A small lamp in the workroom gave more smoke than light, its oil nearly gone. Trella paused to add more, enough to see by. She opened the door to their bedroom and listened to Esk kar’s breathing. At least he’d gotten a few hours of restless sleep. She slipped into bed and put her arms around her husband, letting her body wake him.
Enough light reached the bed to see Esk kar’s eyes open. For a moment he sighed contentedly. Then he tried to sit up, as he remembered what today would bring.
She kept her arms around him. “Stay a moment. It’s more than two hours before dawn.” She buried her face against his chest and held him with all her strength.
He kissed her gently, then turned on his side, keeping one arm around her. “I have to go.”
Trella heard men talking and moving about downstairs, as they prepared for the battle. She knew the sounds called to him and that she must let him go.
“How long have I slept? You said you…”
“Almost three hours. You’ve scarcely slept in three days. Gatus told me to let you sleep.” Her arms couldn’t prevent him from sitting up.
“I must go, Trella. The men need to see me before the battle.”
“I know, husband. Just remember to take care. There’s no need for you to take chances. Let others earn the glory today.”
She stood and watched as he laced up his sandals.
Esk kar took his time, knotting them securely, then stood and buckled on his sword. He hadn’t undressed before lying down. “This is the last battle. For five months we’ve prepared, and now it’s upon us. Today we either win or fall.”
Trella shook her head. “There is never a last battle. Remember that and you won’t act rashly.” She came into his arms and pressed against him, then lifted her arms around his neck. He tried to kiss her, but she clung so tightly all he could do was brush his lips against her forehead.
“Trella, I… you have to let me go.”
She said nothing, but loosened her hold on him and stepped aside, her head downcast.
“Take care for your own self, and remember what I’ve told you if we fail.”
He spoke the words calmly, but their meaning brought pain to her heart. She stood there as he turned and left the room. Trella heard his steps down the stairs. “May the gods go with you, husband, in all the places of danger that you will fi nd today.” She spoke the prayer aloud, but more to herself than to the gods. The tears came, but briefly. She had her own duties to attend to.
Esk kar went first to the well, quenching his thirst and washing his face in the flickering torchlight before returning to the kitchen. A single lamp showed Bantor, Alexar, Grond, and a few others seated at the table. Esk kar joined them, and they picked at the cold fowl and drank the weak ale the women set out. No one spoke, each in his thoughts, occasionally glancing at the tiny window to see if the stars had begun to dim. Each, as he finished eating, took chunks of bread and stuffed them in his pouch before leaving.
There might not be another chance to eat the whole long day.
In the courtyard Esk kar found Sisuthros making sure each man knew his duty and station. Sisuthros hadn’t slept during the night, offering to let the others sleep while he patrolled the walls and prepared its defenders.
In the fl ickering light, Esk kar thanked him for the long night’s work, then clasped his arm in farewell.
Orak slept little during the night, as word spread the barbarians were mustering their forces and would attack at dawn. The commanders and village leaders inspected their men and ordered everyone to be at their station before first light. The cooking fires started early. Villagers and soldiers ate tasteless meals in silence and near — darkness, then drank again from the water jars in preparation for a long, hard day.
Parents, husbands, and lovers said their goodbyes, their voices low, faces grim, their futures uncertain. The whole village felt fear and tension.
By sundown their fate would be decided.
The water wheels had run steadily since yesterday, filling the ditch with as much water as possible. Corio no longer worried about weakening the base of the wall. Senior men inspected weapons, checked water stores, and made sure each man knew his place. Archers strung fresh bowstrings on their bows, then tested them by torchlight. The rasp of sharpening stones grated endlessly, as men honed swords and axes to fighting edges.
Followed by his bodyguards, Esk kar strode to the main gate. Gatus and the other commanders had begun one last circuit of the village. They’d make sure all the men stood ready and at their posts, their weapons, equipment, and tools at hand.
Esk kar found Corio checking the ropes on the parapets that stretched across the gate, Alcinor at his side. The upper, smaller one sagged in the middle under its load of stones. The lower, wider and better supported, held an even greater weight of men and stones. Corio looked ready to collapse from the strain. Fear showed on the faces of both father and son in the torchlight. Today the master builder’s wall and gate would face their greatest challenge.
As Esk kar watched, a line of villagers passed buckets of water up to the top of the gate, where others gently upended them in a slow stream designed to soak its outer face. That process would continue all day, to keep the wood as wet as possible.
“The night before a battle is always a long one, Corio,” Esk kar said reassuringly.
“We’re nearly ready, Captain,” Corio answered, his voice pitched higher than normal. “Only a few more tasks…”
“You’ve plenty of time.” These men needed calming more than anything else. “Try and rest, or you’ll be useless when you are most needed.
Once the battle begins, you’ll be too busy to worry about anything.”
Before they could reply he walked past them to enter the north tower.
As he climbed the still — dark steps, he called out greetings, letting the men know he’d arrived, sensing rather than seeing the relief on their faces.
When he reached the top, the sentries cleared a place for him at the wall.
Esk kar had spent much of yesterday at this same spot, watching for any hint of the barbarians’ plans. He’d stared at the enemy camp until midnight, when Gatus demanded he get some rest. Esk kar left the wall, but only when they promised to awaken him three hours before sunrise.
He didn’t expect to sleep, but his body surprised him and he fell asleep moments after lying down, an arm thrown over his eyes as if to keep the dawn away as long as possible.
Now the time for sleep had passed. Esk kar looked toward the eastern sky. He thought he could detect a lighter shade of blackness. Lowering his eyes, he saw the line of the hills etched sharply against the glow of Alur Meriki fires. Nothing moved atop those hills. In front of the hills, darkness still covered the plain.
Leaning against the wall, Esk kar waited for the fi rst glimmer of dawn.
He closed his eyes and concentrated on his hearing. Though the hills lay more than a mile away, he could hear faint sounds of activity and knew preparations would have continued throughout the night. He recognized the rumble of wagons mixed with the occasional neighing of a skittish horse, frightened as it moved through the darkness, uncertain of its step or startled by torches that snapped and hissed. There would be plenty of fire to light their preparations, but only behind the hills, giving the defenders no glimpse of what lay hidden.
Behind him he heard the tread of feet on the steps. Men moved beside and behind him as the soldiers filled their positions on the wall. The archers said little, as if they feared words would hasten the dawn or disturb the enemy.
“Well, Captain of the Guard, it sounds like barbarians are on the move out there.” Gatus had returned, his loud voice breaking the spell. “They’ll come early today, I think. We’ve been hearing movement from behind the hills all night.”
Esk kar turned to face his second in command. In the torchlight, he saw most of his subcommanders. Sisuthros, Maldar, Grond, Totomes, even Myandro and a few others. Bantor remained at the courtyard, too weak to do much more than sit at a table and help coordinate the reserves.
Along the wall everyone watched and waited. Each wanted to be first to learn what the day had in store for them. The soldiers remained silent as the false dawn ebbed in the east, but they pressed forward as the stars began to disappear.
The noise coming from the plain increased, more horses moving about, the faint clink of sword and lance, the deeper groaning of cart wheels.
The hilltops seemed to move and waver in the dim glow. The sky began to lighten, with tiny fingers of red and gold reaching up into the darkness, then a broad stream of sunlight flowed into the heavens as the first rays of true dawn swept into the sky.
The edge of the sun appeared over the hills and bathed the plain with soft, reddish light that revealed the enemy’s movements at last. Esk kar saw wagons everywhere along the top of the hills, all moving slowly but purposefully down toward the plain, fi nding their positions and gathering themselves for the long journey toward Orak’s walls. Hundreds of men pulled and pushed at the carts, assigned to make sure each wagon reached its destination. Warriors walked alongside the wagons.
