 
Eskkar & Bracca – Rogue Warriors 1

by

Sam Barone

Also by Sam Barone

_Dawn of Empire_

Empire Rising

Quest For Honour

(Published outside the United States as  
_Conflict of Empires)_

Eskkar & Trella – The Beginning

Battle For Empire

Coming Soon – Summer 2013  
_Clash of Empires_

### Iltani

Summer of 3161 BC, the Land Between the Rivers . . .

Eskkar stared at the hunk of stale bread resting on the tavern's grimy table and tried to ignore the ongoing argument with the innkeeper. Bracca, Eskkar's companion, still traded words with the owner, complaining about the day-old bread and the half-filled cups. By now both men had raised their voices, each attempting to shout down the other. Bracca repeated his demands for more food and drink, while the innkeeper refused to offer any more without another coin.

Eskkar gritted his teeth. The innkeeper's hand rested on the sagging plank table that separated them, ready to grasp the handy cudgel and splatter Bracca's brains across the room. Of course Bracca would have his sword in the man's chest before that happened, but the fight wouldn't stop there. The handful of patrons enjoying the shouting match would join the fray, and Eskkar would have to do the same.

Another senseless fight, and even if no one got killed, the inevitable outcome would be more trouble for Eskkar and Bracca. But Bracca relished tavern brawls almost as much as he liked trading sharp words with angry innkeepers. Eskkar, on the other hand, hated the thought of dying in some dank village hut, a gloomy fate that seemed more likely with every passing day.

Of course the man had cheated them, taking their last copper coin and promising a cup of fine ale and half a loaf of bread for each of them. The ale, so watered down as to be little more than brown water, had vanished down Eskkar's throat in three unsatisfying gulps. The bread, yesterday's from the hard feel of the brown crust, lacked any taste whatsoever. Eskkar knew he would end his meal as hungry as when he sat down.

But every tavern owner in the Land Between the Rivers cheated his customers, especially strangers just passing through. Only a fool expected anything different, which made Bracca's quarrel an even greater waste of time. Not to mention that Eskkar, a barbarian outcast from the north, and Bracca, a Sumerian thief from the south, were considered worse than mere travelers and should expect to be treated accordingly.

Picking up his bread, Eskkar rose, making enough noise so as to draw every eye to his tall frame covered with hard muscle. A long horse sword jutted up over his right shoulder. "Let's finish our meal outside."

The brief words, spoken with the heavy accent of someone from the steppes, stopped not only the innkeeper's tirade, but also dissuaded the regular customers from joining the argument. Eskkar, ducking his head beneath the low ceiling, strode between them without a glance and stepped outside into the bright sunlight.

Squinting his eyes, Eskkar found a rickety table alongside the tavern's outer wall a few steps from the entrance. Ignoring the bird droppings, he eased himself onto the hard bench. A moment later Bracca emerged, a frown on his face, and slumped onto the bench opposite Eskkar.

"Bastard should have given us at least another cup of ale."

Eskkar shrugged. "It's only water, so why fight over it?"

Bracca snorted. "I don't like being cheated, especially by some farm hand." He sighed. "Still, I suppose you're right. Maybe we should come back at night, cut his throat, and take whatever coins he's got buried under his bed."

Villagers always buried their valuables underneath their beds, as if no robber would ever think of looking there. A few of the more enlightened hid their goods in the garden, which usually required a little longer to find. Bracca swore he could smell the hiding places, and for all Eskkar knew, he really could.

"If that fat fool had anything of value or even some decent food, I'd do it. But we don't need another gang of angry farmers chasing us across the countryside."

For once, Bracca had nothing to say. In the last ten days, they'd left a trail of irate farmers behind them. Eskkar took advantage of the precious moment of silence to take another bite from his bread.

"Why is that man staring at you?"

Eskkar lifted his gaze from the dirty table. Bracca's soft voice now held just the hint of concern that made it different from the steady stream of words he incessantly bantered about. For the sake of his ears, Eskkar tended to ignore most of Bracca's never ending comments. But while his friend might talk too much, Bracca knew when to keep quiet. And when to make his words count.

Without moving his head, Eskkar took a quick glance at the idlers hanging about the village center – this pathetic collection of mud huts didn't rate calling it a marketplace. He needed only a moment to pick out the young man squatting on the far side of the open space who had caught Bracca's attention.

The man indeed continued to stare, not with the usual open-mouth, I've-never-seen-a- barbarian-before, but with closed lips and furrowed brow. Nor did he turn away when Eskkar glanced in his direction. That warranted a longer look. Most people lowered their eyes when Eskkar glared at them.

Over the years, Eskkar had learned to ignore the sneers or rude looks that followed him everywhere. Well into his twenty-sixth season, his powerful bulk and features proclaimed his steppes ancestry to everyone he encountered. Taller than almost all villagers, his unkempt, dark brown hair and scarred face tended to frighten most people. The long sword he carried slung across his back made them even more nervous.

He brushed the hair away from his face, and took in the man, clearly a farmer by the dirt and caked clay that clung to his feet and legs. Only long days laboring in the muck of the fields or the mud of an irrigation ditch stained a man like that.

"Don't know him." Eskkar shrugged and turned his attention back to the last scrap of bread that rested on the table. The stale loaf had cost them their last copper coin, and he didn't intend to waste even the tiniest crumb. "Just some dirt eater."

The barbarian warriors of the steppes called anyone who lived off the land, whether on farm or village, dirt eaters. The horse fighters killed them at every occasion. A blade or arrow in the stomach let them die a lingering and painful death. The lowest herd animal butchered for food or pleasure fared better.

"Well, I think he knows you," Bracca said. He shifted his stool, and now faced slightly away from the stranger. "That's more than just simple curiosity. Have you killed any of his friends or relatives?"

"No, and I haven't fucked his wife or sister either." Eskkar swallowed the last hard crust of bread, and licked his lips, wishing there were more. "I'll go ask him."

But the farmer must have decided he'd seen enough. When Eskkar turned his eyes back across the open space, the man had vanished.

"Well, he's gone."

"And so should we be on our way," Bracca said. "There's a gang of armed men coming toward the inn."

Eskkar glanced over his shoulder. A quick count showed seven men, all carrying weapons, heading toward them. Armed men meant trouble. Villagers seldom carried weapons. Most relied on a simple knife, a dull working tool usually made of low quality copper. But those approaching carried a mix of short swords and longer knives, the kind favored by fighting men.

Eskkar shifted his weight, and moved his feet. Bracca had already done the same, though he still appeared to be taking his ease.

The leader of the little troop, a burly man with a pointed beard barely into his thirties, halted a few steps away from Eskkar and his friend.

"What's your business here?" The man wasted no time on pleasantries. His beard jutted up and down as he spoke, which made his question seem even more menacing. "Were you planning to work for Ulman?"

Bracca shifted again, to face his questioner, and summoned his most cheerful face. "Not that it matters, Master, but who is Ulman? As for my friend and I, we're just passing through, heading north."

Eskkar said nothing, just turned slightly as well. He relied on Bracca's smooth tongue to handle any villager's questions. However both men, without revealing any preparation, were ready to fight. Most people tended to discount Bracca's small stature, and they assumed that Eskkar's bulk slowed him down. Those assumptions had proven fatal more than once, as the two companions were quick on their feet and deadly with their weapons.

"Ulman was a farmer and a troublemaker. He had a farmstead just north of the village. Ulman wanted to take the land of others, and tried to hire outsiders to fight for him. Two days ago, we killed him for it. So my master, Katha, wants no more strangers in Norvel."

Another village feud, Eskkar decided. Petty farmers squabbling over some insignificant scrap of dirt as if it were a gold mine. Norvel must be the name of this particular collection of crumbling huts and its surrounding farmholds.

"Well, then, you've no quarrel with us." Bracca's wide smile and light tone should have put the man at ease. "We're just heading north, until we can cross the Euphrates."

The soft words didn't mollify Katha's steward. "Then get on your way, and don't stop until you're across the river. If I see you hanging around, I'll kill you both."

Bracca's smile never wavered. "No need to worry, Master. We were just leaving. But if I may ask, what is your name?"

"My name is Takcanar, and I'm Katha's Chief Steward." He turned his gaze toward Eskkar. "Is your friend a barbarian?"

"Alas, yes," Bracca said. "A miserable outcast from his clan, so he's no threat to anyone. I hired him to accompany me. His ugly face helps keep away the thieves."

"We don't like barbarians." Takcanar leaned over and spat on the ground, the spittle just missing Eskkar's sandal. "Some clan passed through here last year, burned the crops and a lot of farms."

"Well, last year we were far to the south," Bracca said. "So we . . ."

"Get out of the village. Now! Or I'll have my men cut you down."

As ever, Bracca's conciliatory tongue had put the men at ease, even as it increased their confidence. Taking their courage from their leader's truculent manner, they were ready to attack.

