Clash Of Empires

Prologue

3129 BC, the harbor of Sushan, in the Land of Elam. .

Daro leaned against the single mast of the Star of Sumer, his eyes scanning the dockside crowd and the broad pathway that led from the wharf to Sushan’s river gate, a few hundred paces away. He had finished stowing the last of the trade goods and supplies at first light, and since then, the ship stood ready to begin its passage home. Now Daro struggled to conceal his impatience while Yavtar, the Star’s owner, finished his dealings with the Dock Master.

The lazy official should have arrived at dawn, so the departing ships could get an early start on their journeys. Instead the sun had nearly cleared the horizon before the yawning Dock Master waddled to his station, unconcerned by the impatient mutterings of the three ship masters awaiting him, and all impatient to be on their way. Well before daybreak, Yavtar had claimed the head of the line, determined to get his ship out of the harbor as early as possible.

Daro ignored the cloudless blue sky overhead, the gentle rubbing of the boat against the roped stanchion, and the pleasant gurgle of the river. He kept his eyes on Master Trader Yavtar, who had almost concluded the seemingly endless and probably unnecessary haggling with the official. A sudden movement drew Daro’s gaze back toward the city’s walls. Six harbor guards jogged through the gate, heading straight for the dock.

Daro never hesitated. His single shout alerted Yavtar, who needed only one look to comprehend the danger. Leaving the confused Dock Master stammering in surprise, Yavtar darted across the dock, and leapt onto the Star. Not as agile as in his youth, Yavtar’s sandal snagged on the gunwale and he nearly fell into the harbor. But Daro caught the man’s arm and pulled Yavtar into the boat.

“Cast off! Get the boat moving!” Yavtar’s booming voice left no doubt about the urgency of the moment.

The eight crew members, already alerted to the possibility of a hurried departure, rushed into motion. Two men sprang onto the dock, cast off the fore and aft ropes that secured the Star, and then jumped nimbly back aboard. Daro and the others snatched up oars and pushed the ship away from the wharf. With Yavtar urging them on, the crew plunged their oars into the water, grunting under the effort to get the Star underway and into the Karum River.

They managed to get ten paces of water between the ship and the wharf before the harbor guards arrived. Daro, one of the few crew members fluent in the language of Elam, heard the guard’s commander bellow an order to stop and return the ship to the dock. Neither Daro nor Yavtar had any intention of complying. Both knew what fate awaited them onshore.

Fortunately, these guards had carried no bows, so they waved their swords and filled the air with curses and demands that the boat come back. Looking back toward the city’s walls, Daro saw the first of the city’s professional soldiers race into view. Six archers, alerted by the commotion, rushed toward the wharf.

By the time the bowmen reached the water’s edge and strung their weapons, the Star had caught the river’s current and dragged itself almost out of range. A few arrows sliced into the river, but only one lucky or well-aimed shaft managed to strike the side of the boat. A moment later the ship pulled out of reach.

As Daro watched the guards and dockside idlers milling about, he saw another troop of at least thirty soldiers pouring through the gate, all of them armed with swords and carrying bows in their hands. This latest contingent rushed onto the dock, knocking aside anyone in their path. In moments, they seized possession of the nearest ship.

The Star of Sumer rowed out to the center of the river, where the most favorable current flowed. Meanwhile, the Elamites climbed on board their commandeered vessel, a larger craft that displayed Sushan’s pennant at its mast head. With thirty or more men on board, they slipped loose the ropes holding the vessel to the dock.

In his twenty-eighth season, Daro had grown up around boats and sailed many a craft on the Tigris. He needed only a quick glance to know that the heavily laden ship could not catch the Star of Sumer, no matter how many oarsmen she carried. But almost as soon as the Elamite ship cleared the dock, the soldiers aboard started tossing whatever cargo the vessel carried over the side. Even before they finished heaving the trade goods overboard, Daro noticed the ship picked up speed. The chase had begun.

What should have been an easy run downstream for the Star of Sumer to the mouth of the Karum River had turned into a desperate race. Daro observed that the ship chasing them lacked the Star’s fast lines, but the leader of the soldiers who assumed command of the vessel had shown both quickness and skill in getting his boat moving. Nor had he evinced any compunction about dumping its goods into the river, even as the ship’s owner danced along the edge of the wharf, waving his arms in a rage.

