by Sam Barone
Esk kar drained his water cup. The sharp pain behind his eyes had lessened, replaced by a dull throb. Nicar’s earlier words came back to him, and now they seemed to contain a challenge. “You want to understand why we must run, Nicar, is that it? It’s because we don’t have warriors. We have farmers, tradesmen, and a few dozen men trained to fight. The Alur Meriki can send hundreds of warriors against us. Even soldiers won’t fight against those odds.”
“If we fight them from behind our palisade…”
“The palisade will not stand. A few ropes over the top and they’ll pull it down.”
“Then we need a stronger barrier,” Nicar said, a little more forcefully.
“Could such a barrier be constructed in time?”
Esk kar glanced out over the balcony. The fence that surrounded Orak stood almost directly below him, only a dozen paces away, and he studied it as if seeing it for the first time. Not high enough, not strong enough, he knew. Orak needed a solid wall. A mud wall, if it could be built high enough and strong enough, might give the barbarians pause. But even a wall wouldn’t stop fighting men. Well, one thing at a time. They just needed something with enough resistance to make the attackers move on to easier pickings.
“I need to think about this, Nicar. What you ask may not be possible.
Give me some time. I’ll come back to you by sundown and tell you what I think.”
Nicar nodded, almost as if expecting the delay. “Come for dinner, then, after sundown. We’ll talk again.”
Esk kar bowed and left the house. He walked through the twisted lanes back to the soldiers’ compound, thinking about Nicar’s words. At the barracks he ignored the idle men standing around and went instead to the stables. He called for a horse and while the stable boys readied it, Esk kar crossed back into the lane. He approached the nearest street vendor and spent the last of his copper coins to buy some bread and cheese.
Shoving the food into his pouch, Esk kar filled a bag with water, then mounted up and rode slowly through the village. He passed through the main gate and nodded to the guard who looked at him nervously, no doubt wondering whether he’d be returning. Rumors must be spreading, fanned by the news of Ariamus’s sudden departure.
The fresh air cleared the last effects of the wine from his mind, and Esk kar gave his full attention to the spirited horse, which seemed equally glad to escape the village’s confines. He put the beast to an easy canter until he reached the top of a small hill about two miles east of the village.
From this vantage, he had an excellent view of both Orak and the river Tigris that looped behind it.
He reined in the horse and began eating the good bread and poor cheese he’d purchased, letting many different thoughts drift through his head. To his surprise, he had several ideas of what could and could not be done. Licking the last of the cheese from his fingers, he studied the village, almost as if seeing it for the first time.
Orak sat on a broad slab of hard earth and stone that forced the river to bend around it, so that the fast — flowing currents protected almost half the village from direct approach. The bedrock supporting the village had once been surrounded by marshland. As the settlement had grown, farmers had drained the marshes, growing crops and building huts on the recovered land. Dozens of canals, large and small, crisscrossed the countryside around the village, bringing water from the river to the farms.
Perhaps the land could be flooded again, leaving only one main approach to the village’s gates. In his mind’s eye, Esk kar pictured a line of archers atop a wall, standing shoulder to shoulder, launching flights of arrows into a swarm of mounted attackers beneath them. The bow, he decided. Only that weapon could make the soft dirt — eaters equal to Alur Meriki warriors, and then only if the bowmen had a wall to hide behind.
Faced with a strong wall, most of the mounted warrior’s advantages disappeared. No storm of arrows to devastate the defenders, who could then be overwhelmed and cut apart by the charging riders. Against such a wall, the Alur Meriki’s greater physical strength and skill with sword and lance would be lessened. Yes, it might work. If Orak could build the wall, the village might have a chance. Whether Orak could transform itself remained to be seen.
Orak resembled every other village Esk kar had seen. Small huts built from river mud and straw accounted for most of the dwellings, though the homes of the rich merchants and nobles tended to be much larger or two — story affairs. A fence surrounded the village, but numerous huts and tents had sprung up outside the stockade, including some that, against Nicar’s orders, butted up against the structure.
As for the villagers, they, too, were much the same as people everywhere. Most had few possessions: a cotton tunic, a wooden food bowl, perhaps a few crude tools. But the farms around Orak yielded plenty of grain, which the bakers turned into a hearty bread, the one clean smell that constantly scented the village air.
The farmers produced enough not only to feed themselves and their families, but enough extra to trade or sell in the village. That surplus filled Orak with people who didn’t need to farm to survive, merchants, traders, carpenters, shopkeepers, innkeepers, smiths, and dozens of other tradesmen. These skilled laborers provided any craft required to support the village, the river traffic, and the surrounding farms, taking payment in grain as well as the coins hammered out by the wealthy traders and nobles.
Only its size made Orak different from any other place Esk kar had visited. The village had been large when he arrived, and since then it had nearly doubled. In his travels Esk kar had learned that the larger the village, the easier he would be accepted. A big village always needed men to defend it, so a skilled fi ghting man who knew horses could usually fi nd employment and a safe place to sleep at night, even if the villagers might laugh behind his back at his barbarian heritage. They seldom laughed to his face; the battle scars on his body intimidated most villagers. At least they didn’t drive him away in their fear, something that had occurred more than once in his wanderings.
