Battle For Empire

8

Bone weary, the men trudged along, over, and through the foothills. Just after midmorning, Eskkar and his men crested the last hilly obstacle between them and the Khenmet. He had hoped to reach the stream yesterday before dark, but the men carried too much weight on their shoulders.

At least twenty times along the way, Eskkar had cursed himself for not bringing more pack animals. Another twenty added to the thirty he had started with would have made a difference.

All that didn’t matter now. Eskkar halted A-tuku and watched as his men stumbled by, all of them grateful there were no more cursed hills to climb. He could see Hathor’s position below, the men spread out along the stream. A line of alert guards surrounded the camp, most of them watching the east. Eskkar could also see the bodies of men and horses scattered between the far side of the stream and the base of the next hill.

Shading his eyes, Eskkar squinted toward the hill on the far side of the stream. Twenty or thirty mounted Alur Meriki scouts stared back at their Akkadian counterparts. He had no idea how many warriors might be encamped behind the hill. That too, no longer mattered. All that mattered was that Hathor’s cavalry had reached the Khenmet and held it against the warriors.

He knew the details of yesterday’s fight from the pair of scouts Hathor had dispatched to find Eskkar, and help guide him in.

Hathor rode up the hill to join his commander. “Good to see you, Captain.”

“Not as glad as I am to see you alive.” Eskkar always tried to keep his emotions under control, but this time he didn’t bother to hide his relief. He gestured toward the enemy. “Any more attacks?”

“No. More barbarians are arriving, but we gave them a belly full of arrows in yesterday’s skirmish. Whoever led that attack was a fool.”

“We may not be so lucky next time. When the whole Clan gets here, their war leaders will know how to mount an attack.”

“Any trouble on the way in?”

Eskkar shook his head. “No, but a few of their scouts watched us from the hilltops. They never came close. Must have seen Mitrac’s men with their long bows.”

The two men rode down the hill and into the camp. Eskkar swung down from A-tuku and stretched, forcing the stiffness from his muscles. He led the bay to the stream and let it drink, then handed the animal over to one of his guards. The horse might object to strangers riding it, but had learned to accept grooming and care from Eskkar’s personal guards.

Meanwhile, a crowd of Hathor’s men had bunched up around the just arrived pack animals, and soon seven or eight sacks containing stale bread, dried apples, figs, and dates, all foods that traveled well, were ripped open to feed Hathor’s hungry men.

Eskkar strode over to where Drakis and Alexar stood with Draelin, staring across the stream. Using his bow, Draelin pointed out the various points of attack. Soon Mitrac, Muta, and Shappa joined the group.

Eskkar listened as Draelin recounted the fight, explaining how the Khenmet’s flowing water had slowed the charge and disrupted the barbarians’ ability to control their mounts and use their bows. Each of the commanders had questions, but by then, Eskkar knew everything he needed to know. Ignoring the conversation, he focused his attention on the enemy hilltop.

Ten or twelve new barbarian riders had joined the others on the crest. They sat on their horses and stared at those who had dared to block their path. Every one of them would want vengeance for their unburied dead still lying on the ground.

The talk died down, and the men turned to their leader. Eskkar set aside his thoughts.

“Well, we’re here now, with our men and supplies intact. All of you have done well. Now the hard fighting will start.”

Eskkar let the sobering words sink in for a moment. “Alexar, Mitrac, take your subcommanders and prepare for another attack, and this time it will be with every man they have. See how you can best arrange the men, and if there’s anything we can do to make our position stronger.” Alexar knew how to build a stout defensive position, and then defend it. “Lay out as many stones as you can. We’ve plenty of those, if nothing else.”

Alexar had worked with old Gatus on defensive positions until he died, and then with Bantor. And Mitrac’s bowmen would find the best positions to cover the approaches.

“Shappa, take your slingers and study the cliffs.” Eskkar gestured toward the towering rock face. “See if you can get a few of your men up there. I don’t want the barbarians to take the high ground and start shooting arrows down at our men. The more men we can put up there, the better.”

Shappa stared up at the steep rocks. “I hope we brought enough ropes, Captain.”

“If any of your men threw theirs away on the journey, let me know. They’ll go up first, and without any ropes.”

The slingers had brought plenty of rope with them, along with a few hammers and some bronze chisels. Eskkar knew Shappa would not report any of his men who had discarded their ropes. The master slinger would deal with such an offense himself.

Eskkar turned to Hathor and Muta. “As soon as Alexar stakes out his position, you’ll station your horsemen. The barbarians may try to get some of their riders behind us, if they aren’t already moving into position. We may need to fight on two fronts. If they don’t attack our rear, assign your bowmen to stand beside the others facing the stream. Make sure that both you and your commanders know Alexar’s plans.”

The Akkadian leaders, mounted on their horses, would present an easy target for any enemy bowmen. If Hathor and Muta were killed, their subcommanders must know what to do. In battle, confusion reigned, and once soldiers stopped fighting to ask for orders, the battle would be lost.

Eskkar nodded in satisfaction as his commanders moved off and the camp stirred itself with activity. There remained much to prepare before the next attack, but his commanders knew what to do. All of them were veterans of at least one major battle. If they wanted to live through the next few days, they would make sure their men were ready.

Thutmose-sin guided his best stallion, a tall and rangy gray, up the slope. He’d ordered the standard bearers, and other trappings that indicated the presence of the Sarum, to remain behind and out of sight. When he reached the crest, only two bodyguards attended him, accompanied by the three chiefs invited to join him.

Once atop the hill, Bekka led the way along the crest, until the four clan leaders reached the best position to examine the force of dirt eaters below.