Many in the front ranks carried no weapons and Esk kar realized that slaves and captives would be human shields to protect the warriors. Huge shields appeared everywhere, each large enough to protect three or four men, carried at each end by warriors or slaves. Not many rode their horses today, and those on horseback moved toward the flanks of the village, away from the main gate.
Esk kar stared in wonder at the number of men coming toward them.
They’d killed hundreds of warriors and yet the enemy still had so many to send into battle. “And so it begins,” he said, more to himself than to those standing beside him.
Only Gatus heard the odd remark and the old soldier turned toward him. “I care not how it begins, only how it ends. And we’ll know that soon enough.”
“They fight on foot today,” Sisuthros commented. “No more wild charges. They’ll be easy targets and our archers will cut them to shreds.”
“It looks like every wagon in their camp is coming our way,” Gatus said.
“They intend to bring them to the very edge of the ditch and fight from behind them.”
“And the sun will be in our eyes the whole time.” Totomes’s accent still sounded strange after all these weeks. “A long morning for our archers.”
“They’re coming right toward the gate.” Sisuthros shaded his eyes with his hands. “And smoke is coming from the wagons. They carry fire.”
Esk kar watched the Alur Meriki as they deployed their men in a slow but orderly fashion. No signs of confusion today, no aimless galloping back and forth, no loud boasting from the riders, only a few warriors on horseback directing men who pulled or pushed their loads. Thutmose — sin had prepared well. They’d had enough weeks to get ready.
Esk kar worried about the number of wagons and their wooden burdens. He’d burned an enormous amount of wood two nights ago, yet it all appeared to have been replaced.
“Look at the size of those shields,” Gatus marveled. “I’ve never seen anything like that before.”
Just crossing the distant hilltops, ten or twelve men appeared carrying a huge wooden shield, maybe six paces wide and twice as long. They looked like those he and Grond had burned.
Esk kar studied them for a long moment. “I think they’re platforms to lay across the mud. They plan to cross the ditch on those. There’s more of them on the wagons.”
Nobody spoke for a moment, as each commander contemplated what these unusual implements would mean. It seemed that today the attackers would be the ones with new tactics.
“Totomes,” Esk kar said, “do your archers have any fire arrows?”
“No, Captain, we didn’t think they’d be necessary.”
“Better start making them. A lot of them.”
“Yes, Captain.” Totomes started down the tower’s steps.
“Good hunting today, Totomes.” If the man heard him, he didn’t bother to reply. Esk kar turned back to his men.
“Sisuthros, get Nicar and anyone else you can find. Have them gather torches and as much of the oil that burns, if we’ve any left. Bring everything to the gate. We may have to burn these wagons and platforms ourselves.”
He looked intently at each man for any sign of panic or fear, but saw only determination. “Everyone get to your positions and tell your men what’s coming. The more they know what to expect, the less likely they’ll be to panic.”
As Gatus started down the steps, he grabbed one of Esk kar’s bodyguards. “Make sure he puts on his helmet and wears as much leather as you can find, or I’ll personally have your head.”
Esk kar smiled at the old man’s worries. It was a waste of time to argue with him. Turning back to the wall, he studied the advancement before him, shading his eyes. Horses, men, and wagons now covered the plain, all moving slowly, the leading edge already halfway to Orak. Before long the foremost barbarians would be in range and today the arrows would start as soon as possible.
Behind him men began shouting and moving about. He heard Totomes giving orders to his archers, including those who would target only clan leaders. His two sons would target little else. Well, Totomes, this is your day for taking your revenge on the Alur Meriki. By sunset, no matter how it ended, the master archer and his sons would slay more than enough of their foes to satisfy their blood feud.
Esk kar scanned the plains. Two streams of riders, backed by archers and men carrying ladders, moved toward the north and south walls. They’d try and draw soldiers away from the gate and towers. The bulk of the Alur Meriki came straight at the gate. They meant to bridge the ditch by pushing wagons and wooden platforms into place until they could attack the gate itself. Wagons and shields would provide protection for their archers.
Looking at the hills, he saw men still coming from the camp, but fewer of them. Almost all those in the front ranks were weaponless slaves, many of them women. They pushed wagons, or carried wood or pots of fire.
The Alur Meriki considered the slaves expendable, since a new supply could be obtained once they captured the village. So nothing would be held back today-every slave that could walk and every man that could hold a weapon. Esk kar signaled to one of the messengers kneeling against the wall. “Find one of the scribes and try to get a count of their fighting men.”
How many men did Thutmose — sin have left? At least a thousand, Eskkar guessed. The horde in front of the village slowed, stopping just out of bowshot as they found their stations and took up their shields, preparing to face the arrows they knew awaited them.
Only silence came from the enemy. There would be little shouting or taunting, no eager war cries. They’d learned their lessons and knew they faced hardened soldiers who would not easily yield. They’d miss the joy of battle, Esk kar decided, no quick slaughter of men on foot, no feats of horsemanship, just moving forward into the rain of arrows.
Esk kar understood why they didn’t use the horses. They’d lose too many, more than they could replace. He smiled at that thought. Thutmose — sin must be worried about how big a price he’d pay today, even in victory.
The Alur Meriki leader must have a victory, and it must be cheap enough to satisfy those who hoped for his failure.
We just have to give them a reason to turn back, and some will take it.
Calls for silence moved up and down the walls as Totomes and his men finished testing their bows. The master archer had no more instructions for his men and needed no orders from Esk kar to tell him when and what to shoot. Huge stocks of arrows stood ready and the archers would begin loosing shafts as soon as they could, for as long as they could bend a bow, until every last arrow was gone.
Esk kar nodded in approval. He’d done all he could, and now the arms of his archers would determine whether Orak stood or fell.
He felt a gentle tap on his arm and turned, surprised to find one of the women standing there. At first he didn’t comprehend her words, then he saw the water jug in her hand. An elderly matron, she had long gray hair that blew around her shoulders in the light breeze. The jug’s weight made her hands tremble. She’d carried her burden first to him, bypassing others on her way.
Esk kar took the jug and lifted it to his lips. He didn’t feel particularly thirsty yet, but the sun already warmed the wall and the full heat of the day would be on them soon enough. So he took a long drink and returned a much lighter vessel to the woman.
“Thank you, elder,” he said, not knowing her name, as he wiped his mouth with his hand.
“Good fortune,” she answered soberly. “My sons fight with you this day. So bring us victory.” She didn’t wait to hear his reply, moving down the wall with her water, a task she would perform throughout the long day or until an arrow took her down.
Behind her stepped Grond, newly promoted leader of the captain’s personal guard, carrying Esk kar’s copper helmet, now painted brown to look similar to the leather ones. He handed it to his captain, as well as a leather vest and gauntlets for his arms. Esk kar fastened them on his body, taking care to lace them properly, letting Grond help him. The other bodyguard handed Grond a thick leather collar.
“I’ll not wear that.” Esk kar shook his head. “It itches, and I feel like I’m in a noose.”
“I’m sorry, Captain, but Gatus and Lady Trella insisted.” Grond stared at him. “Or we’ll have to carry you from the wall. The enemy will be targeting you and we don’t want you to take an arrow in the throat.”
Esk kar could have browbeaten the bodyguards, who looked nervous.
But so long as Grond stood firm, they’d obey orders to carry off their captain. For a moment Esk kar’s annoyance flashed, but Grond waited patiently, meeting his eyes, still offering up the collar. Esk kar felt tempted to take it and pitch it over the wall, but that would be childish. Besides, Grond would probably climb down into the ditch to retrieve it.
