Eskkar & Bracca - Rogue Warriors 1 Read online

  “We soon will be. Let’s eat first. We may not get another chance.”

  Midmorning had almost arrived, when Iltani saw the horsemen crest the low hills about a mile away. “They’re coming, Eskkar.”

  He nodded, and stepped back inside the smallest hut, out of sight from anyone approaching. Bracca took his position in the second hut. Takcanar’s approach, coming from the east, would follow the path of the stream without having to cross it. That meant they would first pass Eskkar’s hutch, then Bracca’s. Iltani and Tiba stood outside the largest structure, and Zuma remained concealed inside.

  Iltani had sent the old man and woman, and all the children, to the top of a rocky hillock more than a mile away. If things went wrong at the farm house, they would try to escape to the north, where they might find some help.

  Now Iltani and Tiba stood beside the cooking fire, waiting for Takcanar’s arrival. Both had washed their faces and combed their hair, and done all the little things women do to make themselves more attractive. They were to be the bait that brought the riders close to the main house.

  The approaching men had seen the smoke from the fire, so they would know that people remained at the farm. When they saw the women, alone and helpless, thoughts of taking them would be on their minds. With no men in sight, it would be reasonable to assume that Zuma and the others had fled, abandoning the women to their fate.

  And since Katha’s sons would expect to be the first to enjoy the women, with luck they would dismount from their horses right in front of Iltani’s hut.

  Through a tiny hole that he’d gouged out in the wall, Eskkar watched the little troop as it splashed across an irrigation ditch and then followed the stream. An older man with a white beard, just past the prime of life, led the way on a chestnut stallion. Three others rode behind him, and even at a distance, Eskkar could see the family resemblance. Young and strong, arrogance stamped on every face.

  Father and sons all wore swords at their waists. But carrying a sword didn’t make a man a fighter. That required years of practice and the willingness to risk your life. Even killing a few unarmed and untrained farmers didn’t count for much.

  Iltani’s farm had likely been promised to one of Katha’s sons, and the family would be eager to take possession, to increase their clan’s wealth. Behind the riders, Takcanar strode along, accompanied by four of his men. Eskkar had expected ten or eleven men, but obviously one or two had remained behind, to guard Katha’s farm. Nevertheless, nine men would have to be killed or driven off. Eskkar saw that two of Takcanar’s men carried bows strung over their chests.

  From where Bracca had taken his position, he couldn’t see the riders. Eskkar held up his hands, and gave the count, so that Bracca would know they had nine men to deal with.

  Eskkar wiped the sweat from his brow, and rubbed his palms hard against his tunic. His breathing quickened, and he forced himself to take long, deep breaths.

  The first moment of danger had arrived. If some of Takcanar’s men broke off to peer into Eskkar’s hut, the danger would be greatly increased. But Iltani’s eyes watched Katha’s men. Just as they drew even with Eskkar’s hut, she stepped in front of the fire and placed her hands on her hips.

  “Go back to your farm, Katha! And take your murderers with you! This is my land, and I will not leave it.”

  Eskkar, standing well away from the door and deep in the shadows, watched the men react. One man had started for Eskkar’s hut, but now he hesitated, then kept moving forward, eager to see Iltani’s punishment.

  Katha’s sons laughed at the sight of the two woman opposing them. Tiba, hands clutching her bosom, abandoned the fire and scurried into the hut, glancing back over her shoulder. The fear on her face was real enough.

  Creeping forward, Eskkar peered through the open doorway of the hut. He watched one of Katha’s sons push his horse forward, taking the lead for the last few paces. He slid gracefully from his mount, letting the halter rope dangle. “You’ll soon learn how to speak to your new master.”

  Iltani turned away and walked quickly into the hut, disappearing into the dim interior, with the man only a few steps behind her. Katha and his remaining sons dismounted, while Takcanar and his men moved in closer, everyone eager to enjoy Iltani’s beating and degradation.

  Drawing his sword and grasping his shield, Eskkar took a deep breath. He remembered his father’s words – just kill the man in front of you. The moment had come.

  By now, even the older and slower Katha had climbed down from his horse, and handed the halter rope to one of Takcanar’s men. Once inside and out of sight, Iltani would have snatched up her spear, and held it at her side. Bracca had shown her how to stand, grasp the spear, and how to thrust low. Eskkar watched Katha’s son duck into the hut.

