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.
28
By sunset Esk kar swore he’d spoken with every man and woman inside Orak’s walls, a task that exhausted him almost as much as the morning’s fighting. While he thanked the villagers, his men worked or cared for the wounded. Later Trella served a simple dinner with no thought of a celebration feast. Too many had died, and angry warriors remained camped beyond the hills.
Esk kar wanted to rest but despite the long and strenuous day, he felt restless. He decided to take one last look at the Alur Meriki camp. Taking Trella’s hand and accompanied by four guards, they walked through the lanes, ignoring the revelry.
By the time they reached the tower the crowd had disappeared. They climbed the steps that still stank from all the blood shed. From the top they looked out over the empty fields that reeked of death.
Beneath them Corio’s men worked on the gate in the fading light, though fires made from Alur Meriki shields had already been lit. Craftsmen hammered steadily, adding so much wood to the gate that it appeared twice as thick as before. They used lumber left behind by the barbarians. The thrifty master artisan had brought everything usable inside the village.
Sisuthros had cleared the ditch of the enemy dead, though on the far side bodies still lay where they had fallen. That task had taken most of the afternoon. They stripped the bodies of their valuables, weapons, and clothes before dumping them in the river. The ditch had been swept smooth, the ruts and holes filled, and debris removed. They’d recovered the arrows and stones as well. The weapons had been inspected, cleaned, and readied for the
