Battle For Empire

10

The sun had risen over the hills without Thutmose-sin noticing. He sat on a small boulder, his hands hanging at his sides, staring at the ground between his feet. The stunned survivors of the attack surrounded him, but he neither saw nor heard them. For the first time in his life, Thutmose-sin was alone.

More than twenty years ago, Thutmose-sin had stood on the bank of the Tigris and swore to his ancestors that he would never allow the dirt eaters to grow strong enough to threaten the Alur Meriki and their way of life. Now that day had arrived, and he had failed in his duty. Nothing he could do, nothing he could say, would diminish the defeat that he and his people had endured.

His gods had abandoned him, giving their favor to an outcast. They had not even permitted Thutmose-sin an honorable death in battle, and with at least a shred of honor. Instead, he would have to endure the unendurable.

The moans of the injured penetrated the dark cloud of his thoughts. He lifted his head, and tried to comprehend the disaster that had overtaken his people. What he saw wrenched at his heart. Truly, he wished his body lay dead on the battleground.

Those wounded but still able to walk cursed their cuts and slashes as they waited their turn with the healers, who bandaged as many as they could. Those who had survived the battle uninjured or with only minor wounds sat scattered all around, heads down in shame and humiliation. Once again, Alur Meriki fighters had suffered defeat at the hands of the hated dirt eaters, led by a renegade from their own clan.

Thutmose-sin’s fighters had spearheaded the final assault and taken the worst of the casualties. He awaited the final tally of dead and wounded, but knew the numbers would tell a grim story. A healer already had tended to his Sarum’s wounds, binding up a deep cut on his left arm from an Akkadian spear, and a sword thrust that had grazed his ribs.

Neither injury had prevented him from fighting, until what must have been a stone from a sling struck his head, dropping him to his knees, and stunning him.

By the time he’d shaken the weakness from his head, the attack had already failed, and Thutmose-sin’s personal guards, the few who survived, dragged him to safety back across the stream and into the sheltering darkness.

He glanced up as a horse approached. Urgo slid down from his mount, taking his time. Thutmose-sin saw that the old warrior had taken an arrow in the leg, adding to his afflictions, when Urgo led the reserves into the conflict in a futile attempt to turn the tide. Bar’rack and Bekka, on foot, followed behind him. Bloody bandages decorated both men. The two chiefs had fought hard, but failed to break the Akkadian line.

“I’ve taken the count of the dead and wounded.” Urgo dropped to the earth beside his Sarum and closed his eyes for a moment of comfort.

“How many?” Not that Thutmose-sin cared any longer. This defeat ended his rule over the Clan. It would have been kinder for his guards to have left him behind, to be hacked to death by the dirt eaters along with the other wounded unable to crawl away.

“Three hundred and forty dead,” Urgo said. “At least that number wounded. Many of them will die, even if they reach the wagons. Altanar is dead, as is Narindar and Praxa. Suijan is badly wounded, and can fight no more today.”

Four clan leaders dead or unable to fight. More than one warrior in three dead or wounded. For the first time, Thutmose-sin heard their moans rising up all around him. From their youngest days, warriors were taught not to show pain, but some wounds were too severe for even the bravest to resist.

“We will have to attack again,” Bar’rack said, breaking the custom of not speaking until the eldest clan leader had finished. “At least this time we’ll ride into battle like warriors.”

The first criticism of his leadership, Thutmose-sin noted. Of course, if the night attack had succeeded, no one would have dared say anything. “How many dirt eaters did we kill?”

“It’s hard to say.” Urgo stretched out his leg and grimaced. “But not many. Perhaps a hundred, maybe more. Their archers cut down many of our men before they crossed the stream.”

Six dead or wounded warriors for every dirt eater. Thutmose-sin had attacked at night to prevent just such a disaster, and it had still befallen him. In his anger, Bar’rack spoke the truth. They would have done as well to attack at dawn on horseback. At least they would have died with more honor than crawling on their bellies.

