In two hours, I meet with Nicar and the Five Families,” Esk kar began, speaking to Gatus and the three men he’d selected as subcommanders.
They sat shoulder to shoulder at the small table in Esk kar’s quarters.
Gatus sat next to Esk kar. Bantor, Jalen, and Sisuthros faced their new captain across the table. A water jar and cups rested between them.
Bantor, a reliable man who could follow orders, was a little older than Esk kar. Jalen, about five years younger, had come to Orak from the west.
An excellent fighter and one of the few good horsemen in Orak, Jalen had quarreled with Ariamus and his toadies even more than Esk kar. Sisuthros had just reached his twentieth season, but had sharp wits to match his skill with a sword.
Except for Gatus, none had commanded any significant number of men before. Ariamus had kept them in the ranks, promoting his favorites who followed his orders without thinking. Esk kar had marked these three as men of courage and ability who could be relied on. Most of all, they’d dared to disagree with Ariamus.
“There’ll be much arguing at Nicar’s meeting, but most of the nobles will decide to stay and fight. Afterward, Nicar will go to the marketplace and speak to the people, as will I. You and the men will be there, to keep order. Follow my lead, and help sway the villagers. If any in the crowd get out of control, don’t be afraid to break a few heads. There will be plenty of blood shed before this is over, so we might as well start today.”
Esk kar studied them. They seemed steady enough. “Bantor, you’ll take charge of the gates. Assign three men to each. No one leaves the village without permission from Nicar or me. No one-and that includes any of the Five Families.”
Their faces showed disbelief, their doubts clearly visible. Breaking a few heads-that they could understand. But standing up to the Five Families and their armed guards clearly involved more danger.
Esk kar saw the question on the man’s face. “We cannot have men leave the village and take with them anything or any slave we’ll need to defend it,” he explained. “So if a man wants to leave and take, say, a craftsman or builder slave with him, we must not allow that. Our lives may depend on such men.”
“What about those going out to the fields?” Bantor cocked his head.
Better to question than not, Esk kar knew. “I don’t mean those just going for the day, Bantor, only those planning to leave the village permanently and taking their goods with them. If any want to leave on their own, fine.
But no men of property, taking either slaves or tools or baggage, leaves without our approval.”
“Noble Drigo’s men are in the streets and in the market, talking to everyone,” Bantor offered. “They’re acting as if they already rule the village.
Some are saying Drigo will take command of Orak and the soldiers.”
“Well, I have a surprise for Noble Drigo,” Esk kar said, thanking the gods for Trella’s warning, “but we’ll talk of that later.”
“Men won’t want to give up their slaves, Esk kar,” Gatus remarked.
“They’ll make trouble if you try to stop them.”
Esk kar nodded. “If they have something we want, we’ll pay them for it, be it slave or tool or weapon. Nicar and the Families will pay them, that is.”
The men exchanged glances but said nothing. He ignored the looks.
He needed them to believe in him, at least until after today, when they’d see for themselves how events played out.
“Starting tomorrow, we begin recruiting and training. In the next few months, hundreds of people will be pouring into the village, fleeing the barbarians. We must be ready to arm and train them.”
“You can’t train men to fight barbarians, not in a few months,” Jalen objected, his voice rising in protest.
“We’re not going to go out and fight them man — to — man. Instead, we’ll battle them from the wall we build around the village. We will fight them with archers. Any man can bend a bow. Gatus and I have discussed this and it can be done.” Esk kar turned toward Gatus, who nodded agreement.
“I’ve always wanted to train a large group of men to fight as one,” Gatus said. “Now I’ll have my chance.”
The old soldier had many strange ideas about how to train men, and nothing gave him more pleasure than sweating recruits into shape.
“They’ll surround us and rush the village from all sides,” Jalen insisted.
“Even bowmen cannot stop that kind of attack.”
“Not so fast, Jalen.” Esk kar gave a short laugh. “We’ll make sure they can come at us in force from only one direction, against our strongest point. We’ll wait behind our wall, wait until they run out of food, wait until they must move on. We don’t have to defeat them or drive them off.
We just have to make them grow tired of attacking us. I know we can do that.”
Esk kar rapped his cup on the table. “And every time they attack our wall, we’ll slaughter them. We’ll force them from their horses and kill them with arrows.” He saw the skepticism in their faces. They’d seen action against barbarians at one time or another. They knew how tough they were.