Only moments ago, Thutmose-sin had ordered the survivors of Chulum’s Clan to be merged with that of Bekka’s. No one, not even Chulum’s kin, voiced any opposition. Chulum had acted like a fool or a loud talker on his first raid, and Bekka had done well to kill him, saving Thutmose-sin the trouble of having to deal with the man. Still, because of Chulum’s stupidity, the Alur Meriki had lost many irreplaceable fighters.

After making the decision vindicating Bekka, Thutmose-sin had spoken to the remaining warriors in Chulum’s clan. That action had elicited many angry looks, and Thutmose-sin had taken time to make sure the Serpent Clan understood their position. They had disgraced themselves before a force of dirt eaters, and for that offense, their clan was no more.

Thutmose-sin set all those thoughts aside as he settled his horse alongside Bekka’s and stared down at the stream. He saw the bodies, men and horses, lying where they’d fallen two days ago. The death smell, held at bay by the cooler air of foothills, hadn’t spread through the basin yet, though there would be plenty of flies buzzing about and feasting on the ripe flesh. “No arrows in the bodies.”

“No, Sarum. The dirt eaters recovered them, along with the weapons and anything else of value from our warriors.” Bekka made no excuses for not preventing it.

Thutmose-sin understood. Looting the bodies and collecting the weapons of the fallen would have been the first order of business for the dirt eaters. As long as men had been fighting, the living always took from the dead.

He lifted his gaze to the stream. The glistening flow glinted in the sunlight. Already his riders lacked enough water for their mounts, and the men’s dry mouths would soon be protesting as well. The Akkadians had plenty of water, and doubtless enough food for a few days.

The southern end of the stream, where it disappeared beneath the rocks, had already been turned into a latrine. Two soldiers stood there, side by side, talking as they pissed into the waters.

“How many are there?” Thutmose-sin had heard the number already, but it might have changed since yesterday.

“Just over a thousand men, Sarum.”

“Damn that Eskkar,” Thutmose-sin muttered. “How did he get so many men here without our learning of his movements?”

“My scouts have already reported in,” Bekka said. “They back-tracked the Akkadians and found their trail, coming straight from the west, right along the crest of the foothills.”

The last place the Alur Meriki expected to find anyone approaching them. Too late to worry about that now.

Instead, Thutmose-sin examined the enemy force across the stream. First he studied the horsemen, all apparently skilled with the short curved bow that once marked only the Alur Meriki. Then his eyes picked out the accursed Akkadian archers that had slaughtered his men at Orak, recognizable by the longer bows they carried.

Thutmose-sin next turned his gaze on the spearmen, what the dirt eaters now called infantry. They carried true spears, not lances, each one as thick as a man’s wrist and longer than the tallest warrior.

He gave but the briefest of looks at the company of slingers, who even from here looked more like boys than men. Still, the Akkadians had selected a carefully chosen force to fight in this particular place, and Eskkar must have some plan for the slingers.

“Any signs of confusion, fear, any quarrels in their ranks?”

“None, Sarum.” Bekka kept his voice respectful. “These men are under strong discipline. When we charged, they took their positions and stood their ground. Not a man turned to flee.”

Thutmose-sin shifted to face Urgo and Altanar, the other two chiefs who had accompanied him. Urgo had not spent so much time on a horse’s back in months, and the old man’s pain, though he tried to hide it, showed in his clenched jaw. But Thutmose-sin knew he would need the old fighter’s experience, especially his knowledge of the land.

“What do you think, Urgo?”

The experienced warrior shook his head. “First there were eleven. Then they became a hundred. Now they are a thousand. They spread across the pass from end to end. Any more men would only be in the way, not worth the food they would need to eat. This Eskkar of Akkad has chosen this place, this time, and these men to offer us battle.”

Thutmose-sin frowned at Urgo’s words and what they implied.

“The outcast Eskkar seems confident of victory,” Altanar said, after a long silence, “if he brings so many dirt eaters to this place. Although he blocks our way, he, too, is trapped here, cut off from his supplies. He cannot have brought much food with him. We could starve him out in eight or ten days.”

“Yes, if we could last that long.” Urgo reached behind to massage a sore spot on his hip. “Meanwhile we have not enough water to fill our bellies, let alone our horses. And what will our women and children drink? Already their water skins hang flat from the wagons. In one day and half of the next, they will arrive here, desperate for water.”

Yesterday the clan leaders had met and decided to move forward, not back. No one believed that a force of dirt eaters could prevent the Clan reaching the water. Once again Urgo had urged them to turn the caravan around, but that choice was too bitter for any of the others to stomach.

And now, Thutmose-sin realized, it was too late to change his mind. Even if he gave the order to retrace their path, half and maybe more of the Alur Meriki would never reach their last watering place.

“What do you say, Bekka?” Thutmose-sin gazed at the man beside him. “You’ve been watching the dirt eaters for more than two days, and fought them. What do you think?”

“I say we must drive them away from the water. I know that many of us will die, but at least we will die with honor. To turn back without a battle. . to refuse to fight dirt eaters, how could we face our women and children again?”

Urgo shook his head. “We know Eskkar has two or three times this number of fighters at his command in Akkad. By now, a second horde could be marching toward this place from the south. Even if we drive these dirt eaters away from the water, if we kill every one of them, how many warriors will we have left to face the next force of soldiers Akkad will send against us? Who will defend our women and children and wagons then?”

“We do not know if there are more coming,” Altanar countered. “Our scouts have seen nothing. If the Akkadians come, we can attack them in the foothills. These dirt eaters fight well in a fortified position, but on the march, out in the open, they may not prove so formidable.”

“Your scouts may have seen nothing, but that does not mean they are not coming.” Urgo shook his head again. “We did not see these dirt eaters approaching until it was too late.”

