by Sam Barone
Trella reached up and touched Annok — sur’s hand, taking the comb from her and turning to face her. “I, too, am the woman of a soldier. And I have the same fear as you, Annok — sur, that when the barbarians are driven off, things will return to the old ways. Esk kar is powerful now, but when Orak is no longer threatened, then perhaps the nobles will not need so strong a captain of the guard. Perhaps they will not need so many soldiers, either, especially those they did not raise up themselves.”
“So this is why you walk through the village, mistress, to gain the friendship of the people? Their friendship won’t be enough to protect your master.”
“There’s much more I want from the villagers. And there’s much you can do to help me, if you choose. Such help would not be forgotten in the future, Annok — sur.”
“I will help you gladly, Trella. You won’t be a slave for long. Everyone knows that. No, you will be a great lady in Orak, and Esk kar will found a great House. And as he rises, so may Bantor.”
“Then there is much to be done to ensure that future. We must use the people to help secure Orak after the barbarians are defeated. The villagers must bind themselves to Esk kar and his future so that one cannot be without the other. There must be no return to the old ways.”
“You see a way to make this happen? The nobles would not like to hear of such things.”
“No, they wouldn’t. There would be much danger, in fact.” Trella said nothing further, just waited while Annok — sur considered.
“I don’t wish to return to the old ways. Tell me what I can do to help you.”
Trella spoke of her plans. When she finished, the older woman took her hand once again and squeezed it. “It can be done, Trella. We can make these things happen. I’ll do whatever is needed.”
“Help me, Annok — sur, and you will have a great House of your own someday. I promise it.”
11
More weeks passed, with Esk kar too busy to notice Trella’s quiet maneuverings or to care about them if he did. Instead he worried about Jalen. Almost three weeks overdue, Esk kar feared not only had he lost a capable commander, but that he lacked any information about the barbarians’ progress or location.
An even gloomier thought troubled him-if they’d captured and tortured Jalen, the Alur Meriki would know all about Esk kar’s plans.
He didn’t want them sending a raiding party early, before they fi nished the wall.
Whatever Jalen’s fate, Esk kar needed to send out another patrol, one he’d lead himself. The barbarians must be located, and he didn’t trust anyone else to do it. Men continued to arrive with stories of barbarian hordes only a few paces behind them, but almost all their sightings had no value.
As each day passed, Esk kar worked harder to appear confident.
More than two months had elapsed since Esk kar became captain of the guard. Each day he met with Corio and Sisuthros to talk about the wall’s progress. Their work proceeded smoothly, and Esk kar had no doubt the wall would be completed in time. Nevertheless he needed Jalen’s information. He decided to wait three more days for Jalen. Then he’d lead the second scouting party himself.
This morning’s training had gone poorly. Esk kar’s worries distracted him, and a sword swung by an eager recruit had struck Esk kar’s head and knocked him to the ground. If the blade had been bronze instead of wood, he’d be dead.
A few hours after the sun reached its zenith, one of Bantor’s messengers found Esk kar at Corio’s side, inspecting the day’s progress. “Captain, Bantor asks you to come to the gate. There are travelers there who wish to speak with you.”
“Tell Bantor I’m on my way.” Esk kar smiled at the grinning youth, who dashed off at a run to return with this new message. Esk kar bade goodbye to Corio, then followed the path to the main gate, where he found Bantor and two guards speaking to three strangers.
As Esk kar approached he understood why the travelers stood out from those who wandered into Orak. These strangers must come from a land far to the north, where men had darker beards and hair that contrasted with their lighter skin. All were unusually tall and well muscled. Even their clothing looked odd, a mix of leather and somber colors rather than the raw linen or flax shades preferred by those in the surrounding countryside.
Each stranger carried a heavy bow and a fat quiver full of arrows, but no sword or axe, only a long dagger at each hip. A small ass, tethered a few steps away, rested wearily under its load of packs, blankets, and cooking utensils, no doubt holding all the travelers’ worldly possessions.
