Sam Barone

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 stew 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 down. 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.

His eyes took in the ground beneath the hill. The river curved here, and he saw what he expected — a good-sized farmstead. Four huts nestled within the green water’s sweep. Now Eskkar caught the scent from the wheat field that surrounded the houses and animal pens.

“See anything?” Bracca’s words sounded weary, the voice of a man who had traveled too many miles without the benefit of sandals.

Eskkar let his eyes sweep over the landscape, covering every patch of brown earth that might conceal an enemy. Usually he let Bracca lead the way and scout the terrain, but for this, Eskkar knew his eyes would be more likely to spot something that his friend might miss. “No, nothing, just a farm.”

Bracca crawled the last few paces, to lay beside his friend, grateful for the chance to get off his sore feet for a few moments. The two companions had walked close to forty miles in the last day and a half. Lying shoulder to shoulder, they studied the farmstead less than a quarter mile away. “Big enough place,” Bracca said. “No dogs?”

No dogs, no smoke from cooking fires, no movement in the corrals. Nothing, except the silence.

Eskkar’s first thought was that the farmers had abandoned their home. Then his eyes picked out the sheep in the pen. All of them were resting on the ground. The second corral held hogs, but they, too, weren’t moving. The sun had a long way yet to travel before it started to descend, so the heat of the day hadn’t yet arrived. At sunrise and in the early afternoon, herd animals usually wandered about, searching for food.

“They’re all dead,” Bracca said, coming to the same conclusion.

“Smallpox?” Eskkar had seen the disease wipe out entire families and even whole villages.

“Wouldn’t kill the animals, unless they died of thirst.”

That would take several days, Eskkar knew. Moreover, farmers would care for their crops and herd animals as long as they had the strength to move. Most dirt eaters, the name the steppes warriors used to describe anyone who tilled the land, would rather see one of their children die than lose a few lambs. “We’ll have to go down and look. This is probably the best place to cross the river anyway.”

Eskkar stood. No need for secrecy any longer. No need to rush either, with the river close by. He set an easy pace for Bracca. Once they descended the hill, they moved with care, each taking his usual role. Eskkar scanned the ground for any signs of tracks and watched for a possible ambush in their approach. Bracca, a few paces behind, kept his eyes on their rear and sides.

The two fighters had joined forces more than a year ago, and in that time they’d learned how to compliment each other’s skills. Eskkar, tall, powerful, and carrying the long sword that marked him as a barbarian from the steppes, was the one strangers first noticed. But Bracca, short and quick in his movements, had put his sword into many a man’s body before the victim could react. Together they made for a dangerous team, as more than a few opponents had learned to their sorrow.

They crossed the first wheat field, following a meandering path that the farmers had worn into the ground. Eskkar saw several wooden troughs scattered about. The dirt eaters used those to divert water from the narrow channels that stretched from the river to the fields.

He heard the buzzing of the flies even before his nose twitched at the smell of decomposing flesh, not all of it from animals. But Eskkar didn’t see any corpses. They passed the corrals, and approached the houses. Without a word, both men slowed their steps, and Eskkar reached up and made sure that his sword slid easily in the sheath.

The first house they reached happened to be the one farthest from the river. The familiar stench of death, a mix of blood, urine, and excrement, caught in Eskkar’s throat. He moved closer to the entry, blocked by a dirty and ragged blanket hanging from the lintel. Slipping his knife from his belt, Eskkar pushed the blanket aside with the blade’s tip and glanced within.

A moment passed before his eyes, used to the bright sunlight, took in the chamber. The dead bodies were covered with flies, and rats and mice feasted on the flesh.

“Ishtar’s Eyes!” The curse came without thought, the same one villagers used for anything that wasn’t supposed to be seen.

“How many?” Bracca didn’t bother to look. Instead he kept his gaze shifting, always alert for any danger.

Eskkar stood outside the entrance, leaned in, and counted heads, the most distinct body part. “At least thirteen,” he called out. “Might be some more dead children under the bodies. Probably happened yesterday afternoon.”

Hoof prints covered the ground, so many that Eskkar couldn’t tell from what direction they’d come. But it was easy enough to see where they’d gone — straight toward the river.

“Let’s keep moving.” Bracca strode toward the next dwelling.

Eskkar turned away with a long breath of relief. The next two huts held little of interest. Both had been ransacked, and the dirt eaters’ pitiful possessions tossed into one corner. The dirt floors had been dug up in several places. Farmers always buried their valuables, if they possessed any, underneath their huts, as if no robber would ever suspect such a secret hiding place. Likely the bandits had made the inhabitants do all the digging.

The last hut, by far the largest, told the story. A single body, a young woman’s, lay on a dirty, blood-soaked blanket. A deep gash in her naked belly had finally ended her ordeal.

“She’s the last one they took,” Bracca said. “Probably killed her right before they left.”

“We need to get away from this place,” Eskkar said. “If anyone shows up or sees us, we’ll likely get the blame.”

“I’ll check inside, in case they left something we can use.”

Eskkar had no desire to enter the home. Instead he scanned the landscape, searching for anything out of the ordinary. He saw nothing, but that didn’t mean that some keen-eyed villager wasn’t hiding in the fields, watching the farmhold and its latest visitors.

“Ah, yes, by the gods!” Bracca’s cheerful voice sounded out of place in the grim surroundings. He stepped outside the hut, holding a pair of well-used sandals in his hand, the long leather laces still attached.

Eskkar shook his head at Bracca’s usual good luck. If the man needed a sword or a new tunic, he would probably have found those, too.

They started for the river, less than a hundred paces away. As they drew close, they saw a small wooden jetty scarcely longer than a man’s height. Concealed by the tall grasses that grew along with river’s edge, they hadn’t noticed it before. And they saw the horse tracks.

“No boat.” Eskkar stared across the river, but couldn’t see any sign of a vessel on the opposite shore. “There should be a boat or raft.”

“Well, the bandits weren’t coming back, so they probably let the river take it. Probably didn’t want anyone to follow them. ”

“We’ll have to swim across.” Even if this farm offered a good fording place, the river hadn’t yet begun to recede from the spring floods.