Yavtar, at the tiller of his ship, also watched the bales and bundles splash into the river. He, too, understood what it meant. In moments the much lighter Elamite vessel, manned by a crew of well-armed men, straightened its course and now churned through the water in pursuit.

While the Star’s narrow hull and tight construction made it the swifter vessel, the far greater number of enemy oarsmen would likely compensate for the pursuing boat’s larger size and heavier weight.

“Damn every Elamite god!” Yavtar’s curse echoed over the water. “Daro, take three men and toss our cargo over the side. Make sure you don’t swamp the boat while you’re doing it. The rest of you bastards, row for your life!”

While aboard the Star, Daro functioned as First Mate, and he jumped to do Yavtar’s bidding. As soon as the last of their cargo splashed into the river, Daro returned to the stern of the boat, and stared at the vessel hunting them. “Can we keep ahead of them?”

Tight-lipped, Yavtar glanced over his shoulder. The Star, much lighter now, rode easily in the river’s current, and had opened the gap between ships to almost half a mile. “The Apikin handles like a pig. We’ll stay ahead of her for now. But they can rest half their rowers at a time. They may wear us out before we can reach the sea.”

Once they left the Karum River and entered the Great Sea, Daro knew the Star of Sumer would show her heels to the lumbering Elamite ship. He could also see that whoever commanded her knew his business and would reach the same conclusion. With the Apikin’s cargo gone, there was plenty of room for oarsmen, and Daro counted eight men on each side. Sixteen rowers against the eight men the Star possessed, and the Apikin probably contained another full bank of oarsmen ready to relieve the first batch.

“We can’t be taken alive.” Daro glanced down at the near-lifeless body at Yavtar’s feet, the man responsible for the vigorous pursuit by the soldiers on board the Apikin. The Star’s single passenger remained sprawled on the bottom of the craft, unconscious, asleep, or maybe dying. Last night, Daro had saved Sabatu’s life, rescuing him from the Elamite prison the night before Sabatu’s scheduled execution.

Dark bruises covered Sabatu’s battered body, interspersed with the bright red marks from the lash. Blood still oozed from some of the open sores. His torturers had broken both his thumbs, and the man’s right eye could scarcely be seen, a small slit in a swollen and inflamed face.

Sabatu’s ordeal extended far beyond his battered body. The six days of public torment in Sushan’s marketplace had included forcing him to watch as the members of his family were brutalized before his eyes, one each day, before being put to death. Wife, sister, brother, and his three young children, all had suffered greatly before dying.

Daro had seen men whipped to death before. Vicious criminals, murderers, and even bandits might face such a punishment for a heinous crime. But Daro had never seen anyone’s family persecuted and tortured to death for the crimes of another. By the time the last of Sabatu’s kin had succumbed, his weakened body and mind had endured so much that Daro worried Sabatu might not survive a rescue followed by a long journey.

Nevertheless, the potential benefit to King Eskkar and Lady Trella had convinced Daro to attempt the rescue. Yavtar’s trading voyage, the goods he’d sold in Sushan, even the Star of Sumer mattered little. He and Daro had undertaken the difficult and dangerous passage primarily to gather information about the Elamite Empire and their plans to invade the Land Between the Rivers.

Passing through Sushan’s crowded market, Daro had paused to watch the public torture. But as soon as he learned the identity of the victim, he realized the opportunity. What better way, Daro reasoned, to learn about the Elamite army than by spiriting out one of its high-ranking commanders. Such a man would undoubtedly know everything about Elam’s generals, their weapons and tactics, even their personal strengths and weaknesses.

And so Daro had risked his own life to slip into the prison barracks in the middle of the night and carry Sabatu from Sushan’s torture room. The Elamite ruler would be furious at Sabatu’s escape, not to mention the two guards Daro had killed in the process. Grand Commander Chaiyanar, the satrap of Sushan, might not have figured out exactly what had happened, but he’d ordered the harbor sealed, lest his missing prisoner attempt to escape by ship.

Yavtar frowned at the helpless man. “I hope he’s worth it. I warned you this might happen.”

Daro shrugged. A soldier first and last, he seldom worried about the cause of any dilemma. What was done was done. “Anything you want me to do?”

“Just row, damn you.”

