Rogue Warriors 2 Read online

  Rogue Warriors 2 – Horse Thieves

  Eskkar and Bracca rode into the small village before the late afternoon sun touched the horizon. To Eskkar’s eyes, this handful of crumbling and sagging mud huts clustered about a rock-walled well didn’t even deserve to be called a village. In fact, the central well appeared to be the sturdiest structure within miles, and the only one not likely to fall down before morning.

  He glanced around, always alert to the possibility of some villager taking offense at the sight of a barbarian from the steppes, even an outcast. He’d been the target of stones, sticks, dirt clods, and even dung before. Once a wide-eyed farmer shot an arrow at him, before turning and taking to his heels. At least Eskkar thought he’d been the target. The shaft flew so far overhead he couldn’t be sure.

  Today, however, everything appeared peaceful enough. He spotted the crude carving, a raised hand holding a mug, on the wall of the largest hut. That marked it as a tavern. Or just as likely, Eskkar knew, the home of some lazy farmer who happened to have a skin of ale that he’d brewed himself, using only the gods knew what ingredients.

  None of that mattered to the two companions. Each rode a good horse, which had allowed them to enjoy a leisurely journey on a pleasant spring day. Equally important, each man had a good supply of copper coins in his pouch. That would enable them to enjoy a few cups of the local spirits. If the two travelers could obtain something decent to eat along with their ale, their mood would improve even further. With a little luck, the tavern might even possess a table and a bench or two, eliminating the need to squat on the dirt floor.

  Perhaps one or two of the local women might be willing to sell something of a more personal nature. If two suitably inclined and reasonably priced womenfolk were available, Eskkar and Bracca might not have to share their delights this time.

  “Looks friendly enough.” Bracca’s gaze took in the little village. The usual handful of idlers stared at the two visitors, but with curiosity, not distrust. “At least no one is screaming in fear at the sight of a ferocious barbarian.”

  Eskkar ignored the jibe, even though it held more than a hint of the truth. The scar across his cheek added to his usually grim countenance. He forced himself to smile. No sense in frightening any nervous inhabitants, or stopping the cows from giving milk.

  They dismounted in front of the tavern. The innkeeper, alerted to their arrival by one of the village boys hanging about, stepped outside to examine the potential customers. Strangers, especially those without coins to spend, would not be welcome. From the owner’s perspective, it made good business sense to keep those too poor to pay or with nothing to trade from entering his establishment, rather than force them to leave once inside.

  “Welcome, travelers. My name is Hitha, and I own this tavern.” Hitha spoke in a loud voice, no doubt intended to alert his friends inside that some prospective customers had arrived. His gaze first rested on Eskkar, of course. Barbarian outcasts remained rare enough in the Land Between the Rivers.

  Eskkar paid no heed to the stare. Tall and muscular, he had dark brown hair that touched his broad shoulders. He was accustomed to being the center of attention. And although he wore the same type of clothing as his friend Bracca, nothing could disguise the fact that Eskkar had been born into one of the steppes tribes of nomadic horse warriors. The sword jutting up from behind his right shoulder reinforced his barbarian ancestry. Not many villagers or farmers possessed swords, and those who did, like Bracca, usually carried them on their belts.

  Bracca, too, received a hard scrutiny. In these northern lands, his darker skin and Sumerian heritage made him almost as much an oddity as Eskkar. While even tame barbarians incited fear and hatred because of the clans’ brutal raids that plundered the countryside, Sumerians were perceived as thieves and murderers, not to be trusted.

  None of that mattered at present, Eskkar knew. The innkeeper would want to wring as much profit as he could from the strangers, and it was up to Eskkar and Bracca to keep the prices reasonable. Fortunately, Bracca had far more skill in that area than any rustic tavern owner.

  “Greetings, innkeeper.” Bracca flashed a smile and initiated the bargaining. “A fine village you have here. My friend and I require food and ale, and maybe a place to spend the night.” He reached inside his tunic and withdrew a small pouch that hung from his neck. “Perhaps a copper coin for the both of us.”