“The Council has made its decision.” Thutmose-sin didn’t want to go over the old arguments again. “But no matter what, we need every warrior we can put on a horse to finish Eskkar and these dirt eaters. If more Akkadians are indeed coming toward us, the sooner we destroy those in our path and secure the water, the better.”

He turned to Bekka. “Your men are more rested. Dispatch riders to collect every band of warriors. I want every warrior from every clan here as soon as possible.”

“Yes, Sarum.”

Even as Thutmose-sin gave the order, he wondered if this was not exactly what Eskkar wanted him to do. The Sarum let his gaze roam up and down the ranks of the Akkadians. Two men, taller than most, stood together, staring up at this very hilltop. One of them likely was Eskkar himself.

Without thinking, Thutmose-sin touched the scar on his forehead. The next time he met Eskkar in battle, no broken blade would be enough to stop Thutmose-sin from killing the traitor. Of that, he was certain.

“Is it him?” Alexar strode over to join Eskkar and Hathor, craning his neck and shading his eyes as he stared across at the enemy hill. None of the Akkadians had ever seen the dreaded Thutmose-sin, except for Eskkar.

“I think so,” Eskkar said. “If it’s not, then whoever it is has taken charge.”

“The one on the end.” Hathor pointed toward the right. “I recognize him. He was one of the leaders in the attack.”

“Four clan chiefs together. They’re making their plans while they gather their men.” Eskkar turned away from the hill. “By now they’ve figured out that they have to fight. Let’s just hope they don’t come up with anything better than charging at us from across the stream.”

Eskkar glanced toward his own soldiers. “How soon before we are ready?”

“Not long,” Alexar said. “The men still need some time to recover from the march. Meanwhile, the slingers are busy chipping away at the cliffs, and the rest of the men are cursing at me for making them carry rocks. By the end of the day, we’ll be as ready as we’re going to be.”

Water-polished stones from the stream, some larger than a melon, were being scattered over both sides of the waterway, with twice as many on the Akkadian side. If the barbarians succeeded in crossing over, the stones would make it difficult for a charging man to keep his footing. It would be yet one more obstacle to overcome before the enemy could come to grips with the Akkadians.

“They’ve known about us for almost four days,” Eskkar said. “It will take them at least the rest of the day, and probably tomorrow, to assemble enough warriors for another attack. And Thutmose-sin knows by now that he’s going to need every one if he wants his horses to drink from the stream.”

“Then I’ll have time to rest the men. All that walking has taken its toll.” Alexar rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “I’ll even make sure they do a little training.”

“You sound like old Gatus.” Eskkar grinned at his infantry commander. “Always eager to make his men sweat.”

Alexar laughed. “Well, Gatus would be happy to be here and see what we’ve done.”

“He would be proud of these men, and of all of you,” Eskkar agreed. “The veterans tell the new men stories about how hard training was in the old days, and how easy the recruits have it today.”

Gatus had been dead for more than eight years, yet many of the men still spoke of him as if they’d suffered one of his tongue lashings only yesterday. Eskkar, too, missed the old warrior, who had befriended Eskkar and Trella early on, and remained loyal to the very end. At least he had died as he wanted, in his sixtieth season, fighting with his companions.

“Let’s hope his spirit is watching over us.” Alexar took one last look at the enemy hilltop. “I think we’re going to need him.”

Thutmose-sin spent the rest of that day and half of the next on the hilltop, watching the Akkadians, while he waited for the remainder of his forces to arrive. His enemy kept busy. Gangs of dirt eaters moved rocks from the base of the cliff, the stream bed and the water itself. They scattered these in a wide belt along the bank, creating an obstacle for ten paces as the ground sloped up and away from the flowing water.

With the west side of the stream littered with the smooth river rocks, they repeated the process on the east bank. Then, to further stymie the Alur Meriki warriors, they started piling more stones on the far side, to provide their bowmen with some protection, at least for their lower legs.

The speed of the Akkadians impressed him. In less than a day, they created a barrier on the west side of the stream that would slow any charge. Any horses that managed to make it through the rocks and across the stream would find even more dangerous footing on the Akkadian side. Nor would his bowmen shoot their arrows effectively while guiding their mounts through the water’s current and past the field of stones.

In yet another affront to the Alur Meriki, the hated Akkadian archers set up some target butts. Thutmose-sin watched as groups of bowmen took turns practicing with their long bows, launching the heavy shafts that could bring down a horse at close range, let alone stop a man. Those tall bowmen with their brawny arms would launch two or three arrows before his warriors rode into range.

Nor were the archers the only ones practicing. Groups of slingers flung stones at the cliff face. He could see the puffs of stone chips fly off the hard rock wall. Small of stature, they looked like boys at this distance. Some had used ropes to scale the cliffs on the west side of the stream. From those heights, they would hurl their missiles at any approaching warriors. More important, they ended Thutmose-sin’s idea of sending a band of his fighters to slip over the north end of the stream, clamber through the rocks, and catch the Akkadians unaware.

The steepness of the south cliff, where the flowing water disappeared into the ground, prevented even Akkad’s slingers from using it to advantage. No enemy could work his way through those rocks, to attack from behind.

Thutmose-sin didn’t fully understand the purpose of the Akkadian slingers. He’d used a sling himself as a boy. But somehow the traitor Eskkar had created a whole class of fighters using what Alur Meriki warriors considered a toy for women and children. Scattered across the cliff, or mixed in with the rest of Eskkar’s fighters, they would no doubt add to the killing of his men. Otherwise, the traitor would not have brought them, instead of more bowmen or spearmen.

The Alur Meriki had never faced slingers before, and while he doubted they would be as dangerous as archers, they might take their toll. What effect they would have on the battle remained to be seen.

