Eskkar & Bracca - Rogue Warriors 1 Page 5

  He had no real choice. Eskkar could never return to his people. No other clan of steppes people would be willing to take in an outcast, especially one from the dreaded Alur Meriki, the most powerful of the clans that passed through these lands.

  Eskkar put the grim thoughts aside when he found himself standing over the girl. Eyes open now, she stared up at him, face and shoulders shaded from the sun by the blanket. She’d pulled the dress back over her body, but had no more strength for anything else.

  “My name is Iltani. Who are you?”

  Her words came slowly, as if she hadn’t spoken in some time. But by now, Eskkar understood the language of the dirt-eaters well enough.

  “I’m called Eskkar. There are . . .”

  “A barbarian!” Even sick and near death, fear and distrust sounded in her voice.

  Though he wore the same clothes as the dirt-eaters, Eskkar’s accent always revealed his origins.

  “I’ll not harm you,” he said, as he knelt beside her. “Now tell me. How long were you sick? And the others . . .”

  “My mother . . . father. Is everyone dead?”

  When he told her what he’d found, her body shook with grief though no tears came. “Then I am all alone.” She gazed up at him. “My father carried me out here, and put me under the blanket. He said I might live, if I were away from the others. He gave me water . . . came as often as he could, until yesterday or the day before . . . he didn’t come anymore.”

  From the position of the body, Eskkar knew the father had died trying to reach his daughter.

  The effort to speak, or the memory of her family, exhausted her. She closed her eyes and turned away, onto her side, pulling her knees to her chest and clutching them with her arms. When he was sure Iltani slept, he left her.

  Near the corral he found a piece of worn rope, and used it to form a halter. Filling the bucket with water, he carried it and the rope to the corral. As the goats drank, he slipped into the pen and fitted the noose around the weakest looking animal. Dragging the goat from the pen began a struggle that taxed his strength, as the frightened creature refused to move, terrified at leaving its companions. Fortunately the goat’s weakened condition soon exhausted it, and the animal followed along, digging in its hooves every few steps and bleating for its brethren.

  When he reached the arrow, Eskkar secured the goat to a bush, then jogged back to the well. Dumping another bucket of water brought back the chickens, and he snatched up the first two he could catch. Shoving one under his arm and ignoring the screeching and cackling, he wrung the other’s neck, dropped it, and killed the second the same way. By the time he reached the arrow, Uraq and two of the women waited there. Uraq held the bow in his hand, an arrow fitted to the string.

  “Where are the tools?” he shouted. “Kovar wants the tools.”

  Cursing under his breath, Eskkar jogged back a third time, gathering the mallet, chisel, and shovel. When he returned, the women, chickens, and the goat were gone, along with the rope. Eskkar swore at himself for not keeping the rope, but knew better than to ask for it now.

  “Kovar says to return in the morning, barbarian,” Uraq said. “And you’d better bring something else of value.”

  Eskkar resisted the urge to curse at the man. Unlike Kovar, Uraq was short and thin. His boasting held no fear to Eskkar. Still, the fool had the bow, and there was no sense starting something now.

  Uraq hadn’t asked about the girl. Kovar probably had forgotten about her. Eskkar decided to keep silent. That way she was less likely to end up dead.

  Back at the farmhouse, Eskkar surveyed the area, moving in ever widening circles, searching for anything of value. When he finished, he’d collected three clay pots, another blanket, and a small copper dagger of poor workmanship, inferior even to the one at Eskkar’s waist. Bundling them up, he left them near the corral for the morning. He ignored the stack of firewood behind the house. If he mentioned that, Kovar would have him lugging the wood out to the bandits’ camp.

  As he approached Iltani, he saw her struggling to sit up.

  “No, stay down,” he said, dropping to his knees beside her. “The others may see you.”

  “What others?” She let herself fall back, too weak to argue.

  He told her about the bandits, but left out Kovar’s original plans. “They’re just fools and petty thieves,” he ended up, “but they might do you harm if they learn you’re alive.”

  She looked at him. “And you, what about you. Why are you with these men?”

