Battle For Empire

3

Three days later, in the first light of dawn, Eskkar led a column of horsemen out of Akkad and headed north. The spring morning air still held a chill, but that would soon fade as the sun rose higher. Once again, the long sword jutted up over Eskkar’s right shoulder, and it hung as easily as in his younger days.

The smooth-gaited stallion between his legs felt natural, too, the result of many days working with the animal over the last two years. Eskkar always remembered one of his father’s sayings — when you ride to war, better to leave behind your sword than your best horse.

Two summers ago, Eskkar had selected the stallion from a string of animals brought down from the mountain country. A group of twenty animals arrived at the cavalry barracks just north of Akkad, and by chance Eskkar happened to be there that day.

Like every person born on the steppes, fresh horses always aroused his interest. He had joined the other horse trainers and handlers as they drifted over to examine the new stock.

Destined to be ridden by the senior commanders, all of the horses represented fine breeding, tall, powerful, and sleek. Except for one, which appeared stunted compared to the others. This bay looked blunt and coarse, with a shaggy coat and a sad little tail that scarcely reached its hocks.

The four horse trainers inspecting the animals gave the odd-looking bay the briefest glance before moving on. Eskkar agreed. The bay didn’t belong with this group of fine horseflesh, and he wondered if perhaps an animal had fallen ill or gotten injured, and some clever trader had foisted off an inferior beast on Akkad’s buyer.

Trailing behind the trainers, Eskkar stopped in front of the rejected animal. The horse, which appeared too sleepy to pay any attention to those examining it, lifted its head high and eyed him with an expression of superiority out of place with its lowly status. Man and horse stood sizing each other up, and neither showed the slightest intention of lowering their gaze first.

“What do you think of him, My Lord?”

The voice at Eskkar’s side belonged to the horse master who had delivered the animals. Eskkar turned to face the man, who had the dark features and short stature that often marked those born in the southern lands of Sumeria. Since almost all the men who worked Akkad’s horses came from the northern lands, the Sumerian seemed as out of place as the bay.

Nevertheless, Eskkar knew that many fine horses came from Sumeria, though they tended to be small and fast, more suited to the desert than the mountains. Eskkar recalled seeing the Sumerian once before, and even managed to remember his name, Dimuzi.

“An odd horse to bring to Akkad’s barracks, Dimuzi. My commanders need strong warhorses. This one looks more suited to pull a cart than carry a fighter.”

The Sumerian refused to acknowledge the rebuke. “There is more to A-tuku than you might think, My Lord.”

Eskkar had spent many years in Sumeria riding with his old companion Bracca, and had learned most of the dialects spoken in the southern lands. A-tuku was the Sumerian word for “strength.”

Dimuzi unfastened the horse from the holding rail, and turned the animal around. “Look at these hind legs, My Lord. What do you see?”

And Eskkar had looked. A casual glance turned into a studied examination. Muscles bulged in its hindquarters, which, now that he saw the horse from the side, appeared oversized. Eskkar ran his hand down the horse’s flank. Hard as bronze.

Interested now, Eskkar inspected every aspect of the animal. He saw a wide chest concealed under the shaggy brown coat that turned black down the legs. Deep hooves that would not wear under heavy riding joined to thick fetlocks that indicated the animal would not go lame easily. Forearms and shoulders showed plenty of power, and the wider than usual nostrils would provide plenty of air for the animal’s lungs.

“He might make a good mount.” Eskkar reached out and rubbed the horse’s neck, moving slowly so as not to upset the animal. At the touch, A-tuku turned to stare at him, as one equal to another.

“What would My Lord think if I said that A-tuku can run faster and longer than most of these other animals? He hates to be bested in a race, and he never gives ground. A-tuku is not aggressive, but every horse that has challenged him has regretted it.”

Eskkar knew that Sumerians could never resist bargaining, always pointing out the best features of whatever they happened to be selling. “Is there nothing wrong with him, Dimuzi?”

The man lowered his eyes. “He needs much work, My Lord, and patience. So far only I have been able to work with him. But in his heart, A-tuku is as brave as any horse I have ever seen. For the right rider, he might make a fine warhorse.”

