remembered to look at his own body.
Gatus had been the last man pulled back up the wall. Grond stood there, too, as muddy as the others, his teeth gleaming white in the moonlight. All the men from the raid crowded around Esk kar.
“It’s a sight I owe to Grond here. He practically dragged me back to Orak.”
“Captain was tired from fighting three warriors by himself.” Grond raised his voice so that all could hear. “He turned to attack them, so the men could get away. Killed them all, too.”
The terror of the fight flashed into Esk kar’s mind. He couldn’t stop a shudder from passing over him as he remembered Thutmose — sin, who’d driven him against the wagon wheel. Esk kar had faced danger often enough but never had the certainty of his death felt so close.
Shaking off the chilling thought, he heard the men telling of his deeds, bragging about how strong their captain was. If they only knew how fear had almost overpowered him. “How many men did we lose, Gatus? And what about those who went for the horses?”
Gatus looked sheepish for a moment. “By the gods, I’d forgotten about them.” He shouted for a body count, but no one knew anything. “I’ll go and find out, Captain.”
“No, stay here and keep watch until morning. I’ll go see what’s happened to Jalen.”
Esk kar pushed men out of the way until he could descend the steps.
Trella was waiting for him. She clutched him fiercely for a moment, but then he took her hand and they ran toward the rear of the village. Grond and the others followed. All wanted to know what happened to the men who had provided the diversion.
Anxious villagers crammed the streets, wandering about, wanting to know what had happened. Grond formed a wedge with a couple of men and simply pushed the crowd out of Esk kar’s way. It seemed to take forever before they reached the river gate.
The gate stood open. Archers stood ready, bows in hand, facing the opening, now brightly lit from a line of torches that stretched to the river’s edge and even into the dark waters. Men lined the walls on each side of the gate. Esk kar heard shouting, even a few cheers, coming through the gate’s opening.
They pushed their way through the men and crossed the ditch, Grond seizing a torch to light their way. As they reached the riverbank, a soaking — wet man staggered up to them and slipped to his knees, exhausted from his battle with the river. Another appeared, this one falling flat on the earth as he gasped for breath.
Esk kar pushed past both of them and stopped at the jetty. The flickering torches showed a line of men extending out into the Tigris, each clinging to the thick tow rope used to pull the ferry back and forth.
As Esk kar watched, they hauled more men from the river, gasping and spitting, until seven had been pulled in. He saw no sign of Jalen. Esk kar waited a few more moments, watching the men standing against the current to make sure they stayed alert and looked with care for anything coming down the river.
The diversion had worked exactly as Esk kar planned. Jalen’s men had driven the horses into the river, then waited until the last possible moment before they jumped in themselves, letting the current take them quickly around the curve of the bank and downstream to Orak. They should all have been carried to this spot. But they should have gotten here long ago, well before Esk kar and his men returned to safety. Something must have gone wrong.
Abruptly he turned his attention back to the first two men who’d reached shore. “Where’s Jalen? Why did you wait so long before returning?”
One man looked up blankly but the other shook his head, then took a deep breath before speaking. “Captain, the horses blocked our path to the river. They just raced back and forth along the river’s edge. We couldn’t get past… had to hide until the way was clear.”
The man struggled to his feet, and Esk kar extended his hand to lift him upright. “When the way was finally clear, the barbarians spotted us. They rushed us, and Jalen got wounded in the fighting. He slew one man, but he was bleeding badly when I saw him go into the water.”
A shout went up from the men in the river, and the words “Jalen’s dead” echoed over the water. The men began wading back to the shore, carrying a body.
Cursing under his breath, Esk kar went back and arrived as the men set the body onto the earth. In the wavering torchlight, Esk kar had to stare for a moment before he recognized Jalen, a broken root clutched tightly in his hand and a gash in his side where he’d been wounded.
“He must have been too hurt to fight the current, or maybe just got tangled in some vines.” Esk kar could guess what had happened. By the time Jalen pushed free of the vines, he didn’t have the strength to keep his head above water. Either that, or the loss of blood from the wound had finished him. Esk kar shook his head in frustration, a brave man they could ill afford to lose.
By now Jalen’s second in command had steadied enough to tell the story.
Following orders, he’d made certain all of the men went into the water, including Jalen, who was last to jump. He assured Esk kar that he’d counted them as they went into the river. Nevertheless, one other hadn’t made it and must have been swept unnoticed downstream, likely drowned by the currents, his unnoticed corpse mixed in with dead horses that had fl oated by.
By the time the man finished, everyone had climbed out of the river.
In a few moments they began moving back across the ditch. Last came the men carrying Jalen’s body.
Esk kar took Trella’s hand. Together they returned to the safety behind Orak’s walls. Sisuthros stood inside the gate, his face reflecting the pain he felt.
Esk kar put a hand on Sisuthros’s shoulder for a moment. “Get the whole story, then tell Gatus.” Esk kar felt Trella’s hand pushing at his arm, and realized he was gripping her hand so tightly that he’d hurt her. He loosened his grip, and they walked back home in silence.
At the well Trella helped him strip and she washed the mud from his body herself. Servants lifted water from the well and brought drying cloths and fresh clothing. Under the torchlight she bound up a nasty gash on his left arm, after making sure it had been washed clean. The hair had burned off his right arm, when the wagon exploded. On his back she found two burn marks and she washed those as well, but left them uncovered.
The servants withdrew, leaving only a single torch burning in the tiny garden. Trella and Esk kar sat together on the bench at the rear of the house. He drank his fill of fresh water, followed by a cup of heated wine that he drained almost as easily.
Trella examined his arm, checking his bandage to see if he still bled.
She waited until he was ready to speak.
“Jalen was unlucky,” he began, “unlucky to be wounded, unlucky in the river. He should be alive and I should be dead.” He pointed at the great sword leaning up against the tree, already wiped clean and oiled by the servants. “Your sword saved my life, Trella. I fought against Thutmose — sin.
He is a true swordsman and he had me beaten. I knew I was about to die.
I felt helpless before him, until his sword shattered on your blade and I knocked him down with the last of my strength. One more stroke and I’d have died out there. Even then, I’d have been killed or captured if Grond hadn’t practically carried me back to the village.”
He looked at her. “I’ve never been so certain of my death, not in all the fi ghts, in all the years. I felt fear, the same fear I’ve seen in others’ eyes… other men I have fought… killed.” He shook his head as if disbelieving his words, ashamed to admit his fear and weakness, even to her.
When she spoke, her voice was calm and matter — of — fact. “Then the sword has served both of us well. Since I can’t fight at your side, the sword must take my place, and so it must defend you. You know, husband, it’s true the gods favor and watch over you. They protected you even from the Alur Meriki leader.
No man can fight so many men without tiring, especially after a long walk carrying a heavy burden. But it’s even better that you admit your fear.”
Esk kar looked at her, puzzled. He’d never confessed fear to a woman in his life, nor had he ever heard of any warrior doing so. He wouldn’t have done it now, except he felt exhausted, and perhaps the hot wine had loosened his tongue.
“The gods grow angry when men become too presumptuous, too sure of their own strength and power,” she went on, her hand stroking his arm.
“Remember this time and this feeling when you’re tempted to think you are all — powerful. Then remember Jalen and his sacrifice.”
He sat in silence. Esk kar knew what she hadn’t said. She hadn’t reminded him who placed the sword in his