  He told her about the Alur Meriki, how something had gone wrong, and that warriors came to his father’s camp to kill his family. “I watched my brother die, and my sister taken captive. My mother screamed at me to run. I killed one of them before I fled. Took a horse and ran. They chased me for a few days, but I got away. The horse broke its leg a few months later, and I’ve been wandering about since.”

  He shrugged. “That was almost two years ago. Soon I’ll have seventeen seasons.”

  “I have fourteen seasons,” Iltani offered. “What will you do next, Eskkar?”

  “I’ll try and keep you safe. If Kovar comes to the farmhouse, you can hide under the blanket. If you keep silent . . . I nearly missed finding you.”

  “I meant about you, what you’ll do next.”

  Her eyes showed concern, the first time anyone had looked at him with compassion since he fled the clan. “I don’t know. Dirt-eaters have no use for barbarians, even those like me who’ve been driven out of their clans.” He smiled at her. “But now, I think I’ll prepare some food. You need to eat, and I haven’t tasted a chicken in at least a month.”

  * * *

  Eskkar glanced up at the waning sun and decided to fix dinner first. Like the rest of Kovar’s band, Eskkar never knew when he’d be eating next, and passing up an opportunity for a good meal seemed foolish. Going to the woodpile, he scooped up as much wood as he could carry, then lugged the load at least fifty paces away from the house, keeping the structure between himself and Kovar’s campsite.

  After stacking the wood in two piles, one to start the fire and the other to keep it going, Eskkar dug into the earth to set up a spit. The goats, scrambling around inside the pen, kept up a raucous bleating that soon grated on Eskkar’s nerves. With an oath, he decided to care for them first, if for no other reason than he didn’t want Kovar to send someone over to investigate the frantic cries.

  Eskkar went back to the well and brought up bucket after bucket, filling the hole for the goats and letting them drink until they could hold no more. No matter what happened, they’d have enough water for another few days. A pile of dried grass stood nearby. He gathered an armful and moved it just outside the pen, so the goats could reach it. At least they wouldn’t starve to death. As soon as they started stuffing clumps of grass into their hairy mouths, they stopped making that raucous noise.

  Eskkar drew one last bucket, filled the cooking pot, and then set the bucket down at Iltani’s side. The girl still slept, but now her face looked more peaceful. With food and water, she would recover, and for the rest of her life smallpox would hold no threat. He doubted she would consider the loss of her entire family worth the benefit.

  Building the fire tried his patience, the flint sparking again and again, but the dried grasses he’d gathered refused to catch. When they did, he built it up until the thicker sticks had fully caught.

  A scrawny chicken wandered by, and Eskkar snatched it up. He wrung its neck, and started plucking the bird. The simple task gave him time to think about his own situation. Kovar couldn’t be trusted. The bandit would leave sooner or later, but first he’d ride closer to the farm, or send one of his followers to make one last search. Despite what Eskkar told Iltani, they’d find her. In her condition, she wouldn’t be worth raping. Kovar would put an arrow into her, just to be sure no one survived to tell any tales.

  With a shock, Eskkar realized that same fate awaited him as well. Kovar wouldn’t want Eskkar staying behind if he were ali
ve, not even with the pox. Both he and Iltani had to die.

  Eskkar took his growing anger out on the plucked chicken. Laying the bird out on a flat rock, he used his knife to gut the bird, then thrust a stick through it and set it over the fire. The scraps and the edible organs were tossed into the stewpot. In the morning, they would provide another meal for the two of them. Every few moments, he twisted the stick, turning the flesh so that it cooked evenly.

  The thought of slipping away when it grew dark tempted Eskkar for a moment, but then he looked at Iltani, still sleeping peacefully. He didn’t understand why he felt responsible for her. Perhaps because of the way she’d looked at him, helpless and trusting, or perhaps because she reminded him of his sister. After failing to save Zakita, Eskkar couldn’t leave Iltani to be killed.