Those wanderings had taken him as far as the great sea to the south.
Three years ago, Esk kar decided to return to the land of his youth. He’d thrown in with a trader’s caravan destined for Orak, one of half a dozen guards hired to safeguard the merchant’s goods. When twenty bandits attacked the caravan at night, the outnumbered guards, caught by surprise, had been overwhelmed. Wounded, Esk kar and a few servants had escaped, reaching Orak a week later. The servants he’d rescued had not only vouch-safed him, but they stood by him until he recovered. Deciding to stay for a few months, Esk kar joined the force that guarded the village as a common soldier, and never got around to leaving. Since then he managed to work his way up to third in command, riding most of the patrols and chasing after runaway slaves or petty thieves.
Putting thoughts of the past aside, he decided to look at Orak as the Alur Meriki would. Taking a gulp from the water bag, Esk kar rode down the hill and headed toward the river.
The breeze refreshed him, the air cool and invigorating. Esk kar often longed for the feel of the wind in his face. The feel of a horse on the open lands always called to him, sometimes making each day spent in the village’s confines seem a day of torment. You’ll always be a barbarian, even though your own people cast you out. For years he had drifted aimlessly across the lands, scorned by the villagers and farmers he encountered, even beaten and abused.
Three years he had lived in Orak, longer than he had ever spent anywhere, and lately he’d thought about moving on, frustrated by Ariamus and his petty orders. Perhaps now was the time to forget Orak, move east and visit lands still new to him.
No matter what Nicar wanted, trying to fight off the Alur Meriki would fail, and simply get him killed for his trouble. Esk kar owed the villagers nothing. To them, he was just another barbarian, just as capable of murdering them in their sleep. He’d seen the distrust and fear in their faces often enough.
The idea of leaving tempted him, but only for a moment. A new place would be no bet
ter than Orak and probably a good deal worse. He’d have to start again from the bottom, a mere soldier, treated scarcely better than a callow recruit. No, he felt the same way as Nicar. Esk kar wouldn’t run away to start that life all over again. Not if he could find another option, especially one that didn’t end with him dead.
The Alur Meriki had murdered his family, driven him from the clan, hounded him across the plains, and nearly killed him more than once. Eskkar hated the thought of running from them again. Assuming something could be done that didn’t leave him with his throat cut, he wanted the chance to strike an avenging blow against them for a change, to repay them for his father’s death.
If he could accomplish it, Orak and Nicar would owe him much. As captain of the guard, he’d have more than enough gold to settle down for the rest of his days. Perhaps he’d join the ranks of the nobles and become one of Orak’s rulers. That would be almost as satisfying as crushing a part of the Alur Meriki.
Esk kar put the fanciful thoughts aside. He studied the landscape, riding slowly to the southwest, stopping from time to time to examine the approaches to Orak, picturing what the steppes people would see when they turned their eyes here.
He rode for nearly three hours, until he completed a circle around Orak and found himself back at the hilltop where he’d begun his observa-tions. Esk kar dismounted and sat down with his back to a rock. He let his mind turn over the ideas he had this day.
No one had ever called him quick in his wits, but Esk kar could build a simple plan as well as the next. That ability, plus his size, strength, and quickness with sword and knife, had won him promotion until he stood at Ariamus’s side. Now Esk kar stood alone, and Nicar had asked him to do something no man had ever done before-prevent the steppes people from looting and destroying the village.
The sheer scope of what needed to be done threatened to overwhelm him. He forced himself to remember that a plan had many parts and that each part could be considered separately.
Carefully, he reviewed the many tasks needed to defend the village, repeating them out loud several times to make sure he’d remember all of them. When he finished, Esk kar saw that the sun had moved far into the western sky. Grunting a little, he stood and stretched, then he mounted his horse and retraced his path back to the village and his appointment with Nicar. At least he knew what he would say tonight, though he doubted Orak’s leading merchant would like his words.
2
Riding back into Orak, Esk kar found two soldiers guarding the gate instead of the usual sentry. Both called out to him, looks of relief on their faces. Nicar must have ordered the extra guard to reassure the villagers. By now everyone must know about the barbarians sighted in the north.
As his horse picked its way through the narrow lanes, people stopped their activities and stared. A few tried to stop him, to ask him what he knew about the barbarians. Esk kar paid no attention to them. Everyone seemed to know that Nicar had summoned him, so now they looked at him for some sign of hope and protection. That thought deepened his frown.
Esk kar had no idea what to tell them.
At the barracks, the soldiers waited outside, squatting on the dirt or leaning against the wall, regular duties ignored, anxiety on their faces. The soldiers knew about tonight’s meeting with Nicar. Nearly thirty men, and some of their women, awaited him, eager to learn anything new. He dismounted and handed the horse to a stable boy.
Esk kar considered ignoring them, then thought better of it. “You know the barbarians are coming?” Heads nodded. “They won’t be here for at least five months, so you can sleep easy tonight.” He hesitated, not sure what to tell them. “I’m meeting with Nicar, to talk about the defense of the village. When I return, I’ll tell you what I know.”
