---Raala’s perspective---

  The man with the smashed nose looks as completely baffled as I feel at the outlander’s insanely bizarre compliment!

  Seriously!

  Who praises a weapon they’re about to be murdered with!? Especially such an ugly one! Four fifths blade by length!?

  “Are… are you being serious right now?” the old man scrutinises.

  “Oh, absolutely! That’s a fantastically designed weapon! Is it your own original?” responds my fellow prisoner, sincerely.

  Looking embarrassed, the psychopath turns his eyes to the obsidian blade and answers “Oh, well… Not wholly… When I was a younger man, I saw someone who had a spear with grooves cut down the sides that they'd mounted blades into to double the length of the spearhead… The idea stuck with me and, well, I eventually decided to try making one myself. This is just many iterations later!”

  “Well, that sounds like you took inspiration but that that design is yours to me! I’d own it and be proud of it if I were you!” encourages the outlander.

  “I… erm… Thank you?” says the confused patriarch.

  “May I have a closer look?” asks my companion, hopefully.

  “Err… Sure… I guess…?” says the man with the mangled nose, holding up the absurd shortspear and taking a step closer.

  So incredibly casually that it takes everyone a moment to realise the problem, Ksem brings his unbound hands in front of him from behind his back!

  The clay bearded man’s eyes go wide as he notices, pulls the weapon away and demands “You didn’t bind his hands!?” looking around at his son and (I think) nephews.

  The boys I watched bind his hands both stutter a moment before the outland man holds up the rope and explains “No, Sir… They did! They just clearly aren’t used to prisoners who’ve got fingers quite as long, quite as slim or wrists quite as flexible as mine(!)… Though, a legitimate critique would be that they did tie my hands with my cloak riding up over my head and then just let it fall back down as they stood me up!… If they’d taken care to tuck it between my arms and my back, they would’ve had a much easier time seeing that I was untying myself(!)” smiling.

  “You… you didn’t think of escaping once your hands were free?” asks the clan leader.

  “Oh… well… of course I did! It’s just that my people aren’t as strong as yours, your son still had my companion bound and muzzled and your… nephew (?) had a spear pointed at my back! Someone might’ve been hurt if I’d tried to escape!” shrugs the outlander.

  Chuckling nervously, the older man observes “You’re strange in more than just your looks, lanklet!… You think I’m going to let you near my weapon with unbound hands?”

  Raising his long, slender fingers to gesture around, the outlander observes “You… still have me at quite an insurmountable disadvantage here, don’t you? I count thirteen of your clan right here and… four, five, six, seven holding weapons! You can surely trust that I won’t try anything foolish with my companion here still in your clansboys’ power, right? I really do just want a closer look at that weapon of yours!”

  The old man looks around, assessing, before sighing, sloughing off his shield and bringing the ridiculous shortspear between him and the tall one.

  Bending down to admire the blade and bringing his fingers to lightly trace the edges, the outlander says “Wow! Obsidian?”

  “That’s right.” states the elder.

  “Now that’s very interesting! My companion was just the other day telling me how she favours flint because, though less sharp, it’s also less brittle? What influenced the choice of stone for you?”

  “*Heh*…Well, the biter’s right, of course! Obsidian is brittler than flint… but my design accounts for that! You see how each obsidian tooth is relatively small and separated from those to either side?” smiles the old man.

  “Oooooh! It’s modular?! Each tooth can be pulled out and replaced when it breaks?!” infers my ridiculous companion.

  “Exactly boy!” beams the psycho, proudly “Keeping them separated keeps the breaks from propagating like they would in a more continuous blade!… It’s so refreshing to have someone interested in my craft like this!”

  I look around and see that the entire clan is just watching the pair nerding out over the man’s weapon, stupefied!

  Realising the two boys aren’t holding my arms anymore, I slowly walk forward to the outlander’s side.

  “Ksem?” I ask, concerned.

