It took several days to make it to the forests at the base of the mountains, and their path was not a completely lonely one. Unlike deep in the plains where Rial had headed, once they returned to the roads that connected the town to the city[1] they encountered a number of travellers, moving both in groups and individually. Many of these were travelling purposelessly, bedraggled and frightened, wary of the approach of strangers. Upon hearing their tales, it was no surprise why.

The first people they came across, a group of four travelling slowly with a hand-drawn cart[2] full of their quickly gathered belongings, spoke of bandits who took everything from those they came across, leaving their victims adrift and provision-less.

"They're the lucky ones," said one of the group, an unshaven man whose sunken eyes spoke of days of harried journeying. "The unlucky are taken themselves, to serve their captors or to be sold in the markets."

These slave markets were appearing increasingly frequently around the plains, or so they were told by the next traveller they met, a former lawman of a small town several days’ trek away.

"The old methods of maintaining order are failing. My home was overwhelmed by the sheer number of vagrants pouring in from the lands around. They come here with their strange ways and foreign tongues..." he paused to spit at the ground. "I was chased out after an... altercation with a group of newcomers."

They left him soon after he began eyeing them with suspicion.

They heard similar stories from others. The towns and cities of this land were not large, according to those they met, and their lawmen and women were stretched to breaking point simply keeping order within their walls.

Still others told accounts of roving bands of the habitually-solitary grakar tearing apart trade caravans in minutes, mauling any trapped within, and others brought tales of strange winged beasts, unknown to this land, that came in the night and stole the weak, infirm, and young.

These were only the more believable stories. Others were clearly induced by hysteria, stories of water turning to blood, of fields of crops turned to rotting flesh, of graves opening in the night. Rial nervously laughed these off, only to find his thoughts inevitably drawn to these tales late in the night as he sought sleep.

There were even tales of khiladri attacks on the plains, though both Hamist and Rial discounted these. In stories the khiladri were large, fearsome creatures standing the height of a man that played games with travellers before finally devouring them, but anyone who lived in or around the mountains knew these stories to be false. A pack of the sleek, intelligent creatures would cause no harm to even a solitary traveller without being given cause, and there were tales of packs that brought succour and aid to those injured in remote valleys and peaks. Many of the elders of the village knew of someone who owed their lives to the silver-haired animals, and the howls that called over the moon-lit forests at night created a sense of peace and security amongst the region’s inhabitants.

By unspoken agreement they avoided the outpost when it came into view, making a wide sweeping curve around it. It looked peaceful in the distance, no different to Rial’s first sighting saved that none entered nor left. He wondered what was happening inside its walls.

They encountered no others once the town was out of view. The desiccated grasses of the plains gave way to the greener vegetation of the slopes, the forest lush and verdant. Rial realised he could once again hear birdsong; a sound he had not known he had been missing until it returned.

Brin was waiting where they had met Eselwol all that time ago, and he was not alone. Eselwol, now in far better condition than the last time Rial had seen him, was there, as were Tamarla and Gryrne, along with Trian and a couple of more senior villagers Rial recognised.

Locked in deep conversation the group did not see the returning men until they were close, the sounds of their approach drawing their attention.

Gryrne and Tamarla moved quickly through the trees towards the returnees, but not as fast as Brin.

Brin was prostrate in front of Rial before Rial had time to react or gather his thoughts.

“I am ashamed,” Brin said, face down no more than a few inches from the ground. “I left you to a dog’s fate.”

Rial stopped in front of the prone figure and stared.

Head bowed with arms out straight, Brin was holding out his sword, balanced on his palms. Brin was offering his sword to Rial.

Rial almost laughed. So this was how Brin had decided it would go, was it?

The man must know there was nothing Rial could do with the sword. Even if he decided to use it to strike Brin down, there was no way he would do so in front of the others. To do so would be to lose any hope of returning to the village.

Rial was opening his mouth to say so when Eselwol spoke.

"Take it, Rial. It is yours now."

Rial's mouth snapped shut, stupefied.

He was giving him his sword? The sword that the village whispered tales about, the sword that was said to have saved the village on more than one occasion?

What worried Rial more, though, was that instead of understanding what Brin was offering he had leapt to the conclusion that he was expected to cut the cowed man down. Such a thought would not have occurred to Rial even a few short weeks ago.

Rial tried to analyse his own feelings, but the vortex of whirling emotions within him offered no guide. All he knew was that he had only a moment ago been coolly and calmly contemplating taking another's life.

Something had happened to him, was happening to him, and he didn't know what he was becoming.

Rial took the sword in both hands, feeling the smoothness of the crimson sheath contrasting with the rough texture of the hand grip, feeling its weight balanced across his arms. The unblemished steel within was renowned throughout the village, a work of craft finer than any other.

Stepping back from Brin, he snapped it by the strap to his belt, where it hung strange and alien. Brin made no move to stand. Rial looked nervously at the bowed figure, then from one to the other of the rest of the group. They stared at him wordlessly. Only Gryrne and Tamarla gave any reaction, Gryrne with a slight smile of encouragement and Tamarla making an odd partial bowing movement.

Rial took a while to realise that Tamarla meant he should bow in acceptance. Turning back towards Brin, he did so, a deep bow of absolution. Brin stood.

"I was forbidden from telling you, Rial, and I apologise. It was decided it was better for you not to know."

Rial felt a spark of bitterness. It was decided indeed; by the Kotaku, who had treated Rial like a bargaining chip in some drinking-room game.

"We're just glad you're back, Rial," said Trian, grinning widely and breaking the tension. He walked up and slapped him on the back.

"And not a moment too soon," said Gryrne. "We've been out here for far too long, far past what we were permitted."

"Permitted?" asked Rial. "What are you talking about?"

"The village is... in trouble, Rial," said Brin.

"Something bad is happening at home," said Gryrne, picking up where Brin trailed off. "We were only given a week to wait for you, and we've been here far longer than that already. The Kotaku forbade us from going to find you. He wants us back there."

"What is it? What's wrong?" asked Rial.

"You will see when we arrive," said Eselwol, gesturing to the others to gather their things.

"Brin was going after you tomorrow, regardless," whispered Tamarla to Rial as they packed.

She seemed to think it was important that Rial know this. She was probably right.

To defy an order of the Kotaku was to defy the Family itself. Pushing the deadline to return to the village was grave enough, but to deliberately violate a direct command was to invite demotion within the Family, even exile for someone as influential and with as many responsibilities as Brin.

Rial looked down at the sword at his side and its hilt of dull jewels, and resolved to leave any accusations and recriminations for later. There would be time on the journey to the village to talk, and Rial could see from their red-rimmed eyes that the lot of them were suffering from exhaustion and worry. For now, Brin's sacrifice was enough.

He couldn't help thinking though, as they began the long climb back to the village, that the sword meant far less to him than it would to anybody else. The only weapon he needed was carefully stored in the pack at his back, waiting to be called upon again.

[1] Hamist told Rial that the roads led to many other towns and cities, a number within a week’s reach. Rial was surprised to hear this, so desolate and empty had the plains appeared.

[2] Almost all carts were hand-drawn, the wildlife of this land not given to working as pack or draft animals.