Esk kar rode out of Orak six days later, taking Sisuthros, nine riders, two boys, and one pack horse with him. They traveled south at a steady pace. Jalen had explored north to get information about the barbarians’ main camp. Esk kar wanted to observe the far — ranging Alur Meriki war parties reported to the south.
The men were fit, hard, and ready to fight. Six were hard — bitten veterans. Recent recruits made up the remainder, men who’d proven both their fighting ability and horsemanship. When you went to war against the barbarians, skill with a horse was as important as fighting.
Mitrac excepted. Totomes’s youngest son had only limited experience with horses. Nevertheless Mitrac practiced hard for the last week under Jalen’s tutelage. Once Esk kar saw Totomes’s expertise, Esk kar wanted someone with him who could draw one of the great weapons.
Even so it had occasioned a four — sided argument between Esk kar, Totomes, and his sons before the father consented, worried he might lose Mitrac on some minor raid. Totomes gave in only when Esk kar promised to look after the boy personally.
Each day they rode south, resting the horses often. Esk kar spent time with Sisuthros, Mitrac, and the rest, talking to them, asking their advice, or just joining them in rough song. Get close to your men, from the lowest recruit to your commanders, Trella advised. First make them respect you, then let them know you. That’s how you build loyalty.
Her words matched what he’d seen in Corio and Nicar. Esk kar didn’t know where Trella had learned so much about leading men, but her ideas made sense. He’d only to recall all the mistakes of his previous commanders or even his own to see the wisdom in what she said. So he began in earnest to build respect, then loyalty, in his men.
Only with loyalty can you have true power. The words echoed in his thoughts.
If enough of the soldiers and people believe in you, you will be safe, because your enemies will fear the anger of those who trust in you. And so Eskkar made sure he got closer to his men.
In this Esk kar had changed greatly in the last months. Gold, women, horses, weapons, all the things he’d previously considered desirable, meant nothing to him. He wanted power now, power to place himself above the reach of the nobles, power to found his own House, power to build a clan that would last forever. Most of all, he wanted to safeguard Trella, to make sure their future remained secure.
But now Esk kar needed to concentrate on the present, so he put thoughts of Trella and Orak out of his mind and focused on his mission.
By the fifth day they’d traveled over a hundred miles south of Orak, and soon he began hearing stories of an Alur Meriki raiding party.
Wayfarers, refugees, and travelers turned pale with fear when Esk kar and his riders approached. Their faces turned to smiles when they learned Esk kar came from Orak. From these wanderers he pieced enough stories together. The barbarians had finally reached the banks of the Tigris almost two hundred miles south of Orak. As yet they hadn’t started north.
They would do that soon enough. No one had any real idea of the size of the war parties. Wild estimates of hundreds of warriors stripping the lands meant nothing. Esk kar divided every count by four, knowing fear and inexperience would infl ate the numbers. He felt certain that two separate raiding parties existed.
Esk kar warned those they encountered not to go to Orak unless they wanted to fight. Otherwise they should cross the river as soon as possible.
That night, after caring for the horses, they sat around the small fire, enjoying fresh meat for only the second time since leaving Orak. They’d found a dying calf, separated from its mother, and the young animal had barely enough flesh on its bones for a hearty meal. The warm meat provided a respite from grain cakes and stale bread.
When the meal ended, Esk kar sent one of the boys to a nearby hill to keep watch and gathered the rest of the men. Each night he spoke about the coming day, so everyone knew what they were likely to confront.
“We’ve gone south long enough. Any day the Alur Meriki may turn north. So tomorrow, we head eastward. The barbarians have already passed through those lands.”
“Why not go farther south,” Sisuthros asked, “to see how many men they have?”
“We’ll learn nothing more by going south. The barbarians have reached the river with at least one large raiding party. If we encounter them after they have turned north, they’ll pursue us, and in a few days ride us down, even with our fine horses.”
“What will we find to the east, Captain?” Sisuthros still sounded un-convinced.
“We should find groups of men and slaves moving north and south between the main body and these southern raiders. They won’t be expecting men to come at them from this direction, now that their warriors have swept this land. I’d like to capture one or two, to learn how many they are and what they plan. Remember, we’re not out looking for a fight, just information. I want to get you back to Orak alive.”
Most commanders gave little thought to the lives of their men, so he knew his words had touched them.
“So if we encounter any barbarians,” Sisuthros said, “we run?”
The men itched for a fight. Young and brave, they trained hard for weeks, and that training had given them confidence and the urge to test themselves against the enemy. “Yes, we run unless we meet a small party, one closer to our size. Then maybe we’ll have a chance to test our blades.”
The next morning they traveled at a moderate pace, with two men ranging ahead, and another to their rear. They rode that way for three days, stopping often to rest the horses, traveling only ten or fifteen miles each day, seeing fewer farms or people, and instead more empty land as the cautious riders moved deeper into rough country to the east.
They reached the beginnings of hill and canyon country, with the great mountains looming ever closer. By now Orak lay far to the northwest.
The ninth day since leaving Orak, the morning showed a sky gray and heavy with clouds, hinting at rain. They kept to their usual pace, keeping away from the hilltops and stopping often to rest the animals.
An hour past noon, after they dismounted to rest the horses, the man keeping watch raised a shout and pointed toward the mountains. In an instant Esk kar leaped on his horse, looking eastward. He saw the south-ernmost of his scouts galloping back toward them. Turning to his left, he saw the other scout also returning, but at a more reasonable pace.
The fi rst scout, a veteran named Maldar, pulled up in front of Esk kar.
All the men had mounted their horses, readied their weapons, and let their eyes scan the horizon in every direction.