The foot soldiers, spearmen as they were called, presented another unknown. Thutmose-sin knew his warriors had ridden down bands of dirt eaters armed with spears in the past, but the Akkadians had brought two hundred of these fighters to this place, and they, too, were an unknown.

Even at this distance, he could see the spearmen moving back and forth as they practiced, thrusting with their spears from behind shields. The spears looked to be both thick and long, and the bulky shields appeared solid enough to stop an arrow or turn a sword stroke.

For Thutmose-sin’s warriors scrambling up from the stream and picking their way through the rocks, the spears would be a daunting weapon to face. A powerful thrust could impale a rider before he could bring his sword to bear. Nor would horses willingly charge a bristling line of sharp spear points.

Of course if his warriors could ride back and forth, launching their arrows, the spearmen would be cut down soon enough. But the Akkadian archers and slingers would make sure that tactic failed.

The six hundred horse fighters Thutmose-sin counted also looked dangerous. If they had truly learned how to shoot a bow from the back of a fast moving horse, they presented a threat as dangerous as another steppes clan. Their presence ended any hope of sending an Alur Meriki force of warriors to the Akkadian rear.

However many Thutmose-sin dispatched on the two day trek, they would only find themselves facing these horsemen after a long ride, and the Alur Meriki would be that much weaker on this side of the stream. Scouts on the cliffs would see his warriors coming in plenty of time for the Akkadians to shift their soldiers and counter the attack.

Man for man, Thutmose-sin had no doubt his warriors were superior. They had, after all, learned to ride almost as soon as they could sit on the back of a horse. But Eskkar had chosen his place of battle well. Most Alur Meriki tactics relied on movement and skill with a horse. Those would be less effective in this enclosed pass through the foothills.

And if Eskkar had trained and prepared his men for a steppes battle, Thutmose-sin had to respect their strength. They’d out-fought his warriors before.

The odd mixture of forces Eskkar had established on the west bank worried Thutmose-sin. He didn’t know how effective they might be in a combined effort. On an open plain, the Alur Meriki could hurl their entire force at a single point, and nothing could withstand that. But here, the cursed stream with its desperately needed flowing water prevented the warriors’ best tactic.

Midday had just passed when Bekka returned from his duties and rejoined his Sarum on the crest. A fresh bandage covered his thigh, now marked by only a trace of blood.

“The last of our men have arrived, Sarum. There can’t be more than a handful who haven’t ridden in.”

Thutmose-sin turned away from the enemy camp. He’d seen all he needed. “What is the count now?”

“Over twenty-two hundred warriors,” Bekka answered.

That included more than four hundred old men and young boys, fit to ride and capable of holding a sword, called up from the caravan. These would take their station in the front ranks, to take the first rush of arrows from the Akkadians. Many, if not most, of the old and young would sacrifice their lives to allow his seasoned warriors to close with their enemy.

“Then it is time to prepare.” Thutmose-sin rose and swung onto the back of his horse. “Ride ahead and summon the clan leaders.”

As Bekka rode off, Thutmose-sin took one last look at the Akkadians. Obviously they didn’t have more than a few days supply of food, and by now the first stirrings of hunger might be making itself felt.

The invaders had dragged a few dead horses from the stream and gutted them. That would give each man a fistful of raw meat, since the bare ground held little in the way of firewood. Too much uncooked flesh made men sick, but it would take several days for that to happen.

Meanwhile, his own men had nearly emptied the last of their water skins. The thirsty horses, who could scent the water just over the hill, would soon be more than restive. At last Thutmose-sin turned his horse’s head aside, and followed Bekka’s path back to camp.

When Thutmose-sin reached the area set aside for the gathering of clan leaders, he gazed in satisfaction at the men waiting there. Bekka, Urgo, and Altanar had been joined by Suijan, Narindar, and Praxa. Bar’rack arrived last. Accompanying Bar’rack were the warriors who guarded the caravan, along with the old men and boys. He also brought a pack train loaded down with all the arrows, lances, and other weapons normally stored in the caravan’s wagons.

Thutmose-sin settled himself on the ground beneath the great standard of the Alur Meriki. Each of its feathers, ox-tails, and leather loops represented a particular clan, or commemorated a victory or conquest, some of which no one any longer remembered.

The clan leaders followed their Sarum’s example. Each was attended only by one of his most trusted or senior subcommander. Thutmose-sin studied their faces as they settled into their places.

All the leaders looked grim. Each had ascended to the hilltop and stared at the Akkadians in silence. Even the fools and loud talkers among the warriors realized that this would be no easy victory.

More than twelve years had passed since the mighty assault on Orak had decimated the Alur Meriki. Almost four years later, seeking revenge for that defeat, the Clan, at the urgings of the Sumerians, had launched a night attack on Akkad’s walls. The leaders of the Great Clan had split into two factions over the attack, and Thutmose-sin faced the most serious threat to his rule.

He’d objected to that attack, but a large force of his warriors chose to join with those willing to battle Akkad. Fortunately for Thutmose-sin, the attack had failed, and most of those opposing him died, trapped and cut down within the walls of the dirt eater’s city.

Yet the stupidity of the attack had also taken its toll, both in lost warriors and honor. The Great Clan had not yet regained the strength it boasted before the first attack on Orak. Now Thutmose-sin and the Alur Meriki faced a desperate battle, and for the first time, one not of their own choosing. Every clan leader sitting in the circle knew how much was at stake.

“For almost two days I have studied the Akkadians.” Thutmose-sin chose not to use the usual name of dirt eaters. Whatever low beginnings these men from Akkad might have had, they had turned into fighters, and the sooner his clan leaders and warriors accepted that fact, the better.

“They are well prepared to face us, and they have used the time to strengthen their position. They show no fear. They may not have food for more than a few days, but they have the water. A hungry man can still fight. A warrior weakened by thirst is not as strong. We must drive them away from the stream, and soon. Another two or three days, four at the most, and we will all be opening the veins and drinking the blood of our few surviving horses to stay alive.”

