by Sam Barone
“You know how they think, Esk kar. More important, the rest of the villagers feel secure when you act confidently.” She put the basket between them. “Finish your food while you can.”
Her agreement made him feel surer of himself and he took pleasure in that. He fell to work on the slices of bread and chicken, the meat still warm. Though he’d eaten breakfast only a few hours ago, he found himself hungry again, and the heat of the day had already given him a thirst.
Esk kar almost drained the water skin before he remembered to offer her some.
She finished the water. “Give the rest of the chicken to Gatus. I must return to my duties. The old men grow nervous and quarrelsome if I’m not there to reassure them.”
“Be careful,” he warned her. “Don’t stand where a stray arrow can fi nd you. And don’t…”
She stood and smiled at him. “Yes, master, I will obey, and you don’t need to repeat yourself a dozen times.” He must have looked crestfallen, for she leaned down and kissed his cheek. “Good fortune to you today, husband.” And she walked off, her followers trailing behind, some of the women looking back at him and giggling.
He hadn’t adjusted yet to that new experience, the constant stares and giggles from the women, who acted as if they knew all the intimate details of his personal life. Before Trella, no woman had dared to laugh at him. Barbarian customs had much to recommend them, he decided once again.
He walked back to the wall, carrying the basket. He found Gatus underneath the parapet, swearing at two of his men for some infraction.
“Trella sends you some chicken for lunch, so I suppose you’ll have to eat it.” He pushed the basket into his hands. “Get some rest.” When the man started to protest, Esk kar held up his hand. “You won’t have time later.” He turned to one of the ever — present Hawk Clan bodyguard. “Bring water for Gatus, and make sure you men get something to eat and drink as well.”
Esk kar spent the next hour pacing the wall, making sure everyone stayed alert and that the archers knew their roles, places, and orders. He had to be careful where he stepped-the top of the parapet creaked under the weight of stones piled upon it. Any more and there would be no room for his archers.
Satisfied with the preparations, he reviewed the signals that would allow him and his men to communicate through the chaos of battle. He even found time to talk with some of the villagers, those who stood ready to use short spears, axes, and forked sticks.
Three hours past midday shouts went up from those manning the wall.
Esk kar ran lightly up the steps to the position he had selected to defend, about fifty paces from the 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 t
urned 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 paces from the wall, and the bows would need almost no arc at that range.
The time for orders and questions had passed and every soldier on the wall kept silent, while the war cries and challenges from the warriors mixed with the neighing of the excited horses. Esk kar saw the war chief ’s standard rise up as its bearer raised it aloft. Then it dipped and the line of men and horses burst into a gallop, the riders’ shouts suddenly muted by the thudding hooves.
Totomes, in charge of the bowmen, took command. His orders echoed along the wall. “Draw your bows…” the same words and cadence used in a thousand practice sessions.
“Aim…” the riders were past the first mark. No one had loosed an arrow that Esk kar could see. Hours of relentless practice ruled out any time for thoughts or worries.
“Fly!” and two hundred and fifty arrows were launched at the rapidly approaching horsemen. “Draw… aim… fly.” The chant repeated, again and again.
Esk kar watched the oncoming riders, saw some go down as the first flight arrived, but not as many as he had expected. The next flight did better. The third flight looked a bit ragged, as the more proficient men worked their bows a little quicker, but it was fired with the bows almost level and its effect was devastating. Horses and men went down all along the line, though the Alur Meriki ranks had opened up somewhat.
The fourth wave of arrows struck fifty paces before the riders reached the ditch. Now arrows flew both ways. Esk kar saw an archer go down, struck in the forehead, even as he heard something hiss over his own head. But most of the Alur Meriki’s shafts struck the wall, making a dull snapping sound as they struck the hard surface. The barbarians had only a small target to aim at, the upper bodies of the men on the wall, and they had to find that target while aiming and loosing their shafts from horseback at a dead run.
Then the enemy reached the ditch. Some riders showed their skill by jumping their horses off the ten — foot drop. Most of the horses, however, balked at the descent, stiffening their legs as they stopped at the very edge in a spray of sand and dirt.
Esk kar saw three riders tossed forward, one going headfirst into the ditch, the others clinging to their horses’ necks. Arrows rained down on the warriors, as every soldier worked his bow as fast as he could. They didn’t need a cadence now.