“Captain, there’s a large band of barbarians about three miles ahead.”
Maldar’s voice betrayed his excitement. “Or maybe two bands. I couldn’t be sure, but it looks as if they’re fighting, lots of dust and noise.”
Fighting among the barbarians! That didn’t sound right to Esk kar. The Alur Meriki had serious penalties for fighting amongst themselves when on the clan’s missions. At home in the main camp, individuals often fought, but conflicts between groups of warriors seldom occurred. Even if two clans opposed each other, everyone preferred to let the leaders fight it out.
But who else could they be fighting?
“Maldar, switch horses with one of the boys.” He wanted Maldar on a fresh mount. “Sisuthros, get the other scout in and follow us, but keep at least half a mile behind.”
Esk kar waited until Maldar had moved his gear to the new animal. The fright Esk kar saw on the boy’s face would have made him laugh once, but now Esk kar smiled encouragement. “Stay steady, boy, we’ll not leave you behind.” Then Esk kar and Maldar rode off at a canter. A small cloud of dust rose and soon settled in their trail.
Before long the two men reached the base of the outlying hills. From there successive ridges of earth rose ever higher, until the base of the great peaks blocked the path. Esk kar imagined he could hear the distant clash of bronze weapons and the cries of men fighting, but when he stopped and listened, he heard nothing.
“Here, Captain, from this hilltop I saw them.” A winding trail, marked by the hoof prints of Maldar’s horse, led to the top. Esk kar could ride up, as Maldar had done, or he could climb the steep hill on foot. Esk kar decided not to risk the horses.
“Come,” he ordered, “we’ll climb on foot.” They rode the last few paces to the base of the hill, dismounted, and tied the horses fast to a small tree.
Esk kar made sure he tied his knot tight and that Maldar did the same. If they had to run, Esk kar didn’t want to be fighting his own man over a horse should one of the animals get loose.
They began the long climb, scrambling much of the way and slipping back occasionally until they reached the top. None of his recent training had prepared him for climbing steep hills, and he was breathing hard by the time they gained the summit. Low boulders covered the narrow crest, with patches of grass sprouting between them. He dropped down between two rocks.
Looking out over the spreading foothills, Esk kar found himself on a hilltop somewhat higher than those in front of him. It provided a good vantage point to observe the grayish — red slabs of rock that protruded down from the higher mountains and formed a labyrinth of canyons and gullies that twisted and turned back on themselves.
Maldar pointed to the northeast, “See, there they are. No, wait, they’ve moved toward us.”
Another ridge crest separated Esk kar from the swirling cloud, but he could make out the dust of many riders, a constantly churning cloud that moved and shifted as he watched. It did look as if two groups battled each other in a running fight. As he watched, one band broke through the ranks of the other and headed toward Esk kar’s position, following the line of hills that ran roughly parallel to the ridge Esk kar occupied, but more than a mile away.
In moments the other riders regrouped and took up the chase. “Count the first group, Maldar,” he ordered while he tried to estimate the second and larger body. The strange riders were still far off and the horses moved and merged, making counting difficult. Sixty — five or seventy men, he guessed.
“Forty, maybe a few more. Why do they fight each other, Captain?”
Esk kar turned his attention to the first troop, close enough to distinguish some detail. They either had no standard or had lost it in battle.
Yet even the dust couldn’t hide the yellow streamers that decorated many lances and bow tips. Yellow meant another clan, for red marked the pre-dominant hue of the Alur Meriki. So a different tribe of steppes people had somehow gotten involved in a fight with the Alur Meriki.
Esk kar watched the leading band turn toward them, seeking a path out of the hills and canyons that threatened to pen them in. The pursuing band began to gain on their quarry, their horses obviously fresher, though all the animals would be tired by the fighting and the chase. He’d seen enough. “Let’s go, Maldar. We don’t want to be here when…”
His voice trailed off as he watched the yellow riders gallop into a canyon. From his vantage point, Esk kar could see their path led nowhere.
In a few moments the yellow riders whirled their horses about and rode back out, the gap between pursued and pursuers shortened by the time wasted on the false trail. A short ride would bring them to another fork.
One branch led to a narrow, twisting trail that would lead to the open plain where Esk kar’s men now waited.
The other branch, twice as wide, led into another, larger canyon, one that twisted and turned alongside the cliffs, but one he could see ended in a second cul — de — sac. But it wouldn’t look that way to the harried riders. A flash of insight possessed him, almost as if he could see what would happen. At the same time, an idea, a foolish one perhaps, took hold of him.
His eyes marked the landmarks beneath him.
“Come,” he ordered, his mind made up, and he began scrambling down the steep hillside, grasping at roots and the hard rock edges that jutted through the thin grasses.
At the bottom Esk kar waited for Maldar to come rattling down, then grabbed his arm to halt him. “Walk slowly toward the horses, Maldar.
Don’t spook them.”
They reached the horses that watched nervously, nostrils flaring and eyes wide at the unusual sight of men and stones sliding down the hillside.
Esk kar made sure he had a firm grip on the halter before he undid the knot, looking at Maldar to make sure he followed his example. Once mounted, Esk kar led the way back to Sisuthros and the rest of his men, hidden from view by yet another tiny rolling swell sprinkled with skimpy grass.
“Captain, we should hurry.” Maldar’s voice betrayed his excitement.
“They’ll be here any moment. We’re right in their path.”
Esk kar reached the top of the grassy mound that opened up to the plain and spotted the rest of his men. He waved to them, summoning them forward. The faint sounds of the barbarian horses could be heard now, echoing off the rocks. The warring parties were less than half a mile away.