Lifting his head and fixing his gaze on Takcanar, Eskkar stood, taking his time, and letting his size and bulk put the first doubt into Takcanar and his men.

"We're leaving," Eskkar said. "Unless you want to try and stop us?" He hooked his left thumb on the sling of his scabbard. That would make it easier and faster to draw the long sword that jutted up over his right shoulder.

Takcanar took a half step backward, his hand moving toward the hilt of his sword. By then Bracca was on his feet. Suddenly the two men, with their backs protected by the wall of the inn, had turned from helpless strangers into potentially dangerous fighters.

Eskkar watched the smiles fade from Takcanar and his followers. They, too, had realized that their usual intimidation tactics, ones that worked well on outnumbered and untrained farmers, might not prove effective against armed men who made fighting their trade.

"Be on your way, then," Takcanar snapped. But he moved aside, and his men did the same, without waiting for orders.

With two quick steps, Bracca glided past the closest of the men. Eskkar followed more slowly, his eyes never leaving Takcanar's face. In moments, they were out of any immediate danger, and in a few steps more, they moved past the outskirts of the village.

"Well, as long as they don't have any bows, we shouldn't have any problems," Bracca said.

"They must have a few in the village." Both men strode at a rapid pace, Eskkar's long legs covering the ground with ease. "Better we keep going before they decide to try and use them."

"Takcanar is the only one who looked like a fighter. The rest are just slow-witted farmers."

"Fighters or farmers, we don't need any more trouble," Eskkar said.

"Agreed." Bracca quickened his pace. "The sooner we get across the river, the better."

The two men were headed for a large village on the west bank of the Euphrates. Bracca claimed to have friends there, and since their destination lay close to the wilder northern lands, horses might be easier to find. Thieves had stolen their own mounts almost twenty days ago, forcing the two companions to change their plans and journey to the north – on foot and with only a handful of copper coins.

With luck, they might find employment, and after a few months, earn enough to buy fresh horses. Or more likely, given their aversion to hard labor, find some animals they could steal.

The village of Norvel soon disappeared behind some low hills, and Eskkar eased his pace. He didn't think Takcanar would bother to come after them. Even if he did, Takcanar would need time to collect bows and weapons. With no horses in the village, the two companions would be difficult to catch, and Eskkar hadn't seen even a single pony or draft animal in any of the farms they'd passed.

In fact, they hadn't seen a horse of any kind in the last ten days. The whole countryside seemed empty of horses. Eskkar guessed the barbarian incursion last year had picked clean any decent horseflesh. In their raid last year, the steppes riders would have killed any animals not worth stealing – just one more way of wreaking havoc on dirt eaters.

The two men had covered almost a mile before Bracca slowed and halted. "There's a man following us."

Eskkar, who had kept his eyes looking ahead, stopped, turned around, took a quick look, and swore.

"You're sure you don't know his wife? His mother, perhaps?" Bracca's joke sounded even less humorous than it had in the village.

"We'll find out soon enough." Eskkar watched the farmer approach, not from the trail directly behind them, but angling down from the low hills that bordered the village. The man alternated between running and a fast walk, so he'd clearly taken the long way to catch up with them. For some reason, he, too, hadn't wanted to encounter Takcanar and his bullies.

Bracca found a large rock nearby and sat down. Eskkar, annoyed at the dirt eater's persistence, remained standing. It didn't take long. The man, breathing hard, covered the last hundred paces at a fast walk.

"Why are you following us?" Eskkar spoke first, before the man had closed within twenty paces.

The farmer stopped only a long stride away. "My name is Zuma. Do you remember me?"

Bracca's soft chuckle did nothing to sooth Eskkar's bad-tempered mood. "I've never seen you before."

Zuma refused to be intimidated. "Your name is Eskkar, isn't it?"

Eskkar hadn't told anyone in the village his name, and neither had Bracca. Since both of them had many enemies, they rarely used any names, let alone their real ones, in the presence of strangers.

"My name is none of your business."

"You are Eskkar. I was only a boy, but I remember. You brought Iltani to our farm. My father fed you and gave you a place to stay."

The name of Iltani brought back a rush of memories. The sick girl Eskkar had saved from the bandits, the one who tossed him a sword just in time to save his life. After the fight, Eskkar had ridden for over a day, holding a weak and recovering Iltani in his arms, until they reached the farm of her kin.

"I knew there was a woman involved." Bracca's laughter only increased Eskkar's foul mood.

Almost eleven years had passed since the fight at the pox-ridden farm house, the first real fight of Eskkar's young life. He still hadn't reached his seventeenth season when he killed the bandits raiding Iltani's farm. So he had, indeed, passed through these lands once before. Iltani's uncle, Eskkar remembered, had possessed a large family. And they had fed and sheltered him for a few days, though they urged him to move on as soon as he could. Outcast barbarians, even young ones, made everyone uncomfortable.

"And what is that to you?"

"Not long after you left, my oldest brother, Ulman, took Iltani for his wife. Two days ago, Takcanar's men killed him, and my younger brother. They would have killed me, too, but I was out in the fields."

"What has this to do with me?"

"I came to the village to seek help," Zuma said. "But all those who opposed Katha and his hired killers had fled. Those that remain are too afraid even to speak to me, let alone to resist. If you cannot help us, tomorrow Katha and his sons, along with Takcanar and his men, will return to our farm. If any of us are still there, they will kill us. But if we leave, we will starve to death. Iltani and her children will all die. None of our neighbors will dare to take us in, give us work, or even feed us."

So now there were children involved. Eskkar ground his teeth. None of this affair concerned him, and a few more dirt eaters, alive or dead, meant nothing to him. Nor had he ever shared the pleasures of the gods with Iltani. She'd still been weak from her battle with the pox when he brought her to her kinfolk. He'd wanted to spend time with her, but her grim-faced uncle and his women knew better than to let her get involved with a barbarian.

No, nothing from the past bound him to help her now, nothing except – the sword she had tossed to him. Without that old copper blade, he might have been slain in his first battle. He stared at Zuma.

"Where is your farm?" With luck, the farm would be in the opposite direction, and Eskkar would have an excuse to ignore Zuma's pleas.

The man couldn't keep the hope and excitement from his voice. "It's north of here, the same direction you are going. We can be there well before dark, if we hurry."

Eskkar grunted. Of course his luck had failed him again. First, Zuma had recognized him in the village, and now Iltani's farm lay along the path Eskkar and Bracca needed to travel.

He turned to Bracca, still sitting on the rock, his face devoid of expression. Nevertheless, Eskkar knew his companion would be savoring this turn of events.

"Bracca, it's on the way." Eskkar hated the pleading tone that slipped into his voice. "We can spend the night at the farm, get something to eat, and be on our way before dawn. If Iltani and her kin want to join us, we can journey with them until they reach some safe place."

"Then we might as well get moving." Bracca rose and stretched his arms. "We haven't had a good meal in days. If they're going to lose their farm, I'm sure they'll be able to spare a chicken or two for us. And I can't wait to meet Iltani."

Eskkar swore again, and started north, this time stretching his legs. Without looking at Bracca, Eskkar could almost feel the wide grin on his companion's face. No matter how this turned out, Eskkar knew Bracca's sarcastic remarks would last for days.

The sun still hung well above the horizon when the three men circled the base of a rocky outcrop. Half a mile ahead, Eskkar saw the farm. As they drew closer, he counted two holding pens for the animals, three low structures that must be living quarters, and a high walled enclosure where the farmers would store their grain, seeds, and anything else they harvested. A narrow stream only a few paces wide separated the pens from the huts.

Irrigation ditches branched off from the flowing water, then divided into an ever increasing number of mud-banked channels that carried the precious liquid to the crops. Even Eskkar knew that a farm this size, and with a fresh water stream running through it, would be a valuable one.

Zuma ran past Eskkar, splashing across the waterway and shouting Iltani's name. Eskkar and Bracca followed more slowly, as they stepped down into the water. By then the huts had emptied, and Eskkar counted seven children, three women, and two men. One man and his wife were old, easily in their late forties or early fifties, and they appeared even older than that. The other woman, probably the wife of the younger brother Takcanar had recently killed, appeared about the same age as Iltani.

Farm labor aged a man faster than any other work, and proved even harder on women. They lived little better than slaves, forced to work all day and pleasure their husbands at night. Even if a woman didn't die in childbirth, they aged rapidly and died well before their men folk. Many young girls could not stand the thought of the never-ending drudgery, and deserted both farm and family.

Glancing around, Eskkar wondered how anyone could contemplate living the life of a dirt eater. The Alur Meriki, the most powerful and dangerous of all the steppes clans, held dirt eaters in the lowest contempt, scarcely better than animals, and killed them without compunction whenever the warriors raided these lands.

Iltani, wiping her hands on her ragged dress, kept her eyes fixed on Eskkar as he approached. Zuma, meanwhile, tried to explain how he had come across the two fighters, but Iltani ignored his excited utterances as she moved past him.