“Who gave the order to retreat?” Thutmose-sin lifted his brow, expecting Urgo to answer.

“I did.” Bekka’s voice sounded firm and unapologetic. “I’ve lost nearly half my men. The dirt eaters weren’t going to break, and I saw no sense in the rest of us dying on their spears.”

“You should have kept fighting until you broke their ranks!” Bar’rack’s accusing voice revealed his anger.

Bekka eyed his detractor. On another day, Bar’rack’s criticism might have resulted in a challenge. But not today.

“No, Bekka was right to stop the slaughter.” Thutmose-sin spoke quickly to avoid the quarrel. “Eskkar spoke the truth. Even if we broke their ranks, it would have meant the end of the Alur Meriki.”

“When will we be ready to attack again?” Bar’rack raised his voice, his rage and humiliation clear to all. “We need the water more than ever. Soon we will lose control of the horses.”

The animals had scented water for two days now, but been held from reaching the stream. Many had not tasted more than a mouthful of water for longer than that. Another day, and no amount of rope would hold them from breaking free and rushing to the stream.

“An attack in daylight will mean the end of the Alur Meriki,” Urgo said. “The Akkadians will break our charge, and then our women and wagons will be at their mercy. Another day or two without water, and our surviving warriors will have no strength to resist them.”

“Are we to do nothing then?” His hands clenched into fists at his side, Bar’rack could barely control his anger and frustration. “Will we just sit here until thirst kills us in front of our women?”

“What do you suggest, Urgo?” Bekka sat down beside the old warrior.

Thutmose-sin understood the implication. Bekka, too, had signaled his lack of confidence in his Sarum.

“We need to find a way to deal with Eskkar.” Urgo kept his voice calm. “He was one of us once. He will not want to see the women and children die a slow death from lack of water.”

“No! We must attack now.” Bar’rack’s contorted face flushed red. “Either we achieve victory or we die in battle.”

“Silence!” Thutmose-sin climbed to his feet. “You must not fight among yourselves. Whatever you decide to do, you must be in agreement.”

“And what do you suggest?” Urgo spoke before Bar’rack could again vent his rage.

“I will make one last attempt to talk to Eskkar,” Thutmose-sin answered, “to challenge him to a fight to the death. If he refuses to fight, then I will ride against his forces and kill as many as I can before I die.”

His words stunned them into silence.

“No matter what happens, I am no longer your Sarum. Choose another as soon as I am gone. Urgo, you will take command of my clansmen.”

Thutmose-sin called for his horse. The last of his guards led the big gray over, and Thutmose-sin swung onto the animal’s back, ignoring the pain in his side. He settled his sword into place across his back, snatched a lance from one of the warriors, and rode off.

No one, not even his guards, followed him. Most didn’t even bother to lift their heads as he passed through their midst.

“We must have a new Sarum.” Bekka didn’t even wait until Thutmose-sin had disappeared over the hill.

“I will take command of the Alur Meriki.” Bar’rack voice rose up loud enough to be heard by those near them. “If this is to be our last fight, then we must die with honor.”

“No. I chose Urgo as our new Sarum.” Bekka’s words carried a force that caught both Urgo and Bar’rack by surprise. “Now is not the time for another slaughter of the Alur Meriki. Urgo will find another way.”

“Urgo is too old. .”

“Urgo is wise.” Bekka rose to his feet. “The Alur Meriki need wisdom now if we are to survive. Unlike you, I am not so eager to see my women and children dead in their wagons.” He turned to the old warrior. “Will you accept the name of Sarum?”

“Yes.” Urgo offered his hand to Bekka, who helped lift him upright. “And Bekka will be my war chief.”

Bar’rack’s eyes flashed from one to the other, his teeth bared in disgust. “So the coward and the old fool join together. No warrior will follow a fool into battle.”

“Summon your clan, Bekka,” Urgo ordered. “Tell every warrior the news. The sooner they know who leads them, the better.”

Bekka nodded. He understood what must happen. Bar’rack had to be prevented from ordering the warriors to follow him in another attack.