Maldar began again, but Esk kar cut him off. “No, they’ll take the wrong turn into the canyon, and be caught in a trap. They don’t know this ground or they’d never have gone up the first blind canyon. We’re safe for now.”
Sisuthros rode up at the head of the men and looked toward the hills.
Esk kar saw fear on each man’s face, especially the new men and the boys.
Everyone could hear the pounding hooves, amplified by the cliff walls, and they all knew danger lay just over the ridge. He waited until they’d bunched up around him.
“Listen carefully.” Esk kar kept his voice calm and assured. “There are two tribes of barbarians engaged in a battle inside the canyon over there,” he pointed to his left. “The larger band is Alur Meriki, and there are about fifty or sixty of them.” No sense frightening them even more by telling them the exact truth. “They fight against another, smaller band of about forty barbarians, one that I don’t recognize but clearly from a different clan. By now the Alur Meriki have trapped the first band in a box canyon and will soon be attacking them.”
“Then we’ve time to get away.” Sisuthros’s voice showed his relief. The men nodded agreement.
“No, we’re not riding away.” Esk kar watched their faces go blank at his words, their mouths opening in surprise. “We’re going to attack the Alur Meriki from the rear. We’ve enough men on fresh horses to tip the scale of battle.”
“Why fight to save barbarians?” Maldar asked. “Why not let them kill each other, while we get away?”
Esk kar shook his head. “Barbarians have a saying-the enemy of my enemy is my friend. If we help this other tribe, we gain allies against the Alur Meriki, and Orak needs all the help it can find. With our help, these Alur Meriki can be defeated.” He saw the doubt and disbelief on their faces. “You said you wanted to fight, didn’t you? Well, here’s your chance!
Or would you rather run away?”
He gave them no time to answer, as he turned his horse’s head back toward the canyons. “Mitrac, come with me and ready that great bow of yours. Sisuthros, prepare the men and walk the horses two hundred paces behind us.”
Esk kar rode off without a backward glance. In a few moments Mitrac reached his side, pale but determined, his eyes wide. Esk kar looked at the young man. “Trust me, lad, we can do this. I promise that you’ll kill at least five Alur Meriki today.”
Esk kar rode through the creases in the hills, the sounds of shouting and excited horses growing louder. The first party realized they’d ridden into a trap, and now both sides took their time readying their men for further battle. No doubt the first band had ridden to the end of the box canyon and would regroup from there. But the battle hadn’t started yet, so Esk kar knew he had some time.
Checking the landmarks he’d noted from the hilltop, Esk kar took his position and dismounted. He tied his horse to a gnarled tree limb, then retied Mitrac’s mount.
“That was a poor knot,” Esk kar said. “Your horse would have bolted loose at the first sound of trouble. Always make sure of your horse.” He slapped the lad lightly on the shoulder. “Now, string your weapon and follow me.”
Without waiting or looking behind, Esk kar moved silently the last hundred paces up the narrow trail. Boulders rose up on either side, twice his height, until he came to the final bend in the path. He slipped through the rocks and took a quick look up the trail.
The barbarians had left two riders to guard the opening against the chance of any opponents breaking through their ranks and escaping. Their gazes were fixed down the canyon. Mitrac’s rapid breathing announced his arrival, and Esk kar stepped back behind the rocks.
“Mitrac,” Esk kar said, noting the youth’s bow was strung and an arrow fi tted to the string. “There are two warriors, both with bows across their mounts, just around the bend, about forty paces away. Neither has an arrow to his string yet. Shoot the one farthest away first because he’s closest to the canyon entrance, and I don’t want him getting away. Then shoot the other one. If you miss, keep shooting. If he charges, I’ll take him with my sword.”
Esk kar looked at the lad, who seemed steady enough though his lip trembled and the bow shook a little in his hand. “Are you ready?”
Mitrac swallowed hard but managed to nod.
Esk kar had seen the signs of fear before. “It’s an easy shot, and they won’t be expecting it. Just do it, and think about it later. Now, let’s go. Take three good paces and let fly. I’ll be right behind you.”
Esk kar pulled his sword from the scabbard, more to give Mitrac a sense of security than out of actual need. At that moment, a great war cry sounded from the Alur Meriki inside the canyon, mixed with the pounding of horses put to the gallop as they launched their attack.
Mitrac’s hands shook a little, just enough to betray his nervousness.
He bit his lip, took a deep breath, exhaled half of it, and stepped forward.
Three long paces, then he turned and braced his left foot.
The boy’s long training under the stern tutelage of his father paid off.
The bow bent smoothly and, with scarcely a moment to aim, he launched the shaft on its flight. The first warrior cried out when the arrow struck him behind the right shoulder. The second man looked the wrong way. As he turned back to his rear, Mitrac’s second arrow, which had leapt from quiver to string, struck its target full in the chest. The Alur Meriki pitched slowly off his horse.
Esk kar darted back toward his men and, waving his sword, urged them forward. He raced back to Mitrac, clasping him on the shoulder to give him confidence. “Take a stance up in those rocks. Shoot anything that comes your way wearing red.”
Pushing him on his way, Esk kar ran ahead and gathered up the two riderless horses, leading them away from the canyon’s opening. Up close, he saw that the gap between the canyon’s walls was about forty feet wide at the entrance. He handed the horses off to Sisuthros, who rode up, sword in one hand, leading Esk kar’s horse with the other.
Esk kar nodded at his subcommander, partly from relief that his men had followed him. He handed the ropes of the captured beasts to one of the boys, then took the halter of his own mount and swung back astride.
“Hold these animals fast. We may need extra mounts.” Esk kar turned to Sisuthros and the men. “Follow me, and once in the canyon, form a line.