They readied themselves, transferring their knives and other loose items into their pouches, and making sure those were fastened tight and secured to their bodies. Eskkar would take no chances with his most valuable possession. He would hold his long sword in his left hand. The river’s current might pull the blade from the scabbard, or slip the casing from his shoulder. Loss of the sword would be a disaster. For both men, the swords might be the difference between life and death.

They took their time crossing. Foolish men underestimated the power of the Euphrates. At every step, its powerful currents threatened to sweep an unwary man off his feet. That could leave him at the mercy of the moving water that often exhausted a man long before he managed to swim to the nearest bank.

But Eskkar and Bracca moved with care through the water, most of the time wading. Twice Eskkar had to swim when the water reached his armpits. Bracca, shorter of stature, had to resort to swimming three times. Nevertheless, they made it safely to the opposite bank, and with all their gear intact. They jogged away from the river, and finally settled down beneath a large date palm to rest.

“You think those were the same bandits who took our horses?”

Eskkar grunted. “Yes. I spotted some tracks that came from your horse. He has that nick in his right hind hoof.”

Bracca thought about that for a moment. “If they left the village at dawn, rode hard, and followed the river, they could have reached here yesterday. And had plenty of time to loot a few farmhouses on the way.”

“While we had to stay inland, far from the river, and walk up and down all those damned hills,” Eskkar agreed.

“A band of raiders that size loose in the countryside, we should have heard something about them. But they took the village and this farm with no warning. The bodies here had barely started rotting.” Bracca paused for a moment. “That means they must keep moving, staying ahead of any reports of their raids.”

“I don’t like it,” Eskkar said. “Even the steppes horsemen stop to rest every few days. These men must have pushed the pace after looting the village, to get here that fast. There wasn’t anyone chasing them. Those few who survived the attack on the village would have needed days to gather men and organize a pursuit. The bandits must have planned to ford the river here as soon as possible.”

“What’s the sense of raiding, if you don’t stop every now and awhile to enjoy your spoils, drink some wine, buy some women?”

“I’ve got another question,” Eskkar said. “Why didn’t they cross the river back at the village? It’s a far easier ford there. Why ride so far north? There are almost as many farms to loot on the west side of the Euphrates.”

Bracca plucked a long blade of grass from the ground and started chewing on the green stem. “These bandits are either very stupid, or very smart.” He spit out the grass. “What would you do if you wanted to raid the smaller villages and farmholds, but didn’t want to get caught, or have half the villagers and farmers banding together for defense or chasing after you?”

Eskkar thought about that. “At the village, Hitha never said anything about raiders loose nearby. If he’d known about any bands of bandits, he would have told us. Worse, when we rode in, he would have suspected that we were part of them, maybe sent ahead to scout out the village.”

“Let’s say a large band of raiders rides up from the south,” Bracca said. “They know the location of all the villages and big farms along the river. They start looting, and they outrun news of their attacks. Hitha’s village could have been merely one of many raided. Remember, we saw quite a few loaded-down pack horses entering the village.”

“Suppose this bunch is more cunning than most bandits,” Eskkar said. “They might only raid the villages and farms on this side of the river. Then they could cross over to the west bank, ride another thirty or forty miles. If they never raided anyone on the west bank, they could take it easy. Nobody on the west side would be chasing after them, or worrying about them. When they were rested, they could cross the river, and start raiding north again.”

Bracca chuckled. “That is clever. Why didn’t we ever think of doing that?”

“For one thing, we don’t have twenty or thirty men. For another, you’re too lazy to do so much riding without stopping every few days to get drunk and amuse yourself with the local whores.”

“If these men raided their way north,” Bracca went on, as much thinking aloud as talking to his friend. “They would have collected plenty of gold and valuables along the way. Soon they’ll have enough to set themselves up for life.”

Neither man spoke for some time, both examining their suppositions.

“About fifty miles north of here is the village of Yarmo,” Eskkar said, breaking the silence. “And it’s on the west bank of the Euphrates. It’s also the last big village before the northern lands.”

“Yarmo is too big for these bandits to attack,” Bracca said. “I visited the place years ago. There were at least four or five hundred people living there, probably more by now. It even has a stockade, and some guards to maintain order.”

“But if what we heard is true, it also has plenty of merchants and taverns. The bandits could easily dispose of their goods, trading them for the local coins. The greedy shopkeepers and traders will take anything they can get, as long as the price is right. Never heard of a cunning trader or scheming merchant who cared where the goods and gold came from.”

“Then they could disband,” Bracca finished Eskkar’s thoughts, “and move east. The villages along the Tigris River are only a little more than a hundred miles from here. Along the way, they could turn themselves into honest and reputable men of wealth.” He shook his head. “One extended raid, and they can end their careers as bandits. It’s perfect.”

Eskkar’s mind raced ahead. “If we’ve guessed their plan, we may be the only ones who know what is happening. And that’s simply because we happened to survive the attack on Hitha’s village, and then came across their tracks at the farm.”

He sat up, pulled his knife from his pouch, and started drawing in the dirt. Eskkar outlined the river, their current position, and the village of Yarmo. “If we’re right, they’ll ride another twenty or so miles north, then cross back over the river to continue their raids on the eastern bank. So we know where they will be in. . two days.”

Bracca leaned forward and studied the crude map. “They’ll want to ford back to the western bank at least fifteen miles south of Yarmo. That way they can ride in without worrying about anyone knowing where they’ve been.” He picked up a black stone and dropped it near the mark that represented Yarmo.

“If we moved quickly,” Eskkar tapped the black stone with his knife, “we might be able to catch up with them there, when they cross over to the west bank. With luck, we could steal back our horses.”

“So you want us to run almost forty miles in two days, just so we can try to make off with our own horses? For that much effort, I want a lot more than a pair of horses. Think about how much gold they’re carrying.”

“The two of us against thirty of them?” Eskkar shook his head. “These marauders are not simple farmers waving swords during the day and bragging to their women at night. They’re experienced fighters. Don’t forget they have at least five or six warriors with them. Barbarians won’t panic if we try and steal some mounts. Even if we do manage to get away with a few animals, they’ll come after us. That’s part of the warrior code, part of their honor.”

Bracca leaned back against the tree and took a deep breath. “You’re right, they won’t panic. But will they trust each other? You’re the barbarian. How much would you trust these bandits, dirt eaters as you call them? Especially now that you’re close to ending whatever arrangement you’ve made?”