Eskkar doubted that. While Dimuzi spoke, Eskkar had circled the animal, and now he stroked A-tuku’s forehead. The proud horse’s large eyes held his gaze for a moment, then reached out to nuzzle Eskkar’s cheek. The simple gesture ended Eskkar’s doubts.

“Bring him to my stable, Dimuzi.” Eskkar patted the horse’s neck one last time. “And I think you’d better plan on staying with him. At least until he proves himself one way or the other.”

The Sumerian and Eskkar had worked with A-tuku since that day. Dimuzi’s words had proven true. The horse could run, all day if necessary, and it would not quit as long as another horse challenged it. From the first, Eskkar knew he would have to earn the horse’s trust. Soon he spent almost every morning working with Dimuzi and A-tuku, teaching the horse the skills needed by a warhorse.

Despite being a hand’s width smaller than Eskkar’s other horses, A-tuku carried his master’s weight as easily as any. Eskkar quickly grasped that he possessed a unique animal, and soon a bond formed between horse and rider as close as any Eskkar had ever known. Together they had raced against every horse in Hathor’s cavalry, and fought against them, too, in the mock battles so necessary to train horse and rider in the art of war.

A-tuku’s careless gait had proven faster than even Dimuzi had expected. While a handful of powerful warhorses in Eskkar’s stable had won races when carrying his weight, in any long run they had all been overtaken by smaller and lighter riders.

Dimuzi claimed that A-tuku had never been beaten when he carried the diminutive Sumerian. And that had proven true. But more impressive was the fact that A-tuku seldom lost even when Eskkar rode him. Eskkar’s eyes still gleamed with pride whenever he swung onto his new warhorse’s back.

Now the cares and worries of Akkad lessened with each of A-tuku’s long strides, as Eskkar left behind the petty problems of a growing and often chaotic City. Even the prospect of a hard fight couldn’t dispel the satisfaction he felt at abandoning the cares and endless disputes of the city. He sensed that A-tuku felt much the same, glad to be away from the usual training grounds and out riding free on the open grasslands.

Eighty of Eskkar’s best riders rode with him, twenty of them Hawk Clan, the elite force whose bravery had marked them above their companions. Formed as a band of brothers after Eskkar’s first battle as leader of Akkad, every Hawk Clan fighter had pledged his loyalty to Eskkar and to his comrades in arms. Hawk Clan warriors not only acted as bodyguards to Eskkar and Trella, but they also insured and enforced the King’s power in Akkad.

For this expedition, no new recruits or untested fighters accompanied Eskkar. Every highly trained rider in the troop had fought in at least one action. All of them knew how to fight on horseback. Whether sword, lance, or bow, these men had mastered them all.

The troop of horsemen traveled light, each carrying only his weapons and a water skin. In the preceding days before Eskkar’s departure, Trella’s clerks and supply people had labored efficiently to ensure that grain for the horses and provisions for the men awaited at each stopping point.

Without worrying about their next meal or what the hunt might bring, the riders covered the miles at a steady gait, pushing their mounts just hard enough to challenge the muscles of both man and beast. Once past the farmlands and irrigation channels that surrounded Akkad on all sides, Eskkar enjoyed the green and lush countryside. The occasional farm or herds of cattle and sheep only made the ride more pleasant.

Eskkar and his men reached the first resupply point, thirty-six miles from Akkad, late in the afternoon, and found it manned by six guards and as many pack men. Food and water waited, with two spare horses in case any of the animals had gone lame. As always, Trella’s planning left little to chance. When Eskkar told his wife that he and eighty men wanted to cover almost two hundred miles in less than five days, Trella made sure that everything needed would be available along the route.

Three cooking fires already burned, sending crooked trails of smoke into the sky. The mouth-watering aroma of burning mutton floated over the campsite.

Eskkar slid to the ground with a grunt of satisfaction and lifted his long arms to the sky in a welcome stretch. Despite all his recent training, many months had passed since he’d spent an entire day on the back of a horse, let alone a long ride that finished with the prospect of sleeping on the hard ground.

Nevertheless, Eskkar knew he would sleep well tonight. He filled his lungs with the clean air of the countryside, so different from the thick city-smells of Akkad.