Esk kar ground his teeth and jerked the collar out of Grond’s hand, then wrapped it around his neck. Immediately it began to chafe. Grond stepped around him to fasten the laces. “Make it loose, damn you. I don’t want to choke to death.”
Grond knew his business and the nearly three inches of stiff leather sat on the base of Esk kar’s neck, loose but capable of deflecting, with luck, an arrow. That duty done, Grond nodded to the two bodyguards and they moved in front of Esk kar, bringing their wooden shields up to rest on the wall.
Esk kar would be able to peer between and over them, but the thick wood would shield most of his body. More men moved into position, including two special marksmen assigned by Totomes. These archers looked grim as they glanced at their captain. Their job was to kill anyone targeting Esk kar.
A messenger arrived, breathing hard, eyes wide as he reported to Eskkar. “Captain, Corio says there are at least eleven hundred armed men coming toward us, with about five hundred slaves.”
“Send word to the command post.” Esk kar spoke calmly, though he swore to himself at the number. He hadn’t thought they had that many warriors left. They must have recalled every outrider and pressed into service all the old men and young boys. Or perhaps another raiding party had joined them. Wherever they came from, it would be a lot of men to stop.
“Already done, Captain,” the boy answered.
Esk kar thanked the boy who moved aside, wedging himself out of the way in an empty space near the back of the tower. Out on the plain, a drum began to beat. Everyone turned toward the sound. The Orak bowmen looked nervous, almost anxious to get on with the battle. Their day had come and they’d be put to the test in the next few hours.
The barbarian horsemen moved to the flanks, staying just out of range.
They’d try to keep as much pressure on the other walls as possible. They’d probe for any weak points, and they had enough men to mount a rush. But their primary task was to draw off as many defenders from the main gate as possible.
Meanwhile the main force of Alur Meriki paused, crowded together, carts ready, and wooden shields lifted on high. Suddenly the drum changed its rhythm. With a few shouts the mass of slaves, warriors, horsemen, and carts began to move. Esk kar glanced up at the sun, well above the horizon.
An hour had passed since dawn.
The men on the wall fell silent. All eyes focused ahead as they took their stances and put arrows to the string, waiting for Totomes’s order. The tall archer took his time. He waited until the thick block of men reached the range of even the weakest of his archers before giving the command.
That order echoed along the rest of the wall, as the first flight of arrows told everyone the battle for Orak had begun.
The main wall held just two hundred and twenty archers, with the rest spread thinly along the other three walls. They faced at least seven hundred warriors heading straight for the gate, plus the mass of slaves used as shields and beasts of burden, well over a thousand men.
Arrows rattled up into the sky, flight after flight. His men were loosing between fifteen and eighteen arrows a minute. Out on the plain barbarians fell to the earth but the wagons kept coming, slowed for a moment as one or two men went down, but moving steadily forward.
So far no one fired back, but that would soon change. The enemy advanced, stoically absorbing the losses. War cries sounded on all sides now, as warriors raced their animals along the north and south walls.
The drumbeat quickened. The barbarians broke into a run, driving their slaves in front of them by the flat of their swords. Before long the leading edge of Alur Meriki knelt in the dirt and planted their shields about fifty paces from the ditch, as archers moved up behind the protection and began to return fire.
For their shorter bows it was still long range, and the advantage lay with the defenders, aided by their stronger bows and the height of the wall. But already more than three hundred enemy warriors plied their bows and began to score hits, even at that distance. The wagons still advanced.
An arrow whistled past Esk kar’s head. Totomes directed his men to target the men advancing the wagons. Men went down again and again, but others took their places.
Esk kar grimaced. Most of these were slaves, not even warriors, forced to labor until an arrow took them. To turn away meant facing the swords and lances of warriors behind them. At last the first of the wagons, one piled high with planks nailed together and showing scorch marks on its high sides, reached the edge of the ditch. The attack would begin in earnest now.
An arrow glanced off Esk kar’s copper helmet and a moment later another brushed his right arm, gouging the stiff leather. Grond pulled him down behind the shield, then ordered the archers to kill those who aimed at their captain. Esk kar saw a sudden flurry of activity behind the first wagon, already sprouting a thicket of arrows as defenders shot at every barbarian around it.
About twenty leather
— clad warriors ran alongside the wagon and grasped the topmost planks. They lifted a section and carried it forward into the ditch. Many went down with arrows, but enough stayed on their feet and managed to get the bridging section to the ditch and fling it down, before running back behind the wagons for shelter.
Another group of men tried to repeat the effort but this time Totomes’s archers stopped the second attempt with a wave of arrows that brought warriors, screaming in pain, to their knees before they reached the edge of the ditch. It proved only a momentary setback. More men rushed up to aid them, and they managed to grasp and lift the heavy platform once again and rush it forward, some leaping down into the mud, others dropping onto the first piece of bridge.
In their haste they failed to place the second section properly. For a moment no warrior would venture out to correct it. Instead they brought up more archers from the rear and a hailstorm of arrows drove the defenders beneath the wall for a few moments. Esk kar could only watch through the narrow gap between the two shields as two gangs of men rushed forward, one to straighten the second section and another to lift and carry the third section.
By now all the barbarian archers were shooting from behind some sort of cover, making it harder for Orak’s archers to hit them. Their enemies needed only to aim for the top of the wall to keep the defenders pinned down.
With the third bridging section in place, the barbarians had reached more than halfway across the ditch, even though the trench here stretched twice as wide. Esk kar turned to Gatus. “Get every archer you can fi nd up on the wall. I’m going to the gate.”
Without waiting for a reply Esk kar dashed away, Grond and the bodyguards following him. Esk kar ran down the tower steps, pushing past a constant stream of men climbing up to reinforce or resupply those already there. Emerging into the sunlight he took only a few steps before he found Corio directing a handful of villagers carrying three heavy clay pots.
“Good work, Corio,” Esk kar shouted. “Is this the oil?”
“All that’s left. The storehouse is empty.”
The lands around Orak held numerous pools of the oil — that — burns, but no such pool existed inside Orak. The countless torches needed every night had drained the stores of oil faster than expected. Esk kar’s fire raid had taken the rest.
Esk kar grimaced but there was nothing he could do about it. “We’ll need more than that. Find more. And send one jar up to the top of the gate.”
“Captain, be careful, we might set fire…”
Esk kar left Corio and climbed up the narrow wooden steps leading to the upper parapet. Several archers manning the slits had taken wounds, but a few cheered at the sight of their captain. He moved to the gate’s center, then pushed an archer aside to glance through the firing slit. The barbarians had placed another section into the ditch and looked ready to move up another. That one would completely bridge the ditch.
A burly villager bumped into Esk kar’s back, breathing hard and carrying the largest of the pots of oil. Esk kar took the vessel and almost dropped it, surprised by the weight.
“Fetch as many torches as you can,” he ordered. The man nodded, then swung over the edge of the platform and just dropped to the parapet directly below, before jumping to the ground.
The last bridging section had the farthest to go and again Totomes’s archers waited for the Alur Meriki effort. A wave of arrows from the defenders cut the first attempt short, hitting a half — dozen warriors before they could even take up the burden. Another attempt failed as well, until a horde of nearly fifty men rushed up and by sheer numbers carried the section down into the ditch and heaved it into position. Despite the heavy losses, a shout of triumph accompanied their success.
Esk kar turned to Grond, who’d stayed right behind him. “We’ll hurl this as far from the gate as we can. Understand? At the count of three!”
Together they lifted the clay jar, each holding it with one hand on the bottom and using the other hand to steady it. Esk kar took a deep breath and braced himself, nodded at Grond, then gave the count. “One… two… three!”
With a mighty heave they hurled the pot of oil over the top. The jar landed at least twenty feet away from the gate, bursting into a hundred pieces as it emptied its contents between the fourth and fifth sections.
