, but the tribe is much greater in number, and we know that at least some are extremely skilled to be able to slip past our defences and kill, of all of us, Guntrock.” Torgak spoke all this with little emotion in his voice, but Garrak wondered if inside he was mourning his friend. He guessed at the head of the hunters, and probably soon the clan’s army, he couldn’t afford to succumb to much emotion.
“If we were to strike fast and hard we could probably annihilate most of the tribe’s forces, and possibly take over their village, but we would not have enough back-up to defend against any sort of counter attack; the women and other weak would be in danger wherever they were. If the tribe laid siege against us, we would have little chance of defending ourselves well in this village. In order for us to have any hope of keeping our casualties low enough to keep fighting long enough to put an end to the tribe, we need a more defendable place to live and for the wounded to recover. Plus if we can manage to avoid any major casualties in taking over Cornesh, we will have those extra hands while all of ours hold weapons. In any case, once the Dark Tiger tribe attack the town many of them will defend Cornesh, if not us.”
“But if we are forced to do that, we put the whole town of Cornesh in danger!” Siough objected.
“As I have pointed out several times before,” Torgak said in a controlled tone, “We may put the lives of the townsfolk in danger, and no doubt some may die during the proceedings, but consider the considerably greater losses the Stone Axe clan will suffer if we do not.”
“We must move on from this. All this has been decided before. Unless there are any objections we have not heard before, let us move onto the topic of the new message from the Dark Tiger tribe,” the Leader suggested. To his obvious surprise, somebody did speak up.
“The Dark Tiger tribe wants us to flee the Arklong Chain, right?” one hunter Garrak recognised as Putrik asked, not expecting an answer. A moment later he moved on. “What if we can lead them to falsely believe we have?”
“And how do you suggest we achieve this? The tribe no doubt has many scouts watching the clan at all times,” the Leader answered.
“The tribe may know we went to Cornesh for food, but they will assume this was only to prepare for war, especially considering the extra men hunting this week. But what else would we need extra food for? Escaping. If we were to flee – which I am not suggesting we do – we would need plenty of portable rations to carry on the trip. It’s risky, but if we strip all of the currently available food from plantations nearby, the tribe will think it is because we do not intend to stay. I know this will certainly reduce the crop next year, but it helps us now,” Purtrik began to explained.
“We delay the capture of Cornesh until the day before our time limit runs out. At that time we execute our plan as normal, but only a small number of members infiltrate and hold enough of Cornesh hostage first. This way the tribe’s scouts will be unlikely to spot them. From that point we send the remaining members in groups of around thirty, carrying supplies as though fleeing in case they are seen, into Cornesh. If we do not announce our presence, and prevent any of the townsfolk from doing so, the tribe will assume we have fled. With the extra food available in Cornesh, and what we will have brought in, we can stay effectively hidden in the town for perhaps a month until the tribe are convinced we are gone for good. It is likely the tribe will be spread between their own village and ours, as well as significantly relax their guard, so if we strike hard and quickly we can probably take back out village and theirs too within a few days!” There was a pause as everyone considered this idea.
“‘May’, ‘risky’, ‘unlikely’, ‘assume’, ‘likely’, ‘probably’ … There are too many chances for something to go wrong,” Torgak said.
“The unseen blow strikes hardest, as they say,” Gandeen said. “There are many difficulties with it, but if we could succeed it would provide us a sound tactical advantage.”
“What is that, but fleeing? We would be running away into someone else’s protection! Cowardice!” one hunter said.
“I do not believe it could be done. The Dark Tiger tribe will be guessing at our motives every step, there is little chance they would fall for the ploy,” a member argued, though nobody really listened to him. Everyone was waiting for the Leader to reply. Garrak couldn’t help but feel this whole ‘representative individuals’ thing was a complete facade. Both times he had been at the Upper meetings now it seemed that most people would not even comment, and there were only a few who would actually discus and decide anything. The actual size of the Uppers might as well have been quartered. Eventually the Leader did speak, and everyone paid him full attention.
“It is a good idea in theory. But Gandeen is right, there are many problems. We can emulate some things, but what if a passing trader realised the situation and allowed the the Dark Tiger tribe to discover our position?” the Leader asked.
“We would be in no worse a situation than we would be anyway. If they discovered we had not fled, but hidden in Cornesh, fighting would begin the same as if we had just announced our position. If they discover before then they might inform the Cornesh officials, but then again there is the same risk if we stick to our current plan,” Putrik said. The Leader considered this for a moment longer.
“For this to work we would need to inform the whole clan. The potential panic could make it difficult,” the Leader considered.
“To be fair, we would have to inform them soon anyway,” a member pointed out.
“Yes, you are right. We shall use your plan, Putrik. However, should anything go wrong, we must also prepare for our previous plans equally. Unklock, call a full meeting to inform the clan about this. Tell them about the Dark Tiger tribe’s threat, but do not go into any details. Inform them of Guntrock’s death and who it was that killed him. Tell them we must begin storing food in the event of a siege, and to practice their weapon skills in all free time. Do not tell them of the invasion into Cornesh, that must be kept as secret as possible until it is time to do it. Torgak, arrange for some of your top hunters to be kept as guards around the village at all times, in pairs. We do not know if there will be another message, but if there is we must capture whoever is sending them, and I want him alive,” the Leader instructed.
“As you instruct. But what of the Dark Tiger tribe now? It is fair to keep extra guards on watch, but the tribe may take our silence as though we were not taking their threat seriously. They may attempt a small scale attack to prove their strength, which would only worry the clan more,” Torgak spoke.
“Yes, I am aware of this. This is where Garrak comes in,” the Leader said, turning to Garrak. “Your initiation trials were interrupted when you found the first message. Normally it is allowed to retake the trial, but under these circumstances there is not enough time to do that. It would be unfair for you to fail because of this, or to have to wait until this episode is over before becoming a true member of our clan. Instead, an alternate trial shall be provided for you to undertake. Since this may prove particularly dangerous, you will only need to complete it, and then you will be considered a true member. You are to take a message written by myself to the Dark Tiger tribe in person, and ensure it reaches the tribe’s Leader.” Garrak blanched, and his eyes widened. Many others in the group were surprised at this, but Garrak felt only fear.
“What?! Why should I have to take the message? Shouldn’t it be taken by someone with more skill than I?” Garrak asked in a halfpanic. He knew if he were to arrive at the Dark Tiger tribe’s village, assuming he even survived that long, they would almost certainly kill him. At best he would be slain instantly; at worst he would be tortured first. He knew what happened to any individuals who tried to enter the tribe, or at least could guess after they never returned.
“Since you were the first person to find both messages from the tribe, it seemed appropriate that you would be the one to deliver the message from us,” the Leader explained. “In addition, my Associates and I believe it is the best way to undertake an initiation trial without disadvantaging the clan with your prolonged absence, when we need everyone we have.” Garrak didn’t believe a word of this. He could take a guess at why he had been chosen: he was disposable. Garrak wasn’t even an initiated member of the clan, and after having spoken out the previously he was in poor favour. The Leader knew whoever was sent was most likely not going to make it back, so they chose him because he was no real loss to the clan.
“That’s hardly fair to the boy!” a member called out. “You know as well as I, or any, that the Dark Tiger tribe will likely dispose of any messenger! Surely it would be best to send one of our better hunters who would be able to deliver the message and escape!”
“If the Dark Tiger tribe were to torture him, the boy is likely to spill our secrets. It would be wise to send someone more trustworthy, or more ignorant if needs be,” another member called.
“The decision has been made, and I shall not be changing it now. There are other reasons for sending him too: the Dark Tiger tribe knows our ranking, and may assume that a child would know nothing worth interrogating for. As well, even they have their limits, and to kill or torture a child would feel poorly for their tribe while assuming an already superior position … it would not be worth their while in the long run,” the Leader explained.
“The Dark Tiger tribe are hardly known for their kindness. They killed Guntrock just to deliver a message, and nearly killed Garrak once already,” Torgak said. “Let me go in Garrak’s place. I am far more able to ensure the message reaches the tribe.”
“Nay, Torgak,” the Leader said, getting dangerously close to showing some sign of emotion in his voice. “You have lost a dear friend, and are in no fit state to go.”
“I am in a perfect state, far more than Garrak could ever be,” Torgak countered.
“You are needed too much here to be absent for a day. The decision is made, and is final,” the Leader declared. Torgak said nothing else, but from what Garrak could see he didn’t look pleased. “Is there anything else of note that anyone here thinks should be discussed at this time?” The ensuing silence seemed to indicate there was not. “Then you are all dismissed. Garrak, make yourself ready to leave the village at the passing of the sixth hour. Return here at that time, the message will have been prepared.”
The Leader and his nearest Assistant stood, and left. Once they had done so the rest of the Uppers began leaving. Garrak stood thinking for a while, while everyone else filed out. Strangely, as he stood up he felt a sudden wind blow past his ears, a leaf or two brushing past him, then it died again. Instinctively he turned around to see the young woman watching him with an unrecognisable look on her face. Torgak had moved next to her and was watching the woman almost in expectation. Garrak looked in confusion for a moment, then turned and left.

As Garrak was walking back to his hut, he heard the familiar drum beat for a full clan meeting. Garrak paused for only a second before continuing along the path. The chance of there being anything announced that he didn’t already know was low, and at worst he could always ask Turev later. Right now Garrak had only a scarce few hours before he would have to leave the village, and he did not want to spend them standing around. He would need to change into more appropriate attire and don a weapon, as well as finding a decent shield this time. As much as the Leader might think (or, as Garrak couldn’t help but feel, lie) otherwise, Garrak was sure that there would be fighting. Garrak may have had some weapons training but he was no expert, and had no real chance of surviving against any skilled foes. He might not care as much as some for the clan’s honour, but he was determined to die in fight rather than flight if it came down to it.

Garrak shuddered slightly at the thought of what might happen at the Dark Tiger tribe’s village, or far before it as would be the case. The clan might have raised and trained him, and Garrak would endure much for them, but he was being sent out to his probable death. If a messenger from the Dark Tiger tribe arrived here today … No Uppers, not even the Leader, had the right to do that! Around him quite a few members were walking towards the village centre, giving him curious glances as he walked alone in the opposite direction. Garrak fumed to himself, glaring angrily at anyone who spoke to him.

As Garrak walked he looked around at the village surrounding him, and wondered what his life would be if he simply left the clan now. There was little that could be worse than what he had been ordered, or what seemed sure to follow. But he knew too much and Garrak could be sure the clan wouldn’t allow him to leave with things the way they were now. It was unlikely they would kill him, but he guessed if he tried to leave he would be held prisoner until the conflict with the Dark Tiger tribe was over. Then again, even that was assuming they didn’t consider his abandonment treason. Garrak had been ordered by the Leader to deliver the message, and to disobey that would be the worst crime imaginable to the clan. There could be no uncertainty, with war on the horizon. He would be executed.

A likely death or a certain death? It was a frustratingly easy choice, if Garrak could even call it that. All his life in the clan he hadn’t had much choice in things, but that was to be expected as such a poorly ranked member, not even officially initiated yet. But everything he had been ordered to do had always been things that needed doing for the clan, and he hadn’t really minded. Food needed to be prepared, buildings needed to be cleaned, even mushrooms need to be scoured for. But this was asking too much. It wasn’t even as if there weren’t other ways of delivering a message, or that a message was even necessary for their plan to work. If they were to appear as though scared, sending no message would surely imply that better than …

Actually, now Garrak thought of it, he didn’t even know what was supposed to be in the message. What message could possibly make the Dark Tiger tribe think they were going to flee, without making it obvious that the point of the message was to make them think that, alerting them that they were almost certainly not going to flee? Garrak seriously doubted any of the Uppers had that kind of literary skill.

“Garrak!” a voice from nearby yelled. Garrak jumped and turned around to see Drugtar. Garrak noticed most of the other members had already left, and Drugtar was the only one not hurriedly jogging towards the village centre.

“What?” Garrak replied moodily, still walking away. Drugtar frowned at his tone and started following him.
“What are you doing?” Drugtar asked. “You are required to attend the full clan meeting!”
“I was at the bloody Upper meeting, I know everything that’s going to be said anyway,” Garrak replied irritably, dismissively waving his hand.
“That is no way to treat your superior!” Drugtar said, but without much real enthusiasm. “Honestly Garrak, why aren’t you going? You seemed very ‘interested’ in the situation before. That’s probably what the meeting is about.” Suddenly Drugtar did a double take. “Wait, you were at the Upper meeting? I thought Torgak figured everything out about last night already?”
“You haven’t been told?” Garrak asked, at least slightly consoled that Drugtar had had no input into his ‘trial’.
“No. I would have thought something like that would have been confirmed with me first. It was last time,” Drugtar said, looking slightly confused.
“I would have thought so too,” Garrak’s voice trailed away as he drifted into thought. Why wouldn’t the Uppers have told Drugtar about the trial, being Garrak’s direct superior? Garrak felt himself become angrier at the Leader for giving him the task. Drugtar would have objected, and they knew it. Why was it so damn important that he deliver the useless message anyway?
“That young woman at the Upper meeting a few days ago. Do you know why she was there, again?” Garrak asked.
“You’re changing the subject,” Drugtar said.
“Yes, I am,” Garrak replied bluntly. Drugtar was silent for a moment before replying.
“Siough told me one of the Leader’s Assistants asked for her presence at the same time as ours, but didn’t say why,” Drugtar answered irritably. “But what about the meeting today? Why were you ordered to go?”
“I’m sure you’ll hear at the full clan meeting,” Garrak answered dejectedly. “You’d best be off if you don’t want to be late.”
“Garrak. Whatever it is, good luck,” Drugtar said, before turning and walking off quickly. Garrak stopped for a moment to watch him go, then continued walking away.
It was some time later that Garrak walked into what was effectively the clan’s armoury; another uninteresting section of the largest storage building. It was where all the clan’s non-personal weapons and armour were kept. Most of the armour was just stored in crates (of far lower quality than the ones in Cornesh, Garrak couldn’t help but think) but a few lighter suits were hung on metal hooks. The weapons mostly rested in wooden stands, each stand with various holes to accommodate the weapons. Spears comprised most of what was there, but other weapons such as swords had one or two stands designed to hold them. The bows were hung up on hooks too, those hooks made more carefully so that the bows didn’t get damaged. Spare strings were kept in an airtight and waterproof container that Torgak had bought from another city many years back. There were several crates full of tediously crafted arrows as well.
Aside from all these there were a few special stands, each made for just one weapon. This was where some of the best weapons were kept, those that were owned by highly ranked individuals. The Uppers in question had argued that it was best to store them near everything else for the sake of convenience, and to encourage a sense of openness within the clan, but everyone knew that they were just showing off.
When Garrak entered the armoury, he knew that he did not have much time left before he would have to leave. After talking with Drugtar, Garrak had readied himself with his armour from his hut, and then gone to see Gandeen to get something to eat. Garrak had reasoned that since he was going on such a supposedly important mission it was important he was in the best state possible: after a decent breakfast for once. Since Gandeen had been at the Upper meeting she would know about the circumstances and therefore allowed him extra rations. Besides, he was one of those enlisted in the mission to Cornesh, and even if the mission hid other intents the group still had come back with a decent amount of food.
Unfortunately, when Garrak arrived Gandeen was nowhere to be seen. Even though the full meeting had finished a short time before, Garrak could not find her and had wasted some time trying to. In the end he gave up and returned to his hut to finish off the last of what little rations he had been given on return from his first trial. As if things couldn’t get much worse, Garrak was then delayed by the unfortunate discovery that despite his new ‘trial’, he was still rostered for cleaning again. Needless to say, by the time Garrak had reached the armoury he wasn’t in the best of moods.
Looking through the weapons in the armoury Garrak was pleased to see that there was a single long sword sitting among the clan’s few great swords. Despite how rarely he practised since being able to defeat his trainer, Garrak still felt more comfortable using one than a spear; his last foes would not be the dumb animals he’d be taught to hunt. He wasn’t going to win any fights, but he wasn’t going to pretend this was just another outing. Garrak took up the sword and put on the nearby scabbard for it.
Garrak walked up to the crate that the shields were stored in and pulled off the lid, peering inside. There were only three shields in there at the moment: a small wooden training shield that was too small and weak for much real use; a huge steel shield that was too large and heavy for any for someone of his strength, and a shield that was the right size and shape for Garrak, but was almost completely rusted and heavily dented in one area – and Garrak didn’t exactly have any time to get it fixed. He looked around the armoury in annoyance, and something caught his eye. Standing by itself at the edge of the armoury was another shield. The shield was of medium size, decorated with a few small jewels, and looked in pretty much perfect condition. Garrak couldn’t remember seeing it before, and wondered who it belonged too.
With an uncaring grunt, Garrak lifted the shield. It felt strangely light for its size. If he was going to walk right up the Dark Tiger tribe’s doorstep he was at least going to do it in style. Besides, the chances were he wouldn’t make it back alive to be punished. Garrak swung the shield over his back, and glanced out the window. ‘Window’ was hardly the right word for what was effectively just a hole in the wall, but it still served the purpose of letting light in. Garrak could tell from the shadows, or lack thereof, outside that it was already the sixth hour or close to it. Garrak spun around and paced out of the storage to come suddenly face to face with Turev.
“Garrak! I’ve been looking all over to find you!” Turev said.
“I’m kind of busy at the moment Turev,” Garrak said, glancing up and down Turev impatiently. Turev had been sweating recently and looked slightly out of breath.
“I know. I just heard everything. That is totally unfair what they are making you do for your trial. After being the one to find both messages, you should be initiated just for that! To have gone through those experiences is far worse what you would have had to do otherwise!” Turev exclaimed.
“Not according to the Leader,” Garrak said moodily.
“Screw the Leader! You don’t see him putting his life at risk much lately!” Turev said angrily.
“I wouldn’t go joking about things like that. ‘It is treason to speak against the Leader, or any of his Associates’,” Garrak quoted mockingly.
“I’m serious,” Turev said, just for a change, seriously. “Whatever the situation, if you have done nothing wrong the Leader does not have the right to order the unreasonable death of a fellow member. Given the situation that’s almost what this is! You should make a formal complaint.”
“To who? It was the Leader himself that ordered it. Unless you can think of anyone higher to appeal to?” Garrak said sarcastically.
“That’s beside the point. You can’t go!” Turev exclaimed. Garrak sighed, and calmed down slightly.
“Turev, forget it. Unless the Leader suddenly has a change of heart, there’s nothing I or anyone else can do about it. You know the laws as well as I do. Under the threat of war anything but complete obedience could be easily interpreted as treason by some. And do you think the Uppers would even let me just leave the clan now, with what I know? As much as I hate it, there is nothing else I can do,” Garrak said, his anger growing again. “Besides, there’s still a chance the tribe will just let me leave. Blame not the messenger, and all that.”
“You know how little that’s worth in a war. Unless the tribe has a good reason for keeping you alive, you’re as good as dead,” Turev said.
“Then I’d better hope they have a damn good reason,” Garrak said, starting to walk off.
“Garrak!” Turev called. Garrak stopped and turned around.
“Unless you hadn’t noticed, I’m late. It’s hardly going to help anything being late, is it?” Garrak said in irritation.
“Just two quick things,” Turev said. He paused for a moment, but Garrak didn’t say anything. “One: For what it’s worth, good luck. May Uulanti and all his spawn smile upon you.”
“Don’t tell me you actually believe all that religious crap?” Garrak snorted.
“I don’t. But hey, just in case. Two: You do realise that’s Sharg’s shield you’re wearing at the moment?” Turev asked, surprising Garrak. He hadn’t realised that there was anyone highly ranked that used a shield, and he wouldn’t have thought Sharg would be the kind to put himself at risk in close combat to use it.
“No, actually, I didn’t. But screw him. With any luck I’ll be back in few enough pieces to be reprimanded for it,” Garrak said indignantly. Garrak couldn’t help but take some minor pleasure in knowing that it was Sharg who would probably lose his equipment.
“You know, you really are dead, whether you make it back or not,” Turev joked sadly.
“We’ll see about that,” Garrak replied. He turned and walked off, taking a look around at the shadows and glancing up at the sun. He was late already. Well what did it matter anyway? What were they going to do, deprive him of his trial? Garrak snorted indignantly as he walked off.

When Garrak reached the bonfire the first thing he noticed, to his horror, was that Sharg himself was one of the few people waiting for him. The others there were Unklock and Drugtar. Unklock was looking rather impatient, Drugtar was standing awkwardly as though he did not want to be here, and Sharg just looked rather indifferent to the whole situation.

“You’re late,” Unklock said impatiently.
“You hardly gave me much notice,” Garrak shot back. Normally he would never have dared speak in such a way to his superiors, with the exception perhaps of Drugtar, but he felt he had little to lose at this point.
“That’s beside the point. You were to be here nigh on a quarterhour ago. Normally you would be punished, but on this occasion we must press on,” Unklock said, drawing a folded piece of paper from his clothing. Unklock stepped forward and handed the paper over. “You must deliver this to the Dark Tiger tribe in person. You should ensure as well as you can that it reaches their Leader, or failing that, at the very least it falls into representative hands. I trust you know where the village is?” Garrak nodded his confirmation. While he had never been stupid enough to travel into the area himself, the layout of Worslouth and everything in it was one of the things he was forced to learn by rote as a youth. The Dark Tiger tribe’s village was to the north and slightly west past the Worslouth River. It was about five hours travel as a phouri would fly, but due to strong sections of the river and dense forest areas it took the fastest travellers around six to get their in a slightly roundabout way. ‘You couldn’t miss it, but if I were you I’d try to’ Ketadag used to say.
“Good. If you had hurried you may have made it to the village before sunset, but given your tardiness that may no longer be possible. Once the message is delivered you can camp the night somewhere in the forest, but you must return immediately here the next day. Report to Drugtar, and he will instruct you further on your initiation from there. Sharg will be accompanying you part of the way to the village to ensure you are following the correct route; he has reconnaissance duties there over the next few days in any case.” Sharg smiled briefly at Garrak, but his eyes remained cold. “You may, if you wish, view the contents of the message. Rest if you feel yourself too weak to continue, but making up for any delay is your own problem. This mission shall serve as your trial for the purposes of your initiation. Do you understand everything?”
“Yes, I understand and comply,” Garrak said, giving the formal response with a touch of sarcasm in his voice that was met with a frown from Unklock.
“Good. Incidentally, when you return you shall be punished for taking Sharg’s personal equipment. Whatever the scenario, thievery is intolerable,” Unklock finished.
“Nonsense!” Sharg smirked. “I would be glad to lend my shield to the boy. He will, of course, need the exception equipment to compensate for his less than exceptional skills. There is no need to punish him, so long as he brings the shield back.” Garrak was torn between gratitude at being bailed out, and anger at being insulted. Considering Sharg’s exaggerated display of generosity, anger won.
“I would never dare take the shield of a member as highly ranked as yourself! Had I realised it was yours, I would never have even thought to touch it!” Garrak said, taking the shield off.
“No, no. Keep it! I insist,” Sharg said, rolling his eyes. Garrak couldn’t be bothered arguing the point, so he just shrugged and swung the shield over his back again. As he did so Sharg frowned in displeasure and just for a moment Garrak couldn’t resist the temptation to imitate Sharg’s own blanks smile. A sly look crossed Sharg’s face and he nodded slightly before turning away, expression dour once more.
“Your mission starts now. Get going,” Unklock said, looking between the two then walking away. Drugtar glanced at Garrak for a moment, then silently turned and followed Unklock. Sharg immediately set off at a fast jog in the other direction, and Garrak swallowed nervously and took off after him.

Sharg stayed with Garrak for about two hours into the journey. Or, more accurately, Garrak stayed with Sharg for two hours into the journey. From the moment they had left Sharg had been setting a gruelling pace that only Garrak’s pride convinced him to try to keep up with. Sharg didn’t say a single word during the journey, ignoring Garrak entirely. Garrak had several things he had wanted to ask, but he doubted Sharg would answer his questions and he was rapidly becoming too exhausted to spare the breath anyway. To make things worse, soon after leaving Garrak had ended up with a stitch from eating too soon before the journey. It took all the energy and willpower Garrak had to keep up for the two hours until Sharg changed directions, sparing Garrak only an indifferent glance, then broke into a run and left him.

As soon as he was out of sight Garrak lowered himself to the ground under a large oak tree. He sat for several minutes just trying to regain his breath. Before long he reached into the crude pocket in his clothing and pulled out the message. Since he had taken it Garrak had been curious to know what was written inside, but hadn’t wanted to risk slowing down to read it. With his hands slightly shaking, Garrak unfolded the paper and read through it.

To the Dark Tiger tribe leader: the paper read. Garrak thought the address seemed oddly formal. The lack of capitalisation on ‘leader’ was probably meant to be an insult to the tribe’s Leader, but Garrak felt if so it was a rather poor one. Or whoever wrote the message might simply have not known.

We have received both of your pathetic attempts at threats. We shall never surrender our homes, and we shall never give in to your empty demands. Your cruel attack on one of our own has angered us. YOU cowards have five days to admit your stupidity and surrender a suitable tithe of food as apology, in which case I may be so generous as to spare your worthless lives, or your whole tribe shall be laid to waste as revenge for your attack. – The Stone Axe clan Leader.

Garrak refolded the paper and slid it back into his pocket. Garrak wondered exactly how the message was supposed to help their plan. The whole message gave the air of confidence and superiority that the Uppers had been lacking during the meetings. Surely the more appropriate tone would have been one of desperation? Then again, if the clan had been terrified and ready to flee, they would have wanted to give the exact opposite appearance. Considering that the clan had moved before, the comment about never surrendering their homes was somewhat weak. Then again, maybe that was the point. Garrak decided he didn’t have the effort to over think it. Five minutes later he reluctantly stood up and continued his jogging.

Throughout the rest of the day Garrak stopped again only twice to rest, though he found himself unable to keep up the same brisk pace he had at the beginning. He was unused to such continuous long travel and even the comparatively light weight of the sword and shield seemed to be weighing him down. Around four hours into the journey he had a scare when the paper fell out of his pocket and was blown into the forest, but aside from that his journey was dull. As night fell Garrak found himself having to travel even more slowly to make sure he did not stumble or fall. He considered stopping for a while to attempt to find something to eat, but decided he could not afford the delay and was unlikely to succeed anyway.

As the last of the day’s light vanished Garrak wondered just how much further he had to travel. This far into the forest the trees were crowded close together and there were less distinctive features that could help guide his progress. It didn’t help that Garrak was unfamiliar with this part of the forest. The only time Garrak remembered being even near here was a few days he had spent out in the wilderness with his trainer when he was ten, as a demonstration of survival skills. During his failed trial he had been going in the opposite direction, and staying closer to the edge of the forest where the river emerged to the east.

Garrak came to a stop to rest again in a small clearing and considered his options. He wasn’t sure how far he had left to travel, and might even need to continue for several hours given his tired speed. Since the sun had long since set, it would be much harder for him to ensure he was travelling in the right direction. If he stopped to camp now, unless the village was very close he would definitely be late back to his own village the next day, or might even need to camp another night. If the village was that close, he should just press on. He didn’t doubt for a moment there would be guards for him to give the message to. On the other hand if the village was still a distance away and he continued onward he might miss it entirely, which would cost him considerable time before he could realise his error and turn back. Garrak frowned. It seemed either way there was a great chance of him returning late. He was almost thankful that Sharg had kept him to such a fast pace earlier in the day. All of these considerations, of course, really only applied if he was allowed to return. Throughout the day Garrak had not bothered worrying, deciding that there was no use in thinking pessimistically.

There was always one option he hadn’t considered yet, Garrak realised. It was a very dark night, Sharg was long gone, and there was always the chance he could escape the forest before he was missed …

Garrak suddenly let out a gasp of pain as he felt something sharp stick into his left foot. Glancing down he could see the top of an arrow, and blood.

“Don’t move! Stay still or the next one goes through your heart!” a harsh voice called out. Garrak froze. He supposed he was very close to the village after all. “Drop your weapons!” How was he supposed to do that without moving? It probably wasn’t the best time to make a point of that. Garrak slowly unfastening his belt, the attached sword falling with a clang to the dirt. Just to be sure, Garrak slid his shield off as well. He winced and clenched his teeth to avoid screaming as it landed on his foot and the pain doubled. He looked around, straining to see anything in the darkness. After a moment he could make out two shadows, moving towards him. Garrak stared at them, shaking slightly in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. So much for going down fighting.

