Abased - The Exiled Warrior

Chapter 20.1 - Honour

"Truce," Gretch shouted from the middle of the mountain road, forty paces away.

To prove he was weaponless he rolled back his sleeves, removed a small knife from his boot, slid his quiver of arrows off his back, and added them to the bow and greatsword that lay at his feet.

"We could kill him," Serik muttered. "Another chance may not come."

"Maybe we should talk to him," Shaleh replied. "He could have attacked us but chose not to. What do you think?"

"I think you are the daughter of the chief and will one day rule our tribe," he answered.

Shaleh nodded tersely and set her face in the expressionless attitude she had seen her father adopt whenever he had to be a chief, rather than a father. She dismounted her squat, brown mare and took the sword off her hip - Rustam's sword - and placed it on the ground.

I am a daughter of the Empa clan. I am strong. Not some snivelling coward.

She stood tall. Head firm. She met Gretch's gaze and walked towards him. She heard Serik dismount behind her, drop his weapons and assume his place on her left side, two steps back. It was the traditional place for the chieftain's bodyguard, the place Alam was being trained to fill for her father before the engraved box came and ruined everything.

Serik walking in the bodyguards' position was a clear sign to anyone on The Endless Plains that she was in charge. Perhaps, she thought, it was a message to her as well.

The man in front of her was more than a head taller than she was, with a broad, muscular frame covered in dark leather armour. His brown face, older than hers, perhaps in the mid-point of life, was creased by the elements and framed by long, dark, wavy hair and an unkempt beard. His eyes showed no emotion that she could read. It was the face of someone who knew not joy, or how to bring it.

As she walked towards him, he stepped over his weapons and approached her. She was under no illusion that he was harmless without his blades and bow.

I am a daughter of the Empa clan. I am strong. Not some snivelling coward.

When Shaleh deemed they were close enough for courtesy, but still far enough away to indicate that they were not allies, she came to a halt. He mirrored her.

"Greetings Gretch," she said with a small bow of the head to indicate respect, but not submission.

"Greetings," he replied without bowing.

"What is the nature of the truce you suggest?" Shaleh asked. She wanted to exert her dominance on the conversation rather than let him drive it.

Gretch folded his arm in contempt and looked past her shoulder at Serik. "You truly want this child to talk on your behalf?"

Shaleh bristled. "I am the daughter and heir of the Chieftain of the Empa clan! You speak with me or not at all!"

Gretch ignored Shaleh and continued to look to Serik. When it was clear that Serik was not going to speak Gretch turned back to her.

"As you wish. Shaleh, daughter of Urlock and Pim, former wife of Nurlan. I will not waste time. Rustam's forces are drawing nearer each moment we are still." He pointed over her head.

Shaleh resisted the urge to look over her shoulder to check if she could see any sign of the Astaevka army behind them.

"I suggest we join forces," Gretch continued. "We have a mutual enemy that together we might defeat."

"And that enemy is?" Shaleh asked.

"Liege Marext of Morcham."

Shaleh concentrated to make sure her face did not register surprise and held her hands in front of her waist to stop them giving away her thoughts.