Daro nodded, and picked up an oar. The race had indeed started. He added his strength to those of the crew. For this voyage, Yavtar had selected his best men from his crews of rowers in Sumer, the home port of the Star, and now those choices would prove their worth. Every man straining at his oar knew what was at stake. If the Elamites captured the Star, Yavtar and Daro would be tortured to death, but the fate of the crew would be little better. They would be turned into slaves, then lashed and worked until they dropped dead.

With no choice except to flee, the men needed little urging to do their utmost. Reach, pull, withdraw, and reach again. The oars dipped rhythmically into the river, propelling the graceful ship through the water.

The long chase continued. By midmorning, a favorable wind blew down the river, and allowed Yavtar to rest his men. The ship hunting them had a sail as well, but whatever boatmen remained onboard lacked Yavtar’s skill. The Elamite ship yawed from time to time, wasting both the wind and its rowers’ best efforts.

Even so, the Elamites’ greater number of oarsmen nearly made up for the squat lines and clumsy attributes of the Apikin. The brute strength of her rowers kept the race close. Now only Yavtar’s proficiency with his ship prevented the Elamites from closing the distance and getting near enough to launch their arrows. One or two wounded men, and the Star would be overtaken.

Not that they hadn’t tried. Twice they had loosed volleys at the Star of Sumer, but each time the enemy shafts had plunged into the Star’s wake, and no shaft reached within fifty paces.

The wind held steady for most of the day, but whenever it slackened or died down, every man went back to the oars, driving the boat downriver as fast as they could. Despite the Star’s utmost travail, the pursuing ship clung stubbornly to their stern, sometimes closing to within a quarter of a mile. What the trailing ship lacked in speed and grace, it more than made up with the extra number of its soldiers, determined to drive the Apikin through the water until they could catch the Star.

The long day dragged on, as Yavtar’s exhausted men sweated and rowed, too tired even to swear at their situation.

The sun finally neared the western horizon. “Pull, damn you, pull!” Yavtar, standing at the tiller shouted. “We’re almost at the sea. We’ll be safe in deep water.”

This late in the afternoon, the swift passage down the river had extracted a high price from every man. Daro ignored the pain in his arms, across his chest and shoulders, and down his back. The hands that wielded the oar ran with blood, and the raw scrapes on his knees added to his misery.

A sharp wind blew across Daro’s face as he dragged his oar through the choppy water, but even the cool breeze off the Great Sea failed to dry the sweat from his brow. All the men rowing the Star of Sumer had labored to exhaustion, fighting wind and water that sought to roll over the lightly-laden ship. Despite the danger, Daro didn’t worry about drowning, nor did his crewmates. The ship pursuing them promised far greater pain than a quick death beneath the waves. The Star’s oarsmen would row until they collapsed.

Daro glanced around at the other members of the crew. Each man endured, working as hard as he could. Still, Daro knew the ship’s crew couldn’t keep up this pace much longer. But Yavtar knew his trade, so he must have some plan ready to shake the Elamites.

Now, just before dusk, the Star approached the end of the Karum River, where its waters emptied and dissipated into the Great Sea. After leaving the river’s mouth, the vessel needed to turn its bow to the west, toward its home port of Sumer. However the stubborn wind and the sea’s current had a different plan, as they combined to force the ship to the east.

By now even Daro’s powerful arms, strengthen by years of archery practice and countless voyages up and down the Tigris, protested the grueling demands. He struggled to keep his rhythm — reach, pull, withdraw, and reach — but the rocking and pitching of the vessel fought his efforts. His hands burned from the oar’s roughness, and pain grated against his knees with every stroke.

More than any man in the crew, Daro knew exactly what awaited them if they were captured. He’d seen Sushan’s prison and its torturers.

“Pull, you bastards! Pull, unless you want to sail to the Indus!” Ship Master Yavtar bellowed above the grunts and heavy breathing of his crew.

“Pull yourself, damn you,” one of the rowers called out. “I’ll steer the boat.”

Daro and a few of the crew found enough breath for a brief laugh. Yavtar, one of the wealthiest men in Akkad, probably hadn’t touched an oar in years.

“When you own the boat,” Yavtar shouted in reply, “you can steer. Until then, you lazy excuses for sailors had better earn your pay, and row!”