"Eskkar. It is you." Her voice was soft, almost melodious, but her words carried authority. "I have often wondered what became of you, if you survived."

Eskkar recognized her face, though the skinny girl he carried on his horse had changed greatly. Her body had thickened from the burden of child bearing. Likely her husband had not even waited until she passed through the rites and joined the women before taking her. Uncombed long hair already streaked with gray, hung around her face, as if to conceal the scars from the pox on her cheeks. But her eyes remained as he remembered them, dark, intelligent, and fearless.

"Iltani. It is good to see you again." Eskkar gestured toward Bracca. "This is my friend, Bracca. We were in Norvel when Zuma found us."

Bracca stepped forward, moving to Eskkar's side. "Actually, we'd just been chased out of the village by Takcanar and his men. By chance we happened to be going this way, and Zuma brought us here. Eskkar was very excited at the chance to see you again. He never stopped talking about you."

A faint smile crossed Iltani's face. "Your friend has smooth words, Eskkar. But you both must be hungry and thirsty." She turned to the other women, still standing there, mouths open. "Water for our guests, and bread and dates. They'll be hungry walking all the way from Norvel."

Eskkar glanced at Zuma and the other two men. The old man, permanently stooped from working in the fields, appeared as confused as the old woman. The young man probably had less than fourteen seasons, but already his face looked slack and his eyes dull. Zuma was the only one whose wits might be quick enough to help.

Iltani invited the two visitors inside the largest hut, but both Eskkar and Bracca shook their heads. Eskkar had already seen a chicken amble out of the hut, and a room full of children and farm animals would stink almost as much as a pig pen, and probably be just as infested with bugs, mice, and spiders. Eskkar preferred to sleep outdoors, away from the cramped and crowded conditions. Not that he and Bracca intended to sleep here.

Eskkar had already made up his mind, and it took only a quick glance at Bracca's face to see he had arrived at the same conclusion. Iltani and her family should abandon the farm and move north. Nothing here was worth dying for.

"Iltani, we'll take whatever food you can spare. But we can't stay here. If we all start moving now, before it's dark, we should be able to get far enough away so that by morning, this Katha won't bother chasing after you."

"We'll share our food with you, Eskkar, but I'm not leaving my home. I've buried a husband and two of my children here, and raised three others. I won't be driven from my own land."

Zuma shook his head. "We must go, Iltani. Think of the children. Katha will kill us, but he'll make slaves of them, if he lets them live."

"Go if you want, Zuma. Take the others. But my children and I will stay."

The determined line of her jaw told Eskkar that she meant her words. "Iltani, you can't stay. Your children will need you . . ."

"You once fought against many men when you were little more than a boy, Eskkar. Now you're a man. Can't you and your friend stand up to these murderers?"

Bracca moved beside Eskkar. "Zuma told us that ten, perhaps more, will be here by midmorning, Iltani. In a fight, anything can happen. He said that some of those coming will carry bows. We can't risk our lives against those odds, not when you can simply leave. Eskkar and I will protect you until we reach the next village."

"No! I will not leave my farm. Better to die here. When Katha rides up to my house, I will kill him myself."

Even before she finished, Eskkar glanced at Bracca. He, too, had caught the words. "What do you mean, when he rides up? Does he have a horse?" As far as he and Bracca knew, there wasn't a horse within fifty miles.

"Of course! Do you think the owner of the biggest farms in the land would ride a cow?"

"How many horses will they have?" Bracca's gentle tone did nothing to calm down Iltani.

"What does it matter? You won't be here."

"How many, Zuma?" Eskkar, too, wanted to know.

"Katha rides a fine stallion," Zuma said. "And each of his three sons also has a good horse."

Bracca touched Eskkar's arm. "We need to talk. Alone."

Eskkar followed Bracca away from the house, walking until they were a good fifty paces from Iltani and her family.

"What do you think?" Eskkar wasted no time. "Four horses? Is it worth the risk?"

"I don't want to spend six months working like some farm animal," Bracca said, "trying to save enough coins to buy some miserable excuse for a horse. If we can't steal horses from some clumsy farmer, we deserve to walk another hundred miles."

"We could raid his farm tomorrow night," Eskkar mused. "We get the family away, and let him take Iltani's farm. By nightfall, he'll be so happy we could slip in and steal the horses."

"Maybe. But the horses will be guarded, and Katha will have farm dogs as well. And we'll have to hide in the fields during the day. If we're spotted, Takcanar will use his bowmen and run us down. Here, the horses will come to us, with halters, and ready to ride. All we need to do is kill this Katha and his sons. And from what Zuma says, no one will be eager to avenge their deaths. This is better than anything we'll find up north."

"It might work," Eskkar said. "They won't be expecting trouble." He took a deep breath. "We'll have to kill Takcanar, and probably the bowmen. The rest will run."

"We'll need to get them off the horses somehow," Bracca said. "If they see us waiting for them . . . can't let them just ride away at the first sign of trouble."

"How are we going to do that? They won't dismount if there's a hint of danger. They'll just gallop away."

Bracca rubbed his jaw, as he thought the problem over. "What's the one thing that will get every man off his horse?"

Eskkar glanced back toward the main house, where the little group waited in silence, all eyes on the two strangers. "Mmm, that might work. We'd need some luck. But we've got time to prepare, and I'm sure Iltani will do whatever we ask." He turned his gaze back to Bracca. "Are you willing to risk it? Ten against two?"

"A quick fight or a long walk? If we can't capture at least two horses, we deserve to be killed on some miserable farm. Besides, you'll be helping your woman, who will no doubt be appreciative afterwards."

"Iltani will help," Eskkar said. "And perhaps Zuma, too. It might be their best chance to keep their farm, and for us to get some horses."

"Then it's settled." Bracca took a deep breath. "Friend Eskkar, if you're willing to fight for your woman, then I'm ready to stand at your side. Or behind you, since that's usually safer." He clapped Eskkar on the shoulder. "Let's give Iltani the good news."

"And we better start thinking how to do this, friend Bracca," Eskkar said. "It's not going to be easy."

"When a man loves a woman, nothing is ever easy."

Eskkar jabbed his fist at Bracca's arm, but the laughing Sumerian had already stepped out of reach.

Eskkar, Bracca, Iltani, and Zuma worked until it grew too dark to see anything outside. By then, Eskkar and Bracca had sketched out a plan, and made their preparation. Zuma and Iltani would play a role, as would the other woman, whose name was Tiba. She didn't have Iltani's quick wits, but she seemed determined enough, though she refused to take orders from anyone but Iltani.

Bracca and Zuma had fashioned two spears from some straight branches. Zuma produced two dull copper knives, and Bracca sharpened their tips, then removed the blades from their handles. Zuma carved a deep groove on the end of each shaft, then wedged in the blade. Strips of tightly wound linen then fastened the blades securely.

As weapons, they wouldn't last long, but a thrust or two might be all that was needed. At least the spears would give Zuma and Iltani a chance to hold off anyone armed with a sword for a few moments.

Iltani and Eskkar pulled some of the wooden staves from the ceiling of one of the huts. Then they created two crude shields by binding the narrow wooden staves against two crosspieces, tying everything together with the small length of rope that Iltani supplied. More linen strips, cut from her dead husband's tunic, helped hold each shield together.

Again, the flimsy shields didn't need to last, as long as they could stop an arrow or two. If they had to withstand more, like a stroke from a sword, Eskkar and Bracca would be in trouble. Even so, they had formed simple thrusting weapons and shields before, so both men moved with efficiency.

Devising weapons and preparing themselves for battle were tasks that didn't take either man long. They had readied themselves for a fight so often that they instinctively knew how to seek out the best locations and come up with the best tactics. As for being outnumbered, only Takcanar looked like a serious fighter. Katha and his sons might have some fighting skills, but likely had little or no experience using them.

Bracca and Eskkar went over the plan with Iltani. They showed her where to stand, told her what to say, and when to run. She and Zuma would have to do their share. To Eskkar's surprise, Iltani seemed almost eager to confront Katha and his men. Zuma, too, now preferred to fight rather than run. Aside from being their home, a rich farmstead like this was worth defending.

Eskkar and Zuma circled the farm, studying the approaches. Katha's men would come from the east, not from Norvel and the south. Eskkar wanted to see what they would see, and how they would guide their horses to the farm. Finally he grunted in satisfaction. He and Bracca would be outnumbered, but that disadvantage could be reduced by the element of surprise, and the speed and savagery of their attack. Yes, he decided, the plan might work, though they were still going to need some luck.

At last they completed their preparations. The cooking fires had burned for some time, and the old woman had butchered four chickens, cut them up, and made a hearty stew for everyone. A real feast, considering that they all might be dead soon. Afterward, Eskkar took his ease, his belly comfortably full for the first time in many days. The night remained warm, a perfect night to sleep underneath the stars.

