Sam Barone - Rogue Warriors 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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