Rogue Warriors 2

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Eskkar and Bracca rode into the small village before the late afternoon sun touched the horizon. To Eskkar’s eyes, this handful of crumbling and sagging mud huts clustered about a rock-walled well didn’t even deserve to be called a village. In fact, the central well appeared to be the sturdiest structure within miles, and the only one not likely to fall down before morning.

He glanced around, always alert to the possibility of some villager taking offense at the sight of a barbarian from the steppes, even an outcast. He’d been the target of stones, sticks, dirt clods, and even dung before. Once a wide-eyed farmer shot an arrow at him, before turning and taking to his heels. At least Eskkar thought he’d been the target. The shaft flew so far overhead he couldn’t be sure.

Today, however, everything appeared peaceful enough. He spotted the crude carving, a raised hand holding a mug, on the wall of the largest hut. That marked it as a tavern. Or just as likely, Eskkar knew, the home of some lazy farmer who happened to have a skin of ale that he’d brewed himself, using only the gods knew what ingredients.

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