Without bothering to look Esk kar seized the flaming torch that the laborer had brought and hurled it over the top. By the time he reached a slit, the torch had ignited the oil and a sheet of flames burned hotly wherever the oil had spread. Even the mud in the ditch caught fire.
Two arrows hissed through the slit and Esk kar felt his heart jump. If he’d stared an instant longer… Alur Meriki archers below now waited for any target. “Get another pot of oil, Grond. That should slow them down.”
Men crowded the gate now, its parapets sagging dangerously as ten more archers added their weight to the platforms. Another jar of oil arrived, this one smaller, and again Esk kar and Grond heaved it over the gate. It landed closer to the mud this time but shattered well enough to cover the burning wood again. A strange whooshing noise and a wave of heat accompanied flames that rushed into the air. The few warriors who had ventured out onto the platform quickly retreated. For a moment the conflagration rose even higher than the gate.
The last two sections of the bridge burned steadily, and nothing would put them out until the fire reached the muddy underside of the wood. The barbarians halted, surprised to find their own tactic used against them. The vicious exchange of arrows continued taking its toll on both sides. Grond readied the last pot but a quick glimpse told Esk kar it wasn’t needed yet.
He leaned over the edge of the platform and shouted down at Corio.
“Corio, we need more oil. Send women to gather every drop from every house.”
“Yes, Captain. We’ll find some.”
Esk kar turned back to the parapet. Alcinor had his workers pouring water over the top, nervous about the fire their leaders had ignited. A fire behind the gate might be disastrous. Then a cry from the tower made Eskkar take another quick glance through the slit. The barbarians had lifted another bridging section from a wagon and were gathering for a new rush.
Esk kar understood immediately what they planned. Placed on top of the burning ones, the new section would smother the fires and be even firmer underfoot. The warriors gave a shout as they braved the archers’ volleys to take up the platform on both sides and begin moving it toward the ditch. Esk kar picked up a bow from a wounded archer and strung a shaft himself. “Find yourself a bow, Grond.”
The big man returned in a moment, as archers crowded around the slits. Esk kar looked at him. “They’re watching the slits. We’ll shoot from over the top. Try to bring down the first man on your side.” This was dangerous. They’d have to expose more of their bodies. But Esk kar needed to stop the attackers now.
Warriors, stumbling under the weight of the new section but moving rapidly, had reached the halfway point of the ditch.
“Now!” Esk kar shouted. In that instant, both he and Grond leaned over the top of the gate, Esk kar firing as the rest of the defenders did likewise, ducking back not an instant too soon as a flock of arrows whistled into the space their heads had just occupied. A peek through the slit told Esk kar his shaft had hit the mark. The stricken warrior had fallen onto the man behind him. The whole section had crashed into the ditch. The warriors tried to pick it up, but arrows from each tower and the gate struck among them and drove the Alur Meriki back behind the wagons. By now even the bridging sections were riddled with arrows.
The section the Alur Meriki had tried to bring forward sat half in the mud and half on the bridge. It looked too far for Esk kar to reach with another pot of oil. Or was it?
“Wait here, Grond,” he ordered. He swung down to the lower parapet then dropped to the ground. He shouted for messengers even as Corio and Alcinor raced to Esk kar’s side. “Find some small jars, about this big,” he held his hands about six inches apart. “I want to throw oil further out on their bridge. And get me more oil!”
Corio nodded to his son and Alcinor raced away. “Can we hold them, Captain?” The master artisan looked frightened.
A meaningless question. “Only the gods know, but they’re not inside yet. Just keep the gate wet and our own torches away from the oil.” Only a few paces from where they stood, villagers frantically pumped at the water wheel, sending a steady stream out into the ditch.
Esk kar mounted the steps, ignoring the tiredness in his legs, and returned to the top. He knelt beside Grond, picked up a shield, and used it to cover himself as he looked through the slit. He saw warriors trading shafts with the defenders while others prepared for another rush.
Alcinor arrived, breathing hard and carrying two small clay jugs, the kind used to hold wine in the alehouses. He also carried several long pieces of cotton. Alcinor dipped the wine jug into the last remaining pot of oil and held it until it was almost filled. He stuffed one of the rags in the mouth of the jar. Finally, he took another rag and wiped the outside of the jug clean, rubbing hard to remove every trace of oil.
Alcinor saw the puzzled look on Esk kar’s face. “The rag will act as a stopper, like a wick in a lamp,” Alcinor explained. “We light the rag before you throw it.” To demonstrate, he called for a torch, then touched the rag to its flame.
Esk kar watched in fascination as fire blossomed from the rag. It did burn like a wick in a candle, without being instantly consumed. Esk kar took the flaming wine jug, braced his feet, and hurled it over the wall. The pot almost went too far but landed on the new section of bridge, shattered, and burst into flames. The fire didn’t burn as intensely as before, but would certainly slow the attackers.
For a few moments it did. Then a large group of warriors rushed down into the ditch, where they used their hands to scoop up the damp mud and toss it on the burning planks. That smothered the oil and flames at the same time. Arrows struck down many, but others replaced those killed or wounded, throwing more wet earth onto the platform.
Wherever the mud landed, the fire hissed and smoked, then died out immediately.
“Damn them,” Esk kar swore. The archers’ fire from the walls wasn’t enough to impede them. “We need more archers,” he shouted to Grond.
“Stay here and throw as many jugs as you can.” Esk kar dropped down from the parapet, running back to the north side where he found Gatus directing men and shouting orders. “Gatus, we need more archers. They’ll be at the gate in a few moments.”
“I’ve sent you every man I could find. Totomes says they’re driving the barbarian archers back.”
“It’s taking too long. They’re almost ready to assail the gate. Strip every archer from the other walls. Send villagers to take their place. Just get more men to the towers.”
Leaving Gatus, Esk kar raced back up the steps to Grond’s side, who’d prepared another oil — filled wine jug.
An arrow whistled through the slit just as Esk kar was about to look, the shaft passing between the two men’s faces. They looked grimly at each other. But he needed to see, so he took a quick look. He saw plenty of activity across the ditch, but so far the Alur Meriki hadn’t tried to push another section out. They would at any moment.
“Captain, this is the last of the oil,” Grond said. “But I think I can throw this close to their wagon, if you can cover me.”
Esk kar looked at Grond’s huge arms and shoulders. This jug appeared smaller than the others. If anyone could do it, Grond could. Nevertheless, he’d have to stand up, brace himself, and make the throw. But if he could reach the wagon…
“Archers,” Esk kar shouted, “ready yourself for a volley.” He picked up his shield. The soldiers readied themselves. Grond held out the jar and Alcinor touched the torch to the rag, which flamed up for a moment before it began to burn steadily with a smoky haze.
Esk kar glanced up and down the parapet. The archers looked grim but ready with their bows. “Now!” They rose up and released a hasty volley, enough to distract the closest barbarian archers for a moment.
In that instant Esk kar arose, holding the shield to protect Grond, who grasped the top edge with his left hand and hurled the wine jug.
Esk kar pulled Grond back down with his free hand as arrows hissed above them. Esk kar’s shield had four arrows protruding from it. Glancing through the slit he saw that Grond’s throw had been true. The jug landed just in front of the wagon and burst into flames. Splashes of oil reached and immediately began to burn the dry wood of the cart. The warriors tried to quench the flames, but Orak’s archers drove them back.
Covering most of the slit with his shield, Esk kar watched as the warriors reacted. At first they did little. Then an Alur Meriki war leader gathered warriors with shields and ordered them in front of the cart, to protect those who would extinguish the flames.
