scabbard.”
That might not be such a bad thing, Esk kar decided, his thoughts flashing back to that terrible fight in the Alur Meriki camp. He was getting old.
Even among the steppes people, hard fighting was best left to the young.
He brushed away such thoughts from his mind. “I’ll leave the fighting to others,” he said finally, unable to keep a hint of regret from his words, “but I’ll keep your sword at my side, in case it’s needed.”
He took a breath. “And you will have to decide how to rule Orak, what customs and decrees will come to pass, what families to ennoble, how we will get enough gold to pay for the soldiers and for rebuilding Orak and everything else we will need. I see there’s as much work in keeping power as winning it. Yes, there is much for you to do, Trella.”
The sun had set completely now. The darkness before them stretched all the way to the hills. When she spoke, the question surprised him. “What would you name our child, should the babe be a son?”
He thought a moment, then shrugged. “I know only barbarian names, and they’re not fit for our son, who will rule Orak after us. And villager names are as one to me. Do you have a name that you would choose?”
“I’d like to honor my father, since I owe so much to him. His name was
‘Sargat.’ If you allow, we could name our son after him.”
Esk kar, still getting used to the idea of being a father, considered her request thoughtfully. Even among villagers naming a son was the husband’s responsibility and not something to be passed off lightly. But her father’s name did not convey the qualities of a leader. It was an ordinary name, used by many.
Esk kar knew some names had power of their own, as certain words had influence over men. He had no preference for any name himself, but still…
“Sargat… it’s a good name, but a common one. Our son should have a name that shows strength and power.” He thought again. The name
“Sargat” had no equivalent in his native tongue, but if he had to translate it…
“Suppose we call him Sargon. That’s a name that I haven’t heard before and it seems to me to carry strength. Would that honor your father?”
“Sargon,” she repeated, saying the strange name aloud, as if listening for the gods to approve. “Sargon. Yes, that is a fine, new name and it honors my father as well. He will be called Sargon, and he’ll give honor both to his grandfather and his father.”
“Sargon, who will rule the village of Orak,” he repeated.
“No, Orak is no longer a village. It has grown into something greater.
It is a city, with a wall and brave men to defend it, a city that will grow in strength and have greatness of its own. For the first time villagers and farmers joined together and resisted the barbarians. Who knows what we can do in the future?”
“It should have its own name, then, a new name, like the name of our son,” Esk kar suggested. “Maybe we can think of a new name for Orak as well.”
“Can you choose a new name for Orak, then? A name that will make them forget the old village, and instead remind them of you and your victories?”
Esk kar kept silent for a long time, thinking about names of places.
Trella, as always, let him take his time. “When I was a boy, we spent part of a summer far to the north, by a tiny stream we called the Akkad. I saw my first lion there. It was the last happy time I had with my family.” He smiled to himself at the distant memory. “How does ‘Akkad’ sound for the name of our city?”
“Akkad… Akkad. Esk kar of Akkad… Sargon of Akkad. Yes, it’s a strong name, Esk kar, like your own. Perhaps the lion spirit will approve, and give his protection to both Sargon and the city of Akkad. But let’s not tell the others yet what new name we plan for Orak. The new name can come in its own time, when everyone sees what we have accomplished.”
So the City of Akkad would come to be in a few months, or whenever she thought it was ready. He understood her reasons. The village had endured so much change in the past months, with more to come. It would be wise to let them get used to some things gradually.
A cool breeze rustled through the stillness and for a moment the air smelled clean and fresh. He heard the bodyguards, waiting below to give them privacy, shifting their feet, probably impatient to join the revelry.
“Since there is to be so much work tomorrow, then perhaps you could find time tonight to please your husband.” His hands moved up from her waist and he cupped her breasts and squeezed them, enjoying the feel of her body through her dress. That, too, hadn’t changed from their first night. Her body, the scent of her hair, even her smile still excited him. “Or have you already forgotten your wifely duties?”
She leaned her head back and placed her hands atop his and pressed them to her. “No, master, I await your pleasure.” Her voice was soft and her tone as seductive as that first night in his bed, only now she sounded happier than he’d ever heard her.
Esk kar shook his head at the mystery of women. “Sometimes I wonder, girl, who was the master and who was the slave.”
Her answering laugh sounded low and enticing, and they turned away from the darkened battleground and its dead. They faced the village, brightly lit by many torches and fires as the villagers celebrated their deliverance. His village now… no… his city. And someday, if his luck stayed true and the gods approved, it would be his son’s. But tonight-tonight there would be more magic, and tomorrow would take care of itself.
Epilogue
The war drum sounded, faint at first, then growing in intensity and changing into a rolling thunder as a second and third merged in, the rapid strokes summoning every soldier and villager to his post.
Esk kar’s feeling of contentment vanished in an instant as fear and doubt rushed through him. The bench flew backward as he rose from the table.
He grabbed his sword from the wall as he ran down the stairs and out into the courtyard. A quick — thinking soldier brought out Esk kar’s horse. He leapt astride the animal and galloped out of the courtyard, racing through the lanes, scattering stunned and fearful villagers as he burst past them.
At Orak’s main gate soldiers milled about in confusion, cursing as they gathered weapons and climbed to their stations. Esk kar jumped down from the still — moving animal, dashed into the tower, and raced up the steps.
Emerging into the sunlight he found Gatus waiting.
Gatus pointed to the east and Esk kar’s eyes took in the still — barren plain.
He saw the warriors lined up across one of the hilltops to the southeast.
Automatically he began to count them, but Gatus saved him the trouble.
“About sixty of them, I’d say.” The old soldier spat over the wall. “Not enough to attack us, not yet.”
The distant warriors sat on their horses, staring in silence at Orak and its wall, or perhaps at the dead bodies of their kinsmen still littering the landscape. Moments passed, but the horsemen made no move, just waited patiently, as if expecting something to happen.
Esk kar felt just as confused as his men. Four days after the Alur Meriki failed to capture the gate, they broke camp and moved off to the south.
Three days had passed since then, and he didn’t understand why their horsemen would be back raiding around Orak. They had exhausted what little grass had grown back, and the barbarians lacked the strength to assault Orak again. Nevertheless, none of Orak’s inhabitants dared leave the safety of its walls to return to their farms. So a raiding party didn’t make sense.
The center of the line of horsemen parted. The grand standard of the chief of the Alur Meriki rose up from behind the hilltop, preceding another handful of riders. The warriors closed behind their leader as he passed through. Surveying the scene before him, the Great Chief sat on his horse in front of the standard. The only movement was the wheeling of crows and vultures circling over the bodies of his dead warriors. Finally he began to move forward, and the whole line of warriors followed, all riding slowly down the hill. At the bottom they set their horses to a canter and rode through the ruined fields toward the village. They stopped just out of bowshot.
