Pustakawan watched from behind the bushes trying to understand what was happening below.
He had wandered wherever his feet had taken him, far from his native country, hiring out his sword or strength as the work arose, just so he could record everything he learnt in his books. Recently, he had found himself climbing the mountains where lived the poorer tribes in the Northern Warlands. They were poor, but they were no less fierce - if not fiercer than their lowland cousins.
Last week he had worked with the neighbouring Stone Tribe in their quarries for a few meals. He had helped them haul the stone down to the skree slides, that would bring it safely to the mountain's foot, in preparation for the stone merchant trains who would take the stone to the river barges. From them, he had learnt that the Chamois Tribe had stolen a great treasure from the famous Bloodsun Tribe at the other end of the continent, but were having a hard time taming it. He thought he'd heard wrong at first.
Curious, he had come to see what he could learn about this great treasure. Perhaps it was a horse or an exotic animal he had not seen before, but so far, he had seen nothing new nor learnt anything that might be considered a treasure. In fact, since finishing his work with the Stone Tribe, all he had seen was this tribe's warlord daily beating a woman - probably his wife. Wife beating was nothing new in the warlands, but he had never seen them this cruel to a woman before. You couldn't even see her facial features for all the blood and swelling. Also, she was tied up. These highland tribesmen didn't believe in bondage or tying up their women. Why was this woman tied up?
Normally the beating would cease when the woman made a gesture of submission or respect, but this woman refused. Instead, she stared stoically at the ground, swaying with the blows of stick, belt or fist as they came and barely making a noise. In fact, with hands tied behind her back to a post in the centre of the camp, he wondered how she was meant to make any sign for mercy.
The breaking of a twig underfoot behind him made him snap roll to one side and then come upright, sword in hand.
"You still here, Juta," said the Stone Tribesman he knew as Dorit, throwing himself down to the ground next to where Pustakawan had been lying and peering through the leaves. Snorting and laying back down, Pustakawan relaxed. "Looks like Chimcham still hasn't tamed her," Dorit said. "A loyal girl she must be to take so much punishment and refuse to break her betrothal to the Bloodsun Warlord's son."
"She's not Chimcham's wife?" Pustakawan asked in surprise.
"Oh, not even by a stone's throw," Dorit laughed softly. "She's a hard one. Makes a Stoneman like me proud to see such strength in a woman. I wish she were joining our tribe. She would teach us a thing or two. She refuses to marry Chimcham. See how he bends down to hear her answer? A woman in the warlands must speak her consent to marry in the presence of the camp or be given food and allowed to leave the camp. Usually a good beating is enough to make them change their minds, if we don't want to let go. They have the freedom to travel between camps and after they're married anyway. The beating tells the woman the man wants her and will be strong enough to protect their tent. This girl is not from the warlands, so she doesn't know how Chimcham is biting at the stone to show her how much he cares. He is worried to kill her."
"She's the great treasure you were all talking about in Stone Camp?" Pustakawan scratched his head.
"She was presented to Warlord Engar of Bloodsun as a compensation prize. You should have seen her when we all went with Chimcham to kidnap her and show Engar our hairy backsides. She was as beautiful as the morning and moved with the hunter's grace. She danced for Engarson and made us all sigh with envy. Chimcham bought our help with a covenant, but the agreement forbade us to the prize. Our reward was to give Engar the smell of our backwind when he found her gone. Just the chance to anger the proud Bloodsuns was enough for us - besides the gifts of food Chimcham gave us."
"If she's the treasure, I'm not interested." Pustakawan rolled his eyes, but took mental note in case the information became important later. He backed away and stood, arranging his sword on his belt. "I was hoping for something more exciting that I could record in my books. I've got to get out of these stones and find somewhere with food I can catch."
"The chamois too fast for you?" Dorit chuckled, standing and punching Pustakawan's shoulder hard enough to make him wince. "See you around, Juta. I've got to take the latest news back to camp. We'll have a good laugh at Chimcham's expense. May the stones make smooth paths for you."
"And you," Pustakawan slapped the other man's back in return hard enough that he coughed and grinned cheerfully at the reply.
Nodding, they parted ways.
Dorit leapt up the rocky path like a chamois himself, whistling the nut-crack-crack song of the little grey birds of these mountains. Pustakawan took himself to a nearby overhang where he'd been staying the last few nights. He was sure the Chamois Tribe knew he was about, but he took care not to disturb them or their game anyway. Just in case.