  The next moment, a scream from inside the hut broke the silence. Katha’s son was shoved back through the doorway, hands clasped over his stomach. Helpless from the two spear wounds that would have penetrated deep into his body, he took a single step backward. With a cry of pain, he fell on his back, hands feebly trying to staunch the bloody wounds. Standing just inside the entrance, Iltani and Zuma held their spears at the ready. They were to make sure no one escaped into the hut.

  Eskkar saw only a quick glimpse of Iltani’s work. He flung himself through the door and burst into a run. He had thirty paces to cover before he reached the men. His pounding steps alerted Takcanar’s men, so Eskkar bellowed his war cry, the frightful sound of the steppes warriors. Then he reached the men, still reacting slowly. Eskkar hurled himself at the closest bowman, wide-eyed and fumbling for his weapon. Eskkar’s long sword swung down, slicing deep into the man’s arm, and ending the threat from one archer.

  Cutting and slashing through the men, Eskkar never stopped moving, wielding the long sword with both hands, and whirling it about in constant motion. Striking and dodging, he weaved his way through them. Eskkar took down the second archer with a slashing cut that ripped open his throat, leaving him on the ground and bleeding to death.

  Takcanar’s men showed their lack of experience. Instead of rushing together, to ward off any attack, they reacted as individuals, unsure of how to defend themselves against a screaming, bloodthirsty barbarian, one not afraid to attack all of them.

  Then Eskkar had to jump aside, as Takcanar lunged his sword at Eskkar’s back. Driving back one of the fighters, Eskkar swung his sword with all his might against Takcanar. But the village bully met the stroke. Eskkar’s overhand stroke clanged against Takcanar’s upraised weapon. As soon as he parried the blow, Takcanar’s lunged at Eskkar’s stomach.

  But Eskkar had moved aside and away, to strike at the remaining fighter. Eskkar spun around, narrowly avoiding another of Takcanar’s thrusts. Still bellowing his war cry, Eskkar had to duck away again, as Takcanar pressed his advantage, and the last of his men joined the attack.

  With every eye turned toward Eskkar, Bracca had darted unseen from the second hut. He had a much shorter distance to cover, and one of Katha’s sons just managed to draw his sword before Bracca drove his always sharp bronze blade into the man’s chest.

  Katha and his remaining son, weapons in their hands, tried to close in on Bracca, but he leapt aside, and ducked beneath one stroke to reach the wall of Iltani’s hut. With that guarding his back, Bracca turned to face his enemies. He’d drawn his knife, and held it in his left hand, sword at the ready in his right.

  Father and son moved in to attack Bracca, but then Zuma, screaming in rage, abandoned the doorway, his spear gripped tightly with both hands and held low. That distracted Katha’s remaining son, who managed to deflect Zuma’s spear thrust. But the diversion gave Bracca enough time to use his sword.

  Two quick overhand strokes drove Katha back and maneuvered him into his raising his weapon. Like most untrained men, he lifted the weapon too high. Bracca lunged forward, body extended, and drove his blade through the old man’s stomach.

  Zuma, still thrusting with the only surviving son, had managed to hol
d his own, with Iltani’s help. She, too, had left the safety of the hut and stood beside Zuma. Now the last of Katha’s family stepped back, just in time to see his father go down. The sight made him abandon the fight. With a curse, he turned and fled, racing for the horses.

  However, the four horses, frightened by the cries of battle and scent of blood, had trotted off, stopping a hundred paces or so away from the huts.

  “Oh, no, you don’t.” Bracca raced after the man. Long before the fleeing man reached the safety of the horses, Bracca, who could run like the wind, had caught him from behind. A slashing stroke across the back sent him tumbling to the ground. Before the man could regain his feet, Bracca’s sword swung down into the man’s neck. Blood spurted from the wound, and Katha’s last son screamed in pain, dropped his sword, and collapsed on the ground. As much to silence him, Bracca struck again, cutting the cries short.

  Takcanar and his man still fought, the two of them managing to keep Eskkar at bay. But Takcanar had heard the fighting behind him. One glance told him the battle was lost. “Run! Run for it.”