He strode past them into the barracks and dumped his gear on his pallet. Esk kar thought about moving into Ariamus’s private room, but decided that could wait until after tonight’s meal. Reminded of his meeting, he stripped to his undergarment and wrapped his rough blanket around himself. Leaving the barracks, he went down the winding street and through the village’s rear gate, heading straight to the river. Esk kar ignored anyone who tried to speak to him and pushed past those few brave enough to try to block his path.
At the water’s edge, Esk kar tossed the blanket on a low bush, stripped, then dove in. At first he stayed in the calm of the eddy pool that hugged the river’s east bank, then moved away from the shore and took strong, overhand strokes against the current. That demanded hard work, and after a few strokes he had to use all his strength to avoid being swept downriver.
When Esk kar returned to the eddy pool, he rested in the chilled water.
Finally he pulled himself out of the river, reclaimed his blanket, and used it to dry off before returning to the barracks.
At least tonight he wouldn’t meet Nicar in a ragged garment with the smell of horses and wine on him. Putting on his one clean tunic, he considered wearing his short sword, then decided he wouldn’t need it. The men who might want him dead had left with Ariamus, and he doubted he had one enemy left in the village.
He returned to Nicar’s house. A few paces before Esk kar reached the gate, five men came out of Nicar’s courtyard and headed toward him.
Noble Drigo and his son, with three bodyguards, filled the narrow lane, and Esk kar had to stand aside to let them by. Noble Drigo glanced at him and smiled as he passed, the knowing smile of a man who already had all the answers.
When Esk kar stepped through Nicar’s gate, he found the boy who’d fetched him that morning again waiting for him. Once inside, the boy closed and bolted the door, then knelt with a damp cloth to clean Esk kar’s feet and sandals, removing the dirt of the street.
Nicar’s wife, Creta, had nearly as many years as her husband, and her hair had long since turned to silver. Everyone knew that Nicar preferred young slave girls as bed companions, but he treated his wife honorably and she managed his household efficiently.
Creta greeted Esk kar warmly enough, after a quick inspection to see if he were reasonably clean and presentable. She’d walked past him in the street many a time without ever noticing him. She escorted him to the dining chamber at the rear of the house, where he found a large table spread for only two. Creta gave him the briefest of bows and left him alone. A matronly servant brought wine, but Esk kar asked for water. In a few moments she returned, handing him a cup of chilled water as Nicar entered the room.
“Please sit down, Esk kar.” Nicar wore a different tunic tonight, one with red and blue stitching around the collar. “You had a long ride today, and we should eat first so that we have time to talk afterward. You’ll have something to drink, I trust?”
The servants began bringing food, one course at a time, and Esk kar found that somewhat strange. When the soldiers ate, everything got dumped on the plank table at once, to be wolfed down as quickly as possible before it disappeared.
Esk kar copied his host’s pace and ate slowly, taking small bites of the warm vegetables after dipping them in spiced oil imported from some distant land to the west. While they ate, Nicar did most of the talking, asking Esk kar about his early life and the many places he’d seen in his travels. He even asked about the steppes clans, what kind of people they were, why they lived the way they did. He talked of everything except the coming of the steppes people.
Esk kar realized that Nicar continued to study him, wanting to know what kind of man Esk kar was. More important, Nicar wanted to learn whether Esk kar had the wits to make any plan succeed.
The food was easily the best Esk kar had ever eaten. But the wine, like the portions, was served in small quantities. He decided that Nicar wanted him to have a clear head. When the servants finally cleared the table and refilled the wine cups, Nicar dismissed them, then closed the door.
Esk kar caught a glimpse of Creta sitting outside the door, sewing a garment by the light of a lamp, to make sure the servants didn’t eavesdrop on their master’s conversation. Not that it would d
o any good. Household slaves always knew everything that went on.
“So, tell me about your ride, Esk kar. What did you see?” Nicar returned to the table, eyes fixed on his guest.
“You want to know if Orak can be defended against the barbarians? It can be done, but the cost will be great, and you may not want to pay it.” He looked hard at Nicar, but his host said nothing.
“We cannot defeat them in battle. But we can make it too difficult to capture the village. If we can hold out for a month or two, they’ll have to move on, driven by a lack of food. So that’s what we must do-make it too costly for them to take the village, too expensive in terms of warriors and horses killed, too much time for a place that will be barren of food and horses even if they do capture it. That means we’ll have to kill many warriors, kill enough of them to make their leaders worry.”
Esk kar saw the questioning look on Nicar’s face. “The barbarians always have too many warriors, and not enough horses, women, or food.
That’s why they’re always fighting, even among themselves. The clan would actually welcome a chance to thin out the ranks, kill off the foolish, the young, or the weak. If they lose fifty or sixty warriors in return for the capture of a rich village, they’d be happy with the trade.”
Nicar nodded thoughtfully. “I understand. So they will welcome the fight, at least at first. So what must we do to make it too painful for them?”
“First, you must build a wall around the village. A real stone wall, something that cannot be pulled down or burned, at least four times the height of a man. And it will have to enclose a much larger area than the palisade does now.”