All around him, hungry men swung down from their mounts and stripped off their horse blankets. All the riders saw to their horses’ needs first, then rushed to join the lines already forming beside each fire pit.

Drakis, one of Eskkar’s senior commanders, stood near the largest cooking fire. Eskkar handed A-tuku’s halter over to one of the camp’s liverymen. The horse had learned to accept the ministrations of others, though it still proved restive if anyone other than Eskkar or Dimuzi attempted to ride it. Satisfied that his horse would be well cared for, Eskkar turned to find Drakis jogging over to greet his commander.

Short, with a wide chest and thick arms, Drakis had a coarse black beard that climbed up his cheeks almost to his eyes, but failed to cover a scar from a Sumerian arrow that had nearly torn his eye out. Even before that battle, he’d proven his courage in the fight against the Egyptian invaders who had once seized Akkad.

“Must you look so happy, Captain?” Drakis clasped his arms around Eskkar and gave him a powerful hug. “I’ve been riding for three days, and every bone in my body aches.”

Only Eskkar’s most senior commanders, or those who had known him in the old days when he was Orak’s Captain of the Guard, dared to call him ‘Captain.’ Still, Eskkar preferred that title to the formal ‘Lord Eskkar,’ as he was known in Akkad or even worse, ‘King Eskkar.’

Such a subservient address, unique to the dirt eaters, always rankled something in his head. A warrior should not need to preen himself before his men, especially while on campaign.

“Serves you right,” Eskkar said, when Drakis released him. “You should spend more time on your horse.” Eskkar found a fresh patch of grass and spread his cloak, to mark it as his sleeping place. “Tomorrow night will be even worse, after another long day’s ride.”

Drakis swore at the outlook. “I had to waste two days taking the hill trail and swinging around Akkad.”

A city dweller most of his life, Drakis spent the least amount of time of any of Akkad’s commanders on the back of a horse. He had ridden in from one of the southern training camps, detouring around the city so that no one would know of his whereabouts.

“Another ten or twenty days riding, and you’ll toughen up.” Eskkar laughed at the look of dismay on his commander’s face.

“You enjoy riding and camping out too much, Captain,” Drakis said. “If this fight wasn’t against the Alur Meriki, we would have insisted you stay in the city.”

Eskkar ignored Drakis’s comment. No one had tried to dissuade him from this campaign, not even Trella. Every one of Akkad’s commanders knew his experience fighting the barbarian Alur Meriki Clan would be needed in this encounter. They also were aware that Eskkar had a personal score to settle.

Born and raised in the Clan, Eskkar’s entire family had died one night in a blood feud, murdered on orders of the clan’s Sarum, or king. Only fourteen years old, Eskkar killed his first man that night, stabbing him in the back with a knife. Nevertheless, the stroke came a moment too late to save the life of Eskkar’s younger brother.

In almost the same instant, and with her dying breath, Eskkar’s mother had cried out for him to run from the Clan and save himself. With his family dead around him, Eskkar had no other choice but to flee.

Luck and his father’s fastest horse had helped him escape the same fate as his kin. Even as he ran for his life, Eskkar swore to avenge his family’s murder. For the next fourteen years, he had endured the lonely life of an outcast, hunted by his own people yet never accepted and always distrusted by the dirt eaters he was forced to live among.

Eventually he arrived in Orak, where he spent three years as a soldier and handler of horses. A slow spiral of apathy ensued, and Eskkar indulged his fondness for ale to hold back the gloom that filled his dreary days.

Then a stroke of chance and the threat of a barbarian invasion by the Alur Meriki had made him Captain of the Guard in Orak, and the gift of a slave girl named Trella had upended his existence. Trella’s keen wits turned Eskkar’s life around, and in time placed the power of Orak in his hands, soon renamed the City of Akkad.

And in saving the City from destruction by the barbarian warriors, Eskkar had extracted the first payment of his blood debt. Now he intended to take the full measure to avenge his family’s murder at the hands of his former clansmen. At the same time, he would end the Alur Meriki’s never-ending depredations against Akkad and its people once and for all.

