Sam Barone - Eskkar & Bracca

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.