Eskkar Saga 01 - Dawn of Empire, page 26
When the meal ended, Eskkar sent one of the boys to a nearby hill to keep watch and gathered the rest of the men. Each night he spoke about the coming day, so everyone knew what they were likely to confront.
“We’ve gone south long enough. Any day the Alur Meriki may turn north. So tomorrow, we head eastward. The barbarians have already passed through those lands.”
“Why not go farther south,” Sisuthros asked, “to see how many men they have?”
“We’ll learn nothing more by going south. The barbarians have reached the river with at least one large raiding party. If we encounter them after they have turned north, they’ll pursue us, and in a few days ride us down, even with our fine horses.”
“What will we find to the east, Captain?” Sisuthros still sounded unconvinced.
“We should find groups of men and slaves moving north and south between the main body and these southern raiders. They won’t be expecting men to come at them from this direction, now that their warriors have swept this land. I’d like to capture one or two, to learn how many they are and what they plan. Remember, we’re not out looking for a fight, just information. I want to get you back to Orak alive.”
Most commanders gave little thought to the lives of their men, so he knew his words had touched them.
“So if we encounter any barbarians,” Sisuthros said, “we run?”
The men itched for a fight. Young and brave, they trained hard for weeks, and that training had given them confidence and the urge to test themselves against the enemy. “Yes, we run unless we meet a small party, one closer to our size. Then maybe we’ll have a chance to test our blades.”
The next morning they traveled at a moderate pace, with two men ranging ahead, and another to their rear. They rode that way for three days, stopping often to rest the horses, traveling only ten or fifteen miles each day, seeing fewer farms or people, and instead more empty land as the cautious riders moved deeper into rough country to the east.
They reached the beginnings of hill and canyon country, with the great mountains looming ever closer. By now Orak lay far to the northwest.
The ninth day since leaving Orak, the morning showed a sky gray and heavy with clouds, hinting at rain. They kept to their usual pace, keeping away from the hilltops and stopping often to rest the animals.
An hour past noon, after they dismounted to rest the horses, the man keeping watch raised a shout and pointed toward the mountains. In an instant Eskkar leaped on his horse, looking eastward. He saw the southernmost of his scouts galloping back toward them. Turning to his left, he saw the other scout also returning, but at a more reasonable pace.
The first scout, a veteran named Maldar, pulled up in front of Eskkar. All the men had mounted their horses, readied their weapons, and let their eyes scan the horizon in every direction.
“Captain, there’s a large band of barbarians about three miles ahead.”
Maldar’s voice betrayed his excitement. “Or maybe two bands. I couldn’t be sure, but it looks as if they’re fighting, lots of dust and noise.”
Fighting among the barbarians! That didn’t sound right to Eskkar. The Alur Meriki had serious penalties for fighting amongst themselves when on the clan’s missions. At home in the main camp, individuals often fought, but conflicts between groups of warriors seldom occurred. Even if two clans opposed each other, everyone preferred to let the leaders fight it out.
But who else could they be fighting?
“Maldar, switch horses with one of the boys.” He wanted Maldar on a fresh mount. “Sisuthros, get the other scout in and follow us, but keep at least half a mile behind.”
Eskkar waited until Maldar had moved his gear to the new animal. The fright Eskkar saw on the boy’s face would have made him laugh once, but now Eskkar smiled encouragement. “Stay steady, boy, we’ll not leave you behind.” Then Eskkar and Maldar rode off at a canter. A small cloud of dust rose and soon settled in their trail.
Before long the two men reached the base of the outlying hills. From there successive ridges of earth rose ever higher, until the base of the great peaks blocked the path. Eskkar imagined he could hear the distant clash of bronze weapons and the cries of men fighting, but when he stopped and listened, he heard nothing.
“Here, Captain, from this hilltop I saw them.” A winding trail, marked by the hoof prints of Maldar’s horse, led to the top. Eskkar could ride up, as Maldar had done, or he could climb the steep hill on foot. Eskkar decided not to risk the horses.
