Battle For Empire

6

The halting horn’s deep bellow signaled the end of another day’s traveling. With sighs of relief, the women and old men driving the Alur Meriki wagons eased them to a stop, each one turning this way and that, searching for the best place to set up camp. But though the day’s journey had ended, much still remained to be done before anyone could take their ease. Everyone, women, girls, younger boys, and slaves who’d walked beside their family’s wagons all day, now readied the night camp for their kin.

The youngest wandered off to gather wood and dung chips for the fires, while others pitched sleeping tents beside the wagons. The herds of sheep, cattle, goats and pigs also needed to be settled down for the night. That task fell to the older girls and young maidens not yet women.

With long switches, they guided the weary animals to their final foraging of the day, letting them search out the occasional clump of grass before settling down to their own respite. As during the day’s march, the food animals stayed north of the wagons.

On the south side, warriors and older boys saw to the horse herds. Every fighter in the Clan possessed at least two or three horses. No young man dared approach a maiden’s father seeking to take a wife without a satisfactory number of horses to prove his status and worth. The most successful men boasted even larger herds, eight or ten, more if the warrior had a slave or two to tend them.

The day’s journeying had ended, and everyone in the caravan looked forward to a night of rest. The gradual climb up the slopes of the foothills had wearied the long line of travelers, hindering the caravan’s already slow pace. Still, everyone knew that in another four or five days, the Clan would start its descent into the grasslands that bordered the northern steppes.

Thutmose-sin, the Great Chief of the Alur Meriki Clan, rode up to the two wagons that contained his wives, children, and possessions just as the final blast of the horn sounded. He’d spent the day riding to the south, examining the land and making sure that his warriors attended to their duties. Thutmose-sin, too, looked forward to a peaceful evening with his kin.

Tall and broad, Thutmose-sin had more than forty-five seasons. Nevertheless, he yet possessed much of the strength of his youth. Spending most of each day on the back of a horse ensured a man stayed fit. Thutmose-sin seldom let a day go by without taking time to practice with at least one of his weapons.

Doing so kept him proficient with sword, lance, bow, and knife. No leader of the vast Alur Meriki Clan dared appear weak. A challenge to his rule could arise at any time, and Thutmose-sin kept himself prepared.

As he slid from his horse, Thutmose-sin heard the rolling beat of hooves, mixed with the shouts and curses of those forced to scatter as a rider galloped his way toward the Sarum’s wagons. Thutmose-sin’s guards, all of them kinsmen to some degree, moved forward, should they be needed. But the arriving horseman dragged his mount to stop before the guards could intercept him.

The rider’s horse, covered with dried lather and foaming at the mouth, had to spay its legs wide to keep upright. The rider slid down from his exhausted mount, and glanced around, until his recognized his Sarum. The copper medallion that glistened on Thutmose-sin’s chest identified him to all as the Great Clan’s leader.

Thutmose-sin recognized the dust-covered warrior. Unegen, one of Bekka’s leader of twenty. Thutmose-sin made it his business to know as many of his commanders and leaders of twenty as possible. This one had already been marked down as one who might be destined for more responsibility.

A slave ran forward, carrying a water skin, and handed it to Unegen. By the time he handed it back, Unegen had gulped down half a skin of water and poured the rest over his face and chest. Like his horse, sweat and dirt covered most of his body.

Thutmose-sin felt his peaceful evening slipping away. No one rode a valuable horse as hard as Unegen had unless he carried important news. And such news seldom boded well.

“Great Chief,” Unegen began, “I am. .”

“I know who you are.” Thutmose-sin voice remained calm. After all the years of fighting with other steppe clans, dirt eaters, and trouble makers within his own clan, not much remained that could rattle the battle-hardened leader of the Alur Meriki. “Did Bekka send you?”

“Yes, Sarum. He ordered me to bring you this news. We were riding to the west and we encountered eleven dirt eaters on horseback. They turned back when they saw us, and we followed. They rode hard, and by the time we caught up with them, the eleven had turned into a hundred, all of them carrying bows. They moved toward us, and we gave ground. Bekka ordered me to report to you, and to say that he thought the dirt eaters were heading for the stream.”

Strange riders of any kind in these empty foothills likely meant trouble. “These dirt eaters, they showed no fear at encountering our warriors?”

“No, Sarum. They moved with purpose and with great speed. They rode. .”

“Hold your words, Unegen. I want to summon the clan leaders. We might as well all hear your news at the same time.”

