northeast corner. He looked to his left and saw Gatus standing at the corner. Esk kar had to push men aside to get to the wall, but one look told him the attack had begun.
The hills were covered with mounted men, riding slowly toward Orak, most of them still more than two miles away. Their numbers seemed endless, and he felt the doubt rise up inside him.
“Mitrac,” he shouted, and this time the young man reached his side in a moment. “Get a count of their warriors.” Some of the barbarians carried ladders or climbing poles, sticks with crosspieces tied or nailed to the upright. They didn’t seem to have very many of those, he noted.
While Mitrac counted, Esk kar scanned the riders, looking for standards as the men walked their horses slowly toward the village. Three… four… five… six… seven. That’s all he could see, and nowhere in sight was the giant standard of the sarrum. Riders continued to come over the crest of the distant hills, but fewer now, though he did see one new standard. They rode slowly or walked their horses, coming toward the village, mostly silent, strong men on fine horses, ready to do battle, all of them eager for glory and loot.
Gatus walked over to his side, as Jalen came up the steps behind him.
“By all the demons, is there any end to them?” Jalen asked. “Ishtar, they’re still coming!”
“I think we’ll see about two — thirds of them today,” Esk kar said. “They’ll wait for the clan chief before they attack, so he can witness their bravery.” The leading riders had stopped now, waiting, as their leaders held up lances or bows horizontally to mark out a rough line less than half a mile from the wall.
“How long before the big chief shows up?” Gatus inquired. “He won’t keep them waiting long, will he?”
“Less than an hour,” Esk kar answered, staring at the warriors. “Enough time for us to become weak with fear.”
“Then he can come right now, as far as I’m concerned,” Gatus said.
“Maybe we should have stayed across the river.”
Jalen looked shocked, but Esk kar laughed. “You should’ve thought of that yesterday.” He turned back to Mitrac. “Well, how many, lad?”
The boy’s lips moved wordlessly as he checked his fingers. “Captain, I count about eleven hundred, maybe a few more.”
Esk kar had done his calculation the easy way, figuring a hundred men to each standard, with extra men for the chief who would lead the first attack.
The answer made him feel a little better. If the first attack were a full assault, with every warrior participating, there’d be even more men facing him.
War cries rose up from the barbarians, shouts that quickly swelled into a thunderous roar that went on and on, as the warriors lifted their swords and lances and shook them against the sky.
Over the crest of the hill appeared the grand standard of the Alur Meriki clan chief. The tall banner, carried by a giant of a man on a massive horse, swayed in the breeze. The cross — shaped emblem, draped with many ox- tails and streamers, signified all the battles won and clans absorbed into the tribe. The leader rode in front of the standard bearer, undistinguished by any trappings visible at this distance, looking quite ordinary. He carried neither lance nor bow.
Around him raced twenty or thirty warriors, galloping their horses back and forth while raising war cries. Another thirty or forty rode more sedately behind him.
Everyone, villager and barbarian alike, followed his progress and Eskkar could see the great chief turn his head from side to side as he surveyed the burnt grasses and empty landscape.
“By the gods, I’ve never seen so many horses.” Gatus shook his head.
“How many do they have?”
“More than you see, Gatus. Every warrior has at least two mounts.
Many will have four or five. When a warrior dies, his horses are given to the rest of his clan.”
“Let’s hope there are many horses to divide up tonight,” Gatus responded.
Esk kar put thoughts of horses out of his head and turned to Jalen.
“Tell the men to get ready, then go to your position. I think they’ll be coming soon.” Jalen would defend the section between Esk kar and the gate.
Jalen nodded, then clasped Esk kar’s arm in salute. “Good fortune to all of us, Captain.”
“Well, he said he wanted to fight barbarians,” Gatus commented as Jalen raced off. The old soldier placed his leather cap on his head and fastened the strap. “And I’ve brought this for you. Make sure you wear it.” He handed Esk kar a copper helmet, the metal glinting in the bright sunlight.
“Trella had it made for you. For some reason, she doesn’t want your head taken off.”
Esk kar looked at the helmet as he hefted it in his hand. It weighed much less than the bronze one he refused to wear, complaining that it was too hot and heavy. He hated having anything on his head. This helmet had a simpler design, hardly more than a cap. It came down low across the forehead yet covered the back almost to the base of the neck, with two short strips of copper extending down to cover the temples. Inside, a thin layer of leather acted as a lining.
He tried it on. It fit almost perfectly, only a little too tight over his temples. Pulling it off, he bent the soft metal flanges slightly, then replaced it on his head.
“Trella said to give it to you right before the battle, so that you wouldn’t have any excuse to lose it.” Gatus turned to the bodyguards. “If he takes it off, carry him off the wall, no matter what he says. Understand?” They muttered their agreement, and Gatus turned back to Esk kar. “Wear it for her sake, Esk kar. You’ll need it with all these arrows flying around. Good luck to you.”
One of the bodyguards helped Esk kar with the straps as he fastened the helmet under his chin. Copper wasn’t as good as bronze at stopping a sword stroke, but it would probably turn aside a barbarian arrow, even at close range. Moving his head tentatively from side to side, he tested the helmet’s feel. It rested lightly enough on his head, so he had no cause to complain. He turned back to the wall.
The leader of all the Alur Meriki had nearly reached the front of his men, riding up a slight incline that permitted a better view. The other chiefs already waited there. Esk kar watch them exchange greetings before they began to speak. The discussion went on for a long time. Everyone appeared calm, no angry words or gestures that he could see, as the chiefs presented their plans for battle.
The talk ended abruptly. The war chief rode back to his men on the front lines, while two other chiefs returned to their own clans. Probably three hundred in the attack, with an equal number ready to join in if the attack succeeded or looked close to success. The other chiefs remained with their sarrum, to watch the battle with him and point out any mistakes made by their counterparts.
“Those chiefs seem pretty calm,” Gatus said. “Is that good?”
“I think so. If the attack chief hadn’t gotten approval, he would have argued with the clan chief, so we’ll have our attack. Which is good, because they don’t have enough ladders to climb the wall. They’re expecting us to collapse in fear and abandon the wall and gate.”
Esk kar watched as the Alur Meriki gathered themselves, every tenth man raising lance or bow to show his readiness.
“Then I’d better get moving.” Gatus left, walking slowly to his own position, as unconcerned as if this were just another training exercise.
Esk kar took a deep breath and raised his voice. “Archers! Don’t fire until they cross the second mark. Not the fi rst! The second. I’ll flog any man who launches an arrow before I give the word.” His voice carried down the wall, and he heard his words repeated by others even farther down by the gate and beyond.
“Are you ready, men?” This time his voice thundered and a roar of approval went up. Everyone had grown tired of waiting, and even those who felt fearful were past that now, just wanting to get it over with.
On the plain the barbarian chief in charge of the attack rode slowly down the line of warriors, speaking to men as he moved, his standard bearer and guards following him. He reached the end, then rode back toward the center. He stopped almost directly opposite Esk kar’s position.
The fool had pinpointed the focus of the attack. They’d start any moment now. Esk kar swallowed to moisten his suddenly dry mouth.
“Remember, the second mark,” he shouted again, and this time he heard laughter from his men at his need to repeat his order.
The first marker indicated the maximum range of their arrows. Eskkar wanted the barbarians to reach the second marker, one hundred paces closer, before they began firing. The third marker stood one hundred and twenty