Eskkar thought about that, and followed the idea to its conclusion. “No, the warriors wouldn’t trust the bandits. The barbarians will want to ride home with all the horses they’ve collected. With so many extra horses, they’ll be able to attract wives and rise up in their clans. So the warriors wouldn’t be too concerned about the gold. But those horses would also be worth plenty of coins in the village. The rest of the raiders would know that, too.”

“Well, there you have it, friend Eskkar. Mutual distrust, plenty of greed, and no longer any reasons to keep them working together. I think we can make something out of that.”

Eskkar matched Bracca’s smile with one of his own. “Yes, I think we could. Are you up to running almost forty miles?”

“Why not?” Bracca sighed, lifted his feet, and admired his newly acquired sandals. “It’s better than toiling for months on some filthy farm, trying to save enough copper coins to buy some old nags.”

“Well, then, friend Bracca, we might as well start moving. We’ll probably end up with some barbarian arrows in our bellies.”

“We’ve faced worse odds before.”

“No, we haven’t,” Eskkar said. “But maybe we can figure out a decent plan along the way, hopefully one that doesn’t get us killed.”

Bracca gave the crude map one last look. “Then let’s get started. But keep in mind all that gold they’ll be carrying. If we can figure out a way to make off with some of that, even better. ”

Eskkar rose, and returned his knife to its scabbard. “Just the horses, friend Bracca, just the horses.”

In moments, they were on their way, running in silence. They covered the ground with a steady, loping gait. Every half-mile or so they slowed to a fast walk, the same pace they used whenever they encountered one of the numerous low hills that hindered their way. Neither Eskkar nor Bracca wanted to chance an injury running up or down a slope. A twisted ankle would end their plan, and they both knew they would need all their strength for whatever awaited them at the end of their journey.

Two days later, they lay on their stomachs and studied the pale-blue Euphrates flowing peacefully beneath the low hills, still covered in green grass and yellow flowers, that bordered the river. A narrow jetty projected into the water, and three small boats, the kind used by fishermen, were beached along the river bank. Six mud-brown huts were scattered nearby, all within a hundred paces of the jetty.

“That’s the ford, all right.” Bracca lifted his head. “I can’t see anything on the other side.”

“Well, the bandits haven’t crossed here,” Eskkar said. “No sign of that many horses coming up out of the water.”

Eskkar and Bracca now had some further information on the bandits. Yesterday they’d found the place where the raiders had forded back over to the eastern bank. By reading the signs, Eskkar estimated that about thirty mounted men, plus another twenty or twenty-five horses were in the group. A young shepherd boy they encountered had confirmed those numbers. Unnoticed by the horsemen, he’d watched the riders ford the river. Eskkar had thanked the gods that a shepherd had witnessed the bandits’ movements. Unlike most dirt eating farmers, those who herded sheep knew how to count.

“If we’re right, they’ll cross to this side of the river here, either late today or first thing in the morning,” Bracca said.

“Tonight.” Eskkar felt certain of his words. “There won’t be many places worth looting on that side of the river, not so close to Yarmo. Probably all they hit in this last raid was a few isolated farms, maybe another small village like the one where we lost our horses.”

“Then the bandits will be anxious to get back on the west bank. They can rest for the night, and ride into Yarmo in the morning. By sundown they’ll have sold all their loot. After that, they’ll split up and go their separate ways.”

“So now it all depends on the warriors,” Eskkar said. “If they decide to ride on once they cross, our plan gets a lot easier.”

“If they leave the bandits behind,” Bracca agreed, “then we’ll steal a few horses and run for it. Nobody will bother to chase after us, not with the pleasures of Yarmo nearby and calling to them.”

The two companions had considered all the possibilities they could imagine during their long run up river, and over last night’s camp. The worst case for them, but probably the most likely, would be if everyone camped together for the night. Eskkar felt certain that the warriors would have no reason to fear treachery from the bandits. Even against fifteen or twenty men, the barbarians would feel confident they could kill any and all of the dirt eaters. While probably not true, the steppes warriors would likely kill half of them before they went down.

Bracca had lifted his eyebrows when he heard that, but hadn’t challenged it. Eskkar was, after all, the expert on barbarians.

“Time to get moving again.” Eskkar pushed himself to his feet. “They’ll probably make camp against those hills north of us. We’d better get there first and see what the land is like.”

About a mile away, a wide patch of green stood out against the brown rolling hills. After the bandits crossed the river, they would want to make camp and settle in for the night before sundown. Likely they would prefer to stay as far away from Yarmo as possible.

The two companions covered the distance at the same loping pace they had used for the last two days.

“This place looks like the perfect place to camp,” Bracca said, as soon as he caught his breath. “Water, grass, even firewood. No doubt every traveler within fifty miles knows about this campsite.”

Water, probably from an underground stream that branched out from the river, had seeped to the surface and formed a pool, surrounded on two sides by willows and date palms. The horses would just fit into a corner formed by two hills, only a few paces from the water. The men would make camp between the stream and the herd. Bracca was right. No travelers, no matter how eager to get to Yarmo, would be likely to pass up such a natural encampment.

“It makes for a perfect place to spend the night, and it will be even better for us.” Eskkar eyes scanned the surroundings. “No more than two or three sentries. One up there, on top of the hill. Maybe another one over there, to guard the approach from the south.”

“We should be able to creep up on them.” Bracca sounded confident enough.

“The warriors will post their own sentry, to guard the horses, and he’ll take his position on the lower of the two hills, to be close to the herd. I don’t think either of us will be able to climb up and catch him by surprise.”

Eskkar pointed to the second crest that butted against the lower one. “But if we hide ourselves on the higher hill, I don’t think we’ll be noticed.”

“The other sentry should be over there, guarding the approach to the camp,” Bracca said, gesturing toward the other side of the water. “He’ll likely be one of the bandits. If I had to stand guard duty, I’d take a position near that rock, so I could sit down and be comfortable. We’ll have to take them both before we can get to the horses.”

Eskkar turned to his friend. “Give me your tunic.”

“What? What for?”