Thutmose-sin turned to his guards. “Find Altanar and Bar’rack. Tell them to come at once.” By now those two clan leaders had returned to their wagons somewhere in the caravan. The only other clan chief, Urgo, had camped a hundred paces away. Thutmose-sin would fetch Urgo himself. Three more clan leaders were out scouting and raiding with their men to the south and southwest, picking up slaves, livestock, or anything else of value to the Clan.

Unegen, Urgo and Thutmose-sin already sat on the mostly bare ground just beside the Sarum’s wagon when Bar’rack and Altanar arrived. The five men formed a close circle, their feet almost touching. Chioti, Thutmose-sin’s first wife, made sure that each man had a cup of water at his hand before bowing low and leaving them to their business. She would make a circuit of the wagon, to make sure that no one loitered close enough to hear what the men said, or disturbed the gathering.

More than a little nervous at being the center of such a gathering, Unegen repeated what he had told Thutmose-sin. “These dirt eaters showed no fear of us, and they rode their horses well.” He reconsidered his words. “I mean, they rode well enough for dirt eaters. And they carried bows. Not the long bows used from the city’s walls, but ones such as we use.”

Thutmose-sin smiled. No warrior would ever admit that a dirt eater could ride as well as the clumsiest member of the Alur Meriki.

“And Bekka believed these riders were heading for the stream?”

“Yes, Sarum. Where else could they be going?”

Only a young warrior in his first council meeting would dare to point out something to his Sarum.

“If they rode hard,” Altanar said, “they might have reached it by now.”

A year older than Thutmose-sin, Altanar led his own clan with both wisdom and strength. He had taken an arrow in his shoulder fighting at Orak’s walls and nearly died. Since that battle, Altanar had stood beside Thutmose-sin and, as much as any friend could, helped him rule the Great Clan.

“These riders,” Thutmose-sin picked at a clump of the sparse grass before him, “they must be from Akkad.”

“Who else would have so many horsemen?” Bar’rack’s words carried conviction. “Akkad has grown bold if they would challenge us in these hills, so far from their walls.”

Bar’rack, the youngest of the clan leaders, had led the Antelope Clan for the last six years. Twelve years ago, Bar’rack’s brother had been slain by the outcast Eskkar and his soldiers just before the siege of the village began.

Bar’rack had sworn the Shan Kar, the blood oath to kill the slayer of his kin. He, too, had taken an arrow in his arm at the siege of Orak. Since then he nursed a deep hatred of Eskkar and all dirt eaters.

“They cannot hold the stream with a handful of riders, especially if they are not carrying the long bows.” Altanar, like the other clan leaders, retained a healthy respect for the skill of the Akkadian archers. “Our warriors will sweep them aside, if Bekka and his men have not already done so.”

“Perhaps they intend to ride into the mountains,” Bar’rack said. “They might know trails through the foothills. Wherever they go, we’ll hunt them down.”

“There are no trails through the hills for so many men, no paths that go anywhere,” Urgo said, joining the discussion for the first time. “Besides, they know we would track them down and kill them within days.”

Every eye went to the oldest man in the circle. Urgo, another cousin of Thutmose-sin, carried nearly ten more seasons than his leader. Many considered him the wisest of all the warriors, and his advice helped govern the Clan.

Urgo also planned and mapped out the routes chosen by the Alur Meriki in their migrations, making sure they traveled efficiently and that the Clan always journeyed over routes with plenty of forage and water. His sharp wits could recall better than any of his fellow warriors every trail, path, stream, and river that the Clan had traversed in the last thirty years.

Last year, Urgo’s horse had slipped on some rocks, throwing its master. The fall broke one of Urgo’s legs. He also hurt his back. The injuries had almost killed him, and now pain accompanied Urgo’s every move, forcing him to stay close to his wagon. He could only ride a horse with difficulty, and for brief periods.

“What do you think, Chief Urgo?” Thutmose-sin used Urgo’s full title, to make sure the others listened to his words.

“The outcast Eskkar still rules in Akkad, and he is no fool. He would not waste horses or men so far to the north without some purpose. If he has decided to come forth from his walls and challenge us, the best place for such a challenge would be the stream. If he has enough men to hold it against us, even for a few days, many of our horses, herds, and women and children will die.”

All of them understood the need for water. The large number of horses and livestock, as well as the people of the Alur Meriki, depended on reaching the stream within the next few days.

“How can he challenge us with only a hundred or so fighters?” Bar’rack shook his head. “We’ve seen no sign of men or horses from the south. Our riders would have warned us if such a force approached.”