He let the words sink in, as he glanced around the circle. No one challenged his assertions.

“So we must make a choice, right here and right now, about how to fight and how to drive them away from the water. If we fail to do that, the Alur Meriki may be finished as a people. And let me not hear loud talk about wiping these invaders out to the last man. I would let the Akkadians ride away tomorrow unscathed, if we could somehow secure the water for the caravan.”

Thutmose-sin turned to Bar’rack. “How soon before the caravan reaches this place?”

“I made sure the wagon masters understood the need for speed. We marked the trail, and the caravan will travel as far as it can into the evening. It should be here by midmorning tomorrow.”

“Good.” Thutmose-sin did not feel comfortable about leaving the caravan undefended and so far behind, but it couldn’t be helped. “When they arrive, the path to the water must be free.”

He glanced around the circle of warriors. “We’ve already wasted two days gathering our strength. Now it is time to plan the defeat of these Akkadians.”

Murmurs of approval greeted Thutmose-sin’s words.

“To kill these dirt eaters, we must come up with a new way to fight. We cannot waste our warriors’ lives by charging across the stream. Chulum’s foolishness at least convinced our men of that. The first to die will slow our approach, and leave the survivors easy targets for their archers. Even if we are successful, too many of our men will die. Since that is so, I believe we should attack at night and on foot. There will be little moon, and we should be able to get close to the stream before we launch our attack.”

“On foot and at night!” Suijan shook his head. “No warrior with any honor would agree to such a battle plan! Better to die on a horse, under the sun and sky.”

The man’s outburst surprised Thutmose-sin. Suijan had proven himself to be strong fighter and wise beyond his years. “You have been here less than a day, Suijan.” Thutmose-sin kept his temper despite the man’s angry words. “Let us ask Bekka, who has not only been here the longest, but who has actually ridden against these invaders.”

Bekka shifted his body while he collected his words, surprised at being asked to offer his opinion ahead of his elders. “I think the dirt eaters are waiting for us to charge across the river. One hundred of them stopped our charge before we reached midstream. Struggling through the water, not one warrior got close enough to throw a lance. I thought Chulum and I had wasted our men’s lives. Now I agree with our Sarum that we have learned from their deaths. If we ride against them on horseback, we will be destroyed.”

“How can you be certain that an attack at night will succeed?” Praxa, the oldest of the clan leaders after Urgo, leaned forward, his eyes shifting from Bekka to Thutmose-sin.

“I cannot be certain,” the Sarum replied. “But at night, the long bowmen of the Akkadians will not be able to see us, nor will they have a large target to aim at. Eskkar has taught these men to aim for the horses. If we hug the ground as we approach, we may be able to cross the stream and close in on them.”

“How deep is the stream?” Altanar’s question showed support for his Sarum.

“Only above the knees, and a little deeper in the center.” Bekka answered without glancing at Thutmose-sin. “There it might reach mid thigh for a few steps.

“It will slow down our men.” Altanar kept his voice even. “But it would also slow down horses, who will be fearful of the depth of the water. At least we can tell the men what to expect.”

“And whatever slingers or bowmen the Akkadians have on the cliff will be of little use,” Bekka went on. “Once we close in, they will have no targets.”

Thutmose-sin waited for a moment, but no one offered anything else. “Urgo, you have not spoken. What would you recommend?”

Every eye turned toward the old warrior. He, too, took a moment before he replied.

“I agree that a mounted attack would fail, and with heavy losses. Eskkar will have planned well for just such an encounter. But an attack at night will be almost as bad. Do you think Eskkar will not be expecting this? Besides, our warriors are not used to fighting in the dark, while the dirt eaters have shown themselves to be good fighters after the sun goes down. Do not forget the lessons of Orak. At the great siege, we tried several attacks at night, and they all failed, but the dirt eaters raided our horses in the dark. And when Rethnar tried to slip into the city at night during their war with Sumer, his men were trapped and slaughtered like sheep in a killing pen.”

No one wanted to be reminded of Rethnar’s failure. At least he had the good fortune to get himself killed during the attack, which had saved Thutmose-sin the bother of doing it.

Or Bar’rack might have done it. He had ridden with Rethnar in that battle and fought in the Akkadian city. Afterwards, when the survivors collected themselves, Bar’rack had searched through the surviving and shattered warriors, naked blade in hand, calling out Rethnar’s name and demanding a challenge.

“What you say is true,” Thutmose-sin conceded. “But I see no other path to follow.”

“There is another way, perhaps two,” Urgo went on. “First, we can try to. .” he had to pause to remember the word seldom used by the Clan, “to negotiate with Eskkar. Perhaps he can be persuaded to depart. Villagers like gold and horses. We can offer them to the Akkadians.”

“Buy our path to the water!” Even for Altanar, that course of action bordered on the unthinkable for a warrior. “Never!”

“You will buy the water from that stream, paying for it in the blood of our fighters and our horses.” Urgo shrugged, unperturbed by the passion of Altanar’s response. “If that is not acceptable, then I suggest that we turn the caravan around, and return to the last watering place. Many will die, the old, the young, the weak, and most of the herds, but much of the caravan will survive, as will many of our strongest horses and warriors. Meanwhile, Eskkar cannot remain in this place long. His thousand fighters and half as many horses need food and grain. In a day or two, once we are well on our way, the Akkadians will leave this place. Once they do, they will be vulnerable to attack by our warriors. And for once Eskkar is a long way from the safety of his walled city.”

“To fight and die is surely more honorable than a. . retreat.” Praxa had nearly uttered the word “cowardly,” which no one dared say of Urgo.