Eskkar had already slipped out of his own garment. Using his knife, he cut the tunic into two parts. The top portion he tossed on the ground, then fastened the remainder of the cloth around his waist. “Hurry. They may arrive at any moment. Might even send a scout on ahead, to make sure everything is safe, and no one else is using the site.”

“Damn you.” Bracca shrugged out of his garb. “I paid good coin for this tunic.”

“It’s practically a rag.” Eskkar jerked the cloth from his friend’s hands and cut that garment up the same way. “You stay here. I’ll slip down to where the horses will be and leave these garments under the brush. That way the horses will catch the scent, and become accustomed to it.”

“What if the bandits see them?”

“Then they’ll think some previous traveler tossed some old and useless scraps of clothing into the brush. But I don’t think anyone will notice. The horses will go in first, and they’ll be between the bushes and the riders.”

Eskkar led the way into the camp site. He scattered the remains of their tunics under the grass, not trying to hide them, but not leaving them out in the open either. The horses would graze there, and pick up the two companions’ scent. After positioning the rags, Eskkar gestured toward the hilltop.

Together they climbed the taller hill. It wasn’t an easy ascent, but they wouldn’t be descending by the same path. The slope to the lower hill looked much easier.

They found a good hiding place among the boulders and some isolated clumps of grass, and settled in. Eskkar glanced toward the east, at the setting sun already hovering near the horizon. Dusk would soon be upon them. He turned his gaze back toward the river.

“Look! There’s a rider coming up from the south.” Eskkar studied the horseman, still more than a mile away. “Rides like a warrior.”

They watched him approach, traveling at an easy pace. His head seemed in constant motion, turning from side to side, as he checked the landscape around him. Nor did he travel in a straight line. Instead he meandered back and forth across the path, searching the ground before him for any tracks.

“Good eyes,” Eskkar muttered. “Knows how to scout the land.”

“Suppose he sees our footprints?” Bracca’s voice held a hint of concern.

“He’ll be looking for fresh horse tracks, not signs of men on foot,” Eskkar said. “Didn’t you notice that we followed the rocky ground when we approached?”

“I thought you were trying to wear down my tender feet, friend Eskkar.”

“I was. But we also didn’t leave much of a trail, friend Bracca.”

“Well, if he spots us, we’ll be like rabbits in a cage.”

“Too late to worry now,” Eskkar said. “Remember, all this was your idea, friend Bracca. Once the bandits arrive and make camp, we’ll see what we’re facing. If they are too alert, we’ll simply stay hidden up here. But if we can take down the sentries, it should be easy to stampede the horses. With a little luck, they’ll run through the camp. I’ll try to hold a horse for you, but if I can’t, you’ll just have to catch one as they go by.”

Eskkar reached into his pouch and drew out the two halters he had carried wrapped around his waist for almost four days. “Try not to lose it,” he said, tossing one length to his companion.

“If anything goes wrong, friend Eskkar, I’ll be caught in the open, and without a horse.” Nevertheless, Bracca picked up the halter and wound it around his waist.

“Do you want to try and kill the warrior on the hill instead?”

Bracca stared at the scout, tall and muscular, drawing ever closer. “No, I’ll let you kill the barbarian.”

Eskkar grunted. He’d known Bracca wouldn’t care for that idea. Sneaking up on sleepy dirt eater sentry was one thing, but a steppes fighter guarding his clan’s horses was another.

“We can’t be sure what will happen once the herd panics,” Eskkar said. “You never know for certain which way they’ll run. If nothing goes right, grab a horse and ride south. If we’re separated, we’ll join up where we met the shepherd.”

For once Bracca had nothing else to say.

Motionless, they watched the scout, a bow slung across his back, ride a complete circle around the campsite. Only then, after reassuring himself that no horses had trod the ground within the last few days, did he ride up to the trees and the little pond of water.

Eskkar nodded in admiration as the warrior slid smoothly from his mount, which he then led to the water’s edge. Man and beast drank deeply from the pool, taking their time. When both had quenched their thirst, the man led the animal over to the trees, and secured his mount to one. Then he turned and started climbing the hill.

“Suppose he comes up here?” Bracca’s voice was a whisper.

Eskkar leaned over until his mouth was close to his companion’s ear. “Then we’ll have to rush him and hope one of us can get close enough to kill him before he gets his bow in play. Now keep your head down and remain silent. Remember, the horse has ears, too. I’ll watch for both of us.”

They settled deeper into the rocks. The warrior halted his climb on the crest of the lower hill, about thirty-five paces away. As Eskkar expected, the man didn’t bother climbing the second part of the hill. The vantage point he’d chosen gave him more than enough height. He sat with his back against a boulder, staring along the trail that he’d followed in.

The sun dropped lower, until it touched the horizon. Eskkar remained completely still, his head buried in the grass, barely able to glimpse the man below. Bracca, an arm’s length behind, peered between some rocks at the path leading from the river. Suddenly the warrior turned his head, and Eskkar shifted his own gaze to the south.

A long line of mounted men, many of them leading pack animals, had ridden into view. Eskkar had to wait until they’d almost reached the camp before he got a full count. Twenty-seven men, fourteen pack horses, and another eleven horses roped together. Those numbers surprised Eskkar. He hadn’t thought the dirt eaters possessed so many animals.

The bandit leading the column halted a hundred paces from the watering hole. The scout rose to his feet in a smooth motion, and waved his left arm. The leader called something to those behind him, and the column resumed the journey. At the same time, the warrior abandoned his position, and descended the hill.

“The scout is going down, Bracca.” Eskkar kept his voice low. “I count four more steppes warriors, plus the scout.” Eskkar experienced a moment of satisfaction as he remembered killing the bowman in the tavern. That meant one less dangerous opponent now.

His friend took his time studying the men as they rode in, jumping down from their horses, their excited voices rising up, and everyone talking at once.

“By Ishtar, they’ve brought some women with them,” Eskkar said. “Must have captured them in the last few days. Otherwise they would have slowed them down.”