“Greetings, Bantor.” Esk kar nodded to the accompanying guards as well. He tried to remember as many of his men’s names as he could. When he couldn’t recall a name, he still gave each man some kind of greeting.
It pleased him to see a simple gesture of recognition made them stand a little straighter.
“Greetings, Captain,” Bantor replied. “These travelers asked to speak to the leader of the village, and I thought it would be better for you to meet them here.”
Bantor had learned much in the last few months. In the beginning he would probably have directed them to Esk kar’s house and forgotten about them. Now he kept them under guard until his captain could determine what to do with them.
Esk kar turned to the newcomers, easily selecting the oldest and guessing by his age and resemblance that he was the father of the other two.
“Greetings. I’m Esk kar, captain of the guard.”
Esk kar was one of the tallest men in Orak, but he found himself looking straight into the eyes of all three strangers, an unusual sensation for him. “What business brings you here?” He knew they weren’t merchants or farmers. Even the boys, the youngest probably no more than fifteen seasons, looked hard and capable.
The elder man bowed slightly to show he considered himself an equal.
“My name is Totomes, and these are my sons, Narquil and Mitrac. We’ve come south to fight against the Alur Meriki. We may consider fighting with your village if, indeed, you plan to fight.” The man’s voice had a strong accent and his words came slowly, as if he had to translate each thought into words.
Esk kar’s eyes narrowed. Not one villager in twenty knew the name of the advancing steppes people. Most villagers thought all barbarians the same, and the fact that a particular clan actually might have a leader with his own name never seemed to occur to them. The Alur Meriki took their name from one of their early leaders, though Esk kar knew the original Alur Meriki had been dead for at least a hundred years.
That these strangers would know such a name seemed unlikely, unless they had some encounters with them. “Why do you wish to fight them?”
Instead of replying, Totomes leaned closer to Esk kar’s face, staring hard into his eyes before drawing back. “You’re from the steppes yourself, Captain, are you not? From what clan do you come?”
Esk kar felt his mouth harden at the unexpected question, one that few dared ask, and he felt tempted to order them out of the village. Instead he remembered Trella’s warnings about losing his temper. “I’ve been gone from the steppes people for nearly twenty years, Totomes, and here in Orak it’s rude for strangers to ask too many questions. Now, what’s your business here?”
“Our business is to kill as many Alur Meriki as we can. That’s why I ask you-from what clan do you come?”
“If you wish to fight, go back through the gate and head north. I promise you’ll find all the Alur Meriki you desire.” He turned to the men standing behind the strangers, keeping his voice calm but firm. “Escort these visitors outside the village and see them on their way.”
The youngest put a hand to his bow though it remained strung across his chest. “If you touch that bow again, boy, you’ll leave here without it.”
As Esk kar spoke, the guards behind the strangers drew their swords with a rasp and moved apart, while Bantor stepped to the side and put a hand on his sword.
Totomes spoke sharply to his son in a language strange to Esk kar’s ears
, and the youth immediately took his hand from the bow shaft. “My son Mitrac still has much to learn about the ways of strangers. But I warn you that should anyone try to take one of our bows, they will die.”
Esk kar kept his voice calm. “I think you should be on your way before my guards put their swords in your backs or I regret my generosity. You’ll do no killing in Orak.”
“Are you the ruler of Orak,” Totomes said, his temper flaring, “that you can threaten those who want to enter your village even though they wish to fight against the barbarians?” Esk kar stared for a moment at Totomes. These men were hard of head, no doubt of that, but they looked ready to fight barbarians, or anyone else for that matter. They’d journeyed through a countryside filled with warriors, bandits, and thieves, and had somehow managed to survive.
The fact that they were foreign to these lands made that journey more remarkable. Travelers from distant lands took more risks in their journeys, always the first choice of robbers, since the victims would have no kin to demand revenge. One more reason why most men seldom traveled more than a few miles from where they were born.