“Perhaps Urgo is right,” Thutmose-sin spoke quickly, before tempers flared. “If we can talk to the Akkadians, perhaps we can trade horses and gold for passage.”

“We’ve no gold here,” Altanar said, “unless we strip every ring, necklace, and arm bracelet from our warriors.”

“How many horses would we offer?” Suijan’s voice held a trace of resignation.

“A hundred, three hundred, it makes no difference,” Urgo said. “In three days we’ll lose that many and more to thirst.”

“Why should this Eskkar trust us to deliver the gold and horses?” Bekka’s tone indicated that he, too, preferred not to face the Akkadians.

Thutmose-sin already knew the answer to that one. “I, perhaps all of us, would have to give our oaths as warriors.”

A sigh of despair greeted his words. No warrior dared to break such an oath, even one given to a dirt eater. But no one spoke. Even for proud fighting men now reduced to offering horses for water, the idea of giving their solemn oaths to dirt eaters would take time to swallow.

“And if the traitor spurns your offer?” Bar’rack’s angry voice told everyone what he thought of the prospect.

Not “our” offer, but “your” offer, Thutmose-sin noted. “If we can save the lives of our warriors, we must try. Or we can turn the caravan around, as Urgo suggests. Who else is in favor of that?”

The clan leaders glanced at each other, but no one spoke. Retreating without a fight, refusal to accept the dirt eaters’ challenge, no, the leaders of the Alur Meriki were still not ready to consider that.

“Then we will first try and bargain with the Akkadians.” Thutmose-sin shook his head and took a deep breath. “Meanwhile, prepare your men for the night attack. Unless anyone has another plan?”

He glanced around the circle. No one appeared satisfied, but neither had anyone a better idea. Before he could end the council and send them to their duties, Bar’rack spoke again.

“There may be another way,” Bar’rack said. “I could challenge this Eskkar to fight, warrior against warrior. If I kill him, we agree that his men can depart in peace. If he kills me, then we can give them the horses.”

Thutmose-sin frowned. All of the clan chiefs knew Bar’rack had sworn the Shan Kar against Eskkar.

“I know of your bravery, Bar’rack,” Urgo said. “But Eskkar will not fight you. He commands an entire city and thousands of fighters. No such leader would accept a challenge to fight someone of lesser status. It is likely he does not even know your name. If you offer Eskkar a challenge, he will ignore it.”

Bar’rack flushed at the gentle rebuke, but said nothing.

“No, Eskkar would not fight you,” Thutmose-sin agreed, breaking the silence. “Still, he might take such a challenge from me. But we will hold off on that challenge for now.”

The messenger darted through the ranks, running as fast as he could to find Eskkar and deliver his message. Eskkar thanked the soldier, but he’d already seen the huge cross-pole totem that symbolized the might of the Alur Meriki and the power of its leader. Now placed atop the hill, the white streamers formed of clan tokens and animals symbols floated in the light breeze.

“What does it mean?” Alexar stood beside Eskkar as they stared at the enemy hilltop. Warriors were filling the crest, but their leisurely movement didn’t appear to portend an attack. Some of the Alur Meriki riders had even dismounted, and now stared down at the enemy that denied them water.

“It’s the great Alur Meriki standard, representing all the clans and all their victories. There are even a few yak tails brought down from the steppes,” Eskkar said. “It also means that Thutmose-sin is on the crest.”

By now Hathor, Mitrac, and Drakis had reached his side, all of them staring open-mouthed at the sight. Part of the barbarian ranks parted, and three warriors rode over the crest and started down the slope, walking the horses with unusual care down the incline. They stopped at the base of the hill, well out of range of the Akkadian long bows.

“Is one of them Thutmose-sin?” Alexar couldn’t keep the excitement out of his voice.

“Those are all chiefs,” Hathor said. “Look at the horses.”

“Could be,” Eskkar said. None of the three warriors carried a bow or lance. “I think they want to talk, to meet face to face. They’ll wait there until they see three of us move toward them.”

“Why? What is there to talk about?”

Alexar’s blunt words brought a smile to Eskkar’s face. “Well, there’s only one way to find out.” He turned and strode over to where his horse stood. Eskkar’s long sword rested on the ground beside the animal. Eskkar gathered it up and slung it over his right shoulder, then tested it to make sure it drew easily.

“I’m going with you,” Hathor declared.

One glance at his horse commander told Eskkar that nothing would deter the Egyptian from accompanying him. Besides, Hathor’s grim demeanor would strike fear in any warrior’s heart.

“Come, then.” Three barbarian chiefs meant an equal number of Akkadian leaders could meet them in the center of the battleground. Eskkar considered only a moment. “Mitrac! String your bow and find yourself a horse. I want you with me.”

A chorus of disappointed groans rose up at Eskkar’s choice.

“By the gods, Eskkar, don’t take Mitrac,” Alexar said. “Even he can’t use his bow from horseback. Let me come with you.”

Draelin and Drakis joined in the protest, each suggesting he should accompany his leader.

“Only three can face them,” Eskkar said. “And I want to send a message.”

He waited until Mitrac had strung his bow, slung a fat quiver of arrows over his shoulder, and climbed onto the back of a horse. Then Eskkar led the trio through the ranks. He guided his stallion into the stream, letting A-tuku choose its path through the rocks, Hathor and Mitrac following.

Eskkar halted in the middle of the water. A-tuku snorted at the chilly flow, but lowered his head enough to gulp a few mouthfuls of water.

Hathor, too, paused to let his horse drink. “That should send another message.”

When all three horses had slacked their thirst, Eskkar started forward. The three riders splashed onto the opposite shore and let the horses pick their way through the scattered stones. After another twenty paces, Eskkar paused again.