  The innkeeper chuckled, revealing wide teeth yellowed with age. “Well, stranger, I see you enjoy a good laugh. If both of you want to eat and drink, it will be two copper coins for each of you. I should charge more for your friend. He looks like he could eat a haunch of lamb all by himself.”

  An outrageous sum, Eskkar knew. For a few more coins, they could probably buy the whole tavern.

  Bracca broadened his smile. “Let’s talk inside, where I can see what quality ale you serve.”

  The haggling would continue, off and on, for the rest of the night. Eskkar had heard it all before, so he led the two horses around to the side of the tavern. He didn’t mind settling in their mounts for the night, and the horses were far more important than any meal or cup of ale.

  The crude corral, anchored against the tavern’s mud wall, looked more suited to hold a few sheep than horses. But at least the ground wasn’t covered with droppings, and the flimsy rails appeared strong enough to last one more night.

  Eskkar removed the halters and slung them over his shoulder. If anyone were going to steal the animals, they would have to bring their own ropes. He made sure the horses had a good supply of fresh hay and water. Then he used a scrap of rope draped over the rail to fasten the gate securely.

  Satisfied that the horses were ready for the night, Eskkar made his way to the tavern entrance, ducked beneath the low lintel, and stepped inside. He saw a single room, less than fifteen paces from front to back, and about the same distance from side to side. Eskkar’s head nearly brushed the low ceiling, that sagged a bit in the chamber’s center. The rank smell of unwashed men, urine, stale ale, and burning meat assailed his nostrils, the usual village stink. Even so, Eskkar knew he would soon grow accustomed to it.

  Bracca and Hitha were facing each other across a plank table in the back, their heads nearly touching. By now they’d had become old friends, each ready to cheat the other to the best of his ability.

  “Horses are in the corral,” Eskkar said.

  “I should charge you extra for the horses.” Hitha directed his words to Bracca. No sense wasting talk on a lowly barbarian.

  Bracca laughed at the suggestion. “Hay and water! You don’t even pay for that.”

  “Warn him about the horses,” Eskkar said, leaning on the plank and inserting himself into the discussion.

  “Oh, yes.” Bracca shook his head from side to side, as if remembering something vaguely unpleasant. “The last innkeeper had some friends who thought they might steal our horses. In the middle of the night, they led them off to one of the nearby farms. My friend here,” Bracca jabbed his thumb toward Eskkar, “cut off the innkeeper’s right hand. After that, the horses were returned to us fast enough. The innkeeper even got to keep his left hand, though he did insist on giving back all the coins we paid him as a gesture of good faith.”

  The smile faded from Hitha’s face during the tale. “Nothing like that will happen here, I assure you. I run an honest tavern.” He glanced at Eskkar, who met his eyes.

  “I’m sure it won’t, friend Hitha,” Bracca said. “But perhaps you could have one of your servants keep an eye on our steeds while we’re your guests. That way we’ll all sleep well tonight.”

  Hitha finally pulled his gaze from Eskkar’s stony face. “I will. Let me pour your friend some ale.”

  Supper came soon after, a savory enough st
ew of vegetables, rabbit, and chicken meat. The ale proved to be as foul as Eskkar expected, but any strong brew was better than nothing, and he drained half his cup without stopping. “How much are we paying?”

  “Three coins for both of us. But I did convince Hitha to include one of his girls for the evening, so there’s that,” Bracca said. “Unfortunately, there’s only one worth paying for, so we’ll have to take turns. I’ll go first, so she won’t be disappointed.”

  Eskkar shrugged. His friend would also likely go last, as his appetite for women, no matter how old or ugly, was seldom satisfied with only one or two romps.

  Outside the inn, alone or in small groups, the villagers and nearby farmers left their fields and took their rest after the day’s labors. Most had no coins to spend, so they just sprawled about in the marketplace and complained, as dirt eaters everywhere did, about how hard they’d worked. A few of the more prosperous entered Hitha’s tavern, one man trading a fat white hen for the promise of a few cups of ale.