  Still, he didn’t know what to do. Even if he could steal a horse, Iltani wouldn’t be able to travel, not for days. And Kovar would come after him; the loss of a valuable horse wouldn’t be tolerated. It would mean that one of his brothers, or his loyal follower Uraq, would have to be left behind if anyone pursued him. The bandit chief cared nothing for the other men, women and children; they’d be abandoned at the first sign of trouble.

  Eskkar couldn’t stop thinking about Kovar and his bandits. He’d come to hate these men more every day. They killed and robbed their own kind to stay alive, and they had no honor or loyalty, even to each other. No Alur Meriki warrior would shame himself by riding with them.

  He remembered his fierce kin, but that only made things worse. He knew warriors would brush these bandits aside. One or two fighters from his clan would not hesitate before attacking and killing all of them. Even a single warrior would gallop straight at them, shooting his arrows as he came, then veer off to circle around them, running down any that tried to flee, until he’d emptied his quiver. Then the attack with sword or lance, until they were all dead or kneeling on the ground begging to be spared as a slave.

  Clenching his fist, Eskkar wanted to kill them all, to put an end to the beatings and abuse he’d endured because of his ancestry. But he had no horse, no sword, no bow, only his knife. He drew the copper knife from his belt. Sharp enough, but no match for a sword. He had nothing . . .

  A sword! These farmers had to have some weapons. Even dirt-eaters weren’t stupid enough to try and live on the edge of the desert without something to defend themselves. He’d seen nothing in the house, which only meant he hadn’t looked closely enough. Getting to his feet, Eskkar scooped up the chicken guts and carried them away from the fire before dumping them. Iltani still slept, so he went back to the farmhouse. The sun hovered just above the horizon. Soon it would be too dark to see anything.

  Just outside the doorway, Eskkar took a deep breath, then stepped back inside the first room and began searching for anything he might have missed. Any weapons would have to be inside, in case of an attack at night. They had to be still here, since no one had carried them away.

  Glancing around the room, he tried to think like a dirt-eater. Where would they store a sword? Someplace handy, maybe near the entrance. He ducked back outside and took another deep breath, then moved quickly inside again. He scanned the ceiling. Just to the right of the door, he saw a gap in the mesh of branches that formed the roof. Peering in, he glimpsed the hilts of two swords slipped between the latticework.

  They slid easily from the hiding place, and he saw they’d been covered with a bit of cloth to reduce the corrosion. Lungs ready to burst, Eskkar stumbled back outside and kept moving, until he’d gotten well clear of the house.

  Sitting down, he examined both blades. Copper, of course. Few dirt-eaters could afford the cost of a bronze blade. These two were old and not well cared for. Neither had a good edge, but he could remedy that. The ones Kovar and his men carried weren’t much better. Taking his sharpening stone from his pouch, Eskkar began working on the better of the weapons.

  The rasp of the stone along the blade comforted him. The necessary but tedious work at least gave him the feeling he’d regained some control over his fate. When Eskkar achieved a sharp tip and a cutting edge, he stood and began taking a few practice cuts.

  It had been months since he’d held a sword, and his muscles felt stiff. The blade seemed surprisingly light in his hand, and he realized his arms had grown more powerful. Eskkar went through the practice routine his father had taught him. Overhand stroke, thrust, slash, and retreat, varying the routine and the movement, until the blade hummed through the air.

  He kept at it, enjoying the feel of his heart pounding and the sweat building on his chest. A warrior needs a sword, he decided. Eskkar might not be a true warrior, but from now on, he would keep a sword at his side at all times. When he finally stopped, he was breathing hard and feeling hungry.

  The smell of the crisping chicken made his mouth water. It was time to eat.

  Taking the spit off the fire, he carried the golden brown flesh over to where Iltani lay. She awoke, looking confused for a moment. Then she sniffed the air, catching the aroma of the roasting chicken.

  He held the water bucket for her to drink.

  Her thirst quenched, she lifted herself up on an elbow. “How are the chickens? And the goats? Have any perished?”

  He smiled. “You must be feeling better.” He waved the spit in his hand. “Most are alive, apart from this one. I’ve fed and watered the goats, too.”