They won’t be expecting an attack from behind. When we charge, ride as hard as you can and kill everything in your path wearing red. Red, remember that!” Esk kar spoke rapidly, giving the men no time to think or doubt.
In a moment Esk kar was at the center of a line of ten mounted men that stretched across the canyon’s mouth. The noise of the battle sounded loud in his ears, just out of sight. “Mitrac,” he called out to the lad standing in the rocks with his bow, an arrow to the string. “Follow us in, but stay in the rocks. Kill as many as you can. Don’t let any get away.”
Esk kar glanced at the men on either side. “Remember, kill only red, or we’ll be fighting the whole lot.”
He gave them no more time to worry. “Think about all the gold they’re carrying! Use your horses and scream your heads off. I want them more scared of us than the other barbarians. Now, follow me, and do as I do!”
He kicked the horse forward and hoped his men followed. If they didn’t, he’d be dead very soon. His own fear rose up bitter in the back of his throat, as it always did at the start of a battle. Death might wait a few paces ahead, but he refused to think about the danger or his decision to fight. Esk kar took a deep breath, glad that the time for thinking had passed.
Rounding the small bend just inside the canyon’s mouth, the full sound of men and beasts fi ghting and dying hit them in all its fury. Huge clouds of dust swirled madly but Esk kar paid no mind, urging Nicar’s best horse forward with savage kicks even as he gripped the beast tightly with both knees. He reached the rear of the fight as the first Alur Meriki heard the horses behind him and turned his head.
Esk kar’s sword swept down, and he sliced through the man’s shoulder as the warrior tried to wheel his horse around. Without slowing, Esk kar urged his horse directly at the next man, letting his beast’s shoulder crash into the warrior’s horse, knocking loose the man’s grip as Esk kar followed up with another savage stroke. The fi ghting madness enveloped him, possessed him completely. Only killing mattered now.
His own men rode close beside him, yelling at the tops of their lungs and hacking away like madmen. An Alur Meriki warrior whirled his horse around and launched himself at Esk kar, swinging his sword high in the air.
Before he could strike, one of Mitrac’s arrows thudded into the barbarian’s breast and he pitched backward off his mount.
The fight turned into a melee. Horses bumped each other, screaming and biting. Warriors clung to their mounts and tried to fight at the same time. But the fresh horses of Esk kar’s men pushed the tired animals of the Alur Meriki back, and Esk kar’s long sword rose and fell again and again, spattering blood from both man and beast.
Attacked from behind by an unknown force, they had no idea how few assailed them. The shouts of Orak’s men rose up and mixed with the cries of the dying and wounded, the din resounding louder in the confined canyon, echoing off the walls and adding to the confusion.
Esk kar tried to keep track of the battle even as he struggled to master his horse and fight, but the chaos of the combat overwhelmed him as desperate men fought one on one. One moment Esk kar found himself practically surrounded by attackers. In the next, the clashing waves of men left him almost alone.
A dismounted barbarian flung himself upon Sisuthros and pulled him from his horse. The two men rolled together at Esk kar’s feet. He reached down and pushed his sword’s point into the barbarian’s back as the warrior raised his knife for the killing blow.
Then Sisuthros was forgotten as another warrior rode at Esk kar, leaning forward over his lance and screaming his war cry. Esk kar had faced lances before and knew he only had to turn the point a few inches to survive. He kicked his horse forward, hugging the animal’s neck and keeping his arm rigid and his sword low until the lance point passed over the tip of the blade. Then Esk kar pushed his sword out and up, catching the wood just behind the bronze tip and feeling it burn its way across his arm. His arm stayed locked and his blade straight as the horses crashed together.
The hilt of his weapon smashed against the man’s chest before the impact wrenched the sword from his grasp.
The collision sent Esk kar’s horse to its haunches. Esk kar pitched backward and fell, going heels over head as he hit the earth. From the ground, everything looked different and more frightening. A barbarian spotted the easy victim and twisted his horse around to head for him. But a dozen steps from Esk kar, the horse suddenly reared up, an arrow protruding under its neck, its rider suddenly fighting for control of the dying animal.
Esk kar scrambled over to the warrior he’d just killed and retrieved his sword. Grabbing the hilt with both hands, Esk kar braced one foot on the body and heaved with all his might, pulling the sword free of both earth and carcass. An arrow hissed by his head, but he didn’t know who shot it or where it went.
His horse, back on its feet, spun and twisted in panic, too confused to get free of the melee. Three quick steps and Esk kar launched himself across the back of the beast, nearly going over the other side. Struggling to regain control of the terrified mount, he called out to it so that it would recognize his voice. It took a moment to shift his weight and lock his knees on the horse as he reached forward for the halter. Another arrow hissed just beyond the horse’s neck, and this time Esk kar looked up to see another red — clad barbarian pitching off his horse a few paces away.
The moment Esk kar had the halter, the animal steadied. Looking around, he saw the Alur Meriki being pressed back, Orak’s men hacking away like fiends. He stretched his body upward in an effort to see more of the battle. Esk kar spotted six or seven warriors still pressing forward against the yellow riders. The red standard moved closer to a small knot of the unknown tribesmen.
“Follow me, Orak, follow me,” Esk kar bellowed as he urged the horse forward, aiming the beast straight at the red standard. “Orak, Orak,” he screamed as he crashed the horse against a rider, knocking the other man’s beast back and slashing down with his sword. Then Esk kar burst into their midst, hacking left and right, screaming to his men to follow. The fighting madness came over him again. No thoughts, no fear, just strike and strike again.
He’d pushed through the line of barbarians who had turned to face the men from Orak. Now he reached the backs of those Alur Meriki fighting the weakening group of yellow riders. He stabbed his sword into the haunches of one horse, then slashed at the head of another wild — eyed mount. The stricken and terrified beasts reared up, lashing out with their hooves, their screams joining the battle din.