Four women rode on two horses, clinging to each other and to the horses’ manes as the animals were led into the center of the camp. The bandit leader moved toward them, and spoke to one of his men. The underling nodded, and one by one, pulled the women from the horses, laughing as he did so. Three slumped to the ground, all resistance gone. The fourth, her shift already ripped away from one of her shoulders, struggled against her captor. She kicked at him, but with her feet bare, accomplished nothing more than angering the man. He grabbed her long brown hair and yanked her off the horse. Laughing, he ignored her flailing arms and threw her to the earth. Gesturing with his finger, he said something to the women, then strode off to speak to the leader of the band.

“Probably haven’t been raped yet,” Bracca said. “There wouldn’t be any fight left in them if the men had already taken a few turns.

“They’re in for a long night,” Eskkar said. “They have a lot of men to satisfy.”

“Forget the women. Look at all those pack animals!” Bracca couldn’t keep the excitement out of his voice. “Can you imagine how much gold they’re carrying?”

“The bandits don’t seem to have many sacks on their mounts,” Eskkar said. “All the loot must be on the pack horses, to be distributed by the leader. I’d guess most of those pack animals will go to the warriors as well. They’ll likely start dividing the goods right after they set up camp and eat.”

“No, I think not,” Bracca said. “Why start trouble tonight? No matter how you divide the spoils, some thick-headed oaf will complain he’s receiving less than he deserves. If their leader has his wits about him, he divvies up the plunder in the morning. Then he and his picked men can just ride away, and leave the others behind him, still arguing about the size of their shares.”

Eskkar decided Bracca was probably right. “Well, the loot means nothing to us. We’ll have to wait it out, and see what they do tonight. We can’t try anything until the middle of the night.”

It didn’t take long before he and Bracca found out about the contents of some of the sacks. Not all the pack animals carried loot. Two horses carried wine skins, and these were soon being passed around. Camp fires were lit, and before long smoke trails wafted on the warm evening air. The bandits had not bothered to hunt any game, so each man ate whatever he had stashed in his pouch.

“I’ll wager that none of them has drunk any spirits for days. That will make the wine even more powerful,” Bracca remarked. “Look, even the barbarians are drinking.”

Eskkar wondered about that. “These warriors, they must be outcasts, cursed by their clan. Otherwise they would never take wine in the company of dirt eaters.”

“From what I’ve seen, the bandit leader isn’t drinking much. He’s had a few swallows, but he and his guards must be planning to stay sober.”

The man commanding the raiders, a broad-shouldered man with a dark beard, had two brawny guards who stayed constantly at their leader’s side. Under the leader’s direction, all the captured spoils were gathered in the center of the camp, beside his blanket. Another two men took guard positions over the loot. Obviously the bandit chief didn’t intend to let his men near the fruits of their raiding until tomorrow.

Nor, apparently, did he intend to share the women. The four now huddled against the captured goods, looking miserable even from the hilltop.

Eskkar wondered about that. “Is he keeping all the women for himself? A good leader would take one and give the rest to his men.”

“No, he probably intends to sell them as slaves in Yarmo. He knows they’ll fetch a better price if they’re not battered and bruised.”

“Better for us if he takes the four of them himself,” Eskkar muttered. “He’ll sleep all the sounder.”

With so much gold in sight, Bracca had no interest in the women. “He’ll have at least one of his men awake and guarding the spoils throughout the night. That might change everything.”

“One guard, probably a warrior, up here on the hill, directly over the horse herd.” Eskkar, too, ignored the women as he let his mind continue to work out the situation. “Another to guard the sacks of gold, and one to watch the trail to the south. So at least three guards, with a change around midnight. If there are any more, I don’t think we’ll get away with it.”

“Your plan to slip in among the horses and stampede them might not work then,” Bracca said.

Eskkar nodded, though in the deepening darkness his friend didn’t notice. “Don’t give up yet. But there may be another way, Bracca. Let me think about it.”

Below the two observers, the bandits continued their celebration long into the night. The wine skins were soon drained and tossed aside. Even so, many of the bandits remained squatting close to the camp fires, boasting of their deeds and what they would do with their share of the gold. Words and phrases floated up even to top of the hill. More than a few of the brigands staggered about, already feeling the effects of too much wine.

Finally the weary crowd began to settle down for the night. The last of the wine skins lay empty, and the revelries finally ended. Soon afterward, the loud talking gradually ceased. One by one, the bandits spread their blankets and collapsed to the ground. Now the sounds of snoring competed with the voices of those few yet awake and gossiping among themselves.

“Look!” Bracca’s whisper showed his excitement. One of the warriors had started the ascent up the slope. “The sentry is coming. Let’s hope he doesn’t decide to climb up here for a look around.”

“He won’t.” Eskkar’s voice held more confidence than he felt. If the man did, they’d be discovered. Even if they killed him, Bracca and he wouldn’t get off the hill alive.

However the steppes warrior, not the one who earlier had scouted the watering hole, took up his position on the lower hill, leaning against the same rock that the advance scout had selected. This man carried a bow and quiver of arrows in his left hand, and he set these down on the ground beside him. After one careful look around, he unsheathed his sword, and thrust that into the earth, ready to his hand. The warrior’s position placed him almost directly above the horse herd. Beneath him, and close to the horses, his warrior companions prepared their own sleeping ground, at least twenty-five or thirty paces away from the nearest dirt eaters.

Another bandit stumbled his way to the opposite end of the camp, to watch the southern trail. Soon only the third guard, this one safeguarding the captured loot, remained awake in the center of the camp.

The barbarian sentry, however, had given Eskkar an idea. Once again he moved his mouth close to Bracca’s ear, and whispered. It took some time, but at last Bracca nodded, and the two men began their long vigil.

Eskkar stretched out on the grass, on his stomach, and closed his eyes. A man resting on his stomach is much less likely to fall asleep and start snoring, or at least not as loudly. Bracca would take the first watch, his hand ready to shake Eskkar into silence if he made the slightest noise.

The two men took turns dozing. They would need all their strength when the moment came, and every bit of rest would help. Eskkar intended to launch their attack during what would be the middle of the first watch, when the bandits would be in their deepest slumber, tired from a long day’s ride and with many still numbed by the wine they’d consumed.

Eskkar managed to get more rest than he expected. Bracca woke him well before midnight. When Eskkar felt himself fully awake, he shed his sword, pouch, belt, sandals, and the halter rope from around his waist, keeping nothing but his knife. He slipped the sharp blade from its scabbard. With a final nod to Bracca, Eskkar started crawling down the hillside on his hands and knees, making sure that he never let any part of his body rise above the grass. He carried his knife clamped firmly between his teeth.