Esk kar glanced at the bow the man was carrying. It was hard to judge its size, stretched diagonally across the man’s back, but it looked to be a foot longer than the ones Esk kar’s men trained with, which might make it a formidable weapon. Esk kar glanced at the weapons of the two boys. Their bows were every bit as long as their father’s.
Someone behind him coughed. Esk kar realize a crowd had formed, everyone frozen in place, ignoring the hot sun and staring at the men, caught up in the sudden tension and expecting to see blood spilled at any moment. He decided that such men as these could be useful, but harsh words had been spoken and now needed to be undone. He wondered what Trella would do. Probably offer them a cup of water. Or wine. Well, why not? He turned to Bantor.
“See that care is given to their animal.” He turned back to Totomes.
“Follow me.”
Without waiting for a reply Esk kar turned on his heel and began retracing his steps, walking purposefully and moving at a good pace. His guard struggled to keep up with him, and Esk kar resisted the urge to turn around to see whether Totomes and his sons were following. Traveling down the main street of Orak, he turned left on a smaller lane and almost immediately entered a small tavern, one that catered to travelers.
He paused for a moment, letting his eyes accustom themselves to the dim light, and he felt his bodyguard bump into him. Not many customers patronized the alehouse at that hour, and the innkeeper’s largest table stood empty. Esk kar headed there, calling out to the serving girl as he went. “Ale for myself and my companions.”
He sat down facing the door and saw the strangers standing just inside the doorway, squinting into the darkness. Esk kar motioned to his bodyguard. “Sit down and keep your hand off your sword.”
The guard grinned with admiration. “Captain, I thought they was going to stick us both in the back.”
Esk kar smiled grimly. “We could use men like these. Now sit down and keep your mouth shut.” He kept his voice low as Totomes approached the table and stood hesitantly before it, looking around the shadowy room.
“Are you going to stand there or sit down and drink some ale? Or aren’t you thirsty after your travels?”
Totomes looked as confused as he’d been angry, and before he could reply or even sit, the serving girl approached carrying five wooden beakers and a large bucket of ale. As the men stood there, she expertly poured the dark brown brew into the cups.
“I hope, girl, that this is decent ale,” Esk kar remarked as she finished. “I wouldn’t want my friends to be offended.”
She giggled, then looked at him with a provocative smile. “Our finest ale, Captain, in our best cups. Anything you want, anything, just ask.” She smiled at him, then gave a quick bow and walked off.
Totomes slipped his bow over his head and placed it lengthwise across the table between himself and Esk kar. His sons followed his example and sat down on either side of their father. The table was scarcely longer than the bows.
Esk kar raised his cup. “Welcome to Orak, Totomes.” He searched his memory for a moment, then added, “Narquil, Mitrac,” glad that he had repeated the boys’ names in his mind when he heard them, another trick he’d learned from Trella. “My name is Esk kar, and this is my lazy bodyguard for the day, Hykros.”
Totomes picked up his cup and matched Esk kar’s gesture. “To Orak.”
The five men all drank deeply, though Esk kar put his cup down first, still half — full. “I’m glad that we left the gate, Captain. I don’t like weapons at my back.”
“If we’re going to talk, Totomes, we might as well do it in the shade and with a drink in our hands. But if you think you’re any better off here than at the gate, you’re mistaken. I can have you driven from Orak at any time.
You’ve no place to go inside the village where you couldn’t be found.”
Totomes considered that for a while, then nodded. “I suppose you’re right.” He drank more ale, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “We came here looking for a chance to kill barbarians. In the countryside, men say Orak is planning to resist them, though I don’t see how that’s possible. But we decided to come and see for ourselves.”
“Oh, it’s true enough.” Esk kar leaned back against the rough wall.
