Dawn of Empire es-1

by Sam Barone

  It took time before it was quiet enough for Corio’s words to be heard.

  “Soldiers! Villagers! Listen, I beg you! Esk kar must not go. You must not go! You need not go! The customs of Orak condemn Caldor, not the hand of Esk kar. His evil deed sentences him to death for attempting to kill a free woman. Is that not so, Nobles?”

  Corio turned sharply toward the heads of the other Families still clustered together, dread visible on their faces. “Is that not so?” Corio shouted the question at the top of his lungs, his anger and fear putting force into his words. “Answer me!”

  Rebba stepped forward, his eyes darting nervously around the courtyard: “Death to Caldor!” The phrase was repeated by Decca, then Nestor “Death to Caldor.”

  Only Nicar remained, staring down at his son, until Corio’s hand gripped Nicar’s shoulder and shook him hard, forcing him to lift his eyes.

  He stared dully at Corio, as if he didn’t even recognize him.

  “Death to Caldor.” Nicar’s words could barely be heard.

  The courtyard erupted. Swords flashed in the torchlight and everyone screamed the words, “Death to Caldor!” over and over.

  Again Corio held up his hands for silence. “All have agreed. Take him to the market and stone him to death. Take all of them. Walk them through the streets and proclaim their guilt to everyone. Let Lady Trella be avenged. Let the women stone them.”

  A deafening roar burst from the crowd.

  “Wait. Let me speak.” Esk kar’s words stopped the soldiers before they rushed off. “Do you want me to stay and fight the barbarians?”

  Another roar went up, repeated from the street, “Stay!.. Stay

  … Stay!”

  They repeated the words without ceasing.

  The soldiers went wild now. Their bloodlust had spread to the crowd in the street. Nothing would stop them.

  Esk kar turned and jerked Caldor to his feet. He had to shout to make himself heard, his face close to the boy’s blanching face. “You’ll die slowly, Caldor, as you deserve, and when you’re dead, I’ll place your head at Trella’s feet, right here in this garden. You should have listened to your father.”

  Two Hawk Clan soldiers pulled Caldor out of Esk kar’s hands. Other soldiers cut Natram — zar down from the tree and dragged a screaming Loki toward the gate.

  “Gatus! Make sure it’s done right. Then bring me his head. I promised it to Trella.”

  “No! Mercy! Father, help me!”

  Gatus shoved Caldor into the hands of his men, the action unleashing another roar to the heavens. Half pushed, half dragged, they led Caldor through the courtyard. Many took the opportunity to strike at his head or shoulders. Another roar went up as they reached the street. The crowd screamed for his death.

  In moments the courtyard had emptied itself. Esk kar heard the crowd’s progress as it began the journey down the streets of Orak. The victims would be shown to all. Looking around, Esk kar found himself alone. No one had stayed behind. All wanted to see the men die.

  Esk kar trod back into the house and found that empty, too. Even the servants had joined the mob, screaming for blood and wanting to see the execution. He thought about going up to see how Trella was doing but decided to wait awhile. Emotionally drained, he went into the kitchen and sank tiredly back onto the stool. He felt weak. The wine and cheese remained on the table, untouched.

  Draining the wine, Esk kar refilled the cup. He forced himself to take a bite of the goat cheese, which he could hardly taste and barely swallow.

  He managed as best he could. Caldor would die, though not as slowly or painfully as Esk kar wanted. There might be a chance to make peace with Nicar.

  Esk kar had learned a hard lesson, one he would never forget. From now on, anyone who plotted against him would die quickly. He’d never give any man such an opportunity again. Like a fool, he’d thought the danger to himself gone when he returned to Orak, with the barbarians only weeks away. Instead, Caldor had struck at Trella.

  Esk kar thought of his woman lying upstairs. Now everyone knew she’d been freed, that he’d taken her for his wife. Despite her objections, he’d insisted on freeing her and marrying her before he left. She would act the slave no longer. He was glad of that.