He and Bracca relaxed against the outside wall of Iltani's hut, while she finished her chores and prepared her children for sleep. Her calmness kept the others under control, and even the wide-eyed children seemed to understand that tonight was not the evening to annoy their elders. When she finished, she joined the two companions.

"Well, we're ready enough," Eskkar said to her. "A few more things to go over in the morning, but we should have time."

Takcanar and his men wouldn't be arriving at first light. For all any of them knew, he might not show up until noon.

"Then Tiba and I will make our preparations," Iltani said.

She called Tiba away from her children, and the two women went off into the darkness. They were gone for some time. By the time they returned, night had settled over the farm and the children and the old woman had taken to their beds.

Iltani, her hair wet from her bath in the stream, wore only a blanket wrapped around her body. She hung her dress, still damp from being washed, on a peg outside the hut. She went into the hut for a few moments, and when Iltani reappeared, she held a second blanket in her arm.

"Come with me, Eskkar."

He lifted his gaze, unsure for a moment what she intended. But she held out her hand, the unmistakable gesture of every woman asking a man to her bed. For a moment, he stared at her, but she met his eyes, and the hand remained outstretched.

Rising to his feet, he followed her into the darkness, away from huts, the people, and the animals. Holding her hand, they moved past the fields and climbed a grassy hillock. She spread the blanket she carried on the ground, then knelt down. Iltani lifted her gaze, and loosened the damp blanket from her body.

"Join with me, Eskkar. I've always wished that you could have taken me. I had to cry in secret when you rode away, otherwise they would have beaten me. Three days later, I was given to my Ulman, to be his second wife. He was a good enough man, but I always wished I could have gone with you."

He knelt facing her, and put his hands on her bare shoulders. Her warm flesh sent a sensation of pleasure through him, and he felt himself growing hard. "You don't have to do this, Iltani."

"Tonight may be the last night of my life, of your life. If I let this chance slip away, when will I ever get another?"

"Bracca and I are doing this for the horses, Iltani. As soon as we get them, we'll be on our way."

"I know. No farm will ever hold you. You've grown tall and strong, and you must find your own path. It is too late for me, Eskkar. I need to stay here, to raise my children. But I will pray to the gods that someday you find happiness." She sighed. "Now there should be no more talk. Take me, Eskkar. Let me close my eyes, and be the girl you saved from the bandits many years ago."

Still holding her shoulders, he leaned closer and kissed her lips, her hair, her cheeks. "I have always regretted not sharing the pleasures of the gods with you, Iltani. Many nights, I've seen your face in my dreams."

She put her arms around his neck, but he brushed them away, and pulled his tunic up over his head. Her hands reached out to grasp his manhood, already erect, and he pushed her down on the blanket.

Iltani buried her face in his shoulder. "I told Tiba to go to your friend, and pleasure him."

Eskkar pushed her legs apart and moved over her. What might happen to Bracca meant nothing. The only thing that mattered was that Iltani wanted him, and he wanted her. Then he slid inside her. She moaned in pleasure and pulled him tight against her body.

Their bodies hungered for each other, and the first time was hurried, almost desperate. But the second time lasted far longer, with deeper and more intense pleasure. Satisfied, Eskkar lay back on the blanket. But Iltani had had other ideas. The love making went on, until both were exhausted.

They slept in the field, holding each other close and covered by the thin blanket. Well before dawn, Iltani woke him with a kiss, then disappeared, running back to her family. By the time he dressed and returned to the huts, the first light of morning sent a pink haze into the eastern sky, promising another warm day.

Bracca, wearing his sword, waited for him. A cooking fire already burned, warming a dented copper pot that held fresh water from the stream. Iltani had started ministering to her children, at least the older ones who had awakened.

"Sleep well, friend Eskkar?"

"Well enough." In truth, Eskkar hadn't gotten as much sleep as he wanted.

"Tiba came to me," Bracca said, "but farm girls know little about pleasing a man. Still, she did her best."

Eskkar ignored the comments. "Are we ready?"

"We soon will be. Let's eat first. We may not get another chance."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'll fetch the bow, Eskkar," Iltani said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eskkar shrugged. "At least it's finished."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eskkar and Iltani's first meeting was published 2012 in the novel  
_Eskkar & Trella – The Beginning_

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

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

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

"Anyone chasing him?" Kovar shouted the question as he scrambled up the rocks to Eskkar's position.

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

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

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

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

"He's risking the horse ..."

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

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

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

Uraq galloped into the campsite, launching a spray of dirt and sand as he pulled the winded horse to a stop. Eskkar glanced down, though he kept his face turned toward the west. The horse stood with its legs splayed apart, head low, its sides heaving and foam bubbling from its mouth. The animal could barely stand after the hard run in the hot summer sun. Uraq's face showed his fear; something had scared the man badly.

Eskkar moved his eyes back to the landscape. If Kovar noticed Eskkar neglecting his duties, it might mean another beating, or at least another round of curses. Besides, Eskkar could hear everything and an occasional glimpse would be more than enough.

"They're all dead . . . dead." Uraq paused to catch his breath. He snatched the water skin one of the women offered, and gulped down half its contents.

"Who's dead?" Kovar pulled the water skin from Uraq's hands.

"The farmers. They're all dead. At least all the ones that I saw."

"You weren't supposed to get close, you fool," Kovar said. "Just look them over without being seen, I told you."

"I didn't see anyone, just the goats calling . . . chickens running loose. The animals hadn't been tended. So I moved closer. I found the first body near the corral. It was covered with flies, bloated." Uraq looked around at the circle of faces that surrounded him. Except for Eskkar up above, everyone had closed in around him, eager to hear what he said, their concern starting to show.

"So you saw a dead farmer. What else did you see?"

"I rode up to the main house. It looked deserted, so I called out, but no one answered. I thought maybe they'd left, gone someplace. I tied the horse down and went inside."

"To see what you could steal for yourself," Kovar growled. "Next time you disobey my orders . . ."

"They were all dead inside. Two men, three women, and some kids. They had dried blood all over them, their faces, arms, legs, everywhere. It was the pox . . . had to be."

Eskkar felt a chill pass through him, though the sun still stood high in the afternoon sky. Beneath him, the bandits shuffled their feet, all of them edging away from Uraq. Each of them feared the disease. The scourge of smallpox could be mild or fatal, and the healers' herbs and prayers did nothing to stop its onslaught. It ravaged your body, and you died or lived, usually with the pox scars covering your face and body for the rest of your life. The worst kind would ravage a healthy man in a few days, leaving him too weak to move and unable to care for himself as the pustules spread over his body and bled out his insides until he died, in agony the entire time.

Growing up among the Alur Meriki, Eskkar had seen families stricken by the pox. Their neighbors and kinsmen drove them away from the clan, leaving them to fend for themselves, at least until the disease ran its course. Only then, and only with the healers' approval, could they rejoin their kinsmen.

"Well, we can't go there now," Uraq went on, "not with . . ."

"You'll do what you're told." Kovar, a broadly built man with thick arms, tolerated no disobedience from his followers. "Now stop your yapping."

Eskkar smiled to himself. The bandits had drifted toward this desolated farm for the last two days, circling around toward the desert side to reach this place. At dawn, they would have rushed in, with the rising sun behind their backs, catching the dirt-eaters still half-asleep. Those who resisted would die. Kovar's men would take what they wanted, rape whatever women they found, and move on.

It always surprised Eskkar that afterwards some of the men, and often one or two of the women, would ask to join the bandits. His erstwhile clan, the Alur Meriki, would have killed any outsider for even daring to ask the question. But these bandits were dirt-eaters themselves, and knew all about the curse of farming and its back breaking labor, especially this far west of the Euphrates. Yet at nearly every ravaged farm, there was always someone who looked forward to any escape from the land's slavery.

"Eskkar, you whelp! Get down here!"

Eskkar had allowed himself to get distracted. He took one last look over the empty land, and scrambled down the rocks. No doubt Kovar wanted the horse tended, since any horseflesh had value, even the weary and pathetic beasts these fools mishandled and mistreated at every occasion.

Kovar put his hand on Eskkar's shoulder. A few months ago, that would have left Kovar looking down on the youth. Now Eskkar had entered the middle of his sixteenth season, and his eyes stood level with his leader's, though the older man had plenty of weight, hard muscle really, over the still-growing boy.

"You go ahead to the farm," Kovar ordered. "See if anyone's still alive, and count the dead. Bring out anything of value."

Eskkar's mouth fell open. "But the pox! I'm not . . ."

Kovar tightened his grip on Eskkar's shoulder, and punched him hard in the chest with his other hand. The powerful blow would have sent Eskkar tumbling to the ground, except that Kovar's thick muscles kept his follower upright.

"You'll do what I say, or I'll do more than tap your chest. Tend to the horse first, then get going. We'll break camp and follow you in."