“Do you want me to count their numbers?” Mitrac had taken his station at Eskkar’s left.

Eskkar glanced up at the hilltop. Warriors filled the ridgeline from end to end, two and three deep in places. “No. I’m sure Alexar has his men getting a count.”

Not that it mattered how many warriors the Alur Meriki could field. The Akkadians would have to fight them all.

They waited, but the Alur Meriki didn’t advance. They seemed to be conferring among themselves. It didn’t last long, and the three started toward the Akkadians.

“Nice and steady,” Eskkar said, touching his heels to his horse. “Just match their pace.”

Step by step, the two groups walked their way toward one another. The gap between them narrowed, until the Alur Meriki halted.

“They’re just in range,” Mitrac commented, his eyes gauging the distance. “My archers can reach that far.”

Eskkar shook his head. “The minute they see a shaft in the air they’ll turn and gallop away.” He touched the halter against his horse’s neck, and the three resumed their slow pace.

When the distance closed to ten paces, Eskkar eased A-tuku to a stop, and the enemy warriors did the same. Mitrac and Hathor remained on either side, about two paces away from their Captain, leaving each with enough space to use their weapons.

Eskkar studied the three chiefs facing him. In the center, wearing the gleaming bronze medallion that signified the leadership of the Alur Meriki, was Thutmose-sin. He rode a powerful looking gray stallion.

Though Eskkar couldn’t recall the man’s face, he recognized the powerful emblem of the clan. As a youth, he’d seen it hanging on the breast of Maskim-Xul, father of Thutmose-sin. And in the nighttime fight outside Orak’s walls, Eskkar had glimpsed it again on the chest of Thutmose-sin, gleaming in the light from the raging fires.

The second warrior wore a fresh bandage on his thigh and another on his arm. Despite the wounds, he seemed calm enough, betraying no emotion either by his face or body movements. That one, Eskkar decided, would be dangerous.

The third and youngest chief struggled to control his anger. While Eskkar didn’t have Trella’s skill in reading people’s faces, he recognized raw hatred when he saw it. Eskkar returned his gaze to Thutmose-sin.

“You are Eskkar of Akkad, what was once known as Orak. I am Thutmose-sin, leader of the Alur Meriki. This is Chief Bekka,” he nodded to the bandaged warrior on his left, “and Chief Bar’rack.”

Eskkar acknowledged their names with a nod. “I am Eskkar of Akkad. This is Hathor, commander of my cavalry, and this is. .”

“We know the Great Slayer of warriors,” Thutmose-sin finished. “He is Mitrac the Archer. Many of our women have cried out into the night and cursed both his name and his arrows.”

Even before the siege of Orak, Mitrac’s shafts had killed many warriors. During the siege Mitrac and his deadly bow had killed or wounded an uncountable number of the enemy. No single man had ever slain so many of the Alur Meriki. No wonder they knew his name and cursed his existence at their cooking fires.

“He gives insult by bringing the Slayer before us,” Bar’rack said, not bothering to conceal his hatred. “Even an outcast should know that bows are forbidden when warriors meet.”

“Control your tongue.” Despite giving the rebuke, Thutmose-sin betrayed no trace of anger toward his commander for speaking out of turn.

Eskkar smiled. So that was what had prompted the brief discussion when they had first seen him and his men ride out.

He considered Bar’rack’s outburst. It seemed odd for the Sarum of the Alur Meriki to bring a young clan leader with him, one who could not control his emotions. Eskkar finished his examination of the three clan leaders before he answered. “We have met once before, Thutmose-sin, on the night of the great burning.”

“My sword shattered against your blade,” Thutmose-sin said, “or I would have killed you.”

Eskkar shrugged. “Perhaps. But you are the one who bears the mark of my sword on your forehead. If the wagon had not burst into flame, I would have killed you.”

Thutmose-sin frowned at the memory. Though the years had faded the scar, the force of Eskkar’s pommel had indeed left its mark, and not only on Thutmose-sin’s body. “The custom of meeting before battle forbids the carrying of bows.”

“Your customs mean nothing to me.” Eskkar kept his voice calm, almost placid, another piece of useful advice from Trella. Let your words carry the message, not your voice or face, lest you reveal too much of what is in your heart. “If Mitrac frightens you, I can send him back to my men.”

That elicited a second, deeper frown from Thutmose-sin, while Bar’rack’s lips formed a thin line across his face. Only Bekka remained unmoved, almost unconcerned.

Eskkar kept his face impassive as the warriors swallowed the insult. “What does the leader of the Alur Meriki wish to say?”

“Your men hold the water.” Thutmose-sin once again had his voice under control. “Our women and children will soon arrive here. They need water for themselves and their herds.”

“The water of this stream belongs to Akkad, as all of this land now belongs to Akkad. If you want water, you will have to find it somewhere else.” Eskkar didn’t bother to add, or fight for it.

“We have come too far to turn back,” Thutmose-sin said. “And a battle between us will leave many dead on both sides. If you abandon this place, we will let you depart in peace.”

“We are not ready to depart,” Eskkar said. “In four or five days, we may wish to move on. If you wait until then, you may have your water.”

Thutmose-sin knew that in four more days, the Alur Meriki wouldn’t have any warriors who could fight or horses to carry them. “If you leave now, we will give you gold, as well as many horses, at least one hundred.”

The Alur Meriki were indeed desperate. Eskkar shook his head. “You want to burden my men with gold and have them tending a horse herd when you attack? The moment your warriors’ horses finished drinking they would ride to attack us. No, keep your gold. If you want water, turn your horses back toward the east and leave this land.”

“So you came here only to challenge the Alur Meriki.” Thutmose-sin’s voice now betrayed his anger.

Trella’s advice once again proved its worth. The calmer Eskkar remained, the angrier Thutmose-sin grew.