  The sun slipped below the horizon and the gloomy interior of Hitha’s establishment grew even darker. The owner’s wife or servant lit a fire in the hearth, which did little more than add wood smoke to the various smells, but still an improvement. The two friends had snared a corner table, where they could both have their backs to a wall. Now they finished their meal and had started enjoying their second cup of ale. Bracca glanced around, already impatient for the innkeeper’s girl to appear and take care of his more personal needs.

  A few moments later, she did arrive, bursting into the tavern with a scream. “Bandits!” She screamed the warning a second time, even louder. “Bandits!”

  Loud as the girl’s shriek, it was nearly lost in the rumble of fast moving horses that suddenly shook the earth outside the tavern.

  Eskkar and Bracca leapt up from their respective benches, both with the same thought in mind – to get to their horses. War cries and the shouts of men from without added to the spreading panic and confusion. One patron, closest to the door, dashed for the exit, but before he could clear the opening, an arrow struck him in the chest. The shaft penetrated deep into the man’s body, and he dropped like a sack of stones. Bracca and Eskkar, moving faster than the other patrons, reached the doorway even before the victim collapsed on the floor.

  Bracca, leading by half a step, had nearly reached the entrance when Eskkar’s hand shot out, and he caught Bracca by the shoulder. Eskkar’s powerful arm jerked Bracca to a halt, a stride from the entrance. Hitha, rushing from the back of the tavern, stepped into the doorway, and a second arrow struck him low in the belly, dropping him to his knees, and wrenching a gasp of pain from his lips.

  “We have reach the horses!” Bracca struggled against Eskkar’s grip.

  “Not that way.” Eskkar dragged his friend away from the door. “Those are barbarian arrows.”

  The open space in front of the tavern resounded with the din of horses and shouting men. Aside from the roof, there remained one other possible way out. At the rear, close to the fire pit, was the establishment’s only other opening, a small window covered by a dirty blanket.

  Eskkar ignored the sounds of horses and fighting outside. The bandits’ first business would be to chase down and kill those trying to flee. Then they would return and search the houses, slaughtering all those hiding within. He tore the blanket from the window. Bracca needed no urging. He dove into the narrow opening, ripping his tunic as he wriggled through the tight space barely wide enough for his body.

  The tiny window, purposely small to deter would-be thieves, would never pass Eskkar’s bulk. He raised his leg and thrust his sandal as hard as he could at the bottom of the opening. It took two tries, but one of the mud bricks crumbled under the second impact. In a moment, Eskkar had widened the opening almost enough to squeeze through.

  Yet before Eskkar could finish, he heard a rasp behind him. Reacting to the familiar sound and without turning, he jerked himself to the side. The arrow, with a puff of mud dust, dug itself into the side of the window a hand’s breadth from his shoulder.

  Eskkar never stopped moving. Whirling around, he launched himself toward the warrior who had taken a single step inside the tavern’s entrance. The bowman, accustomed to the slow reactions of those they called dirt eaters, reached toward his quiver. Even so Eskkar, always faster than he appeared, had already covered half the distance between the two men, and the warrior realized he would never get the arrow to the string before Eskkar was upon him. Dropping the arrow, he reached for his sword. But Eskkar, knife in hand, covered the last two paces and extended his arm, driving the knife deep into the warrior’s chest before the man’s blade had cleared its scabbard.

  The warrior’s eyes stared into Eskkar’s, as he jerked the knife free. The dying man staggered backward, and collapsed in the opening. Two more fighters arrived, intent on entering the inn. Eskkar slashed at the first man’s face, ripping his cheek before he could step back or counter with his sword.

  Fortunately, these new arrivals were not warriors, only bandits. One glimpse of Eskkar’s size, and another glance at the dying barbarian at their feet, and the two men backed off. Eskkar heard them shouting for more men, and he caught the word “archer” as well.

  “Eskkar! Time to go!” Bracca’s voice boomed throughout the chamber.

  Without hesitating, Eskkar turned and raced back to the rear of the tavern. The Sumerian had used the hilt of his sword to shatter a few more mud bricks to widen the opening. By the time Eskkar reached the window, Bracca had already moved aside. Eskkar pulled his sword and scabbard from his shoulder and tossed them through the window. Then he dove head-first into the breach. Eskkar had to twist his shoulders before he managed to wriggle his bulk through. All the same, his thigh scrapped hard against the crumbling bricks as he forced his body across the wreckage of the windowsill. Behind him, he heard the gleeful shouts of more bandits bursting into the tavern.