Eskkar had no choice. A barbarian outcast had no standing with even these dirt-eaters, and he needed to eat as much as he needed protection. To disobey would simply mean another beating until he complied.

Kovar ruled his band without mercy. Even the leader's two brothers, just as vicious but lacking Kovar's wits, knew better than to disregard his orders. Only a month ago Eskkar had seen one man beaten to death for daring to cross wills with Kovar.

By the time Eskkar finished caring for the horse, the four women had loaded their bowls and skins on two of the horses. Kovar, his brothers, and Uraq were the only ones who rode. Everyone else walked.

With a jerk of his head, Kovar ordered Eskkar on his way. It would be a long walk to the farm, at least four miles away, but he knew better than to ask for a horse. Eskkar might have nowhere else to go, but faced with the pox, a horse would be too great a temptation. It would be easy to just ride off. Kovar had once caught Eskkar eyeing the bandit's mount, and told him exactly what would happen if he tried to slip away.

Now Eskkar trudged his way toward the farm, the bandits following a half mile behind him. Eskkar didn't like this, but couldn't think of any way to get out of it. His skill with horses might be useful to the bandits, but the food he ate and his barbarian heritage made his value to them marginal. If he refused, Kovar would kill him without hesitation. Trying to run away on foot would lead to the same fate.

Nonetheless, going into the farm, if the pox had killed everyone there . . . Eskkar didn't want to die that way. The idea of festering sores breaking out over his body frightened him even more than Kovar's wrath. Eskkar no longer believed in the gods of his clan, not after what had happened to his family, but he found himself muttering prayers for protection. Faced with the pox, only the gods could protect him.

Gloomy thoughts accompanied him on the trek to the farm. As he drew near, he crossed a field of emmer wheat, the plants turning brown and wilting from lack of water. The rock-hard irrigation channels told Eskkar no water had flowed in them for days. That alone meant all the dirt-eaters were dead, even the women and children. No dirt-eater who could get to his feet would risk starvation that way. The crops always came first to any farmer, even before their animals. Another day or two, and the plants would die.

A small corral held a herd of scrawny goats, the seven beasts struggling to stay upright, bawling for water. Their eyes followed him as he approached. By then he'd seen the first body. The corpse lay just past the corral and half-way to the house, an older man with straggling gray hair moving with the breeze. Dried sores covered the man's face and chest. Eskkar shivered at the sight. A flock of thin chickens appeared and eyed Eskkar warily, clucking as they tentatively moved closer.

Curse the pox and the death it brought, Eskkar thought, his eyes searching around. The herder in him couldn't let the animals die. He stepped toward the well, a simple rock-ringed hole in the ground with a rope fastened to a long stick that stretched across the opening. Leaning over, Eskkar saw the water a few paces below, nearly concealed by the deep shadows. He jiggled the rope until he felt the bucket sink as it filled, then drew it up hand over hand. As he carried his burden toward the corral, the frantic animals began bleating even louder, until he dumped the water into a declivity within the pen.

The agitated herd bleated and struggled with each other to reach the water. By the time he returned with a second bucket, the goats had licked the hole dry. Already their raspy voices bleated for more. The third bucket he dumped beside the well, for the chickens.

The stock attended to for the moment, Eskkar moved toward the main house, a low structure made of the usual mud brick, with a grass-covered roof supported by a lattice of twisted branches. He paused at the door. The fetid odor of death wafted from the interior, moved about by the buzzing flies that circled around his head. Taking a deep breath, he ducked under the low doorway.

Inside he found the bodies, as Uraq said. Two men, three women, and two children. The stink of rotting flesh, made even more offensive by the dried pus from the pox, made him want to vomit. He clamped his hand over his mouth.

_They're just dirt-eaters. No warrior would waste of moment of pity for the whole lot_. Eskkar held onto the thought. Looking around the room, he saw nothing of value, not even a decent cooking pot. Whatever clothing they owned remained on their backs, untouchable now. He saw no tools, no weapons, no stores of food. There might be valuables buried under the dirt floor, but Eskkar had no intention of probing around for anything hidden.

He stepped back outside and moved away from the doorway, taking deep breaths into his lungs until most of the stench was gone. Turning the corner, he found a second door leading to the other half of the structure. The afternoon sun shone through this entrance, and he could see most of the interior. Smaller than the other chamber, it held nearly the same number of bodies. The remains of a young couple, with their two small children, stared up at the ceiling with what was left of their faces. This room, too, contained nothing useful.

Eskkar backed out and again cleared his lungs. He walked completely around the house, but found nothing. He looked back out over the plain, and saw Kovar and his men taking their ease on the sand about a quarter mile away, while the women set up camp. None of them even bothered looking toward the farmhouse, caring as little for Eskkar as they did for the dead farmers.

He returned to the well and drew up another bucket. This time Eskkar sniffed the water. It smelled better than what came out of Kovar's water skins, so he lifted the bucket with both hands and took a tentative drink. The cool liquid tasted sweet, so he quenched his thirst, then dumped the rest for the chickens that now flocked boldly around his feet. At least we'll eat well tonight, he thought, already imaging the smell of roasting chicken.

Looking past the house, he saw some planks laid out on the sand, so he walked toward them. A work area, he realized, taking in the worn copper chisel and a shovel resting beside a mallet and two straw baskets utilized to carry human and animal waste for use as fertilizer. The tools would interest Kovar. He'd wrap them in a blanket and sell the lot at the next village, Eskkar thought, as he knelt down to pick them up.

Instead he put his hand to his knife. A low moan had drifted across the ground. He spun on his heel, searching for the source, but saw nothing. Eskkar felt the hair on his neck stand on end, as fear of the pox brought images of demons lying in wait, ready to slip over the sands and force the disease into his body. The chickens, he remembered, had clustered near here when he arrived. He rose up and moved toward the sound, his eyes roving over the sparse grass.

The noise came again, this time sounding like some small creature in pain. He kept moving, and nearly tripped over the blanket before he saw it. Sand and dirt and chicken droppings covered the dirty woolen cloth, blending it with the surrounding grass. A small hand, the skin burned red from the sun, protruded from beneath the edge.

The hand moved and he jumped back, drawing the copper knife from his belt. Eskkar crouched there a moment, but nothing else moved, except the chickens milling about his feet, following his footsteps and looking for food. Leaning forward, he extended the knife and lifted one corner of the blanket, exposing a tangle of long brown hair, sprinkled with dirt and sand. A girl's eyes, unused to the sun, squinted closed, then opened again. She stared unseeingly at him, moaned again, and closed her eyes.

He shifted his body to shield her face from the sun, and, still using the knife, lifted the blanket aside. Her shift had bunched up almost to her waist, and he saw the scab-scars from the pox running down her legs and inner thighs. Fighting his stomach and the urge to run, he tried to remember what he'd learned about the pox from his mother.

She'd told him you caught the pox by breathing the same air as those who already had it, or so some of the healers claimed, though no one could explain how one man might suddenly fall ill with the disease when nobody else had it. Other healers believed you could catch the pox by touching those already stricken. But Eskkar remembered her also saying that when the pox scabs started falling off, it meant the disease had run its course. If the body formed scabs, then the victim generally would live.

Carefully he examined the girls legs, looking for any sign of pustules. He moved closer. Flipping the rest of the blanket off her body, he reached down and with his finger tips lifted the dress away from her body. He slit the garment from neck to hem, then used the point to move it apart. Her budding breasts and stomach held ten or twelve dried scabs, most smaller than those on her legs. Again he couldn't detect any open sores, though he examined the length of her body.

Eskkar exhaled, and realized he'd been holding his breath. She might live, he decided. Or she could still be infected with the pox, in which case he might already have it, from breathing the same air or touching her clothing. Well, too late now. Grimacing at his fear, he slid his hand under her neck and lifted her shoulders. Her back looked clean, with only a few loose and dried scabs. These looked darker, but that might be from lying on them.

The breeze moved her hair across her face, covering one eye. The image of his sister, Zakita, jumped into his thoughts. This girl was much the same age. He remember Zakita, lying senseless on the ground, unaware of the pain that awaited her.

Damn the gods, he thought, forgetting that he no longer believed in their existence. He let the girl down and moved away. She hadn't awakened when he lifted her. He stood and jogged back to the well. Filling another bucket, he carried it back to her. Again he lifted her head with one hand, while he scooped water from the bucket with the other and let some dribble into her open mouth.

She swallowed once, then gagged. Her eyes opened, and she coughed up some water. This time her eyes showed her wits had returned, and she feebly raised her hand toward the bucket. He hoisted it to her lips and let her drink. After a few moments, he pulled the bucket away, knowing too much water too soon would make her sick. The liquid sloshed over her neck and breasts as she slid back to the ground with a sigh, her eyes closing again.

At least she wouldn't die of thirst. Looking around, Eskkar found some sticks and rigged a shelter, using the blanket to shield her head and upper body from the sun. Just as he finished, he heard Kovar's booming voice.

