Rial slept the sleep of the dead that night, once the pounding headache had been cured by an assortment of herbs Brin gathered, and he slept soundly the next couple of nights after.

The trek was not tough as long as you kept an eye out for roots underfoot on the gradually descending slope. Occasionally they would have to ford small streams or clear away vegetation to make room for their camp, but little more vigorous than that, and the forest became easier to traverse as the days passed, clearings increasing in number and the trees thinning out. There was no discernible trail that Rial could see, but Brin led the way unerringly towards the plains.

Brin became more open to talking as well. The more distance they put between themselves and the village, the more the man seemed to want to talk about it, asking Rial about his friends, favourite places and games, and together making jokes about different members of the family.

On the fourth day they met up with Eselwol.

He was resting under a makeshift shelter of branches and ferns, a shelter the group must have constructed for him before they continued upwards, lying on a bed of straw.

"Still lazing around, I see," said Brin as they emerged.

Eselwol sat up with a muffled grunt.

"You took your time. Had a rest before you came back for me did you?" he said.

Eselwol's voice was full of swagger but Rial could see the way he was holding his arm to his side. The man wore only rugged journeyman's trousers, his shirts laid in the sun nearby where they were drying. He must have washed them recently.

The reason he was not wearing his upper garments became clear when Brin walked over and forced him to drop his hand. A livid purple wound cut deep into his side, no longer bleeding but looking as if it could do so with any sharp movement.

Brin hissed with an indrawn breath.

"Looks like you're lucky I did rush. That's infected. Here..." said Brin, rummaging through his pack and drawing out a wicker-work box.

Inside the box was a potent-smelling poultice wrapped in layers of tissue.

"You'll have to do it for me, I'm afraid. Smarts like a bugger," said Eselwol.

Rial watched the two men as Brin applied the poultice to the wound and filled the wounded man in on events in the village.

It surprised him how differently the men spoke when they were away from the village and its ritualised way of doing things. It was almost a different language, shorn of all honorifics and the careful measuring of one's position relative to the other. Rial had never heard even the lowest grade of servants speak so casually. Was this how the villagers spoke when no one was around?

Eventually the poultice was fully applied and Eselwol stood up, already moving easier.

"Take it slow. You were cut pretty deep; it won't close up for a few more days at least," warned Brin, holding out an arm to steady him.

Eselwol ignored it.

"I'll be fine in two. I'd be recovered by now if you'd have moved faster than a girzel," he said, referring to the slow, hairy animals that crawled from branch to branch high in the tree tops of the forest.

"Don't blame me. I'm not the one who decided to let someone sheath his sword in me."

"Ha, the sort of thing you'd enjoy," snorted Eselwol.

The gesture Brin gave in response made Rial think there was some hidden meaning in that comment, but he had no idea what. Why would a man want to be stabbed?

"Anyway, I had to try. I couldn't stand there and do nothing like a Khaf," said Eselwol.[1]

"And you're damned lucky they didn't slit your throat because of it. Or hers..."

The conversation trailed off at Brin's words, and a gloom seemed to fall on them despite the glaring sun.

“Whatever we offer, they’ll say it’s not enough,” said Eselwol, breaking the silence.

Brin said nothing in reply, but turned and retrieved the cloth-wrapped object from where it lay beside a tree.

Rial had tried to discern what it was Brin had brought throughout their journey together, but had not been able to find out anything other than that it was stout and didn’t flex. When it hit against branches or rocks it gave a curious metallic sound, but unlike any metal Rial had heard of, ringing out for far longer than seemed possible.

If it was metal, though, it was incredibly light. Brin carried it as if it weighed next to nothing, not burdened by it at all. A metal such as that must be worth a great deal.

Now, finally, Rial was going to see it.

Brin strode over and stood in front of the other two, laying the object onto the floor. He slowly unfastened the clips that held the wrapping together, then drew apart the separate sides to reveal something that shimmered in the light.

Eselwol let out a slow, shocked breath, and stared.

