Abased - The Exiled Warrior

Chapter 6.2 - Agreements

"Taitor... honourless dog...." Chief Erasyl spluttered as he looked at the blade sticking through him.

"How dare you betray your father and chief?!" an older warrior cried out. "Have you no shame?"

Rustam pulled his sword free. He turned and addressed the other Astaevka warriors.

"I am not ashamed of taking charge. What I am ashamed of is how my own father has slowly let our clan fade. We should all be ashamed of this. We were once feared and respected everywhere. Now look at us. Each year we get smaller and more timid. And whose fault is it? His." Rustam pointed to his spluttering father.

"While he has ruled us our power has shrunk. Why, even last winter pathetic little Empa Clan dared to raid us. And what did we do? We sent a small war party to steal a few of their horses. We should have killed every last one of them!

"And now you've heard with your own ears that he rejected an offer from Morcham that would fill our tents with gold and give our warriors the experience they need to conquer the rest of The Endless Plains.

"My father's stupidity has already cost our clan the place it deserves. Tonight that changes."

Next to him, his father slumped back in his raised chair. His eyes were wide in shock. A red stain discoloured his chest and abdomen.

"You are no..." Chief Erasyl paused to cough up red droplets, "...son of mine."

"And you were never a father to me. You've had your time, old man. Now it's mine." Rustam looked around the room, making eye contact with each of the Astaevka warriors who still stood with weapons in hands. "Unless," he continued. "Any of you wish to challenge me for the throne?"

The tent became silent. As Alam looked from face to face his gaze fell upon the older woman he had assumed was Chief Ersasyl's wife. She was staring at her dying husband. Her face was blank. No sense of sadness, or shock could be seen.

"Since none wish to challenge me, let's welcome our guest."

Rustam looked at the door flap on the other side of the tent, and took a step forward in anticipation. Doing so caused Alam to look at the door flap as well.

"Let me pass! Your chief awaits me," a man's voice in a strange accent ordered outside the tent.

"Alam," Clarisai said quietly as she removed his arm from in front of her, "you do not need to protect me."

The tent's door flap was thrown open. Standing in the opening was a boy. He was in middle childhood, no older than ten years of age. His dark, wavy hair was long enough for the breeze outside to move it, but short enough that it did not reach his shoulders. His facial features still had the softness of childhood and his skin was darker even than Alam's. He was dressed in a clean, close fitting, but simple, grey tunic and hose. His wide eyes darted around the tent in either fear, or wonder, or both.

He was prodded forward by a bald man who stepped into the room and glanced around the tent. There was an eager hunger in his eyes. He was a middle aged man of average height with deep set concentration wrinkles between his brows. The clothes he wore were crimson red and in a close fitting style that Alam had seen twice before.

A sorcerer!

Alam stepped again in front of Clarisai.

And my axe is in the tent!

"My Liege," Gretch dropped to his knees and bowed his head.

This is Gretch's Liege?

Tajar and Alam instinctively stepped back from the sorcerer, who was barely four paces away from them, pushing Clarisai back in the process.

On the other side of the tent Rustam bowed respectfully. "Welcome to my tent, Liege Marext."

"I see you have ascended to the throne of your clan. Congratulations, Rustam. Your father sent a message that you have the Evara I seek?"

Rustam pointed to Clarisai. "You can take her."

"No you won't!" Alam took up a defensive stance. At his side Tajar raised his fists.

"Rustam!" Shaleh exclaimed. "This is madness! She isn't a thing to be bartered!"

"Shut your mouth," replied Rustam. He then turned back to Liege Marext. "My payment?"

Marext threw a velvet bag which landed at Rustam's feet with the clink of coins. He then turned to Clarisai. "Come," he beckoned.

When she did not move he laid a hand on the shoulder of the boy in front of him. "It would be a shame for people to die tonight, Clarisai. What do you say Hunter Gretch?"

Gretch looked from the wide-eyed boy to the sorcerer behind him.

"As always, I am yours to command, My Liege." He reached into his boot, extracted a short knife, and turned towards Clarisai.

Damn!

"Husband! Stop this!" Taisha pleaded. "Don't go against the heavens! Your reign will be cursed!"

"This is not your place, woman," Rustam said without looking at her.

She walked towards him with dipped head. "Everyone knows a reign that begins with generosity is given a generous life," she continued. "And those that break traditions are themselves broken."

"She is right," one of the Astaevka generals spoke up. "Guests, even our enemies, are safe at our table. This is core to our ways. Killing your father bad enough, but none of us here will follow a chief who invites guests to eat with them only to betray them. Who will ever come into your tent if they know that you could kill them here?"

Around the tent heads were nodding in agreement.

Rustam clenched his jaw. "Fine," he grumbled.

He turned his head to Clarisai and indicated the table in front of her. "Please sit and finish the meal with us."

"You dare break your promise to me?" Liege Marext pushed the boy out of of his way and menacingly took a step forward.

"No, no!" Rustam held out his palms to placate the sorcerer. "You will still be able to have the girl, and my army will still join you, it's just that we need the people to trust me. The customs say I can't kill her or give her over to her enemies when we are breaking bread together. But," he raised a finger and smiled, "tomorrow is another day. So instead, please join us for food. We will have a ceremony tomorrow and then you can have her.

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