The Alur Meriki plied their own bows, some from horseback, others dismounted by force or choice, kneeling on the ground and loosing their shafts at the defenders. At least a hundred warriors jumped from their horses, leaped into the ditch, and raced to the wall.
Esk kar heard the thud of the first ladder as it slammed against the wall, saw the tip of it a few steps from where he stood and walked over to it, drawing his sword as he did so. He had already started to swing the blade with all his strength when a head appeared. The heavy weapon cut through the man’s arm and into his head with ease. Twisting the blade loose, Esk kar dug the tip into the wooden ladder and pushed with all his strength, sending the ladder as well as the next warrior sailing backward into the ditch.
Looking out over the plain Esk kar saw another Alur Meriki standard on the move toward him, the men moving quickly to support the first wave.
Totomes’s voice rose up over the din, taking control again. The archers stepped back from the wall and notched their shafts to the string. “Draw… aim… fly!” The chant began again, as the bowmen’s shafts sought out those across the ditch. Volley followed volley and the Alur Meriki reinforcements erupted into a confused tangle of men and horses crowding against one another. The Alur Meriki bowmen got caught by the confusion, and for a moment, few arrows flew toward the wall.
Villagers did their work, using the forked sticks to push away the ladders and swinging axes at any head that appeared. Totomes’s commands kept sounding. Flight followed flight, fi red together and on command, the shafts sent into the crowded mass of men and horses, with practically every arrow hitting something, man or beast.
The men began to cheer. Esk kar saw the barbarian bowmen were finished, broken by that deadly fire, their reinforcements driven back in confusion. His archers kept up the pace as the Alur Meriki wheeled their horses and rode back to safety. Arrows whistled overhead, but fewer now, as the barbarians continued their retreat, leaving those in the ditch the difficult task of climbing back out.
None had made it over the wall. Those mounted barbarians in the ditch found it much more difficult to get a horse to climb up a ten — foot embankment than to jump into it, and all who tried soon had arrows in their backs.
Those on foot found themselves trapped. They were targeted and shot, as archers returned to the wall’s edge and risked exposure by leaning over, selecting a target and loosing their arrows.
In less than a minute, all movement in the ditch had stopped, except fo
r the riderless horses that trotted back and forth, eyes wide and whinny-ing in fear, searching for a way out of the ditch and away from the scent of blood.
“Captain, should I take a shot at the chief? He’s still within range.”
He turned to find Mitrac at his side. Esk kar eyes followed where the boy was pointing. The two chiefs who had been involved in the attack were talking, no, shouting at each other, no doubt each accusing the other of some failing. Esk kar’s eyes hunted for the marker stones and he saw that the two chiefs had halted between the first and second marker. Arrows kept landing near them, and they would move out of range in a moment.
“Yes, take the shot.” Before he’d finished speaking, the lad’s feet were braced and he drew back the shaft, taking one last check of the wind. A fraction of a second to aim and then the great bow twanged. Mitrac immediately drew another shaft, aimed it and let it fly. A third was in the air before the first one landed.
The chief who’d led the attack pitched forward as the long shaft slammed into his back. Three seconds later, the next arrow arrived, aimed at the other chief, but the man’s horse moved and the arrow took the beast in the neck. Mitrac’s next three arrows missed, as the wounded beast reared and lashed out in pain, tossing its rider onto the earth.
Esk kar swore at the bad luck that caused the horse to move. He saw the dismounted chief, stunned for a moment, scrambling to his feet, then falling back, an arrow in his leg. Mitrac kept shooting, but by this time warriors had surrounded the two chiefs and carried them off, though Mitrac did get one more rider before the warriors galloped out of range.
“Fine shooting!” Esk kar shouted, clapping the grinning lad on his shoulder. Esk kar turned back to the wall, leaning over the edge to see what had happened below, then turned his eyes south toward the gate. The barbarians there had already retreated, the hundred or so warriors far too few to force the gate. Esk kar and Gatus had faced more than three hundred men, plus part of another group, and they had still routed their foes.
Every voice on the wall erupted into cheers, shouting and waving fi sts or bows at the retreating barbarians. Gatus appeared, walking carefully along the wall, alertly dodging the excited soldiers, not wanting to get knocked off the back of the parapet. It had happened often enough in training.