Daro glanced over his shoulder at their passenger. Sabatu hadn’t moved, and might not even be aware of the frenetic activity taking place around him. Before his arrest and condemnation, Sabatu had climbed high in the Elamite army’s hierarchy, attaining the position of High Commander. That rank meant he’d led at least five hundred men, which made him far more valuable than Yavtar’s lost cargo. What Sabatu could reveal about Elam’s armies, strategies, and tactics might save hundreds of Akkadian lives in the coming war.

Daro had hoped the Elamite garrison would suspect some of Sabatu’s loyal soldiers or close relatives had carried off the rescue. But either someone had noticed Daro’s midnight swim to the military compound’s dock, or the city’s soldiers were just being thorough when they rushed to search the boats in Sushan’s harbor. Of course, the Star’s flight told the Elamites all they needed to know.

Now, however, no one gave a thought to Sabatu. Yavtar’s next bellow ordered Daro to drop the sail. It also warned the crew that the moment of danger approached — against wind and tides, the boat needed to turn to the west. Every rower strained at the grueling labor, aware of what was at stake. If the Great Sea didn’t roll the ship over and drown all of them, the Star of Sumer would be driven far to the east, wasting who knew how many days of hard rowing to get back to this very location. And if that happened, they might find the Apikin and even more Elamite ships waiting for them.

Ignoring the sweat dripping from his brow, the pain in his knees, and the strain on his arms, Daro pulled at his oar with all the remaining strength in his body. To his surprise, Yavtar continued to guide the Star directly toward the heart of the Great Sea.

The roiling water smacked the Star’s broadside, and threatened to swamp the vessel. Daro heard the crew muttering. Turn the boat, head into the wind. Turn now. Daro’s mind echoed the same thoughts, but he trusted in Yavtar’s seamanship. The Ship Master knew more about boats and water than any man in the Land Between the Rivers.

Yavtar ignored the grumbling and kept the craft moving into deeper water for almost a mile, until Daro could just make out the thin line of sand that marked the shore behind him. At last, as Daro’s muscles weakened, Yavtar shouted the order to turn, even as he leaned all his weight on the tiller.

The crew of the Star of Sumer responded, summoning what little remained of their strength. For a moment, the vessel hung up in its turn, and a wave splashed over the bow, splattering the rowers with water and threatening to capsize the ship. A few men cried out, and Daro, too, thought their watery demise had come.

But Yavtar knew both his crew and his boat. Suddenly the Star leveled out and lunged ahead, as the vessel slipped past the worst of the shoreline current. The crew’s day-long unrelenting labor had nearly ended, as the Star of Sumer at last reached the open sea. The craft had traveled far enough from the river’s mouth and the wind-tossed breakers. Now the boat rode gracefully in its motion, rising and falling with the water instead of struggling against it.

“Make headway!” Even Yavtar’s voice revealed a trace of relief.

With a chorus of sighs and groans, the oarsmen slacked their efforts, rowing just hard enough to keep the Star moving. Once again, a skilled Ship Master and an experienced crew had thwarted the powerful waves, driven by the wind from the west.

After gulping a long breath, Daro glanced behind him. The Elamite ship, powering its way through the choppy waters, had turned far sooner than the Star, clearly attempting to cut off the Sumerian ship. But the bigger boat could not handle the cross-currents that Yavtar had so carefully avoided. Before the Apikin could get its bow pointed westward, a wave spilled over the vessel’s side.

Daro watched, fascinated by the spectacle playing out before his eyes, only a few hundred paces away. He could hear the men shouting, the fear in their voices carrying over the water. Another wave splashed onto the Apikin’s pitching deck, and he saw three men tumble over the side and into the water. Despite the crew’s desperate efforts, the boat slowed its pace, and sealed its own doom. Two more waves pushed it broadside, and the next one swamped the boat.

Scrambling back to the stern, Daro watched the Apikin’s death struggles. “Can they make it?

Yavtar shook his head. “Too much water, and too much weight. There’s not enough time.”

And then it was over. The boat’s stern dipped beneath the sea. Men clung to the hull, as its bow lifted into the air for a moment, before sliding backward into the sea, pulled beneath the waves by the weight of water in its stern. Daro heard the sound of snapping beams. In moments, the ship, the crew, all had disappeared beneath the fast moving water.