Esk kar drove his horse between the two wounded horses, killing one man outright as he struggled to regain control of his mount. Esk kar then turned toward the other and struck downward at the man’s arm. A burst of blood and a scream erupted as the man’s hand disappeared, severed at the wrist. Esk kar whirled forward once again.
He’d nearly broken through the Alur Meriki ranks, but one of the red warriors wheeled to face him, the two horses standing shoulder to shoulder as the swords clashed. A thick — bodied warrior in the full strength of manhood, he struck down at Esk kar’s head. Esk kar blocked the blow, but the man struck again and again. The strokes pushed Esk kar’s blade back, giving him no time for a counterstroke. Esk kar fought harder, trying to overcome with sheer strength what he couldn’t do with skill. But the Alur Meriki proved as strong and determined.
Esk kar jerked at the halter, trying to disengage, but his horse was trapped from behind. He felt his sword arm growing weaker, and saw the gleam of victory in his enemy’s eyes.
That light suddenly flickered out when a heavy feathered shaft appeared as if by magic at the base of the man’s throat. The dying man’s horse felt his master’s knees relax and yielded to the pressure of Esk kar’s mount. He rode past the man, whose dying eyes turned toward him as he pushed by. Esk kar’s right arm shook with weakness, but he kicked his horse forward and struck down another man from behind.
An Alur Meriki rider appeared and crashed his horse into Esk kar’s.
Esk kar tumbled yet again to the ground, but an Orak rider arrived and cut the barbarian down almost in the same instant. Esk kar gained his feet and lurched toward the last few Alur Meriki still fighting to reach the leader of the yellow riders. Esk kar saw that the clan chief of the yellow riders had been wounded and unhorsed, with a single warrior standing in front of him for protection.
Again Esk kar’s sword stabbed into the rear quarters of a horse that turned in pain and bucked its rider off, hindquarters lashing out and nearly catching Esk kar in the face. An arrow hissed by and struck down another red — marked warrior as Esk kar raised his sword to slash at the legs of the last rider.
The Alur Meriki saw the danger, turned and swung his sword at Eskkar. He tried to parry the heavy blow, but his sword arm trembled with exhaustion. The impact pushed Esk kar’s blade back and nearly tore the weapon from his grasp. The force of the blow knocked Esk kar to his knees, and he struggled to meet the warrior’s killing stroke.
But the final stroke never came. The last of the yellow warriors struck the horse a savage blow on the fetlock, crippling the animal and sending it into a frenzy, before it sank to its knees in pain and terror.
The Alur Meriki rider, fi ghting to keep his seat, raised his sword toward Esk kar, then turned his eyes toward the last of the yellow warriors. His instant of indecision cost him not only his life, but also any chance to strike a blow.
Esk kar, still on his knees, thrust out with his sword at his assailant now just within reach, lunging forward with his whole body, determined to strike one more blow, to thrust his blade into his enemy’s body even if he took a death blow in return. The blades of Esk kar and the yellow — clad warrior struck at the last Alur Meriki warrior from either side, and the man grunted in agony before he died, with Esk kar’s sword low in his stomach and the barbarian’s blade thrust under his armpit.
The struggling horse fell on its side, tearing the sword from Esk kar’s grasp. He struggled to get back on his knees and finally managed it. Eskkar reached out and tried to pull his sword free but couldn’t, the fatigued muscles in his trembling arm refusing to obey, and he found himself unable to get to his feet.
Letting go of the hilt in disgust, Esk kar fumbled for his knife, but there was no need. Looking around, he saw the fight was over. No warrior wearing red survived. Only the men from Orak and the yellow barbarians remained alive, and they immediately began eying each other.
Esk kar forced himself to his feet, knowing the moment of danger had come. He struggled to catch his breath, and his legs shook with exertion and excitement. He raised his voice and shouted to his men to dismount and put away their weapons.
The warrior who had shared the final kill with Esk kar turned to help pull his fallen chief to his feet. The younger man, holding the bloody sword he’d pulled from the dead Alur Meriki, looked suspiciously at Eskkar. His chief called to his men who moved quickly toward him, lowering their weapons as they came. Apparently the chief shared Esk kar’s concern about more fi ghting. The younger warrior repeated the chief ’s words in a louder voice, and this time they made some sense to Esk kar, who hadn’t heard his native tongue spoken for some time.
At least they weren’t going to start killing each other, if Esk kar understood the chief ’s words. As Esk kar’s men gathered around him, swords still in their hands, but pointing at the ground, Mitrac joined the group, his face flushed with excitement.
Esk kar wanted to get his men aside, to make sure nothing unexpected happened. He tried to speak, but couldn’t get the words out. He took a deep breath and tried again. “Get the horses… stand over there…”
He stopped as Maldar stepped up to him and took Esk kar’s left arm and placed it over his shoulder. Sisuthros moved to his other side and grasped him around the waist.
“You’re wounded,” Sisuthros said, looking down at Esk kar’s right arm covered in blood.
“Aye, and you can’t stand for shaking,” Maldar added. “We need to bandage that arm, before you bleed to death, and take a look at that leg.”
The two half — carried him to a spot near the canyon wall where the carnage had left some empty space, then set him down. No wonder his right arm had betrayed him, Esk kar realized, as he glanced down at the blood that ran from shoulder to wrist. It must have happened when he turned the lance thrust. The weapon’s tip had sliced open half the length of his arm.
Esk kar felt his left leg trembling uncontrollably and saw a huge bruise already arisen in the center of his thigh. Getting knocked off his horse must have done that. Suddenly waves of pain shot through his leg, making him gasp. His eyes didn’t want to focus.