“You know once a man is off his horse,” Esk kar went on, “he’s easy to kill, and barbarians are even easier. From childhood, they fight from their horses. Their swords and lances are meant to strike from the horse, their bows to fire while racing at the enemy. Once dismounted, they’ll be poor fighters and easy targets for archers standing behind a wall.”
“The barbarians are archers, too, Esk kar.” Sisuthros had encountered the barbarians before and still carried the scar. “They can shoot our men off the walls just as easily.”
“Perhaps not as easily as you think, Sisuthros, but I’m glad all of you are thinking of these things. Barbarians use short, curved bows. We’ll use hunting bows, longer and more powerful, with a heavier arrow. We’ll start killing them before they can get into range, and the wall will protect our men from their arrows.”
“You really think a wall can stop them, Captain?” Sisuthros asked.
“Yes. They’ve never faced one before, a wall full of well — armed and well — trained men.”
Gatus pulled at his beard. “Can a wall strong enough and high enough be built in time? I mean, how high must it be?”
Esk kar shrugged. “Now you’re ahead of me. That’s one of the things I need to find out, and it will take several days of working with the artisans and builders. That’s why none of them can be allowed to leave.”
He looked at each of them in turn. “The hardest part of this battle against the barbarians is going to happen in the next few hours,” he said, glancing at the window. He didn’t have much time.
“If the Five Families accept our plan, the village can be held. That’s why it’s important that you all be in the market and that you follow my lead. Nicar and I will sway the Five Families. You must help us convince the crowd.”
“You’re asking us to risk our lives, Esk kar, as well as our families,”
Sisuthros said. “If we stay and fight… if we fail…”
“Nicar and I will risk as much. Or would you rather take your families and start roaming the countryside, looking for a safe place to live? When we drive the barbarians off, your places here will be secure. Besides, I’ve doubled your pay. That should stiffen your backbones. When the barbarians are driven off, you’ll each receive twenty gold coins, plus a double share of any loot taken from the barbarians.”
The mention of gold had the desired effect.
“But that’s not enough to keep men fighting. I’ve fought them many times, and even when I’ve killed them, I’ve always had to give ground. I’m tired of giving way to them, and I’m tired of being told what great fighters they are. It’s time to make them afraid of us.”
Esk kar’s words hung in the air for a long moment before Jalen spoke up. “I have not spoken to anyone of this, but seven years ago, barbarians overran my village, murdered my father, and took my mother and sister as slaves. I’ve killed many of them since, and I want only the opportunity to kill more. I’ll follow your orders, Esk kar, as long as you stand and fight them. I’m not afraid of them, even on their horses.”
Esk kar nodded, understanding the man’s pain. The village held many more like him. And now he knew why Jalen had often looked at him with anger in his eyes, seeing only a man from a barbarian clan, not the soldier Esk kar had become.
“We’re all fi ghting men, and our fi ght against the barbarians begins today. The first step will be to stop Drigo from taking control of Orak. Even with Nicar’s backing, I expect we’ll see some blood spilled before dark.
What I’m asking won’t be easy. It will likely be the most danger you’ve ever faced. But if we win, the rewards will be great. So I ask you: will you follow me down this road, to win gold for ourselves and to save Orak? Or must I look to other men to join me?”
One by one, they looked at each other, and slowly nodded assent.
Esk kar smiled in satisfaction. He’d gotten them this far. Now he’d fi nd out just how much they were willing to risk. He glanced up at the sun.
“Good. Now there’s one more thing we have to plan, and cursed little time to do it.”
The crowds thronged the narrow lanes. Esk kar had never seen so many in the marketplace. Every man wanted to stop and question him as he pushed through on the way to Nicar’s house. Gatus, Sisuthros, Adad, and two others accompanied Esk kar. Dressed in his new tunic and sandals, Esk kar moved confidently, taking long, purposeful strides that parted the crowd ahead of him. His short sword hung from his belt, freshly oiled to stay loose in its scabbard.
Behind him walked Trella, head properly downcast, wearing her new dress. The garment hadn’t been woven from the fancy cloth worn by rich merchants or wealthy farmers, but it fitted her new station and looked much better than the cast — off garment she’d worn as Nicar’s slave. Esk kar hadn’t thought to tell her what to buy or how much to spend, but it didn’t surprise him that she had sense enough to buy something practical.