  Ignoring the hot flesh, Eskkar tore a leg off the spit and handed it to her. “Start with this, but eat slowly.”

  Iltani sat up and grasped the leg. She took her time with the first few bites, but soon finished the leg, while Eskkar started on the other one. He had to use his knife to slice the breast, and they shared that, too.

  They talked while they ate. Iltani finished half the chicken herself, ripping into the flesh with strength and determination that surprised him. She said she didn’t remember the last time she’d eaten. Eskkar hadn’t eaten so well in some time, so between the two of them, the savory chicken was soon picked to the bone.

  Iltani noticed the swords lying beside the fire. “You found the swords? You went back in the house? What do you intend to do with them?”

  She asked a lot of questions for a girl, Eskkar decided. “I knew there had to be weapons somewhere. They may be needed.”

  Eskkar told her about Kovar and his band, and Eskkar’s days with them. The words came easier the longer he talked. With Kovar’s group, he hardly spoke a handful of words a day.

  Her eyes widened with apprehension. “Then you think this Kovar will come?”

  “Yes.”

  “What will you do?”

  “They won’t come tonight. And I think I know how to make sure they don’t come in the morning.” He saw the look of doubt on her face and smiled. “Now, you should get some rest.”

  Eskkar scooped a hole in the sand, shoved in the remains, and covered it over. He wiped his hands on his tunic, then added the last of the wood to the fire.

  “I’m going to go keep watch on their camp. I’ll be gone most of the night.”

  By now darkness had fallen, and the moon had yet to climb into the night sky. He left her there and walked back toward Kovar’s camp, angling off to the side so that the dim glow from Iltani’s fire didn’t show his movement. The quarter mile separating the farm from Kovar’s campfire took little time to cross. As he drew closer, he dropped to his belly and crawled along, until he reached a vantage point behind a low rise about a hundred paces away. He lay down on the still-warm sand and began his vigil.

  The sounds of laughter came from the camp. They’d pitched their three tents and rigged a rope corral for the horses. The goat and chickens provided enough meat for a real feast, and the bandits were making the most of it. The men always ate first, leaving only what was left for the women and children, but tonight there would be plenty for all.

  The feasting at the camp went on and on, the fire’s flames crackling and sending sparks swirling into the darkness. After they finished eating,
the wine came out and Eskkar saw not one but two wine skins passed around and quickly emptied. For once, every man received a share, so Kovar must be feeling generous. With full bellies and a few mouthfuls of wine, everyone would sleep soundly tonight.

  Eventually the feasting came to an end. Kovar posted one of the men as a guard. Eskkar even heard Kovar’s loud voice ordering the man to keep an eye out toward the farm, before the bandit leader retired to his tent with his women.

  At last the talking and laughing of the others trailed off, and the campfire began to die. Soon the sound of men snoring floated over the sand. Eskkar waited patiently, watching the moon rise and begin to creep higher in the sky. Well after the camp had fallen silent, Eskkar stood up and stretched his limbs. By now, he felt certain, all the bandits were sound asleep.

  Except for the sentry. Any guard would be facing west, toward the farm, though even the women would know better than to just stare in one direction all night. Eskkar stayed in the shadows. The half-full moon didn’t give much light, but as long as he took his time, he could pick out his footing. He moved silently around the perimeter of the camp, until he reached a spot that placed the sentry between him and the farm.

  As he drew closer to the sleeping bandits, Eskkar wondered what would happen when the horses caught his scent. That might spook them, but they should know his smell by now; he’d been feeding and grooming them for more than three months.

  He’d brought only his knife with him, but Eskkar resisted the urge to carry it in his hand. Slowing his pace even more, he began moving toward the camp, stopping every few paces. As Eskkar drew closer, he kept his eyes on the guard’s back, sitting on a rock close to the horses, his head nodding occasionally.

  Twice the sentry got up and moved about, no doubt trying to stay awake, and each time Eskkar sank to the ground, where he wouldn’t be seen. Thankfully, the guard was as careless as Eskkar expected. He would stay awake, but only because he knew what would happen if Kovar woke up to piss and found his man asleep.