As the first of the figures emerged from the bushes the first thing Garrak noticed was how tall he was. Garrak wasn’t exactly short, but this person was a good head higher than him. He looked very strong, appeared to have very little hair and his skin was tight and strangely off colour. As Garrak glanced over what he could make of the face, large mouth and sunken eyes, his eyes widened slightly as realisation hit him. If not true blooded raitur, they had to be at least half blooded raituri.

The raitur were an ancient race, having supposedly once dominated most of Ulasiare with their strength, speed and unnatural ability to survive and recover from wounds or famine. They lived in hoards not unlike the Stone Axes or Dark Tigers, but more mobile and less loving. They murdered and pillaged where they passed, the strongest enforcing rule upon the others. Only infighting and wars being factions had dwindled their numbers enough for few smarter and more peaceful to spread and evolve.

Millennia later the new breeds had allied to rid the continent of the precursors. They failed. One breed suffered complete genocide, and the others turned on each other for their own flaws, but the hoards too were broken, and as ages past time declared a victor. Garrak had heard very few true raitur remained scattered in small groups, but even they were sometimes a danger to other races. Raituri were the very rare result of rape and were an embarrassment to the raitur. Their strength and violent nature left them a danger to the rest, and they would be killed at the first excuse.

Garrak was shocked the Dark Tiger tribe would have any raitur blood among them. Such members would prove a massive risk to their own members, and he had certainly never heard of any. Then again, there might always be an exception or two that could be ‘tamed’ and still prove to be very powerful warriors. Even a handful could be dangerous enough allies against the Stone Axes …

As Garrak’s mind raced, the second figure stepped into the clearing. This second person was not as tall, though still slightly taller than Garrak. He seemed to be fully human. Both were holding large longbows, loaded and pointed threateningly towards Garrak.

“Who dares enter Dark Tiger land?” the human asked loudly. For a moment Garrak stood as tall as he could, but the pain in his foot caused him to slump and nearly collapse.

“My name is Garrak, from the Stone Axe clan,” Garrak spoke evenly, and with far more confidence then he felt. The human narrowed his eyes and glared at Garrak, but Garrak couldn’t take his eyes of the raituri.

“Stone Axe scum. How pathetic. Is this the best the clan can muster? Ha. Tell me, Garrak. Why do you dare intrude upon our land?” the human asked.

“I bring a message from the Stone Axe clan’s Leader to your own,” Garrak replied, slowly taking the piece of paper out of his pocket and offering it. The raituri stepped forward and snatched it. He unfolded it, glanced quickly at it then crumpled it into a ball and shoved it in his pocket.

“Shall we kill him?” the raituri said. His tone was deep, rough, and filled with hate. The human glanced up and down Garrak. Garrak held his breath in apprehension. The human was silent for a while, and then smiled at the suffering Garrak felt show on his face.

“No. I might have Hargash question him. If that brat was given the message he may know something,” the human said. Garrak’s eyes widened in fear. He had heard a number of rumours about Hargash since the Dark Tiger tribe began to become a problem, and none of them were good. He had heard many different stories but they all shared several things in common: Hargash was the tribe’s torturer, half-mad and enjoying his job just a bit too much. According to rumour, everyone who had been ‘questioned’ by him had gone insane and become unable to communicate or function in society ever again – at least, the ones who returned alive. It raised the question of how the rumours started, but why spoil a fearful message with the truth? Exaggeration or not, Garrak knew he certainly never wanted to meet Hargash. At this the raituri slung his bow over his shoulder and advanced on Garrak, while the human kept his bow’s aim firmly fixed.
“What–” Garrak started, but before he could finish the raituri swung at him with his elbow, and the world went black.
When Garrak came to, he couldn’t see a thing. He tried opening his eyes, but that didn’t help much either. Wherever he was, it was probably underground. Garrak’s head and foot both ached painfully and he wished for a moment he could pass out again. He groaned slightly, and tried to move his other leg. After a moment of confusion, he came to the conclusion he was lying on the floor, stripped of both his armour and weapons. The floor felt cold and hard, though the air didn’t feel as cool as it had been outside. There was a horrible smell of blood, sweat and faecal matter.

Garrak struggled into a sitting position. He reached up and touched his head tentatively. His fingers touched something warm and sticky: blood. He felt his foot, and let out a short scream as he pushed the arrow that was still sticking out. Garrak considered for a moment removing it, but without anything thick enough to stop the bleeding, not to mention that he couldn’t see what he was doing, it would probably do more damage than good. Instead Garrak quietly removed his under-shirt and tore it into long strips, using them to bind his foot around the arrow. Nearby Garrak heard a grunting, and he realised he was not alone in the darkness. Garrak strained his eyes, trying to make out anything. He almost jumped as a string of curses came from nearby.

“Shut the hell up! Some of us are trying to get some sleep!” the voice followed up more cohesively. At this Garrak could hear movement and stirring from around him. He glanced around nervously.

“Oh, the scum ’as woken ‘as ‘e? Should ‘ave known when I ‘eard him scream like a little, wimpy girl!” another voice laughed with a rough accent Garrak couldn’t place.

“Coward stoner! Invading our land, stealing our food, death is too good for you!” a voice muttered. Garrak found his eyes finally begin to adjust to the darkness, and he could make out vague shapes. It looked like wherever he was was around maybe a ten metre or so square. He suspected an underground prison. Aside from himself, Garrak could see about half a dozen other people being held. There was also some rectangular object along one side of the room. The roof of the prison wasn’t very high and Garrak guessed he would brush his head against it should he stand. The area seemed overly large to accommodate such a small number of people.

“Where am I?” Garrak asked, knowing full well how pathetic he sounded.
“Trapped in our land!” somebody yelled.
“Beyond help!” “Out of your league!” “Your very own ’ell!” came the various jeering replies. The people in the prison had roused themselves and were moving around him, pointing and laughing. A couple were walking stooped so they didn’t hit the roof.
“You’re in the Dark Tiger tribe’s prison,” one person spoke quietly. Garrak looked towards them, but still couldn’t see much. He noticed that the man was lying by himself in one of the corners, opposite the rectangular thing he had noticed. Garrak thought the voice sounded vaguely familiar.
“Shut your hole, rat!” one person yelled, moving over and delivering a harsh slap. The man let out a gasp of pain, to which the others laughed.
“Hey!” Garrak objected. He tried to move over towards the man without putting any weight on his wounded foot, and ending up halfstaggering half-crawling, to the great amusement of the others.
“Wassa matter? You little scum-rat don’t like seeing your friend getting hurt?” the person said, attacking again. Garrak watched in anger.
“Don’t worry kid. They aren’t allowed to – oof – actually do anything serious. We have – aah! – to be kept alive for Hargash,” the man spoke through gritted teeth. His attacker finally backed off.
“You two better keep bloody quiet, or you’ll wish even Hargash rather had you,” the man said, walking stooped back to where he was originally.
“You can’t frighten me!” the man called defiantly. “While I still can breathe …” Garrak suddenly realised why the man sounded familiar. He’d recognise that phrase anywhere, even if he had barely seen him after their training ended; it had to be Ketadag. Garrak wondered why he was being held by the Dark Tiger tribe. And if the Uppers knew.
“… I still can fight,” Garrak finished.
“Never give up! Ha, it’s been a while since I’ve heard any other say that. Who are you kid?” Ketadag asked, moving over to Garrak.
“I’m –” Garrak began, but was interrupted by a hard blow to the head. Garrak reeled and clutched his head in pain, blood from his previous wound seeping over his hands.
“I said, shut the hell up!” the person hissed, striking Garrak again. Garrak fell onto the floor. He heard the person shuffle off, muttering and cursing under his breath. When Garrak dared sit up again, he spoke in a hushed tone.
“I’m Garrak. You taught me to use a sword and shield,” Garrak whispered. Ketadag was silent for a moment, thinking.
“Ah, yes. I remember you. Been a while. It would be about time for you to be initiated wouldn’t it? Or did you do that last year?” Ketadag asked.
“Now. This was supposed to be my trial. What are you doing here?” Garrak asked.
“I was taken prisoner about three weeks ago, while hunting on my own. Bloody tribe. It would be nice to go insane for a while if I can’t get out soon. Dying would be too weak, even to spite Hargash. But I haven’t given in! Three weeks and still not a single secret has come from my lips! I tell you Garrak, if you get any chance to escape, use it. You have to warn the clan! The tribe is preparing for war!” Ketadag whispered hurriedly. Garrak swallowed. He was looking less and less forward to meeting Hargash.
“I know. They gave us a week to leave, or they would attack. But the Uppers have a plan, and we’re not giving up. We will … win,” Garrak said. Even the best outcome didn’t sound as positive as he imagined it should. Ketadag sighed.
“I hope so. Do me a favour Garrak,” Ketadag said.
“What?” Garrak asked.
“If you get … If you get out. Tell Gandeen I loved her,” Ketadag asked with some difficulty. Garrak would have found that funny, had the situation not been so dire. He somehow didn’t think Gandeen would be the type ever to love, especially not at her age, but who knew? It was Ketadag’s assumption that worried him.
“I will,” Garrak promised. The two fell into an uneasy silence. Nearby Garrak heard one of the prisoners start to snore, and he realised he too was tired. Despite the smell, the hard stone floor, and his painful wounds, Garrak found himself drifting to sleep.

Garrak found himself dreaming, much more vividly than normal. He was walking along paths in his village again, but instead of jeering the usual voices were screaming and begging for mercy. Garrak ran wildly, chasing shadows but never quite seeing what was happening. Fire began to burn, and the voices screamed louder. Garrak pulled a spear from nowhere, watching the trees. Shadows moved behind them, and Garrak hurled spear after spear but they ignored him and his fury grew. He didn’t know what was happening, and he didn’t know why, but he knew he should be able to do something.

Garrak dropped his spear, and it vanished. It wasn’t a weapon; it was only his mind, and his enemies were of the flesh. The screaming seemed to quieten, and Garrak shuddered, wondering if he would wake at all. The shadows started to move again, rushing towards him. Garrak drew back, but suddenly the voices and fire were gone, and the dirt paths were lit by the appearance of an old man, almost skeletal but holding himself upright with some unseen power.

“No, no!” the man exclaimed, despair written over his face. As he saw Garrak his eyes drifted towards Garrak’s bare shoulders, and the despair was replaced with horror. The man reeled backwards, covering his eyes. Garrak opened his mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come out. A stoic expression crossed the man’s face and he vanished, replaced by a storm of arrows that swirled around Garrak, then all pointed inwards and flew.

Garrak woke screaming in agony. He could feel blinding hot pain from his foot, and as he blinked and opened his eyes he could make out the human guard from the previous night in front of him, a bloody arrow in hand. Garrak swore as he felt his foot start bleeding again. The guard bent down with some thick grey material and tied it tightly around Garrak’s foot. The material slowed the bleeding, but the tightness ached almost as much as the wound.

Garrak looked around at the prison. He could see the room far more clearly, as light shone in from an open door nearby that Garrak had missed in the darkness. The prisoners were standing back, glaring at Garrak. Garrak noticed that Ketadag was missing from the prison, and shuddered, thinking where he might be. That rectangular object he had seen the night before was some kind of a trough. At the moment it was empty. Most of the prison looked incredibly dirty, and the room smelt even worse than it had last night.

“What’s happening?” Garrak groggily asked.
“You’ll find out soon enough. Lucky bastard. If I hadn’t been overruled you’d be dying now and not hit the ground for a week!” the guard answered angrily, pulling the material tighter. Garrak grit his teeth almost as tightly. He didn’t want to show any unnecessary weakness to the tribe. The guard hauled Garrak to his feet, and pulled him towards the exit. Garrak stumbled, and the guard pulled him up again by his hair, causing Garrak to let out a scream. From the back of the prison, several prisoners snickered.
Once Garrak was outside he squinted, his eyes unaccustomed to the bright light. By Garrak’s reckoning it was gone the second hour already, although it was hard to tell. He looked around and took in the sights of the Dark Tiger tribe village. He could see dozens of wooden buildings and huts similar to those in his own village, but squashed much closer together. There was very little open space anywhere, and the village looked as though it were designed for nothing but accommodating as many people as possible. The prison Garrak had just come out of was only a very small building, above ground at least; once inside it sloped down underground. Just beyond it Garrak could see a tall fence topped with wooden spikes, a cruder version of Cornesh’s, that he guessed marked the edge of the village. It was odd the prison would be dug so close the village perimeter, but no worse than some of his clan’s design. There didn’t seem to be very many people around at the moment; aside from the human leading him the only people Garrak could see were several guards with long spears, wearing heavy armour. Garrak was lead next to the fence before the human let go.
“Okay, here’s the deal scum. The Leader in all his magnificent kindness, and bloody patheticness, has decided to allow you to leave unhurt. Or, at least, no more hurt,” the guard said angrily, kicking Garrak in the foot. Garrak gasped in pain, and hopped on one foot, clutching the other. The guard laughed. From behind him, Garrak could see another guard walking up, and recognised him as the raituri from the night before. In the daylight Garrak could see his eyes looked permanently bloodshot, and a light scar ran from his left ear to his chin. If the stories of raitum healing were true, it would have taken a horrendous wound to have caused even that for someone of partial descent. The sight of him filled Garrak with fear.
“Weren’t our instructions not to hurt the Stoner?” the raituri called reluctantly, clearly not liking the orders himself. The guard turned around.
“I didn’t hurt him! He was like this already, weren’t you?” the guard asked mockingly. When Garrak didn’t answer, he kicked him again. “Weren’t you?”
“Y- yes,” Garrak answered. Under normal circumstances he would never allow himself to be bullied, but his usual anger was replaced by pain and fear. He was wounded, unarmed, and knew that if he wanted to get out alive it was in his best interests to play along. Despite his orders, Garrak could tell the guard wanted him dead. The raituri walked up.
“I see, that’s acceptable. I guess he already had this when he came in as well,” the raituri said, jabbing Garrak in his left arm painfully with his spear. The two laughed. The raituri reached forward to attack again, but Garrak swung his arm out, pushing the spear quickly to the side. The raituri glared at him, and for a moment Garrak could see rage in the raituri’s face. The other guard swallowed nervously, and quickly drew a small parcel out of his armour. The parcel was squarish, wrapped in poor quality paper, and tied mockelegantly with a length of vine. The guard offered it to Garrak, and he took it suspiciously. The parcel was light and Garrak thought he heard something shift inside it as it was roughly handed over.
“The Leader has, in all his wisdom, deigned to trust you to deliver this message,” the guard said sarcastically. “Take it straight to your pathetic excuse for a leader.”
“I wouldn’t try to open it,” the raituri added, a smirk crossing his face. The guard snickered, then scowled and leant in close to Garrak. Garrak resisted the urge to recoil at his foul breath.
“And here’s a little message from me too,” the guard whispered, anger creeping into his voice. “I’m sure she must have crawled into your dirty slums, so if you see that bitch Zaezia you can tell her Rakthor will cut her deeper than Hargash dared when I find her.” Garrak had no idea what the guard, Rakthor presumably, was talking about but meekly nodded anyway.
“Go on then, scum! Get out of our village!” Rakthor said angrily, shoving Garrak against the fence. Garrak looked around, but couldn’t see any obvious exits.
“Over the fence!” the raituri laughed, having apparently seen the puzzlement in Garrak’s face. “Or are you too weak?” Garrak looked up at the fence. It must have been at least three metres high, and had no footholds or anything that might help him climb it.
“Go on! Get the hell out of here! Hurry up!” Rakthor said, taking the raituri’s spear with a careful glance, then poking Garrak with it. Garrak took a deep breath and jumped on the fence, his fingers wildly searching for a handhold. Not finding one, he fell down onto the ground painfully. The Rakthor and the raituri laughed at him, and Garrak got up without any real determination. He reached up with one hand and dug his nails into the wood. He hopped up on his uninjured foot and and tried to grab anything with his other hand, but found nothing again. Two of his nails broke on his way down, but he barely landed standing. The laughter continued, and the raituri snatched his spear back to lightly jab Garrak’s back.
Garrak hoped he had pained himself enough to at least partially satisfy them, and instead started running alongside the fence as fast as his wounded foot would allow. Pain shot up his leg with every step, and he could hear the two casually jogging behind him. As he passed the prison entrance Garrak glanced backwards to see them both looking highly amused at his attempted flight. He had no chance of getting away from them, but knew any other tribe members would just haul him back to the prison or attack on sight if they saw him alone.
After a few minutes Garrak and the following guards reached a gate leading out of the village, half hidden from sight by a particularly large building. Two more guards stood nearby, facing Garrak with weapons raised. As Garrak neared them Rakthor muttered something about boredom and walked off, leaving the raituri to follow Garrak the last short distance. Once or twice the guards at the gate glanced at his approach, but their eyes seemed to watch something else nearby. Garrak slowed to a walk and stepped around the building’s corner. There was another man standing in front of the guards, facing away from Garrak.
“The scum mail boy is leaving,” the raituri grunted, sounding almost disappointed about it. The man turned around to face Garrak, and he held in a gasp he recognised the man’s face. It was Sharg
“You know what to do,” Sharg said to the guards, apparently unconcerned by Garrak’s presence. The guards inclined their heads to Sharg, and he turned back to Garrak. Garrak froze, unsure of what to do. Sharg just briefly smiled his cold, empty smile. Without a word, Sharg turned and walked into the building, letting the cloth door fall back over the doorway. After a moment the guards turned to Garrak, holding their weapons silently. Garrak unconsciously took a step backwards, scared and not knowing what was happening. A moment later Sharg re-emerged from the building, to Garrak’s surprise holding the sword he had been using and Sharg’s own shield.
“These are yours, I believe,” Sharg said without the slightest trace of irony, throwing them down at Garrak’s feet. Garrak had to hop painfully to avoid his other foot being crushed, raising a smile from the guards present.
“Get out of our village, filth,” one guard spat angrily. Garrak took one last look at the village around him then, encouraged by another unfriendly poke with a spear, ran out the gate, feeling Sharg’s eyes on his back.

As soon as Garrak was out of sight of the village he stopped and collapsed to the ground. His foot was aching badly, and he was sure the last attack with the spear had pierced his skin. Garrak put down the parcel and reached down his back, feeling a small amount of blood. Garrak sighed. He knew he should feel relieved, having gone into the Dark Tiger tribe and been let free again. He had achieved his mission, and could be initiated once he returned home. He was alive. But the sight of Sharg only filled Garrak with further worry, for himself and his clan. What was Sharg doing there? He was supposed to be on reconnaissance, but instead he had been within the village itself! Garrak knew it was possible he could be a spy, but he had clearly been held in too high regard their to have just slipped in as one of their initiates. After everything the Stone Axe clan had done for him, the bastard had quite possibly been betraying the clan. Garrak clenched his fists. The smug look on Sharg’s face, he was so damn confident. But, of course, there was nothing Garrak could do but tell the Leader and hope he was believed. An initiate against an Upper? Ha.

Still, if Sharg was working for the Dark Tiger tribe, why would he bother taking the risk, however small, of showing himself to Garrak? It might have been a coincidence, but it had seemed Sharg was deliberately the one to see him off. If he was spying for the clan it might have been to assure Garrak’s safe return, and the Leader hadn’t been lying after all. Just neglecting to mention a fact Hargash might have tortured out of him. Garrak shuddered, then shook his head in a vain attempt to clear it. It was useless thinking, as always. The best he could do was tell someone trustworthy when he returned.

Garrak began to loosen the bandage around his injured foot. It was already stained red with blood. He took off the bandage and inspected the wound. His foot was covered in dried blood, and there was an extremely painful hole, for lack of better term, where the arrow had been. He wasn’t sure exactly how deep the arrow had gone in, but he was lucky that it didn’t appear to have hit anything major; the bleeding had stopped, and could have been much worse. The shot had been clean and didn’t seem to have broken any bones, so there wasn’t too much damage. All in all, Garrak considered himself lucky. He wouldn’t be able to do anything that required much movement for a few weeks, but it should heal well enough. His other wounds were only minor; the blow to the head was swollen and ached to touch, but didn’t seem to have affected him too badly, and the cut on his back was small.

Soon enough, Garrak’s curiosity about the parcel became too much to contain. He picked it up again, wondering what it was. Little more than a message could fit inside, so perhaps it was just to mock. The way the raituri had looked it suggested something worse. A trap? For a moment the thought of magic crossed Garrak’s mind, and he almost laughed. The Dark Tiger tribe declared themselves against any kind of magic. It one of the few things they actually considered evil, the work of idle minds and devils hands. Half of the Stone Axe clan didn’t even seem to believe in magic, and the other half thought it dishonourable. Garrak trusted one or two of his old teachers’ stories enough to assume it was real, but thought it no worse a tool than a spear or bow.

There were supposedly a dozen or so extended human families, or Houses as they were sometimes known, that possessed any of the hereditary talent. There were other races that maintained degrees of it, and certain fay creatures said to wield similar powers. Even the raitur’s healing ability was sometimes considered magic, but Garrak supposed a clan living most of its life apart from the world had no need to believe, or care. When he was younger and first told about the Houses Garrak was always a secretly a little bit disappointed when he failed to summon fireballs or send his spear chasing after his prey.

Garrak pulled the vine off the parcel, and carefully unfolded the paper. Inside was a light wooden box, with no obvious way of being opened. He turned the box around in his hands, and one side slipped off. He flipped it over to look inside, then dropped the box and all but jumped back with a burst of energy. The box fell to the dirt, undamaged by the fall, and Garrak watched in horror as several poisonous spiders quickly emerged and crawled around the dirt. Garrak recognised the type: blackrings. Blackrings were known for their very quick movement when attacking, and their poison was deadly enough to kill a human in an hour or so. Garrak was pretty sure there was some sort of antidote, but it wasn’t the kind of thing the clan kept in stock, even if they weren’t several hours away. Garrak stepped further back, keeping his eyes on the spiders. They weren’t supposed to be aggressive normally, but after being sealed up in a box for a time … Garrak waited until the spiders had moved away, then snatched the box back up and made a quick a retreat as his foot would let him.

As Garrak limped away, he wondered how the Dark Tiger tribe had obtained the spiders. Blackrings were fairly rare, and found only in dark forests or sometimes in caves. They weren’t native to the Worslouth forest, thankfully. To have found several of them and transported them to the village seemed an excessive amount of effort. To have done so would have also taken quite some time, and what worried Garrak more was the amount of forethought that had evidently gone into the Dark Tiger’s planned assault. Then again, perhaps they simply kept several in captivity should the need arise; Garrak wouldn’t put something like that past the tribe’s cruelty.

Once Garrak had moved a fair distance away from the spiders he stopped again. He collapsed onto the ground and grabbed his injured foot. In his mad dash away he had left the bandage behind, and his foot was aching and bleeding again. Garrak felt his bare chest with some annoyance, and untied the cloth strips he had bound his foot with earlier, redoing them over his wound. Once that was done he looked again at the box. Garrak turned it upside down and shook it. After a moment a small piece of paper fell out, blowing slightly in the wind. Garrak grabbed the paper from mid-air and looked at it. There was another message on it, this one short and simple:

Stone Axe scum! How dare you insult us by sending such a pathetic coward to deliver your messages! For this you shall be punished. Flee, or Friday shall mark your death.

The message was unsigned. Garrak did a quick count in his head; today was Wednesday, so Friday would be only five days from the first message. Either the tribe lacked a grasp of basic chronology, or they had decided to attack a day earlier. Garrak somehow suspected the latter; from an objective viewpoint it would put the clan psychologically off guard and make them more nervous. From a subjective viewpoint, this worried Garrak greatly. If the clan had been preparing for the infiltration the final day before the attack, they would be too late and caught unprepared. Garrak knew he had to deliver this message as fast as possible. Considering his injury, he doubted he would be able to get back to the village before nightfall at least.

Garrak was at least slightly annoyed at being referred to as a ‘pathetic coward’, as well. He had walked up to the stronghold of a tribe about to go to war with him. He hadn’t had a choice, but they didn’t know know that. The tribe’s insults were getting repetitious, if no less ominous.

Garrak sighed, and slipped the message into his pocket. He didn’t think it was worth keeping the box, so he threw it away into the forest. After a moment’s thought he looked around the forest until he saw what he was looking for: a dead branch that had fallen from a nearby tree. Garrak picked it up and tried in vain to snap off an appropriately sized piece, but gave up quickly. He held one end in the air, letting the thinner end fall to the ground. Garrak leaned against a tree and gritted his teeth as he briefly rested his weight on his injured foot. With a grunt he stamped down with his good foot, breaking the branch into two lengths. He picked up the smaller of the two and tested its height. Satisfied, he broke some of the smaller branches and twigs off one end and leant on it experimentally. The branch snapped and Garrak lost his balance, falling painfully to the ground. Garrak gave up and struggled to his feet, setting off at a limp back towards his village as fast as he was able.

When Garrak finally arrived back at the Stone Axe village, it was already long into the night. Garrak was exhausted from the day’s journey and sorely regretting his determination to return that day, but he was just glad to be back in the village in one piece. Even if he had been in perfect health, the exhaustion from the previous few days was beginning to catch up with him, and he found even walking exhausting. Not long after he had begun the journey he had found even walking far too much for his foot, so he had tried again to fashion some kind of a crutch. Luckily he had managed to find a branch the right size after only a quarter-hour of searching. It took a few tries to get used to balancing, but he could move faster and safer without the pressure on his injury.

Still he was travelling nowhere near as quickly as the previous day, and the chilling cold only made things worse. Despite his growing hunger Garrak had not bothered to try to find any food; he knew little about foraging and knew how to hunt only with spears. He had had to stop to rest many times, though he had tried not to stop any longer than needed. By the time night had fallen Garrak had come into familiar surroundings, so he kept going at the same pace anyway. It was not like his mind was really focussed on such trivial things as hunger or pain; all he could think about was Sharg, and whether the Stone Axe clan really stood a chance of hiding in Cornesh.

Garrak was both surprised and worried to find no guards at the north village entrance. For the last six months or so, as the Dark Tiger tribe had become aggressive, the clan had positioned guards to watch the area at all times. What if the tribe had already attacked early, to surprise them? Or, as Garrak had begun to fear, could the clan have already moved out to Cornesh?

Garrak jumped as an arrow flew into the ground beside his already injured foot. Or, perhaps, the guards had just stayed hidden. Now Garrak thought of it they were under orders to take any intruders alive, and surprise was probably the best way to do it. It worked on him. Garrak stood still and reflected for a moment on how many times already in the last week he had been shot at.

“Who goes there?” an unfamiliar voice called from the bushes. “I am Garrak. I was sent on a mission to deliver a message to the Dark Tiger tribe,” Garrak explained calmly. There was silence for a moment and a hunter walked out from hiding and examined Garrak’s face. Garrak vaguely recalled seeing him somewhere before. Maybe in one of the Upper meetings?
“Yeah, it’s him,” the hunter yelled back into the forest. To Garrak, “Go in. You’re to report to Drugtar first thing in the morning.” Garrak nodded, and began to move into the village. He knew it was too late for most of the Uppers to be awake, and decided he’d just have to wait until morning to deliver the note and make his report.
As Garrak walked the familiar path back to his hut, he barely noticed the scenery passing around him. The shock of everything that had happened was beginning to wear off, and Garrak began to notice more the aching pain in his foot, and the tiredness of his limbs. As Garrak reached his hut he was swaying while walking, and having difficulty keeping his eyes open. Garrak made one last valiant effort to walk forward, then collapsed into his hammock and was asleep before he hit it.

When Garrak awoke he was surprised to find it still early morning. From the amount of light the sun must only just be rising. Garrak still felt tired, but a lot less than he would have expected from how little he had slept last night. At least he hadn’t had any nightmares again, or at least none he could remember on waking. Off in the distance Garrak could hear the morning bell ringing faintly, gradually getting louder. The bell was loud and sounded horrible normally, but from a distance it almost sounded peaceful. Garrak yawned and slipped out of the hammock. The instant he touched the floor he felt pain sear through his foot, and he swore. So much for a peaceful morning. Garrak reached out and grabbed his makeshift crutch, as well as a shirt and his last thick jumper. Slipping them quickly on, he hobbled out the door. As much as Garrak would have liked to sleep in longer, he had far more important needs to deal with first: his stomach. He hadn’t eaten for over a day, and he doubted anything important was going to happen in the next hour anyway.

“So you’re still alive then?” Gandeen said with some indifference as Garrak approached not much later. Garrak frowned at her lack of care. “Sharg was right after all,” Gandeen added quietly to herself, Garrak just catching the words. Sharg had thought that he would make it back? That surprised Garrak. Sharg had seemed to think very little of him from what he had heard at the Upper meetings. Why would he support sending Garrak out, unless he thought whoever left wouldn’t be returning alive? Of course if Sharg was within the tribe himself in some position of power he would be able to influence his success, as it were. For all Garrak knew Sharg could have just been boasting about his own success at infiltrating the tribe.