This time the attackers not only extinguished the fire, but draped two hides over the wagon’s front. Meanwhile warriors loosed arrows at a rapid pace as they prepared once again to place the final bridge section. Esk kar and his men had slowed their advance but not stopped it.
With a shout the barbarians swarmed around the wagon and took up another section of bridge. They ignored the flickering flames that lingered in places underfoot as well as the arrows that flew into their ranks. Esk kar heard the heavy section drop into place beneath the gate. This time a few of the attackers paused long enough to scoop mud and dirt from the ditch onto the new platform, trying to wet the wood before the villagers could throw more burning oil.
Fresh reserves of enemy fighters, most with bows but many with axes, rushed out from behind the wagons, shouting war cries as they came. They raced across the muddy and smoking bridge, stepping on the bodies of their fallen, whose dead and dying bodies littered the ditch. Now twice as many barbarians stood under the gate, arrows nocked and ready to shoot at anything that moved.
Esk kar felt the first axe thud into the gate. “Stones!” he bellowed. Men dropped their bows and began heaving the river rocks over the gate.
A second and third axe began plying on the gate, the sound ringing throughout the village. Their shields protected the Alur Meriki somewhat from falling stones.
“Stones! Arrows! Now,” Esk kar yelled. Stones flew over the top, until the melon — sized rocks fell like rain.
Alcinor, his voice cracking, shouted at the men, reminding them to drop the stones straight down, for the men below surely pressed themselves as close as possible to the wall, to avoid the bone — breaking missiles.
In a few moments of frenzied activity the defenders exhausted all the stones on the parapet. Alcinor screamed for more rocks, and Esk kar risked an arrow to take another look through the slit. The first wagon side had been pushed into the ditch. The Alur Meriki wanted to move the wagon as close to the gate as possible. They’d tried to guide it directly onto the bridge, but one side must have gone over faster than the other and now one of the wheels had caught in the mud. Still, three of the wagon’s wheels rested on the bridge, and another cart carrying a fresh supply of wood and oil had taken its place.
Warriors crawled and stumbled in the ditch now, ignoring the arrows that flew at them, to free and move the first wagon forward. Esk kar heard them cursing the clumsy vehicle that clung to the mud and resisted their efforts, until nearly twenty men lifted and pushed it free and completely onto the bridge. Meanwhile other barbarians seized tools and axes and rushed back to the gate, ignoring the flames that still burned in places.
A fresh group of warriors, weaponless but carrying large wooden shields, came forward to protect the axe men hammering at the gate from the stones. Damn the gods, there seemed to be no end to these barbarians.
Esk kar turned back to Grond. “I’ll try and find more fire jugs. The first wagon is within reach now, and they’re bringing up another.” The big man nodded, and Esk kar swung from the edge of the parapet to the ground for the third time. There he nearly knocked over Narquil.
Totomes’s son had just descended from the right tower. He staggered toward Esk kar, blood pouring down his right arm, two arrows protruding from it. Esk kar grabbed the man and shouted for a messenger. A boy, eyes wide, appeared from under the wall.
“Bring Narquil to the women and have them stop the bleeding.”
Narquil, his eyes wide with shock from pain and loss of blood, grasped Esk kar’s arm with his left hand. “Captain… look at the arrow.”
He slurred the words, and at fi rst Esk kar thought Narquil wanted him to look at the wound.
“The arrow, Captain… it’s one of ours. They’re running out of arrows.”
“Yes, I see. Go with the boy now.” Turning to the messenger, Esk kar ordered him to get moving, then raced up the tower where he’d started the morning. Emerging into the sunlight, he found blood and bodies everywhere. Death had thinned their ranks, but archers still worked their bows.
He found Totomes. The grim archer had held his place, calmly aiming and firing shafts at his hated enemy, using the tower’s vantage to kill as many clan leaders as possible.
“Totomes, can your archers sweep the ditch of warriors?” he shouted, almost in the man’s ear. “They’re at the gate with axes.”
Totomes loosed the arrow on his bowstring before ducking below the wall, pulling Esk kar down with him. “Not yet, Captain. We’d have to lean too far over the wall to get a shot at them. We’re killing the bowmen behind the barricade. Their fire is slowing and they’re running out of arrows.
The men in the ditch will have to wait.”
“We may not have that much time left. They’re weakening the gate and fire will be upon us soon.”
“I’ll do what I can, Captain, but you must hold them off a little longer.
Are my sons still alive?”
“Narquil was wounded in the arm and I sent him to the women. He’ll fight no more today. I haven’t seen Mitrac.” Esk kar started to move away, then turned back to the master archer. “Narquil said the same thing, that they were running out of arrows. One of the arrows that wounded him was one of ours. Does that mean anything?”
Totomes grimaced at the news of his son’s wounding. “Our arrows are heavier than theirs, and longer. If they shoot them at us, they risk breaking their bows, or not shooting them full strength. That means they’ll fire more slowly as well. Now let me get back to my work. I’ve killed two clan leaders already and there are more out there.” He strung another shaft to his bowstring while they spoke. Now he rose up, aimed, and loosed in one easy motion.
Cursing the gods in frustration, Esk kar started back down the steps, pushing past a woman carrying a sack of arrows up to the men. At least his soldiers would have no shortage of missiles today. Out of the tower and back at the gate, he heard axes ringing against the structure. Looking up, he saw Grond hurling stones over the top of the gate.
Men scrambled up the steps, carrying baskets of stones, but the defenders dropped them over the top faster than they could be resupplied.
Men passed baskets from hand to hand to make sure they covered the entire section of the gate. Esk kar started up the steps, then stopped when he heard his name called. He turned back to find Gatus running toward him, blood on his hand and a cut across his cheek.
“Esk kar! The barbarians crossed the ditch on the south wall and nearly carried the wall. Bantor went there with the last of the villagers, when there were no other soldiers to move up in support.”
Esk kar could do nothing about the other walls. The villagers would have to keep the attackers at bay. “I need more men here, Gatus, and now.”
Pointing up at the gate, Esk kar saw only a few men hurling rocks and firing arrows. “Otherwise they’ll be coming through soon enough.” The gate’s big timbers had begun to shake under the axe blows.
Gatus coolly appraised the gate. Alcinor’s workers swarmed everywhere, carrying heavy planks to reinforce its base. “The gate will last a little longer. I’ll find you more men.”
Esk kar swore again and ran toward the steps, pausing only to take a basket of stones away from a woman who could scarcely manage the load. He grunted under the weight and ducked beneath the slits until he reached Grond’s side. The big man picked up two stones, one in each hand, then positioned himself directly over the pounding before he flung the missiles over the edge. Esk kar stayed on his knees, handing Grond the three remaining stones, one at a time. When they were gone, Esk kar tossed the empty basket to the ground and shouted for more.
A bowman at the slit beside him gave a strangled gasp as an arrow pierced his throat. Esk kar grabbed the bow from the man’s hands, then pushed the dying man off the parapet. Notching a shaft, he went to the slit, as another arrow flew through it. The attackers had grown bolder.
They had discovered that the safest place was directly under the wall, and many had positioned themselves there, shafts ready to fire at any target that showed.
Peering through the slit at the sharpest angle he could manage, Esk kar saw an Alur Meriki archer in the ditch and let fly. The arrow feathered itself in the man’s chest.
Esk kar’s action drew a flurry of arrows and another hissed through the slit, narrowly missing him. Still, he had the helmet and collar for protection, and he needed to stop the barbarians now. Esk kar shoved the bow into the slit for a moment then ducked back, letting another flight of arrows come at him. Then he moved up while they were notching their shafts and again sent an arrow into an Alur Meriki archer.