He cursed as he realized that if his thigh bone had snapped, he was as good as dead, unable to ride and so far from Orak. His men propped him against an outcropping of rock, and Maldar ripped a garment off one of the dead and tore it into strips. Sisuthros held a water skin to Esk kar’s lips until he could swallow no more, then poured more over the cut in his arm to rinse most of the blood off and clean the wound before Maldar quickly and efficiently bound it up.
“How many dead?” Esk kar sat there stoically as they worked on him.
Sisuthros and Maldar looked at each other, everyone mentally counting.
“Four are missing.” Sisuthros’s grim voice removed the smiles of victory from their faces.
“And the horses?” Esk kar had to force the words out. “What of the boys?”
Sisuthros turned and ordered one man to go back to the canyon entrance and bring back the boys and horses.
“One boy is dead.” Mitrac squatted on the ground near Esk kar’s feet.
“I saw him fall.”
“They were told to stay back,” Esk kar said angrily. A village boy wouldn’t have lasted a moment in that fight. “And the other?”
“I’m not sure,” Mitrac answered. “They both joined the fight, but I didn’t see him fall. He’s probably dead, too.”
“I owe you my life, Mitrac, at least twice that I remember.” He turned to Maldar sitting on the ground a few steps away. “And to you, too, Maldar.”
Esk kar turned back to Mitrac and saw his quiver of arrows held only two shafts. “Better go and collect your arrows, before the strangers use them for firewood.” He looked to Sisuthros, who seemed to have no major wounds. A wave of dizziness swept over Esk kar, and he had to fight to keep his thoughts from wandering. His leg began to tremble again and he gripped his knee to stop it.
“Look after the men’s wounds. And see to the horses.” They went off to do his bidding, and Esk kar leaned back against the rock as another wave of dizziness blurred his vision. He closed his eyes for a moment.
It must have been a long moment, for he suddenly sat upright, looking around in confusion. Ishtar’s blood, he must have fallen asleep. A leader should never show such weakness in front of his men. Esk kar tried to get up, but Maldar pushed him back down and held on to his good arm.
“Rest easy, Captain. You passed out for a while. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”
Esk kar recognized honest affection in his voice.
“And we got some good news as well, Captain. Zantar’s alive. They found him under a pile of bodies, knocked senseless. The barbarians were stripping his body when he awoke. Scared the piss out of him, they did.”
Maldar laughed at the thought. “And one boy is still alive, that rat of a pickpocket,” he added, referring to the petty thief who’d begged and pleaded his way on the mission. “His arm’s smashed up pretty bad, but he may live. He won’t cut any more purses, though.”
Esk kar tried to think. They’d lost only three men if Zantar survived two veterans and one of the newer recruits. Not a bad trade, to finish off a war party of this size. He wondered what the other tribe’s losses had been.
Glancing around, they looked to have scarcely more men standing than those surrounding Esk kar.
Sisuthros returned, slumping on the ground next to Esk kar. “Four dead, counting the boy, and we lost three horses, not counting yours, which one of the barbarians seems intent on keeping for himself. The rest of us are in pretty fair shape, only minor cuts and bruises. We should go back to the stream and get cleaned up. Or at least send for more water.”
No one knew why wounds washed with clean water healed faster than unwashed ones. “Yes. If they can ride, send them back to the stream. Bring water back for the others.”
“I’ll take care of it, Sisuthros.” Maldar pushed himself to his feet. “You stay and keep an eye on these barbarians.” In a few moments Maldar had collected all the intact water bags he could find, and he and two others rode off.
Sisuthros leaned close to his captain and kept his voice low. “I told the men to keep their weapons close, in case they try anything.”
“Just make sure we don’t start any trouble.” Esk kar wanted their help, not another fight.
“Captain, the barbarians are stripping all the dead of their valuables.
Some of our men tried to do the same but the barbarians put their hands on their swords, so they backed off.”
“Don’t worry about the loot,” Esk kar said with a tired laugh. “After a battle, all the captured weapons and trophies belong to the chief. He divides it up according to how well each man fought or who’s in most need.
Tell the men they’ll get their share.”
A voice called out from the direction of the barbarians, and Esk kar twisted his head toward the battlefield. The chief of the strange band moved toward him, assisted by the same warrior who’d stood over him during the last of the fight.
“Here comes their leader.” Esk kar tried to get up, but his leg failed him and he couldn’t seem to manage with his one arm. “Help me up, Sisuthros.”
Sisuthros put his arm under Esk kar’s shoulder and started to lift, but the younger warrior, now only a few steps away, called out in the trade language, telling him to leave Esk kar on the ground. A few moments later, the commander of the barbarians sat down gingerly opposite Esk kar. The young warrior stood directly behind his chief, a grim look on his face.
“Greetings, Chief of the Strangers. I am Mesilim, leader of the Ur Nammu. This is my son, Subutai.” He twisted his head slowly, as if in pain, to nod toward the warrior behind him. Mesilim had a great bruise on his forehead and cuts on both his arms, bound up with rags already soaked in blood. He spoke the language of the steppes people. He paused, then glanced at Esk kar’s men sitting nearby.
Esk kar realized his mistake. When clan leaders spoke, only the chief ’s family or his subcommanders could be present. All others must be out of earshot, lest they heard words not fit for their ears.
“Sisuthros, move the men away.” Sisuthros looked apprehensive, but led the men about twenty paces away, barely out of earshot.
Esk kar waited until Sisuthros returned. Sisuthros followed the example of the warrior, and stood behind him. “My name is Esk kar, war leader of the village of Orak, and I give honor to the great clan leader Mesilim who has killed many warriors this day.”
