The Oathbreaker's Shadow Read Free Page A

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    There was a dangerous twinkle in Khareh’s eye, and he snatched up another pole, ready to scuffle. Khareh taunted Raim about his weaker left side. For the most part, Khareh was the aggressor, pushing Raim backward with quick, strong strokes. Raim remained on the defensive, absorbing his opponent’s blows. He tried to focus on anticipating Khareh’s next move, on his footwork or his sword strokes, but still he couldn’t help imagining what it would be like to fight with a real Yun blade.
Soon I will be a great warrior, leading the Yun as the Khan’s Protector. I’ll lead the army that will own path to followor7K‘The finally unite all the tribes of Darhan and then maybe I’ll . . .
    He blinked. Khareh swung at his pole with all his might and it popped out of Raim’s hand and fell to the ground with a thud. For a second Raim stood in shock, his hands splayed palm out in front of him and his legs bent like a frog. Mhara called this the ‘moving mountain’ position. Winning now was as impossible as shifting a mountain with your bare hands.
    The low, clear sound of a bone horn sounded out over the field and snapped Raim back to life.
    ‘Gods, the wedding!’

2
    The priest’s voice was slow and monotonous as he led Tarik, Raim’s brother, and his young soon-to-be wife, Solongal, through a series of complicated vows and sermons. Raim had never seen his brother’s betrothed before. They were an odd pairing. His brother was tall and as thin as a stick of bamboo. Khareh used to joke that Tarik had too many bones as so many poked out of his skin at odd angles – especially his Adam’s apple, which jutted out of his throat like a second chin. By contrast Solongal was several inches shorter, with a squashed round face and hooded eyes so small they seemed like little black peas in a sea of rice pudding. They both held long pieces of string in their hands, and at the end of each vow the priest signalled for them to tie a knot in the string to form an elaborate pattern. Slowly they were sealing their fate as Baril.
    Tarik was tripping over his words, the letters in his mouth tumbling out as cumbersome as an elephantwading through mud. He wasn’t handling himself well, but anyone would be nervous in the presence of Qatir-bar, the first of all the Baril priests. When Qatir-bar had appeared, Raim had been awed. The man was shaped like a spear, with a gaze that was just as sharp. Around his neck, lying on top of his pristine white robes, was an intricate necklace of knots that represented his Baril vows. But it was his forehead that drew the most attention. It was almost completely flat. Tarik had told him in the past that the Baril spent so much time deep in prayer with their heads on the ground that their foreheads flattened, but Raim hadn’t believed him. He wondered how long it would take for Tarik’s head to get like that. Tarik was so pious, he imagined it wouldn’t be too long.
    Raim sat cross-legged on the ground a few rows of people back from where the priest and the couple were standing. Baril marriages were the exception in Darhan. For a man and a woman to promise to remain together and raise a family until death was a foreign concept to most tribespeople. It was a luxury they could not afford. Life on the steppes was hard at the best of times and it was necessary for each person – man or woman – to continue to work for their clans in order for life to continue. When she came of age, a woman would promise herself to her chosen partner and his tribe, and her children would become the tribe’s children, raised by the elders. After the b own path to follows I someoneollowedirth, the parents would return to their clan roles – perhaps as soldiers in the army or as weavers or tenders tothe animals. When they grew too old to perform their role, they would return to their old tribe as elders to raise the tribe’s children, and so it would continue. On the steppes, idleness wasn’t a sin; it simply