“I’d appreciate it if you could please give me any rations. I have none left, and will not be able to hunt for any food with my injuries,” Garrak said, motioning towards his injured foot. Gandeen glanced over his injury, then at his arm for some reason.
“No,” Gandeen replied simply.
“May I ask as to your reasoning behind this?” Garrak asked as politely as he was able.
“You were instructed to report to Drugtar as soon as you returned from your mission. You haven’t. If you do not follow your instructions, you shall be penalised. Now report to Drugtar and he will instruct you further,” Gandeen ordered. Garrak fumed and was on the verge of pointing out exactly how bad the last day had been, and exactly how much food he hadn’t eaten, but thought better of it.
“Understood,” Garrak replied irritably, limping off. As he walked towards Drugtar’s hut he had a thought: if Sharg had been able to influence in some way the decision to send him, wouldn’t that mean he was one of those who knew about it beforehand? Drugtar hadn’t known, so if the decision hadn’t been discussed in either of the Upper meetings, maybe Turev was right after all about Sharg being one of the Leader’s Associates, and Gandeen was an Associate too. Then again, maybe Garrak was reading too much into the circumstances. It might have just been something he had said right before the two left.
Just as Garrak was leaving, he remembered what he had promised Ketadag. Garrak didn’t honestly believe that telling Gandeen anything was going to help anyone and it was very unlikely Ketadag would be freed or released, but then again he had thought the same about himself. Garrak had given his word. He turned around and walked up to Gandeen again.
“What is it? You have orders,” Gandeen said irritably.
“When I was in the Dark Tiger prison, I found Ketadag is also being held prisoner,” Garrak told Gandeen. If Gandeen had any reaction to this, she didn’t show it. “He asked me to tell you that he loved you.” Gandeen was silent for a moment, still showing no reaction. Then she nodded.
“You have orders. Go!” Gandeen ordered, turning back to her work. Garrak shook his head to himself and walked away.

When Garrak reached Drugtar’s hut, he saw Drugtar waiting outside it. As he hobbled up, Drugtar’s face lit up, and then fell slightly seeing the crutch.

“Garrak! What took you so long to get back? We thought you’d been killed! How did you get out? What–” Drugtar asked quickly, barely pausing for breath. Garrak silenced him with a wave of his hand.

“Slow down! I can’t answer a dozen questions at once!” Garrak exclaimed, walking up.
“Okay, okay … Let’s start with your leg. What happened to it?” Drugtar asked.
“I was shot in the foot with an arrow,” Garrak said. Drugtar’s eyes widened. “I was lucky. The wound was clean and the arrow didn’t hit much. It hurts like hell, though.”
“But, who shot you? Did you fight them off? How did … I’m doing it again, aren’t I? Wait, that’s another question,” Drugtar said, grinning. He motioned Garrak inside, and Garrak followed.
Since he was of higher rank, Drugtar’s hut was much larger than Garrak’s. As Drugtar was a superior his hut was divided into two sections. The front was lightly furnished with a table and many seats, and was used for directing and ordering the members, such as Garrak and Turev, that Drugtar was responsible for. This section also had a long roll of paper, with accompanying ink and feather for written instructions, though not very many could actually read what Drugtar would write. Drugtar had long been campaigning that all members should be taught to read and write fully. With little success. It was Drugtar who had taught Garrak.
The second section of Drugtar’s hut was smaller, and was where he ‘lived’. Lived was hardly the most appropriate word, given how little time Drugtar spent there. Garrak had only been in there once or twice, and not for a long while. He remembered it was still far larger than Garrak’s whole hut, but was very sparsely furnished as well. Drugtar didn’t have many personal possessions. Not many in the clan did.
Drugtar walked into the back section of the hut, and after a moment Garrak was relieved to see him come out with a leg of cold deer meat and a knife. Garrak lent his crutch against the wall and sat down.
“Garrak, to be honest with you I think you’ve long deserved to be an initiated member of the Stone Axe clan, and I’m really not in the mood to go through the whole ceremony. But, for the record, do you swear to always honour and obey the clan, give your all and every, support the Highly Ranked Representative Individuals etcetera, etcetera?” Drugtar asked. Garrak smiled broadly. He had been waiting for this moment for years, and felt he more than deserved it after the last few days. He was slightly disappointed that he wouldn’t get to experience the full rituals, but after all that had happened the last few days all he wanted was to rest. From those he had watched in the past they tended to drag on, and some parts were tiring, and messy.
“Uh … Yes,” Garrak said, not recalling what, if any, was the official response.
“Good enough,” Drugtar said, shrugging. “Please hold out your arm.” Garrak held out his arm, not sure what Drugtar was planning to do. Drugtar rolled back Garrak’s sleeve, and smiled. Suddenly Drugtar grabbed the knife from the table and slashed down at Garrak. Garrak tried to wrest his arm free, but Drugtar had too good a hold. Before Garrak could react further Drugtar put the knife down again. Garrak stared at his upper arm and saw a series of cuts in it, forming the familiar pattern of the Stone Axe clan’s insignia: a crude axe in the process of cutting down a tree, surrounded by the shape of a rock. Blood began to well out of them, but they didn’t hurt much more than a small stinging. Drugtar smiled again, apologetically this time.
“The Leader decided several years back not to inform people beforehand of the procedure. We weren’t told why,” Drugtar explained. He indicated the knife, continuing, “The knife is coated in a special potion made mostly from distilled Liga leaves that usually make the cuts scar.”
“You can’t just scar people for life! What about the freedom to leave the clan at any time?” Garrak exclaimed.
“Did you not yourself, only moments ago, swear to honour the clan always?” Drugtar reminded.
“Well, I guess.” Garrak admitted.
“Then there is no problem. It’s been easily enough concealed for the few Uppers who’ve been away bartering before, so it wouldn’t be much of an issue unless you were close with someone, or in trouble anyway. Did you notice the scars on anybody else before?” Drugtar reasoned. Garrak had seen the markings on some other members before, but he had assumed they were done voluntarily as a show of pride or dedication. It wasn’t like Garrak wanted to leave, but with the Dark Tiger tribe ready for war being marked as their enemy felt eerie.
“It’s done now, there’s no use glowering,” Drugtar said, meeting Garrak’s gaze. “Now, by the authority granted to me by the esteemed Leader, I declare you an official member of the Stone Axe clan,” Drugtar said, waving his hands dramatically. Garrak’s mood lightened again, and he grinned as he pulled his sleeves down.
“So, can I eat now?” Garrak asked. Drugtar grinned and grabbed the knife again. Garrak flinched, but just Drugtar chuckled goodheartedly.
“Yeah, go ahead. But you have to tell me exactly what happened to you during the last two days. Standard protocol, I’m sure you’ll understand,” Drugtar said, offering the food to Garrak.
“Yeah, right,” Garrak replied.
“No, really. Now that you are an initiated member you have to give a detailed report back to your superior for each and every mission including, but not limited to, basic surveillance and individual hunting trips. I personally would prefer a written report, but seeing as most of the people I’m responsible for can’t actually write as such, verbal will have to do,” Drugtar explained seriously.
“That seems a bit extreme,” Garrak said.
“You might call our rules extreme, Garrak, but they have kept us safe and alive for this long. Do you want to be the one who blows it for the clan?” Drugtar shrugged. Garrak shook his head, and Drugtar grinned again. “Then let’s hear what happened!”

It was some time before Garrak came to the point of retelling when he had seen Sharg. Throughout his story Garrak had deliberately been giving every detail he could remember, to the point where Drugtar looked ready to snap and strangle him for not getting to the point faster. Garrak found it refreshingly amusing. The only part he skipped was exactly what Ketadag had said to him, though he did mention that his presence in the prison.

“In the hands of Hargash, I’m not sure if knowing he’s alive is a relief or not,” Drugtar commented sadly. “I just hope he’s still sane by the time we can attack their village.”

Garrak had trouble recounting what had happened when he had been released. All he had wanted was to escape alive, but it was shameful how easily had given into the guard’s goading. When he reluctantly admitted it Drugtar frowned, but said nothing. Eventually Garrak reached his departure from the village, and his encounter with Sharg.

“The guards had their weapons ready, but they had been told to allow me escape, and their attention was mostly elsewhere. When I moved closer I … could see Sharg standing nearby, directing them.” Drugtar’s reaction was somewhat less enthused than Garrak had predicted.
“This is important: have you told anyone else what you saw?”
Drugtar asked.
“No. I haven’t spoken about this to anyone,” Garrak replied. “Good. I shouldn’t be telling you this, but since you’ve already

seen him you need to know. But this information is highly classified; I shouldn’t technically know it, and for my own sake I’m not going to mention from whom I obtained it. For the last few months Sharg has been regularly entering the Dark Tiger tribe’s village during his resting days, as a spy. A short time ago he and two lower guards were hunting when they were attacked by a tribe member in the same area. They fought, and the member was mortally wounded. A strong resemblance between Sharg and the Dark Tiger, who confessed to be one of the Leader’s bodyguards, was noticed. Sharg volunteered to take advantage of this by risking standing in as the guard with the hope of overhearing any vital information that might help us if – when – the tribe spread further. The Leader didn’t like the idea, but Sharg argued strongly enough to that he was allowed,” Drugtar explained in a hushed voice.

Garrak thought back to the incident. He could understand the situation and had no real reason to doubt Drugtar’s explanation, but … Something didn’t feel right. If it were true, why couldn’t Sharg have taken Garrak aside or given him some sign? One second hand comment aside, Garrak had got the impression Sharg didn’t exactly trust him not to do something stupid that would reveal him, to the Dark Tigers or a gossip like Turev. It might have looked suspicious to the other guards there, but any simple excuse would be safer than what Garrak might have done, even here if the Stone Axes weren’t the only ones with a spy. There was something else bugging Garrak too.

“Drugtar … Sharg wasn’t wearing any armour, or holding any weapon,” Garrak recalled. Drugtar’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“So? Sharg’s body was to be their Leader’s armour, and some weapons are small enough to hide,” Drugtar pointed out.
“Yet he was commanding others with both,” Garrak said.
“Personal bodyguards are highly respected, and it is important to have defences both visible and hidden,” Drugtar shrugged.
“Our Leader’s guards are respected by being there all the time, not showing up twice every week to order others around.” Garrak pointed out.
“And I assume that you have a more intimate knowledge of the tribe’s rankings and positions then Sharg himself?” Drugtar asked mockingly.”
“I would never dare suggest I knew that I knew more than my superiors,” Garrak replied darkly.
“Then what are you suggesting, Garrak?” Drugtar said, his voice starting to sound harsh.
“If Sharg was acting as a bodyguard, why was he dealing with a lowly prisoner instead of being beside their Leader?” Garrak asked, avoiding the question.
“What, exactly, are you suggesting, Garrak?” Drugtar reiterated, glaring at Garrak. “And may I remind you that to speak against a highly ranked member such as Sharg is treason?”
Garrak lowered his head for a moment, conflicting emotions overwhelming him. He still believed that whatever Sharg was doing, it wasn’t being completely honest with the clan. But to falsely accuse another was treason, and what did Garrak have to back up a claim but a vague gut feeling and some personal dislike? Nothing. He had felt helpless before when he was sent on the mission, but even then he was doing something. Now he was just powerless to do anything but hope he wasn’t saying exactly what Sharg wanted, or that he was wrong. Whatever else, Garrak didn’t want to lose favour with his clan, or make things worse on the edge of war. He sighed, and looked straight up at Garrak.
“What I am suggesting, is that perhaps you may have mistaken Sharg’s job in the Dark Tiger tribe,” Garrak said quietly. He might be initiated, but he was still an initiated grunt. “If you only overheard a mention of it, you may have not heard enough to fully understand his mission.”
“Do you now question my own hearing? Fool! This isn’t the kind of thing Uppers idly discuss where others can overhear!” Drugtar yelled angrily.
“Damn it, I’m only–” Garrak snapped, only to be cut off.
“Silence! I will not hear any more of your accusations!” Drugtar ordered furiously. Garrak fell silent, staring heatedly at Drugtar. And uncomfortably aware of the knife resting on the table between them. “Now, make the rest of your report, and make it quick. I have other duties to attend to.”
When Garrak finished telling how he had returned to the village, he stood and left the hut without a word. Drugtar had not spoken at all during his report, with one exception; when Garrak showed Drugtar the note and told him of the tribe’s decision to attack a day earlier he swore loudly and left the hut, ordering Garrak to remain. Garrak sat waiting for some time before Drugtar re-appeared in an even worse mood and told him to continue. When Garrak finished Drugtar remained silent as Garrak left. Though Drugtar was still visibly angry, Garrak had managed to mostly calm himself down by the time he left.
As he walked out, he couldn’t help wondering why he and Drugtar had ever became friends. Drugtar’s temper was hard for anyone to put up with, but Garrak particularly seemed to enrage him often. Garrak wasn’t blind; he knew he himself often had trouble keeping his temper in check, but at least he made an effort. As long as Garrak could remember he had felt poorly justified or entirely unexplained mood swings, but he had taken what little counselling a clan of barbarians could give: deep breathing, recognising the problem, thinking positively … There were still times when he couldn’t contain some useless rage within him, and Garrak hated himself for it. Sometimes it was as if Garrak and Drugtar fed off each others darker sides, in a kind of vicious cycle. Yet while Garrak had slowly improved through his years in the clan Drugtar had worsened.
What exactly had their friendship ever achieved, really? Sure at times he’d been given the lighter end of the work load than the others Drugtar controlled, but that didn’t matter that much in the long run. Since Garrak was mostly an outcast, it was difficult for him to find any friends, and there weren’t really any others than Turev he was close to, but maybe it would be best if they kept their distance. The stress of the coming weeks would be bad enough as it was.

Garrak walked down the same familiar dirt path, but for a change he was walking not towards his own hut but towards Turev’s. He hadn’t seen Turev since he had returned to the village, and knew that Turev usually took the morning off whenever possible. Garrak couldn’t be completely sure he wouldn’t have other duties in preparation for the invasion of Cornesh, but Turev seemed to have an uncanny way of avoiding any real work that was almost infuriating. Garrak couldn’t help but take some small joy from the fact Turev had been landed with Garrak’s own chores when he had been away.

After Garrak had left Drugtar’s hut the ache in his foot directed him towards the clan’s makeshift hospital. The hospital was located near the middle of the village and was run almost entirely by women in the clan. The only exception to this was Peter Trou, an old healer who had sought refuge in the clan after some unmentioned business that had left him pursued by the Elitar military. Though old and weak, he had managed to complete the initiation trials (Garrak now presumed using his large knowledge of the native plants and animals), earning him his tribal name of Pou-trah. His knowledge of medicinal lore had quickly earned him control of the hospital and a seat in the Upper council.

Though the staff of the hospital were all women, it was not just women who were taught healing arts. Garrak, as all other young members, had been taught various first aid techniques were they to be injured in hunting. Without the knowledge of how to bind his foot Garrak had little doubt he could not have walked all the way back to the village. Though, there were probably better ways of doing it than he had. Either way, the women had been taught more advanced medical techniques than the men by Pou-trah, and they had a small store of herbs and plants that would aid most injuries. There was a certain irony in that the clan refused the use of magic, but were happy to use a number of plants whose effects were probably drawn from some simple magical nature.

When Garrak had entered the hospital there had been three women on duty. One was the same young woman who has been at the Upper meetings, and Garrak had been surprised to find Gandeen as another. He had assumed that her high position in the clan would have excused her from menial chores and tasks, especially when she already held an important job. Garrak was thankful that she was tending to another hunter. Garrak thought he recognised him as Dirtle. The young woman seemed occupied sorting and examining by touch a number of unprocessed flowers, herbs and such. Instead Garrak was treated by the third woman in her mid-twenties who introduced herself as Clarence.

“An unusual name for one of our clan,” Garrak had commented, placing a certain emphasis on his use of ‘our’. Clarence had only smiled.

“I was abandoned here near on ten years ago, and in my teenage stubbornness had refused to be given a new name. I was nearly thrown out right then,” Clarence laughed.

Since Garrak was now an official member of the clan, with the unwanted cuts to prove it, he had been given treatment straight away. Clarence even mentioned orders to allow Garrak the use of sunshi after returning from what he guessed was a ‘successful’ mission to the Dark Tiger tribe. Sunshi was an usual plant that’s leaves could be crushed to release a juice with mild healing effects on skin tissue. The plant wasn’t especially common in the Worslouth forest, so it was usually reserved for especially bad injuries or higher ranked hunters who couldn’t afford to stay out of action for long. Clarence explained that because of the soon-coming move to Cornesh everybody needed to be in as good health as possible, and since it had been reported that the town cultivated some themselves it didn’t matter as much if the supplies ran low.

Also across the wounds Clarence lightly brushed with a sticky silvery liquid that she explained was silverdew. It was a substance that could be tediously gathered from the flowers of the wvien plant that grew near the river in the forest. It didn’t have any real medicinal benefit, but he did help prevent any dirt or otherwise getting into and infecting the wounds.

After Garrak’s wounds had partially treated he was startled to hear Clarence ask for another container of silverdew, calling the young woman by the name Zaezia. Garrak turned to stare, remembering what the guard from the Dark Tiger tribe had whispered. For someone as young and apparently weak as her to have endured Hargash’s torture and escaped from their village … Garrak wished he had been as strong while being let go as she must have been being held.

“What do you know?” Zaezia asked quietly as she stepped forward with the silverdew. For a second Clarence looked at her curiously, then deliberately turned her attention towards Garrak’s back. Garrak was silent for a moment, unsure how to answer.

“Huh?” Garrak said, blinking suddenly and looking away. “Sorry, I’m just tired.” Something between relief and suspicion clouded Zaezia’s eyes, then she turned back to the plants at the back of the building.

Once Clarence had finished treating or at least cleaning Garrak’s major wounds with the two substances she moved onto the arrow wound. Clarence removed his makeshift bandage and began to examine the wound, much to Garrak’s discomfort and often outright pain, using a few small metal tools that Garrak didn’t recognise. The examination only lasted five minutes, but they were the longest five minutes Garrak could remember. On several occasions he had come close to passing out and wished quite fervently that he had.

“How bad is it?” Garrak asked.
“In all honesty, you’ve been very lucky,” Clarence explained as she proceeded to wash her tools in a nearby bucket of water and store them away again. “From the size of the wound the arrow head must have been quite small. I’ve treated a few other people for similar wounds, and they were much worse. One of your bones has been fractured; it’s not actually broken, but just cracked. I can’t be completely sure, but I’d guess when the arrow hit your foot it wedged in between two of the bones, fracturing one of them but stopping the arrow from completely penetrating your foot. Even the rest of your wound looks good considering you had to move around on it before finding a crutch.”
“How long will it take to heal?” Garrak asked.
“Since the bone is only fractured and the muscle and tissue damage is minimal, a few weeks to fully heal. You should be able to walk normally after around a week, but longer if you put much weight on it,” Clarence answered. She reached again into her small container and pulled out a couple of sunshi leaves. She lightly crushed them in her fingers, and a few drops of juice trickled out. Garrak winced as it fell deep into his wound. Clarence scattered the used leaves around the building; they retained a pleasant, if faint, smell. In the wound Clarence also applied some paste she promised would help the fragment mend itself without breaking further. After applying more silverdew she re-bandaged Garrak’s foot rather more professionally than he had done himself.
“You should keep off your leg and get as much rest as possible, however little that will be in the next few days, and see me again a week from now,” Clarence offered as parting advice.

Despite Clarence’s advice Garrak had still headed straight for Turev’s hut when he left the hospital. After the fear of the past few days and the argument with Drugtar, he needed someone he could talk to for a while, to pass the time if nothing else.

Turev’s hut was larger than Garrak’s own, but not by much. While Garrak’s hut had but one room, Turev’s hut was divided by a thin wall into two spaces: a living area, and a small ‘room’, if such a word could be used to describe so minimal a space, where Turev’s hammock was hung. Every time previously that Garrak had visited the hut had been incredibly messy. Turev had a habit of collecting mementos from just about everything he had ever achieved. Among the clutter included a whole deer skull from the first time Turev had gone hunting, the remains of a charred log that Turev had used during his first night away from the clan, a piece of white cloth that Turev swore had been dropped by the ghost of the former Leader, a lock of dark brown hair that Turev hastily changed the subject about whenever it arose in conversation, though Garrak could guess what that was from. With these kinds of objects lying around the hut Garrak couldn’t help but wonder what, if anything, Turev had hidden in his chest.

As Garrak approached the hut he caught a glimpse of something moving in Turev’s hut, but didn’t get time to see what. A moment later the old, tattered curtains were drawn closed. Garrak raised an eyebrow and walked up to the door.

“Oh, for the love of – I told you, I’ll get to the bloody packing when …” Turev yelled in irritation, poking his head out the door. He trailed off in surprise as soon as he saw Garrak standing outside.

“…when the weather warms up again?” Garrak offered, rolling his eyes. Turev broke into a grin.
“No way! Garrak?” Turev called out.
“That’s what it looks like,” Garrak confirmed, inspecting his limbs with mock care in three cases, and real care in one.
“I can’t believe you made it back! When you didn’t turn up yesterday I thought something must have happened! You so have to tell me everything!” Turev exclaimed happily, not moving from the doorway.
“Is someone in there?” Garrak asked, moving around to try to get a look through the door.
“Nah, you just woke me. I should be working, but damn, Drugtar has been working our arses off the last two days, and it was late before I got to sleep last night. I’d almost have rather had – wait, is that a crutch?” Turev said, blinking as if he had just noticed it. After a moment Turev held up his hands and motioned for Garrak to wait. “Actually, just give me a moment. I’m kind of … compromised, right?” Without waiting for an answer Turev withdrew back into the hut and closed the door. Garrak rolled his eyes. It would be just like him to be slacking off when … but never mind. There were more important things to be worried about.
After a minute or so the hut door opened again, and Turev stepped out fully clothed, gesturing for Garrak to follow him.
“Do you mind if we talk elsewhere? Technically, I’m supposed to be with the girls packing up the food,” Turev admitted, leading Garrak into the trees nearby.
“You’re working with the women?” Garrak asked in surprise. Turev sighed.
“It’s a long story. Actually, it’s not really. Drugtar was just getting a little peeved at my, shall we say, energy efficiency. He wasn’t in a good mood and ordered it himself. It’s apparently his new favourite punishment now. I tried getting it overturned with a few other superiors, but none of them would stop laughing long enough to consider the injustice,” Turev recounted. Garrak smiled to himself. Not that he’d say it, but he couldn’t help but feel it served him right.
“You know, if you just did your chores for once, you wouldn’t have this problem,” Garrak suggested. Turev raised his finger pseudothreateningly.
“Oh-no. Don’t you start at it too. I’ve had enough lectures to last-” Turev began.
“About three hours, considering,” Garrak interrupted.
“Hey! This is coming from someone who failed his trial, was late for an important task and stole Sharg’s shield,” Turev countered, ticking Garrak’s crimes off on his fingers. At the last one, Garrak groaned and swore. Turev raised an eyebrow quizzically.
“I just realised, I forget to return the shield last night. It’s still sitting in my hut with a sword,” Garrak cursed. Actually, it was probably worse than that. It was probably lying in the dirt where it fell last night. It was a wonder he hadn’t cut his other foot on the sword getting out of his hammock that morning.
“Heh. You’d better get it back to the armoury soon – I’m pretty sure that’s being packed up this afternoon. I don’t think Sharg would forgive you if it got left out. Actually, I don’t think he’d forgive you anyway. I presume you haven’t met up with him yet?” Turev asked.
“Actually, he was there when I began,” Garrak answered, recalling the encounter grimly.
“Ouch. That couldn’t have turned out well,” Turev said sympathetically, walking into a clearing of trees in front of the two. The clearing wasn’t especially large, but there weren’t too many empty spots in the dense, ghori-thick forest around the west of the village. Garrak and Turev had often come here before to talk out of the way of the rest of the clan, and they were both familiar with the surrounding area. The clearing also held a certain sentimental value to Garrak – it was the new place he had hidden his gold clasp after the initial move to this part of the forest, at least until his brief period of teenage paranoia had worn off.
“It could have been worse. Sharg offered to lend it to me as an insult, and probably to look generous. He wasn’t too pleased when I actually accepted,” Garrak considered.
“Awesome. So what was the message about anyway? It must have been pretty serious to have risked anybody’s life delivering it,” Turev frowned.
“It wasn’t really anything more than a threat,” Garrak said in annoyance sitting down on a moss covered tree stump and laying down his crutch.
“Hey, hey, hey! You’re on my stump!” Turev objected, pointing to the tree stump in question. Garrak grinned.
“I’m sorry, who’s the returning hero here?” Garrak reminded. Turev rolled his eyes, and leant against a nearby tree.
“Speaking of which. Are you going to tell me how you got the crutch or what? As much as I’d love to tease you ferociously about your weakness, without knowing the details it’ll be pretty generic and I just don’t think I’m willing to stoop that low to humiliate you,” Turev joked. At least, Garrak hoped he joked. It was hard to tell sometimes. Garrak got his answer a moment later when Turev broke into a grin. “Ah, come on man. How’d you get back? The suspense is killing me here.”
“That should make an interesting tombstone,” Garrak considered slowly.
“You know I love you man, but seriously, don’t make me throttle you here,” Turev threatened.
“Okay, okay …” Garrak said, and began recounting the events of the past two days.

By the time Garrak had finished recounting his tale for a second time, at least a half-hour had passed. Unlike with Drugtar, Garrak had skipped most of the details of the story, rather focussing on the dramatic moments, even stretching the facts a bit at times. After all, why ruin a good story with the truth? When Garrak reached the part of his escape, he had paused for a moment, but decided not to mention seeing Sharg. After Drugtar’s reaction, he didn’t want to risk Turev not believing him, and as much as he hated Drugtar at the moment he knew he was right about keeping Sharg’s deception a secret. The fewer people that knew about it, the better. Turev was equally worried about the attack being moved forward, but seemed sure the clan could cope with it.

“Preparations have been going on all day and many women continued working into the night by torch-light. If the tribe’s trying to scare us they obviously didn’t account for our hard working,” Turev said with confidence, to which Garrak only raised an eyebrow.

Another key difference, Garrak found, between the two retellings was that Drugtar was not seemed especially prone to interrupting every ten seconds.

“So why didn’t you just bash the guy’s face in? I doubt they would have been so quick to attack Ketadag then!” Turev had exclaimed, miming a quick one-two punch, when Garrak had mentioned the scuffle in the cells.

“Well, sure, even ignoring the fact that I could barely walk, that there were half a dozen of them, I hadn’t eaten since that morning, there could have been someone with raitum blood down there for all I could see …” Garrak had listed angrily.
“Oh-kay, I’ll just be quiet, then,” Turev had suggested.
Not that that had stopped him interrupting again barely a minute later. Still, Turev might have been a pain sometimes, but at least he was slightly more appreciative of what Garrak had done than Drugtar was, and Garrak valued that.

“Wow,” Turev said as Garrak finished describing his slow journey back to the village. “That’s pretty scary. Can you imagine if the Leader had actually been bitten by the blackrings? It’s probably a good thing you released them in the woods where there wasn’t anyone else around.” At this Turev grimaced. “Not that I like the thought of them crawling around the forest next time I’m out hunting. How did they get the things anyway?”

“I don’t know. It would have taken them weeks to bring one in from somewhere. I’m not even sure they’re native to anywhere south of the Great Divide,” Garrak considered. The two were silent for a moment as Turev considered this.

