Sam Barone: Rogue Warriors 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’ve faced worse odds before.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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