Ducking back again he took a quick glance toward the ditch and saw that a third wagon had been pushed to the edge. Warriors now carried burning fagots and torches onto the platform. They had their own jars of oil. They’d stuff the burning wood into the holes the axe men had created, douse everything with oil, and try to fire the gate. And the defenders had no more oil to oppose them.
Grond reappeared with another basket of rocks. Two bodyguards came behind him, carrying more. The gate shuddered continually under the axes, the sounds of splintering wood carrying over the frantic shouts of the defenders. “There’s a group of bowmen right below us. Let’s feed them some stones.”
Grond nodded and pulled the bodyguards into position on each side of him. Then the three men began tossing the rocks in unison over the edge. As soon as they started, Esk kar moved to a slit and shot another arrow, cursing as his intended target moved back, the shaft disappearing harmlessly in the mud. In the same instant he saw another warrior struck in the shoulder by a stone. The man screamed in pain and dropped the shield he’d held over his head. Nevertheless, more barbarians moved into the ditch, carrying bundles of wood and straw, as well as pots that surely contained oil.
Esk kar, Grond, and the others fought like demons, while the brutal fighting raged all around them. Stones provided the main weapon for the defenders now, the gate’s archers almost useless now, afraid to lean out or even use the arrow slits. Too many enemy archers, bows drawn, waited for any movement, most of them protected by shields. The barbarians still hacked away at the gate, taking losses but maintaining their stubborn attack. The continuous pounding shook the structure.
A shout behind him made Esk kar turn around. Corio and Alcinor had returned with a crowd of villagers carrying the last of the stones. Forming lines, villagers passed the rocks to the top of the gate as fast as they could. Under the parapet, carpenters continued to reinforce the base of the structure. Suddenly the ringing of the axes ceased. Esk kar risked a peek through the slit.
The axe men were racing away, back to the safety of the wagons, their task done for the moment. Others ran forward to replace them. These warriors carried large bundles of dry grass they placed against the gate. The barbarians had chopped and shattered much of the gate’s bottom and now stuffed bundles of oil — soaked straw and wood into the openings. Esk kar saw a dozen men with torches race across the platform before hurling their torches. The gate ignited in a whoosh of flames.
The defenders kept hurling rocks and water over the gate. Esk kar leaned back and looked across the ditch. Arrows coated all the carts, and new shafts kept striking at the mass of men huddled behind them, aimed at any warrior who exposed himself. Orak’s archers were slowly stopping the bowmen behind the ditch. Totomes had been right. They were winning the archery battle. If only they had enough time.
Esk kar looked down behind him. At the base of the gate, a thick plume of smoke already curled underneath, carrying the stink of burning oil with it.
Everyone screamed for water. Men and women alike passed buckets to the top of the gate. Every available villager, even children, had come there, drawing water from the wells, then passing the buckets hand to hand to the men on the walls. Others continued to carry stones and arrows to the wall’s defenders.
It had become a race between the fire at the gate’s base and the water that poured over its top. Others hurled water at the gate’s bottom, at any place that looked likely to burn through. Esk kar glimpsed Trella among them, keeping the villagers in order and directing them where they would do the most good.
Esk kar gazed along the parapet. “Grond, these men are exhausted. I’ll send fresh men up and you move these men down, or they’ll be too tired to fight.” He swung down again to the ground.
Someone shouted his name. Esk kar saw Alexar running toward him with archers taken from the other walls, ten men in all. “Replace the men on the top of the gate. They’ll be needed soon to use the stones as well.”
Alexar nodded and moved off, shouting orders, and Esk kar moved to the base of the gate. Esk kar laid his hand on the structure, but felt nothing.
The fire roared louder now, and he saw thick, greasy smoke flowing over the top. The shimmering flames leapt higher than the gate.
Grond remained on the top, making sure the men kept tossing stones, while on the lower parapet men risked arrows to hurl water through the arrow slits. Nevertheless the oil — soaked wood continued to burn, and the Alur Meriki kept bringing up more and more bundles of dry grass to feed the burning gate.
Esk kar watched as the flames steadily ate away at the gate’s beams.
But no villagers left their labors and more men and women kept coming, carrying anything that could be used as a weapon. Despite the confusion, everyone was doing their duty.
He saw a break in the line of men carrying water up to the parapet.
Grasping a bucket, Esk kar carried it to the upper parapet, then poured it over the side where Grond pointed. Another voice shouted for Esk kar’s attention. He looked over to see Sisuthros standing at the back of the south tower.
“Captain, they’re massing their warriors,” Sisuthros shouted, cupping his hands to make sure his voice carried. “They’re bringing up a ram, getting ready to attack.”
Esk kar wiped sweat from his brow and took a look, keeping his head back far enough so that the bowmen below couldn’t see him. He studied the men moving into position. Something looked different. Esk kar moved his head a little higher, then dropped down as an arrow snapped through the slit and glanced off his helmet.
“Grond, I need to see this.” Esk kar snatched up a shield and raised it over the gate, holding it an inch or two above the top, ignoring the arrows that thudded into it. Behind the shield, he rose almost to his full height.
The barbarians were massing across the ditch, forming a V- shaped line of shields and wagons that curved slightly away from the ditch. The Alur Meriki had concentrated their fighters here, drawing most of their warriors away from the other walls and focusing their attention on the gate.
The attackers were betting all on breaking through here.
Sisuthros joined him. “I’ve ordered every man I could from the rest of the walls,” he gasped, “and told Maldar and the others to do the same.”
Esk kar noticed fresh soldiers arriving on the parapet, each one carrying a basket of stones in addition to his bow.
“Keep the towers at full strength. Have them start killing the warriors at the base of the gate, even if they have to lean out to do it. We’ve got to drive them away from the gate!”
Raising his voice, Esk kar shouted to the defenders. “Hold fast! More soldiers are coming. And the barbarians are weakening!”
A few cheered but most just looked at him, exhaustion and despair in their faces. But no one stopped working and then, as bowmen began arriving, they appeared to take heart.
Esk kar climbed down to the first parapet, creaking and swaying even more ominously as the ropes continued to stretch. A great shout came from outside the gate. After a quick look, Esk kar ducked his head back. For once, no arrows flew in through the slit, though he heard at least one strike the gate nearby. Orak’s archers were taking their toll. But a mass of barbarians, at least sixty or seventy warriors, had moved forward into the ditch, carrying with them a great ram made from a huge tree trunk. The ram swayed beneath a wooden frame, suspended by a mass of ropes. Warriors carrying shields held high protected those who bore the burden, and the ram reached the base of the gate without falling to the earth. Soon it would begin hammering the structure where the fire had done the most damage.
The fire — weakened wood couldn’t take too many blows from something that size. A renewed storm of Alur Meriki arrows flew at any target that exposed itself, as the attackers tried to protect the warriors carrying the ram.
The sound of hammering made him look down. At least twenty villagers labored there. Men with mauls nailed a notched plank into position.
Others, struggling under the weight of a beam, moved forward to angle the log into the notch. Carpenters immediately began hammering it home, fastening the beam to the plank. Everyone ignored the thick black smoke curling around their feet, though many began coughing, choking on the stench of the burning oil.
Suddenly the gate shook as if a mighty fist had struck it. Two men cried out as they lost their balance and toppled backward from the upper parapet. Esk kar might have followed but for Grond’s huge hand, covered in blood, that reached over and grasped him. Esk kar had barely recovered before another blow struck the gate.
Risking another glance through the slit, Esk kar saw a near — solid wall of shields protecting those manning the ram. The attackers might be taking terrible losses, but they fought on. He hadn’t killed enough to make them lose hope, give up, before they broke through.
The gate reeled again, this time accompanied by the sound of splintering wood. Villagers screamed at each other to hurry.