  Bracca crouched beside the window, sword in hand. “We’ll have to run for it. They’ve already taken the horses.” Without waiting, he dashed away from the tavern and into the deeper darkness.

  Eskkar swore under his breath, but he snatched up his sword and followed Bracca into the night. Hunched over, the two ran for at least a hundred and fifty paces before they flung themselves down on the ground, breathing hard, and looked back at the village.

  Reddish flames lit the night. The tavern’s roof already burned, and from three more huts Eskkar saw the first flickers of new fires. The only cries now were those of the dying men and their captured women, already wailing for their dead and facing their own ordeal. Eskkar tried to count the bandits. He couldn’t be sure, but he guessed at least twenty men had ridden into the village and started killing everyone. None of the other patrons had managed to get out using the window.

  “Barbarians this far west?” Bracca’s voice sounded uncertain. “Why didn’t they surround the village, and trap everyone?”

  The usual tactics of the steppes warriors would have overwhelmed the village from every side, cutting off any chance of escape.

  “These aren’t barbarians, not all of them,” Eskkar answered. “Most are dirt eaters, but they must have joined up with some outcast warriors.”

  “Look! They even have pack animals.”

  Two men, escorting at least seven or eight pack horses, rode into the village. “They must have raided more than a few scattered farms,” Eskkar commented.

  Only a handful of riders still remained mounted, and he could see the bows in their hands. Few villagers knew how to use a bow, and almost none of them could do so while on the back of a horse. A combined group of barbarians and brigands would make for a formidable force for banditry, especially if their intention was the looting and destruction of small villages and farms.

  But these bandits made no effort to search for any who had escaped their onslaught. As Eskkar watched, he saw swords rise and fall, as the helpless villagers who had dropped to their knees in surrender were struck do
wn. Old or young, it didn’t matter. To the marauders, the more they left for dead, the fewer there would be to raise a hue and cry. The rapes had already begun, while those waiting their turn looted the tavern and the nearby huts. The bandits would be searching for gold and other valuables. As soon as the sun rose, the neighboring farms would be plundered as well.

  Eskkar and Bracca’s horses, however, remained guarded by five mounted warriors.

  “Damn those horsemen!” Bracca’s voice seethed with rage. “Can we sneak back later and get our horses?”

  “Not likely.” Anger and disappointment sounded in Eskkar’s voice. “They’ll post a strong guard, and even if we kill a few and get away, the rest will pursue us. I’ll wager by dawn our horses and their new owners will be on their way.”

  Another insignificant village wiped from the earth by raiders. Except tonight the bandits had found two prime horses in the village corral. That alone would make the foray a success.

  “We should get moving,” Eskkar said. “In the morning, after they loot the nearby farms, they’ll probably make for the river, so we can’t go that way. I think we should head north, get as far away from this place as we can.”

  “Damn, I left my sandals in the inn.” Bracca swore again, this time at the impulse that had led him to remove his sandals while he dined.

  Eskkar didn’t bother commiserating. Bracca’s bad luck was his own. “We’d better be on our way.”

  They starting jogging north, moving silently through the darkness. Though they both preferred to ride, they had traveled many times and covered many miles on foot. The two men could keep up that pace for days if necessary. Neither man wasted a moment thinking about their flight. There was a time to fight, and a time to run.

  The only good news for now, Eskkar decided, was that Bracca’s usual complaints would be cut short, as he would need all his breath to keep up the pace.

  Two days later, and a little after midday, Eskkar halted before he reached the top of the low hill. He shrugged the sword off his shoulder and eased himself onto the ground, then crawled to the crest to see what lay before him. After the disaster two nights ago, he and Bracca would take no chances, not with so many armed men running loose in the countryside. A man standing atop any elevation caught the eye of everyone within a mile or more, and Eskkar saw no sense in revealing his presence.