“Hey, here’s a thought – maybe the blackring is the tribe’s mysterious ‘ally’?” Turev suggested.
“What? That wouldn’t make any sense,” Garrak said confused.
“Not necessarily. Think about it – the chances of the spiders actually reaching the Leader are pretty slim, right? When they gave it to you they must have known there was a good chance of you opening it. Even if you didn’t, there are checks and stuff before the Leader actually gets anything. So they couldn’t have honestly expected to kill him. So what if the reason they put the spiders in was as a display of power? You know, ‘look how powerful we are, we have spiders!’” Turev explained, crudely imitating an (apparently speech challenged) Dark Tiger tribe member.
“That doesn’t really explain-” Garrak began.
“Ah, but I haven’t finished yet,” Turev interrupted. “I’ve been listening to you for the last half-hour, so just let me finish.”
“You were interrupting me just about every sentence!” Garrak objected.
“Yeah, well, point taken. Anyway, what if the point is that they don’t just have those blackrings, but they have more of them?” Turev suggested.
“That’s a chilling thought,” Garrak considered.
“You’ve got that right. But if they did somehow have access to large number of them, they could potentially use them as weapons. Imagine having a large number released into the village. It would be chaos. And if they’ve managed to find some way of extracting the poison from them … Well, you get the idea,” Turev concluded. Garrak shuddered slightly. The idea of the Dark Tiger tribe using blackring poison on arrows, or releasing the spiders while they slept, was nerveracking.
“I really hope you’re wrong,” Garrak said. “Then again, if they’re somehow able to control a raituri, I think I’d rather fight the spiders.” The two were silent for a moment, before Turev spoke again.
“Well, it’s not like it really matters, because we’re going to kick their arses whatever they have, right?” Turev said optimistically.
“By going into hiding, apparently,” Garrak muttered. Turev shrugged.
“Discretion is the better part of valour. We don’t really have a choice, anyway,” Turev said.
“Speaking of which. Don’t you have some herbs to pick or something?” Garrak reminded.
“Don’t start. Anyway, I have a legitimate excuse for not going,” Turev said. Garrak mockingly raised an eyebrow in question. “What? I have to inform you of your duties, right?”
“Hmm. It probably would be a good idea if you could tell me what exactly is happening. Drugtar didn’t mention anything when I spoke to him. We got into an argument and I just left,” Garrak explained.
“I know how you feel. He can be a right jerk when he gets into one of his moods,” Turev agreed. “Well, let’s see. The clan is going to infiltrate Cornesh on Friday, tomorrow.”
“Infiltrate? Is that what they’re calling it?” Garrak asked dryly.
“Yeah. The Leader himself gave a big speech about it at that clan meeting just before you left. The whole idea seems a little crazy to me. I don’t think he was even going to mention it at first, since he was all ‘prepare for the unknown’ this and ‘be ready for action’ that. But then some of the women got pretty pissed and started yelling and questioning. It was pretty funny actually, you should have been there. So he ended up making us all wait for a while until he decided to tell us the plan. He made it out like we’re going to, ‘cunningly infiltrate’ were his words, Cornesh and use their resources to build up a power base large enough to wipe out the Dark Tiger tribe and yes, he actually said this, ‘once and for all’,” Turev quoted, rolling his eyes.
“What’s the general opinion on the plan?” Garrak asked curiously. Not that it mattered much, but if enough people were opposed to the plan …
“Mostly positive,” Turev said, ruining Garrak’s hope. “Some people have been crying about how it’s running away, but I guess most of the members would do anything to defeat the tribe. Especially once the Leader got everyone scared by telling them about the whole killing the top hunters with threatening messages thing. I can’t believe you actually received one of those, and got away!”
“He mentioned me?” Garrak asked, surprised.
“Not by name. But, you know, I put two and two together,” Turev replied. Suddenly something Turev has said struck Garrak.
“Wait, top hunters? As in, more than one?” Garrak asked worriedly. The last thing he had known, only one hunter had been killed by an arrow – the one Garrak had found.
“Oh, you don’t know yet. There was another message just yesterday. Lurkur was found in the morning, his throat slit in his sleep. The whole village has been in shock that one of the tribe managed to sneak in at night,” Turev sniffed. “Not that I’m especially sad to see it was him. I had to go hunting with him once. Worst day of my life.”
“The message?” Garrak prompted.
“Right. The message was a kind of a final warning from the tribe. It was odd though; the Leader wouldn’t tell us exactly what it said, unlike the other two notes. It was as if he was hiding something. Or maybe it was just too rude. I don’t know,” Turev said.
“Hmm,” was all Garrak could say. He didn’t doubt there would have been all-night guards for the village since he found the first note. It seemed unlikely someone could have sneaked passed them, and get out again too. Then another thought struck him. “Who found the body?”
“We weren’t told,” Turev answered. “Probably another highly ranked hunter.” Garrak had just begun to ponder this when his thinking was interrupted by a faint, but unfortunately familiar, drum beat.
“Something I should know about?” Garrak asked, referring to the apparently upcoming clan meeting. Turev shrugged.
“There’s been a clan meeting every day, and there were two yesterday. I don’t how they expect us to get anything done when we have to tramp to the village centre and back every day. If I hear one more bloody war speech I’ll go crazy,” Turev said offhand. “We’d better go.” Turev stepped forward away from the tree and stretched briefly.
“Wait, there was something else I was wondering if you’d heard anything about,” Garrak said. Turev paused.
“What?” Turev asked. Garrak opened his mouth to speak, then remembered the glimpse of relief he had seen in Zaezia’s eyes.
“Actually, never mind,” Garrak said. Turev held his palm on his face for a moment.
“You’re such a tease, you know that?” Turev joked, before moving off again. Garrak got up and began pacing after him back towards the village.

As Garrak and Turev walked past Turev’s hut Garrak could see many other members trudging towards the village centre, very few looking especially enthused. As Garrak passed through the village he took the time to look around, and saw that despite Turev’s complaints otherwise, it looked like a lot had been done in the past few days. Around the place there were piles of supplies neatly packed in cloth bags for carrying. The small field normally filled with growing vegetables had mostly been picked clean, and instead the vegetables in question were lying about half-packed in piles.

As Garrak passed the armoury (and nearly had his eardrums burst from the constant drumming next to it. Garrak normally took the longer route around, but had decided that it was more important he be on time. Of course, not that being there would do him any good if he couldn’t hear what the Leader had to say) he glanced inside and saw it mostly empty. Outside several crude wooden trams were loaded up with armour, weapons and ammunition. To Garrak’s moderate irritation he noticed the same small wooden training shield poking out of the top of one crate. Why was it considered important enough to take? And more to the point, why did they keep that thing anyway? It’s not like there weren’t other shields for training with.

“Ah! I knew I was forgetting something!” Turev suddenly said, jogging forward passed several other members to reach Garrak.
“What? You finally decided to stop being so lazy and help with the war effort? You’ve lost your stupid skull? You decided to become a professional chef?” Garrak asked mockingly.
“For your sake I’m going to ignore that last remark. Although, uh, now that you mention it, I’m sure someone has been pilfering through my hut,” Turev said, frowning.
“You were saying?” Garrak asked.
“Right. I forgot to mention to you before how the ‘infiltration’ was going to work. Since the Leader wants there to be as few casualties as possible, and to win the support of the village, two groups are going to be sent in: a peace delegation, and a war group,” Turev hurriedly explained.
“Yeah, that’ll work well,” Garrak said sarcastically.
“The war group will comprise two dozen of the top ranking hunters, whose main purpose will be to show Cornesh the power we have, only as a comparison to the Dark Tiger tribe’s of course,” Turev continued.
“Of course,” Garrak said equally sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, the peace delegation will be a representative sample of the clan and attempt to create an alliance, or at least a truce, with the village. As well as this they will also be afterwards moving back and forth between Cornesh and our village to help carry supplies, show people the route, instruct them on what to do, and nag the heck out of the slackers. Well, not so much the last part. But the cool part is who gets to be in the delegation,” Turev explained.
“I don’t see where you’re going with this. Or at least, I have an idea where this is leading but I really hope I’m wrong,” Garrak replied with a frown.
“I think you’ve got it now. The peace delegation was chosen to be those who were already familiar with the village – the same group that raided Cornesh before!” Turev concluded gleefully. Garrak groaned. “Which means you get to spend all of tomorrow hauling stuff back and forth!”
“I am joy unbounded,” Garrak muttered to himself. Garrak finally walked past several heavily armed guards surrounding the village centre and into the large cavern. To his irritation he saw the cavern almost completely full, and found himself a small space to stand toward the back. Although naturally he found that those spots right next to the wall, thus offering small support for leaning, had all been taken. Still muttering to himself and trying to breathe deeply, Garrak stood and turned towards the centre. Standing beside the stone platform was the Leader, clothed in his usual concealing hooded robe. Beside him his two Assistants stood, both armed with longbows and swords at their side. Garrak presumed that with the threat of war they were serving as bodyguards, although he was not surprised to see several other highly ranked hunters standing armed nearby, Torgak and several other Uppers included. The number of guards around actually worried Garrak somewhat. No doubt keeping these meetings safe, or – more importantly to most members – the appearance of safety and security, was important, but with most of their supplies packed up in the open, Garrak would have thought guarding them was more important.
It was not until ten minutes later that the meeting began, although it appeared everyone, or close enough to, had already arrived before Garrak had. He found it odd that the start of the meeting had been delayed, when despite customs it would normally start once everyone had arrived, whether the fifteen minutes had passed or not. After all, there was always the public roster and word of mouth should one or two be missing. Still, perhaps it was nothing.
The Leader stepped up onto the stone, the elevation being enough to silence all chattering around the cavern. The whole clan stood to attention, and waited in silence for the Leader to speak.
“Fellow members of the Stone Axe clan. Once again I have called you here to speak to you about the forthcoming events that will greatly affect us all,” the Leader began, looking around at the whole crowd in turn. Garrak found himself stifling a yawn. Not that he didn’t have a legitimate reason, still being sorely behind in sleep, but he couldn’t help but feel this was going to be a long, dull meeting. “The past few days have been very tough on us all, even me, but we must remain strong in order to defeat the evil that threatens to ruin everything we have worked so hard to build.”
“Yeah, a very tough time writing speeches,” Turev muttered under his breath. Garrak didn’t reply, but noticed that many other members seemed to share his general reaction. It was all well and good for the Leader to be an inspiration, or whatever it was he was supposed to be, but Garrak couldn’t help but feel he could have made slightly more effort to make his propaganda a bit more interesting. The Leader launched into another long speech about the evil Dark Tiger tribe, and how they must remain ever vigilant, and how …
It seemed an unnecessarily long time later that the Leader finished his speech and invited Unklock up to give the apparently now daily report of the effort. At this Garrak snapped back to attention, knowing that his own knowledge on the subject was sorely limited by his previous absence.
“First of all, I must congratulate each and every one of you on your efforts thus far,” Unklock began, causing many members to let out an audible groan.
“Not individually, I hope!” one member called out. Garrak could have sworn he recognised the voice from somewhere, although he couldn’t think of anyone specifically. The remark was met by some small laughter amongst the crowd, and looks of disapproval from most of the Uppers. Despite the latter, Garrak couldn’t help but feel the mood of the crowd rise slightly.
“Although there are a few who chose not to aid, but instead hinder our efforts, disgrace themselves and put the whole clan in grave danger,” Unklock started. Garrak glanced over at Turev, and was surprised to see him actually have the decency to look somewhat sheepish. As soon as Turev noticed him watching, his face switched back to a ‘who, me?’ grin. “The majority of the clan has performed their duties better than could ever have been hoped before, and this has turned out to be a blessing. The Dark Tiger tribe have declared that they intend to break their initial promise and attack us a day early, attempting to frighten us into flight. But thanks to all your great efforts, we shall be able to continue with our current plan by starting the infiltration of Cornesh not tomorrow night, but this very night!”
This was met with a mixed response. It was one thing to have prepared efficiently and well, but the prospect of beginning the ‘infiltration’ earlier than planned probably wasn’t the best option. Then again, if the tribe were to attack earlier they didn’t really have much choice, and most people seemed to understand this.
“See. I told you it didn’t matter if I helped or not,” Turev whispered to Garrak.
“Yeah, you’re right. You probably would have just slowed everything down,” Garrak retorted.
“The plan of action will otherwise remain the same as it was. The initial two groups will begin travelling at midnight, and all other groups at ten-minute intervals thereafter. The peace delegation will attempt to negotiate a treaty profitable to ourselves and Cornesh as our new allies. If that should fail the war group will enter from nearby and attempt to persuade the village otherwise, using hostile means if necessary, although keeping casualties to a minimum. If anyone has not checked which travelling group and Highly Ranked Representative Individual leader they have been allocated to, as well as what supplies and duties have been assigned to that group, I urge you strongly to do so at the end of this meeting, otherwise before sunset at the latest. Failure to do so will likely result in you being left behind and I don’t think I need to tell you how bad that will be,” Unklock finished mildly, stepping down from the stone. There was a general muttering from the crowd until the Leader stepped back up again.
“I have one more message, from our esteemed hunter Torgak,” the Leader said, turning to Torgak nearby and nodding. Garrak wondered why Torgak didn’t simply give the message himself. Of course, it wouldn’t be as inspiring that way. “Given the need for secrecy in our travels, all secondary-”
Suddenly the Leader stopped in mid sentence. Garrak barely had time to realise what was happening before there was a barely audible twang, and Garrak saw, as if in slow motion, a Dark Tiger tribe arrow fly from somewhere near the exit of the cavern and straight into the Leader. The Leader gasped in pain, and collapsed forward off the stone. Instantly the cavern was plunged into chaos. People were running one way or another, screaming and yelling in fear. The guards near the Leader ran forward to surround him. Someone nearby was yelling for a healer. Garrak swung his head around in fear, trying to see who it was that fired the arrow, but all he could see was people moving. Whoever the attacker was, they would have counted on this reaction and be using it escape.
“Block the exits! Don’t let him escape!” Garrak yelled towards the cavern exit, but he could barely hear himself over everybody else’s screaming. Garrak swore to himself, and forced himself through the crowd to reach the exit, using his crutch as a weapon every other step. When he neared it, he found some relief to see that several of the Leader’s guards had just reached the exit, blocking anyone else from leaving. But it was too late; the attacker could have already gone.
Garrak felt familiar anger surging through him. Assassination was the most cowardly way to fight. There were supposed to be guards outside the whole time, how could they have let somebody get in?! Garrak yelled, unheard, in frustration. He began running towards the stone platform, barely aware of the pain in his foot, and forcing others to the side with a ferocity that surprised him. Thankfully there were not so many people in the way now – many of those present had fled deeper into the cave’s sub-caverns. Garrak heard Turev yelling and glanced to the side to see him trying to reach Garrak.
“Garrak! Oh gods, I saw the attacker! I saw who it was that shot him!” Turev said wildly, forcing himself next to Garrak.
“Oh right, just like you saw that ghost of the last Leader, right?” Garrak sneered cruelly. “Or you saw the ‘mysterious jaalk’ in the forest?”
“No! I’m serious!” Turev yelled desperately, swearing. “He had a scar from his ear to his jaw! He was huge, but he was gone so quickly there was no way he was human!” Garrak’s eyes burned. That thrice-cursed raituri was the same one who tormented Garrak only the day before, and now he dared attack the Leader. Garrak would kill that bastard if he saw him again, injury or not. Ignoring Turev’s protests Garrak shoved him aside and strode towards the Leader. He had to know what the note said. Every attack thus far had been accompanied by a note, even if Garrak had not seen the last one. There had to be a note, and Garrak was damned if he wasn’t going to see exactly what was worth the Leader’s life to say.
As Garrak neared the fallen body of the Leader he saw that the guards there had relaxed slightly – or given up that there was a chance of stopping the attacker. Several women, one of whom Garrak recognised as Clarence, and one of whom Garrak was surprised to see was Gandeen, were in tears. The Leader was lying face-up on the floor next to the stone platform, covered in blood, with the arrow still sticking out of his heart. Garrak didn’t know much about medicine, but it didn’t exactly take a healer to realise that the Leader was dead, or sure to be in a matter of minutes. One of the Leader’s Assistants stepped forward to block Garrak’s path, but he had already seen a glimpse of the note – and a glimpse was enough. The note had been written in the same handwriting, on the same paper, and contained a short, ominous message:
Goodbye.
Garrak staggered backwards, half in fury and half in fear. Part of him was shocked at the Leader’s death, but as much of him was alarmed at how much anger he was feeling and he was so certain that he had to make the Dark Tiger tribe pay. He had to find that bastard who did this, but he had no way, and what was he supposed to do if the raituri was in front of him right now? Garrak had no skills or talents, not compared to the top hunters anyway. He was helpless. They were all helpless. Garrak suddenly felt the agony from his wound shoot up his leg, and he staggered and fell to half kneeling.
“Uh, Garrak, are you okay?” Garrak heard Turev asked. Garrak swung his head around and glared all the daggers he could muster. “Oh-kay, never mind then,” Turev said, turning away. Garrak turned away and looked around. It suddenly struck him how comical everyone looked, running around like the cowards they were. All of a sudden the ‘infiltration’ of Cornesh didn’t seem so strange after all. It wasn’t like the clan hadn’t fled before, when times were tough. And really, what were either group doing out here in the forests but fleeing from civilisation?
“Please. Be quiet,” Garrak caught somebody say over the noise. He turned around and was dully surprised to see Torgak kneeling on the floor next to the Leader, tears in his eyes. Garrak snorted indignantly, grasping his crutch and pulling himself back up. It was about time Torgak actually bothered showing any emotion at all. He watched in mild amusement as Torgak slowly stood up too, and under the eyes of the nearby guards stepped onto the stone platform that only minutes before the Leader had been killed on.
“SILENCE!” Torgak screamed. In an instant the cavern fell into an eerie silence, everybody turning to see Torgak glaring around with equal anger and sadness. Garrak could see the eyes of those who fled peering out of the darkness of the sub-caverns. Unklock stepped forward towards the platform, avoiding the body of the Leader, or, as Garrak thought sarcastically he should now be called, the Led. Unklock gathered himself for a moment, and then spoke.
“Mem-” Unklock said, stuttering for the first time Garrak could remember, “Members of the Stone Axe Clan. Though a great tragedy has befallen us, we must not give into fear. It is not the way of the clan.” Garrak looked around to see many of the cowardly members shuffling slightly, looking embarrassed. Hesitantly at first, some members began to slowly file out of the sub-caverns warily back into the central cavern, theirs heads hung in shame. Unklock glanced down at the body of the Leader, and turned to the healers nearby. One of them nodded slightly, and Unklock turned back to the crowd.
“Our great Leader is dead,” Unklock announced sadly. The affect on the crowd was instantaneous. Many of the members began quietly mourning, even crying, for their fallen Leader. Garrak resisted the temptation to laugh at them. They called him weak, but now they cry for someone they were less concerned about then their own lives thirty seconds ago. “I believe … I believe Torgak would like to speak.” The attention of the crowd once again fixed on Torgak, standing above the crowd. The cavern was again silent, save for the occasional moan or sniff of the more emotional members.
“Members of the Stone Axe Clan. It is indeed a tragedy what has happened. The Leader … He was a great ruler, and a great friend to us all,” Torgak said, looking down and trying to hold back tears. Suddenly his head snapped up and fury to rival Garrak’s own burned in his eyes. “And his death will not go unpunished. They have dared to steal our land and hunt in our forest. The Dark Tiger tribe has dared to test our patience by threatening us. They have even dared to kill our hunters from the shadows like the cowards they are and always will be. And now today they dare to assassinate our great Leader. Once again they have gone too far!” With this an angry call of agreement came from the crowd. Torgak bent down and wrenched the arrow from the Leader’s chest, causing the nearby healers to let out a quiet gasp. Further blood from the Leader’s body oozed out, with no heartbeat to hasten its descent to the cold stone ground. Torgak held the arrow above his head.
“I think he’s going to snap it,” Turev whispered sarcastically to Garrak.
“Good work ruining the moment there, Turev,” Garrak retorted. Turev shrugged and grinned, but Garrak clenched his fists and looked away.
“Now more than ever we can not just sit around while those smug bullies go on creating pain and misery in our lives. Whatever else we do we must not give in to their torment! We have suffered a great loss but we can not let this stop our plans from going on. The tribe is trying to shock and scare us, but all they show is that they are too cowardly to show any real power. So they say ‘goodbye’ to us? They expect us to flee?” Torgak yelled into the crowd, getting various calls of defiance in response. Garrak himself was silent.
“We will not flee! Though our Leader has been cruelly murdered by the tribe, we must continue his wishes and take Cornesh. Only then can we launch an effective assault against the tribe, in order to wipe them out completely.” With this, Torgak held the arrow forward, and to the surprise of the crowd, casually tossed it aside. “It would be easy, all too easy, to strike out for what this one arrow has done. But if we hope to stand the ultimate victor, to eradicate their evil forever, we can not act rashly. For now, at least, we must cast aside this insult, this injustice, this cruelty. But rest assured, when it is time for the Leader to be avenged, we will strike back with the force of a thousand arrows!” Torgak cried, slamming down his foot onto the arrow, splintering it into several pieces. The crowd around cheered loudly. Garrak snorted indignantly. Dramatics meant nothing without actions to back them up. After a minute or so the noise died down, and Gandeen got up from her position next to the Leader’s body. Her eyes were red, and she looked unusually sad and disconnected.
“There is something I believe should be made public knowledge,” Gandeen spoke, more to Torgak than the crowd. Garrak only just caught what she said.
“What?” Torgak asked simply.
“The third message,” Gandeen spoke, her voice louder and clearer this time. Torgak paused for a moment, and then nodded silently.
“I must object. I do not think it wise that-” Putrik objected, stepping forward.
“Wise that what? Wise that the clan be kept in the dark while they prepare for war?! If the message had been revealed earlier this might not have happened! It’s too late for anything to be prevented now!” Torgak burst out angrily, the whole crowd silent.
“If we force them to act it may put the whole mission in …” Putrik argued, trailing off as he saw two guards jogging up. They had their bows out and in their hands, and looked disturbed. “What is the problem?”
“Sir. It’s Sharg. He has just arrived, and demands entrance,” one guard said, stopping in the middle of the cavern. Garrak hadn’t known whether Sharg was in the village or not, but his return now was too much of coincidence. Even the worried looking crowd could see that. Garrak had thought Sharg was suspicious, but this was almost too stupid for him to be the traitor. Unless it was a double bluff … Putrik looked shocked and suspicious at this announcement. Gandeen’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. Only Torgak seemed largely unworried.
“What does that hasty fool think he’s doing?” Torgak muttered to himself, then, much louder, “Bring him in.” The guards nodded and jogged back to the entrance. There was a moment of complete silence and stillness, and then the guards re-entered the cavern, Sharg striding quickly between them.
“Torgak! Where is the Leader, you must-” Sharg yelled, seeming strangely calm for the warning that, too late, he was delivering. As soon as he saw the body of the Leader, he stopped. “Oh. Then it seems I was too late.”
“Too late indeed …” Putrik said, his voice lathered in suspicion. Sharg seemed unconcerned. Slowly a suspicious muttering rose from the crowd around, directed at Sharg’s entrance. The two guards’ eyes flicked between Sharg and the nearby crowd uneasily.
“I am truly sorry for our loss, and may never sleep again without wishing I could have returned faster,” Sharg said sadly, addressing Torgak specifically. “However, I fear then it is my duty to pass on instead this information: the names of those traitors responsible for this death!” The effect on the crowd was instant. At the suggestion of treachery the crowd broke into what could only be described as an angry roar. The rest of what Sharg said was completely lost to the crowd, and Garrak. After a few moments Torgak again attempted to get the attention of the crowd.
“SILENCE!” Torgak screamed angrily to the crowd, and then turned to Sharg. Before he could speak though, Putrik interrupted.
“Oh really? Oh really Sharg? You think there are traitors? Sure, why not just announce it to the whole clan! I’m sure you’re really going to catch them now!” Putrik yelled angrily.
“Idiot. I already know who was stupid enough to take gold and allow an assassin entrance. Unless you have been so foolish as to allow the lower guards Iggan Arman and Verkad Betakka escape already, there will be retribution before our eyes,” Sharg countered, looking around at the guards and Uppers standing together. It didn’t take long for him to read the expressions on their faces, and the crowd’s silence as they nervously scanned the caverns confirmed the answer.
“We tried to prevent anyone leaving, but …” one of the guards next to Sharg began, trailing off.
“But you let them escape. Your Leader is murdered and you let those responsible escape!” Sharg shouted exasperatingly, directing his accusation at not just the guards, but the surrounding crowd.
“Have we just,” Putrik said bluntly, glaring accusingly at him. “It just strikes me as somewhat of a coincidence that we have been betrayed, and our Leader killed, and you just happen to turn up only minutes after!”
“I had only just obtained this knowledge when I ran back as fast as I was able. In any case a, shall we say, select group know full well how it is that I have only arrived now,” Sharg said, looking around the cavern. Garrak felt a small shudder as his gaze locked onto Garrak’s own for a second. Or was that just his imagination?
“Be that as it may, you do yourself no favours appearing now. Far be it from me to suggest anything untoward,” Torgak said, and Garrak could have sworn he heard a touch of irony in his voice, “but I would recommend you tell us all why. I fear the clan may not be so supportive.” Torgak waved his hand around, indicating the still suspicious crowd surrounding him.
“I hardly think that would be wise,” Sharg considered snarkily.
“It is too late for anything more now. All that this unnecessary hiding has brought us is the death of our beloved Leader, and others besides. The time for secrecy is over!” Torgak replied forcibly.
“So be it,” Garrak just caught Sharg mutter to himself. Sharg turned to the crowd and spoke loudly, almost mockingly. “I’m sure some of you may have noticed my extended absences during the previous months. During this time I have been taking the place of a highly ranked and respected guard in the Dark Tiger tribe’s village. Using this position, I have been able to overhear information on the tribe’s movements and actions the clan may not have otherwise been able to gain.”
“Hmm. Is this true?” Putrik asked.
“It is true,” Torgak confirmed. “As no doubt the other Leader’s Associates would further be able to confirm.” Cue another gasp from the crowd, Garrak thought, raising his eyebrows. To his lack of surprised, the crowd did indeed let out a collective shocked gasp, or similar sounds. What surprised Garrak the most was that Turev had actually been right about Sharg’s apparent membership of the Leader’s Associates. Although, technically, the group was chosen anew when the next Leader came into power, so in a sense the group hadn’t existed for the past ten minutes. At Torgak’s revelation one of the guards Garrak recognised from the Upper meeting stepped forward angrily.
“Enough of this! I’m sure you have no qualms about it, but while you three are debating this some of us actually object to the secrets of the clan being revealed!” the guard yelled angrily, to which there was a number of confirmations and agreements from the other guards and Uppers nearby, Putrik included.
“I’m sorry to say I have every right to do so, in the interests of the clan. I was the Named,” Torgak said slowly. This did surprise Garrak, and inevitably led to another roar from the crowd. Garrak angrily wondered if it would kill them to be quiet. Anyone would think this was some silly play rather than revelations that could affect their lives, or deaths. Garrak had assumed that, as usual, another member was actually the Leader’s son. Turev, or even himself at a stretch – the latter would explain his ‘unexpected discovery’ – could have been the Leader’s son. If the Leader had no son Torgak might have been sensible replacement, if not for his age; Torgak was no younger than the Leader. The truly surprising thing was that Torgak had announced it to the entire clan. It was one thing to say the time for secrecy was over; it was another to break a long clan tradition!
“You are the Named?!” Putrik exclaimed unbelievingly, staring at Torgak. “The Named is not even supposed to know himself who he is!”
“The Leader and I shared a … special friendship. He asked me one night several years ago, saying that if anything should happen to him, I was the one he trusted the most to continue leading the clan. He trusted me as he trusted nobody else. The Leader talked himself many times about ending the pointless secrecy within the clan, but he was too afraid of the clan’s reactions,” Torgak recalled wistfully, then he glanced down at the body and his face hardened again. “I hold no such qualms.” Garrak raised an eyebrow at his speech. Few knew the Leader personally, but it seemed unlikely any Upper would think such things. Garrak wondered if Torgak wasn’t still collected enough to put his own thoughts into the dead Leader’s mouth in order to justify them without fear of retribution.
“And yet we have no proof but your word,” the guard objected.
“I … I can confirm his story,” Gandeen said shakily. “I was told the identity of the Named for safekeeping. I believe his Associates were too.”
“It is true,” one of the trainers, whom Garrak assumed to be another Associate, spoke from nearby. “Barring any children from the Leader, and there are none, the Named is Torgak.”
“Yes,” Siough confirmed simply.
“In that case I stand corrected,” the guard said reluctantly, after a pause. “However, you have not been initiated into your position, and thus have no such right as yet. Whether you should even be the Leader, having revealed your position, is a matter for discussion.”
“We have no time for discussion!” Torgak spat out. “Tomorrow the Dark Tiger tribe will march on us, and by night they shall attack in force. The time for discussion is over. We can not afford to stick to our traditions if they risk the very lives they were designed to protect!”
“That does not mean-” the guard barely began to argue before being cut off.
“It does not matter! Nothing matters now but to protect our clan, and to ensure none of those bastards go unpunished!” Torgak interrupted angrily. “Tell me this then – I have no doubt there must be discussions, and decisions must be made. But now is not the time! For the moment at least, are there any here who object to my leadership in this war?” With this the cavern fell silent. Torgak turned slowly, coldly surveying the whole crowd. There was nobody who dared to raise a hand.
“Do not expect this to end without reprimands,” the guard said threateningly before stepping back into line with the other guards.
“I do not,” Torgak replied darkly. There was an awkward silence before one member Garrak did not recognise spoke out nervously.
“You, uh. You were going to tell us about the third message?” the member prompted.
“I believe I may be of assistance here,” Sharg said before Torgak or Gandeen could speak. He turned to Torgak, who inclined his head. Sharg continued. “The third message, I learned at the Dark Tiger village, was to be delivered during the night with the death of a highly ranked member, as a show of power.”
“Correct. It was Lurkur who was murdered during his sleep,” Torgak confirmed.
“Indeed. He will be greatly missed,” Sharg said, not sounding like he meant it. “I was fortunate to glance at the message shortly before it was to be ‘delivered’. The message was the longest of those sent, and contained what were largely empty threats.”
“Tell me Sharg. The mysterious ‘allies’ the messages have spoken of, have you learned who they are?” Torgak asked, interrupting.
“Nothing but empty threats. From what I have seen now, the Dark Tiger tribe has no allies of any kind,” Sharg answered after a brief pause. The crowd responded with a mix of relief and mocking of the tribe. Garrak saw Turev cast him a worried glance, and Garrak too found Sharg’s answer strange; he was convinced there must have been something. The tribe were not so well known for empty threats or false promises, and what of the raituri? Perhaps he was the only one. Then again, the phrase ‘from what I have seen’ seemed deliberately vague. Even if Sharg were telling the truth, there could be allies kept secret that would only arrive in the forest tomorrow. And that if Sharg weren’t deliberately concealing something. Garrak still didn’t trust him.
“Could the tribe have been concealing something, even from you?” Torgak asked.
“I very much doubt it. The guard being impersonated was quite high up in their primitive ranking system. If he was high enough to have been informed of the specific nature of the messages, he was most likely high enough to be informed of what their content meant,” Sharg replied. There it was again, Garrak thought. ‘Most likely’.
“Moving back to the message, aside from the threats it also contained a fairly obvious warning that the tribe had a man inside our own clan, a hunter. The message warned that if the clan were not to flee soon, that man would swiftly ‘punish’ our clan. Naturally, I was worried at this. I began to investigate further, but could do little with my position as guard only. Suffice to say I only recently overheard a conversation detailing the assassination of the Leader as well as mentioning the two guards who would be able to give access to their most powerful assassin into our village. I escaped as quickly as I was able, but it seems the assassin arrived first.” Sharg leered at Putrik.
“Had this message become public knowledge I suspect the assassin may not have been so confident, and waited until a less … dramatic moment, allowing me time to convey my information.” The clan didn’t seem so happy to hear that, Garrak noted, rolling his eyes.
“Perhaps, but if it had a dozen worse things could have happened,” Torgak said in an even tone, trying with little success to control more emotions than his own. “There is little point in debating the past – we have only the future to deal with.”
“On that note, the morning grows late,” an Upper said. “You mentioned yourself we had no time for discussion; may I suggest we resume our preparations?”
“You may,” with this, Torgak turned around and began to survey the crowd again. “Fellow members of the Stone Axe Clan. It seems while the Leader called us together, it must now be me that orders us apart. We must return to our preparations and plans as ordered, even if the one who ordered them is gone. We have no time to mourn, no time to cry, no time to regret, although in time there will be. We must bond together and struggle onwards to strive to survive. It’s what the Leader would have wanted.” With this, Torgak turned away and began to walk slowly towards the cavern exit, his head held down. There was an awkward silence before Unklock stood up on the platform.
“This meeting is dismissed,” he said, finishing the meeting in the traditional manner. As soon as he had spoke the crowd began to quietly exit the cavern, continually glancing back as the healers wrapped up the body of Leader to be buried later – leaving the head exposed.