“Do what you can here, Grond, but don’t stay too long. Be off the parapet before it falls. The gate’s going to be forced. I’m going down to get the men ready.” Once again, Esk kar swung off the parapet, holding for a moment until he could drop all the way to the ground. He landed heavily enough to fall to his knees.
Getting to his feet he stared at the base of the gate. The ram was breaking through. The heavy beam, hammered in place on the left side of the gate only moments ago, had already been knocked out of position, and the ram’s head had crashed through part of the planking that supported it.
Maldar ran up, with another half — dozen men, bows in hand.
“Form a line here, Maldar,” Esk kar ordered.
The gate shuddered again. A section of the lower parapet gave way, sending men scrambling to avoid its imminent collapse. Esk kar studied the gate, watching it vibrate every few moments as the ram struck again and again in a powerful rhythm. The leftmost portion looked weakest, but the right side stood mostly intact, its main brace firmly in position.
Corio, his eyes streaming from the smoke, tripped over the fallen beam.
Esk kar seized his arm and pulled him to his feet. “Corio, brace the upper parapet before it collapses, too, or we’ll have no men manning the slits.
See if you can keep it in place, even if they break through underneath.
Hurry!”
Esk kar gave the man no time to reply, just shoved him on his way. Another file of five soldiers arrived, and Esk kar called them to him, shouting for shields. Grond came scrambling down from the upper parapet with two of Esk kar’s original bodyguards.
Wiping the sweat out of his eyes, Esk kar turned to his men. “Give your bows to the villagers and find shields. We’ll need swords and spears for this work.”
Grond pointed the two guards toward weapons stored against the nearest house. They returned in moments, carrying four shields.
Esk kar looked back at the gate. The left side of the once — solid gate had splintered badly. The giant logs, weakened by axe and fire, trembled and shook from the ram’s mighty blows. A glance at the towers and walls on each side showed them crowded with archers desperately trying to stop the rammers.
They would be too late. The Alur Meriki were going to open a breach.
But it might not be a large opening, and maybe it could be held. As he watched, the leftmost side of the lower parapet swung down with a screech of nails and snapping of ropes, accompanied by the shouts of men who jumped or tumbled to the ground. It collapsed slowly and dropped directly in front of the opening. The same blow pitched two men off the upper platform as it swayed precariously from its ropes. That platform still held, though it shook and rattled under each blow of the ram.
The ram crashed against the gate once again and this time its fire hardened tip penetrated the wooden structure. As the ram’s head withdrew, some of the archers fired at the opening, and Esk kar heard a scream from the other side.
“Keep shooting,” he ordered, moving well away from the gap as the archers loosed a volley, a few shafts going through the narrow, jagged opening. Then the ram, repositioned slightly, smashed into the next set of vertical logs. Four more times the ram struck before another log snapped in two.
The ramming stopped for a moment, as warriors with axes pried at the weakened logs. Then the ram began its hammering again. It took less than a dozen strokes before another pair of logs gave way. The din increased, as more axes hammered at the loosened logs, widening the aperture. A warrior tried to climb through the breach and was riddled with arrows that knocked him backward from sheer force of impact.
Esk kar gripped his shield and drew his sword, then turned to Grond and the bodyguards. “We have to stop them here. They can’t be allowed past the gate!” He grabbed the nearest bodyguard and shouted in his ear.
“Make sure the archers hold their fire when we move to the breach. Go!”
The man nodded and raced back to the line of archers, who stayed in their rough line, still loosening their arrows at the opening. Alur Meriki shields appeared, pushed through the breach, protecting the attackers massing behind them. Esk kar and Grond gave out mighty shouts and rushed toward the gap.
The attackers shoved their way through the narrow opening, crouching low and using their shields to avoid the defenders’ arrows. Rushing forward, Esk kar had no time to worry about an arrow in his back from his own men.
Raising his shield to his eyes, he took four quick steps and crashed against the shield of the first Alur Meriki warrior. Caught off balance, the man reacted slowly, stumbling in the jumble of beams and splinters, and Esk kar took a half — step back and swung the great sword down on the warrior’s head.
Again Esk kar lowered his shoulder behind his shield and shoved with all his might, pushing the dead body into the man behind him.
Battle fury took all of them, as Esk kar, Grond, and four soldiers formed a half — circle around the breach and defended it with a ferocity that surprised the attackers. The defenders were fresher, while the attackers had been working the ram or ducking arrows in the hot sun without water for nearly two hours.
The first wave of Alur Meriki fell back, driven by the vicious blows of Esk kar and his companions. But as the defenders exulted, a second horde of screaming attackers, seeing victory within their grasp, fought their way through the opening, a gap that grew wider as the enemy outside kept hammering away with their axes.
These attackers wielded lances as well as swords. They quickly widened the half — circle of warriors who had pushed through the opening. Eskkar struck again and again, using his shield to turn their swords and spears and striking at anything within reach of his great sword.
Suddenly a loud voice behind them commanded, “Down!”
Esk kar and his men responded by habit, so well trained were they, dropping to one knee and ducking their heads under their shields. A wave of arrows flashed over their heads. Instantly Esk kar and the others arose.
They’d practiced this tactic so often that now they did it without thinking.
The volley had stopped the invaders for a moment. Esk kar and his men, behind their shields and thrusting with their swords, attacked the wavering men before they could recover, forcing the warriors back. The besiegers gave ground for a moment, but once again fresh warriors pushed their way through the ever — widening breach into Orak.
Esk kar and his swordsmen anticipated the next command, and when the shout of “Down” came again, they dropped, letting another flight of arrows cross over them before they rose and again rushed the barbarians.
The Alur Meriki hesitated, taken aback by this strange tactic, not used to fighting swordsmen and archers at the same time. Before they could recover, Grond pushed his way nearly back to the breach, carrying a dead man pinned to his shield and hurling the body into the opening.
Swinging his sword over his head, Esk kar brought it crashing down with all his strength on a warrior’s shield, slicing through it and into the man’s arm.
More defenders surrounded him. A spearman pushed in front of Eskkar, even as fresh swordsmen arrived. Twenty swords now blocked the opening. But surprisingly, no new attackers tried to force the breach, so Esk kar stepped back and looked up at the gate. The upper parapet hung crookedly from its supports, but men continued to hurl stones down on their attackers. Only now they shouted with glee and worked with renewed energy. Something strange was happening, but he had no idea what.
Esk kar turned to Grond. “Hold them here.” He needed to see what had happened in the ditch. Racing to the right side of the gate, he dashed up the steps, nearly knocking over two men carrying baskets of rocks up to the defenders, and continued all the way to the parapet. He felt it sway precariously under his weight and hoped it would hold a while longer.
This time Esk kar didn’t bother with a shield, just looked over the top of the gate, standing back to be out of sight of any archers beneath him.
What he saw stunned him. Warriors were turning back, moving away from the ditch and running to the rear. Others backed away more slowly, firing their bows as they retreated. From the sides of the village, horsemen galloped back toward the plain, urging their horses hard and ignoring the fi ght at the gate. To his surprise they didn’t slow their mounts, even when they passed out of range of Orak’s arrows. They were racing back to their camp, but he didn’t understand why.
He squinted into the sun as he looked toward the highest hilltop, ignoring the sweat that ran into his eyes. That looked different, too. More than a dozen smoke trails rose into the cloudless sky from the Alur Meriki camp.
The fires themselves couldn’t be seen, but they burned near the northern portion of the Alur Meriki main camp.
He saw movement all over the hilltop. More men came running down the hills toward Orak to join the battle. No, by the gods, they were women!
Women running away from the camp. And dozens of riderless horses galloped toward Orak as well. Something had stampeded the animals. Another movement, something different, caught his eye and he strained to make out what it was.