To reach the sentry, Eskkar first had to negotiate his passage through about thirty paces of downhill slope. When he reached the bottom, another twenty paces would have to be crossed before he could rush the sentry. Fortunately, the second part of the crawl would be through a cluster of small boulders that should give him some protection from discovery.

Edging his way down the slope, Eskkar moved only one part of his body at a time. First a hand, then a knee, followed by a pause to make sure the sentry hadn’t moved. He never let his weight settle on anything that might betray his presence.

As a boy, Eskkar remembered his father telling him of a similar attack. Hogarthak said it had taken most of the night to creep his way close enough to strike down the sentry. Now Eskkar appreciated his father’s hunting skills and wise words all the more. Eskkar would not let himself grow impatient or make the slightest mistake. The approach needed total silence, and it would take as long as it took.

The warrior had his back to the upper hill, and his attention was focused on the men and horses beneath him. Since the hillside couldn’t be climbed without alerting the camp below, it never occurred to the guard that danger might already be hiding on the hill above.

At last Eskkar reached the bottom of the slope. The warrior had not heard or sensed Eskkar’s descent. That was in part due to the horse herd itself. Not all of the animals dozed at the same time. Some paced around, nudging other horses in their passage. The normal night sounds of insects buzzing and grass sighing in the breeze also helped muffle any sound of Eskkar’s advance.

To Eskkar’s mind, the most dangerous part of the approach had passed. If he’d been heard coming down the incline, the sentry would have had plenty of warning, either to call out, pick up his sword, or even string his bow. Now Eskkar, even armed with nothing but his knife, had drawn close enough to have a fair chance against a surprised enemy.

As he crept forward, Eskkar kept his eyes on the sentry. Halfway to his target Eskkar froze. The warrior’s head was nodding, as he, too, yielded to the long day’s ride. Or perhaps too much wine.

This band of warriors, Eskkar realized, had fallen prey to their own success. Raised from childhood to think of themselves as the hunters of others, they never considered the possibility that they could be the prey. And these steppes warriors, after their long association with the bandits, had become almost as slack. In the Clan, a warrior who fell asleep would be severely punished, though the humiliation in front of his peers would be a far more dire consequence.

Eskkar waited until the man’s head sagged forward again. Without making a sound, Eskkar rose to his feet, took the knife from his mouth, and moved forward. Step by small step, always checking the place he would set his bare feet, he closed the gap between them. Four paces separated them, then three, then two. Suddenly the sentry’s head snapped up, but by then Eskkar had drawn too close.

With a swift movement, Eskkar sprang across the final step between stalker and victim, clasped his left hand around the man’s mouth, and rammed the knife into his neck, just below his ear.

The man’s feet kicked out, and he struggled, his hands rising up to grab at the knife that had ripped through his throat. But Eskkar’s powerful grip prevented any noise from escaping, even as he dragged the flailing body backward. In a moment, the warrior went limp.

Using all his strength to hold the man fast, Eskkar lowered him to the ground and waited until the blood ceased to flow before he withdrew the knife. A soft sigh, a last breath came from the dead man’s lips, but the sound couldn’t have been heard more than a few steps away.

Eskkar pushed the body aside and took the warrior’s place against the rock. If anyone glanced up, they would see the dim shape of the sentry, still at his post. But no one in the camp below noticed, not even the horses. Hot blood had squirted over his arm, and Eskkar reached down and cleaned both his knife and hand of the slippery blood by wiping them on the man’s tunic.

By then Bracca had crawled alongside the rock, carrying Eskkar’s sword, pouch, and sandals. “By the gods, I thought you were going to take all night! But all in the past, that. It was good work, friend Eskkar.”

“Can you see the other sentry?” Eskkar pointed toward the bandit, the one on the far side of the camp. “You’ll have to hurry. The first watch will be ending soon. Stay as far away as possible from the warriors.”

“I’m on my way. But don’t forget me, or I’ll have to join up with the bandits and help hunt you down.”

Eskkar ignored the bad joke. “Signal me when he’s dead. Now go.”

Bracca had already started, moving quietly enough as he descended the rest of the hillside. He took the long way down, his chosen path keeping him at least fifty paces from the sleeping warriors. Once he reached the bottom of the hill, he walked along the outskirts of the camp, weaving slightly from side to side as he progressed. If anyone saw or heard him, they would likely think he was merely one of their own, a man unable to sleep or coming back from taking a piss.

While Bracca moved toward the far side of the camp, Eskkar strung the warrior’s bow and tested its pull. Next he emptied the dead man’s quiver and inspected the shafts. Selecting four of the straightest, he lined them up in the soft earth, next to the boulder. The deerskin case had contained twelve shafts, and the remaining eight he moved to the other side of the rock, leaving them arranged to be snatched up and fitted to the bowstring. Eskkar had already slung his sword over his shoulder, secured his belt, retied his sandals, and fastened both knife and pouch. The halter rope he looped around his neck. When the action started, he would have to move fast, and wanted to leave nothing behind.

From his position, Eskkar knew the arrows would sow death and confusion among the sleeping camp, and give him a far better chance to stampede the horses. He expected that he could loose most of the arrows before the sleeping men awoke and realized they were under attack.

By now Bracca had nearly reached the sentry. Eskkar watched as Bracca stumbled up to the man, who stood and turned obligingly at Bracca’s arrival, assuming that he was being relieved. Two shadows became one, and a few moments later, Eskkar glimpsed Bracca’s face as a dim white blur in the darkness, waving his arm.

Eskkar rose, aimed the first shaft toward the bandit leader and his guards, about sixty paces away. A long shot, Eskkar knew, and he had not used a bow in many months. But at least here he could brace himself, unlike trying to work the powerful weapon from the back of a galloping horse. All the same, he was unfamiliar with the peculiarities of this bow, and he had to hope for the best. Drawing the shaft fully to his ear, he took a deep breath, then let fly with more anticipation than expectation.