“Will any of them get to shore?”

“Not here. The current’s too strong. Even if a few survive, they’ll be carried far to the east. It will be days before anyone gets back to Sushan.”

Daro hoped every single man aboard the Apikin drowned, but knew he would risk the sea gods’ anger to say something like that aloud. “Thank you, Yavtar. You saved all of us.”

“Let’s just hope your precious prisoner was worth risking our lives, and my lost cargo.” He swore again at the thought, then lifted his voice. “Up sail!”

The crew’s collective sigh of relief was loud enough to make Daro smile. He moved to the slender mast, ignoring the pain in his knees and the ache in his back. With the help of two crewmen, he dragged the heavy cloth up to its highest position. His hands, still stiff from holding the oar, fumbled with the fastenings. At last Daro secured the sail, taller than two men, and watched with satisfaction as it filled with air. The mast creaked under the strain and the boat heeled a little, while the crew cheered.

“In oars, men,” Yavtar shouted.

The groaning crew pulled in their oars, and slumped against the gunwales, too exhausted even to crawl to the water skins stored in the bow.

“Daro! Your friend is tossing about.” Yavtar’s voice resumed its usual rough growl now that the danger had passed.

No one on board, save Yavtar and Daro, knew Sabatu’s name. The crew remained unaware of their passenger’s identity or how the bloody and unconscious man had inexplicably appeared onboard the Star in the middle of the night. After today’s terrifying chase, they might guess at what had happened. Even so, the less they understood the better.

Daro moved to Sabatu’s side. A square of linen covered the sick man’s face, protecting him from the sun rays. Daro moved it aside.

“Where are we?” Sabatu had drifted in and out of consciousness since his rescue, and even when he appeared aware, his eyes looked vacant and unfocused. For this moment, however, his mind once again controlled his tongue.

“Out of the Karum River at last, thank the gods, and onto the Great Sea, heading west for Sumer.” Daro smiled encouragingly at his patient, even as he searched Sabatu’s face for any hint of madness. Men tortured to such an extreme often lost their wits, never to regain them. “With luck and a favorable wind, we’ll reach the mouth of the Tigris by midmorning the day after tomorrow.”

“Sumer.” Sabatu took a ragged breath, as he struggled with the knowledge of their destination. “I’ve heard of the city in the Land Between the Rivers.”

Daro nodded reassuringly at Sabatu’s words. But before Daro could reply, Sabatu’s head lolled back. Asleep or unconscious, Daro couldn’t be sure. He replaced the cloth over the man’s face.

“Will he make it?” Yavtar had disapproved of Daro’s rescue efforts. Whether Sabatu lived or died, Yavtar could never dare voyage to Sushan again.

“He’s strong,” Daro said. “And he’s a soldier. He’ll fight to live.”

“Well, if he’s going to die, let’s hope he dies before we get to Sumer. That way we can just dump his body and avoid all those prying eyes on the dock.”

Sumer would indeed be Yavtar’s first stop, but Daro knew the boat would be in port just long enough to pick up cargo and take on a new ship master. Then it would continue on to the Euphrates and its final destination port, the City of Lagash. Yavtar would ensure that the Star and this crew did not get back to Sumer for at least a month or more. By then, the memory of the injured and unnamed passenger would be well in the past and hopefully forgotten.

Yavtar, Daro, and Sabatu would disembark at Sumer, where another of Yavtar’s river ships waited to take them up the Tigris to the City of Akkad.

Daro had served Eskkar, the King of Akkad, and Lady Trella, his queen, for many years. Despite his youth, he’d commanded the three fighting boats at the Battle of Isin ten years ago. Last year he’d fought again, against the barbarian horde of the Alur Meriki in the battle at the northern stream. Though trained as an archer, Daro’s early experiences as a boy on the river brought him to Yavtar’s attention. Before long, Daro had become a leader of one hundred, and in command of Yavtar’s fleet of fighting boats.

Three years ago, Daro had married Ismenne, Akkad’s most skilled Map Maker, and another of King Eskkar and Trella’s close confidants. When Daro asked her father Corio for permission to marry Ismenne, Corio had turned to his young daughter. “Is this the man you want to marry?” Ismenne answered yes. “Well, you’re more than old enough. If Lady Trella gives her blessing, then you can marry Daro.”