With an oath, Bar’rack spun on his heel and walked away. Bekka went in the opposite direction, both men seeking out his horse, and leaving Urgo behind. Once mounted, Bekka rode through the dispirited warriors, shouting the news and ordering his men to pass the word.

As the news spread, Bekka looked around for Bar’rack, and saw him pacing his horse away in silence. Bekka did not notice that Bar’rack rode not toward where his clansmen sat, but toward the top of the hill, following the path taken by Thutmose-sin.

“Captain! Wake up.” Hathor shook Eskkar’s shoulder a second time. “There’s a rider coming.”

Eskkar pulled himself to his feet. After a long day, a sleepless night, and a hard fought battle, he’d hoped to get a few moments rest. A glance at the gray clouds that stretched overhead and blocked the morning sun told him he’d slept only a few moments. A few drops of rain fell from the sky, scattering themselves on the ground.

“One rider?” Eskkar felt a sudden breeze against his face that pushed the rain aside. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Hathor wouldn’t have roused him for a single warrior.

“Just one, but I think it’s Thutmose-sin. At least it’s the same gray stallion.”

A look toward the enemy lines showed a single horsemen picking his way to the bottom of the hill. As Eskkar watched, the warrior brought the horse into an easy canter. By now Eskkar had reached the front ranks of his men. He stared at the approaching rider.

“That’s Thutmose-sin, all right. And carrying a lance.”

Mitrac stepped to the King’s side, his great bow already strung, waiting for the order to shoot. “He’s almost in range.”

Eskkar shook his head. He felt curious at the rider’s steady pace toward the Akkadians as did the rest of his men. All had climbed to their feet, shifting positions and shading their eyes against the rising sun, wondering if this portended another attack.

Thutmose-sin reached the place where the chiefs and Eskkar had met yesterday, but he kept riding toward them.

“He’s in long range now, Captain,” Mitrac said. “I can have twenty archers ready to shoot. One of us will bring him down.”

“No.” This time Eskkar used his command voice, the tone that brooked no argument. “Tell your men to hold their arrows.”

A hundred and fifty paces from the stream, Thutmose-sin halted his horse. He hefted the lance over his shoulder, then threw it in a high arc toward the Akkadians. The slim missile dug into the earth about seventy or eighty paces short of the stream. Then the stallion reared up on its hind legs, thrusting its front hooves at the Akkadians before crashing down to the earth.

“I am Thutmose-sin, Sarum of the Alur Meriki.” The powerful voice, full of authority, rolled across the stream and echoed off the cliff. “I come to challenge Eskkar of Akkad to fight me to the death. If he is not afraid, let him come forth and face me with a sword in his hand.”

“By the gods,” Hathor muttered. “Is he mad?”

“No, not mad.” Eskkar understood what must have happened. “He’s ready to die. By now his warriors have abandoned him. He led them to defeat, and he cannot rule them any longer.”

“Then let’s kill him now,” Hathor said. “Mitrac’s archers can finish him off. One volley will do it.”

Eskkar considered it. He had nothing to gain by accepting Thutmose-sin’s challenge. And the warrior was offering nothing for victory or defeat. The time for that had passed. Only a warrior’s honor remained.

“You’re not thinking of riding out there.” Alexar, too, had wakened from a brief sleep and joined the other commanders. “If he’s desperate enough to throw his life away, let Mitrac’s archers finish him.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” Movement on the hilltop caught Eskkar’s eye, and he saw warriors filling up the crest of the hill.

“Look!” Alexar pointed toward the hill. “They’re getting ready to attack again.”

But the distant warriors made no hostile moves. No bows or lances waved in the air, no shouts of bravado.

“They know he’s a dead man,’ Eskkar said, “but Thutmose-sin is carrying what’s left of their honor.”

By now warriors covered the hilltop, some on horseback, but most on foot. Not as many as yesterday, but probably every warrior who could walk or drag himself onto the back of a horse was up there, waiting to see how Thutmose-sin would be treated.

