Dawn of Empire by Sam Barone Read Free Book Online

village. That surplus filled Orak with people who didn’t need to farm to survive, merchants, traders, carpenters, shopkeepers, innkeepers, smiths, and dozens of other tradesmen. These skilled laborers provided any craft required to support the village, the river traffic, and the surrounding farms, taking payment in grain as well as the coins hammered out by the wealthy traders and nobles.
    Only its size made Orak different from any other place Esk kar had visited. The village had been large when he arrived, and since then it had nearly doubled. In his travels Esk kar had learned that the larger the village, the easier he would be accepted. A big village always needed men to defend it, so a skilled fi ghting man who knew horses could usually fi nd employment and a safe place to sleep at night, even if the villagers might laugh behind his back at his barbarian heritage. They seldom laughed to his face; the battle scars on his body intimidated most villagers. At least they didn’t drive him away in their fear, something that had occurred more than once in his wanderings.
    Those wanderings had taken him as far as the great sea to the south.
    Three years ago, Esk kar decided to return to the land of his youth. He’d thrown in with a trader’s caravan destined for Orak, one of half a dozen guards hired to safeguard the merchant’s goods. When twenty bandits attacked the caravan at night, the outnumbered guards, caught by surprise, had been overwhelmed. Wounded, Esk kar and a few servants had escaped, reaching Orak a week later. The servants he’d rescued had not only vouch-safed him, but they stood by him until he recovered. Deciding to stay for a few months, Esk kar joined the force that guarded the village as a common soldier, and never got around to leaving. Since then he managed to work his way up to third in command, riding most of the patrols and chasing after runaway slaves or petty thieves.
    Putting thoughts of the past aside, he decided to look at Orak as the Alur Meriki would. Taking a gulp from the water bag, Esk kar rode down the hill and headed toward the river.
    The breeze refreshed him, the air cool and invigorating. Esk kar often longed for the feel of the wind in his face. The feel of a horse on the open lands always called to him, sometimes making each day spent in the village’s confines seem a day of torment. You’ll always be a barbarian, even though your own people cast you out. For years he had drifted aimlessly across the lands, scorned by the villagers and farmers he encountered, even beaten and abused.
    Three years he had lived in Orak, longer than he had ever spent anywhere, and lately he’d thought about moving on, frustrated by Ariamus and his petty orders. Perhaps now was the time to forget Orak, move east and visit lands still new to him.
    No matter what Nicar wanted, trying to fight off the Alur Meriki would fail, and simply get him killed for his trouble. Esk kar owed the villagers nothing. To them, he was just another barbarian, just as capable of murdering them in their sleep. He’d seen the distrust and fear in their faces often enough.
    The idea of leaving tempted him, but only for a moment. A new place would be no better than Orak and probably a good deal worse. He’d have to start again from the bottom, a mere soldier, treated scarcely better than a callow recruit. No, he felt the same way as Nicar. Esk kar wouldn’t run away to start that life all over again. Not if he could find another option, especially one that didn’t end with him dead.
    The Alur Meriki had murdered his family, driven him from the clan, hounded him across the plains, and nearly killed him more than once. Eskkar hated the thought of running from them again. Assuming something could be done that didn’t leave him with his throat cut, he wanted the chance to strike an avenging blow against them for a change, to repay them for his father’s death.
    If he could accomplish it, Orak and Nicar would owe him much.