When he had stormed out of the village centre, Garrak later considered, he hadn’t actually expected to be back inside the same cavern only eight hours later. Muttering to himself Garrak sat up and attempted (for a third time, and still in vain) to adjust the small amount of straw he was lying on into a comfortable position. With how little they had been given Garrak began to wonder if maybe he should just give up and compress the whole lot into a crude pillow. It wouldn’t have been so bad if he actually had any kind of a mattress, cloth, or for that matter even any spare soft articles of clothing. Unfortunately for him, and the rest of the clan sleeping – hypothetically at least, the number of people who could actually sleep given the condition and circumstances was debatable – all such convenient things had been packed up and loaded onto wooden carts for transport later in the night.

There had been a minor argument between a small group of members, lead by Turev, and the guards to leave them out but it wasn’t long before an Upper came along and effectively told the group to shut the hell up or they’d be left behind. As if that threat wasn’t getting just a bit old by this point. Then again, with the day of the Dark Tiger tribe invasion coming closer by the hour, it did seem to be getting more effective through repetition, whether it was put into practice or not.

The reason just about the whole clan was sleeping (or not, as the case may be) in the village centre was fairly simple. Not long after the clan meeting had been dismissed Torgak had called another Upper meeting, leaving the rest of the clan to prepare for the invasion on their own. Barely a quarter-hour later Drugtar had marched up to Garrak and coldly informed him that the clan were to be finishing preparations before the night, and would spend the first half of the night sleeping in the cavern in order to be fully, or at least half, refreshed for the invasion beginning at an ominous sounding midnight.

So, the guards still awake could keep watch over the clan far more effectively, and wake the rest of them faster when the time came. It had also helped the Uppers case that shortly after the clan meeting had ended, some woman had stumbled upon another corpse, but this one of the traitor Iggan. The corpse was found not far from the caverns, with its head gruesomely torn from the body. Both were dumped in a shallow grave to avoid the smell, and nobody asked any questions. Garrak had shared a look with Turev, assuming the raging raituri was the killer, but not even Turev had wanted to speak another word about it.

Of course the question of what the clan were going to be sleeping on was eventually raised, starting Turev’s protest. Actually, Garrak was more annoyed about what they had to sleep in. Since he was one of the ‘peace emissaries’ he had to be able to sneak into Cornesh initially undetected and thus was wearing only thin, dark clothing provided from the armoury before it was completely packed up. While it might have been the best choice for sneaking around at night, it didn’t help the feel of hard rock beneath Garrak or freezing night air drifting in through the cavern entrance.

Still, it was hardly fair for Garrak to criticise Turev’s angry protest (which he had quite excessively, if mostly in jest, after it failed) given his own outburst during the clan meeting. Remembering the anger he had felt sent a second shiver through Garrak’s spine. It was the first time in a long, long while Garrak could remember feeling such intense emotions. It wasn’t just about the Leader, even if Garrak had good reason to be angry about that, but the whole situation that had been forced upon him and the whole clan. Normally he would want nothing more than the two groups to live at least neutrally together, if not peacefully, but at the time all wished was their destruction. Garrak had still known logically that he was helpless to do much, but just for one irrational moment he would have sworn that he should have had the power. If only rage could provide such skill …

Garrak sighed, rolling over to try to sleep on his other side. His temper had proven to be a problem before, but that morning had marked something different. As much as he hated the thought (which was, Garrak considered, only slightly ironic) he had to consider the possibility that it might not have just been a one-off occasion. The stress was only going to get worse in the coming days, weeks, or even months. If he couldn’t control himself he could prove a serious liability to the clan. Perhaps once the infiltration of Cornesh had been completed, he should inform Drugtar. Garrak didn’t exactly want to spend time with him at the moment, or for a quite a while, but having experienced mood swings himself Drugtar was probably the one person Garrak knew who could appreciate his situation.

Garrak groaned quietly to himself and sat up. What with the uncomfortableness of the cave, the anticipation of the day ahead, and the thoughts buzzing unpleasantly around his head, Garrak knew there was no chance of him getting to sleep like this. There was too much edgy energy in him. He needed a walk to clear his head, or something like that anyway. This wasn’t the kind of thing he had training in

Garrak stood up from his small pile of hay, lifted his crutch and looked around in what little light came through from the torches outside. Most of the clan were at least giving the appearance of sleep, but many were openly awake and whispering to each other, particularly the children. There were half a dozen sitting around the speaker’s platform, etching patterns and pictures onto it using smaller stones. Normally the Leader would forbid such graffiti … nobody cared to stop them now, when the little scratched hunters might outlast the real ones. None of the children even looked happy with their work.

Garrak walked slowly through the cavern, taking care not to disturb anyone still lying on the ground. When he reached the exit of the cavern two guards stepped forward to block his progress.

“What are you doing?” the left guard asked politely. “I can’t sleep. I’m going for a walk,” Garrak answered bluntly. “While Torgak has insisted we are to allow all initiated members

the freedom to move about as they see fit before midnight, he also strongly advises that-” the other guard spoke forcibly, but as if by rote. “Torgak, can shove it,” Garrak interrupted rudely. He had had just about enough of his superiors trying, and more often than not succeeding, in controlling his actions. The right guard opened his mouth angrily to speak, but the left guard held up his hand to stop him. “Forget it, Thourg. It’s been a stressful time for all of us,” the guard said gently. To Garrak, “You can leave, but please stay within the village boundaries and return at least a quarter-hour before midnight.” The two guards stepped aside and Garrak walked past silently. As he left the village centre he looked around, and could see a number of other guards standing watch or patrolling the area. Not one of them gave Garrak a second glance as he walked down the path towards the storage building.

As Garrak walked around the village he was a little annoyed but not slightly surprised to pass guards everywhere. Judging by how many he saw, Garrak guessed most of the guards, and a considerable number of the hunters were out patrolling the village. He had wanted to walk to try to get his mind off the recent events, but seeing armed guards everywhere certainly wasn’t helping that. Garrak sighed as he changed his direction to avoid another hunter, pushing his way through a clump of trees. To his surprise he could see someone else walking slowly on the other side, not a guard but someone dressed only in light clothing and unarmed. Garrak picked up his pace and approached. As he moved closer the person stopped and turned around, and Garrak was surprised to see it was Clarence.

“Hello. It’s Garrak isn’t it?” Clarence asked, walking back towards Garrak until they stood close enough for conversation.
“Yes. I’m surprised to see anyone else out here tonight,” Garrak commented.
“I couldn’t sleep. After seeing our Leader die in front of my eyes, and not being able to do anything about it, I’m not sure I want to. I often have nightmares,” Clarence said by way of explanation.
“Me neither,” Garrak said awkwardly, falling into silence. Now that it came to actually talking, he wasn’t entirely sure what it was he should say, or for that matter if he really wanted any company at all. Maybe he should have just left her alone.
“Did you come out here to walk as well?” Clarence asked after a moment. “I find doing exercise tends to distract the mind from unpleasant memories, but at the same time focuses the mind for what it needs to think of.” Garrak pondered that for a moment, reaching a conclusion.
“That doesn’t really make any sense,” Garrak replied. Clarence laughed quietly.
“No, not really. But there you go,” Clarence admitted.
“Anyway. Do you mind if I walk with you?” Garrak asked hesitantly. He hardly knew Clarence at all, but his only alternative seemed to be another watchful Upper in armour.
“Why?” Clarence asked, surprised.
“Safety in numbers right?” Garrak said, then gave up and sighed. “I just need some company.”
“Sure, I guess. You fought your way out of the Dark Tiger tribe, you’d probably protect me better than those guards anyway,” Clarence smiled, turning to walk down the path. Garrak paced next to her, and began walking beside. At first Garrak made an effort to keep up, but after a moment Clarence slowed down without word to accompany for his injury.
“You know I was the one that sent the message to the tribe? I thought it wasn’t public knowledge,” Garrak asked.
“Not officially. The message hasn’t been announced by the Uppers, but most of us women figured out there would have been one. Then of course this afternoon the story has been circulating the whole clan, from some idler named Turev,” Clarence explained. “A friend of yours?”
“I guess. That’s not exactly how it happened though,” Garrak admitted.
“That doesn’t really surprise me. It’s a pity though – it was a good story,” Clarence said.
“All right, all right. What exactly was being said about me?” Garrak asked, giving in to curiosity.
“Oh, what wasn’t said about you?” Clarence smiled. “If the story were as true as told you were to have evaded a few dozen tribe guards hunting to kill you, single-handedly infiltrated the village, defended your old master from a dozen vicious attackers …”
“Hey, that’s not technically a lie. I did defend him,” Garrak interrupted.
“And?” Clarence prompted, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, there were six weak prisoners there, only one of whom was actually attacking him, and it ended in me getting a number of those injuries that you treated earlier,” Garrak summarised.
“Ah. I don’t suppose you fought off half a dozen of the tribe’s top hunters or attempted to assassinate Hargash either?” Clarence continued. Garrak actually laughed at the last one. There was an old debate over who would win in a straight fight between Torgak and Hargash, and the suggestion of assassinating Hargash was occasionally joked as a faster method of suicide than a cliff and gravity combined. It was even rumoured that Hargash had once coerced a captive into casting a spell that prevented him from ever needing to sleep. It was all in good jest until you were held captive with an old mentor bearing the scars from meeting him … Well, Garrak considered, there was at least one near-impossible feat he had managed to achieve.
“No, that would be too easy. I did better than that,” Garrak proclaimed.
“Oh?” Clarence asked.
“I convinced Sharg to let me use his shield,” Garrak boasted, grinning at the honestly shocked expression on Clarence’s face.

It was around a half-hour later that Garrak returned to the caverns. After his initial awkwardness in speaking to Clarence, the two had begun to relax and talk freely as they slowly walked around the village. Although he had initially left the caverns in hope of being alone to sort out his own thoughts, the meeting with Clarence had been lucky for him. After Garrak had tired of recalling his ordeal again, the topic of conversation had quickly left that and ventured onto more ordinary things, from discussing relationships among the clan to even the extremely unpleasant weather Garrak had almost forgotten for a few moments. Despite the hour of night and ominous presence of the guards, Garrak had almost felt a sense of normality return to him – something he had been sorely missing during the past week.

After some time walking he and Clarence had returned to the front of the village centre. Although Garrak did not want to go back into the crowded caverns, his exhaustion had convinced him to retire. Strangely, as the two arrived Clarence seemed to become more anxious. Garrak had lightly questioned her on this, but she had shrugged it off and mentioned that she had something she had to do. Owing to the strangeness of his own situation, Garrak knew better than to enquire further.

Garrak walked back into the cavern, only briefly stopped again by the same two guards who had initially barred his progress. As he slowly stepped back to his designated position for sleeping, he noticed that far fewer of the members in the area were still awake. However worried or restless they might be, it seemed exhaustion from the previous few days’ preparations had won over. As Garrak lay down on his own small pile of straw he found that the same seemed true of him, and it was only moments after his head relaxed onto the cold rock floor that sleep took him.

As Garrak woke up, he felt a brief moment of disorientation, wondering where he was. Vague memories of dreams were taunting him: Raituri chasing him, snowstorms, and a lingering sense of loss for a mentor he couldn’t save. It was still dark, why was there so much noise? After a moment the recent events painfully returned to mind, and remembered he was in the cavern. Shivering slightly, Garrak opened his eyes to see Turev standing next to him, a wooden bucket held above.

“Gah!” Garrak yelled, rolling over the rocks to one side as Turev began to tip it forward. A small stream of water and several chunks of ice slowly splashed down where he had been sleeping before Turev caught himself and lowered the bucket.

“Ah, damn it. I could have sworn I had you,” Turev said in annoyance, placing the bucket back on the ground. Garrak quickly rose to his feet, glaring at Turev and another member he recognised as one of Turev’s looser, but more roguish friends. The other member laughed and walked off, leaving Turev alone to smirk. Garrak glanced around the cavern to see everyone inside arising and collecting themselves. Up on the stone platform Unklock stood, loudly ringing the morning bell. Judging by the lack of light coming in from the entrance, and the number of groans and mutters coming from the members, Garrak guessed it was still far before morning.

“Is it time to go already?” Garrak asked, folding his arms and shivering against the cold.
“Close enough. We’ve got a half-hour to get ready,” Turev said, apparently not to thrilled about the wake-up call himself. “At least, I do. You’ve got half that.” Garrak groaned quietly to himself and stretched.
“Do you know who we report to?” Garrak asked, following the lead of a number of others in the cavern and jogging on the spot to help get his blood flowing, or as was more prominent in his mind, to get warmed up. Despite the number of people in the cavern, the air felt as cold as ever.
“To the group leaders. You’re in luck, though. As a member of the ‘peace delegation’” Turev said, putting on a mocking accent. “You have to report to Torgak. He’s going to be leading you guys this time. If you ask me, he should be with the war group. Wasted talent.” Turev suddenly shook his head. “Wait, why am I telling you this? It’s up on the damn roster; the old Leader’s Assistants are reading it out.”
“Because you’re such a generous hard-working member,” Garrak smiled, Turev rolling his eyes.
“You know, it’s not too late for me to splash you,” Turev said threateningly, holding the bucket up again. Garrak raised an eyebrow.
“Hey, don’t make me hit you with my crutch,” Garrak threatened, reaching out for his branch that was lying nearby. “Where did you get that, anyway?” Turev glanced to the side.
“Well, uh, it’s supposed to be drinking water, but come on! They’ve got a whole line of them outside; they’re not going to miss a little bit. Some weird girl was swirling her fingers through this one anyway. And that would have been so good if you’d just stayed asleep for another second or two,” Turev replied. Garrak laughed quietly despite himself, and began to pick up the hay he had been sleeping on. That afternoon they had been instructed that it could be discarded, but it had to be moved out of the caverns. Garrak wondered why–
“If the false gods could damn you …!” Garrak exclaimed angrily, feeling a freezing chill on his back. He swung around to see Turev laughing his head off and dashing away quickly, the bucket swinging dangerously in his hands. Garrak frowned at his retreating back and picked up the rest of the hay.

Outside the cavern, Garrak found that the Peace Delegation was already starting to organise themselves for the infiltration of Cornesh. As promised, Torgak was standing nearby the roster with a number of the members already waiting. Torgak looked edgy, and didn’t seem able to stand still for more than a few moments before switching his weight to his other foot, glancing around or some other trivial action. Garrak wondered if he really was suitable to lead the mission in his current state. Then again, he wondered if he was really fit to be involved in such an important mission in his current state. Garrak remembered all too well the warning he had received when they first entered Cornesh.

Garrak dumped the hay on the nearby pile that had started to accumulate near the cavern entrance, and took a long drink from the buckets standing nearby. As thirsty as he was, it almost hurt to drink the near freezing water. Judging by the number of full buckets still around, Garrak guessed he wasn’t the only one with the problem.

As Garrak walked towards the roster, he saw that the two former Leader’s Assistants were indeed standing nearby reading it loudly, as well as Unklock doing the same. Garrak wondered vaguely who Torgak would choose as his own Assistants, or if he would even require them since his identity was known. As he approached the roster, he felt a mild amusement in that while many were crowding around the speakers, far fewer were actually able to read the detailed plan on the roster itself, allowing Garrak to approach it and glance across it quickly.

The Peace Delegation was to be leaving the village at midnight, and was to travel under the command of Torgak, to whom they would report before leaving. They were to travel as swiftly as possible, staying close together to reach Cornesh before the third hour before dawn. Garrak groaned as he read this – the group would no doubt have to jog for a considerable portion, if not all, of the way towards the village to reach in this time. And here was Garrak with a crutch. At least they wouldn’t have to worry about keeping warm, but Garrak was starting to reconsider that icy water.

Once they were there, under the command of Torgak they would split into ten equal groups of five, with one higher ranked group leader in each. Garrak wasn’t entirely pleased to see that he was in the group with Torgak – as well as Drugtar. He wondered if perhaps Torgak had placed them together with him deliberately to make sure he could watch over them. Then again, if he considered them a liability, why not just swap them out of the group for someone else? Maybe it was just coincidence. Each group would then infiltrate Cornesh via a different weak spot around the village. If any guards were encountered they were to be silenced, with non-lethal force if possible, by the group leader.

Once the groups were inside they were to move towards the mayor’s house and meet there within a half-hour. Together, the groups would awaken the mayor with the Leader’s, although Garrak supposed that it was now Torgak’s, proposal for a reasonable peace treaty. If the treaty was rejected, and all peaceful attempts to persuade the mayor otherwise had failed, the war group would be forced to move in and take the mayor and his guards as hostages. Garrak glanced over the plans for the war group to see that they were to be arriving a quarterhour after the peace delegation and stay silently hidden in the forest for a half-hour, when they would enter unless told otherwise after a successful treaty.

Either way, the war group and the ten group leaders would stay within the village to make sure their welcome was still warm while the remaining of the delegation would exit the village and help with the travelling and loading of supplies from the clan’s deliveries. Garrak was at least relieved to see he was scheduled only to help with the unloading and re-organising of the supplies; he would not actually be moving back and forth between the villages after all. Garrak took a quick glance over the other plans for the rest of the clan, but found nothing unsuspected or of particular interest.

The area was much more crowded as Garrak moved towards Torgak. It seemed the clan had fully risen, if not awoken, and were moving on with their tasks. Thankfully most of the crowd appeared to have taken to waiting inside the tenuously warmer caverns; most would not be leaving the village until a half-hour after Garrak would be. The general air of the crowd was certainly not one eager and joyful of the task that lay ahead, but at least one that was willing to do it anyway. Above all this lay a general aura of nervousness, and except for the loud voices of the readers and those giving orders, the night was mostly quiet.

Garrak noticed the group around Torgak had grown, and he quickly walked towards them. He wasn’t sure exactly what the time was, but he knew it would not pay to be tardy on this night. Garrak approached the group, and waited patiently behind several others as Torgak glanced around. After a few moments he glanced at Garrak, and nodded slightly in recognition. At this, Garrak stood back with the rest of the crowd and waited. It took barely a minute before he too felt edgy.

It was the waiting that was the worst part, Garrak reflected. While he had been walking earlier that night he hadn’t felt like this, not when he had been avoiding Turev or even checking the details of the infiltration. At least in any of those situations he had been doing something, as trivial as it might have been. The quietness of the crowd and the atmosphere of the night hardly helped either. He wondered if all that the clan really needed to be effective in the near-inevitable was not a long motivation speech or a well coordinated plan, but a comedian or travelling act to lighten the mood.

“Garrak,” a voice from behind Garrak called. Garrak frowned and turned around to see Drugtar standing nearby. He too seemed wary, and looked slightly self-conscious, which was certainly unusual. Garrak might feel calm now, but he had no wish to speak with Drugtar in the hours before the reached Cornesh. There was too much at stake for him to risk setting off either of their moods again.

“I need to briefly speak with you,” Drugtar said, motioning for Garrak to follow him out of the group, around Torgak, and behind the now-empty armoury. Garrak sighed. As much as he may not want to speak, Drugtar was nevertheless his superior. Then again, remembering what Turev had said, Garrak almost wouldn’t have minded being assigned a undignified job once they had taken Cornesh. At least he might be safer, and still helping. Garrak glanced up at Torgak, who seemed no keener to leave than before, then followed Drugtar behind the building. As Drugtar turned to face him, he looked decidedly awkward. Garrak, having no particular interest to spare him this moment, followed the traditional clan protocols and remained silent before his superior spoke.

“Garrak. As we will be working together in the same infiltration group, Torgak has instructed me to speak to you briefly before we leave. Although, this meeting is not entirely against my wishes either,” Drugtar began. Get to the point, Garrak though to himself, glancing back at those waiting of the peace delegation. Drugtar sighed, and continued. “Look, I have little doubt you’d rather not deal, let alone work, with me after this morning. I can’t say I particularly want to risk having another bad moment like this morning either. Nevertheless Torgak has chosen for us to work together for this very reason. If we are to successfully overcome the Dark Tiger tribe we all need to deal with our problems and stick together. I don’t expect us to have any more than a working relationship if you don’t want it, but I need to know that we can still trust each other in the middle of action, and rely upon our skills if not our friendship.”

“Perhaps it would be best if we did not having any other than necessary communication until this is over,” Garrak agreed, although to himself he was still irritated. All that and do you think he would go so far as to apologise for the morning? No. “But for the better of the clan I will work with you or anyone as required or ordered.”

“Good. Now, we’d better get back to the group,” Drugtar said, relaxing. He walked back past Garrak towards the rest of the peace delegation and Garrak followed silently. As the two returned to the edge of the group, Garrak noticed Drugtar making brief eye contact with Torgak, followed by a swift nod. Garrak and Drugtar returned to the back of the group and stood to attention. Garrak noticed that it looked like all fifty of the group were now there, and Torgak cleared his throat to get their attention.

“By my judgement we are already a small amount behind time. As such, I will skip the speeches. You know your duties and responsibilities, and no one will disagree when I say there has been enough talk,” Torgak said, unintentionally causing a number of the group to give small smiles. “Before we leave I must make clear several small changes to the plan. To begin with, as our former Leader is passed, and a number of our most highly ranked members will also be quickly following us in the war division, the command of the remaining members shall temporarily be granted to Unklock in lieu of his presence our mission. His duties shall be basic only – the organisation and planning has previously been dealt with and shall not otherwise be deviated from for the remaining groups.”

Garrak was surprised to hear this. The position of message reader was mostly as a figurehead for the Uppers only, and his actual ranking within the clan was comparatively low. Then again, commanding the delivery of supplies and the movement of the clan would hopefully required no deviation from the basic plan, so perhaps he was chosen simply because he was known by all.

“Secondly, due to the need to remain silent and undetected as a group by any of the Dark Tiger tribe that may be watching the village, we shall be travelling not as a whole but in previously delegated five member bands until we reach Cornesh. From there, we shall briefly conjoin for the final briefing before entering the village. While travelling it is imperative that you remain as silent as practically possible. Additionally, you must take care to stay close together so that no delays will occur,” Torgak continued, starting to almost smile slightly.

“Incidentally, the final group to reach the briefing outside of Cornesh shall be assigned to lavatory cleaning duty for the whole of Cornesh for the following week, regardless of rank. So don’t be last.” The Uppers amongst the group were laughably shocked, but even Garrak frowned slightly. Not that he objected to this added ‘incentive’ in general, but he couldn’t help but feel it was slightly unfair towards him with an injured foot. Then again, if Torgak was in the group, Garrak got the feeling he wouldn’t let them be last. Either way it was going to be exactly the kind of travelling Clarence had recommended avoiding.

“Are there any orders that require further clarification before we leave?” Torgak asked, pausing only a second before continuing. “In that case, we must make haste. Move into your groups and travel separately through the forest. I shall speak to you again outside of Cornesh.”

At this the different groups, which had already been edging together since Torgak’s threat of extra duties, quickly began to join and begin hastily jogging away from the village centre towards the southern forest. Torgak himself did not seem particularly worried and waited, if still edgily, for the rest of the group to move to him. Garrak walked forward with Drugtar, and saw two other members already waiting beside Torgak. Garrak presumed these two were Petaan and Razuke, the other members who were in the same group. The two looked not much older than Garrak, and he guessed they had only recently been initiated themselves. Garrak recognised Petaan as another of the loose friends Torgak hung around with sometimes. As Garrak walked up he noticed the two looking rather dismayed.

“You’ve got to be kidding me! We’ve got a cripple in our group?!” Razuke exclaimed. Torgak turned towards the member and frowned, and Garrak glared at him. To be called a cripple was a harsh insult in the clan. Garrak preferred to think of himself as temporarily wounded in action.

“Garrak was designated for this group before he obtained his injury. As unfortunate as it is, there is no time to be changing and reorganising now; we must simply continue as is,” Torgak explained coldly.

“Yeah, but this sucks. He won’t be able to move as fast with an injury. We’re going to come last now,” Petaan muttered to himself in annoyance.

“Unless you would like to carry Garrak, then I’d advise you simply stay focussed on keeping up yourself,” Torgak suggested. Petaan and Razuke took one look at Garrak and remained silent. Garrak himself said nothing. “Garrak played a minor but important part in the events of the last week, and was wounded while on a dangerous mission in the Dark Tiger tribe village. If I am correct, the most you two have done this week is lost yourselves and returned several hours late, empty handed, from hunting. Now we have an important mission to undertake, and if you can’t control your tongue during it I shall assign you two to the chores regardless. Now let’s move.”