On the crest of one of the highest hills a lone horseman stood, wheeling his horse and waving his lance high. Attached to the lance hung a long streamer. Even at this distance, Esk kar could make out its yellow color as it rippled in the breeze. The rider waved it for a few more moments, ignoring the rapidly approaching horsemen, before he leisurely turned away and galloped over the hilltop and out of sight.
“What is it?” Sisuthros stood at his side, breathing hard, his left arm covered in blood. “What’s happening?”
Esk kar tried to laugh, but his dry throat wouldn’t permit more than a cackle. A wheezing villager came behind him with a bucket of water destined for the fire below. Esk kar grabbed it and poured it over his face, filling his mouth at the same time.
“Can’t you see, Sisuthros,” he answered when he’d slacked his thirst.
“That was Subutai, and by the gods, he’s ridden clean through their camp!”
“They’ll catch him for sure, won’t they?” Sisuthros’s voice showed concern.
Esk kar turned his gaze back to the vacant hilltop. He laughed now, his throat refreshed. “Subutai’s not that foolish. I’m sure he put his horse to a full gallop the instant he left the hilltop. He’ll have a hard run to escape them, but he’ll make it. He must have raided the camp, burned some tents, stampeded the horses, and made sure the Alur Meriki knew he was there.
That’s what made them abandon the attack, knowing that their women and children were at risk. They don’t know how few men attacked their camp.”
They stood there in silence. Esk kar watched as the last of the Alur Meriki scrambled out of the ditch and began to run as fast as they could to the rear. Many dropped swords and weapons in their haste, trying to outrace the angry arrows chasing them. Shafts struck down a few of them, as the defenders showed no mercy and lost no opportunity to take their targets.
A broad trail of bodies, arrows protruding from their backs, marked the fl ight of the barbarians. The sight saddened him and he felt strangely glad when the last escaped out of range. Many paused to shake their fists at Orak and its defenders, their anger and frustration all too evident. Others just knelt in the dust to catch their breath, too tired from fighting and running even to call curses upon their enemies.
Cheers echoed along the wall, ragged and hoarse, growing louder as those away from the gate grasped what happened. Esk kar watched the retreat and counted the lines of smoke climbing into the hot sky. The smoke streams merged, making it difficult, but he guessed at least thirty fires had been set. Not a great number, but enough to send a lot of smoke into the sky. Subutai wouldn’t have many men, but one horseman carrying a torch could do much in little time. Subutai must have prepared his men carefully. He’d learned well that lesson.
Esk kar wondered how many more men Subutai had lost and hoped the number was small. Even if the Alur Meriki had no force of warriors guarding the camp, there would have been a few boys and old men who could draw a bow. Subutai’s men faced a long and hard ride to the north, with at least a hundred warriors pursuing them.
“Could we have held them off? Without Subutai’s attack?” Blood dripped from Sisuthros’s cheek. The old wound had reopened, probably from all the shouting.
“Well, we’ll never know for sure, but I think we might have held them.
Their bowmen’s fire was weakening. Still…” He realized the cheering had taken a different note. The shouts of joy remained, but now a new, simple cry began to rise up. “Esk kar!.. Esk kar!.. Esk kar!..” the crowd roared, and in a moment it sounded as if the whole village had but one voice.
He turned and looked down into the village. It seemed like every man, woman, and child had come there, jammed into the open spaces and the lanes, with more coming and others appearing on the housetops or the wall. The shouts went on and on. He noticed movement in the mass of people crowded below. A half — dozen soldiers pushed their way through the throng, Trella in their midst. They had to force their way through the solid mass until the villagers saw who they escorted and let them pass. The chant changed and Trella’s name, too, echoed from the walls.
Esk kar looked at Sisuthros and saw his subcommander had joined in the cheering. “I’ve never seen such a thing before.” Esk kar’s words went unheard, vanishing in the swell of sound. Then Trella reached the steps.
Eager hands guided her up the parapet until she reached Esk kar. He took her in his arms and held her tightly, to another outburst of cheers. When he let her go, she clung to his side and shouted into his ear.
“Speak to them. Tell them what they want to hear.”
He looked at her face, calm and serene, her head held high. She’d planned even for this. Esk kar raised both his arms and called for silence.
At fi rst they ignored him and shouts of “Esk kar” and “Trella” kept rising.
Eventually they quieted down, helped by those who wanted to hear what Esk kar would say. He shouted before they could begin again. “Villagers… soldiers. We have driven off the barbarians!”
Another roar went up into the sky, everyone shouting with all their strength. Esk kar had to wait a long time before he could continue. “We’ve done what no village has ever done. Now they will have to move on. You fought bravely today. Now we must tend to our wounded and bury our dead, because many good men have fought and died today. We must rebuild Orak bigger and stronger than ever before.”
Dozens of villagers cried out, “Lead us!.. Protect us!.. You must rule Orak!” In moments, every person in the village demanded the same thing. Soldiers waved their swords or bows as they shouted, while villagers uplifted their arms. Even Trella stepped aside and turned toward him, lifting up her arms and joining in the exhortation of the mob.
Esk kar raised his hand again, and after another long burst of cheering, the noise finally abated. When he spoke he used all the voice he could muster, his words carrying to all those below. “If you wish me to guide and protect you, I will do so. Do you choose me to rule in Orak?”
This time the noise sounded like thunder, Orak’s inhabitants yelling themselves hoarse with excitement and joy, as well as relief at being delivered from the barbarians. Esk kar let it go on for a moment, then raised his hands and called for silence. “Then I will lead you. There’s much work to do, but now we can begin.”
The crowd cheered again. Esk kar stood there, keeping his right arm raised in acknowledgment. It took a long time before the voices began to die down. “Now, back to your tasks!” he shouted, and turned away from the crowd.
He led Trella down the parapet. At the base of the gate, Corio, Bantor, and Gatus waited. Esk kar gave instructions to secure the gate, tend to the wounded, and bury the dead. There would be no rest yet for the villagers.
They had to rebuild the gate and secure it before nightfall. Esk kar told Gatus to send archers back to the walls, post sentries, and keep the soldiers alert.
When Esk kar finally finished giving these and a dozen other orders, Trella faced him.
“Now that everything is being done as you command, we must walk through the village and speak to as many of the people as you can.”
He took her hand, smiling for the first time in days. “And what am I to say to the people?”
“Thank each of them for their work today and in the past months. Tell them how much our success today depended on their efforts. Say that in as many different ways as you can.”
A group of women approached, carrying cloths soaked in water. They washed the blood and dirt from Esk kar’s body, one of them kneeling to clean his feet and sandals. Then, surrounded by the Hawk Clan, he and Trella walked through Orak. They went down every lane and stopped at nearly every house. Esk kar accepted thanks and praise while he repeated the same message-that Orak owed it all to them, that they were the real victors, and that he thanked the gods for their help. While they walked, messengers still came to him, with questions or requests for orders.
He answered these, but Trella refused to let him abandon the walk.
“This is more important,” she told him when he grew impatient. “Now, when the victory is fresh in their minds, you must win them to your side once again. They’ll be your power in the coming months, until we’re truly secure as Orak’s rulers. They’ll remember your words of praise and grati-tude forever.”
He sighed but kept smiling. Trella, who planned for everything, had foreseen and planned this moment as well, so he felt prepared for his task.
As they moved through the lanes, several of the women, Bantor’s wife among them, preceded their way, encouraging the people, suggesting to them what to say, and shouting blessings to them. Even at the moment of victory, Trella guided and directed the villagers, moving the common people to her will. He shook his head in wonderment, but kept the smile on his face as he gave thanks to the people, holding tight to Trella’s hand.