  18

  Esk kar found Trella dressed, sitting on her stool and combing her hair. Only seven days since the stabbing, she was ignoring the advice of Ventor and everyone else in the household. He stood in their bedroom doorway. Her face lacked color, either from the injury or confinement indoors, and she had to move slowly so as not to disturb the bandages, but other than that, she looked remarkably well. The young heal quickly. She had just passed into her fifteenth season.

  He enjoyed watching her comb her hair. Perhaps because the long tresses were her most beautiful feature, or because she obviously enjoyed the task. She saw his reflection in her tiny silver mirror and smiled, but the determined look stayed in her eyes. She would not return to bed.

  When she tried to change hands, Esk kar saw a moment of pain on her face. He moved to her side and took the comb. “Let me help you. You don’t want to open up your wound.” It gave him pleasure to run the comb awkwardly through her hair, using his other hand to guide and straighten the wavy strands. He’d never combed another woman’s hair, thinking it unfit for a man. Now he no longer cared what anyone else might think.

  “You don’t make a good handmaiden, Esk kar,” she said, smiling to show her appreciation. “I’ll have Annok — sur finish it.”

  “My hands are clumsy,” he agreed, putting down the comb. “You should not be out of bed yet. The healer said…”

  “I know what Ventor said. I was here when he said it. But the wound has closed, and there’s no need for me to stay in bed like an old woman.

  Besides, I have a gift for you.”

  “A gift?” Presents were rare among the villagers, but even rarer among barbarians. “What kind of gift?” He couldn’t keep the interest out of his voice.

  “One you’ll like. I was going to have it on the table when you came home this evening, but now you’ll have to get it yourself. It’s under the bed.”

  Puzzled, he stooped beside the bed. At first he didn’t see it, the shadows blending with the dark material. As soon as he touched it, he knew what it was, and he brought it out from under the bed, then unwrapped it. A magnificent bronze sword glinted against the black cloth.

  He held it up to the light, turning it this way and that, amazed by its feel and how it seemed to merge with his hand. Esk kar had never seen such a blade, forged so fine that it seemed a single edge from tip to pommel. The bronze metal looked darker than usual, except at the edge, where the sharpener’s wheel gave it a brighter glint that reflected the sunlight.

  The hilt, encased in hardwood and criss — crossed by tough leather strips to improve the grip, was longer and wider than usual, to better balance the long blade’s weight. The pommel, a simple large ball of bronze, looked hard enough to crush a skull. His eyes returned to the blade. Though wider and thicker than his old sword, the weight was less, with a shallow groove down the center for a blood channel. The guard differed, too, with a strip of slightly angled metal designed to protect the hand, but flat enough to allow the weapon to be carried comfortably across the back.

  “By the gods, Trella, what a weapon! I’ve never seen such workman-ship before. Where did it come from? What did it cost?” Esk kar swung the blade through the air. A true horseman’s weapon, meant more for slashing than thrusting.

  She smiled at him, like a mother watching a child play with a new toy.

  “Master Asmar made it right here in Orak. Do you remember our meeting with him?”

  Esk kar remembered it all too well. They’d called on Master Swordmaker Asmar to inquire about weapons for Orak. To his embarrassment, Esk kar discovered he knew even less about metal smithing than he did about bows. He hadn’t known bronze weapons were a new improvement, a method of working with metals less than a hundred years old.


  Asmar had sighed, then explained that with the discovery of bronze, the sword became the warrior’s preferred weapon, replacing club or axe.

  Before that, swords had been made of copper. But copper weapons were soft, didn’t hold an edge, and tended to shatter, so fighting men continued to rely on more dependable weapons. Bronze changed all that. A far harder metal, bronze kept its sharp edge, and a bronze blade could cut right through a copper one.

  Daggers and knives, weapons not intended for use against metal, were still made of copper. But copper swords were rare now.

  How the ores were discovered, mined, and turned into metal, how that metal was forged, beaten, and shaped, the entire swordmaking art proved a mystery to Esk kar. He hadn’t known bronze could only be made by combining specific amounts of copper and tin, and that these elements required the work of many slaves to dig the veins of metal from the earth.