For all practical purposes, Corio had relinquished his authority over his daughter years ago, knowing that opportunities to work with Trella seldom came. Even before Ismenne passed through the women’s rites, she had assisted Lady Trella in the secret Map Room. For many years the Queen of Akkad had functioned as the girl’s mentor and a second mother. Since their marriage, Ismenne had already given Daro two sons.

Yavtar, another of King Eskkar’s close advisors, had used his wealth and influence in the last fifteen years to expand his river trading ventures. He, too, had fought at the Battle of Isin, working the tiller in the same boat as Daro. The two had grown close over the years, and Yavtar looked upon Daro as one of his sons.

Sabatu moaned in his sleep, and Daro glanced down at their passenger. The man could still die. After so many beatings, Sabatu might have serious injuries within his body. Not to mention that a man’s mind might also be destroyed as a result of prolonged torture and repeated whippings. Daro shuddered at the thought of undergoing the same fate, and wondered, as every man did, how well and how long he would last under the same punishment.

Pushing that gloomy thought aside, he muttered a prayer to the sea gods, asking for a fast trip back to Akkad. In the city, Lady Trella’s healers might be able to save Sabatu’s life and mend his wounds. Whether the man would regain his wits was another question. The sooner they reached the City on the Tigris, the better.

Seven days later, Sabatu awoke. Opening his eyes, he gazed at the narrow walls and ceiling of what must be a private chamber. A small window high in the wall glowed with the powerful noonday sun, illuminating the room. The bed felt soft, and a light blanket covered his body, as much to discourage the flies as to keep him warm. His head rested on a second blanket, folded over to form a pillow.

Sabatu tried to sit up, and for the first time, realized that bandages covered both his hands. He tried to speak, but only a hoarse croak emerged from his mouth. Nevertheless, the sound brought the patter of running feet, and a small boy peered at Sabatu from the doorway. Before Sabatu could speak, the boy disappeared.

A few moments later an old man, moving with care, stepped into the room. The grinning boy followed behind, carrying with both hands the heavy wooden box that held what must be the healer’s instruments, potions, and herbs.

The healer drew up a stool and sat beside the bed. He smiled and spoke, but Sabatu didn’t understand. For a moment he thought his mind had lost its ability to comprehend, but then he realized the healer was speaking in a strange tongue. By the time Sabatu understood what was happening, another man entered the room.

“It is good to see you awake. For a time, I thought we were going to lose you.”

The man’s voice and face seemed familiar, but Sabatu couldn’t recollect where or when.

“Where am I? Who. . what is this place?”

“You are in the City of Akkad, on the River Tigris, in the Land Between the Rivers,” Daro explained. “This is the home of the King of Akkad. We rescued you from the prison barracks in Sushan eight, no, nine days ago. My name is Daro, and this is the healer, Ventor. Since your arrival, he’s spent most of his days at your side, trying to mend your injuries.”

Sabatu, his mouth open, stared at the man who called himself Daro. Then Sabatu’s mind recalled the past, the disgrace, his attempted flight, his capture and the sentence of death by torture for his whole family. His head sagged back on the pillow. Sabatu’s hands fumbled at the blanket. The memory of the days of suffering and pain washed over him, and he screamed. But whether the sound ever left the prison of his mind, he couldn’t be certain. His head spinning, Sabatu slumped back against the pillow, almost welcoming the blackness that ended his thoughts.

When he awoke the second time, Sabatu knew his senses had returned. His body ached and his hands hurt, but agony had assaulted his body for so long that he seemed incomplete without it. Only when Sabatu thought of his torture did he realize that, for once, the pain seemed to have lessened, faded to little more than a dull ache. He realized there were no fresh injuries to sear his body and mind.

Soft voices penetrated his thoughts, first a man’s, then a woman’s. Sabatu opened his eyes. A clean, whitewashed ceiling overhead. He recognized the same small chamber, with its single high window and plastered over walls. He looked up from a large bed which took up most of the room. In one corner he saw two odd-sized chests, stacked one atop the other. Facing the bed stood a narrow bench, with two people seated on it.

“They said you were coming around,” Daro said. “How do you feel?”