Garrak couldn’t help but take some small joy from the shocked and embarrassed looks on the two’s faces after Torgak had finished. Petaan and Razuke glanced at each other, and set off at a jog after the rest of the departed groups, with Torgak behind them. Garrak sighed and began to run as fast as he could using the crutch, which wasn’t terribly fast, but was rather painful. After a moment Drugtar came up to Garrak and offered him a hand.
“Thank you,” Garrak said, taking his arm and leaning partly on Drugtar.
“We can’t afford any delay,” Drugtar said abruptly as the two began jogging quickly after Torgak.
The journey to Cornesh was a long and painful one for Garrak, but largely uneventful. Once Torgak had reached the edge of the village he had insisted that all five travel together, and as a result Garrak had to move much more quickly than he could easily manage, even with Drugtar helping him. Before even a half-hour had passed Garrak’s uninjured leg was aching from the extra weight it was taking, and the constant thudding of the crutch onto the ground had begun to hurt his arm. Garrak imagined Drugtar couldn’t be feeling much better either, but neither had complained. Petaan and Razuke, however, had needed to be told by Torgak to be quiet several times before they finally remained silent.

Although the two seemed fairly energetic at first, it wasn’t long before Garrak noticed them struggling to keep up the pace that Torgak set. After an hour or so had passed Torgak had stopped suddenly, and ordered Petaan to help Garrak in place of Drugtar. Petaan began to do so, rather reluctantly, and Garrak could see Drugtar was grateful to again jog unhindered. Another hour passed before Petaan was replaced by Razuke. Torgak, it seemed, was still too proud to aid another, but Garrak didn’t mind. He was just grateful that his injuries had been taken into consideration for the journey.

When the group had finally neared the end of their journey, Garrak was exhausted. His whole body seemed to be aching and he was dripping with sweat despite the cold night. Despite this, he felt more awake than usual. As the group reached a familiar looking small clearing near Cornesh Garrak felt another surge of adrenaline. Torgak motioned for the others to stay still, and he listened carefully to the night air. After a few moments he frowned and stepped closer to the group.
“It’s quiet,” Torgak whispered, slightly concerned.
“Too quiet?” Petaan suggested. “Maybe we were just the first

here.” Torgak shook his head.
“We have been moving at a reduced speed, for the sake of
Garrak. Although we were not last, there will have been several groups
ahead of us. I instructed this as the meeting point – they should be
here,” Torgak worried. Garrak looked around the forest and caught a
glimpse of a light out of the corner of his eye. When he turned his head
it was gone.
“I think I saw something towards the village,” Garrak said. “I saw something as well. It looked like a brief signal,” Drugtar
confirmed, facing towards the Cornesh and squinting in the darkness. “Those fools! I told them specifically not to …” Torgak began
angrily, cutting himself off mid-sentence. “Never mind. Follow me,
quietly.” Torgak began to sneak slowly back into the forest, constantly
glancing down at his feet to avoid stepping on anything. Petaan
followed suit, with Drugtar, Razuke and Garrak trailing unaided
behind. As Garrak followed Razuke into the forest, he heard the faint
noises of feet thudding from behind, and guessed the next the group
behind them was arriving. It was a least something of a relief to know
they had not been last, even if his legs were paying for it now. Torgak
stopped and turned to face Petaan, whispering something to him
Garrak couldn’t hear. Petaan nodded, and turned around to move
quietly back towards Garrak. Torgak motioned for the others to
continue as Petaan sneaked passed Garrak back to the clearing. Barely a minute later Petaan was out of sight, and Torgak
stopped abruptly. He turned around, gesturing at the others gravely to
stop and pointing towards the ground where he was standing, between
two oak trees and just in front of a large bush. Drugtar, Razuke and
Garrak silently gathered around the spot. When Garrak came closer, he
was shocked to see a corpse lying in the dirt.
Torgak squatted in front of the body and Garrak quickly
followed suit to get a better view through the dark shadows cast by the
forest. The corpse was dressed in the same light clothing as Garrak,
and was holding a sheet of parchment in his right hand. It was too dark
for Garrak to see what was on the parchment, but he guessed it could
have been a sketch of Cornesh, or perhaps instructions for the group’s
entry. To Garrak’s horror he found he recognised the face; it had been
Porl, a middle aged member of the clan who had once lived north of
the Great Divide. He had joined the clan only recently as he grew bored of city life, but his stories and tales were well known among the clan for keeping younger members entertained while their parents were out hunting. Porl’s body was riddled with arrows, but the arrow design was unfamiliar. It was not like the Dark Tiger tribe’s, but much more simple and well made. It looked as though Porl had only been killed very recently; Garrak could see the blood around him was still wet. Garrak felt suddenly dangerously exposed, despite the thick growth around the group, and he could see Razuke looking around
nervously.
“How could this have happened?” Drugtar asked angrily. “This
was to be a secret mission!”
“It should still be,” Torgak replied, looking more closely at the
arrows. “These arrows are too perfect to have been made by the Dark
Tigers. He must have been spotted by the night-guards of Cornesh. We
must tread carefully.” Again Garrak could hear faint footsteps from
behind them, another group arriving back at the clearing.
“What now? If Porl was seen the guard may have been alerted.
We will not be able to enter Cornesh with their whole defence on our
back!” Drugtar said, kicking a clod of dirt towards the bushes. Torgak
glared at him and Drugtar stood still.
“We must find the rest of the group. If the guard has been woken
we can still fight our way in once the war group arrives. Cornesh’s
militia is small; even without the element of surprise our hunters
should be able to pick them off easily with longbows from the forest
while those with strong enough armour charge. We are hidden – they
are not,” Torgak decreed, standing up straight. Garrak stood, leaning
on his crutch. More noises came from behind; Garrak caught the sound
of Petaan yelling something about orders. Torgak edged forward
around the bush with the others closely behind him, silently, leaving
Porl’s body in the dirt. There was no doubt a proper burial would have
to be arranged later, but for now they had no time to delay. After a few moments Torgak gestured for the group to turn to the
left. If Porl had been spotted by the night-guard at Cornesh, they
would need to avoid the clearing around Cornesh in case they too were
spotted. Moving carefully through the bushes, Razuke suddenly spoke
out.
“Shouldn’t we take a quick look at Cornesh? I mean, just to see
if the guard is out there or not?” Razuke suggested. Torgak paused for
a moment to consider this.
“Okay,” he agreed after a moment. “But move slowly. It’s
unlikely the guard will be outside of the Cornesh perimeter wall yet, as
it would be too dangerous for them, but if they don’t know how many
of us there are nearby we may not have entirely lost the element of
surprise.” Torgak turned right again and began to move slowly
forward, with the others beside him. Garrak followed slightly behind,
taking extra care about where he placed his crutch before every step.
One slip this close could alert the whole guard. Through the ferns
ahead Garrak caught a quick glimpse of the wall surrounding Cornesh.
It seemed normal. When Garrak slowly pushed aside the ferns to see
the entrance, he was shocked to see otherwise.
Although the village was just the same as Garrak had last seen it,
in the clearing around the village Garrak could see a large number of
poles and hammocks had been erected, he guessed several hundred in
total. Several crude, small wooden shelters had been built out from the
of the village wall. Around this a large circular ditch had been dug,
although Garrak couldn’t see exactly how deep it was. As if this
weren't evidence enough, the most horrifying sight was the
overwhelming number of heavily armoured soldiers standing guard
around the village. Each was carrying a weapon, mostly two handed
pikes and longbows. There were far too many to even begin counting,
but if Garrak had to make an estimate there must have been a thousand
of them around the whole village, maybe a third currently awake. He
couldn’t fathom why they were here, but they were not from Cornesh
and there was little chance even the entire Stone Axe clan armed could
break through them, let alone the select war group. Safer to fight the
Dark Tiger tribe, even.
At Garrak’s side, Razuke had also seen the waiting army. Garrak
heard him utter a single profanity, and suddenly the resting soldiers
sprang to life. A nearby company of archers turned towards the group,
falling into a fan formation, facing various points to either side of
where Garrak was standing. Garrak could see them drawing arrows
from their quivers and loading the longbows to fire. A large number of
soldiers instantly stood to attention, drawing their weapons and facing
towards the group. Garrak didn’t wait to see any more, but pivoted on
the spot and ran.
Garrak had barely turned around when the first volley of arrows
hit. All around him the arrows flew, their aim scattered in an attempt to
locate the danger. Garrak heard Razuke scream in agony, and from the
corner of his eye Garrak saw him collapse to the ground, his stomach deeply pierced by a single arrow. Blood and something worse spilled from the wound and he knew without a doubt that Razuke was lost. Garrak dived to the ground as the second volley was fired, with a tighter aim. Most of the arrows struck the ground or plants around him, but one punched through a thick bush and punctured his left shoulder. Garrak let out an involuntary yell and clutched his shoulder in agony, dropping his crutch but struggling to his feet and staggering away as fast as possible. From close nearby he could hear Torgak and Drugtar fleeing as well, and was dully glad they were still able to do
so.
“Run! Get back to the clearing! We have to stop the others!”
Torgak yelled, his voice pained. Garrak knew what he meant – they
had to stop any of the other groups approaching the village, or they too
would be attacked. Despite all his fear and pain, fury coursed through
Garrak. The army had to have come from Elitar, but who had alerted
them to threats from any barbarians?!
Garrak instinctively ducked as another volley of arrows was
fired into the trees, but there was too much flora in their path for any
to hit their targets. Garrak strained to hear how close the archers were,
but after a moment was relieved not to hear any movement but their
own. It seemed the archers had not given chase. At least, not for the
moment. If their task now was only to defend the village there would
be little point in chasing any surviving attackers; unless they were
being fired at from within the forest, it would only be an unnecessary
risk to send any soldiers into the forest after them.
It seemed only a moment later that Garrak burst into the small
clearing in the forest. Unlike when they had sneaked away from it only
a short time ago, there were now twenty-five or so other members of
the peace delegation standing around nervously. Petaan was standing
apart from the groups, peering worried into the forest. As Garrak
entered the clearing the groups burst into frightened noise and
questions. Garrak collapsed onto the dirt, still grasping his shoulder. “Garrak?! What happened? We heard screaming! What–” Petaan
began, stopping as Torgak and Drugtar also emerged. Garrak looked
up at the two and was shocked to see Torgak was also badly wounded,
bleeding from his left arm and leg, and panting heavily. Drugtar
seemed uninjured, but both were shocked and furious.
“QUIET!” Torgak yelled, giving a wave of his uninjured hand,
as if his shout alone had not silence the groups. From the forest Garrak
was slightly relieved to see another group of five arrive, looking shocked at the scene in front of them. Torgak held his leg painfully, attempting to reduce the bleeding. From the back of the groups two women ran up. After a moment’s hesitation they ripped their own
shirts off, and each moved towards either Torgak or Garrak. “This will hurt,” the nearer said to Garrak. Garrak frowned for
barely a moment before she grabbed the arrow in Garrak’s shoulder
and carefully, but surprisingly strongly, pulled it free. Garrak bit his
tongue trying not to scream as agony flooded through his arm. After a
moment the pain lessened to a throb, and Garrak tried his best to relax
as the woman began to bind his shoulder with her shirt. Next to him,
Torgak appeared to be getting the same treatment for his leg. “Drugtar … report,” Torgak order quietly, gritting his teeth
against the obvious pain. Drugtar nodded, and turned towards the
worried groups.
“I’ll be blunt,” Drugtar began. “Cornesh knew we were coming.
I can only assume it is Elitar’s army defending them. There are …” “Around one thousand armed, armoured and trained men,”
Garrak supplied through gritted teeth, sitting up and trying to avoid
any further pressure on his already aching foot.
“They don’t appear to be giving chase, but they’ve completely
surrounded the village. Razuke and Porl are dead, the other three
groups presumed to be also,” Drugtar said, his tone getting angrier as
he talked. “What we don’t know is how Cornesh knew we were
coming, or how the hell we are supposed to reason with them now!”
The groups were horrified at this news, and many were glancing
through the trees as if waiting for the army to appear and attack.
Garrak noticed Petaan looked especially devastated. Next to him,
Torgak took a step away from the woman, and looked around at the
groups. Garrak saw his eyes glaring in uncharacteristic fury. “The mission is cancelled. We can’t get in with the army outside,
and their presence makes it clear they will not discuss any treaty. We
have scarcely a chance of forcing our way through if our entire clan
were ready, but they could easily retreat into the village and defend it
from there and we are spread across the forest,” Torgak explained,
visibly struggling to keep his anger under control. “Whoever it was
that alerted the village with suffer enough pain for fifteen deaths.” “But the Dark Tiger tribe …” one member objected from the
groups, not needing to finish the sentence. The groups muttered
worried to themselves. Through the exhaustion and worry of the night,
Garrak himself had almost forgotten the very reason they had begun this operation. The reminder struck Garrak particularly hard – he having been to the Dark Tiger tribe village and felt their brutality for himself. What was the clan to do now? They were spread out between the villages, most of the armour, weapons and other supplies packed tightly in the wooden carts. Even if the clan returned immediately to their village, they would barely have time to unpack, let alone form an effective defence. They might be able to squash everything into the caverns, and shoot anyone who came near, but it would leave the tribe free to wreck havoc on the village with no chance of the clan escaping. They had no hope of defending the poorly defined village in such little time, and to immediately attack the tribe’s village would leave
everyone who couldn’t fight at risk.
“The army around Cornesh is greater than the Dark Tiger tribe
could produce, and are in a much better position. Given the available
choices it would be better in all respects to simply conquer the Dark
Tiger tribe instead!” Torgak replied, raising a clenched fist in defiance.
The groups still didn’t look too convinced, and Garrak wasn’t either.
There was, of course, always one other option. Their mission had been
planned to give the appearance of fleeing. They had at least enough
supplies for a short journey if heavily rationed, and there were always
other areas to live. The very south of the Worslouth forest was all but
empty, or they could even move out of the Arklong Chain entirely and
onto the Drahrie plains. Only a few scattered farming communities
lived there, and the land was fertile and close enough to the forest for
overnight hunting trips. Torgak wanted to end secrecy, but was it even
a secret that the Uppers concept of honour had been stretched much
already for their own survival? Garrak just hoped they were willing to
admit what their best chance of that now was. Oh gods, let them all
just flee.
“Then what now are our orders?” the member said, standing to
attention. Slowly the rest of the groups followed suit, and the thirty or
so members stood tall and determined. The message was clear enough:
They would stand by the clan, whatever the situation. Torgak smiled
slightly at the sight, and for a moment closed his eyes in thought.
Garrak sighed inwardly. There would be no fleeing this night. Still,
maybe it was for the best. Whatever happened in the following days
there was one thing of which he was certain – one way or another, the
conflict with the Dark Tiger tribe would be resolved.
“There is nowhere else nearby that we reasonably defend
ourselves in without great risk. Even with events as they are, I still believe we must be able to defeat the Dark Tiger tribe in battle if we strike hard a fast, but we need a place for the wounded or those who can’t fight to fall back to to, and we can’t organise the clan scattered in the forest. We must return to our village and ready ourselves without delay. What next I can not decide alone, but there is no time for large meetings or arguments between us ‘Uppers’. Yet, I must choose others to have input the while our army gathers. Who, and how we are to
attack, I must ponder as we hasten away from this cursed village.” “Everyone here must disperse and warn everyone to return and
ready themselves immediately. Those who can’t fight must move the
supplies into the village centre and wait there. If Elitar’s army is
ordered to attack, even the Dark Tigers will be in danger. Somebody
else has betrayed us betrayed us all, and they must know nothing. Tell
the others the others no more than their new orders. And Petaan, find
the nearest cart, hold them, and have them remove any medical
supplies. Garrak and I will be of no use in battle today, but we will not
be left behind to be slaughtered,” Torgak ordered. There were a few
affirmations from the groups, and they immediately set about their
tasks, Drugtar and Petaan with them. Only two members remained
behind, Thourg and the other guard Garrak recognised from stopping
him earlier earlier that night. They waited for a few moments before
one cautiously approached Torgak.
“Torgak, if I may have a word?” the guard asked politely. “A quick one,” Torgak said.
“When our group was travelling southwards, we came across an
old peasant sleeping in the forest. None of us recognised him, but
seeing as he was perhaps only a half-hour from our village we asked
some of the later members to keep an eye on him and hold him if he
woke and tried to flee. I would ask what you believe should be done
with him?” the guard asked. Garrak frowned, wondering what a
strange was doing so close to the village. A lost traveller, or some new
Dark Tiger trickery?
“Do not harm him, but do not permit his leave. Keep a pair of
women watching him. Gandeen perhaps can question him later, but we
have greater worries for the moment, but there are more important
things to worry about for the moment,” Torgak instructed. The guard
nodded, and he and Thourg followed quickly after the others. After a
moment Garrak shuddered and painfully pulled himself to his feet. His
shoulder had stopped bleeding but it was bound tight enough to hurt
constantly, and his left foot was still aching even more. So much for keeping any weight off it. Garrak looked around to see if there was anything nearby he could use as another makeshift crutch. A moment later Torgak reached and snapped a thick branch from a half-dead tree
nearby, grunting painfully at the action.
“Take it,” Torgak said, handing the branch to Garrak. Garrak
took it and walked a few steps experimentally. It felt too long and was
even more awkward than his last, but he knew better than to complain. “Thank you,” Garrak said. Torgak did not reply but began pacing
somewhat lopsidedly. Garrak quickly followed suit, limping weakly
after him.

Garrak and Torgak ended up walking for about a half-hour before they reached the nearest cart and its waiting crew. Although Torgak had told him only to stop it, Petaan had taken it on his own initiative to instead stay with the ten others already moving the cart and direct it closer to the clearing where the groups had stopped. Garrak was grateful for the move, since it meant it was just that little bit less time he had to be walking. For a moment Torgak seemed agitated at the disobeying of his orders, but instead praised Petaan for his initiative. Petaan seemed pleased with the thanks, but wasn’t so happy when he realised what came after: since one member would be on the cart with Garrak and Torgak to treat their wounds, that meant there was a free space in front of the cart to help pull it along through the trees.

Seeing the ten pull or push the cart over the dirt and around the trees, Garrak was quite glad that he had not been assigned such a job, although he still wished he had never been picked for the first mission into Cornesh at all. Or, for that matter, been ‘delivered’ the first note from the Dark Tiger tribe. Garrak wondered why he had been the only ‘messenger’ to be left alive. It wasn’t like the tribe had ever expected their surrender if they left someone alive. Maybe luck was all there was to it.

When Garrak first reached the cart it was some small compensation that Clarence was one of those pulling the cart, and as the only trained healer among them she was the one treating the wounds. Torgak’s request for silence prevented them from talking, but it was nice to see a friendly face. While there were not many medical supplies on the cart, Clarence had done her best at replacing the bindings with woollen bandages that proved more effective than a torn shirt, as well as applying crushed sunshi juice to the wounds, even if most of it had expectedly gone towards Torgak’s. In addition, the cart had been temporarily stopped again in order for Clarence to stitch the wounds together with a length of fine Barl.

Garrak had not seen it often, but he knew from his earlier lessons in the wilderness that Barl was made by softening the bark of the said tree, pressing it into thin strands and weaving them into string or rope. Barl was rarely used, since even though the created product was initially very strong and resistant to the elements, the whole process was ultimately pointless as the Barl would slowly come apart and disintegrate entirely within at most a month. Still, one advantage of using Barl string in stitches was that they did not have to be removed at all – as the wound healed, the Barl would weaken of its own accord and be pushed free without further intervention. Even knowing this, Garrak found the experience quiet disconcerting (not to mention unbelievably painful) as he had never had any injuries that serious before; even the puncture wound in his foot hadn’t been bad enough to require stitches.

Once both Garrak and Torgak had been treated Clarence resumed pulling the cart. Petaan seemed at first relieved, but was less so when Torgak informed him that those remaining with the cart – including himself – would take turns moving it in order to prevent anyone becoming too tired and more importantly slowing their speed. Garrak at least was exempt from the duty on account of his injury, and simply lay back on top of the cart feeling slightly guilty. Torgak immediately began pushing the cart from behind, replacing another member, and Clarence was given the second rest afterwards. Garrak was surprised to see Torgak helping at all, with his wounds, and even more so to see that despite the effort it obviously took him he was probably contributing more so than most of the others. If nothing else, Torgak’s participation seemed to give a moral boost to the rest of the group and the cart was soon rolling along faster than it had been before.

The journey back to the village took longer than it had for Garrak on the way out, and by the time the cart had reached the outside of the village the sun had already risen slightly. It was still faster than he had expected, but he figured the cart’s momentum and the path already being cleared of obstacles on the way out helped move the heavy load, Garrak included. Those pushing or pulling the cart rotated on Torgak’s orders and everybody ended up with two brief rests, jogging unburdened behind the cart.

The only exceptions were Torgak, excusing himself to rest beside Garrak, and Clarence who had done the same to briefly check on their wounds. They ached, but Clarence quietly declared her treatment as successful as it was going to be. Garrak tried to sleep, but knew it was a lost cause. The cart crossed the paths of several others on the way back, but were still not allowed to speak. After seeing Razuke shot down in front of him and coming too close himself, the silence was almost unbearable. By the time the sun’s rays dimly illuminated the forest and the cart rumbled into the village, Garrak almost welcomed what he knew was coming.

When the cart was finally pushed near the village centre Garrak could see that most of the clan, unburdened by such heavy loads, were already back at the village. Although Torgak had specifically ordered the clan into the caverns a large majority of the members were instead moving around outside them, and a large number of guards had taken it upon themselves to keep watch around the village outskirts. Torgak didn’t look entirely pleased at this, but said nothing to those whom he passed.

As the group began forcing the cart down into the cavern Garrak took the moment to remove himself from it. Grabbing his crutch he gently let himself down and moved out of the way of those still pulling the cart. Nearby Torgak released the ropes he was holding and motioned for another to take them, before striding over to Garrak.

“Garrak. You have been one of the few to recently see inside the Dark Tiger tribe village, and will be present at an emergency Military Council. It shall take place at the Highly Ranked Representative Individuals meeting ground as soon as indicted by the emergency meeting drum beat. We won’t be enough to fight if the worst occurs, so bring nothing and be ready to run,” Torgak instructed.

“Yes, sir,” Garrak responded, but Torgak was already striding away to find the others who would be present. Garrak watched him disappear into the caverns, then scowled. He could stand, and hold a spear. Then he remembered the raituri, and shuddered.

“Garrak!” Garrak jumped as he heard Turev yell from behind him. Garrak turned around to see Turev looking uncharacteristically tired, with a touch of concern at the sight of Garrak. “What the heck happened to your shoulder?”

“I was shot, what do you think?” Garrak asked sarcastically, not wanting to say anything more. It wasn’t as if he thought for a moment Turev was the traitor, but there was little doubt if he said anything more it would be around the village faster than phouri flight.

“You what? What happened? Was it the Dark Tiger tribe? And for that matter, what the hell happened out there anyway? Your infiltration group must have reached Cornesh before this whole thing was suddenly called off. I run my butt off for two hours only to be told, hey, guess what? Turn around and grab your damn spear,” Turev asked in surprise, turning into a rant.

“I can’t say. Not until the emergency Military Council has decided what to do, anyway,” Garrak said apologetically. He’d spent the last four hours riding in silence, and now he couldn’t even talk about what happened. Turev frowned.

“A Military Council? Something bad must have happened. The last time one of those was called was …” Turev began.
“The war against Cornesh,” Garrak finished. There was no question that this situation was as bad as the one those few years ago. Or worse.
“Hmm. Well, I won’t press you. At least we don’t have to wait to kill the bastards, and I’m sure Torgak has his reasons,” Turev said, thinking to himself.
“Really?” Garrak said, somewhat surprised. Turev was normally the first to pry into other people’s secrets. Garrak remembered almost wistfully the time Turev had taken it upon himself to discover what Garrak kept hidden in his chest. He wouldn’t actually open it, but Garrak heard nothing else but questions from everyone everywhere for several weeks before he finally dropped it.
“Quite frankly, I’m too tired,” Turev said, yawning loudly to make his point. “I tried to get my head down just before sunrise, but a bunch of those Upper jerks decided we had to be on constant alert. Just in case the Dark Tiger tribe attack. I mean, sure, they could technically have moved their whole army right next to us without us noticing yet but come on. The first threat was made in the afternoon, so they’d be going back on their word, sort of, to attack now. Besides, if they were going to attack now they would have had to start marching at night and those guys are probably too lazy. And if the Uppers are going to bloody make us stay on constant alert there’ll be no one left awake by tonight and the bastards will have easy pickings. That’ll be a great way to start the fight. If we’re going to march, I’ll grab my weapon and go, otherwise shut up and let me sleep. Really, we-”
“Hey, Turev,” Garrak said, interrupting before Turev really started.
“Yeah?” Turev said, silencing himself almost reluctantly.
“Do you know if food is being distributed anywhere?” Garrak asked. Despite everything else that was happening, he hadn’t eaten since midday yesterday and the jog to Cornesh had left him hungry, never mind those who went both ways. Everything would have been packed into the carts, distributing anything would cost time and they didn’t know just how much they had, especially if they had to move again quickly, but people performed better on a full stomach, damn it. Garrak didn’t bother enquiring about water – he assumed there’d be a line of buckets somewhere. Then again, if the clan was on a constant state of alert it was possible nobody had been given clearance to travel to the river and there was only so much kept in reserve in the caverns …
“I don’t think so. A group of women brought some water up but all the food is still packed up, damn it, and it’s hardly the time to be hunting game. I’m sure the bloody Uppers have been eating something though; a few of them have been looking a bit too pleased when the carts arrived, if you know what I mean,” Turev answered in obvious irritation. Garrak narrowed his eyes in suspicion though, wondering if one of those Uppers wasn’t the traitor.
Garrak glanced around at the crowd. Most were armed and ready, trying to encourage each other for the upcoming fight, others were still complaining and moving around haphazardly. Garrak wondered how long he would be waiting for the meeting. Too short a time to do much, as if he had the energy, but maybe enough to rest and hopefully convince one of the Uppers to unpack some food. With that in mind, Garrak limped purposefully into the village centre.

It was somewhere between a relief and an annoyance that barely a quarter-hour had passed before Garrak heard the beat of the drum, coming loudly from somewhere nearby. Before the pattern had even completed itself once Garrak was up and moving towards the Upper meeting ground. He looked around carefully as he walked, but was surprised to see only one or two others moving in the same direction as him. Either many of those chosen were already nearby the meeting grounds or Torgak had taken the necessity of a small meeting number far more seriously than Garrak had honestly expected. The rest of the crowd only looked around worriedly at the sound of the drum. The emergency meeting pattern was a fast and desperate rhythm, only serving to increase the nervousness of those waiting.

When Garrak reached the meeting ground the glare of the members already waiting told him that he was one of, if not the, last to arrive. Or he was just that unwelcome. Himself included, there were only a dozen to arrive, but what surprised Garrak was those that had been chosen. Sitting around the central ledge were Torgak, Sharg, Drugtar, Petaan, Putrik, Dirtle, Gandeen, Siough, Zaezia, one of the former Leader’s Assistants as well as one other Upper Garrak did not know by name. Garrak could guess why Drugtar and Petaan were here, having also seen the defending force around Cornesh. Sharg was an obvious choice, with what he was supposed to have overheard in the tribe’s village. Garrak knew Putrik and Dirtle were two important hunters and warriors under Torgak’s command. What he couldn’t work out was why either Gandeen or Siough were present. Surely neither woman had had anything to do with the military or the recent debacle at Cornesh? Garrak could at least assume what knowledge Zaezia might hold to explain her presence. Torgak would have his reasons.

Garrak walked down into the middle circle and sat in the largest gap remaining, with Sharg to his right and Petaan to his left. He placed the crutch down in front of him, consciously aware of the circle’s observation and from some apparent disgust at his show of weakness.

“Now that we have all arrived we must begin,” Torgak announced. Instantly the attention of the group turned from Garrak. As Torgak paused, Garrak noticed Sharg glance over to him, his expression unreadable. Garrak frowned, becoming wary.

“I have called this Military Council here today as the clan stands either on the bring victory, or destruction, and it is we who must determined that fate. As you well know, today is the day the Dark Tiger tribe have promised to march out to meet us in battle, and we have nothing but assurances that they will do so at any time. For this reason I chose only a small number of you to attend and share your voices and opinions on this danger. Though we can not afford to waste our time talking without action, nor can I yet simply risk action without talking,” Torgak began. Garrak found himself listening intently. However much of a tragedy the Leader’s assassination may have been, Torgak was a much more engaging speaker than the Leader or Unklock could have ever hoped to be.