“Come,” he ordered, “we’ll climb on foot.” They rode the last few paces to the base of the hill, dismounted, and tied the horses fast to a small tree.
Eskkar made sure he tied his knot tight and that Maldar did the same. If they had to run, Eskkar didn’t want to be fighting his own man over a horse should one of the animals get loose.
They began the long climb, scrambling much of the way and slipping back occasionally until they reached the top. None of his recent training had prepared him for climbing steep hills, and he was breathing hard by the time they gained the summit. Low boulders covered the narrow crest, with patches of grass sprouting between them. He dropped down between two rocks.
Looking out over the spreading foothills, Eskkar found himself on a hilltop somewhat higher than those in front of him. It provided a good vantage point to observe the grayish red slabs of rock that protruded down from the higher mountains and formed a labyrinth of canyons and gullies that twisted and turned back on themselves.
Maldar pointed to the northeast, “See, there they are. No, wait, they’ve moved toward us.”
Another ridge crest separated Eskkar from the swirling cloud, but he could make out the dust of many riders, a constantly churning cloud that moved and shifted as he watched. It did look as if two groups battled each other in a running fight. As he watched, one band broke through the ranks of the other and headed toward Eskkar’s position, following the line of hills that ran roughly parallel to the ridge Eskkar occupied, but more than a mile away.
In moments the other riders regrouped and took up the chase. “Count the first group, Maldar,” he ordered while he tried to estimate the second and larger body. The strange riders were still far off and the horses moved and merged, making counting difficult. Sixty—five or seventy men, he guessed.
“Forty, maybe a few more. Why do they fight each other, Captain?”
Eskkar turned his attention to the first troop, close enough to distinguish some detail. They either had no standard or had lost it in battle.
Yet even the dust couldn’t hide the yellow streamers that decorated many lances and bow tips. Yellow meant another clan, for red marked the predominant hue of the Alur Meriki. So a different tribe of steppes people had somehow gotten involved in a fight with the Alur Meriki.
Eskkar watched the leading band turn toward them, seeking a path out of the hills and canyons that threatened to pen them in. The pursuing band began to gain on their quarry, their horses obviously fresher, though all the animals would be tired by the fighting and the chase. He’d seen enough. “Let’s go, Maldar. We don’t want to be here when . . .”
His voice trailed off as he watched the yellow riders gallop into a canyon. From his vantage point, Eskkar could see their path led nowhere.
In a few moments the yellow riders whirled their horses about and rode back out, the gap between pursued and pursuers shortened by the time wasted on the false trail. A short ride would bring them to another fork.
One branch led to a narrow, twisting trail that would lead to the open plain where Eskkar’s men now waited. The other branch, twice as wide, led into another, larger canyon, one that twisted and turned alongside the cliffs, but one he could see ended in a second cul-de-sac. But it wouldn’t look that way to the harried riders. A flash of insight possessed him, almost as if he could see what would happen. At the same time, an idea, a foolish one perhaps, took hold of him.
His eyes marked the landmarks beneath him.
“Come,” he ordered, his mind made up, and he began scrambling down the steep hillside, grasping at roots and the hard rock edges that jutted through the thin grasses.
At the bottom Eskkar waited for Maldar to come rattling down, then grabbed his arm to halt him. “Walk slowly toward the horses, Maldar. Don’t spook them.”
They reached the horses that watched nervously, nostrils flaring and eyes wide at the unusual sight of men and stones sliding down the hillside.
Eskkar made sure he had a firm grip on the halter before he undid the knot, looking at Maldar to make sure he followed his example. Once mounted, Eskkar led the way back to Sisuthros and the rest of his men, hidden from view by yet another tiny rolling swell sprinkled with skimpy grass.
“Captain, we should hurry.” Maldar’s voice betrayed his excitement.
“They’ll be here any moment. We’re right in their path.”
Eskkar reached the top of the grassy mound that opened up to the plain and spotted the rest of his men. He waved to them, summoning them forward. The faint sounds of the barbarian horses could be heard now, echoing off the rocks. The warring parties were less than half a mile away.
