“Describe the stranger.”
“It was hard to see much beneath the cloak, but he was smaller than I am by a good three fingers.”
Annok-sur leaned forward. “A black beard covered his chin, and his nose had been broken, I could see that. A faded scar stretched down his right cheek. His complexion seemed dark, and he might have been born in Sumeria. I couldn’t place his accent, but he could have come from the south.”
It had to be Bracca, the only close friend Eskkar had ever had. He had never told anyone about the coins, and even if someone had gotten the story from Bracca himself, Tarrata’s name likely wouldn’t have come up.
“Bring him here. Give him back his weapons and bring him here.”
“Lord, are you sure? At least let me hold his weapons.”
“No, I can take care of myself if need be. Make sure that we are not disturbed. Find Trella, tell her everything, but ask her to wait downstairs until I summon her.”
“Do you know who he is?”
“Yes.”
“And you trust him?”
He shrugged again. “After a fashion.”
Annok-sur waited a moment, until she realized Eskkar didn’t intend to say any more. “Be careful, Eskkar.” She extended her hand and brushed his arm. “You take too many foolish chances.”
Her concern touched him. Over the years, Annok-sur had become like a sister to him. Her devotion to Trella was beyond question. “I’ll take care.”
After she departed, Eskkar returned to the window. The ground below now held only darkness. The moon hadn’t risen yet, so the sky displayed the vast spread of stars, like sparkling silver sand flung high across the heavens.
As the years passed, he spent more time studying the night sky, and often spoke with reputed wise men who claimed to know the secrets hidden from ordinary men’s eyes. Still, Eskkar guessed that they knew little more than the old shepherd whose wisdom first gave the stars meaning to a young and wandering barbarian outcast.
His thoughts returned to Bracca. Over the years, Eskkar had wondered often enough what had happened to the wily, smooth-talking Sumerian who lived as much by his wits as by his sword. The two of them had met by chance and nearly came to a death fight. Instead, they became companions.
For almost five years they fought and drank and whored together through good fortune and bad. Both had escaped death more times than Eskkar could call to mind. He remembered his disappointment when Bracca went south with the merchant Aram-Kitchu.
Eskkar pushed the old memories aside. Whatever evil tidings brought Bracca to the Compound in secret like this meant something truly important had occurred. Otherwise he could just have given his name to the guards at the gate, and been assured an entrance.
Eskkar went to the wall behind the table. The great sword hung there, not the original he carried defending Akkad against the barbarians, but a finer one that Trella had ordered made for him two years ago. Beside it hung another sword, a shorter blade much like those used by his soldiers. As finely cast as his long sword, its blade was both wider and a bit longer than the usual short sword the city’s guards and soldiers used. Eskkar carried the smaller one when he moved about Akkad. Its bronze edges were honed so sharp they would cut through bone.
Pulling the shorter blade from its scabbard, he tossed it on the table. A hanging pouch held sharpening stones, and Eskkar removed one and dropped it beside the sword. Bracca was, after all, Bracca. A devious, dangerous man, he was as liable to do anything for gold as anyone else.
Almost twenty years had passed since they parted, and that length of time can change a man, even make him forget old loyalties. Once they had been friends, each trusting the other in the face of death, but now?
Eskkar didn’t intend to take any chances. He stepped out of the room onto the landing, and gave the guard there a series of orders. The man raised his eyebrows at the unusual instructions, but nodded understanding, before he dashed down the stairs to do the King’s bidding. Then Eskkar summoned one of the servants, and bade her bring candles and refreshments.
Eskkar waited on the landing, gazing down into the house’s Great Room. The thick outer door, still open to take advantage of the evening breeze, led to the main courtyard. It didn’t take long before he heard voices approaching. Then Annok-sur, accompanied by two guards, escorted a man wearing a long cloak into the house. The garment’s hood hid the visitor’s face.
The stranger glanced around, and lifted his eyes upward toward the stairs. He appeared surprised to see the King there.
Looking down, Eskkar glimpsed the familiar scar. Despite the years, he recognized Bracca. “Come on up.”
The man glanced around the Great Room a second time, and started for the stairs. He ascended slowly, and just before he reached the landing, Eskkar turned and stepped inside. The servant was spreading the pitchers of wine, ale, and water on the table. A large platter of dates, nuts, figs, as well as the sweet cakes made of flour, dates, raisins, and butter rested in the center.
As ordered, she had lit four of their thickest candles, a huge extravagance, but one that almost banished the night. Eskkar wanted plenty of light while he studied the features of his visitor.
“Close the door,” Eskkar said to serving girl, as she scurried from the room after darting a curious glance at the hooded stranger. Eskkar moved behind the table and sat, the sword close to his right hand.
Bracca entered the workroom and glanced around, noticing the two doors. One led to Eskkar and Trella’s bedroom and the other to the Map Room.
“We’re alone up here, Bracca,” Eskkar said. “And I’ve ordered the guards to remain downstairs. So you can speak without worrying about anyone overhearing your words.”
Bracca took one last look around the room. Another table across the room, a handful of chairs, stools, and a bench. Two chests, covered with brightly colored blankets, completed the simple furnishings.
“Nothing very fancy. Not what I expected for the King of Akkad. Still, you’ve done very well for yourself, Eskkar.” He pushed the cloak back away from his face. “Better than I ever thought you could do.”
“It serves me well enough.” Eskkar saw more than a sprinkle of silver in the man’s once black-as-night hair, though Bracca was about the same age as Eskkar, both in their mid-forties. Eskkar’s hair still retained the dark brown color of his youth, except where his temples had started to gray. Old age, the curse of every man, approached. Already he could feel the first hint of it in his bones. “I was lucky a few times, Bracca.”
Bracca moved to the table and slipped into the chair opposite his host. “Nice sword.” He gestured toward the weapon. “Mind if I try it?”
“Only if you want your hand cut off,” Eskkar said pleasantly. “There’s wine and ale, food if you’re hungry.”
“A cup of ale would be good,” Bracca said. He selected the ale pitcher, filled his cup halfway, then paused to examine the cup. “Nice carving on these, but I doubt if you picked them out yourself. You never had an eye for such things.”
He raised the cup up in a gesture of thanks. “Well, to an old friend, and to King Eskkar of Akkad. You’ve done very well indeed.” He took a few swallows, then sighed. “Good brew. Don’t get anything near as good in the east.”
Eskkar watched his old friend’s movements. Shorter than most men, and quick as a cat in the old days, Bracca still appeared to carry plenty of hard muscle on his frame, though the loose fitting tunic concealed most of his strength. Even so, the man’s arms looked as strong as ever. Many a dead man had underestimated Bracca’s toughness and quickness with sword or knife.
“You look fit and as ready for a fight as ever.” Bracca had observed the movement of Eskkar’s eyes. “Though it seems strange not to see that long sword sticking up from your shoulder. We surprised a lot of enemies in our wanderings. We were both quicker than we looked. I never understood how you could draw that blade so fast.”