“By the gods, I haven’t been this hungry in months.” Eskkar heard his stomach growling with anticipation for a haunch of burnt meat. The cooks had already started handing out the thick slices of mutton.

“Well, there’s plenty of food, and ale, too” Drakis said. “Not like the last time we rode out to fight the barbarians. After we’ve eaten, I’ll fill you in on what the men are thinking.”

Later, Eskkar’s belly stuffed with food and the raw ale favored by the soldiers, he stretched out on the ground with his hands behind his head and let himself relax. “How are the men?”

Drakis tossed the last of the bone he’d been gnawing into the fire, dragged the back of his hand across his mouth, then wiped his fingers on his tunic. “Good. All the subcommanders now know that you’re coming. We’ll pick up the rest of the horsemen as we travel north. By the time we reach Aratta, our entire force will be assembled there.”

Drakis glanced around. All the men were too busy eating and talking among themselves to pay any attention to their commanders. Nevertheless, Drakis lowered his voice almost to a whisper, and his broad white teeth flashed a wide grin in the fire’s light. “They’ll be surprised to learn where we’re going.”

The soldiers believed they were on another training march, destined for the tiny village of Aratta, almost two hundred miles northwest of Akkad. Aratta bordered the unclaimed lands, and the village lay just a hundred miles from the base of the Zagros Mountains. When Eskkar and his men arrived at Aratta, talk of a training mission would vanish.

“If we make good time,” Eskkar said, “we’ll reach Aratta in five, six days at the most.”

“And have time to rest there for a day or two,” Drakis agreed. “Then the hard march begins.”

For months, troops of men and horses, companies of bowmen, spearmen, and slingers, had trained in the cool and hilly horse country, so different from the level countryside surrounding Akkad and stretching south almost all the way to Sumeria.

To maintain the secrecy of this campaign, Eskkar had relied on his subcommanders to prepare the men, and without his usual close inspection of their progress. Now those leaders of ten, twenty, and fifty would be judged by their peers for each and every failure.

“I hope they’re ready.” Eskkar knew just how much depended on the men and their preparations. “We’re going to need every man.”

Drakis’s laugh held little mirth. “Oh, they are ready. Whether we have enough soldiers to do the job, that’s another matter. I still think you should have brought the whole army.”

Eskkar grunted. That argument among his senior commanders had gone on for nearly a year. But he had overruled every objection. Too many men away from the city would weaken its defenses, and worse, jeopardize the plan’s secrecy. No, if he could not defeat the Alur Meriki with almost a thousand picked men, another few hundred wouldn’t make a difference. At any rate, he didn’t intend to go over those arguments yet again.

“Get some sleep, Drakis. Starting tomorrow, we’ll be doing some real riding.”

Drakis groaned.

Smiling at his friend’s discomfort Eskkar wrapped himself in his cloak, rolled over onto his side, closed his eyes, and promptly fell asleep. Throughout the camp, one by one, the men of his troop did the same, covering themselves with their horse blankets and drifting quickly to sleep despite the cold earth.

Drakis gazed at the relaxed figure of his friend and commander, and shook his head. The man could sleep soundly on a pile of rocks. With a sigh, Drakis nodded to the guards, kicked dirt over the fire, and tried to get himself comfortable on the hard ground. Eskkar had spoken the truth. Drakis knew he would really be stiff by the end of tomorrow’s ride.

In the morning, Eskkar climbed on A-tuku and again led the men north. They hadn’t covered much ground before a gentle rain fell from an overcast sky. The wind coming down from the north drove the moisture into their faces as they rode. By midmorning, the drizzle stopped, the sun pushed the clouds aside, and the riders made better time. Still, the wet ground slowed their pace, and most of the sun had descended below the horizon before they reached the next resting place.

Two more days passed in much the same way. As they rode north, the land gradually changed to more hilly terrain, and the thick grass of the south gave way to sparser clumps of vegetation. At the village of Morphoza they joined up with Hathor and two hundred of his horsemen.

Originally from the far off land of Egypt, Hathor commanded Akkad’s cavalry. As tall as Eskkar, Hathor possessed the lean body of an experienced horseman. His bald head and darker complexion made him appear even more ferocious than he was.