Eskkar made up his mind. He couldn’t let this challenge to his honor go unmet. Besides, if he ordered Thutmose-sin shot down like a wild dog, the barbarians would fight to the death, and many more Akkadians would die. Perhaps there might be another way.

“No one is to shoot at that man. No one, do you hear?” Eskkar made eye contact with each of commanders, to be sure everyone understood his words. “Hathor, send for my horse. I’m going to meet him.”

“Are you as mad as he?” Hathor demanded. “There’s no reason. .”

“Yes, there is, and maybe a good one. This is about more than honor. Do as I ask.”

Eskkar slung his sword over his shoulder. One of the soldiers had cleaned it after last night’s fighting, but Eskkar checked to make sure the blade drew easily. Another soldier ran up to him, leading A-tuku.

Eskkar checked the halter himself, making sure the rope was firmly in place, but without undue stress on the animal’s head. He patted the stallion on his neck, and let the horse nuzzle his face. His life might depend on his mount in a few moments. Satisfied, Eskkar swung himself onto the horse’s back and let it paw the ground as it adjusted to its master’s weight.

“Give me a lance,” Eskkar ordered. “And no matter what happens, do not kill Thutmose-sin. His warriors will fight to death if he dies in dishonor. Even if he kills me, his own warriors will finish him.”

Before Eskkar could get the horse in motion, the leader of his Hawk Clan bodyguards, Chandor, stepped forward and grabbed the halter. “My Lord, I cannot let you do this. Let me ride out and kill this man for you.”

Another of Eskkar’s personal guard, a grizzled veteran named Pekka, grasped the other side of the halter. “My Lord, Lady Trella ordered us to stop you from taking risks like this. She insisted. .”

Eskkar’s face hardened, and he stared at the man. The soldier blanched at the force of Eskkar’s determination.

“Please, My Lord, I meant no offense.” Pekka shrank back and released the halter.

Even here, hundreds of miles from Akkad and in the middle of a battle, his wife exerted her influence and his men showed their respect for her wishes. “Stand aside, both of you. This is not some foolish challenge. I need to do this, and only I know what must be done.”

He spoke the words with force, in a tone that few dared to resist or argue against. Before either of them could think about what to do, Eskkar touched his heels to his mount, and the powerful animal moved forward. Chandor’s hands slipped from the halter, as he lowered his head.

“Alexar! Mitrac! Hathor! Make sure everyone obeys my command.” Eskkar called the order over his shoulder. “No one is to leave the ranks.”

Without waiting for an acknowledgment, Eskkar paced his way down toward the stream, taking his time. This was dangerous and he wanted time to think. Thutmose-sin had nothing to lose. For him, victory or death were the same. Not that the warrior expected to survive. Even if he killed Eskkar, Thutmose-sin must know that the Akkadian bowmen would cut him down. All he wanted was one last chance for revenge, and to die with honor.

Again Eskkar halted the bay in the middle of the stream, letting A-tuku slurp a few noisy mouthfuls before pulling up on the halter. He allowed the horse to choose its path across the stream and a few paces beyond. Then Eskkar hefted the lance in his right hand, leaned back, and hurled it toward the Alur Meriki lance jutting into the air. Eskkar’s missile landed just beside that of Thutmose-sin, a good throw. The challenge had been made and now accepted.

Once again, Eskkar touched his heels to his horse, and let the animal pick its way through the rocks. Bodies lay strewn everywhere, the dead lying face down, many with arrows in their back. Others stared sightlessly into the sky, arrows protruding from their wounds, blood trails and pools marking the ground. Flies buzzed low over the bodies, and carrion birds swooped down from the sky.

Step by step, Eskkar moved forward. He reached the place where the lances had dug themselves into the earth and halted. Thutmose-sin now paced his horse forward, giving Eskkar time to study both man and animal.

Thutmose-sin was a dangerous fighter. Eskkar knew that from personal experience. But Eskkar had practiced much since that night battle at the fire wagons outside of Orak, and his skills had increased. Both men were much the same age, so that wouldn’t matter.