Maldar began again, but Eskkar cut him off. “No, they’ll take the wrong turn into the canyon, and be caught in a trap. They don’t know this ground or they’d never have gone up the first blind canyon. We’re safe for now.”
Sisuthros rode up at the head of the men and looked toward the hills.
Eskkar saw fear on each man’s face, especially the new men and the boys.
Everyone could hear the pounding hooves, amplified by the cliff walls, and they all knew danger lay just over the ridge. He waited until they’d bunched up around him.
“Listen carefully.” Eskkar kept his voice calm and assured. “There are two tribes of barbarians engaged in a battle inside the canyon over there,” he pointed to his left. “The larger band is Alur Meriki, and there are about fifty or sixty of them.” No sense frightening them even more by telling them the exact truth. “They fight against another, smaller band of about forty barbarians, one that I don’t recognize but clearly from a different clan. By now the Alur Meriki have trapped the first band in a box canyon and will soon be attacking them.”
“Then we’ve time to get away.” Sisuthros’s voice showed his relief. The men nodded agreement.
“No, we’re not riding away.” Eskkar watched their faces go blank at his words, their mouths opening in surprise. “We’re going to attack the Alur Meriki from the rear. We’ve enough men on fresh horses to tip the scale of battle.”
“Why fight to save barbarians?” Maldar asked. “Why not let them kill each other, while we get away?”
Eskkar shook his head. “Barbarians have a saying—the enemy of my enemy is my friend. If we help this other tribe, we gain allies against the Alur Meriki, and Orak needs all the help it can find. With our help, these Alur Meriki can be defeated.” He saw the doubt and disbelief on their faces. “You said you wanted to fight, didn’t you? Well, here’s your chance! Or would you rather run away?”
He gave them no time to answer, as he turned his horse’s head back toward the canyons. “Mitrac, come with me and ready that great bow of yours. Sisuthros, prepare the men and walk the horses two hundred paces behind us.”
Eskkar rode off without a backward glance. In a few moments Mitrac reached his side, pale but determined, his eyes wide. Eskkar looked at the young man. “Trust me, lad, we can do this. I promise that you’ll kill at least five Alur Meriki today.”
Eskkar rode through the creases in the hills, the sounds of shouting and excited horses growing louder. The first party realized they’d ridden into a trap, and now both sides took their time readying their men for further battle. No doubt the first band had ridden to the end of the box canyon and would regroup from there. But the battle hadn’t started yet, so Eskkar knew he had some time.
Checking the landmarks he’d noted from the hilltop, Eskkar took his position and dismounted. He tied his horse to a gnarled tree limb, then retied Mitrac’s mount.
“That was a poor knot,” Eskkar said. “Your horse would have bolted loose at the first sound of trouble. Always make sure of your horse.” He slapped the lad lightly on the shoulder. “Now, string your weapon and follow me.”
Without waiting or looking behind, Eskkar moved silently the last hundred paces up the narrow trail. Boulders rose up on either side, twice his height, until he came to the final bend in the path. He slipped through the rocks and took a quick look up the trail.
The barbarians had left two riders to guard the opening against the chance of any opponents breaking through their ranks and escaping. Their gazes were fixed down the canyon. Mitrac’s rapid breathing announced his arrival, and Eskkar stepped back behind the rocks.
“Mitrac,” Eskkar said, noting the youth’s bow was strung and an arrow fitted to the string. “There are two warriors, both with bows across their mounts, just around the bend, about forty paces away. Neither has an arrow to his string yet. Shoot the one farthest away first because he’s closest to the canyon entrance, and I don’t want him getting away. Then shoot the other one. If you miss, keep shooting. If he charges, I’ll take him with my sword.”
Eskkar looked at the lad, who seemed steady enough though his lip trembled and the bow shook a little in his hand. “Are you ready?”
Mitrac swallowed hard but managed to nod.