  Not even seeming to have noticed the third time I’ve ever spoken his name, he just asks “And… does this weapon have a name, Sir?”

  “Ksem…”

  “Well, I’ve gone back and forth on it… slashing shortspear, shorthandle spear, longblade spear… none of them feel quite right! You know?”

  “Ksem!” I bark.

  The old man angrily turns his smashed nose in my direction and says “Do you mind, biter?! The gentleman and I are in the middle of a conversation!” with all the indignity of someone not holding us both prisoner to kill us(!)

  Not sure what else to do, I just stand there as Ksem turns his attention back from me to the ridiculous shortspear and says “I think the reason they don’t feel right for this is because it isn’t really a spear, is it!… Spears are thrusting weapons, not slashing weapons… This sort of has more in common with a knife, I’d say, but ‘longknife’ doesn’t really fit it either… As it’s designer, perhaps it should be named after you? The… Kvort was it?”

  If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

  Clearly flattered, the old man preens “Perhaps…(!) Might be a little confusing around here when one of my family wants me to come somewhere armed(!) ‘Kvort! Come quickly and bring your Kvort!’(!)”

  “Ah… yes! But when I get back to my people and tell them about this, I think naming the design in your honour would be very fitting!”

  The man frowns and hesitates at the idiotic statement but I beat him to the punch “You’re not getting back to your people! These guys are going to kill us here, idiot!!!”

  Turning his head to me with a smirk, the outlander chuckles “No they’re not, Raala…”

  The greying man leans forward and hesitantly asks “What… makes you so sure of that, lanklet?”

  Matching the gaze, Ksem answers “Because, Sir… I am in the unenviable position of knowing what those who are ready to kill actually look like… and they don’t look like you! Neither do they look like your son… or any one else here!”

  There is a collective, alarmed pull away from the tallest man present at his bold proclamation!

  He continues “You, Sir, are a slightly better actor than your boys over there! I think, if they hadn’t given away that all this was just a performance you were putting on for our benefit, it might’ve taken me a little longer… but I still would’ve eventually figured out that you aren’t a killer… you’re a man playacting at how he imagines a killer would be!”

  All fourteen of us just stare at him in stunned silence.

  “I’m guessing you were planning to get the first of us bent down on the ground, raise your weapon as if to cut off our heads and, then, that woman I’ve seen poking around the hut a few times now (your sister?) would somehow be signalled to come out and dramatically tell you that the stars were out of alignment and that killing us would anger the gods or something? You’d make a big show of annoyance and let us go and we’d leave, both very unwilling to come back and very ready to warn everyone else not to come near this forest… Am I right?”

  The silence continues for a long moment before, from behind the hut, I hear an old woman erupt in giggles.

  The entire deranged clan breaks into raucous laughter!

  Stepping out from behind the building, a woman, her greying, clay hair bound in bunches on top of her head and a staff in her hand, emerges and walks through the crowd, still laughing.

  Finally, she makes it to Ksem’s front and giggles “You have us well and truly pegged, lanklet! Very impressive!” then introduces “I’m Laga, acting shamaness of Hyena clan… You’ve met my brother, Kvort, our leader! Over there is my man, Durlu, and our brotherwoman, Kana. The rest are our children… Oh! Except Tava there, my nephewwoman… What may we call you two?”

  Holding up his palm which, after half a breath’s frowning, the older woman takes the cue to meet with hers, Ksem gestures to me and answers “This woman is Raala of Bison Clan…” and then to himself “…and I’m Ksem ‘Bear Bane’ of the 144 Channels. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  Our captors once again fall about laughing at that.

  The greybeard with the smashed nose aims a playful, medium strength push at Ksem’s gut, knocking him backwards and laughing “I don’t think your strong enough to lift the amount of stolen valour you’re trying to make off with there, boy(!)”