After last night’s fight, Thutmose-sin would be more weary than Eskkar, and while his wounds might be minor, they, too, would weaken him. No, the approaching rider might be a deadly opponent, but the big gray stallion warranted as much concern as its master.

No matter how much time Eskkar had spent training A-tuku, Thutmose-sin’s horse had seen many more fights. A huge brute, it stood at least a hand and half taller than A-tuku. It would respond to its master’s slightest touch.

Eskkar’s mount looked sleepy and slow compared to the gray. But A-tuku’s appearance was deceiving. The bay, too, would respond to Eskkar’s commands, and no other horse in Hathor’s cavalry, no matter what its size, had stood against it.

At least in training, Eskkar reminded himself. A-tuku had never fought a battle, while the gray must have many such encounters.

Thutmose-sin stopped about fifteen paces from Eskkar. “I didn’t think you would dare come out to face me. You escaped my sword once, but this time you will not be so lucky. You should have let your archers cut me down.”

Eskkar shrugged. “That would have given strength to your warriors. Now they will watch you die at my hand. You led them to defeat last night, and with your death, they will once again know defeat. They will not have the stomach to face us again.”

A grimace of rage twisted Thutmose-sin’s face. “No, my warriors will see me slay you, the mighty Eskkar of Akkad, and they will take courage.” Without haste, he reached up and drew his sword.

Eskkar made no move toward his weapon. “Tell me of the death of my father, Hogarthak. I have never learned the truth of what happened that night.”

A look of surprise come over Thutmose-sin’s face, and he lowered his sword. “Why should I tell you anything?”

“What can it matter after all these years,” Eskkar said, his voice still calm. He had not drawn his sword.

“It doesn’t. Nothing matters now.” Thutmose-sin took a deep breath. “I was not there the night my older brother, Seluku, died. But after our fight at the fire wagons, I asked the elders what had happened to your family. It seems my father, Maskim-Xul wanted to absorb the warriors of the Hawk Clan into his own. I suppose your clan leader Jamal had grown in influence or done something to make my father jealous. My father ordered Seluku, his war chief, to challenge Jamal at the Council Meeting. Your father was there, a leader of twenty, attending his clan leader.”

“I didn’t know that,” Eskkar said. “My father never returned to his wagons after the day’s ride.”

This time Thutmose-sin shrugged. “My brother offered the challenge to Jamal, and the old man, stung by Seluku’s insults, accepted it. But Seluku chose not to fight himself. He ordered his guards to kill your clan leader. They attacked, and your father guarded Jamal’s back. When Jamal took a wound and dropped his sword, Seluku stepped forward to deliver the killing blow. Your father exposed his own back, and struck from underneath Jamal’s arm before your clan leader fell. Hogarthak drove his blade into Seluku’s stomach, and then was killed by the other guards. My father flew into one of his rages. Seluku was dying the slow death, crying out in pain, so my father ended Seluku’s life himself. Then he ordered everyone in Jamal’s family and yours to be put to death. Somehow you killed a guard and escaped.”

Eskkar took a deep breath. So that was how it happened. He’d suspected something like that all these years, but at least now he knew the truth. Not only had his father died honorably, but he had slain the son of the Great Chief, Maskim-Xul.

“Is there any more to tell?”

“No, only that your mother clawed out the eyes of another guard before she died. Your brother and sister were slain as payment for my brother’s death. You should have died that night as well. Instead you ran away and became a dirt eater. Now you have the blood of your own kind on your hands.”

That night, Eskkar had seen his brother and mother die, but had been too busy fighting for his life to really know what was going on.

“Then my father died with honor, defending his clan leader.”

Thutmose-sin laughed, a bitter sound wrenched from his belly. “Seluku was a pig, and I despised him. Your father’s deed made me Sarum five years later. So I suppose I should thank him for that.”