He had fought against Eskkar in the battle to retake the City, and been captured before he could kill himself. Only Trella’s intervention had kept Hathor from Akkad’s torturers and saved his life. Every other Egyptian renegade had died that night.

Over the years, Hathor had become one of Eskkar’s closest friends. The two men shared many traits. Both were outcasts living in a strange land, and both had found a new home in Akkad. Now they fought together to preserve their adopted city.

The next day, Muta, Hathor’s second in command and another two hundred and thirty riders from the training campground of Ramparna linked up with them. With the men that accompanied Eskkar, Hathor’s force of mounted horsemen now numbered just over five hundred.

When Eskkar and the cavalry rode into camp at Aratta, he found the remainder of his soldiers waiting. Two hundred archers, carrying the longer and more powerful war bows, had arrived the day before, commanded by Mitrac, Akkad’s master bowman. Two hundred spearmen, led by Alexar, and a hundred slingers, under Shappa’s command, had reached the gathering place eight days earlier.

Another hundred or so supply men guarded the supplies, extra weapons, and spare horses. Not counting those, just over a thousand fighting men stood ready, though almost none of them knew what enemy they might soon be facing.

In the center of the camp, a large square of linen stretched between four tall posts hammered into the ground. Soldiers and commanders watched in silence as Eskkar dismounted beside the makeshift awning, large enough to shelter ten or twelve men from the sun. The trodden down grass felt soft beneath his feet, especially after so many days of riding.

A glance up at the sun told him that mid-afternoon had just passed, so plenty of daylight remained. Eskkar used it to inspect the men, to see for himself if they were ready to fight, and to search their faces for any signs of fear or doubt.

Eskkar strolled through the ranks, talking to the men and especially their commanders, the leaders of ten and twenty who directed much of the actual fighting. Once any battle started, it fell to these subcommanders to provide the leadership and maintain discipline in the face of the enemy. Their decisions in the heat of battle might mean the difference between victory or defeat.

What Eskkar saw and heard reassured him. The men looked fit and ready to fight. His presence in these unclaimed lands dispelled the last rumors about a training mission. Only a fool could believe the King of Akkad would journey so far north, and with so many veteran soldiers, without a real enemy in mind. Nevertheless, the prospect of a fight only whetted the men’s good spirits.

The sun still remained above the horizon when Eskkar and his leaders gathered outside the shelter to eat. The cooks had slaughtered ten cattle that had been turning on spits since morning. After each man received a thick slice of beef, the cooks tossed all the scraps and handfuls of vegetables into the cooking pot. A cup of stew would complete the soldiers’ hearty meal.

Eskkar chewed away at the tough morsels as eagerly as any of his men. Unlike his soldiers, he knew it might be a long time before any of them feasted this well again.

A fine rain began to fall, so Eskkar moved beneath the linen awning. One by one, his commanders finished their supper and joined him. Drakis came in last, after making sure the Hawk Clan guards had formed a perimeter around the shelter, far enough away to ensure that none of the curious soldiers listened to their leaders’ conversation.

Hathor unfolded the linen map on the grass, stitched with colored threads to show its features, that he’d brought with him from Akkad. Made by Trella’s craftswomen, the map identified landmarks, watering places, and possible camp sites.

All the terrain from Aratta to the Zagros Mountains, and the particular gorge that was their destination, could be identified easily enough. The map itself was but a copy of the master layout that rested in the Map Room back in Akkad.

Eskkar and the others took their places around it. He gazed at the faces of his commanders. Only his most senior men, Hathor, Alexar, Drakis, and Mitrac, knew the true target of the campaign. The rest of Eskkar’s commanders present, Muta, Daro, Shappa, and Draelin, did not. Or at least, Eskkar hoped they still didn’t know.

Back in Akkad, only Trella and a handful of others knew the soldiers’ destination. Trella had gone to great lengths to keep their purpose secret. The fewer who knew the truth, the better. Even so, all these men had their wits about them, and any of them might have figured out their real enemy.

