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Dawn of Empire
A Novel
By Sam Barone HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.
Copyright © 2006 Sam Barone
All right reserved. ISBN: 0060892447
Chapter One
The eastern bank of the river Tigris, two hundred miles north of the great sea . . .
Awake, Eskkar, awake now! Nicar sent for you. You must come at once!" Eskkar realized the words had been spoken several times, accompanied by vigorous shaking. Now they ceased being mere sounds and became instead a message, one that slowly found its way through the haze that still clutched at his mind and body from last night's drinking.
"Enough," Eskkar grunted, swinging an arm clumsily at the messenger. But the nimble youth dodged easily. Eskkar pushed himself up to a sitting position on his hard pallet, while the room revolved around him and the blood pounded in his head from the sudden motion. His throat felt dry, like the gritty dirt floor beneath his naked feet, and his skull seemed ready to split apart at any moment as he paid the price for last night's vinegary wine.
"Water," he growled. After a few moments, the messenger placed a wooden cup in Eskkar's shaking hands. He swallowed a few mouthfuls, though much of the liquid dribbled down his chin onto his bare chest. His eyes refused to focus, and the bright sunlight that streamed through the open doorway into the shadowy soldiers' quarters added to his misery.
Assoon as Eskkar lowered the cup, the boy started again. "Hurry, Esk-kar. Nicar awaits you now! You must come at once." What in the name of the gods could Nicar want from him? But Nicar's name and position as the ruler of the village of Orak started him moving, stumbling first to the rank chamber pot inside the soldiers' common room, then back to his pallet to don his tunic.
Leaving the barracks, his eyes half-shut against the sun, Esk-kar managed to find his way to the well. He leaned against the rough stones for a moment, then upended the bucket to splash water on his face before drinking.
Somewhat refreshed, Esk-kar looked up, surprised to see the sun so high. Demons below, he must have drunk a whole skinful of that bitter date wine. He cursed himself for being a fool.
When Esk-kar turned away he saw a handful of guards, men who should have been busy at their daily tasks, standing uneasily near him. "Where is Ariamus?" he asked no one in particular, his voice sounding hoarse in his ears. Ariamus, captain of the guard, maintained the few laws of Orak and defended the village from bandits and marauders.
"Ariamus is gone," a gray-bearded veteran answered, spitting in the dirt to show his disgust. "He's run off, taken a dozen men with him, as well as extra horses and arms. The talk in the market says that barbarians are heading south, coming toward Orak."
Esk-kar let the words penetrate as he studied their faces. He saw fear and uncertainty, mixed in with the shock of losing their master. No wonder they looked toward him. If Ariamus had run off, then Esk-kar would be in charge, at least until a new captain could be chosen. That would explain the summons from Nicar.
The grinning messenger plucked at Esk-kar's tunic. He refused to hurry, taking his time to draw another bucket from the well. He washed his hands and face before returning to the barracks to lace on his patched and worn sandals. Only then did he follow the boy through the winding streets to the imposing mud-brick and stone house of Nicar, Orak's leading merchant and foremost among the Five ruling Families that dictated the daily comings and goings of the village.
The youth pulled Esk-kar past the gatekeeper and into the house, then guided him up the narrow steps to the upper rooms. The house seemed quiet, with none of the usual visitors waiting their turn to see the busy merchant.
Nicar stood on the tiny balcony that looked out over the village. Quite a bit shorter than Esk-kar, the gray-haired merchant carried the extra weight around his middle that marked him as a man of wealth.
Esk-kar grunted something he hoped sounded like a greeting and stood still as the most important and richest man in the village looked him over. Esk-kar realized Nicar was studying him with the same care used when selecting the best slave from a bad lot.
Nearly three years ago, Esk-kar had limped into Orak, with nothing but a sword on his back and an infected leg wound. Since then he'd seen Nicar many times, but Orak's most important person had never paid any particular attention to the tall, dark-haired subcommander who rarely spoke and never smiled.
When Nicar finished his scrutiny, he turned away and looked out over the village. Suddenly Esk-kar felt uncomfortable in his shabby tunic and worn sandals.
"Well, Nicar, what do you want?" The words came out harsher than intended.
"I'm not sure what I want, Esk-kar," the merchant answered. "You know Ariamus is gone?"
Esk-kar nodded.
"You may not know that the barbarians have recently crossed the Tigris, far to the north. The killing and burning have already begun there."
It took a moment before Nicar's words struggled through the vapors clouding Esk-kar's mind. Finally he understood their meaning. So rumor spoke the truth for once. He leaned heavily against the balcony wall, aware of his aching head. His belly cramped painfully, and for a moment he thought he would vomit. Esk-kar struggled to keep control of his thoughts and his stomach.
Nicar continued. "From the far north, through the foothills, then down the plain toward the river." He hesitated, to give Esk-kar time to comprehend his words. "They're moving steadily south. It's likely they'll turn in this direction, though it will be months before they arrive."
Nicar spoke calmly, but Esk-kar heard a faint hint of fear and resignation in his voice.
Esk-kar ran his fingers through his unruly hair, then fingered the thin beard that outlined his chin. "Do you know which clan?" Even after all these years, the word barbarian grated on his ears.
Continues...
Excerpted from Dawn of Empire by Sam Barone Copyright © 2006 by Sam Barone. Excerpted by permission.
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