  The two ores, each soft and flexible alone, could then be heated and combined. The resulting molten metal was poured into a mold where it cooled into the desired shape, hardening in the process into a metal far stronger than either of its original parts.

  “Yes, I remember Asmar. I remember I had to spend the whole day listening to him and watching him work his magic so the next time someone spoke of swordmaking, I’d understand what they were saying.” After that, Esk kar promised himself to never again take any craftsman’s trade for granted. He’d learned more than just the Mystery of Bronze.

  “This sword seems cast for my own hand. When did Asmar find time to make such a master blade?”

  Asmar and his family labored all day and long into the night, often working by the light of their forges, to produce all the swords, lance tips, arrowheads, and battle — axes Orak needed. Every day smoke from Asmar’s fires rose into the sky, as he and his helpers created weapons.

  His battle — axes, easier and cheaper to make, remained a favorite of many. With its simple bronze blade attached to a wooden handle, it would be very useful in defending the wall. While a sword took months to master, a villager could be trained to swing an axe in a few days.

  “I told him to make you a new sword,” Trella answered, “one befi tting the man who would save Orak. Asmar said he’d already begun working on a master weapon, but it would take many months and be very expensive.

  We haggled over the price, but he finally lowered his demands.”

  Leave it to Trella to bargain down the cost. Esk kar hefted the sword again, and itched to test it against the training posts. He remembered his manners in time.

  “This gift, it’s the most valuable thing I’ve ever owned, and I have no words to express my thanks.”

  Her smile vanished. “The cost is nothing if it saves your life. Take it with you when you ride across the river. That’s why I gave it to you today, so you can test its strength.

  “But, remember, the sword is nothing and another can always be made. Don’t do anything foolish because you have it. It’s only a lump of metal. If the sword helps you return safely, it will have achieved its only purpose.”

  He nodded, remembering those he’d seen die because they’d grown too attached to one weapon or another. “I’ll use it well, Trella.”

  Esk kar tossed the weapon on the bed and took her in his arms. “Now, how can I thank you? Perhaps you could return to your bed, as the healer ordered, and I could show you how much I appreciate your gift.”

  “I don’t think I would get much rest, and there is much to do. Besides, I thought you would be glad to see me up and around.” She turned back to her table and sat down.

  “I like you better in bed,” he said, moving his hand to the back of her neck and rubbing the muscles there with both hands. “You give me much less talk and much more pleasure though you moan and cry out loud enough to wake the dead.”

  She leaned back against him, her head resting on his hip. “If you like, I will return to bed, husband. And try to be quiet.”

  Standing over her, he saw her left breast inside the loose dress, uplifted by the bandage that passed under it, and the sight still excited him. It was the hour of noon, and everyone was taking their meal. But he didn’t want to do anything that might slow her healing. “Perhaps later, after you’ve changed the dressing.” He kissed the top of her head. “And you need not worry about being quiet.”

  “I will try to wait until tonight.” She straightened up and turned back to her mirror. “Now, what took you away from your training?”

  “Jalen has returned from across the river.” Esk kar had sent the man out to find a suitable place to ambush the barbarians. “He was surprised to hear what happened. Jalen offers prayers for your speedy recovery. He joins us tonight for dinner.”

  “Did he find a suitable place?” Jalen’s mission interested Trella far more than his prayers.

  “He thinks so. We’ll talk about that tonight.” Esk kar sat down on the edge of the bed.

  “Do you think the barbarians will come soon?” She might have been asking about the weather.

  “The main host is moving faster. They’ll be here in less than a month.”

  “Must you go across the river?” Now she sounded like a soldier’s wife, fretting about her husband, worrying that he must risk his life in some minor skirmish when he’d be needed for the great battle before the walls.

  They’d had this discussion before. “Yes, from what Jalen tells me.” He hesitated. “I’ll wait a few more days, in case Mesilim can get through.”