"Eskkar! Where are you? Answer me!"

Damn the man. Eskkar ran back toward the wastelands, stopping about fifty paces from Kovar, when the bandit held up his hand. Kovar carried the only bow the group possessed in his hand, while Uraq stood beside him holding the arrow quiver.

"Don't come any closer," Kovar shouted.

Eskkar stopped immediately. The man might not be an expert with the bow, but no sense tempting fate.

"What did you find? Is it the pox?"

"Yes," Eskkar shouted back. "They're all dead. Four men and four women, and some children. All dead at least two or three days from the pox. There's one young girl still alive, but she's got the pox, too. Other than the chickens and goats, there's nothing here."

"Nothing?"

"Oh, a copper shovel and chisel, and a wooden mallet" Eskkar added. "There may be more..."

"Get a goat and bring it here, along with the tools." Kovar took an arrow, fitted it to the bow, and shot the shaft into the earth halfway between them. "Don't come any closer than the arrow. And bring a chicken, no, two chickens, too. We might as well feast tonight."

Eskkar didn't understand what Kovar meant. "Why can't I just bring the animals back to the camp?"

"No, you stay away from us. If you try and come any closer, I'll put a shaft in you. In eight or ten days, if you're still healthy, you can rejoin us. If you're not, don't bother." Both men laughed at Kovar's joke, and turned away.

Feeling like a fool, Eskkar walked back toward the farm. He should have guessed Kovar wouldn't let him return. Now he was stuck here, with the pox-ridden bodies, at least until Kovar moved on. Eskkar thought about that. The food might tempt Kovar to stay, but he wouldn't want to linger in the area more than a few days. These farmers must have neighbors who might decide to visit. Or perhaps they'd even sent for help before they died. No, Kovar couldn't stay here long. More than likely, he'd move on tomorrow or the next day, taking the goats with him.

Eskkar thought about slipping away in the night, but decided against it. If Kovar found him gone, he might enjoy tracking him down. No, better to let the man go his way, then choose the opposite direction. Eskkar found no solace in that thought; he'd be alone again, with every man's hand against him. Even the bandits' company, abuse and all, was better than none.

The dirt-eaters hated him and his kind. The fact that he'd been driven out from the clans meant nothing to them. A barbarian was a barbarian, to their way of thinking, always ready to turn on them.

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

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

"My name is Iltani. Who are you?"

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

"I'm called Eskkar. There are . . ."

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

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

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

"My mother . . . father. Is everyone dead?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Where are the tools?" he shouted. "Kovar wants the tools."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shrugged. "That was almost two years ago. Soon I'll have seventeen seasons."

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

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

"I meant about you, what you'll do next."

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He held the water bucket for her to drink.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes."

"What will you do?"

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

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

"I'm going to go keep watch on their camp. I'll be gone most of the night."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The sentry returned to his seat and in a few moments his head began to nod. Eskkar had swung wide around the horses, and the sentry heard nothing. Eskkar traversed the last twenty paces with care, making sure he made no sounds and stopping dead in his tracks whenever the guard's head shifted or jerked about.

When the horses heard something approaching, familiar scent or not, they'd react. Still, the animals had grown accustomed to seeing men walking around the camp at night. Eskkar eased past the horses without alarming them, and he needed only a few more soft steps to reach the tents without being seen.

Loud snores came from all three tents. Eskkar knew the power of the raw date wine Kovar had stolen. By now Eskkar's eyes had grown well accustomed to the dim light, and he had no trouble spotting what he'd come for, resting on the ground just outside the opening to Kovar's tent. Unlike a sword or knife, the bow and quiver had no use inside a tent, especially with Kovar and his two women inside. Without a sound, Eskkar picked them up, and retraced his steps.

The guard remained on his rock, head slumped forward and his back to Eskkar. Taking his time and still moving with care, Eskkar slipped into the shadows and away from the camp.

Back at the farm, he found Iltani awake and sitting up. He called her name as he drew near.

"Why aren't you sleeping?"

"I did. I just woke up a little while ago. I started worrying about you, and couldn't sleep any more. Is everything all right?"

"Yes," he said. "I stole their bow." He held it up proudly for her to see. "They only had the one." Sitting down, he took inventory of the feather-topped shafts. "Only fourteen arrows. I wish there were more."

"You said there are seven men. You can't mean to fight all of them?"

"They're bandits, not warriors. Without their bow, they can't kill at a distance, and they won't want to get too close because of the pox."

"But they'll come. When they find the bow gone..."

"Yes, they'll come." In truth, Eskkar didn't care one way or another. The feel of the sword in his hand this afternoon had given him confidence. For the first time in his life, he felt like a warrior, not like a runaway boy. And now the bow only strengthened that feeling.

He yawned. "Can you stay awake a little longer?" he asked, a little embarrassed. A warrior was supposed to be able to stay awake and fight for days without sleep. "I could use some sleep."

"Rest, then. I'll keep watch, and wake you if I hear anything."

Eskkar lay down a few paces away, the sword by his side, glad that she was there and grateful she would keep watch. He fell sound asleep in moments.

She woke him well after dawn's first light. Startled, he got to his feet, slapping the dirt from his tunic and looking anxiously toward the bandits' camp.

"You should have woken me at dawn." He usually stirred a few moments before sunrise.

"You needed to sleep, Eskkar," she said. "I didn't think they'd come rushing up here, not after a night of eating and drinking."

She was right, of course. The bandits might not even be awake yet.

Regardless, he'd wanted to get an early start. Eskkar picked up his sword and moved away from the farmhouse, checking the landscape and looking toward Kovar's camp. Nothing stirred, so perhaps he had time. First he strung the bow. The bowstring appeared frayed.

Checking the quiver, he found another, newer one stored between the layers of skin that made up the mouth of the case. He held it up to the light and examined every part of its length. This one looked sound, certainly stronger than the old one, so he restrung the weapon.

Carrying the bow and quiver, Eskkar crossed over to the planks that had been used as a work table. Propped on its side, it would make a decent target. Examining the arrows, he selected the worst three shafts and used them for practice. He shot twelve arrows into the board, noting where they struck, and getting the feel of the weapon.

He wished he could take some longer shots, but he didn't have time for that, and didn't want to risk losing a shaft. Eskkar unstrung the bow. He remembered his father's instructions to keep any bow unstrung as long as possible, to save the precious bowstring from unnecessary strain.

Eskkar left the weapon leaning against the farmhouse wall, then placed the older of the swords there as well. The other blade he shoved through his belt, along with his knife. Then he ducked back inside the house, emerging in a moment with the flimsy ladder the inhabitants had used to get up to the roof. It would work just as well from outside, he decided.

When he returned to Iltani, she'd gotten to her feet. She seemed a little unsteady as she moved about, but at least she could walk. Putting his arm around her waist, he led her back toward the house. She hesitated as they drew close, no doubt thinking about her family inside.

"If they come, Iltani, we'll be safer up on the roof. From there, they won't be able to rush us." He didn't like the idea of being so close to the pox, but neither would Kovar's men.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. From up there, we can see them coming."

The roof line wasn't high – Eskkar could reach up and touch the top with his fingers. Still it provided a vantage point, and would take some effort to climb without the ladder. He didn't tell her what concerned him. If they were trapped up there, Kovar's men could set fire to the roof, and Eskkar and Iltani would be burned alive.

They went to the well, and Eskkar drew up a full bucket. He drank his fill, forcing himself to swallow as much as he could hold, and ordered Iltani to do the same.

Then he watered the goats once again, more to stop their bleating than because he cared about their thirst. Afterward, he refilled the bucket, and carried it back to the house, leaving it in the shade beside the wall. If they had to spend the day up there, at least they wouldn't be choking with thirst.

"Can you climb the ladder," he asked, "or will..."

"I can climb," she said, a determined edge in her voice. "But what will we do up there, in the sun, with no food?"

"We won't be up there long," he said, hoping he spoke the truth.

A distant shout made him look toward the camp. Three men walked toward the farm. Eskkar picked up the bow and fastened the quiver of arrows to his belt, then jogged toward them. He slowed as he drew close to the arrow Kovar had fired into the earth the day before. Only then did Eskkar string the bow, taking his time and making sure the bowstring fit properly inside the notches.

"You found a bow?" Surprise sounded in Kovar's voice.

The fool hadn't even noticed its loss. "Yes, right outside your tent, Kovar."

Kovar's face turned red with rage. "You barbarian filth . . . you piece of horse shit, you bring that here right now."

"Why don't you come and get it?" Eskkar heard the change in his voice and felt the battle rage coming over him. When he spoke, the first time he'd raised his voice in months, the youth disappeared forever, replaced by a young warrior.

Kovar and his men exchanged looks. Eskkar smiled, reached down, and pulled the arrow from the earth. Taking his time, he fitted it to the bow and assumed the archer's stance, feet apart, left leg half-pointed at his enemy.