Esk kar looked up at the son. “And to his strong son who slew all Alur Meriki who dared to face him.” Better too much praise than risk offending anyone’s honor.
“Your men fought bravely, Chief Esk kar,” Mesilim said, “but I would know why you joined the fight. You ride and dress as people of the farms, and they’ve little love for any steppes people.”
A delicate way to put it. “People of the farms” was about the politest way a tribesman could say “dirt digger.” Still, Mesilim had made an effort.
“My people fight the Alur Meriki. Is not the enemy of my enemy my friend? We were on a scouting party when we saw your warriors attacked.
Who would not join such brave fighters?”
The hint of a smile crossed Mesilim’s face. Esk kar wondered whether he’d overdone the praise. Nevertheless, Mesilim and his men would have all been dead by now without Esk kar’s help, though of course the chief couldn’t ever admit that. Out of respect and politeness, Esk kar couldn’t mention it either.
“It’s as you say, Chief Esk kar. The enemy of my enemy is my friend.
You saved many lives today, including my own. But can you tell me why you fight the Alur Meriki? They are a clan of many, many warriors, and the people of the farms cannot stand against them.”
“It is not our wish to go to war against any of the steppes people, Chief Mesilim. But the Alur Meriki march toward our village with all their strength, and we’ve chosen to fight rather than run.”
Esk kar saw disbelief cross Mesilim’s face and guessed what Mesilim was thinking-that no farmers stood a chance against such a great force of warriors. “My village has many people, almost as many as in the Alur Meriki tribe. We’ve built a great stone wall around our village, and we will fight the Alur Meriki from the wall, not from horseback.”
Mesilim looked down at the ground, too polite to show either his doubts or disgust with such an un — warrior — like strategy. Instead he explained his own clan. “My people first fought the Alur Meriki more than two years ago. We fought bravely and killed many of them, but they overwhelmed us with their greater numbers. Now the Ur Nammu are almost gone. Most of our warriors have been killed. Only we are left to carry on the fight. Almost all our women and children… dead or taken by the Alur Meriki.” His voice couldn’t conceal the sadness of his heart. “We fight on because I’ve sworn the Shan Kar against them, though it might have been better if I’d fallen in battle today.”
Esk kar glanced up at Subutai with even more respect. Many a son would put a knife in a father’s back some dark night rather than continue a death fight. For that’s what the Shan Kar proclaimed, a fight to the death, and Mesilim had condemned his followers to that fate since they had no chance of victory. The son must have great loyalty as well as great strength to protect such a father.
“Great Chief, there’s much I would ask you regarding the Alur Meriki.
You have knowledge of my enemy and it would aid my people to learn these things from you. If you’d be willing to share your knowledge with me.”
Mesilim nodded. “Yes, we’ve much to talk about. But first, let us take care of the wounded, bury the dead, and divide the spoils. It’ll be dark soon.” He offered up his hand to his son, who reached down and helped him to his feet, then escorted him back to the Ur Nammu.
His men rushed back as Mesilim moved away, their questions coming fast. When they gathered around, Esk kar explained their position. “For now, we’re considered to be friends to the Ur Nammu, since we fought beside them. They’ll collect all the valuables from the dead, and it will be divided later amongst all who fought. By custom, Chief Mesilim will make the division since he has the most warriors on the field. We must bury our dead and tend to the wounded.” He saw doubt in some eyes, and decided to explain further.
“Don’t worry. They could kill us easily if they chose to.” The Ur Nammu had about twenty — five warriors still fit to fight. “These people have much knowledge about our enemy. More than that, they could help in our own fight. So make sure you give no offense to any of them. They’re all that’s left of a proud people, fighting a war to the death against our own foes. Now, help me up.”
Sisuthros and Maldar pulled him to his feet and watched as he tested his leg. The swelling on his thigh looked enormous now, but he took a few steps with their help and realized gratefully the bone hadn’t broken, or the leg would not have stood his weight. Nevertheless, whenever he tried to put weight on it, sharp pain lanced through him. Esk kar asked for a crutch of some kind. Maldar picked up a broken lance and gave it to him.
Despite his injuries, Esk kar insisted on examining each of his men.
Most of the wounds didn’t appear too severe, mainly cuts and slashes.
Zantar, knocked unconscious during the fight, remained stretched out on the ground, his eyes unfocused, still woozy and barely coherent. Only Mitrac had escaped without a scratch.
The surviving horse boy, Tammuz by name, had the worst wound.
Standing over him, Esk kar saw the boy’s left arm was badly broken, probably in more than one place. The slightest touch or movement brought a moan of agony to Tammuz’s lips.
“Well, Tammuz, I see you disobeyed my orders. Next time, maybe you’ll know better.” Aside from the arm, the rest of his cuts and bruises seemed minor enough.
“I wanted to fight, Captain,” Tammuz answered, his voice thin as he fought back the tears. Even the effort to speak made him wince. “I killed one of them, I did, with the… bow. Mitrac saw it, I’m sure … he did.”
Eskkar had brought two riding bows with the expedition, but they’d been left behind with the other horses. The foolish boys had strung them and followed behind the men when they could. “I’m sure you did, Tammuz. Rest now.”
The broken arm was beyond Esk kar’s ability to bandage and the boy would likely be dead in a day or two. He turned to Maldar. “Give Tammuz water, then wine, lots of it, to ease his pain.” Using his crutch, Esk kar turned and looked toward the Ur Nammu.
Mesilim and his son, nearly finished caring for their wounded, had begun the burial process. As Esk kar watched, several riders dashed off on some unknown errands, while others started clearing a burial space against one of the canyon walls. He hobbled toward Mesilim, leaning heavily on the crutch, until he reached a knot of warriors around Mesilim. They eyed him curiously but parted to let him through. Mesilim looked up.