  He fled toward the east, back the way they’d come. Eskkar breathing hard, let them go. Then Iltani reached his side, her bloody spear still in her hand. He put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her tight.

  “Katha, his sons, they’re all dead or dying,” Iltani shouted, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “My husband’s murder is avenged.” She touched Eskkar’s arm. “Once again, you’ve saved me.”

  The sound of hoof beats made them turn. Bracca rode up, leading the chestnut stallion.

  “Grab one of the bows, and mount up,” Bracca shouted, a wide smile on his face. “We’ve still got to take care of the two you let get away.”

  “I’ll fetch the bow, Eskkar,” Iltani said.

  Eskkar approached the big chestnut, his eyes taking the time to admire the horse’s clean lines. He took the halter from Bracca’s hand, stroked the nervous animal’s neck, and after a few soothing words whispered into the horse’s ear, swung astride.

  Iltani handed Eskkar the bow and quiver of arrows. He took them, then put his heels to the steed. In moments, he and Bracca were galloping away from the farm. Up ahead, they could just make out Takcanar and his remaining fighter.

  Eskkar slowed the pace to an easy canter. Better to let the two run themselves into exhaustion. Nevertheless, they soon caught up with the fleeing men. Eskkar nocked a shaft to the bowstring as he rode. Many years had passed since he loosed an arrow from the back of a running horse, but the lessons he’d learned in his youth still remained fresh.

  A few more strides, and he loosed a shaft into the back of Takcanar’s remaining man, who by now could do little more than stagger along. At such close range, the arrow penetrated deep into the man’s body. He fell hard onto the earth, his arms spread wide.

  Ignoring the dying man, Eskkar guided his newly acquired mount toward Takcanar, now the only survivor of Katha, his family, and his men. Takcanar, less than fifty paces ahead, glanced over his shoulder at his pursuers. Eskkar saw the fear on the man’s face.

  Takcanar knew better than try to outrun a horse and rider. Clutching his sword, he turned to face his pursuers.

  Eskkar slowed his approach until Bracca drew alongside. Eskkar handed him the bow and quiver, and drew his sword. He put the horse to a full gallop, heading straight at Takcanar. For a moment Takcanar held his ground, then he darted aside, trying to strike at the horse’s legs. But Eskkar guided the chestnut slightly away, and his long sword swung down with all of Eskkar’s strength.

  Takcanar managed to parry the blow, but the force of the stroke sent him reeling to the ground on one knee. Before he could regain his feet, Bracca rode up and put an arrow into Takcanar’s belly. With a cry of pain, he dropped his sword and slowly crumpled to the ground.

  Wheeling his horse around, Eskkar trotted back to the where Takcanar lay holding his stomach and the bloody arrow with one hand, and fumbling for his sword with the other.

  “You should know better than to spit at a steppes warrior,” Eskkar said. He slipped from the chestnut, and whirled the blade up, then down. Takcanar tried to block the stroke, but already the arrow had weakened him. Eskkar’s blow knocked the smaller blade aside before it clove into the side of Takcanar’s head. Blood and scalp splattered over the grass.

  With a shriek of pain, Takcanar dropped the sword, his legs thrashing wildly. Eskkar shifted his grip and clasped his sword with both hands, the long blade pointed straight down. “This is for Iltani’s husband.” Raising it high, he drove the blade with all his strength into Takcanar’s chest. With one final gasp of breath, Takcanar’s eyes rolled up into his head, and he went limp.

  Eskkar stared down at the corpse for a moment. “Coward!” He spit on what was left of the man’s face, then had to use both hands and one foot to free his blade. He cleaned it on Takcanar’s tunic, then scooped up the dead man’s sword.

  Bracca grunted in satisfaction. “Bastard. Maybe you should have let him bleed to death.”

  Eskkar shrugged. “At least it’s finished.”

  In silence, they rode back toward the farm house. But as they drew close, Eskkar spoke. “You know, Bracca, we could stay here for a few days, to make sure that Iltani’s safe. They’ve plenty of food, and you could amuse yourself with Tiba.”

  Bracca laughed, a long chuckle that went on and on. “Oh, no, friend Eskkar. I saw the look on Iltani’s face this morning. We’ll stay one more night, then we leave at dawn tomorrow. Any longer, and I wouldn’t be able to drag you away from her. In two days, she’d have you on your knees in the mud, working in her fields.”

