Sam Barone: Eskkar & Bracca

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.