Turning into the lane where Nicar lived, Esk kar found what he’d been told to expect. Almost twenty men lounged about, the hired bodyguards of the Families. Using the authority of their masters, they lorded it over both the villagers and the soldiers for at least as long as Esk kar had lived in Orak. When they saw him approach, most of them straightened up and a rough line formed across the lane, a dozen paces from Nicar’s gate. Most of those blocking the way wore Drigo’s emblem on their tunics.
Naxos, Noble Drigo’s chief bodyguard, had broad shoulders and a coarse red beard that failed to cover a poxed face and a missing tooth. He stood in the center of the lane, directly in Esk kar’s path.
“The meeting of the Five Families is closed to soldiers,” Naxos said in a loud voice, as Esk kar’s party approached, making sure everyone heard his authority. Naxos hooked his thumbs on the thick leather of his sword belt.
“I’ve been summoned by Nicar,” Esk kar answered reasonably, stopping about five paces from the line. “Am I forbidden to enter as well?”
Naxos, one of the few men in the village as tall as Esk kar, stared him in the eyes and took his time before replying. “You may enter,” he answered, still speaking in a forceful tone that carried the length of the lane, as if deciding the matter himself, “but the rest of your men must return to their shit — hole of a barracks. There’s no need for play soldiers here.”
So they wanted him alone. No doubt Drigo didn’t want too much bloodshed either. Then they’d jump him as he passed through their line.
Esk kar mentally thanked the man for his offensive words. Nothing could have provoked his men or stiffened their resolve more. They’d all been bullied and ridiculed by Naxos and the other guards. Esk kar looked at the men standing boldly beside Naxos, hands on their swords, smiles on their faces, confident in their authority. Esk kar could hear the crowd behind him begin to melt away.
“My men go where I tell them, Naxos,” Esk kar said firmly. “Stand aside and let us pass.”
Naxos’s laugh boomed across the alleyway. “You’re a pig of a barbarian, Esk kar, and should have been taught a lesson long ago. I’ll have your head on a plate if your men aren’t on their way.”
The man standing next to Naxos, burly and young, drew his sword, eyes wide with excitement. “Let me kill him for you, Naxos,” he said eagerly.
Esk kar didn’t reply. Instead, he slowly raised his left hand above his shoulder, palm outward, as if to appease the man. But instead of saying anything, Esk kar simply pointed his finger at the troublemaker. There was a hiss in the air and a soft thud, and the man looked down to see a long arrow buried in the center of his chest.
No one moved as the dying man first gasped a long breath, then looked up, the sword slipping from his hand and falling to the ground. Then he was on his knees, pitching facedown into the dust. Nobody moved. All of Naxos’s men looked up, open — mouthed, at the rooftops along the alleyway where ten archers rose up, five on each side of the street. Jalen commanded them and they stood ready, bows drawn to the nock, targets selected, waiting for Esk kar’s next signal.
The rest of the bodyguards made no movement, their eyes locked on the archers, as Gatus shouted an order. Bantor and a half — dozen men, raced up to stand on either side of Esk kar and Gatus. They carried shields and drawn swords as they quickly fanned out in a line, facing Naxos and his men.
The bodyguards’ bravado had changed to fear in an instant, and now they were paralyzed with indecision. No one attempted to draw a weapon, and most took their hands off their hilts. A few, especially those serving the other nobles, stepped back a little, as if to distance themselves from Naxos and Drigo’s men.
Esk kar calmly drew his sword, but kept the tip pointing toward the ground as he crossed the five paces that separated him from Naxos. The man’s eyes stared up at the roof, looking at the three men aiming arrows at his chest. He didn’t even react when Esk kar raised the blade and held it against his stomach. Instead, Naxos looked down at the sword as if he’d never seen such a weapon before.
“All of you men,” Esk kar called out, “don’t move. Throw down your weapons. Anyone who draws a sword dies here in the dirt.” Nothing happened. The guards seemed rooted to the ground. Most of them still stared at the archers above them.
“Now!” Esk kar barked the command savagely. His voice broke the spell, and in a moment the dull sound of weapons striking the dirt was heard.
Esk kar looked into Naxos’s eyes and saw fear replace the shock of seeing the line of bowmen. Esk kar gave him no more time, either to speak or to act, thrusting the sword deep into the man’s belly. A grunt of pain and astonishment escaped from Naxos’s lips even as he tried to grasp the blade that pierced him. Viciously, Esk kar turned the blade, wrenching another groan from Naxos’s open mouth, then jerked it from his body.