Eskkar leaned forward and rested his left hand on the neck of his horse, who bobbed its head contentedly at the touch. “I came here to end once and for all time the raids and attacks against the farms and villages and herds of this land. If that means I have to destroy the Alur Meriki. .” He shrugged again, the gesture so familiar among steppes warriors.

Silence met the blunt words. At least now, there would be no compromise, no turning back for either side.

“Then you will never leave this place alive.” Thutmose-sin’s voice betrayed his hatred.

“That may be. But even if we are defeated, the might of the Alur Meriki will be broken here forever. Never again will your warriors ride freely though our lands. And while we fight, more forces from Akkad approach. How will you stop them?”

There were no more soldiers coming, but Eskkar knew Thutmose-sin couldn’t be sure of that.

“You are a traitor to your kind.” Thutmose-sin clenched his fist, unable to contain his rage any longer. “Your father killed my half brother. For that you and your clan were declared outcast. Now you shall pay for that deed as well.”

Eskkar had never heard the whole story of what had happened the night his parents died. To learn that his father, Hogarthak, had killed a clan leader before his own death, now made his memory all the stronger. “Then my father died as a brave warrior doing his duty. I will honor his memory.”

“And I will kill you myself.” Bar’rack moved his horse a few steps closer. “I’ve sworn the Shan Kar against you, Eskkar of Akkad, to avenge my brother’s death. He died in the valley north of Orak, ambushed by you and the Ur Nammu scum. If you have any honor, you will take the challenge I offer you, and fight me man to man, here and now.”

So that was why Thutmose-sin brought the young warrior. To see if he could goad Eskkar into accepting a challenge.

At Bar’rack’s advance, Hathor let his horse take one step forward, ready to block the way, and moved his hand closer to his sword’s hilt. Mitrac shifted his bow, which had been resting across the back of the horse’s neck, and let it hang down at his left side. Despite what many believed, he could nock and shoot a shaft from a horse if he had to.

“I accept no challenge from unweaned loud talkers.” Eskkar remained relaxed on A-tuku.

“Then you refuse to face me? The leader of Akkad has grown old and soft, afraid to fight.”

“What else does Thutmose-sin wish to say?” Eskkar ignored the angry warrior and let disdain show in his voice. “Or does the Great Chief of the Alur Meriki have no control over his men? Does he not honor the truce of his own calling?”

“Enough talk, Bar’rack.” Thutmose-sin ordered. “Return to my side.” He waited until the warrior backed his horse into position. “If you will not take our horses or our gold, then it will be war to the death.”

“If you fight, my men will take the gold from your warriors’ bodies.” Eskkar let the force of his voice show for the first time. “And there will be many riderless horses to be collected.”

“Then it will be war,” Thutmose-sin repeated. “I will see you on the battlefield.”

The Sarum jerked the head of his horse around, and set his mount to a canter. Bekka also turned away, but Bar’rack paused to spit on the ground. “The next time we meet, Eskkar, you will die.” He whirled his mount around with such force that it reared up for a moment, before its front hooves crashed to the earth once more, then burst into a gallop.

Eskkar watched the warriors depart. “Now they’re committed. They have to fight.”

“Let’s get out of here.” Hathor glanced around. “I don’t like being exposed like this.” He guided his horse back toward the west.

Back across the stream, Eskkar and his commanders prepared their men. At any moment the barbarians could ride over the crest and launch an attack. The Akkadians stood close to their weapons and assigned positions.

The easy talk and occasional laughter died out. Everyone now understood they faced a fight to the death. But as the afternoon lengthened and no attack materialized, Eskkar turned to Alexar.

“Either they don’t have enough warriors yet, or they’re coming tonight.”

“They’ve had plenty of time to gather their men,” Alexar said. “And they’ve got to be running low on water. They’ll come tonight, or at first light.”

Eskkar swore. “Damn them, I thought they’d attack today. Now we’ll have to keep the men alert all night.”

“They’ve had a day to rest,” Alexar said, unperturbed at the prospect of an all night vigil for his soldiers. “Every other man will keep watch during half the night, while the others get what sleep they can. If barbarians come, we’ll be ready.”

“Shappa!” Eskkar’s voice soon brought the leader of the slingers trotting toward his commander.

“Yes, Captain?”

“The barbarians may attack tonight. Prepare a force of skirmishers to cross the stream after dark. I want to make sure we know when and where the enemy is coming.”

The slingers, mostly young men and boys, and all too small to make a good spearman or archer, had proven themselves in the war with Sumer. Since those days, they had learned to take on many roles, and one of the most important was that of scouting out enemy positions and intentions. Their small stature made them difficult to see in the dark, and they could creep through the night with hardly a sound.

Their slings made almost no noise, and they prided themselves on their skill with the long, curved knives they carried. Those sharp blades could hamstring a horse and send it crashing to the earth. Every one of Shappa’s men carried twenty perfectly round bullets made of bronze in their pouches, and the slingers could launch their missiles fast enough to keep pace with any archer.

“I’ll send out sixty men.” Expecting the order, Shappa had already made his preparations. “I’ll spread them out in a curve just over the stream. And I’ll have those with the sharpest eyes on the cliff. From up there, they may have enough moonlight to see men moving.”

Eskkar nodded. “Barbarians don’t like fighting at night and they hate leaving their horses behind. They won’t be skilled at moving through the darkness.”

“You don’t think they’ll try and cross the stream on horseback?” Alexar didn’t sound so certain.

“No, not at night. The horses would balk and whinny and make too much noise. The barbarians will come on foot if they come tonight.”

“Let’s hope your luck holds, and they come tonight.” Alexar sounded relieved. “If they find another source of water, they might just decide to starve us out.”