Sabatu recognized the voice, but couldn’t recall the man’s name. Vaguely he remembered speaking to the man on a boat, a small craft that pitched and tossed on the Great Sea. He tried to lift his head. Immediately the woman moved to his side and placed another folded blanket under his head.

Sabatu kept his gaze on the man. “Your name. Can’t remember your name.” The words sounded harsh in his ears.

“Daro. My name is Daro. Do you remember your rescue from the barrack’s prison?”

The woman held a cup to Sabatu’s lips. “Drink some water. Then we’ll give you some soup.”

With the woman’s help, Sabatu emptied the cup. “More.”

She shook her head. “In a few moments. Too much might make you sick.”

“Where am I. . did we sail all the way to Akkad?” Sabatu vaguely remembered hearing the name of that city. He returned his eyes to Daro.

“Yes, we’re in Akkad, in the King’s Compound. We sailed from Sushan ten days ago. You were delirious most of the voyage. We made a very fast passage and got you here two days ago.”

The woman took his bandaged hand and held it lightly. “You are safe now. No one will harm you.”

In his weakness, Sabatu did not pull his hand away. Her voice seemed oddly reassuring, comforting. Thick dark tresses, held away from her brow by a simple silver fillet, framed the woman’s face. He returned his gaze to the man called Daro.

“Why? Why did you bring me here?”

“We know a war with Elam is coming.” Daro leaned closer. “We hope that you can help us. In the boat, you said you wanted to take your revenge for the deaths of your family. If you help us, help Akkad, you may avenge those deaths.”

For the first time, Sabatu realized that Daro and the woman were both speaking the language of Elam’s southern lands. He looked at the servant. It seemed odd that a woman servant would know how to speak his language.

“I am not a traitor.” His voice held a hint of anger mixed with the pain.

The woman shook her head. “There is nothing you need to do. All we seek is information about Elam’s armies, its leaders, its strengths and weaknesses.”

“And if I do not tell you these things?”

She smiled, a warm gesture that nearly made Sabatu smile in return.

“Then when you are well, you may leave Akkad, go wherever you wish. You’ll be given a horse, some coins, enough to establish yourself.”

“And why would you give me anything, in exchange for nothing?” Sabatu couldn’t keep the anger from his voice. His life, his world, had ended, and now a servant offered to bribe him to betray his country.

The servant laughed, a melodious sound that filled the chamber. “You have already helped us more than you know. Now we understand how ruthless Elam’s rulers are, to torture for no reason one of their most important military commanders, just as we understand how efficient their soldiers are. So we are in your debt.”

She stood. “Stay with him, Daro. I think he needs your company more than mine. I’ll have food sent in for our patient.”

With another smile, she left the room.

For a moment, Sabatu stared at the empty doorway. “For a servant, she speaks boldly. In Elam, she would be whipped.”

Daro laughed. “Well, if you think you’ll be more comfortable back in Elam, you can return there. Perhaps Grand Commander Chaiyanar will restore your rank.”

The name struck Sabatu like another blow from the lash. He remembered being dragged, hands bound behind him, into Chaiyanar’s presence. The always affable Grand Commander had informed Sabatu that King Shirudukh had condemned Sabatu and his family to death.

Sabatu had tried to protest, but one of the guards had punched him in the stomach so hard that his breath fled his body. By the time he recovered, Chaiyanar had dismissed the guards with a wave of his hand, and they dragged Sabatu out of the Palace. When they reached the barracks, the beatings began.

As the horrific memories overwhelmed Sabatu, he felt hot tears on his cheeks. His wife, his children, tortured and murdered before his eyes, his life destroyed at the whim of the brutal King, who let nothing stand in the way of his desires.

“In Akkad,” Daro kept his voice soft, but a hard edge crept into his words, “we do not torture the women and children of those sentenced to death. Such a punishment as you’ve suffered has never been witnessed in Akkad.”

He reached down and gently clasped Sabatu’s shoulder. “I risked my life to rescue you, but if you are unwilling to help us resist the armies of those who tortured you, then so be it. As Lady Trella said, you will be free to go as soon as you are able.”

Sabatu frowned. “Who’s Lady Trella?”

Daro’s voice resumed its usual cheerful tone. “The woman who gave you the water with her own hand. Lady Trella. She’s the only reason you’re alive. The Queen of Akkad.”