Blood spurted everywhere, escaping through the man’s hands as he tried to cover the fatal wound, sagging to his knees as his legs gave way, then falling hard on his back, one leg under him, the other twitching in the dust. Naxos tried to speak, but couldn’t get the words out. Even before he died, Esk kar’s men had moved, closing to within striking distance of the guards.
Stooping down, Esk kar wiped his sword on the dying man’s tunic, ignoring his death sounds and twitches. Esk kar even changed hands and cleaned his right hand and arm, both spattered with the blood gushing from the man’s stomach. None of Naxos’s men moved or said a word.
Esk kar returned his blade to its scabbard. Turning his back on the cowed guards, Esk kar faced the frightened villagers who’d hung back behind him, hoping to see some excitement. They, too, stood rooted in place and stunned into silence.
“I do not like to be called a barbarian,” Esk kar said, his voice carrying down the lane. “Nor do my men like to hear their commander so addressed.”
He turned to Gatus. “Gather their weapons and keep them quiet.”
Trella had stopped a few paces behind Gatus and his men. Esk kar called her name, and she followed him as he pushed past the still — shocked bodyguards. They walked through the open gate and entered the spacious garden that separated Nicar’s house from the street.
The door stood slightly ajar and unattended, and they entered without knocking. Once inside, Esk kar realized that no one was aware of what had happened in the lane outside. The house servants, busy waiting on Nicar’s guests, had no time for events in the always noisy lane.
Trella held his arm for a moment, took a scrap of cloth from her pocket, moistened it in her mouth, and wiped a drop of blood from his cheek and another from his arm. She examined him carefully for any other blood traces. Her face looked pale and her hands shook a little, but her eyes showed no panic. He guessed she had never seen men die like that.
“Killing people is never pretty,” he kept his words low, so only she could hear. “If I hadn’t killed him, he’d have challenged my authority every day.” He touched her arm for a moment. “Can you still face what may come inside?”
She nodded.
They turned at the sound of footsteps to find Creta coming toward them.
“Good day, Esk kar,” she glanced at Trella, then stared more closely, noting her new dress. “Come this way, they’re waiting for you. You’re already late.”
“Good day, Creta,” Esk kar answered, nodding his head. “We’ll follow you.”
Creta stopped abruptly, and Esk kar spoke before she could protest.
“Nicar said I should use Trella to assist me, and I need her with me.” He kept his voice firm and hard.
Without a word, Creta turned and led them to the same room where he’d dined with Nicar. She knocked once, then opened the door. Esk kar and Trella moved past her, and she shut the door behind them.
Today the room looked different, set up for business rather than dinner. Gone were the soft chairs and cushions used for dining. Another table had been brought from somewhere and joined to the one Nicar and Esk kar had eaten from last evening, forming a large expanse of wood that nearly filled the room. The scent of wine hung in the air, noticeable even over the thick spray of jasmine in the far corner of the room, set there to mask the odors of so many men in such a confined space.
Ten men sat around the table: the leaders of the Five Families, each accompanied by an eldest son or a trusted advisor. Nicar sat at the head of the table, with Nobles Rebba and Decca to his right. The two cousins owned several shops and many of the boats that plied the river. Drigo and Nestor took the other side. Nestor owned most of the large farms surrounding the village.
One empty stool at the foot of the table remained and Esk kar crossed to it, and bowed low to the assembly. His doubts had vanished. The killings in the lane committed him fully, and he could not turn aside. He had to leave this room as captain of the guard. Otherwise he’d be lucky to get out of Orak with his skin intact. Drigo would certainly put a price on his head for killing Naxos. Esk kar realized he had one, although temporary, advantage-no one in the room knew what had happened outside, that their guards had been disarmed and now sat in the dirt under the soldiers’ control.
“Noble Nicar, I come at your request.” He looked at the other men, and noted the brief look of surprise on Drigo’s face. “Greetings to you all.”
Trella had stressed that he be polite at all times and keep his temper in check, no matter what provocation or disagreement might arise.
“Your slave does not belong here,” Drigo said, though the meeting was supposedly under Nicar’s control. “This is the meeting of the Five Families, and we follow our customs. Women and slaves are not permitted.”
Drigo had recovered quickly from his surprise. Strange, Esk kar thought, yesterday he would have been in awe of the noble’s authority. Now he was merely an obstacle to be overcome.