  Recovering his balance, my companion calmly answers “It’s true… I was named not half a Moon ago by Shamaness Dirleya of Golden Eagle who ministers the six clans of the Basin’s Eastern Plateau… Raala was my witness.”

  Cocking his eyebrow and turning to me, the elder asks “Really now, girl(?) This man killed a killer bear?! What was this, an orphaned brownbear cub that someone tripped on and fell off a cliff(!?)”

  “It was a fully grown, male cavebear… Twice my height… Fifteen times my weight, easily! It killed my intended and brother as effortlessly as you might kill a rabbit… He shot it dead at fifty paces.”

  “I believe it…!” backs up the tall teen “…He put a dart between my hand and my club when they were only a few fingerlengths apart! He was thirty paces away! Claimed it was a ‘warning shot’ and that he could have hit me in the eye if he’d wanted!”

  Rightfully alarmed, the man demands “Where is this dart launcher now? Who has it?! Bring it here!”

  The same boy who ran ahead (apparently to get everyone in position for our mock 'execution'(!)) brings forward the bow and quiver of arrows.

  The old man puts down his ‘Kvort’, takes them, draws an arrow and examines both it and the bow for a long few moments.

  Without taking his gaze from what he holds in his hands, he observes “I… see you weren’t feigning your interest in unusual weapons, Bear Bane!” then his eyes snap up to my companion and he sharply interrogates “Where were you headed before my son and nephews captured you?”

  “Speartooth… Just South of your Great River…” Ksem instantly divulges.

  “Hmmm… That’s a looong way to go over the steppe!… Even with a weapon like this, I think you might struggle to replenish your food supplies… How about you and I cut a deal?”

  Amused, my companion cocks an eyebrow and invites “I’m listening?”

  “You give Hyena these darts and their launcher, we’ll give you a spear and enough supplies to see you to Speartooth! Whatever we have that you need and can carry!”

  Cocking his head in the way that signals he’s about to patronise, Ksem answers “Tell you what, Sir… I’ll take that deal if…” he raises his left arm to align it vertically with his shoulder “…anyone in this hearthstead can hold my bow in their offhand, like this, and draw the string back to…” he pulls his closed right fist back to knock his knuckles against the side of his jaw “…here!”

  I sigh and roll my eyes.

  He couldn’t just tell them they wouldn’t be able to use his bow, could he!

  Nooooo! He just needs to show off!

  The old man frowns and lines up the bow in his left arm, bringing his hand forward to pinch the string.

  Unlike me, he pinches against the side of his forefinger, meaning his hand is much better aligned than mine was… but still…

  *Twang* sings the bowstring as it pulls itself out from between his fingers.

  Thinking for a moment, the older man calls “Lorgul! You try it!”

  The teenager steps forward.

  Seeming to have gathered the finger hooking technique from watching Ksem train the arrow on him earlier, he does a lot better… but still only gets a little more than half a draw before straining, trembling and, finally, giving up.

  Wordlessly, my companion steps forward and takes the bow out of his hand.

  Raising it over his head, he leans his lower back forward and his upper back back and fully draws the bow, exactly the way the old man and his son both just failed to do.

  “You see… this bow is no good to any of you!” he explains, relaxing the draw “I’m only able to do this because I’ve spent my whole lifetime practicing!… You might actually rip a tendon trying to draw a bow that’s this powerful!… Not to mention, when it ultimately breaks, you wouldn’t know how to make another! I’d feel bad trading you something that would be of so little value to you!”

  The men he patronises both look utterly crushed at the revelation!

  “But…” he continues, perking them back up “…a beginner’s bow could work better?”

  The whole clan transfixed by what he’s just hinted, it’s the shamaness who asks “And… a beginner’s bow is something you could make for us?”

  “Better than that!” he sparkles.

  “Better?” queries the old woman.

  “Yes!… You see, I’m not the one who’s going to make it!” he raises a finger to point into the tall teenager’s face “He is!”

  Ksem & Kvort |