Clash Of Empires

Chapter 39

General Martiya took his position alongside the Immortals, on their flank, about ten men behind their front line. He had taken command of Modran’s best troops, to make sure they punched through the Akkadians no matter what. Drawn up in a tightly-packed, solid column one hundred men wide and fifteen men deep, they would provide the hammer stroke against Eskkar’s right flank.

Each Immortal wore a leather helmet wrapped in a bright red cloth, and each fighter carried a sturdy shield that would stop most shafts from penetrating. The front three rows carried spears in addition to the sword each man wore at his waist. Today the spears served another function — to make sure the soldiers in front kept moving forward.

Positioned just ahead of the Immortals, another three thousand troops had massed. Their sloppy formations and nervous glances were all that could be expected from troops who knew they were being sent to the slaughter. Their purpose was to absorb the Akkadian arrows, shielding the Immortals until they’d drawn close enough to launch their charge. The Elamite front ranks knew the Immortals had orders to impale any man that faltered or tried to retreat.

Behind the Immortal column, Martiya saw almost thirty-six hundred cavalry poised to attack. Many of his horse fighters had fought dismounted and died in the second battle. With so many horses stolen or killed, less than half of the once vaunted Elamite cavalry remained.

Lord Modran had taken direct command of that force, and he would ensure that they were hurled into the battle at the right moment. The rest of the Elamite cavalry would fight on foot today, attacking the Akkadian center.

That would hold Eskkar’s troops in place, and prevent reinforcements being shifted to Eskkar’s right flank. Once Martiya and the Immortals had opened the tiniest gap in the Akkadian flank, Modran would drive his cavalry through the opening and into Eskkar’s rear. Then the slaying would begin.

Martiya knew Modran burned to take his revenge for the humiliation of the last five days. Both men dreaded what punishments King Shirudukh would inflict upon them after yet one more defeat. The sneers and contempt from General Jedidia and Grand Commander Chaiyanar would be almost as bad. The upcoming fight would be brutal, but if Martiya could lead even a handful of soldiers up to Akkad’s gates, Modran and he could claim a victory.

Eskkar, too, watched as the darkness gave way to gray, and soon the first rays of the sun sent gold and pink light into the sky, outlining the high peaks of the Dellen Pass. In moments, Eskkar saw the enemy positions, as dawn rose over the mountains.

Today he sat astride A-tuku, a sign to all his men that nothing would be held back. He’d chosen A-tuku to carry him into the battle, despite the risk to the animal. If Eskkar were killed during the fighting, he didn’t want A-tuku to fall into enemy hands, a humiliating trophy that the Elamites would flaunt throughout the land. Better that they should both die in combat.

Mounted, Eskkar could see all the way down the slope. For once, the Elamites stood in formation, ready to advance. By the time the attack began in earnest, the Akkadians would have the sun in their eyes.

As he stared at his enemies, a drum sounded from somewhere within their ranks, and Modran’s soldiers took that first step forward. Eskkar knew the Elamites were battle-weary and that they suffered from shortages of food and water. Would they fight harder because of that lack, or would they give way when the brutal fighting began?

In the Alur Meriki Clan, Eskkar knew older warriors sometimes led the way into battle, risking their lives in the front ranks to preserve the lives of the younger, more vigorous fighters. In such situations, the older men often fought harder, before their strength or resolve gave way to fatigue or doubt. In that way, the old gave their utmost to help the Clan, and if the gods decreed, died with honor.

Eskkar recognized that Modran had positioned a large force of men in front of the Immortals, to shield them as much as possible. That force, its lack of enthusiasm recognizable even from a distance, would be sacrificed to protect the precious Immortals.

Eskkar had managed to snatch a few moments of sleep during the night, not enough to refresh him, and he felt the tiredness in his bones. Approaching his fiftieth season, he’d grown far too old for a tough campaign such as this, let alone fighting in the front lines. Battle should be left to the young, those quick with a sword, insensible to fatigue, and strong enough to ride and fight all day.

But today, Eskkar felt the urge to strike his enemies with his own hands, the same eagerness that his men had displayed when they learned how this last battle would be fought.

His guards approached, and handed Eskkar his helmet and shield. Brown stain, applied last night, covered the bronze helmet and breastplate. The dark coloring would help him blend in with the leather armor of his men. His commanders had not wanted Eskkar to be the target of every Elamite bowman. Leather gauntlets protected both forearms. Despite his annoyance, he wore a stiff collar around his neck, to protect his throat from arrows.

Eskkar fastened the helmet on his head and accepted his bronze shield. He carried the long sword over his shoulder, but also wore his shorter blade belted to his left hip. Last, his bodyguards handed him a slim lance, its tip sharpened to an extra keen point.

Raising his hand to shade his eyes from the sun, Eskkar stared down the slope at the advancing Elamites. Today they had no boastful shouts, no loud war cries designed to frighten his men. They knew such efforts would be wasted, and it would be better to save their breath for the final run and savage fight.