“Honorable Chief,” Esk kar began, “I have a wounded boy. His arm is badly broken and is beyond our skills to set. Perhaps you have someone who can tend to him?”
Mesilim considered the request. “A boy must be tended last, after the warriors. We have a healer, though he has his own wounds. I’ll send him to you after our warriors are tended.”
Mesilim looked toward those men clearing the burial site. “We’ll bury our dead there as soon as possible. Do you wish to put your dead with them?”
“Yes, we would gladly bury our men with yours. Thank you for the honor. Would it be allowed for my men to help digging the burial mound?”
A mass grave would have to be dug out of the hilly earth, deep enough to keep wild animals out. It would take many men’s efforts to get it done.
“We have one digging tool with us that might make the work easier,” Eskkar added.
“I must consult my men about that,” Mesilim replied.
Any handling of the dead must be done with great care and the proper rituals, to make sure their spirits rested in peace for all time.
Mesilim began speaking to his son and two warriors. Each had something to say, but they all seemed to agree. He turned back to Esk kar. “Your men may help us and we are grateful. Your dead will honor our own.”
Esk kar bowed in thanks and walked to his men, leaning heavily on the stick and clenching his teeth against the pain. “Mesilim will send a healer to help with the… Tammuz.” You didn’t call anyone who’d killed an enemy in battle a boy. “Gather our dead and prepare them for burial. Then all who can dig will help Mesilim’s men prepare the grave. We bury our dead with theirs, and they honor our own by the offer.”
“What are they doing now?” Sisuthros asked. A dozen or so warriors had mounted horses and ridden off, half of them leading spare animals.
“They’ll gather the bodies from the other battleground. After everyone is buried, the corpses of the Alur Meriki will be left to rot on top of the grave and to feed the carrion, so all will know how many died here. Then, I think, we’ll all get out of this damned canyon.”
Leaving all this behind sounded better and better every moment.
Flies buzzed everywhere, and vultures and crows circled above, waiting their chance, attracted by the blood and death. Esk kar tried to ignore the coppery — blood smell that wanted to make him retch. He saw Mitrac swat at a fly. “Mitrac, have you recovered your arrows yet?”
The guilty look on the boy’s face answered the question. “Go find your shafts. We may need them again and while you’re doing that, count the number of your kills.” It would give the young man something to do.
“Sisuthros, leave one man to watch Zantar and the… Tammuz. The rest of you, get the shovel and start digging.”
Digging turned out to be too much for Esk kar, who found he couldn’t put any extra strain on his leg. But five of his men began digging alongside the Ur Nammu, and the small bronze shovel they’d brought with them proved a big help. In all, twenty men were soon digging as hard as they could, though Esk kar knew darkness would fall long before they finished.
Mesilim planned for that as well. Two men returned carrying firewood.
They started a fire, then rigged up some branches to serve as torches. Strips of fat torn from the dead horses would keep them burning.
Esk kar’s men dug as hard as the tribesmen, to prove themselves as strong and tough as their newfound friends. Despite their help, it took twenty — five men nearly four hours to dig a pit long and deep enough to hold almost fifty bodies. That included the Ur Nammu killed in the earlier fi ghting.
Those bodies were brought to the gravesite, tied two to a mount. Almost two thirds of Mesilim’s people had died today. They’d fought bravely and if their numbers had been more evenly matched, they might have defeated the Alur Meriki by themselves. Now only about twenty — five Ur Nammu warriors, many of them wounded, remained to carry on their leader’s sworn vengeance.
Darkness fell and men built up the fire and lit more torches. An hour later the moon rose and helped illuminate their work. Nevertheless the effort exhausted every man who finally staggered from the pit.
“By the gods, Captain.” Sisuthros appeared ready to fall down. So much dirt covered him that his eyes gleamed white in the torchlight. “I don’t think I’ve ever worked as hard.” He looked around at the other equally tired Orak men and grinned. “But we showed them that we could keep up.”
“Get yourself some water, then bring our dead here.”
One of the Ur Nammu began chanting a death song to consecrate the ground and prepare it to receive the bodies. Esk kar and his men stood and watched silently in the firelight until the brief ceremony ended.
Mesilim walked stiffly but on his own over to Esk kar. “You may put your men at this end of the pit to signify the direction from which you came. We’ll cover your dead with ours to protect them in the afterlife.”
“We thank you for honoring our dead,” Esk kar replied formally, then nodded to Sisuthros, who began moving the bodies into the ground. The Ur Nammu bodies followed, each corpse handled as gently as possible, legs straightened out and arms crossed over their chest. At last all the dead rested at the bottom of the pit.
Esk kar approached the end of the grave where his men lay, completely covered by the other bodies. In a loud voice he spoke the words that gave honor to the dead, calling out each man’s name and his deeds, so that the goddess Ishtar and great god Marduk would know to receive and honor true warriors.
When Esk kar stepped back, Mesilim strode to the other end and did the same, though his words lasted longer and included more details of the bravest. At last all the gods, demons, and shades were appeased. The men began refilling the hole, a process that took almost as long as the digging, because of the need to tamp down the earth as tightly as possible.
When they’d filled in the grave, the warriors walked their horses back and forth across the dirt to pack it even harder. By the time they fi nished, midnight approached, making it much too dangerous to try to leave the canyon. Esk kar’s men found a clear space as far away from the killing ground as possible. Everyone fell to the earth, wrapped in their horse blankets, and slept the sleep of the completely exhausted, all of them too tired to eat or worry about anyone slitting their throats in the middle of the night.