  He worried more about that than he admitted. Mesilim should have sent word by now if he were coming. The noose had started closing around Orak, and fewer people came asking for shelter or transport across the river.

  In another week, it would be too late for Mesilim to come at all. Eskkar’s men had begun burning the fields and crops, riding as close to the barbarians as they dared, then falling back, torching everything behind them. The Alur Meriki would find little to sustain man or beast when they arrived. And the villagers’ lives would depend on the grain and livestock sent across the river, at least until the next harvest.

  “What else troubles you, husband?”

  She could tell when something bothered him. “Nicar wishes to speak to me… to us. He sent a messenger asking if he could meet with us today.

  I haven’t yet sent a reply.”

  Esk kar hadn’t seen or spoken to Nicar since Caldor’s death. The father had stood there, hands over his eyes, as they stoned his son to death. Gatus had to protect Nicar from the wrath of the crowd that cried out for his blood.

  “It must be a terrible thing to watch your child die.” For a moment Trella seemed lost in thought. “What should we say to him?”

  He’d come to ask her that very question. But he sat there and thought about what would be best for Orak, for himself, and for Nicar. After Trella’s attack, he’d considered banishing Nicar and his family, despite Trella’s advice, but now he knew that would be a mistake. Orak needed men like Nicar, open — minded, fair men who could deal honestly with people.

  “We must find a way to make peace between us, Trella. But how we can accomplish that, with blood shed on both sides? A blood feud can only be settled with blood.”

  “There must be no more blood shed, especially from the noble families. Besides, we owe so much to Nicar. He raised you up to captain of the guard, stood by you when Drigo was killed, and convinced the other Families to give you the gold you needed and to submit to your orders. He gave me to you so that I could help you. I think he was protecting me even then from Caldor.”

  “Perhaps he was afraid you would slip a knife in Caldor’s ribs while he slept.” Esk kar made a face. He couldn’t contemplate the thought of Trella in Nicar’s or anyone else’s bed. “You’re right. There’s much we owe him.

  But how do we make peace?”

  “What thoughts must be in Nicar’s mind now? What will concern him the most?”

  “Lesu! He will be worrying about his son,” Esk kar said. Weeks before they’d
put Lesu in charge of all the cattle, grain, and livestock taken across the river, along with thirty — five soldiers and forty armed villagers to herd and care for the animals. They’d established a camp in the hill country at least a hundred miles away. “Nicar dispatched a rider across the river six days ago, no doubt to carry the news about his brother. Perhaps Nicar comes to plead for his son’s life.”

  “Yes, that’s likely. But you mustn’t let him plead or beg for anything.

  That would destroy his dignity. You must treat him with respect and we must assure him that he and his son will come to no harm.” She reached over and took his hand. “Let’s talk about what we will say.”

  The long summer sun still blazed in the afternoon sky when Nicar arrived. Esk kar had spoken to the household, and everyone greeted Nicar respectfully before escorting him upstairs. Esk kar and Trella were standing when Nicar entered. Esk kar bowed formally and offered Nicar one of three chairs arranged around the small table. Platters of fruits and dates rested on the table, along with a pitcher of wine.

  Esk kar studied Nicar and saw a man who had aged greatly. Until now, Esk kar’s hatred of Caldor had overshadowed any sympathy toward Nicar.

  But seeing him like this, Esk kar felt a pang of sorrow for the man.

  The man who’d been the most powerful in Orak now knew that all his wealth couldn’t bring back his influence. Caldor’s deed had weakened his father’s authority, and the barbarian invasion would change the founda-tions of village life. The new Orak would be very different from the old.

  Nicar sat awkwardly for a moment until Trella spoke.

  “Noble Nicar, the loss of your son must pain you greatly. If there’s anything we can do, please tell us. We need your help in the coming days.”

  Nicar stared at her for a moment, then looked at Esk kar. “Trella … Lady Trella, you seem much recovered. I am glad. I came to beg your forgiveness for what my son did.” His head went down for a moment. “It was a weak and shameful act, the deed of a foolish child spoiled by his father.