The arrow flew high over the leader’s sentry, but stuck a sleeping bandit just beyond. The cry of pain told Eskkar that the strike was not a killing blow, but that no longer mattered. Working the bow as fast as he could, he loosed the next three shafts at the sleeping warriors almost directly below. They reacted faster than the bandits, scrambling to their feet, awakened by the twang of the bowstring and the smack of the arrow into flesh. Yet their first reaction made them glance toward the sleeping dirt eaters, not to the hill above them.

Having done what he could to the warriors, Eskkar ignored them. With four shafts expended, Eskkar took two long strides, positioning himself on the other side of the boulder and out of direct sight of the warriors. He launched five more shafts into the bandit camp, aiming for any group of men.

The last three, launched with less force, went into the horse herd, wounding and panicking the animals. The sounds of frightened horses now added to the growing confusion, even as it sent the spooked horses surging against the strands of rope that served as a corral.

Before a man could count to twenty, Eskkar had launched twelve arrows into the bandit camp. As soon as the last shaft left the bowstring, he dropped the weapon and flung himself down the hill, risking a nasty fall. But he knew safety now lay in mixing in with the disorganized bandits. He stumbled at the base of the hill, going down on one knee. But he drew his sword and kept moving.

The camp, jolted from fast asleep to wide awake, responded the way any group of sleeping men would. They bolted upright, then fumbled for their weapons, everyone shouting at once, and all the while trying to comprehend what was happening.

Bracca, on the other side of the camp, added to the chaos. “The barbarians are attacking! They’re trying to steal our gold.” Bracca darted from place to place, changing his voice as he moved. “The barbarians are stealing our horses! Kill them all!”

Bandits stumbled about. Many rushed toward the place where the sacks of loot had been stored. Despite the guard there, men snatched at the bundles, then fought over their possession.

By the time Eskkar reached the bottom of the hill, chaos had erupted in the camp, and he was only one of many shadowy figures rushing about in the darkness. Even as he sprinted toward the horses, he let loose a barbarian war cry, adding to the night’s pandemonium. The horses, frightened by the arrows that had wounded two of them, skittered back and forth, ready to bolt. But before Eskkar, gripping his sword, could reach the closest animal, one of the warriors moved to intercept him.

Nevertheless, Eskkar’s war cry had befuddled the barbarian, who had his own blade in his hand. The brief moment of indecision proved fatal. Eskkar, looming up out of the darkness, thrust his sword at the man’s stomach. The warrior managed to partially deflect the blade, but still Eskkar’s long sword pierced the man’s right arm. Before the wounded fighter could recover, Eskkar, who had never stopped moving forward, lowered his shoulder and knocked the barbarian off his feet.

Eskkar ignored the injured man. Ducking under the corral’s rope, Eskkar stabbed at another animal, driving the tip of the blade into its rear haunch. The horse lashed out with its hind legs, one hoof brushing Eskkar’s shoulder. The animal’s scream of pain started the other horses moving, this time in one direction — away from the danger. Then the corral rope on the far side snapped under the pressure of the surging herd.

Another warrior rushed into the midst of the skittish horses, trying to reach Eskkar. But too many frantic animals blocked his way. Even so, he drew close enough so that Eskkar saw the knife in his hand and the whites of his eyes gleaming in the darkness.

Before the rest of the herd bolted, Eskkar caught the nearest horse by its mane and swung himself astride. Uttering another war cry, he urged his mount and the other horses forward with the flat of his sword, sending them into a full gallop. The first part of the camp to be overrun was part of the warriors’ sleeping place. As the animals galloped through the shambles, Eskkar saw that a body lay unmoving on the ground, an arrow protruding from the man’s chest. One of Eskkar’s arrows had found its mark.

Neighing and snorting, the herd swept into the rest of the camp. Some of the quickest-witted bandits endeavored to halt the frightened animals, waving their arms and grabbing for the horses’ manes. A man carrying a rope jumped in front of Eskkar’s path. His mount took fright and despite Eskkar’s urgings, dug in its front hooves, nearly pitching its rider forward and over the animal’s neck. By the time he regained his balance, Eskkar found his way blocked by two men.

Whether they thought Eskkar might be one of their own barbarians didn’t matter. Seeing the sword in his hand, they assumed he was either attempting to steal their gold or the horses. Eskkar kicked at his mount’s flanks, but the stubborn creature refused to move. One bandit darted in from the side, trying to stab Eskkar in the back. But he twisted away from the knife stroke and struck down with the pommel of his sword, knocking his assailant to the ground. The other man, watching his companion struck senseless, backed off.

Eskkar caught sight of the bandit leader and one of his men rushing toward him. Both had swords in their hands. Eskkar kicked the horse once again, and this time added the flat of his sword to the animal’s flank. That drove the beast ahead once more, but even so, Eskkar knew the two men, attacking together, would prevent his escape.

Suddenly one of the women rose from the ground and threw herself at the bandits’ feet. Both men went down, though the brigand leader quickly regained his footing. He lunged with his blade, but Eskkar managed to knock it aside as he brushed past the man, the path to freedom clear at last. The spirited horse now needed little urging and leaped forward.

Across the campsite, Bracca had never stopped moving since he’d slain the sentry. But all his movements took him toward the center of the camp, shouting that the barbarians were trying to steal their gold. Still, before Bracca could get close enough to snatch up one of the bags for himself, they were all gone, grabbed by the addled and terrified bandits.

One of these men, a bag in one hand and sword in the other, rushed straight toward Bracca. As the bandit drew close, Bracca shrank aside, as if to let the fleeing man pass, then leapt back, thrusting with his own blade, and driving the point into the man’s back. Before the man fell to the ground, Bracca ripped the sack from his grasp as the first of the horses rushed by.

In the confusion and the darkness, Eskkar had lost sight of Bracca, but suddenly he saw his friend running toward him, while struggling with a bulky sack.

The next moment the bag was flung straight at Eskkar, who somehow managed to catch the heavy sack against his chest. Bracca, dodging the wild-eyed horses that threatened to trample him, leapt for one beast that had slowed its pace. Bracca grasped the mane while he struggled to climb onto the animal’s back.

An arrow hissed by Eskkar’s head. Shouts alerted at least some of the bandits as to what was happening. But before anyone else could block their way, the two companions urged their new mounts forward, and in a moment, they’d raced out of the camp and into the darkness.