“And now I’ve ended your rule as Sarum,” Eskkar said. “So the circle is complete. With your death, my father’s spirit will be satisfied.” He lowered his shoulder and slid the long sword from its scabbard.

“We will see whose spirit lives on with honor, outcast!”

Eskkar never saw the movement or word that launched the gray forward. One moment the horse had been standing there stolidly, the next it was charging at full speed. Eskkar reacted almost as fast. A kick of his heels as he thrust the halter forward, and A-tuku jumped into motion.

The normal reaction was to turn slightly to the left, so that each rider’s sword arm could strike freely. But Eskkar nudged the halter to the right. A-tuku leapt in front of Thutmose-sin’s charging stallion, and Eskkar swung the long sword across his body to strike at his onrushing enemy’s left side.

Caught by surprise, Thutmose-sin barely whipped his sword over to his left, and while he parried the blow, the force of Eskkar’s cut almost knocked the warrior from his mount.

A cheer arose from the Akkadians at the stroke, while on the far hillside, the Alur Meriki line shifted uneasily at the exchange. Both riders wheeled their horses around and charged again. Thutmose-sin’s blade rose up in the air, but Eskkar leaned forward along A-tuku’s neck, sword extended like a lance.

Yesterday, Eskkar had taken the measure of the leader of the Alur Meriki, and Eskkar decided he had a few finger width’s in height, and perhaps even more in the length of his arms. With his sword held high, Thutmose-sin had to strike early to knock Eskkar’s blade aside as the two fighters hurled past each other. It took the full strength of Thutmose-sin’s blow to deflect Eskkar’s weapon.

Another cheer arose from the ranks of Eskkar’s men, as the two riders wheeled to face each other a third time. But this time, they were too close to get the horses to a gallop. The two fighters came together, and the clash of bronze on bronze echoed from the hills.

Once, twice, three times each man struck at his opponent or parried the other’s attack, before the two were forced to ride apart to maintain control of their mounts. This time Eskkar had to yield ground to recover, as Thutmose-sin’s stallion, despite its size, proved quicker in these short turnings.

A-tuku, however, snorted in anger. The big gray had tried to bite A-tuku’s neck. The two fighters separated, opening a gap of about twenty paces before they gathered themselves for another attack.

“Straight at him, A-tuku,” Eskkar muttered, just loud enough for the bay to hear his words. “Show that stallion what you’re made of.”

Once again Thutmose-sin launched the attack, and Eskkar kicked his mount forward. He let A-tuku take two good strides, then turned him to the right, as he had in the first encounter. He held his course just long enough for Thutmose-sin to recognize Eskkar’s intent. Thutmose-sin turned his to the left, to keep Eskkar on his right side.

But Eskkar jerked the halter back, and A-tuku’s move to the right lasted only the briefest moment. A-tuku shifted his stride and lowered his head. The fighters were too close to each other for either to turn aside.

The two horses met in a mighty collision. Both A-tuku and Eskkar had trained for this type of attack, and the bay’s right shoulder struck hard into the stallion’s forequarters. The gray, knocked to a standstill, cried out at the force of the contact and staggered back on his haunches.

Expecting the collision, Eskkar, his legs gripping the horse’s sides with all his strength, had managed to hang on to his seat, his halter-hand clinging with a death grip to A-tuku’s mane. But Thutmose-sin, his wild swing coming within a hand’s breath of Eskkar’s head, was flung off his mount and landed hard onto the earth.

A-tuku recovered his footing and needed no urging to move to the attack, launching himself directly at the unhorsed man. Before Thutmose-sin could get to his knees, Eskkar’s sword was descending, a powerful stroke made even stronger by the horse’s movement.

Thutmose-sin managed to get his sword up, but Eskkar’s weapon scarcely slowed as it brushed aside Thutmose-sin’s blade. The finest bronze weapon in Akkad, swung with all of Eskkar’s strength, struck the warrior’s left shoulder and bit deep into flesh and bone.

Thutmose-sin’s cry of pain echoed off the cliff before it reached the hilltop. Eskkar’s momentum took him past his enemy, but he quickly wheeled A-tuku around.

