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.
Eskkar rose, aimed the first shaft toward the bandit leader and his guards, about sixty paces away. A long shot, Eskkar knew, and he had not used a bow in many months. But at least here he could brace himself, unlike trying to work the powerful weapon from the back of a galloping horse. All the same, he was unfamiliar with the peculiarities of this bow, and he had to hope for the best. Drawing the shaft fully to his ear, he took a deep breath, then let fly with more anticipation than expectation.
The arrow flew high over the leader’s sentry, but stuck a sleeping bandit just beyond. The cry of pain told Eskkar that the strike was not a killing blow, but that no longer mattered. Working the bow as fast as he could, he loosed the next three shafts at the sleeping warriors almost directly below. They reacted faster than the bandits, scrambling to their feet, awakened by the twang of the bowstring and the smack of the arrow into flesh. Yet their first reaction made them glance toward the sleeping dirt eaters, not to the hill above them.
Having done what he could to the warriors, Eskkar ignored them. With four shafts expended, Eskkar took two long strides, positioning himself on the other side of the boulder and out of direct sight of the warriors. He launched five more shafts into the bandit camp, aiming for any group of men.
The last three, launched with less force, went into the horse herd, wounding and panicking the animals. The sounds of frightened horses now added to the growing confusion, even as it sent the spooked horses surging against the strands of rope that served as a corral.
Before a man could count to twenty, Eskkar had launched twelve arrows into the bandit camp. As soon as the last shaft left the bowstring, he dropped the weapon and flung himself down the hill, risking a nasty fall. But he knew safety now lay in mixing in with the disorganized bandits. He stumbled at the base of the hill, going down on one knee. But he drew his sword and kept moving.
The camp, jolted from fast asleep to wide awake, responded the way any group of sleeping men would. They bolted upright, then fumbled for their weapons, everyone shouting at once, and all the while trying to comprehend what was happening.