The table was unusually quiet and awkward, unlike the usual cluster of conversations that tended to fill the family's meal times. Ghoa sat at the head of the table, clutching her head, swearing to the spirits to save her.
She would say, "I'll never drink again, I swear," or "I will sacrifice one. No. Two sheep if this curse is lifted from me."
These promises Bakar knew to be empty lies; however, there were few in the tribes who could truthfully claim not to have spoken similar words after a long night of festivities. Alcohol was one of the greatest entertainments to be had in the tribes after all.
Bakar opened his mouth to speak to Cotoah, but any words failed to materialize, and he looked back down. His sister was still shaken up about walking in on him; she wouldn't even look him in his eye, instead looking away whenever he caught her glancing. Cotoah's age hadn't dawned on him until yesterday's encounter. Despite him always having viewed her as his little sister, in reality, they were both of a similar age. He was only a few months older than her, and recently she had begun to grow into a proper woman.
Bakar made a mental note to start treating her more as a woman as he devoured his meal. The gurgling of his stomach had alerted him to how hungry he was all of a sudden. His portions had always been small, and he had never craved for much, but that was gone, it seemed.
"My new body must be quite hungry, another thing I would have to get used to." Bakar thought as he left the tent and began to walk towards Tartar's tent.
The day was very sunny with clear skies, but not too hot either. The day was ripe for a hunt, and he needed something to trade for new clothing. Tartar would have to come first. Bakar wanted answers for what had happened on the mountain. Hopefully, with all the tribes so hungover, they would all get a late start on hunting, leaving some game for him.
"Halt!" A metal-clad warrior's deep voice rang out. He stood with another warrior in front of the entrance to the Shaman's tent. Their armor was too different than that of his tribe. Too New, too good.
Worry grew as he realized they were of Chagadai's tribe; the elite warriors, his personal bodyguards. The only reason they would be here would be on the command of their lord.
"They mean to kill Tartar, to remove the leadership of the tribe." Alarm sounded in his mind, and he began to examine them for weaknesses. A way to defeat them, to save the closest thing to a father he has.
The guards noticed his change in posture and drew themselves into their full height. Bakar would have no chance with his knife, but he knew he must try.
Suddenly, a large hand rested itself on one of the guards' shoulders, and they bowed their heads almost immediately.
"What is going on here, Marik?" The voice was nothing like Bakar had ever heard. It was full of power and authority, calm and collected, but he could sense the tempest of power that it hid.
"My Ilkhan, it is of no concern, this boy walked up to us and began to size us up." The man replied with a smug tone.
Bakar bit his tongue, not wishing to say something out of line; his life hung in the balance at this moment.
The Ilkhan stared at Bakar, clearly amused by the situation. "Boy. This shaman here is of your tribe, I assume?" Bakar nodded. "You see, Marik, he is simply worried about his Shaman, would you not react the same way if Jetei were being seen by a new, strange Overlord?"
The warrior, Marik, agreed with his lord, shamans were sacred to every tribe; without one, a tribe was vulnerable to the wrath of Earth's spirits, without a person who could channel the power of their ancestors.
Bakar let out a sigh of relief as the Khan and his Retinue made to leave.
"Boy, as you believe you can take one of my own in a battle, I will grant you your wish."
Bakar was stunned for a long moment, searching for words; he found only one. "What?"
The Ilkhan chuckled, "You will fight Marik to the death. If you win, you will serve me as my attendant; if you lose, well... Then you'll be dead." Marik showed no sign of surprise, Bakar doubted this was his first time doing something like this. "You can use my sword since you don't have one on you."
Marik didn't even wait for him to unsheathe the blade before he charged. The spear took him in the left side, leaving a nasty gash right below his ribs. The last second shift in Bakar's position barely kept him from being skewered. The Khan's saber now swung to sever Marik's head, but his shield blocked the swing.
The saber was a master work of craftsmen, long, elegant, and perfectly balanced. A user who was accustomed to the blade would be formidable. Bakar was not accustomed to the blade or his own body at the moment. His footing was off balance, and his strength caused him to clumsily swing the blade or poorly block attacks. Swing by swing, block by block, he was slowly growing used to the dance of blades as the fight progressed poorly.
Marik used the reach of his spear to keep him from getting close, while his shield blocked any stray blows that got through. A nick left blood flowing from Bakar's forehead into his left eye, partially blinding him. Two more thrusts barely missed Bakar as they danced in circles.
By now, a crowd had grown around the battling duo. he noticed Maral watching intensely from the top of a wagon with Arik and Drobei beside her. Arik had a look of excitement across his face as he shouted encouragement, Maral had a terrified expression he had never seen on her before. Drobei was what caught his attention; he had a blank look on his face, no worry or concern, it was most unlike him.
The distraction almost cost Bakar his life; another near-deadly slice took him in his thigh, spewing blood quickly.
"That was an artery. I will bleed to death if I don't end this soon." Acting on his thought, Bakar dodged another blow. He dropped the saber and grabbed onto the wooden pole to wrestle the weapon away. The sweat that covered his hands almost lost him his grip, but he regained it on the leaf point of the spear. The blade cut his fingers viciously, but he refused to acknowledge the pain or let go. With one power-filled heave, he ripped the spear out of Marik's hand, sending it flying across the circle the spectators had made. Not letting Marik recover from his shock, he rushed into his ducking under his shield, tackling him to the ground. Bakar hastily ripped his knife from its spot in his boot and drove it into Marik's Eye. The lifeblood of the guard spilled out across the dirt.
Bakar stood with a hard effort, chest rising up and down as he struggled to regain his breath.
"I won!" Was all he managed to yell before the bloodloss got to him.