  As if picturing the sight, Bracca laughed again. “No, it’s time to move on, before something else happens to keep us here. Besides, we’ll need to get far away before we can sell the other two horses and all the swords.”

  Eskkar opened his mouth to protest, then closed it. Bracca was right. Better to leave before he got too involved. Still, Eskkar could console himself with the thought of one more night with Iltani. That would have to be enough, he decided. No woman, not even Iltani, was worth becoming a dirt eater.

  Bracca broke the brief silence. “You know, now that we’ve got good horses, there’s no need to ride any farther north. We can swing to the southwest, and head toward Uruk. One of the outlying villages is run by a rich elder. I just happen to know where he buries his wealth.”

  More than likely the village elder had a few copper coins in a sack. Still, Eskkar had no better suggestion, and one direction was a good as another. Besides, riding with Bracca always brought some new and unexpected adventure. Something unforeseen always managed to change their plans. One of these days, the man would get them both killed, but that’s what riding with Bracca always entailed.

  “Good enough, friend Bracca. But the elder better not have twenty men guarding his treasure.”

  “Only a handful of slow-witted farmers, I promise you, friend Eskkar.”

  Eskkar snorted at that unlikely prospect. Nevertheless, he now possessed a fine horse, and soon Bracca and he would have extra coins in their pouches. And there were still many places they hadn’t visited in the Land Between the Rivers.

  Eskkar and Iltani’s first meeting was published 2012 in the novel

  Eskkar & Trella – The Beginning

  Nine years earlier, west of the Northern Euphrates River . . .

  Eskkar sat on the rocks and watched the rider coming toward him, a low cloud of dust trailing behind. The man lashed the horse again and again, running the animal flat out and ignoring the danger to both rider and mount should the animal stumble over the uneven ground. Even at this distance, Eskkar could see the lather covering the horse’s neck. The fool must have galloped the animal full speed since leaving the farm.

  “Uraq’s coming back at a run,” Eskkar called down to the men encamped below, making sure his voice didn’t break. In the last few months his voice had deepened, but still, when he got excited, it had a tendency to revert ba
ck to his youth. “If he keeps up that pace, he’ll kill the horse.”

  “Anyone chasing him?” Kovar shouted the question as he scrambled up the rocks to Eskkar’s position.

  “No, he’s alone,” Eskkar answered, rising to his feet as Kovar reached the jumble of rocks. The outcropping, too small to be called a hill, still provided a decent vista of the surrounding lands.

  By then Kovar could see for himself. He pushed Eskkar aside as he scanned the grasslands that surrounded the campsite. Eskkar recovered his balance, though he’d nearly fallen from the rock face. Not that Kovar would have cared if Eskkar broke his neck. He only tolerated him because the boy knew his horses.

  Kovar led the band of bandits, if the motley collection of seventeen men, women, and children could be dignified by that title. Scavengers, Eskkar thought, like the jackals that roamed these arid lands, described them better.

  The rider had nearly reached the camp and still showed no sign of slowing down. Eskkar frowned at the sight. In his mind, the horse had more value than its rider.

  “He’s risking the horse …”

  Kovar glared at Eskkar, his hand tightening into a fist. “Speak when you’re spoken to, barbarian.” Kovar scanned the horizon once again, then turned away and began descending. “Stay here and keep watch.”

  Eskkar shrugged. The horse didn’t belong to him. Returning to his vigil, he stared out toward the horizon, moving his eyes back and forth, side to side, searching for anything that moved, a hint of dust, birds taking flight, or some animal moving into the open. He saw nothing unusual, but kept looking. Danger lurked everywhere for Kovar’s outcast band, and any group of farmers would need little excuse to hunt them down.

  Even more than the rest of them, Eskkar couldn’t take any chances. The bandits might be hunted, even killed, by those they’d recently robbed, but Eskkar always had to worry about the Alur Meriki, his former clan brothers, finding him. If they took him alive, he’d suffer a slow death by torture. Not that the dirt-eaters would treat him much better. His steppes heritage showed on his broad face. That, combined with his thick accent, confirmed his barbarian ancestry whenever he spoke.