Eskkar’s blow had knocked Thutmose-sin once again to the ground. This time blood covered his left shoulder, running freely down his chest. The man still clutched his sword, however, as he struggled to his knees.

Eskkar slid down from his mount and strode across the bare ground. He didn’t want to risk an injury to A-tuku by attacking someone so low to the ground. Thutmose-sin might be wounded, but he could yet strike a heavy blow.

As Eskkar approached, he saw the extent of Thutmose-sin’s wound. A glimpse of white revealed the bone in the warrior’s shoulder, and a strip of flesh hung from his arm. With so much blood spurting from the wound, nothing could save him. He would be dead soon.

“You’re dying, Thutmose-sin. You should have trained your horse better. Now I will avenge my father Hogarthak, and my kin.”

“Then come and finish me if you dare, you. . outcast!”

Eskkar raised his sword up. Thutmose-sin struck upwards, aiming at his enemy’s groin, but Eskkar had expected it. He twisted aside, and his sword whirled down and struck at Thutmose-sin’s right arm, the sharp edging cutting into the man’s hand. The weapon tumbled to the ground.

Eskkar never let his sword stop moving. The blade whirled up and swung down in a sideways motion, and at the bottom of its arc, driven by all the strength in both of Eskkar’s arms, it sliced through Thutmose-sin’s neck with a spray of blood, sending the Sarum’s head rolling across the hard ground.

A roar erupted from the Akkadian line. Men jumped and waved their weapons. “Eskkar! Eskkar!” The deafening cry echoed from the cliff. Eskkar took a deep breath, then reached down and slid the big copper medallion from the Sarum’s body and stuffed it into his tunic. Suddenly the cheers from the Akkadian line changed in intensity. Eskkar glanced up toward the hilltop.

A lone rider raced down the hillside in a reckless display of horsemanship. This one clenched a bow in his left hand, and even as he descended, Eskkar saw him fit an arrow to the string.

A-tuku stood waiting only a dozen paces away, chewing on a lonely tuft of grass. Eskkar could leap astride and reach the safety of his men before the rider could get close enough to launch an arrow. But Eskkar recognized the horse. It belonged to Bar’rack, the clan leader who had sworn the Shan Kar against his hated enemy.

Eskkar made up his mind. The lances that he and Thutmose-sin had hurled to show their defiance stood close at hand. Eskkar ran toward them, shifting his sword to his left hand. The drumming hoof beats changed as the warrior’s horse reached the base of the hill and increased its speed. Head down, Eskkar covered the last few paces.

Without stopping he ripped the Akkadian lance from the earth and flung himself to the side, back toward the way he’d run. An arrow hissed through the spot where Eskkar had been only a moment ago.

As Bar’rack fitted another shaft to his string, Eskkar charged toward him, reaching back at the same time with his right hand and tightening his grip on the weapon. Before Bar’rack’s bow could come up, Eskkar’s lance flew through the air, flung with all his strength. The bronze tipped lance struck the charging horse, now less than twenty paces away, full in the chest.

The animal took two more strides, stumbled, and fell to its knees, less than five paces from where Eskkar stood. The arrow launched by the warrior flew wide, as Bar’rack was pitched from the dying horse’s back. He landed heavily, rolling once, the bow flying from his hand.

Stunned, Bar’rack tried to regain his feet as he tugged clumsily at his sword. By then Eskkar had reached him.

“Your brother died with honor, but you will die like a coward, and your kin will not mourn your passing.” Once again the big sword descended and bit deep into flesh, a showering of blood marking the place where the blade impacted the side of Bar’rack’s neck. The warrior fell, and lay twitching on the ground, still alive, bleeding to death.

Eskkar stared at him. Before Eskkar could regain his breath, Bar’rack’s body went limp, the man’s sword still half in its scabbard. Taking his time, Eskkar wiped his bloody blade on the dead man’s tunic. Then he walked back to A-tuku and swung astride. He forced himself to take a deep breath, though he felt his heart race within his chest from the battle fury. He had truly avenged his father’s death.

