Sam Barone: Rogue Warriors 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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