“In order for this council to be effective, I must impress upon you this one thing: for whatever reason you have been chosen to attend, no matter what ranking, profession, gender or otherwise any here are, for this time at least I invite you all to speak not as scattered members of our clan but as equal members in this council. Do not disregard Garrak for his rank nor Siough for her femininity. If any hold back something because of worry of later repercussions, then this council has been wasted. For the time we sit within these stones, forget your rank and do not judge on the rank of others,” Torgak spoke. Garrak was grateful for this declaration, but noticed that several here were not so. Notably Putrik and Sharg seemed angry about the decision but neither dared to argue. There was too much at stake.

“As well as this, I must also impress upon you the importance of the secrecy of this meeting. I have strong reason to believe that one or more traitors walk among us and can not risk them hearing our words. And of course, should anything come up that might embarrass or bring dishonour to someone present it too shall remain unspoken once we rise.” Garrak watched Torgak carefully and saw him looking particular at Putrik during this last note and quickly made the connection. So it was him that had spoken about his suggestion of surrender at that first meeting! And this with all his later speeches on the need for secrecy … Garrak resisted the urge to make one of the mentioned ‘dishonourable’ comments, instead staying silent.

“For the sake of ease and familiarity, and to quell your no-doubt eager questions upon the attendance of some,” Torgak said, his mouth lifting briefly in forced amusement, “I shall first introduce those present.” Torgak nodded his head to the right of him towards Petaan before continuing. “Petaan is present as one of those who bore witness to the forces that awaited us outside Cornesh.” Garrak could sense the obvious confusion from Torgak’s words, and it took him a moment to realise that most here would not have yet been informed of the army defending Cornesh. Torgak quickly continued around the circle, naming those present. “Garrak is present as being the one to bravely deliver our message to the Dark Tiger tribe and having spent a night within its prison, suffering from them first hand. It was here that he has obtained his injury, and I can but hope you will treat it as a sign of his strength rather than one of his weakness.” Garrak smiled slightly at that. He’d have to mention it to Turev later.

“Sharg is present because, as you are no doubt now aware, he had until recently been sacrificing his resting days to be our agent in the Dark Tiger tribe village. Dirtle is present as one of our elite warriors and hunters, and having just accepted the position to lead our warriors into battle, should the need arise,” Torgak continued. Garrak almost laughed to see the obvious jealousy on Putrik’s face, although all present knew that the need had well arisen. Still, from what Garrak had heard of Dirtle he was a fine and loyal warrior.

“Zaezia is present for this reason, and I remind you again that you are not to speak of this outside of this meeting,” Torgak said, looking strongly around the circle. As the eyes of the group fell on Zaezia she drew back into her seat slightly. “Although it is not known commonly to the clan, before Zaezia recently approached our clan for help she had lived within the Dark Tiger tribe.” Most of the group – with the exception of the former Assistant and Gandeen who seemed largely unconcerned – stared.

“Just who was on mugje to allow her to join?” Putrik asked dryly, and by the looks on the others’ faces, Garrak could see he was not the only one with suspicions. Zaezia stared back at the group evenly, and stood.

“I only was in tribe as I was taken from my own village to be forcibly wed to one of their warriors. I was raped and abused for two and a half years before managing to escape,” Zaezia explained, shaking slightly. “And I am only in this clan now to help your women avoid the same fate.” For a moment Zaezia looked around the men in the group expressionlessly, then her eyes lowered and she sat back down from her outburst. Garrak looked away out of courtesy. It was several moments before Torgak continued.

“I ask you be considerate of Zaezia’s situation. She is present as her knowledge of the Dark Tiger tribe, however hated it might be, is still useful to us in the face of their attack. Drugtar is present as being another witness to what happened at Cornesh,” Torgak said, ignoring the obvious agitation of those who were not yet informed of what had occurred. Next he turned to the member who Garrak did not recognise, an older male who Garrak noted had gone entirely bald. His scalp was marred by a large scar across the top. “Canzot is present for the excellent tactical knowledge he has provided to us during previous conflicts, and will be able to give for this one too. Putrik is present similarly for his military experience and being the one to initially suggest the infiltration of Cornesh.” Garrak resist the urge to smirk. He bet he’d be regretting that now.

“Asnon is present as being one of late Leader’s Assistants, and as such being privy to his thoughts and feelings before he passed away. It is possible these insights may help us. Siough is present as the highest ranking woman in the clan, and will be able to give their less often heard opinions and thoughts better than most. Finally, Gandeen is present for her knowledge regarding our own supplies and management, should they need to be called upon.” Garrak couldn’t help but find it somewhat interesting that Torgak had not made mention of himself. The new Leader he may be, or at least acting as, but he had slipped into that role and the assumptions with it far quicker than Garrak would have expected.

“Yes, yes, we all know who we are. But what many of us here do not know is why we are here. Why was the infiltration of Cornesh so suddenly delayed? What forces are these you speak of?” Sharg asked impatiently. Canzot raised an eyebrow at this and Torgak frowned, but neither responded.

“There was a serious reason why the infiltration of Cornesh has been abandoned. My own group of five in the peace delegation came across a large army waiting for us at Cornesh. Although I caught only a brief glimpse before escaping it was clear there were enough well armed soldiers waiting for us as to prove impassable. Perhaps a thousand. I merely hope they will not opt to war on us as well,” Torgak announced. It was laughable, really. The Uppers, and even Garrak, had been so caught up in planning and preparing for war with the Dark Tiger tribe that nobody had seriously considered the possibility of outside intervention. If the human kingdom had a week and motive, they could save or destroy both groups with ease. Damn it, their two thousand lives mattered too.

“The only explanation for their presence is that they were rushed from Elitar, after they were somehow made aware of our plans!” Torgak declared angrily. Garrak looked around at the reactions of the group. Drugtar, Petaan, Torgak and himself had of course already been resigned to this, but the effect on the others was devastating. Gandeen stared in distress at the ground, Siough seemed to be fighting back tears and Sharg actually looked concerned. Canzot only frowned.

“One thousand? No doubt they could only have come from Elitar. No other city this side of the Great Divide could spare so many soldiers at such short notice. Even so, for a messenger to have travelled to Elitar, for their soldiers to have prepared and then marched out to Cornesh … there are flat plains most of the way, but they must have known four or five days ago at the least!” Canzot considered.

“Either messenger or soldiers may have ridden on horseback, and their armies are constantly prepared” Dirtle pointed out. Canzot shrugged.

“Perhaps. Say, three days then, at the least,” he conceded. “The soldiers were not on horseback,” Drugtar interrupted. “From where I caught a glance there were only one or two horses and they were probably for those leading the army.”
“They could have left the horses inside the village, to attempt to conceal their speed,” Putrik suggested.
“One thousand horses would eat a substantial-” Drugtar began, but was cut off.
“It matters not! We are not here to debate horses, but to plan and act in war!” Sharg interrupted angrily. “Time is of the essence.”
“Nevertheless, we must not simply react on instincts. We must be armed with plans and knowledge rather than simply spears and swords. Drugtar shall tell you of what happened. Petaan, Garrak, if you have anything to add then do so.” Torgak said. Drugtar nodded and began a brief recount of the events from their leaving the village to arriving at Cornesh, giving a vivid description of what he had briefly seen there. Garrak was surprised at just how much he had remembered of the army waiting. When he had seen them, all he could think about was fleeing. Despite Torgak’s instructions he found he had nothing more to add to what Drugtar had already said. Petaan also stayed silent, looking distraught and close to tears as Drugtar mentioned Porl’s and Razuke’s deaths. Everybody else simply sat in silence, looks of consideration and consternation upon their faces.
“Someone has betrayed us,” Dirtle said in disgust once Drugtar had finished. “Not the tribe, they would have waited themselves. One of our own members.”
“That would seem to be the case. There is no other way Cornesh could have discovered our intentions – even if they knew it was us that had taken from them earlier they had no way of knowing we would return, certainly not this soon,” Torgak replied.
“Um … I have heard something …” Siough mentioned, looking and sounding decidedly out of place around the others present. Even Zaezia looked, if not at ease, accustomed to the presence of the Uppers and warriors in the group.
“Yes?” Torgak prompted.
“It is nothing but rumour. Some women have been speaking of an assassin within the clan. Since whoever was delivering the messages was never caught, it was speculated that maybe somebody from the clan had done it. Somebody of low rank, who could pass under attention. By the same token, could it be that whoever had betrayed us was not anybody of note, but simply somebody of low rank with a grudge of some kind?” Siough asked. As she spoke, Garrak felt Drugtar’s eyes rest on him and he resisted the urge to glare back at him.
“It is entirely possible, if unlikely,” Torgak replied. “The traitor would have had to have known of our plans several days before they were publicly announced. The only people who knew about this were the Highly Ranked Representative Individuals, Garrak and Zaezia. Even then, the late Leader’s Associates would have been the only ones to know many details before the plan was announced, although the date itself would have been easy enough to deduce.”
“What if rumour were to have emerged before the announcement? This has proved to be the case many a time before,” Canzot pointed out.
“As far as I am aware, there were no rumours to that extent, at least, not known by any I talked to,” Siough said.
“I hadn’t heard anything either,” Petaan mentioned, looking almost happy to have contributed something. Torgak looked around the group and Garrak, Gandeen and Drugtar shook their heads.
“No rumours, then. That does not entirely rule out the possibility though,” Putrik said. “A Downer may have spoken one on one with somebody who knew, and then kept it to themselves.”
“We know anybody could have had the knowledge. But surely to have passed on that knowledge they must have been on the first foodgathering mission in Cornesh! That, at least, shortens the list of those possible,” Drugtar suggested. Torgak shook his head.
“I’m afraid not. They might simply have travelled there undetected during one of their resting days, when security was not so tight. Even if we ruled it down to a single day that they must have done so on, to compile a list of those who could have done so would take a considerable time,” Torgak said.
“Time we don’t have,” Sharg reminded again. “If I may make a suggestion?”
“Of course,” Torgak replied coolly.
“At the moment we can not even be sure just how little time we have. The Dark Tiger tribe could arrive at the village any moment, or they could be only just rousing themselves to prepare to march. We don’t know if we will have enough time to prepare an ample defence, and we do not even know if we can afford to spend this time planning! If their army were to arrive right now we would have barely five minutes warning from our guards before they attacked. I think it would be wise if we were to send somebody out to gauge their progress,” Sharg suggested.
“Our time may be short, but sending out even our best warriors would be very dangerous. The tribe are likely to have advance scouts of their own so it would be unlikely they could safely reach the army to see their exact position and state. Even if they could glimpse the approaching army it would take just one soldier to notice them and they would be killed on sight,” Torgak considered.
“Unlikely. If that person were careful enough to slip immediately back into dense forest, the tribe’s army would not be likely to break rank or waste time searching for that one scout,” Canzot mentioned.
“I could do it. If I were to dress in the tribe’s clothes I would be able to pass through unharmed,” Sharg offered.
“It’s too risky,” Torgak said after a moment’s pause. “Since your rather public announcement of your position in the tribe any traitor in the clan would have sent word to the tribe that you were a spy.”
“Not necessarily. It is not beyond possibility there is a further traitor in the village I have not discovered after those who allowed the assassination and whoever betrayed us to Cornesh, but even if there was and the message was sent, would the tribe’s Leader really have made such an announcement public knowledge? That there was a spy in their ranks, but he has long escaped? It would not be a likely move. There is a good chance I could spot the army without anyone who knew seeing me,” Sharg argued.
“Is it really necessary anyway?” Garrak interrupted, echoing Turev’s previous concerns. “The tribe are unlikely to attack in the morning in any case. They’d have had to have been preparing and marching during the night, and it would be to their advantage to attack during this night after we’ve exhausted ourselves with preparation and panic.”
“Their time of attack is unlikely to make much of a difference,” Canzot objected. “They can not afford to rest for long largely unprotected in the forest in case we attack, so they will have been marching for some time when they reach our village. Whether during the day or night, they will have no more or less rest. They too know that if we were to remain here to defend ourselves that we would ideally be fully rested but for a few guards and scouts. From their point of view, there is no difference.”
“Unless the traitor had told them of our plans as well,” Putrik mentioned. “In which case they will be marching to attack here at the time we would arrive back, weakened. That is, now.” A moment’s silence followed. Garrak could see the frightful logic – except for one thing.
“In that case, wouldn’t they have attacked us in transit?” Garrak objected. Canzot tilted his head in thought, and then shrugged.
“It would have been better for them to have picked us off a small group at a time in transit or as we arrived, yes. However, as soon as the cry went up the rest of us would have scattered. By allowing us time to congregate they can surrounded the village and prevent any escape,” Canzot considered, the indifference in his voice irritating Garrak. He spoke as though this were just a hypothetical situation, and not several thousand lives they were trying to protect!
“So, I reassert, I should be sent as a scout,” Sharg reminded, clearing his throat.
“The tribe’s army will be moving fairly quickly; is what little extra warning you could bring running back truly worth the effort that could otherwise be spent fortifying our defences?” Drugtar asked. Sharg looked straight at Torgak.
“With all due respect, there are other ways,” Sharg said, to Garrak’s confusion glancing briefly at Zaezia. “That certain warnings could be hastily sensed.” Torgak closed his eyes briefly while looking thoughtful, and Zaezia looked daunted at the suggestion. Garrak, as well as most of those present, had little idea what he was actually suggesting.
“I do not think I would be able …” Zaezia said slowly.
“Through the river, perhaps? Could you feel my presence?” Sharg asked.
“Maybe,” Zaezia answered quietly.
“I object. It would be against our laws,” Asnon spoke in mild annoyance.
“As though that has stopped Torgak here in taking command of the clan and sending them on a death trip before even being officially appointed!” Sharg shot back.
“What are you …” Putrik began suspiciously, but was ignored.
“You shall not challenge my leadership here,” Torgak said angrily, glaring at Sharg. “It was not you who was chosen as the Named, however much you begged otherwise.” Sharg merely smiled wryly.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought we were speaking as equal members at this council,” Sharg quoted mockingly. “Clearly that didn’t apply to you. My mistake.”
“There is speaking as equals and there is accusing and insulting others, Sharg. We must not forget what we are here for, and instead let our own prejudices cloud our judgements,” Torgak said.
“Isn’t disallowing this particular opportunity just prejudicing in favour of our previous beliefs?” Sharg asked.
“We must not betray our heritage. Our laws are put in place for good reasons,” Asnon reminded.
“Good reasons for whom? Our clan is at stake! Whatever else, our survival must come first. Mayhap today is a turning point for our clan for more than one reason,” Gandeen commented.
“Tell me this, Zaezia, would you agree to this?” Sharg asked, turning to Zaezia. Garrak caught a glimpse of his face and was worried. His expression was not one of kindness, and Garrak was not the only one to notice. Torgak glared at Sharg angrily, but Zaezia just nodded coldly. At this Sharg at once rose up out of his stone seating. Garrak drew back as he strode past him purposefully towards the forest.
In an instant Asnon and Torgak had risen furiously each drawing a short bow from within their clothes, holding them taut with arrows loaded. Both were aimed straight at Sharg.
“Stop right there, Sharg,” Torgak said calmly, his bow held still. Petaan ducked down low in fear; the trajectories of the arrows would pass dangerously close by his seat. Sharg turned around, not looking even remotely worried.
“Bringing weapons to a council? I must say I am surprised,” Sharg commented mildly.
“Silence! Asnon and I brought these weapons because I expected something like this would happen,” Torgak replied. Still keeping the bow trained on Sharg, he turned slightly to address the group. “A confession, fellow members of the Stone Axe clan.”
“What are you doing? What’s going on?!” Putrik demanded angrily.
“I’m afraid I’ve been deceiving you this morning. Truthfully, the reason I called this council was not just to discuss our actions, although discuss them we must,” Torgak explained. “But to attempt to unmask the traitor within our clan. Although I know the traitor could be near anyone still remaining in the clan, I must apologise that many of you here were those I suspected most.” This got quite a reaction from the group. Garrak frowned, angry that Torgak could suspect him after what he had been through. No one else looked much more pleased at this, although Canzot seemed as uncaring as ever.
“Garrak had been strangely involved in this from the first day, and could easily have betrayed us while in the tribe’s village or to any other traitors,” Torgak explained. Garrak fumed angrily. As if his injuries weren’t enough to prove he was no friend to the tribe! He would never even dream of betraying the clan that had raised him for so long. “Zaezia could have simply been acting about her time in the tribe’s grasp, infiltrating the clan herself.”
“No,” Zaezia interjected bluntly. Torgak smiled.
“And I apologise for suspecting you. Siough, who seemed fond only of sleeping her way to power,” Torgak accused, causing Siough to blush slightly. “Putrik, far too quick to accuse anyone else of conspiracy. Drugtar, whose temper has been problematic and revealing on many occasions previously.”
“You accuse us? Let us not forget your ‘cosy’ sessions with our late Leader, Torgak,” Sharg sneered. Torgak turned to face him.
“I’m not saying anybody is perfect. I’m not saying I am perfect. But I will do what I must to bring punishment to those who betray my clan,” Torgak said, and Garrak could hear strong emotion in his voice. “Garrak, brave enough to accept the most dangerous, unprecedented initiation. Zaezia, strong willed enough to escape the clutches of the Dark Tiger tribe. Siough, a woman kind and caring enough to overshadow most of us men. Putrik, an excellent hunter and a wealth of ideas and information. And so on.” With these concessions the group began to calm down, although Drugtar looked somewhat peeved. Instead their attention was focused on Sharg, still standing apart from the group outside the stone circles.
“Sharg. Only too happy to spy for the Dark Tiger tribe. Far too ambitious for personal gain. Uncaring of those less powerful than himself,” Torgak spoke without emotion.
“I care only for this clan. What I do, I do for the betterment of us all. I risk my own life time and time again to provide this clan with information and now you accuse me of treason,” Sharg spoke equally coldly. Garrak stared, his gaze switching between Torgak and Sharg. Had he been right? Was Sharg another traitor? Unpleasantness was not betrayal, and Sharg had certainly risked much, but …
“Then return to your seat. We can not afford to waste your talents now when we need to prepare quickly for battle. You can not slow the army down, and we must be ready whenever it arrives. But if you take one more step now, then we shall know who the real traitor is,” Torgak ordered, lowering his bow to his side. Asnon stayed rockstill.
An apprehensive silence fell upon the group.
“So be it,” Sharg shrugged. Relaxing, he walked back towards his seat. Torgak turned to Asnon and motioned with his hand for his bow to be lowered. Warily the two watched Sharg return to his seat, and the group visibly relaxed.
Until Garrak felt cold steel bite at his skin.
In one swift movement Sharg reached down and pulled out a long, sharp knife from within his armour, drawing it up to Garrak’s neck. Before Garrak could react Sharg grabbed him with his other arm, pulling Garrak against him and the knife. Sharg twisted around and Garrak painfully reacted a second too slow, the cold knife drawing a trickle of blood from his throat.
“Don’t attack, don’t even think it, or I’ll kill the child!” Sharg yelled as Asnon and Torgak raised their bows again. Fury raged in Torgak’s eyes, but he held his fire.
“You filthy traitor!” Torgak roared furiously. Sharg ignored him and strode back towards the forest, hauling Garrak along with him. The wooden crutch clattered uselessly on the stone behind them, and Garrak could do nothing but hurriedly shuffle along with him, each step shooting pain into his injured foot.
“You filthy fool!” Sharg yelled back, laughing cruelly. “You should have fled these forests when you had the chance! We’ll see just how much use your pathetic council is when the beasts of the forest make a feast from the bones of your massacred clan!”
“Let him go Sharg! You can’t escape from here alive!” Torgak screamed.
“Is that a challenge?” Sharg asked casually. Stopping for a moment he turned his head and whistled loudly into the forest, following that with a long guttural cry that echoed strangely amongst the trees. Taking advantage of his distraction, Garrak drew his eyes away from the knife at his throat and kicked backwards as hard as he could, the pain from his foot bringing tears to his eyes. Sharg let out a weak grunt and kicked Garrak’s legs out from underneath him. Garrak fell down onto the stone, throwing his hands out to break the fall in time. Barely a metre away Petaan let out a curse and jumped up from his crouched position in a rare show of bravery, leaping at Sharg. Torgak jumped to the side and up the stone steps to get a better angle of fire, yelling a war cry. Sharg clicked his tongue against his teeth and swung out with his knife. Garrak pressed himself down on the stone, but the blow was not intended for him.
Petaan let out a scream of pain as the knife, almost seeming to move in slow motion, left its mark across his face. He collapsed to the ground grabbing his face in agony. Garrak could see blood pouring out and tried to crawl away from Sharg. Torgak let an arrow fly, but Sharg was already leaping to the side to avoid his aim, the arrow barely clipping his side.
“Get a healer! Get a healer!” Torgak screamed, reaching for another arrow. Zaezia and Putrik instantly were up and running out of the circle. Asnon sent an arrow flying, but was shaking enough that it just missed and harmlessly thudded into a tree behind Sharg. Sharg quickly grabbed Garrak and hauled him to his feet, holding him more carefully as a human shield. Garrak struggled in vain, but even one handed Sharg was too strong and he too weak.
Sharg began hastily retreating out of the circle and into the forest. Torgak ran forward but stopped short as Sharg once again drew the now-bloody knife up to Garrak’s throat. Panic seemed to engulf the group, and everybody seemed to be suddenly moving. Gandeen and Siough rushed forward to Petaan, Dirtle and Drugtar were running for help, Asnon was trying to circle around to Sharg’s left side.
“Every god damn you to hell!” was the last thing Garrak heard Torgak scream before Sharg had pulled him completely into the forest. Sharg hurriedly pulled Garrak along deeper in, and Garrak felt like his foot was about to tear open with the pain going through it. As Garrak involuntarily let out another pained yell Sharg turned to him and glared.
“You’re hardly dying,” Sharg whispered, his voice dripping with scorn. Garrak bit his tongue in an effort to keep quiet, but couldn’t help but whimper in agony.
“You’ve escaped now, you don’t need me,” Garrak pleaded, hating himself for doing so, but here he was again with his life in the hands of another and nothing he knew that he could do about it. Sharg laughed to himself, only forcing Garrak forward faster.
“You seem to imply I somehow ever did,” Sharg replied coolly, suddenly stopping so fast Garrak had to jerk his head back as the knife blade touched him again. Sharg twisted Garrak around again and wrapped his hand around his mouth. Garrak tried again to struggle free but Sharg just pressed the knife closer. Taking the hint, Garrak fell still and silent, resting his weight on his good foot. Sharg listened carefully for a moment, then apparently satisfied he was not being pursued released him. Garrak took a step backwards only to have the knife again at his throat.
“Go on then. Who do you think can move the faster?” Sharg yawned. Garrak stayed still, his arms hanging down to his sides. What was Sharg waiting for?
“So why reveal yourself now? Why give the game up this close to victory?” Garrak asked after a moment, not lifting his gaze from the knife at his throat. He didn’t even care, really, but if he could just distract Sharg for a moment …
“Why? Do you honestly feel the need to force from me a confession? Is your curiosity to know all the answers greater than your will to live? Or …” Sharg said, his eyes narrowing, “Do you somehow hope you may be able to overpower me? A laugh indeed.” Sharg looked around the forest in irritation, but Garrak didn’t dare move. After a moment Sharg whistled and yelled his strange call again.
“Why do you keep doing that?” Garrak asked, trying again. It was all he could do. Sharg ignored him, continuing to scan the forest. “Is it some kind of a signal?” Then, after another moment, “Was it actually the real Sharg’s corpse you noticed a resemblance too?”
“Quiet!” Sharg snapped. “By all the gods, I have fought men dubbed immortal, tamed mythical beasts, and risen unaided above every House, but enduring your helplessness is perhaps the most difficult of all the challenges I have taken.” For some reason, Garrak could hear a touch of disappointment in Sharg’s voice. “As if wasting months of my life in this hole wasn’t insufferable enough. Tch, it is well done now. I doubt you could appreciate how pleasing it is to be able to leave. Were it not for those accursed demands of your father that I-”
“You know my father?” Garrak asked. Suddenly he seemed unaware of all the dangers of the Dark Tiger tribe, the implications of what Sharg was saying, his own situation … His whole life Garrak had been the odd one out, the orphan, the ‘unknown child’. As much of a family as the clan had been to him there was little real warmth and caring as could be expected from real parents. Garrak had even grown resentful toward his parents for his abandonment, and at times wasn’t sure whether he ever really wanted them to be alive somewhere in the world or not.
And now, it seemed, they were. How could Sharg know, or be taking demands from his father? If Garrak’s parents were in a position to command a traitor in the clan, he wasn’t sure he wanted to who they were, or their motives. No, Garrak had always hoped for answers. How could they know of him, have left him here, and not even tell him of their existence?
Sharg faced Garrak, and for a brief moment the expression on his face softened slightly, and Garrak saw what was almost a hint of regret.
“You do not matter, Garrak, but you do not go unwatched by him,” Sharg said, turning away for a brief moment, though never letting his grip on the knife waver. “Never forget that.”
Before Garrak could put any of the questions swarming around his head into words he was jolted back to reality by the sound of some animal approaching. Scarcely a second later it burst into sight, and Garrak found himself unable to do anything but stare.
The creature resembled a very large, thin horse, but was clearly of some fay race Garrak had not heard of. The creature’s skin was a majestic black, but the colour of its eyes seemed to flicker and its hoofs glittered in the sunlight. Its tail was jagged and pointed upwards, swaying slightly from side to side. Three bone horns grew atop its head. Most notable of all, two huge, black wings lay folded at its side, although its left one was torn and missing a hand’s length or so before the tip.
Sharg finally dropped the knife from Garrak’s neck and strode towards the creature. The creature lowered itself, and in an instant Sharg had leapt up on its bare back and grabbed its flowing silver mane. Sitting atop, he looked almost magical himself.
“Here’s one answer for your Uppers to idle their time bickering over,” Sharg said with some distaste. “I conferred with the Dark Tiger tribe. I helped plan your Leader’s death. I delivered those messages. But it was one of your own who alerted Cornesh. It was to be your clan’s tomb. Now you don’t need one, but I still win!” With this, Sharg laughed madly and whispered to the creature in the same strange voice with which he’d called it. The creature turned away to the south and seemed to vanish in a blur before Garrak’s eyes.
Shocked, stunned and confused it was all Garrak could do to struggle back to the village.

Garrak was met halfway back to the meeting ground by a cautious Asnon, still holding his bow outstretched. It was only after quickly confirming Sharg’s escape that Asnon loosened his bow in agitation and aided Garrak back to the meeting grounds.

The Upper’s meeting grounds was in complete disarray. Half of those who had been at the meeting were gone, but a number of armed guards had arrived and were standing ready. Even after Asnon had confirmed Sharg had escaped they still remained in a state of complete readiness. There were also a number of guards who were not watching the forest, but rather standing on the other side of the clearing stopping anybody from entering.

Petaan was still lying on the stone were he had fallen, blood pooling around him. Gandeen and a number of healers were crowding around urgently, Zaezia standing slightly to the side looking frustrated and hopeless. As Garrak moved closer he caught a glimpse of Petaan’s face and felt sick. The wound ran diagonally across his face, splitting his nose and ruining his right eye. Blood, both fresh and dried, pooled over his face as the healers did what they could to clean the wound and stitch it up. Garrak was surprised that he had survived the attack at all, but it seemed Petaan was tougher than he had imagined. The sight of the blood made Garrak feel his own throat where the knife had cut him. Both at the front and the back of his neck he had been cut, but the bleeding had been minimal and the cuts nothing more than flesh wounds, already congealing and healing of their own accord.

Only Canzot and Dirtle were left seated from the meeting, although now they sat together on the outer circle. They were facing each other and appeared to be hurriedly discussing something back and forth between them. Drugtar was pacing the centre of the circles anxiously, his face brightening slightly as he saw Asnon escorting Garrak back. Drugtar ran up and handed Garrak his discarded crutch. Garrak took it and leaned his weight on it gratefully, watching as Asnon immediately paced off out of the clearing.

“What happened? Did Sharg hurt you?” Drugtar asked, his eyes glancing over Garrak and resting on his neck. Garrak shook his head and recounted generally what had happened. He left out any mention of the fay creature, instead claiming Sharg had escaped on a regular horse. Garrak felt that Drugtar wouldn’t believe him anyway, and he hardly believed what he had seen himself. He also left out any mention of his father. Garrak knew he was in shock about the whole event, and couldn’t even think about what Sharg had said, at least not until it had sunk in. Garrak stood still and vaguely watched Asnon return, and most of the guards leaving. It didn’t feel real any more, as if Garrak was just watching from somewhere outside his body. For a brief moment Garrak imagined that this was probably what it was like taking mugje and he laughed, earning a worried look from Drugtar.