"What are you going to do, barbarian? Kill all of us?"

"If I have to," Eskkar said, his voice cold with certainty. He saw Kovar's rage struggling against his habitual caution.

"The girl told me her father sent for help from the nearest village," Eskkar went on, telling the lie smoothly. "They'll be here today or tomorrow, so if I were you, I'd get moving."

"You fool, they'll turn on you. They hate barbarians even . . ."

"Even more than you do, Kovar? I'll take my chances with them."

Eskkar drew the bow, the motion making all three men move apart, ready to duck. He faked releasing the shaft, and watched Kovar fling himself to one side. Before they could react, Eskkar fired the shaft at Kovar's older brother, the one with the biggest bulk and slowest wits. Surprised at being targeted, the bandit twisted aside, but not before the shaft buried itself in his arm.

A good shot, Eskkar decided, listening to the man's howl of pain. Better a wounded man than a dead one, for now at least. "I'll kill the next one that calls me a barbarian. Now get moving before I come down there and start killing the horses."

The wounded man, already moving backward, cursed steadily as he clutched his arm, blood showing between his fingers. The arrow's bone tip had penetrated through the flesh above the elbow.

"Eskkar . . . wait." Kovar, moving backwards as well, had to raise his voice. "Bring us out the goats. Give us the animals, and we'll leave you alone."

"You can have all the goats you want," Eskkar said. "Just come and get them. If the pox doesn't get you, I will." He watched while the three men retreated. When Eskkar felt certain they were headed back to their camp, he turned and raced back to the farm, and found himself breathing hard when he reached the house. "Time to climb onto the roof, Iltani."

He helped her up the wall, holding the ladder steady and ordering her to stay close to the corner where she could watch both doors. Eskkar handed up the full bucket to Iltani, wishing these pitiful dirt-eaters had possessed a second one. The swords went next. Finally he went back to get the blanket that had covered the girl. It would shield her from the sun.

After one last look around, to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything, Eskkar started climbing. The roof felt sturdier than he expected when he stepped off the ladder, until he remembered that the whole family would have slept up here at night to avoid the heat. Satisfied, he pulled the ladder up behind him.

"Stay down," he told the girl. "If Kovar's knows we're on the roof, he might bring fire when he comes."

Peering over the edge, Eskkar studied the landscape around the farm. Not much cover to shield Kovar's approach, and with Iltani's help, they should be able to see anyone trying to sneak up on them. If the bandits waited until night, though, the roof would be a trap. He'd have to take Iltani and try to slip away in the darkness. Hopefully Kovar wouldn't want to linger a whole day.

From the roof's vantage, Eskkar could see all the way to the campsite. The bandits were milling around, no doubt arguing with each other. Not that it mattered. In the end, they'd do whatever Kovar decided.

"Can you count, Iltani? We need to keep track of each bandit." He told her how many men and women Kovar had, what they might do. "What's most important is to not let anyone get close enough to set fire to the roof."

"I can count to ten," she said, holding up both hands.

"That's enough. There are only seven men, maybe six now that one is wounded." Thinking about the arrow shot gave him confidence. He'd killed a man the night of his escape from the clan, but that had been from behind, as the man had struggled with Eskkar's brother, and the warrior probably never knew what killed him.

Now Eskkar had faced three enemies and wounded one of them. A feeling of power and strength flowed through him. His father had spoken of this feeling, the reason their people fought so well. They showed no fear, no matter what odds they faced, only confidence. Eskkar might not survive, but these bandits would soon learn they faced a true warrior. He swore the oath to his dead father.

"I'm hungry, Eskkar," Iltani said.

Eskkar frowned at her words. He should have thought of that himself. He took a good look at the girl. Iltani looked much better than she had yesterday. If she felt hungry again, so soon after eating a good meal last night, then she must be getting better. Sick people, he knew, rarely wanted to eat.

"Then we'll eat," he said. "You keep an eye on the bandits."

Taking the bow with him, he lowered the ladder and descended. Plenty of firewood remained, and he moved another armful to an empty space about twenty paces from the house. He collected the sticks he'd use as a spit last night, and dug them into the ground. This time the fire caught in moments, and as soon as he had it burning briskly, he went chicken hunting.

When the bird was cooked, Eskkar killed the fire, then carried the whole chicken to the roof, trying not to think about what lay just below them, or what he'd do if they fell through. Iltani waved the chicken about while it cooled.

"What do you think they will do?"

Eskkar looked toward the camp. They'd had plenty of time to break camp, but they hadn't, so they didn't plan to move on. "Kovar must think he can get the goats. Right now, five goats are worth at least one or two of his men getting killed or wounded, at least to his way of thinking."

"So he'll come." Iltani touched the chicken, and decided it had cooled enough to eat. She sat on the edge of the roof and began tearing the bird apart.

Eskkar sat beside her, accepting a chicken leg. She matched him mouthful for mouthful, neither of them saying anything until the bird had been reduced to bones and gristle. They tossed the remains onto the ground below.

He made her drink plenty of water, then went down to refill the bucket.

"Eskkar! They're coming."

Grunting, he carried the full bucket back to the roof, pulled up the ladder, then snatched up the bow and strung it. Selecting one of the straightest arrows, he fitted it to the string. Then he looked out toward the camp. The bandits were coming on foot, all of them, including the women. Obviously Kovar would rather risk any of his band rather than one of the horses. As Eskkar watched, the bandits separated into three groups. Thankfully, Eskkar didn't see anyone carrying fire. At least he wouldn't have to worry about that danger – yet.

One of Kovar's brothers, the one Eskkar shot earlier, drove the five women straight toward the corral. The other men split into two groups of three, and moved toward each side of the farmhouse. Every man carried a crude shield of some sort, sticks and branches woven together and covered with a blanket, anything that might stop an arrow. They were going to rush the house while the women drove off the goats. Unless he cut them down.

"I'm not giving them the goats," he said. The stupid animals had pleaded with him for water. He'd fed them, and now he refused to turn them over to scum like Kovar.

Iltani stood beside him. She'd picked up the other sword, though she had to use both hands to hold it. "The women are afraid, Eskkar."

He glanced left and right. They were all going to come into range at about the same time. The men would burst into a run to reach the house, or at least try to keep Eskkar busy, and the women would rush toward the goat pen. Everything was going to happen at once, he realized, feeling his heart beginning to race in his chest.

"They're not going to get the goats," he repeated. Eskkar drew the arrow to his ear, and aimed it toward Kovar and his two men. They saw the motion and moved further apart.

Eskkar turned suddenly, and fired the arrow toward the women, giving it just enough arc to reach them. He had another arrow to the string and launched before the first one reached its target. The women shrieked as the arrow flew by, narrowly missing the one he'd targeted. The next shaft also missed, but this woman threw herself down to avoid it.

That was enough for the women. They turned and fled, and even Kovar's brother, shouting and waving his sword, couldn't get them moving toward the corral. Even so, the fool tried, grabbing the first one that tried to flee, turning her round and shoving her forward. He stood still just long enough for the third arrow to strike him full in the belly.

A fourth arrow flew over the wounded bandit. "Damn the gods," Eskkar swore, angry at wasting a shot. Kovar's brother, now on his knees, tried to pluck the arrow from his body.

Eskkar had already turned, aiming for Kovar. Break him, he decided, and the rest would run. "Watch the others," he shouted. He shot five arrows at Kovar and his men before a shaft found its mark, dropping one man, and slowing their approach.

"They're here," Iltani cried.

The other three were only steps away from the house, running hard, shields raised up. Taking a moment, Eskkar deliberately targeted the last of the three, aiming low and sending the arrow into his stomach. A cry of pain accompanied the strike. This close, they didn't have much time to dodge.

The other two reached the side of the house, but they had no place to go, except inside. One man ducked in, but the other, Uraq, hesitated, remembering what lay inside. Eskkar leaned over and Uraq thrust upwards with his sword, trying to cut Eskkar's legs out from under him. The low roof didn't give Eskkar much protection, and he took a small step back. The lattice work of sticks and branches sagged under his weight, and Eskkar prayed that it wouldn't collapse.

The instant the sword withdrew, Eskkar stepped forward and shot a shaft at Uraq's exposed chest. The man tried to twist aside, but the arrow smacked into his shoulder. Uraq screamed like a butchered pig. At such close range, the arrow had penetrated deep into the muscle.

The house shook as Kovar and his brother, Nutesh, slammed into the opposite wall. A shout of terror came from inside the house, and the bandit who'd taken shelter suddenly burst out, running for his life. One sight of the pox-ridden bodies had taken all the fight out of him. With two long strides across the roof, Eskkar rushed to meet the bandit leader's threat.