“Nobles, I’m a simple soldier. I have no training or memory to speak with you. My slave is here to remember what we discuss, so that I don’t forget anything of importance.”
“My father told you to send the slave away.” These words came from Drigo the Younger. A few years ago, as a young bully, he had terrorized the weaker children with his fists. Now he’d reached manhood and considered himself a leader of men. Taller and broader than his father, he had nineteen seasons. Three men who had offended him died mysteriously, murdered in the night. At least two others had died by young Drigo’s own hand.
His words brought stern glances from the other leaders, and Esk kar guessed only the elders could speak freely.
“She stays with me,” Esk kar answered firmly. “Or I can go if you wish.”
The first test of wills, even as Trella had foretold. One of the leaders looked to Drigo, the other two glanced at Nicar. Esk kar stood there at ease, his hands relaxed at his sides. Trella remained two paces behind him, eyes down.
“And where would you go, Esk kar,” countered Drigo, ignoring his son’s comments. “Back to the barbarians from whence you came? Perhaps we should send you to them.”
“Today the wind blows in many directions, Noble Drigo,” Esk kar answered. “But I thought the Families wished to defend Orak. If that’s not true, merely say so, and I’ll leave you to your business. Fighting men can always find work in these troubled times.”
“You’re an impudent dog,” snarled Drigo the Younger. “I’ve a mind to have you thrown out into the street.”
This time the reaction came from Nicar. “Drigo, your son speaks out of turn. If he cannot restrain his tongue, perhaps it would be best if he left the room.” Nicar glanced around the table, and the others nodded their agreement.
“My son will keep silent,” Drigo responded, “but I will not. We don’t need this ‘soldier.’ We cannot resist the barbarians in any case.”
Several members of the Families began speaking, but Esk kar’s voice sounded clearly over theirs. “Nobles, if you don’t wish to fight, then your village will be destroyed. The barbarians will tear your houses down to the ground and burn everything they don’t toss into the river. Or you can resist them, drive them off, and save your village. The choice is yours, and you must make it today.”
His words silenced them momentarily. Esk kar looked around the table and saw doubt in their eyes, mixed with confusion at the boldness of a man they’d thought of only as a common soldier. He went on before they could say anything.
“Whatever you choose, the people are waiting to hear your words. I told them you would speak to them today. So you’ll have to decide now. If you tell them the nobles are not going to resist, many will begin to leave. Once gone, they won’t come back. And so you’ll all have to leave, taking what you can carry, crossing the river, and hoping to avoid the barbarians.”
“You had no right to speak to the people,” Noble Rebba said, speaking for the first time. “Only the Families can speak for Orak.” Noble Decca nodded in agreement.
“The villagers know the barbarians are coming,” Esk kar answered, keeping temper and voice under control. “They know Ariamus took men and horses as well as all he could carry before he fled. They know that I’m meeting with you now. If you don’t say something today, many more will go, including myself and the rest of the soldiers. No one will stay here guarding your wealth until it’s too late to escape. So Orak will fall in a few weeks, months before the barbarians arrive. When you leave here, I think you’ll find that many things have changed.”
He looked at Nicar for a moment. “As I said, if you don’t want me to defend the village, say so, and I’ll be gone. I don’t need to risk my life defending Orak.”
“Nothing can stop the barbarians, Esk kar,” answered Nestor, the oldest member of the Families. Nestor had lived in and around Orak even longer than Nicar. Nestor resided in one of the large farms that ringed the village. “You should know that, more than any of us.”
“Noble Nestor, I believe they can be stopped, and that I know how to stop them. As I discussed with Nicar, it can be done. But it’s only possible if we start now, and only if everyone puts their hearts and backs into it.
The villagers must believe Orak can resist, or they’ll leave.”
“We don’t need the villagers,” Drigo answered easily. “We rule here, and we decide what is to become of Orak.”
“You may rule here, but the people of the village give you power,”
Esk kar countered. “Without the craftsman, the baker, the winemaker, the tavern keeper, even the farmers in the fields, what will you do? Make your own bread, plant crops yourself, rule over your own family?”
“There are other villages,” Drigo said, sure of himself, still speaking down to Esk kar.
“Yes, and they have their own rulers,” Esk kar said, recalling Trella’s words. “You’d have to buy your way into them. Perhaps you would not find yourself a noble in your new village.”
“We can start our own village,” said Drigo the Younger, ignoring the admonishment to keep silent. “We don’t need the villagers here for that.”