“He would not challenge us with so few,” Urgo agreed. “If he plans to do so, then he will bring many more men than a hundred.”

Thutmose-sin turned to Unegen, sitting in silence between Altanar and Urgo. “What direction did these riders come from?”

“They came from the west, riding along the base of the foothills. We were hunting, and did not expect to see an armed party approaching from that direction. The land there is almost empty of game, and there is not enough water and grass to sustain even a small herd of horses.”

“If Eskkar amassed a large force of horsemen far to the west,” Urgo said, “and he was cunning enough to know when and by what route our caravan travelled, he could move his soldiers toward us without being seen by our scouts.”

“Well, we’ll know soon enough,” Altanar said. “We should send more warriors to the stream.”

Urgo shook his head. “It may be too late for such a move. Our water stocks are already low, and the caravan will be out of water in two days, three at most. We expected to be at the stream by then. If we find the Akkadians there, and cannot drive them away from the water, we will lose many animals.”

He glanced around the circle, taking his time before speaking. “I think we should turn the caravan around. If we push hard, it is only four days back to the last watering place, perhaps less. And much of the traveling is downhill. If it turns out there is no danger, we will have lost but a few days.”

Only a man with Chief Urgo’s wisdom and experience could speak about turning back in the face of a few dirt eaters. Anyone else would have been branded a coward for uttering such despicable words.

Thutmose-sin considered Urgo’s suggestion. The caravan had turned back before in the face of some unexpected obstacle, but not for many years, and never because of a threat from mere dirt eaters.

“Many will die if we turn back,” Altanar said. “We have no water to spare.”

The Alur Meriki women’s duties included laying in stocks of water to supply each wagon with enough to reach the next watering hole. And they had done so. But no wagon wanted to burden itself with extra water weight when there was no need.

The women knew when the caravan expected to reach the stream. Most would have stored a little extra for their families, but not enough for the horses or herd animals. Hundreds, perhaps many more, would die of thirst. No one had considered the possibility that they might be prevented from reaching the water.

“We have time yet before we make such a decision,” Thutmose-sin spoke quickly before an argument started. “Besides, by now, Bekka may have dealt with the problem.”

He turned toward Unegen. “Return to your clan chief. Tell Chief Bekka to search out the route to the west, and see if there are any more dirt eaters approaching. When you have learned what you can, return here.” He gazed at each of the other clan leaders. “Is there anything else to say?”

No one answered. The silence, of course, only meant that no one wanted to challenge Thutmose-sin’s decision, not necessarily that they approved of it. He stood, ending the meeting. “Meanwhile, Altanar and Bar’rack will gather our forces and move toward the stream, just in case they are needed.”

The others rose with their Sarum, bowed, and departed. Only Urgo, climbing slowly to his feet, lingered behind.

Thutmose-sin met his gaze. “You are troubled by this, old friend?”

“Yes, Cousin. These dirt eaters, Akkadians as they now call themselves, have grown strong. Twice before we have fought against them, and both times we’ve taken heavy losses. During these years, their numbers have grown, and now they deem themselves rulers of this land.”

Urgo did not have to add ‘as we once did.’ The burden of those defeats weighed heavily on the leader of the Alur Meriki. Thutmose-sin had an even more personal reason to hate Eskkar and the dirt eaters of Akkad — the whorl-shaped scar on Thutmose-sin’s forehead had come from the pommel of Eskkar’s sword.

Thutmose-sin had been within a single sword stroke of killing the outcast leader of Akkad’s forces. Instead, Thutmose-sin’s sword had shattered on his foe’s blade, and Eskkar recovered enough to strike back, hard enough to render Thutmose-sin unconscious.

“They do not rule these lands yet,” Thutmose-sin replied.

“Still, there is no denying their power and fighting skills any longer.” Urgo shook his head in dismay at the idea. “The traitor Eskkar is no fool, to send a hundred armed and mounted fighters to their death. Even he cannot afford to waste so many men. I still say you should turn the caravan around while you deal with this threat.”

“And if the purpose of these strangers is to split our warriors away from the wagons, then what?” Thutmose-sin shook his head. “We might be risking more if we turn back.”

“Perhaps it is as you say.”

Urgo did not sound convinced. Thutmose-sin clasped his hand on the older man’s shoulder. “A handful of warriors should not make our people turn in fear, old friend.” He smiled at his cousin. “Tomorrow we will know more about what lies ahead. Then we will decide.”

Urgo’s stared into the eyes of his sarum. “Let us hope the decision is not already made for us.”