“It’s time to tell all of you who we’re going to fight,” Eskkar began. “You can forget the rumors and wild guesses. We’ve assembled this force to march against the Alur Meriki.”

Broad smiles greeted his words from those who knew or had guessed right, while a gasp of surprise escaped from those who’d guessed wrong.

“For almost two years, Trella and Annok-sur’s agents have collected information about the Alur Meriki Clan, and the route of their migration. Ten months ago, we learned that the barbarians had started their return from the northeast, hugging the foothills of the mountains. The Clan had traveled nearly to the Indus before they swung north, and some of our spies claimed the barbarians had been pushed back by those dwelling in that distant land.”

And that had made more sense as soon Bracca delivered his warning about the Elamites. Of course they would be eager to get rid of a large, hostile force on their northern frontier.

“Now the Alur Meriki are moving back toward these lands,” Eskkar continued. “They’re not foolish enough to ride through Akkad’s countryside, so they’ll stay close to the mountains. Far enough away to think they’re safe from our soldiers, but close enough to raid our outlying settlements. But this time we have a surprise for them. We’re going to cut across their route and force them to fight, at a time and place of our choosing.”

He glanced around the circle of faces. Shappa and Draelin had their mouths open. Even Muta and Daro appeared concerned. Eskkar turned toward the youngest commander. Always start with the most junior of your men, Trella had advised. Let them offer their thoughts before the words of the more senior men tended to discourage such discourse.

“Well, Shappa, what do you think?”

When only in his fifteenth season, Shappa had led the newly formed troop of slingers against the Sumerian cavalry. He and his men, most even younger than himself, had managed to hold off a superior force long enough for Eskkar to charge to victory.

Now in his early twenties, Shappa’s slim build had changed little in those years, except that he cut his hair short to make himself appear older. Freckles and scars from the pox were sprinkled equally across his cheeks.

“How many fighters do they have?”

“Trella’s people estimate that Thutmose-sin, their clan leader, has between twelve hundred and fifteen hundred fighters available. When he includes the young boys and old men, Thutmose-sin can add another three or four hundred to that.”

Eskkar ignored the small signs of surprise that came from the men. The Alur Meriki were still considered to be the fiercest fighters in the land.

Shappa’s eyes widened. “How many men will we have to face them?”

“Only those here at Aratta,” Eskkar replied. “It was necessary to assemble this force in secret. The Alur Meriki have their own spies, and of late they’ve gotten into the habit of dealing with traders and others who can supply weapons and goods as well as information. That’s why this ‘training mission’ was scarcely mentioned. Except for those here, and a few back in Akkad, none are aware of the real plan.”

Eskkar turned to Daro, who had commanded the river archers during the battle against Sumer. “And what do you think of all this?”

“So we’ll be outnumbered?” Daro kept his voice confident, though he had only twenty-four seasons. Long brown hair reached nearly to his shoulders. Tall and with the deep chest and muscled arms needed to work the long bow, Daro had married Ismenne, the Map Maker, the woman whose skill had created the map that now rested at her husband’s feet.

“Oh, yes,” Eskkar said. “But to make up for that, we’ve picked a place for the battle that will be to our advantage. When the fighting begins, the Alur Meriki, their horses and herds, will be short of water, and weary from their climb into the foothills. The battleground we’ve chosen is at a small stream that flows out of the mountains. It had no name, but Hathor calls it Khenmet, the water that springs from the rock.”

He reached out and tapped the spot on the map with his finger. “If they want that water, they will have to come against us, or die of thirst. Meanwhile we’ll have plenty of food and water.”

“And that will make up for being outnumbered?” This time Daro let a hint of skepticism slip into his voice.

The smile left Eskkar’s face. Daro, too, knew how fierce their opponents were.

“It will have to,” Eskkar replied. “I want them to fight. If they thought they were at a complete disadvantage, they might retreat, or slip into the mountains. I want to make certain they give battle.” He turned to Alexar. “Has any word of our real plan spread through the ranks?”

“Not yet.” Alexar, only a few years younger than Eskkar, had risen to command all of Akkad’s infantry. He, too, possessed the deep chest and powerful arms of a bowman.