“Though we may all die in the trying. As you saw when you passed through the gate, we’re building a wall around the village. When it’s completed, we intend to fight the barbarians from it and kill them with arrows.”
“You’ll need many bowmen for that, Captain,” Totomes remarked.
“And skillful ones. Barbarians aren’t easy to kill, even with arrows. We should know. My sons and I have killed many in the last two years.”
Esk kar considered those words. If these three had been fighting the steppes people for the last few years and managed to survive, they must indeed be capable. He picked his words carefully. “I don’t wish to offend, Totomes, but how have you been able to survive so long? Unless there are more of you somewhere.”
An expression of sadness passed over Totomes’s face. “Our people live far to the north, high on the steppe, near the great northern sea, where the clime is much colder than here. An earthquake forced my clan to move south, and we’d started to build a new home when our camp was attacked by an Alur Meriki raiding party. They killed almost all of us. My brother, my wife, and several children, all dead.” He looked down into his ale cup.
“My sons and I, and some others, were away, exploring in the mountains, looking for ores and timber. When we returned, we saw the barbarians riding away. Not all of our clan were dead when we arrived. Many had been tortured and mutilated, then left to die. My sons watched their mother’s slow death.”
Totomes glanced at his sons. “Those of us who remained swore a blood oath to take revenge, and fourteen of us began to trail the barbarians. Some of us died fighting them, and others have turned back. But my sons and I have not yet killed enough to satisfy our oath.”
Esk kar nodded in sympathy, though it was an old story to him, one repeated a hundred times. “Well, Totomes, if you wish to kill barbarians, you’ve come to the right place, providing that you can take orders. I need as many expert archers as I can fi nd, and more than that, I need men who can teach others. Even now, we’re training men to use the bow.”
Esk kar glanced down at the bows resting on the table. In the dim light they appeared different from any he’d ever seen. “May I examine your bow? I don’t think I’ve seen one quite like it.”
That brought smiles to their faces. “Nor are you likely to, Captain.”
Totomes handed him one of the bows. “They’re a new design that my grandfather created, made from the heartwood of a special tree that grows only in certain parts of the steppe. The wood closest to the heart of the tree is thicker and stronger than the outer wood, so it acts as if two pieces were glued together.”
> Esk kar examined the bow carefully, aware from his experiences with Rufus the bowyer that he had just learned a great secret. The bow had considerable heft but was not so weighty as he had expected. Lifting the bow toward the light, he saw that it was indeed made from a single piece of wood.
Esk kar knew a bow made from only one piece of wood could not take much stress and certainly could not fire a heavy arrow any great distance.
The wood on the outer side of the bow had to bend so much farther than the wood on the inner side and so tended to break. To solve that problem, the bowyers fashioned their war bows from several pieces of wood bent at differing angles, joined into a center socket and held together with glue.
On Totomes’s bow the wood on the inside looked as if it had been dyed, but closer inspection revealed only the wood grain’s normal color-ing. The bow’s center had been wrapped with thin cords and leather strips to add strength as well as to provide a better grip. Putting the bow down, he looked at Totomes. The man took an arrow from his quiver and handed it to Esk kar.
Esk kar noted that it was almost three inches longer than the arrows his own men used and so slightly heavier, but otherwise seemed no different.
“How far can such a bow fling an arrow like this?”
“We can hit whatever we aim at up to two hundred paces with the full weight of the arrow. The bow can shoot such a shaft well over five hundred paces. We’ve hit targets at even longer distances.” A hint of pride sounded in his voice.
That sounded like boasting to Esk kar, but he let it pass. Hitting anything at two hundred paces was fine shooting. Handing the arrow back to its owner, he picked up his ale cup. “So what are your plans, Totomes? If you wish to stay and fight, then you’ll fight under my command and follow my orders. Otherwise, you may stay a few days in Orak to rest and buy what you need before you move on. I cannot have fighting men loose in the village. All men carrying arms in Orak are under my command.”