“Are you okay? I think you’d better go rest. You’re not going to be able to help much preparing our defence in this state anyway,” Drugtar suggested. “Nobody is really willing to wait around in the caverns, but just be ready to get to safety when you hear the drum.” Garrak pondered this for a moment then agreed, walking slowly off past the guards and back into the village.

As Garrak stumbled into his own hut he felt suddenly weak and collapsed into his hammock, dropping his crutch aside. For a few minutes he just lay there without thinking, only clutching himself to ward off the cold and staring numbly across the hut. Almost everything had been packed up into carts for the failed journey, and even his familiar deteriorated hut felt strange and unwelcome. His blankets and warmer clothing were held in the village centre somewhere, and Garrak felt their absence through his the light clothes he was still wearing. His weapons too were gone, save for his old rusted sword that hadn’t been considered valuable enough to take. His chest remained. Sentimental trinkets had no place in war. All that would be missing was the rope, which Garrak had volunteered in case anything needed construction. Maybe it would be used in some hastily constructed barricades, but more likely it was left as useless at Garrak himself. Garrak clutched himself tighter, wondering if he would ever have the chance to return anything back to his hut.

It wasn’t long before Garrak began thinking of Sharg. Despite the suspicions he had held, despite Sharg’s attitude towards him and the clan in general, despite everything Garrak still found it hard to comprehend he had been traitor. Not everything the clan did was just by any real measure, but how many innocent lives must Sharg have lived around and now have on his conscious? Even that anyone could be so confident as to get away with such a deception, or the creature that Sharg had escaped on … It all felt unbelievable, as if this was just another vivid dream and he would wake up in the morning and everything could still be saved.

The worst of all was Sharg’s claim to be acting on the demands of Garrak’s father. Sharg had admitted to killing in cold blood several members of the clan and planning the Leader’s assassination. Were these the kind of orders his father might give? What kind of a man did Garrak owe his heritage to? At this thought anger began to build inside Garrak and he slowly sat up to stare at the rusted sword. Maybe he did want to meet his father after all, if only to force the bastard to explain himself. Or just Sharg. Or anyone that Garrak could hold a sword to without fearing for his own life.

Garrak screamed his frustration out at his hut, his voice echoing slightly against the walls, before lowering himself back into the hammock. It was hopeless. No, the clan still had enough warriors and weapons to turn back the Dark Tiber tribe, take a few prisoners and learn whatever answers they wanted. He was hopeless. Garrak could barely walk without a stick, and couldn’t move one arm much without pain from his shoulder throwing him off. Not that he could have done much but take an arrow for someone else anyway. The clan had raised Garrak, and Garrak had … finished a few chores early, maybe.

For a brief moment Garrak wished that Sharg had just killed him that afternoon a week ago, along with all ‘messengers’. It might have been less cruel.

Well, there was still one thing he could do. Despite the dangers around him, and the others who had fallen, Garrak was still breathing, even if couldn’t fight. There was no use in giving up. He owed this clan a debt, and maybe he didn’t have the skills to pay them back now, but he would do them no favours in dying. In time, Garrak could learn, and he swore to himself one day he would do whatever it took to earn the scars by his shoulder. For now he had to do what he could: survive.

Garrak took up his crutch and rose to his feet. Even as he pushed open the door to his hut he heard a loud drum beat start to play. For a moment he stood still, knowing what was coming. The rhythm was fast paced, but regular and determined. It was the first beat that children were taught, and the one they’d all learned to fear the most. The drum of war.

The standard protocol when the beat was heard was that the clan had one minute to arm themselves then move calmly and quickly to the village centre. Today, everybody knew what was happening and would already be ready. The army were probably moving into their squads already, while the women, children or handicapped fled into the caverns. It was a pitiful thing to be proud of, but Garrak smiled slightly thinking which category he fell into now.

Normally those unable to fight would help distribute armour and weapons from within the caverns, but the army would be ready. Garrak suspected that wouldn’t stop them taking weapons for themselves. If all else failed, even women could swing an axe. Children were supposed to be kept away and spared fighting, but who trusted the Dark Tiger tribe to let them live? There were short swords they could hold. Even Garrak could take a handful of throwing spears and hope nobody made it close.

With the Military Council broken, Garrak presumed no plans had been made. The army would wait outside, with Torgak or Dirtle at its head, and wait for the enemy to make their move. If both were killed, they knew who was ranked next to take over command. Deserters or dissenters would be struck down as enemies, to the last man. It was the only way they could win.

Garrak strode out of his hut and towards the caverns. Outside it looked strangely dark, and Garrak saw a large grey cloud spreading across the morning sun and covering half the sky. A burst of cold air blew around him. He shivered and moved just a little bit faster. Absurdly, Garrak wondered what the tribe would do if they arrived only to find the clan all dead from exposure. Wasn’t this whole war about the cold and shortages anyway? Garrak couldn’t even remember.

Garrak heard faint cries and tried to increase his speed to a jog. His aches didn’t bother him so much as his exhaustion from the last week. Maybe once this was over he could sleep safely again. Around him Garrak could see a few other members hurrying towards the village centre. Mostly women and young children, carrying personal keepsakes they hadn’t wanted to leave behind, but there was one or two armed guards returning to the main army too. Few of them bothered to conceal their fear. Garrak almost laughed to see of his frequent teasers under Drugtar’s command sprinting with tears in his eyes, but Garrak couldn’t blame him. A few moments later they were gone, and Garrak was alone again as he struggled towards the comparative safety of the caverns.

Barely a few seconds later Garrak saw Turev burst out of a small grove of trees, running away from the caverns and towards him. Garrak let out a small involuntary sigh of relief at the sight of him. Turev didn’t look quite so pleased at their meeting.

“Garrak! Damn it, there you are!” Turev called stopping a few a metres away. Garrak caught up and the two began quickly walking back to the village centre.

“What’s happening?” Garrak asked hurriedly.
“Dirtle had a couple of scouts out in the forest, and they just got back. The tribe is almost here, they’re as many as we expected. We were going to attack them just outside the village but, gods, another group were spotted approaching from the west. At least a couple of dozen of them. Raitur, Garrak,” Turev explained, his face in dismay. Garrak blinked and swallowed nervously.
“How much …?” Garrak asked, already fearing the answer.
“True blooded,” Turev answered, swearing.
“How the hell did they manage to ally themselves with a clan of raitur?!” Garrak asked in panic. “How the hell did a clan of raitur even end up in our forest?!” To have raised a raituri was one thing, but Garrak had never even heard of raitur allying themselves with other races! They only reluctantly bowed to the strongest among themselves, what show of strength could the Dark Tiger tribe even have to awe them? There had to be another explanation, some lure or trickery, but even if the tribe had led the raitur to this site there was no way they would risk being near it unless something was staying the raitur hands towards them.
“I don’t know! The scout didn’t stick around, obviously. And the tribe themselves, they were coming from the east, not the north, for some reason,” Turev mentioned. For a moment Garrak was confused – the Dark Tiger tribe’s village was to the north west of theirs – but then he recalled Sharg’s parting words.
“They thought we’d still be there. The tribe knew we were trying to take over Cornesh, but they can’t have known somebody had betrayed us to them,” Garrak said.
“You think?” Turev considered.
“If they knew what we had planned they would have assumed we’d managed to get in successfully. They could have marched out and quietly surrounded the town once we were all in. We would have been defended, but completely trapped. Once they found out we had returned here, they must have come straight from the east,” Garrak explained quickly. It almost would have been a blessing that Cornesh was defended, except that now instead of being trapped in a strong and mostly self-sufficient town they would now be trapped in a poorly defended cave with limited supplies, were tired, had no plan and apparently would be attacked at the same time by damned raitur!
“That must be why Sharg fled now, as well. If the tribe’s army reached Cornesh they might have engaged the soldiers outside only to find us not there at all,” Turev said. “Damn it, Torgak should have just shot the bastard when he had a chance!”
“How did you know about Sharg?” Garrak asked in surprise.
“I don’t know where the hell you’ve been the last couple of hours, but the rest of the clan have been preparing to fight,” Turev said. Garrak glanced up at the sky. Had he really been curled in his hut that long? “Most of us have been waiting in the caverns for the signal. Word goes around, you know.”
“Which would explain why you aren’t wearing armour or holding axe!” Garrak exclaimed in irritation. Of all the times to avoid duty, this was the worst.
“I’ve been risking my life to gather everyone from nearby the village! Besides, I’m hardly the greatest hunter around, just in case you hadn’t noticed, I was going to be the last to receive a weapon and fight anyway!” Turev defended angrily. Garrak could see he was telling the truth, for a change. “What the hell have you been doing the last few hours?”
“I was held hostage at damned knife point, after only recently being shot at by an unexpected army around Cornesh, only the day after returning from being thrown into the Dark Tiger tribe’s prison! I think I deserved a moment of rest before this hell begins!” Garrak objected in frustration. Turev’s face softened, and his anger fell away.
“Yeah, okay, I’ll give you that one,” Turev grinned. “But don’t you ever accuse me of using ridiculous excuses to get out of work again!” Despite everything Garrak smiled briefly as he stepped into the village centre cavern.
As Garrak stepped into the cavern he noticed the usual guards were missing, presumably making last-minute preparations for combat within the deeper caverns. The main cavern itself was noisy and almost completely full. Garrak looked around and could see around half of the people in full body armour, carrying assorted weapons from bows, to spears, to simple clubs around with them in readiness for the attack. A number of the wooden carts rested around the cavern. The carts had been opened and women were handing out weapons and armour to the few capable who did not yet have them. Two carts full with grain and dried meat had been brought out from deeper in the cavern to nearby the entrance to the caves, and the food was being doled out in small portions. The carts were already nearly empty. Large buckets of water stood nearby in a similar state. Garrak was surprised to see one of the tunnels leading further underground into the caves was blocked by a number of guards, and Putrik stood nearby.
“What’s going on there?” Garrak asked, pointing towards the tunnel and raising his voice to be heard over the crowd. Turev followed his gaze and stood for a moment on his toes, not having the same advantage of height that Garrak had.
“Oh! I heard some guards just this morning caught the guy who found out about the infiltration!” Turev said excitedly. Garrak’s mind instantly returned to last night, and what Torgak had been told after he called the mission off. Was this the same man they’d found?
“Who told him?” Garrak asked the burning question. Turev shrugged.
“I don’t know. Putrik was questioning him an hour or so ago. He was too scared to talk at first, but Putrik got a bit violent and he gave in. He said his name was Bill, and that-” Turev began. He was cut short after Drugtar emerged from the worried crowds and stepped between the two. Drugtar was wearing a large breastplate and helmet with unfamiliar symbols and patterns. It had presumably been taken years ago in the war against Cornesh, or some earlier conflict. At his belt a large axe was attached and a number of throwing spears were held in a large quiver on his back. Drugtar held out in front of him thick leather body armour and a long spear, offering them to Turev.
“Turev, use these. What took you so long? No, don’t tell me. We don’t have time,” Drugtar said, handing them over to Turev. Turev paused for a moment, looking at the armour.
“Leather armour? What the heck?” Turev said in distaste. “Do you want me to get killed out there or something?”
“If you had come back here when you were supposed to, there might have been more left to choose from! Unless of course you’d rather stroll out there naked?” Drugtar reprimanded, walking back off into the crowd before Turev could respond.
“This is all your fault, you know. If I get impaled today you can have that on your conscience,” Turev said in irritation, pulling the armour on straight over the top of his other clothes. While he was occupied Garrak quickly strode out around the edge of the cavern to the cart partially filled with meat. Standing beside the cart was Gandeen, looking sadly out into the crowd. Seeing Garrak approach she pulled out a small cut of meat and handed it over.
“Yes this is all you can have, yes you can also take a portion from the other cart and yes I’m aware it’s rather small. You probably don’t even have time to eat it,” Gandeen said tiredly, as though by rote. Gandeen glanced for a moment at the bandages on Garrak’s shoulder and foot, as well as his crutch. “You won’t be able to fight. When the army is ready, which will be soon, stay back in the inner caverns until instructed otherwise.” Garrak stared at the small chunk of meat for a moment longer, then stepped away silently and edged back towards where Turev stood.
Now with his armour donned and weapon held, Turev looked almost comical. The leather armour was stained faintly red, and was slightly too large for Turev. The spear Turev had been given was fairly long, and resting upright on the stone floor stood much higher than him.
“Don’t say a word,” Turev said irritably, glaring at Garrak as he resisted the urge to grin. “Don’t forget I’m the one holding the weapon, hilariously oversized though it may be, and I’ll be the one slaying those bastards to keep you safe.” Garrak pulled his gaze away from Turev and looked over at the guarded tunnel, only to see the guards gone again. Garrak frowned and took a bite out of his dried meat. It tasted strongly of salt, and he grimaced.
“So what did the captured guy, ‘Bill’, say?” Garrak asked, turning back to Turev. Turev was currently stowing the spear rather awkwardly in the armour’s open sheath, causing it stick up even higher.
“Huh? Oh, right. Apparently he wasn’t actually told face to face, but given the information indirectly by two men. He didn’t know their names, just gave a pretty vague description, and he only saw one of the traitors anyway. The guards said it wasn’t really helpful, but Bill did say he would recognise the traitor if he saw him again. We don’t have the time now, but Putrik will probably parade him around once we can fight off the tribe,” Turev said.
“Wait, what do you mean he wasn’t told ‘face to face’, but he would still recognise him?” Garrak asked in confusion. Around the cavern he could hear Uppers yelling orders, and Turev glanced around nervously as the army began to form near the entrance.
“He heard it during that first mission into Cornesh, when we were taking their food supplies,” Turev explained quickly. “He found someone, they let him hide and listen in on a conversation while they talked to someone else. One of them mentioned they were returning, and once they’d both left Bill panicked and ran for Elitar.” Garrak could do nothing but stare in slowly dawning horror.
“Uh, you feeling okay?” Turev asked as Garrak paled. Turev glanced at Garrak’s hand and nervously swore. “Is something wrong with the meat?” Garrak shook his head slightly and instinctively glanced at the guarded tunnel. The sight of Bill – the old farmer – walking out reluctantly under the eye of Putrik felt like a blow to the gut. Garrak suddenly felt faint and leaned heavily on his crutch with both hands, the dried meat falling to his side. For a moment he just hung there, trying not to vomit. Turev peered down in concern.
“Garrak?” Turev said in concern. Garrak hauled himself to his feet, glancing towards the exit of the cavern. “Look, I have to go, but there are healers in the back somewhere.”
“I … I think I just need a breath of fresh air,” Garrak said weakly, quickly moving towards the exit before Turev had time to protest. Several members of the forming army yelled warnings at him, but they weren’t breaking their ranks now and Garrak ignored them. Within moments he was at the passage out, the crowd blocking Turev’s line of sight to him. Garrak took one nervous glance around and slipped out. The instant his feet painfully hit grass he was running.

As soon as Garrak was out of sight of the caverns he fell to the ground and vomited violently. He only allowed himself a moment to wipe his mouth before clambering back to his feet and running again. In the distance he heard the drum beat again, a fast and furious war tune, backing the noise of faint clanking armour and feet walking in tune. The sounds of the clan, marching to war.

Garrak ran, and ran. Several times he tripped over on a stray root, mound, or just his own aching feet. Every time he found the energy to haul himself up and continue. He wasn’t even really conscious of where he was going. All he could think of was what was behind him. The Dark Tiger tribe’s army, no doubt bursting into the village at any moment. A stray member, unarmed and away from any protection? He would be slaughtered in an instant if they found him. A clan of raitur, resentful of orders from a weaker race but with a village full of humans to destroy? Garrak didn’t even want to think of what they would do to him. And of course the Stone Axe clan’s determined, but ultimately weaker army waiting to fight again near-impossible odds. If the clan’s army were to find him now …

They would kill him too.
It was him all along, and he had never seen it, never realised it. All the time he had spent wondering and accusing, and it was him. Garrak let out a loud laugh for the irony of it all, turning into a sob. All the time he had been one who had unwittingly betrayed the clan. He had ignored orders and left the farmer alive when he had seen him. He had lied to his superior and pressed for details he was never entitled to hear. Garrak guessed now that the farmer had been listening with his ear to the door the whole time, hearing everything. He should have killed him, he should have stopped Drugtar, he should have just accepted he couldn’t do anything and left the clan with a better chance of survival than this mess.
Garrak burst into his hut and collapsed on the hammock, fighting back tears of anguish. For the second time that day he lost control of himself for just a moment, loosing a loud scream. To think he had been angry about his lack of control, when this whole situation had been his fault from the beginning. Turev had been more accurate than he’d know when he’d blamed his own probable death on Garrak’s conscience. This clan had raised him, had protected him and had largely accepted him from the day he was abandoned here. And now this was how he had repaid them after all.
Garrak shook his head in frustration. He had to do something. He had … He had to survive, right? He couldn’t just wait around here to be discovered by someone. He never knew, they might not even kill him straight away. If Drugtar knew of the farmer’s story Garrak guessed he might recognise it. And if he didn’t, the farmer himself would recognise Garrak should he return. Unless he could somehow manage to kill the farmer before he said anything …
On an impulse Garrak grabbed his old, rusty sword from where it rested. For a moment Garrak tensed and considered rushing straight back to the caverns. Then he sagged, knowing it was hopeless. He would be surrounded by the rest of the clan that were unable to fight, assuming he could even get there without running into either army. Besides, Garrak knew he couldn’t kill him any more than he had the first time. The farmer had done nothing wrong; anybody would have done the same in the situation. It was Garrak’s own choice to spare him that had started this, and killing him now wouldn’t help anyone. The only person who deserved death now was Garrak himself.
Garrak stared at the sword in his hands and raised it slightly, level to his own neck. Garrak raised his other hand and felt the small patch of dried blood on his neck where Sharg had cut him. If Garrak were to be found now, he probably wouldn’t even have the dignity of a quick death. The Dark Tiger tribe might torture him for a while or keep him as a slave for them. They’d need someone to perform all the additional menial tasks around the village once they had captured it what would be left of once the raitur were done. In their eyes he was young, probably able to be bent to their will over time. At least if the raitur found him he would be killed outright, as if that was any sort of consolidation. If the Stone Axe clan found him he’d probably be captured as a prisoner, forced to confess in front of the clan, to be shamed for what he’d done, to finally expose the last of the traitors from their clan. GarraKimo Chark; ‘unknown child traitor’.
It had a nice ring to it, Garrak thought, the sword wavering in his hands. He’d never been given a second name. Not that the clan ever really used them, but it was just another thing he’d been denied because of his abandonment. Maybe he’d been a fool to think the clan had ever really accepted him. He’d always been given the worst jobs, always been mocked and bullied for everything. It was no surprise that he’d been the one sent on the damned all but suicidal delivery to the tribe’s village. The Leader had probably hoped he’d never come back. One less troublesome misfit to deal with. The only person that had really tried to befriend him without a care for his rank was Turev, or maybe Clarence. Garrak felt a pang of guilt as he thought of them. Turev could be fighting right now, for all he knew. He could be dead. What would Clarence be doing? Risking her life on the battlefield to help save the wounded, with the other healers.
The battlefield he had helped create. Would anyone still care for him when they found out the truth? No. Nobody would care for a traitor, except maybe to punish as an example to others. Garrak still didn’t matter, even when the whole damned clan would want him dead.
He wouldn’t give them that satisfaction. Garrak dropped the sword to his side. So he’d made a mistake. He doubted there was anybody in the clan that hadn’t, and he wasn’t about to give up just because of what his had caused. The whole pointless conflict wasn’t his fault. It was the fault of the Leaders, stubbornly declaring wars. It was the fault of the other barbarians, all too happy to forget their supposed honour and draw blood for the betterment of themselves. It was the fault of people like Sharg, who would kill in cold blood just for a misplaced birth and an unwillingly cut scar. It was the fault of his damned parents for dumping here in the first place. Garrak had spared a life he had been ordered to kill, and if he had caused the downfall of his clan doing so it was still not his fault.
Garrak angrily slid his sword into the makeshift sheath on his clothing. He owed this clan more than an allegiance, but he wasn’t about to die to satisfy somebody’s blood lust.
The smell of smoke from the hut’s window jolted Garrak out of his reverie. Looking outside his eyes widened in horror as he saw fire in the distance, burning from the top of the armoury and a number of nearby trees. Unless the clouds hanging above the village were to release their rain soon, the fire would spread and he would be caught in it.
Garrak took up his crutch, hating it for what it seemed to represent. Torgak had given him the branch to help him walk, but he had no doubts as to why. Torgak only cared for his own speed in returning to the village, and Garrak would have just slowed them down further otherwise. It seemed a lot of his life had been like that. The clan raised and fed him, but there was no pleasure in it. They just kept him alive to do those jobs that others hated. He was just a means to an end. But that means was all his life was, and it was being destroyed before his eyes. He had needed that support. He still did. He didn’t know if he could survive without it.
He didn’t have a choice. Garrak threw the dead branch aside – for in the end, that was really all it was – and rested his weight evenly across his legs. Although it was still bandaged, sharp pain shot through his foot. Garrak did all he could to welcome it.
Ignoring the pain in his foot and the damage he was probably doing to it, Garrak stepped over to his chest and knelt down to open the lid. Looking at the contents inside he quickly sifted through them, trying to find the golden clasp. All the little things he had kept as keepsakes seemed pointless now, but the clasp was the one thing Garrak had that could lead him to his past. And to his father.
But to Garrak’s surprise and frustration, he couldn’t find the clasp at all. Everything else bar the rope was still in the chest, but the clasp was definitely missing. He knew he hadn’t taken it out of this hut in over a year, but …
Frustrated, Garrak slammed the lid down. It was no use trying to search for it now. He had no time. He could only guess that somebody had heard of his rope, and wondered if Garrak had anything else of use hidden. He didn’t know how much the clasp was worth, but if somebody had thought it was pure gold they could have taken it to sell the next time they volunteered to fetch supplies from Elitar. Assuming there was a next time.
Garrak quickly left the hut.

Garrak ran out of the village as fast as he was able. Without any crutch or aid his foot should have been in agony, but he found it easy to phase out from, and it was his slowed pace that frustrated him the most. Were the battle to move to these outskirts of the village, he would find himself in far worse pain. As he moved he could hear sounds of battle from the other side of the village: faint screams and clangs of weapons, screeching raitum war cries that sent fear into his heart even from a distance, crackling flames. The fire in particular was terrifying – Garrak had always learnt to be especially careful with any flames in the forest, and to see one ravage out of control was horrifying. Garrak could smell the foul stench of smoke and wished the clouds above would do something more than watch indifferently as they crossed the sky.

Twice Garrak came across fallen corpses, and again felt ill. One was a scout with bow and arrows, and one a lightly armour guard with a spear. Both had half a dozen or more arrows sticking out of them, and the nearest on fire. Worse still was an encounter with three living hunters from the Dark Tiger tribe. They carried bows and long knives at the ready, casually wandering through the village away from the fighting. It was only their confident laughter as they poked around the buildings that had alerted Garrak in time for him to dive into some woman’s hut. He stayed hidden in fear, peering out of a crack in the wall to see occasional glimpses of the hunters moving gradually closer towards him. It was only when Garrak heard a rampaging raitur cross the area that the hunters hurriedly left, and even then it was some time before Garrak dared leave his hiding place and continue fleeing.

When Garrak finally reached the outskirts of the village and edge of the thicker forest his relief was little. For all he knew there could be more of the tribe’s archers hiding among the trees to prevent any retreat. Garrak had fled the furthest from the village centre as he could, near the same clearing he and Turev had sat in only a few days ago. He could only hope that the tribe wouldn’t bother leaving their archers so far back where they would be able to see little through the ghori ferns. The same ferns slowed him, but Garrak never had a chance of outrunning anyone.

In the distance Garrak was surprised to see some rain, falling from a small circle somewhere above the nearby river. It was expanding slightly towards the village, but too little and too late to stop the growing flames dancing from the rooftops.

Garrak froze in hear as he heard the ghori behind him rustling. He could hear rough footsteps moving in his direction, heavy breathing, and the noise was only getting louder. It sounded like there was only person. Garrak turned quietly and slowly drew his sword. It might be rusty and disused, but it would still cut flesh with enough strength and Garrak wasn’t afraid to use it if he had been heard. Not any more.

Garrak clutched hard onto his sword as the noise drew closer. As the person, only human, stepped partially into view Garrak stepped forward and let out a yell, swinging his sword. It was only a brief glance of their face that stopped his arm at the last moment. Standing before him was Turev.

“I hope you aren’t planning on killing me with that hunk of rust!” Turev yelled angrily, stepping past the ferns. He held his spear with both hands, the top almost touching Garrak. Turev’s armour was sprayed with fresh blood and his skin was pale, but he didn’t look as if he’d been injured any more than a few scrapes and a ugly bruise across one side of his face. Garrak wondered if he was supposed to feel relieved.

“Wouldn’t that be funny though, eh? You’d sentence the whole clan to death in about two minutes, but you’d have to kill me with a rusty sword. How the mighty have fallen!” Turev laughed maniacally, the spear shaking in front of Garrak. Garrak stood perfectly still. He still held onto his sword but with the spear in the way he couldn’t reach forward far enough to attack.
“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Garrak whispered in defeat.
“So it was you then, wasn’t it? Traitor scum!” Turev yelled and spat at Garrak.
“What’s happening on the battlefield?” Garrak asked desperately, the unknown killing him.
“We’re being slaughtered, Garrak. All our army, with all our weapons and all our skill and all our might and we’re being slaughtered!” Turev yelled in anguish. “There’s too many of them! They manage to sneak at least a hundred archers around to fill the air with flaming arrows and there must have been a thousand heavily armoured tribesmen forcing their way towards the caves and we can barely scratch them and the paths of bodies behind the raitur we couldn’t even do anything!” Garrak’s stance weakened as he listened in horror to Turev’s depiction.
“Oh gods,” Garrak muttered, his sword falling weakly to his side.
“Don’t I wish, Garrak. Don’t I wish. You know Drugtar was murdered during the first wave, right? Shot dead before he could even scream his anger. Remember my friend Petaan? He was half blind but still tried to make a break for one of the archers, only to have his legs cleaved off and bleed to death. Oh, and that healer girl you were getting friendly with? She was running out with bandages as a raitur appeared and I’m sure you’d love to hear what happened to her,” Turev recounted, sneering mockingly.
“Be quiet!” Garrak roared. His sword dropped to his side and he clutched his head. “I don’t want to know.”
“You don’t want to know? That’s funny seeing as how it was you who caused all this!” Turev yelled. “Why couldn’t you have just killed the bloody farmer? Those rules were given for a reason! What’s one life compared to the thousands that will be lost by the end of this day?!”
“I thought only for the best,” Garrak replied hopelessly. Not taking his eyes from Turev he took up his sword again, and sheathed it.
“Oh, well, that’s okay then isn’t it?” Turev shouted sarcastically. “Bastard!” With that, Turev let go of his spear with one hand and reached into his pocket. Garrak drew back defensively, only for Turev to pull out something small and hurl it at him. It struck Garrak in the forehead and he caught it as it fell. Opening his hand he could see it was his golden clasp.
“How did you …?” Garrak said in surprise, closing his hand again.
“I took it from your hut when you went on the ‘trial’ to the tribe’s village. I didn’t think you’d need it again somehow,” Turev scowled, grabbing his spear in both hands again and stepping towards Garrak, the spear raised at his chest. “It was going to be a gift for Siough, before you doomed her too!”
“Siough? Is that who you’ve been sleeping with?” Garrak questioned with a sneer. Before Garrak could react Turev lunged forward with the spear. Garrak froze as he felt the tip pierce his clothing and rest coldly on his skin.
“She understood me! She had some compassion for us afraid barbarians. Don’t you dare start judging! Not after what you’ve done!” Turev screamed furiously. Garrak turned aside and stared into the forest for a moment, still aware of the spear touching his chest. He tensed slightly, willing strength into his muscles.
“So,” Garrak said, not facing Turev. “Are you going to kill me?”
“Kill you?” Turev said quietly, laughing. “You deserve worse.” To Garrak’s surprise Turev pulled back his spear and turned away.
“Turev, I …” Garrak started in desperation, but stopped. He knew there was nothing he could say that could make a difference.
“… have to scatter, pick the bastards off, only … can do it,” Turev muttered to himself, shaking slightly. Without turning around, “Get out of here, traitor.” With that final farewell, Turev strode resolutely forward into the forest, vanishing out of sight within a few steps.
Garrak stared into the empty forest for one last moment, then turned and fled.
End Of Chapter