firewood.
After a few moments standing about, Eskkar realized he didn’t have the patience to just wait there, where he couldn’t see much of anything.
Swearing under his breath, he returned to the elder’s house, entered, and climbed the wooden ladder to the roof.
Mitrac, the youngest of Eskkar’s archers, glanced up at his captain’s arrival. The youth reclined on his elbow, studying the approaches to the village, a blanket under him and his bow and two quivers of arrows close at hand. A long dagger, almost as long as the short swords the soldiers carried, rested on the blanket. His powerful bow stretched a foot taller than any that the soldiers carried, and Mitrac’s arrows were not only three inches longer, but slightly thicker-all marked with a red streak near the feathered end.
The boy’s face looked even younger than his seasons, and Eskkar had to remind himself that no one who killed an enemy in battle could be considered a boy, let alone someone who had killed as many as Mitrac.
“Is something wrong, Captain?” Mitrac said, surprised at Eskkar’s unexpected visit. “I thought you would be at the gate.”
Eskkar sat down at the roof ’s edge. “No, Mitrac, I just want to see what’s happening, and I could see nothing from the gate.” Looking out over the fl imsy palisade, Eskkar saw a half-dozen women working on one of the closest irrigation channels. Part of the embankment had collapsed, either of its own accord, or because some bandits had ridden their horses through the soft sides.
Three women stood in the ditch, in brown water reaching their knees, as they scooped the mud from the channel back onto the embankment.
Only one had a shovel. The others used clay shards or even their hands to pick up the mud and pack it into place. As Eskkar watched, Nisaba came into view and stood at the edge of the ditch. She would be trying to reassure the women and keep them at their task. The village had to appear as normal as possible to the returning bandits.
“The women are frightened, Captain,” Mitrac offered. “They keep looking to the hills.”
“Well, they’ve been raped and beaten enough times.” He turned to the young archer. “Are you nervous as well, Mitrac?”
“No, Captain, not as long as you’re here. Where you go, I can follow.
You always know what to do.”
Eskkar smiled at the boy’s trust. Mitrac and his bow had probably killed more barbarians than anyone else in Akkad. Eskkar hoped the young man’s confidence in his leader wouldn’t prove misplaced.
“Let’s hope our luck holds, Mitrac.” Part of Eskkar’s reputation consisted of his ability to anticipate his enemies. Luck had favored him more than once in the last few months. Trella had suggested the idea of trying to think like his enemies, to put himself in their places and to anticipate their actions. No doubt those efforts had helped the gods bestow their good fortune upon him and his followers. Now that Eskkar thought about it, his young wife had turned out to be the greatest piece of luck in his life.
The women’s shrill cries turned his head back to the countryside, to see the women fleeing toward the gate. It took a moment before he spotted the band of horsemen. The bandits were approaching more from the south than from the east, where Eskkar had anticipated they would appear.
He watched them ride toward the village at an easy canter, cutting across the fields and angling toward the path that led to the village.
They would reach the trail in a few moments, and then there would be only the last five hundred paces to the village entrance. They rode in barbarian fashion, shouting their war cries as they galloped, intending to frighten and panic the villagers as much as possible. Eskkar stayed immobile only long enough to get an accurate count of the riders.
“Damn the gods! I count eighteen of them. Good hunting, Mitrac.”
Without rising, Eskkar slipped back down the ladder and raced to the main entrance. His ten men were going to be outnumbered. Today he would need all the luck the unpredictable gods could dispense. Eskkar reached the gate as the last of the women, breathing hard, stumbled back into the village.
Then Nisaba walked through, still wiping her hands on her dress. She nodded at him as she passed by, letting him know that all the women had returned. Eskkar took up a bow and nodded to the two soldiers on the other side of the gate. One of them had a bow in his hands, an arrow already fitted to the string, while the other man leaned against a low cart, the sort farmers used to display fruits and vegetables in the market. Eskkar knelt down behind a similar cart, his shoulder against the rough stakes of the palisade, and peered through a crack between the logs. He ducked back his head and fitted an arrow to his string. The bandits were only moments away. The rush of battle tingled his nerves, and he felt his heart racing, the way it always did before a fight.
Shrilling a war cry, the first rider burst through the gate at a canter, a sword swinging easily in his hand. Eskkar stayed down, counting the horses as they crossed into the village. Riders eased back their winded mounts, slowing as they entered Dilgarth. They didn’t expect any resistance, and the women’s panicky cries had already faded. Straggling behind, the last horse finally passed through the opening at barely a trot, its rider apparently more concerned with the animal’s halter than his surroundings.
As soon as the last rider moved past the gate, Eskkar rose up and drew his bow. At the same moment he let fly the arrow at the man’s back, a great shout came from the rear of the village, followed by the screams of frightened and wounded horses. Eskkar’s target was less than twenty paces away, but the man’s horse jumped at the noise, making for a poor shot that struck the rider low in the back instead of squarely between the shoulders.
Nevertheless, at that range the shaft landed with enough force to knock the bandit off his horse.
The moment he loosed the missile, Eskkar turned and, keeping the bow in his left hand, pushed hard against the heavy cart that had concealed him, and shoved it with all his might into the space between the palisade.
From the other side of the opening, the second cart bumped up against his own, blocking easy exit from the village.
Two waist-high carts didn’t form much of a barricade. A really good horse and rider might even jump the obstacle, but Eskkar was determined to give no bandit an opportunity to test his horsemanship.
By the time Eskkar had strung another arrow to his bow, the second archer had fired four times at the distant horsemen, fitting and loosing shafts with a speed Eskkar couldn’t hope to match. But hitting a moving, twisting target was another matter. Dust swirled everywhere, rising high into the lane. At the rear of the village, the surprised bandits had encountered Hamati and six of his men as they entered the square. The soldiers would continue pouring arrows into their confused targets as fast as they could.
Eskkar knew the bandit leader would have only a moment to make his decision. If he dismounted and urged his men forward, to attack Hamati’s archers, things would get very bloody. But mounted warriors rarely wanted to fight on foot, and attacking an unknown number of men standing behind a barricade of carts and tables wouldn’t be too appealing.
A mass of panicked horses broke out of the dust and surged back toward the gate. From the hoofbeats, Eskkar knew the bandit leader had decided to run, not fight. Eskkar picked the man out, hanging low over his animal’s neck, shouting to his men, and urging his beast back toward the village entrance.
Mitrac, standing exposed on the edge of the roof, wreaked havoc with nearly each shaft he loosed. Only three riders remained on their horses as they charged back toward the main gate. Ignoring the other two, Eskkar aimed at the leader and fired his arrow into the man’s horse, an easy target even Eskkar couldn’t miss at such close range. The animal screamed and twisted in its tracks before stumbling to a halt, and its rider, clinging to the wounded beast’s neck, couldn’t hold on and tumbled to the ground. A second bandit went down, but the last rider put his horse directly at the carts, and the animal leaped high into the air. Horse and rider cleared the carts and landed cleanly outside the fence. Then one of Mitrac’s heavy arrows struck the man high in the shoulder, and the bandit pitched from his mount at the same moment the animal landed.
“Stop that man,” Eskkar shouted. “Don’t let him get away.” Eskkar slid his own sword from its sheath. The bandit leader had fallen hard, but already he’d climbed to his feet, sword in his hand, and started racing toward the gate. The riderless horses all turned back at the sight of the carts, the dumb beasts racing back the way they’d come. For the moment, the area in front of the gate stood empty. Eying the horse wandering a few paces outside the gate, the bandit leader made a dash for the opening.
Eskkar blocked the way. “Put down your sword!”