Eskkar had seen the signs of fear before. “It’s an easy shot, and they won’t be expecting it. Just do it, and think about it later. Now, let’s go. Take three good paces and let fly. I’ll be right behind you.”
Eskkar pulled his sword from the scabbard, more to give Mitrac a sense of security than out of actual need. At that moment, a great war cry sounded from the Alur Meriki inside the canyon, mixed with the pounding of horses put to the gallop as they launched their attack.
Mitrac’s hands shook a little, just enough to betray his nervousness.
He bit his lip, took a deep breath, exhaled half of it, and stepped forward.
Three long paces, then he turned and braced his left foot.
The boy’s long training under the stern tutelage of his father paid off.
The bow bent smoothly and, with scarcely a moment to aim, he launched the shaft on its flight. The first warrior cried out when the arrow struck him behind the right shoulder. The second man looked the wrong way. As he turned back to his rear, Mitrac’s second arrow, which had leapt from quiver to string, struck its target full in the chest. The Alur Meriki pitched slowly off his horse.
Eskkar darted back toward his men and, waving his sword, urged them forward. He raced back to Mitrac, clasping him on the shoulder to give him confidence. “Take a stance up in those rocks. Shoot anything that comes your way wearing red.”
Pushing him on his way, Eskkar ran ahead and gathered up the two riderless horses, leading them away from the canyon’s opening. Up close, he saw that the gap between the canyon’s walls was about forty feet wide at the entrance. He handed the horses off to Sisuthros, who rode up, sword in one hand, leading Eskkar’s horse with the other.
Eskkar nodded at his subcommander, partly from relief that his men had followed him. He handed the ropes of the captured beasts to one of the boys, then took the halter of his own mount and swung back astride.
“Hold these animals fast. We may need extra mounts.” Eskkar turned to Sisuthros and the men. “Follow me, and once in the canyon, form a line. They won’t be expecting an attack from behind. When we charge, ride as hard as you can and kill everything in your path wearing red. Red, remember that!” Eskkar spoke rapidly, giving the men no time to think or doubt.
In a moment Eskkar was at the center of a line of ten mounted men that stretched across the canyon’s mouth. The noise of the battle sounded loud in his ears, just out of sight. “Mitrac,” he called out to the lad standing in the rocks with his bow, an arrow to the string. “Follow us in, but stay in the rocks. Kill as many as you can. Don’t let any get away.”
Eskkar glanced at the men on either side. “Remember, kill only red, or we’ll be fighting the whole lot.”
He gave them no more time to worry. “Think about all the gold they’re carrying! Use your horses and scream your heads off. I want them more scared of us than the other barbarians. Now, follow me, and do as I do!”
He kicked the horse forward and hoped his men followed. If they didn’t, he’d be dead very soon. His own fear rose up bitter in the back of his throat, as it always did at the start of a battle. Death might wait a few paces ahead, but he refused to think about the danger or his decision to fight. Eskkar took a deep breath, glad that the time for thinking had passed.
Rounding the small bend just inside the canyon’s mouth, the full sound of men and beasts fighting and dying hit them in all its fury. Huge clouds of dust swirled madly but Eskkar paid no mind, urging Nicar’s best horse forward with savage kicks even as he gripped the beast tightly with both knees. He reached the rear of the fight as the first Alur Meriki heard the horses behind him and turned his head.
Eskkar’s sword swept down, and he sliced through the man’s shoulder as the warrior tried to wheel his horse around. Without slowing, Eskkar urged his horse directly at the next man, letting his beast’s shoulder crash into the warrior’s horse, knocking loose the man’s grip as Eskkar followed up with another savage stroke. The fighting madness enveloped him, possessed him completely. Only killing mattered now.
His own men rode close beside him, yelling at the tops of their lungs and hacking away like madmen. An Alur Meriki warrior whirled his horse around and launched himself at Eskkar, swinging his sword high in the air.
Before he could strike, one of Mitrac’s arrows thudded into the barbarian’s breast and he pitched backward off his mount.