“We did it, A-tuku.” He patted the animal on the side of the neck. “We defeated the best the Alur Meriki could send against us. Never again will they doubt the strength of our men or of our horses.”

Overhead, the last of the dusky rain clouds had faded away, and suddenly a wide swatch of sunlight streamed down from the sky, bathing the patch of ground where Eskkar stood with its warmth. A good omen, Eskkar thought, to mark the death of Thutmose-sin.

A glance toward the enemy hill showed the Alur Meriki warriors looking up, and the faint murmur of their words drifted toward him. They, too, saw the omen and understood. The gods had given their approval to Eskkar’s victory.

Another shout from the Akkadians turned Eskkar’s head back toward the enemy’s hilltop. Two riders were descending, but this time at a slow and measured pace. Neither carried bow or lance, and one lifted his right hand high in the air, to show that he carried no weapon.

“Now what do these two want, A-tuku?”

A-tuku snorted in reply, and lowered his head once again to tug at the stubborn clump of tough grass.

From the hilltop, Bekka and Urgo watched Thutmose-sin’s final moments. Every Alur Meriki warrior knew of their Sarum’s prowess, but it seemed that this Eskkar had dispatched their ruler with both skill and a display of better horsemanship.

“That bay didn’t look that powerful,” Bekka remarked, sitting on his horse beside Urgo. “I think Thutmose-sin made the same mistake.”

They both turned to stare when they saw Bar’rack disobey his Sarum’s final order, and dash down the hill, blind in his hatred.

Urgo shook his head. “Bar’rack is a good clan leader for one so young, but his Shan Kar has driven reason from his head. If he kills Eskkar, we are doomed. The Akkadians will never leave the stream until we are all dead.”

“He will not get close enough,” Bekka said. “The archers will. . by the gods!”

Both men stared open mouth as the King of the Akkadians raced across the field to where the jutting lances protruded from the earth. A few moments later, they saw the long sword, reflecting a gleam of sunlight, swing down to end the life of another clan leader.

Silence swept across the hilltop. Until now, the Alur Meriki warriors had offered many reasons for their defeat at the Akkadians’ hands. Now one man, even one who once had belonged to the Clan, had struck down two of their leaders with apparent ease. No longer could any warrior dare impugn such a fighter’s honor.

“At least it is finished.” Urgo raised his voice. “Pass the word. No warrior is to leave the hilltop.” He waited a moment as the order spread out to either side. “Come, Bekka, ride with me.” He touched his horse’s neck with the halter, and the animal started down the slope.

Bekka joined him. Neither man said anything, both concentrating on guiding their respective horse. Urgo led the way, and Bekka suspected that he did so to conceal the grimaces of pain from his body. Bekka knew the old warrior could ride for short stretches on level ground, but a steep slope such as this amounted to agony with each step.

“He waits for us,” Bekka said, as they reached the level ground.

“He has no fear,” Urgo agreed. “Which means that he probably won’t order his archers to strike us down.”

Bekka had been thinking about that as they stepped past the ragged line of long shafts angled skyward that marked the extreme range of the powerful Akkadian bows.

“It’s not that I’m afraid, Urgo, but you have lived many years, while I still have more children to father.” He could see a wide line of Akkadian bowmen formed up along the edge of the stream, and Bekka recognized the Slayer of Warriors, bow in hand, standing at their center. A hundred shafts could rain down from the sky upon them at any time.

Urgo snorted with amusement. “Today, tomorrow, death will take us sooner or later if we don’t get our people to the stream.”

The new Sarum of the Alur Meriki and one of his few remaining clan leaders approached Eskkar’s position. The Akkadian King sat on his horse, facing them. His face revealed no emotion, no boastful signs of a victorious fighter.

“What are you going to say?” Bekka knew little of negotiations or serious talks between leaders, let alone enemies.

“What we must. The only thing that will save the Alur Meriki from destruction.”