Screaming curses, Kovar lunged upward with his sword, sweeping the roof's edge clear. Eskkar snapped a shot at Kovar's arm, but the shaft missed. Eskkar whipped another arrow to the string, aware that only one more shaft remained in the quiver. Now there was silence. Eskkar didn't want to approach too close to the roof's edge, and Kovar and his brother hugged the wall, not wanting to give him an easy shot.

"What's the matter, barbarian? Run out of arrows?"

"I've still got one for you, Kovar." Eskkar kept his voice confident as he spoke the lie, but he felt the fear growing inside him. They could move around the house, throw something at him. If they dared to enter the dwelling, they could thrust upward at his feet. They had him on the defensive, and he faced the two strongest fighters in the band. Only a well-placed shaft would bring either of these men down.

He made up his mind. Moving away from Kovar's side of the house, he took a quick glance down at Uraq. The man was crawling away on his hands and knees, the arrow still protruding from his shoulder and leaving a trail of blood drops in the dirt behind him. Eskkar heard Kovar and Nutesh edging along the wall, and knew the time had come.

Hoping to confuse the two men just long enough, Eskkar picked up the ladder and tossed it over the side where he guessed Kovar would be. Then, clutching the bow and two arrows tight with his left hand, he darted back to the side where Uraq had been. Using his right hand to grasp the roof's edge, Eskkar swung down, landing a little off balance. He went to one knee for a moment, but was rising up when Kovar rushed around the corner with a roar and charged, sword held high, his makeshift shield before him.

Eskkar loosed the arrow, but Kovar drove his shield down, protecting his lower body, and the shaft struck the shield with a thud. But the motion upset Kovar's charge, and he stumbled, giving Eskkar time to leap aside and notch the last shaft.

Nutesh followed right behind his brother, sword raised high for a killing stroke. Iltani screamed, Eskkar fired, and threw himself to the ground, dropping the now useless bow and rolling once before regaining his feet, the sword coming free from his belt in the same movement.

Nutesh had gotten his shield down in time, but the shaft found a hole in the branches and the arrow passed through and into Nutesh's side. The man stumbled and fell, landing on the arrow and giving a great gasp of pain.

Eskkar moved away from both of them, watching Kovar. The bandit chief moved toward his brother, who stayed on his knees, cursing at Eskkar. Kovar's chest rose and fell, and his eyes darted around, looking for his men. He bellowed with rage, as he realized he'd have to kill Eskkar himself.

"Getting old, Kovar?" Eskkar, now confidant, taunted him. He moved toward the bandit, the sword weaving lightly in his hand. "Too much time taking ease with your women."

"You're dead, barbarian. Dead right here in the dirt." Kovar rushed forward with a mighty cut at Eskkar's head, but he slipped aside. Moving back toward Nutesh, Eskkar had time for one quick swing, striking the kneeling man a glancing blow on the shoulder, and eliciting another scream. Then Kovar was upon him. The swords clashed once, twice, and Eskkar retreated, moving sideways, circling. He saw Kovar still breathing hard. The bandit might be stronger, but his lungs gulped for air.

Eskkar attacked, not wanting to give Kovar time to recover. He struck twice, surprised at the shock that traveled up his arm from the contact. Kovar parried both cuts, and counter-thrust at Eskkar's belly. Twisting his body, Eskkar stepped back, then charged again, the sword swinging high overhead. But at the last moment, Eskkar slipped the blade to the side, ducking low under Kovar's counter and swinging at his right leg. The bandit tried to parry, but too late, and Eskkar's sword cut into Kovar's thigh just above the knee.

Kovar bellowed like a stuck boar, and took another savage cut at Eskkar's head. But Eskkar, already down on one knee, rolled away and regained his feet in a smooth motion the injured man couldn't match. Kovar, too, had gone down to his knees, either off balance or from the wound in his leg. He had to use one hand to get back to his feet.

Eskkar saw his chance and moved in for the kill.

Kovar flung a handful of dirt into Eskkar's face.

His eyes blinded for a moment, Eskkar ducked back and shook his head. By the time he could see again, Kovar had risen to his feet and closed the distance, his sword coming down at Eskkar's head with all the strength the bandit leader could muster. Eskkar flung up his sword, the blades clashed, and the shock rose up Eskkar's arm. Then Kovar's blade flashed past Eskkar's left shoulder. Though Eskkar's sword had deflected the stroke just enough to make the bandit miss, Eskkar's weapon had shattered a hand's breadth above the hilt. He staggered back.

Kovar, shouting in triumph, raised his sword and rushed toward his younger foe.

Eskkar took a half-step back, then threw himself forward, underneath the descending blow that would have cut him in half, and plunged the jagged remains of his sword into Kovar's side.

The bandit's momentum took them both to the ground, Kovar on top and cursing, while Eskkar struggled to lift the man's heavy weight off his chest and get free. He let go of the broken weapon, and used both hands to push Kovar away, then rolled to the side. Kovar's clumsy thrust just missed, and then Eskkar was on his feet, drawing his knife and staying just out of Kovar's reach.

"Behind you!" The shout came from the roof.

Eskkar whirled around to see Nutesh moving toward him, one hand clutching the arrow still in his stomach, and the other holding his sword. Bleeding badly, he still had plenty of fight in him.

"Eskkar!" Iltani had reversed the sword in her hand and tossed the weapon toward him. Eskkar flipped the knife into his left hand, caught the descending sword cleanly by the hilt, moved toward Nutesh, feinted a stroke at his belly to make the man commit himself, then Eskkar killed him with one savage blow to the neck. Hot blood gushed from the wound, some splattering on Eskkar's face and arm.

Kovar, still alive in spite of his wounds, managed to get back on his feet. He shouted out in rage, screaming for his men, but none of his followers remained. Cursing, he jerked Eskkar's broken sword from his body with an oath, and flung it down. Then he staggered away, weaving and clutching his side, stumbling back to his camp.

Eskkar walked over to Nutesh, and ripped the arrow from his dead body. The other man, the one he'd shot from the roof, yielded another. Eskkar checked to see that the shafts appeared sound and the bone tips still attached, then picked up the bow and nocked an arrow to the string, ignoring the blood that dripped off the shaft.

He jogged after Kovar, taking only moments to close up with the bandit. Badly wounded, the man would probably die from loss of blood soon enough. Eskkar didn't care. Kovar, looking back over his shoulder as Eskkar approached, tripped and fell. When he tried to get up this time, he couldn't. On his knees, Kovar's sword fell from his hand.

Eskkar slowed to a walk, then stopped, drew the arrow back as far as it would go, then loosed it. The shaft struck hard in Kovar's chest. He fell backwards with a sharp gasp, still twitching, but finished. When Eskkar stood over him, the man could barely move.

Eskkar put the last arrow into Kovar's throat, then stood there and watched Kovar's death throes. When the body went limp, Eskkar tried to retrieve the arrows. The tip of the one in Kovar's chest broke off when he pulled it free, so he dropped it. However the shaft from the bandit's neck came out easily, and would be enough to finish off Uraq.

But Uraq, despite his wound, had kept moving toward the camp. By the time Eskkar got there, Uraq had crawled onto a horse and galloped off, following the trail of the bandit who'd run from the house and also ridden off. The women took one look at Eskkar approaching and started screaming. One of Kovar's women caught another horse and rode after Uraq, but the rest scattered on foot, their children following, running back into the desert.

Eskkar stood there, looking around the camp. Tents, whatever loot the bandits had accumulated, it all belonged to him now. The one remaining horse had bolted and run off, but the animal halted a hundred paces away, eyeing Eskkar suspiciously.

He whistled at the beast, the same sound he used when feeding and grooming them. Gradually the horse's ears stopped flicking back and forth, though its wide eyes still watched him. At least it didn't move farther away from the campsite.

The smell of blood would spook the nervous animal, so Eskkar bent down and scrubbed the blood off both the bow and his only arrow with a patch of grass. He rubbed his hands in the dirt, to cover the blood scent. Going to the small bag of grain the bandits used for feed, Eskkar scooped out a handful and walked toward the uneasy beast, extending his palm so the horse could catch the scent. It took a few moments, but the horse let him approach, extending its neck to take the grain.

Taking his time, Eskkar let the animal finish the treat before he gathered in the dangling halter rope. Then he gave the surprised horse another handful as a reward before mounting his newest possession and riding back toward the farm.

Holding onto the halter, Eskkar realized his hands were shaking, the reaction to the encounter. He'd heard whispers of such things around the clan's campfires, how even brave and victorious warriors sometimes trembled after a hard fight.

Tomorrow he would accompany Iltani to her kin, who would surely take her in. A young girl needed family to protect her, and see that she found a good husband. But there would be no place for Eskkar. No dirt-eaters struggling to survive on a farm needed or wanted a cast-out barbarian. He would have to move on. At least he now possessed a horse of his own, and a copper sword.

Then Eskkar realized something else. His first battle had ended, and he'd survived. He'd become a warrior today. And no one, he swore, would ever beat or abuse him again.

The End

