Sam Barone: Dawn of Empire

Esk kar drank some water, then turned back toward the balcony. Despite the grim news, the cool drink made him feel better. He remembered his manners. “Thank you, Nicar. But I ask you again. Do you want me to chase after Ariamus?”

“No, I don’t want him back. I was fool enough to trust him to defend Orak. Now I’d kill him if I could. What I want is to make the village ready for defense. We must be ready to fight off the barbarians.”

The thought of the soft merchant fighting the hard — bitten Ariamus almost made Esk kar smile. He started to speak, then hesitated, trying to think as he rubbed his hand over the rough surface of the balcony wall.

Nicar hadn’t summoned Esk kar to his home for casual conversation. No, Nicar wanted to know what could be done for Orak. More to the point, what Esk kar could do for Orak.

The thirty — odd fighting men who remained would likely follow Esk kar, at least for a while, either out of loyalty or necessity. Most had women and children in the village or had grown too old to go looting across the countryside.

Esk kar thought of his thirty — one seasons. He’d been fighting since he turned fourteen, when he’d killed his first man with a knife thrust in the back. His father, a leader of twenty, had somehow offended Maskim — Xul, the ruler of the Alur Meriki, and the punishment had been death for the whole family. Esk kar had seen his mother and younger brother die, and his sister carried off. But the man who killed his brother would never kill again. He never learned what sent Maskim — Xul’s enraged guards to his father’s tent. Esk kar managed to slip away in the darkness, never to return to the campfires of his kindred.

He would have to leave Orak. He couldn’t chance being captured. His former clansmen would kill him merely for leaving the clan. And if they remembered Esk kar’s family, his fate would be even worse.

Esk kar brought his thoughts back to the present and realized that Nicar had continued to study him.

“We’ll have to run, Nicar. Even with Ariamus and his men still here, the village would fall. Thirty, even a hundred soldiers will make no difference. If the clans are truly in migration, there will be many hundreds of warriors, maybe even a thousand.”

Esk kar shook his head at the idea. A thousand barbarians, an incredible number of fighting men, mounted and well armed, could sweep any force of mere villagers aside without pausing.

Nicar said nothing, drumming his fingers on the same stones that Eskkar still gripped. “No. We must stay. Stay and fight. Orak must be held.

If we run, there will be nothing left when we return, and we’ll have to rebuild all over again.”

He heard determination in Nicar’s words. They turned toward each other at the same moment, standing eye to eye.

“This village is mine, Esk kar. When I arrived here, Orak was hardly more than a collection of mud huts. I built it myself, along with the other Families. Twenty — seven years I’ve been here, and all of us have prospered nearly every day. Everything I have is here. Never have so many men lived before in one place, in safety, with food and drink and tools to share. Look around you, Esk kar. Do you want to return to the ways of your fathers, living in tents, fighting each day for food, killing others to take what is theirs? Or do you want to dig your food out of the earth, at the mercy of any band of murderers?”

Esk kar, like everyone else, knew what Nicar had accomplished. He also knew that the village had existed here for uncounted years before Nicar arrived. Nor had Nicar done it alone. Other powerful traders and farmers had worked closely with him to rule Orak, and together their fortunes and power had grown, until they reserved the title of “Noble” for themselves and their sons. For years, the Five Families had settled disputes and recon-ciled customs, as their Houses and influence increased.

“Nicar, I know what Orak means to you. But even if we managed to drive off a small band, they’d only return with more warriors. If the main force of the Alur Meriki comes against us…”

“No, Esk kar. I will not hear it.” Nicar’s hand smacked down on the balcony stones. “Ten years have passed since they last came. That time there was no warning. I remember how men fought to get into the boats, to get across the river. Many were trapped in the village. They became slaves or died. Those who got to the other bank, we ran until our hearts were ready to burst. When we returned, nothing remained. The huts had all been destroyed, the crops burned, the animals slaughtered and dumped in the wells. It took two years to rebuild then. Two wasted years. Do you know how long it would take us to rebuild now?”

Esk kar shook his head. Two years seemed like plenty of time to replace mud huts and plant a few more crops.

“Orak is more than twice as big as it was then. Now I think it would take five years to rebuild, assuming our trade doesn’t go to another village up or down the river. Orak might never grow so great again. I cannot waste five years, Esk kar. I will not.”

Esk kar had lived among villagers long enough to understand their fears, but to complain about raiders merely wasted breath. “Nicar, bandits from the north and east have been raiding this land for generations. Nothing can be done about it. At least this time you’ll have plenty of time to prepare your… departure.”

Nicar looked out over the village again. “You’re like all the others. They all say nothing can be done. You surprise me, Esk kar. You’re supposed to be a fighting man, and yet you’re afraid to fight.”

“Watch your words, Nicar. I have fought the Alur Meriki before. But I’m not a fool. Much as I’d enjoy killing more of them, I won’t fight where there’s no hope of winning. If there were some way to hold them off, if something could be done… but they’re just too strong. You’d be better off taking your gold and leaving.”

“No. I will not run, and I will not give my hard — earned gold to the barbarians! Better to use it to try and defend Orak. I’m too old to start over again. This village is mine, and I will stay. That is, if you can defend Orak.”

“Nothing can stop the Alur Meriki.”

“Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps nothing can be done. But before we run away again, I want to know why we cannot defend ourselves against them.

I want to understand why Orak, with so many people, is so helpless. Tell me that, Esk kar.”

Nicar was right about the village. In all his travels, Esk kar had never seen a village as big. A day seldom went by without someone moving into Orak. A few even used a new word to describe it, calling it a city, the City, the biggest gathering of people ever built. A place with a real stockade made from rough — cut logs and two solid gates to deny entrance. But Eskkar knew that the palisade and gates served only to deter petty thieves or small bands of marauders, not a migration of the steppes.

Of all the raiders who plagued the land, the steppes barbarians aroused the most terror. Ruthless warriors and superb horsemen, no force could stand against them. No force ever had, at least not in Esk kar’s memory, or even in the legends of others.

“Nicar, where were the barbarians found? How far away are they?”

“Many miles across the steppes to the far north,” Nicar answered. “It will be midsummer before they reach this place. The great curve of the Tigris will force them far to the east before they can head south. But this time their path seems to point toward us. It may be more than a raiding party that comes to Orak next summer. Word of our prosperity has reached even them, so the traders tell me.”

“So we have nearly six months to prepare. Of course, raiding parties could be here sooner, Nicar, much sooner.”