Alexar and the first troop had marched into Aratta more than thirty days ago, and he had made most of the preparations for the campaign, collecting the food and supplies needed. “I’ve been talking to the men every day. Most of them still think it’s just another damned training march. They’re sick of the hard training, and they’ve been cursing us all for the last ten days.” He chuckled. “I can’t wait to see their faces in the morning.”

Eskkar joined in the laughter that followed. “Good. Then we’ll spend one last day tomorrow training together for the encounter, then move out at dawn the day after. Once we start north, we’ll be committed to fighting the barbarians. Our plan,” Eskkar tapped again on the map, “is to use water to defeat the Alur Meriki.”

Eskkar hunched himself a little closer to the map. “At the battleground, the Khenmet flows directly out of the mountain, near the crest of the trail the Alur Meriki are using. It only flows on the surface for a few hundred paces before disappearing underground. It’s fordable even for the barbarians’ wagons, and it’s the only watering place within three or four days march. We will get to the stream first, and hold it against them.”

He drew his knife and used it to point out the landmarks, while every one of his commanders leaned forward to follow his movements. First their starting point at Aratta, then the trail they would follow along the base of the mountains, and finally the location of the stream. All in all, they would have to traverse almost one hundred and fifty miles, most of it over rough ground and uphill.

“With their wagons and herds,” Eskkar went on, “barbarians can’t move too fast. If they decide to turn around and go back, it will take them at least another four or five days to return to the last stream. By then more than half their people and most of their horses and herds will be dying from thirst. Their only other choice is to attack us, and drive us away from the stream.”

The discussion started, with those who’d been unaware of the plan asking most of the questions. Eskkar’s other commanders joined in, as each explained how their forces would be used, and how they would work in conjunction with the rest of the soldiers.

Outside, the shadows lengthened, making it hard to see the map. Eskkar called out to the guards, and they brought two torches, which they shoved into the earth. Questions were asked about tactics and the use of the infantry and cavalry. Dusk fell, and now the flickering torches provided the only light.

After a while, Eskkar leaned back, only half hearing their words. He knew the battle plan. He, Trella, and Hathor had gone over it often enough back in Akkad. Now his concern focused on his commanders.

They would be the ones that would make the plan succeed. Eskkar studied their faces. No one showed any trace of fear or doubt. Each of these men, some as mere boys, had followed Eskkar into battle against vastly greater odds before. They all trusted him, his judgment, and battle skills. They knew he would not risk their lives on some foolish expedition. And their belief in his luck gave them confidence.

The torches burned themselves out, and still his commanders talked, argued, and explained. The shadows beneath the shelter grew deeper, until none could see the map before them. When the last question had been asked and answered, the moon had risen well into the sky.

“Get some sleep.” Eskkar stepped from beneath the linen and drew in a deep breath of the fresh night air. Like the others, he would sleep under the stars tonight, rain or mist not withstanding.

No leader worth his salt would take advantage of a shelter while his men had only the hard ground for their rest and their horse blankets to keep off the wet. Eskkar watched his commanders, yawning now, as they moved off to check on their men one last time before bedding down for the night.

Hathor lingered behind. “Well, we’re committed now. Will it be as close a fight as I think?”

“Yes, it will. No Alur Meriki warrior will refuse to face a smaller force, no matter what position we hold. That’s one of the reasons I didn’t bring more men. We must make this encounter a challenge to Thutmose-sin, one he dare not avoid.”

The name of the great chief of the Alur Meriki, Thutmose-sin, had struck terror and fear into the hearts of his enemies for many years. He would not let a force of dirt eaters defy the Clan. Such a challenge could not be ignored.

Eskkar clasped Hathor’s shoulder. They had fought together once before against overpowering numbers, and that had strengthened the bond between them. Eskkar counted the Egyptian among his closest friends, just as Trella considered Hathor’s wife, Cnari, one of hers.

“You and your men will be well tested, Hathor. These fighters are not like any we faced at Isin. They will not break easily, nor will they turn and run. We will have to kill them all.”

“My men are ready, Captain.” He placed his hand over Eskkar’s. “We will not let you down.”

“I hope so. Otherwise our wives will never forgive us for getting ourselves killed.”