The thing was an elongated cylinder, a shining metal untouched by age or stains. Where the forest light dappled against it, it gave off a prism of colours that spotted the trees around them. The colours whorled and changed as they watched.

One end of the cylinder was narrow and ended in two conical points, the tip of each cut off with many tiny holes in their place. The holes were dark and regular, reminding Rial of the tin sieves the house servants used to filter the rice or slice vegetables into smaller pieces.

The other end of the cylinder was almost square, with rounded edges. Four roughened imprints on either side of this end looked as if they were made to enable fingers to grip the otherwise smooth surface.

Between these two sets of imprints, on what must be either the top or the bottom of the object, a small, viciously curved spike jutted out. The spike was incongruous with the rest of the sleek, smooth object, a thorn that made Rial cautious of touching it.

He had no idea what this thing could be.

“This is not the Kotaku’s to give,” whispered Eselwol.

“I said this to him also, but he would not listen. He has ordered me to offer it in exchange for the lives of all the prisoners, and no less,” replied Brin.

The two men stared in silence at the object until Rial spoke.

“I’m sorry, Brin, Eselwol, but… what is it?” Rial asked. Even in the seriousness of the situation, he felt a small thrill at addressing the men by name.

“One of the great treasures of the village,” said Eselwol, not taking his eyes off of it.

Brin looked up.

“You know each of the Five Families holds one treasure that represents their family line back to the days when our people first came to this region,” he said.

Rial did, in a way. It wasn’t something he had ever spent too much time thinking about. The system of the Five Families had been the same for generations lost in time, and was based on so many customs and ancient symbols that choosing which had more import than any other was a fool’s task. The treasures were just another one of the many tales told by the numerous mouths of the village.

“This is your family’s,” said Brin.

Rial looked at the shining object. Clearly it was valuable – he had never seen such a beautiful material before – but its purpose was a mystery to him.

"What does it do?" he asked.

"Do?" replied Brin. "It doesn't do anything. It is a symbol, a... reminder of our ancient beginnings, proof that we came from beyond the stars."

Rial didn't reply. He didn't know how, but he knew Brin was wrong. The object in front of him was built with a purpose. He sensed it with every fibre of his being. Whatever it was, it was built to function. His palms itched to touch it.

Eselwol broke whatever hold the thing was exerting on Rial.

"It is worth more than the village, in the cash-beholden mind-sets of the plains. But I still worry that those who hold our friends will demand more."

"The Kotaku gave me further instructions. I don't... I cannot..." Brin's voice caught in his throat. "I cannot talk of them at this time."

Eselwol and Rial looked in surprise at Brin. A strange look had taken hold of his face, one Rial at least could not interpret.

Eselwol stared at his comrade for a second, then cleared his throat and turned away. Reaching back into the straw of the shelter, he brought out what Rial recognised as Brin's sword, inside its crimson sheath. He passed it to the man.

“I do not need it anymore. We have not been followed,” said Eselwol.

Brin gave a bow of thanks that Eselwol returned and clipped it to his belt, gathering up his pack.

"Come, Rial, we must keep moving whilst we can," he said, already moving.

"You shall not leave me here!" demanded Eselwol.

"And you cannot yet keep up with us," replied Brin. "You should stay here and recover. There is more poultice within the box, use it liberally."

"I shall not be left..." insisted Eselwol, but when he made to take a step towards his friend he cried out and clutched at his side.

"If you insist on coming back to the outpost, then you come only when you are ready. I will not have you keeping us back," said Brin, already pacing away.

Rial, unprepared for such a sudden departure, scrambled to swing his own pack over his shoulder, and hurried after him. He was shocked they would part ways so abruptly.

Eselwol's voice came from behind them as they strode away.

"Safe journey," he cried. "I shall be with you before you know it. Don't let the bastards get the better of you!"

His voice was swallowed by the forest.

[1] Rial didn’t know what a Khaf was, but he intended to find out as soon as possible