Esk kar laughed. “Yes, ruler of a dung heap of fifty or a hundred people. Here is the river, fertile soil, trade with the other villages, hundreds of tradesmen, and crafts of many kinds. Where else can you find all that?”
“Keep silent, my son,” the elder Drigo said, glancing at his heir. “But my son’s words have truth in them. We can return here after the barbarians have gone.”
“True, you can start over again,” Esk kar replied, mentally thanking Trella for her foresight. So far they had said nothing she hadn’t anticipated.
“Of course, the barbarians will return again in another five or ten years.
Or perhaps other strangers may come, and maybe they will be interested in being rulers of a new Orak.” Esk kar looked at Nicar and saw him leaning back in his chair, at ease, clearly enjoying the debate as he gauged the faces of the other leaders.
“But I don’t want to waste your time, Nobles,” Esk kar went on. “And I don’t think it is my place to explain to you the value of a village the size of Orak.” He stumbled a little with the words, trying to get the sense that Trella had voiced. But they didn’t seem to notice his lapse.
“Perhaps we should ask Esk kar to tell us how he plans to stop the barbarians,” Nicar said quietly. He waited a moment, but no one spoke.
“Please sit, Esk kar. Would you care for some wine?”
Esk kar sat down, mindful of the sword at his waist that no one seemed to have noticed. “Water, Noble Nicar. My slave will fetch it.” He nodded to Trella. She went to the water jug standing on a side table and filled a cup, then placed it in front of him.
“Wine for me, slave,” sneered Drigo the Younger, sliding his cup hard across the table toward Trella. She caught it deftly before it could fall over the edge.
She looked at Esk kar, her face expressionless, and he nodded. “Wine for Master Drigo,” Esk kar repeated, even as he decided he would kill the young fool for the insult. Some hint of his thoughts must have crept into his voice, because all eyes turned toward him, including those of the elder Drigo, as if they sensed something beneath his words.
“No, no more wine for my son,” Drigo said, his tone somewhat more cautious. “We’re finished here. The rest of you can waste your time talking about stopping the barbarians, but in the end, you’ll all be leaving the village.” He stood up, his son joining him. “I have more important things to attend to.”
Esk kar smiled tolerantly at Drigo’s son, even as he saw the dagger under the young man’s tunic when he stood.
No one else left their seats. Father and son started for the door, but the youngest couldn’t resist the urge to speak one more time. He stopped a few steps from Esk kar. “And barbarian, you’d better watch your tongue, or you’ll find it gone from your head.”
Trella’s musical laugh surprised everyone, including Esk kar, and stopped all talk. Everyone’s eyes turned toward her. All except Esk kar, who kept his eyes on young Drigo’s hands.
“My apologies, Nobles, my tongue betrayed me,” Trella said contritely, but the laughter remained in her voice and her eyes.
“What’s so funny, slave?” A crease appeared in the elder Drigo’s brow, as if he’d missed something important.
“Nothing, Noble Drigo,” she answered humbly enough, “except that the last man to call my master a barbarian is dead.”
“We care not if he slits some pig farmer’s throat,” spoke young Drigo, his temper matching the flush rising on his face.
The girl’s laugh had pushed the boy past his senses. Young Drigo wasn’t used to being laughed at in public, and by a slave at that.
“No, young Master Drigo, it was not some peasant,” Trella responded, her voice steady and with just the tiniest hint of insolence needed to further fan the flame of anger. “It was Naxos, and one of his men, who lie dead in the street outside.” The smile stayed on her face as she looked at the boy.
Every eye turned to Esk kar, who picked at a fingernail, still keeping an eye on young Drigo. The youth’s hand moved toward his tunic, inches from the dagger.
“Is this true?” Nicar asked, unable to keep the indignation and anger out of his voice.
“Yes, it’s true,” Esk kar replied, leaning against the table with his left arm as he turned sideways on the stool to face Nicar. “Drigo’s man tried to keep me from your house. Naxos also said my slave wasn’t permitted to enter. He called me a barbarian, then he and another tried to attack me.”
Not quite true, but close enough. Esk kar waited a moment before he went on, shifting his body even further so that his sword was pinned against the table as he turned to face the elder Drigo, his right side now turned toward the younger man.
“But don’t worry, Noble Drigo. I spared the rest of your guards. You’ll find them outside, and they’ll be much more polite to my men in the future.” From his new position, Esk kar glanced back at Drigo the Younger, saw his face had flushed an even deeper red, and smiled at him, the way a man smiles at a small child.