“Take the sack, damn you,” Eskkar shouted. He swung the heavy bag over to Bracca, who had started laughing and now couldn’t stop. “You nearly knocked me off the horse, you fool!”

The two men kept riding until the bandit’s camp was at least a half mile away. By then the other horses had slowed or turned aside. Eskkar eased his mount to a walk, and then halted. No sense galloping a horse through the darkness, always a good way to injure man or beast. He faced back toward the camp, but heard no sounds of pursuit, only confusion.

“Will they come after us?” Bracca glanced behind him, but could see nothing.

“Not tonight. In the morning they’ll have to recapture their horses first.”

“No one is going to go off chasing after horses,” Bracca gloated, “not and leave the loot behind. By the time they finish killing each other and the survivors figure out what happened, we’ll be long gone.”

Eskkar laughed as well. By morning there might be only a handful of thieves still alive. “I killed at least one more of the warriors, and wounded another.” He heard the hint of pride that had crept into his voice. “The bandits may finish off the rest of them. By then any thieves still standing will be fighting among themselves over the spoils. I doubt anyone will come after us over a couple of horses.”

“And a bag of loot,” Bracca said. “Wonder what’s in it?”

“I hope it’s something worth risking our necks for,” Eskkar said, “and not a pile of cooking pots.”

Bracca reached over and clasped Eskkar’s shoulder. “You were magnificent! Your war cry scared even me. But as soon as I gave you the signal, I started moving toward the bandit leader. After all that walking and running for the last few days, I didn’t intend to leave with just a couple of horses.”

“Well, when the word gets out about all these raids, we’d better be far away. If anyone catches us with the stolen goods. . we’d better put at least a hundred miles between us and this place before we try to sell whatever we’ve got.”

“That we will, friend Eskkar, that we will.”

Eskkar turned his mount away from the campsite, and Bracca followed his example.

“Stop! Wait for me!”

The piercing words seemed to hover in the night air. Both men whirled around, ready to fight or flee. But the voice belonged to a single woman, not the cries of men giving chase.

Sword in hand, Eskkar stared back toward the camp. He heard the sounds of men shouting, but no drumming of horses’ hooves. In another moment, a dim figure appeared, running toward them. “Wait. . don’t leave me!”

“One of the women,” Eskkar said. “She must have seen us ride off.”

“Damn the gods,” Bracca grumbled. “They’ll follow her right to our trail.”

“Not at night.” Once again Eskkar swept his gaze over the dark ground. “We would hear the horses.”

The shadowy figure staggered toward them, clutching her bosom as she tried to catch her breath. By now the girl had stumbled almost within reach. She fell to her knees, only a few paces away.

“Take me with you,” she gasped. “Please don’t leave me behind.”

“Find your own way,” Bracca said. He turned his horse around, and started to move off.

“Wait,” Eskkar said. He recognized the girl, the one with the torn shift. And the same one who had slowed the bandit leader. “Come girl, you can ride with me for awhile. I owe you that much, at least.”

Returning his sword to its scabbard, he leaned down, grabbed her by the waist, and lifted her onto his horse. She swung her leg over the animal’s neck, and leaned back against Eskkar’s shoulder. She still hadn’t caught her breath, and her shoulders rose and fell.

But Eskkar didn’t concern himself with her shoulders. He had his arm around her waist, already enjoying the feeling of what appeared to be an ample pair of breasts.

“She’ll slow us down, friend Eskkar. Best to get rid of her now. What if we have to run for it?”

“Then we’ll see. But she may have saved my life, not to mention your bag of gold.” He touched his heels to the horse, and they started moving, keeping the pace to a fast walk.

“My name is Sesta. Thank you for saving me.” She took his hand from her waist and held it against her breast. “They said they would sell me as a slave in Yarmo.”

In the darkness, Eskkar felt himself grinning, relishing the girl’s warmth against his chest. This was much better than carrying a heavy sack.

They rode in silence for some time, each man taking care to guide his mount safely through the night. When they’d covered another two or three miles, Eskkar decided they’d put enough distance between themselves and the bandit camp to halt until morning. He eased Sesta to the ground, then swung down from the horse. Taking his time, he secured both animals, using the halter ropes, to a bush. Sesta stayed with him, unwilling to leave his side. With the horses attended to, Eskkar relaxed on the grass, facing his companion.

Neither man spoke, and Sesta leaned against Eskkar’s shoulder. Within moments, her eyes closed and her breathing deepened.

At last Bracca broke the silence. He stretched out his legs, his back supported by the bag of loot. “You know, Eskkar, we make a good team, the two of us. Together, we might be able to accomplish much.”

To his surprise, Eskkar had been thinking much the same thing. “Maybe some day we’ll be able to steal enough so that we can settle down without worrying about when our next meal is arriving, or if someone is going to put a knife in our ribs while we’re sleeping. I’ll settle for that, friend Bracca.”

“Not me,” Bracca said. “I want at least a village all to myself. Along with a handful of women to care for me.”

“And who will protect you from your wives, let alone all the enemies you’re sure to make?”

“That’s where you come in, friend Eskkar. I’ll always have a place in my service for a man with a strong back and weak mind.”

Though he would never admit it, Eskkar thought it more than likely events would happen just that way. He grunted in annoyance at the idea, but really couldn’t see much of a future for himself. Staying alive was about as much as any outcast barbarian could expect. But no sense admitting that to his carefree companion. “We’ll see who ends up with a village, friend Bracca, and who ends up in the demons’ pit. We may both be surprised.”

Bracca laughed. “I’ll take that wager, my friend. But I’m sure we can both find what we need.” He patted the stolen sack, and the dull clink of metal could be heard.

“Well, enjoy your half of the loot, friend Bracca. But this is one woman we won’t be sharing.”

“I thought we agreed. .” Bracca never finished his words.

“There will be no sharing,” Sesta announced. “You wanted to leave me behind. If you lay a hand on me, I’ll cut your throat while you’re asleep.”

Oh, yes, Eskkar decided. The gods had indeed favored him through another fight. Now something told him that Sesta would provide more than a romp in the grass. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and drew her close to him. He had a feeling that the next few days would be very interesting.

Content

Sam Barone
Rogue Warriors 2

Horse Thieves