With a cry of rage, the youth snatched the dagger from his tunic and lunged toward Esk kar, certain he could strike before Esk kar could stand or free his sword. But instead of trying to rise up and meet the thrust, Esk kar shifted more of his weight to the heavy table and lashed out with his leg. His sandal caught the boy squarely in the chest, the knife point stopping inches from Esk kar’s body before the kick sent the boy reeling back into the wall, staggering him for a moment, but long enough, as Esk kar sprang from the stool, the sword flashing from its scabbard and crossing over his body before thrusting home in the boy’s throat.
Esk kar’s move had been so quick, so unexpected, that the rulers of Orak sat rooted in their chairs, stunned by the death blow, the usual reaction of men who gave orders, not sword strokes.
Only Drigo the Elder found his voice. “No, stop!” he screamed, too late, as he watched his son take the death cut. He threw himself at Esk kar.
He had no weapon, and a stiff arm in the chest would have sent him staggering back. But not today, Esk kar thought, as he twisted his body to meet the man’s rush, stepped back and extended his sword arm, letting Drigo run himself against the blade, his weight and momentum carrying him forward until the hilt nearly touched his chest. His right hand twitched in front of Esk kar’s face, and Drigo’s eyes widened with amazement for a moment before they turned up in their sockets. Death had taken him even before his son, who gurgled and twitched for a few more moments before the loss of blood killed him.
Everyone was on their feet, but nobody said anything. They stood there, in shock, eyes wide as they watched the Drigos die. Esk kar tried to jerk his sword free as the father’s body slumped to the floor, but the flesh had closed tight around the blade. Esk kar had to put his foot on the body and pull hard.
Still no one said anything. Blood continued to ooze from the two bodies. Esk kar handed the sword to Trella. “Take this and clean it.”
Stooping, he recovered the dagger the foolish boy had dropped and sat back down at the table, dropping the knife in his lap. Esk kar picked up his water cup and drained it, though much of its contents had spilled when he pushed against the table. “I think you should all sit down,” he said, his voice calm. “We still have many things to discuss.”
He noticed a sharp knocking on the door that grew louder. “See to the door, Trella, then find Gatus.”
The door opened before Trella reached it, and Creta stood in the doorway, two of Nicar’s guards behind her. She started to speak, then glanced in horror at the bloody scene at her feet, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. The guards behind her looked as frightened as their mistress.
“Noble Nicar,” Esk kar began, “perhaps you should tell your men that there’s no danger.”
To Esk kar’s relief, Nicar quickly recovered.
“Yes, of course. Creta! Wine for everyone. And have slaves remove these bodies immediately.” He looked at the crowd of servants gathering in the antechamber and raised his voice so all could hear him. “An unfortunate incident has occurred. Drigo and his son tried to kill Eskkar, the new captain of the guard,” he paused, “and were themselves slain.”
For the next ten minutes, chaos ensued as frightened servants dragged the bodies out, wiped the floor clean, and straightened the furniture. Trella returned with Gatus in tow. She handed Esk kar his sword, wiped clean of blood, resting her hand on his arm for the briefest of moments. The still — nervous nobles gulped their wine, even as more was poured, before a still — trembling Creta closed the chamber door.
During this time, Esk kar studied the men around the table. The Five Families-no, now it was the Four Families-had been given a fright, and were no doubt all thinking it could have been any of them. They needed to be reassured, and quickly.
“Noble leaders,” Esk kar began humbly, “I offer sorrow for what happened here. But I didn’t provoke anyone, not outside in the street nor here in this room.”
Mostly true, he thought, but he’d certainly been prepared to kill anyone who tried to stop him. Looking around the table, he saw his words sinking in. Now these men would start thinking again, trying to discover what in Orak’s power structure had changed and who would benefi t. Eskkar took another breath.
“But Noble Drigo wasn’t interested in defending Orak, only in taking control. He planned to seize your village and your property.”
Watching them, he decided that Trella had been right. Better to pour a bucket of oil than a cupful. “You’re Orak’s leaders. My men and I will stay and fight to defend the village, if you wish it.”
He looked at each man in turn. “Nicar said that he wants to fight. I told him Orak could be defended and that I would lead the battle, if the Families agreed to my conditions. Now it’s time to decide. We hold this place to the death, or we all move on. Which do you choose?”