It would indeed be a hard fight. No matter what happened today, whether Eskkar lived or died, whether the Akkadians won or lost this battle, he intended to deal such a deadly blow to the Elamites that any siege of Akkad would be severely blunted, if not turned back.

Eskkar shook the gloomy thoughts away. The strength of his arm, honed by months and years of training, still served him well enough. He might be weary, but he doubted Lord Modran, even though nearly twenty years younger, had gotten any more sleep. Both leaders would contend today less rested than any of their followers. All the same, Eskkar knew he only needed to keep up his strength for a little longer. The enemy would be tired enough, too.

The long night had proven grim for the Elamites. First their planned assault using the Immortals had collapsed in the confusion brought about by the sting of Akkad’s slingers. Before Modran’s forces had fully recovered from that, the horse stampede had further disrupted the formations.

By that raid, even the lowest and slow-witted of the Elamite soldiers realized that their leaders had lied to them, that no new supplies or reinforcements would be coming through the Pass. Now the day of the final battle had come, forcing Lord Modran to attack in daylight.

The Akkadians had made their own preparations, and they, too, had slept little. Eskkar glanced from one side of the Pass to the other. Everything looked much the same as in the previous battles. At least, he hoped it still appeared that way to Modran’s commanders. Eskkar wanted them to believe his Akkadians would fight today’s battle the same way as the first two assaults.

The longer Eskkar studied Modran’s advancing formations, the more convinced Eskkar became that an attack by the Elamites last night would have succeeded. He could just make out the vaunted Immortals moving into position, behind a frontal mass of barely organized infantry. Modran obviously no longer cared about preserving his elite fighting force. Even in a victory today, they would sustain heavy losses. The Elamite commander had grown desperate indeed.

Eskkar felt certain that some of that same desperation had also seeped into the enemy commanders and even individual soldiers. The forebodings that had swept through Modran’s men last night would still linger in their hearts this morning. That, and their lack of food and water, gave the Akkadians yet another advantage.

The outcome of the battle might well rest on just how anxious and fearful the Elamite soldiers had become. He glanced around at his own men. They, too, seemed subdued. They knew what approached, and word had spread about the Elamite Immortals, and their fighting abilities.

“Here they come.” Drakis’s cheerful voice broke into Eskkar’s grim thoughts. “And just like Markesh reported, the Immortals are bunched together against our right flank.”

Alexar galloped up to join them. “Muta’s men are ready, Captain. As are my spearmen and Mitrac.” He lowered his voice. “By Ishtar’s honey pot, I hope this works.”

Eskkar and Drakis both laughed at the crude joke, the sound making hundreds of heads turn toward their leader. “We’ll know soon enough,” Eskkar said.

The worries and qualms that had nagged Eskkar’s thoughts during the night had vanished. The sight of your adversary often accomplished that. Only confidence remained. Whether his plan succeeded or failed, at least he would have taken the initiative. Waiting patiently for the Elamites to attack, and then suffering under their assaults was not the kind of fighting he preferred. That impatience was no doubt ingrained in the blood of every steppes warrior.

“That we will,” agreed Alexar. “At least we have our own Immortal, Drakis, to match against those of our enemy.”

Drakis would be commanding the right flank, where the brunt of the Elamite attack would fall. Even so, his combativeness and determination would spread to his troops, and they would fight hard and follow wherever he led.

“Then to your posts,” Eskkar said. He turned his horse and cantered across the Pass, until he could see Shappa and his subcommanders. “Are you ready?” Eskkar’s bellow easily reached up into the rocks where Shappa waited.

“Yes, Captain.”

Eskkar grunted in approval. The final orders had been given. Today there would be no speeches to his men, nor any further orders to his commanders. They knew their tasks, what needed to be done, and how high the stakes. Every man seemed ready.

He trotted the horse back to the center of the line, settling beside Mitrac. The Master Archer stood by his ranks of bowmen, just as he had done in each of the previous attacks. Only today, most of the sacks containing the extra shafts had vanished. Instead, every archer had a second quiver belted on his hip.

“Once again I need your arrows, Mitrac,” Eskkar said.

Of all of Akkad’s soldiers, only Mitrac had followed Eskkar into every battle, starting even before the first Alur Meriki siege of Akkad, then known as the village of Orak. Mitrac and his deadly archers had played a key role in the campaigns at Sumer and Isin, and many others. He would do so again today against the Elamites.

“We’re ready, Captain,” Mitrac said. He waved his bow toward ten men who stood behind him. “My archers will find their marks, and every leader of ten knows what to do. Many of the enemy commanders have already been killed.”

That, too, would likely be a factor today. While many Akkadian leaders of ten and twenty had died, the number was insignificant compared to the losses of their counterparts among the Elamites.

Eskkar took one last look at his reserves behind him, where a handful of mounted Akkadian cavalry stood waiting, positioned much the same as the previous two battles. He glimpsed Garal riding at Muta’s side. The Ur Nammu warrior, feathers once again dangling from his bow, also had a lance slung across his back.

The rest of the horsemen had been moved farther up the slope, presumably to protect the Akkadian horses from the enemy’s arrows. Only a small portion of the herd was visible before the trail twisted out of sight.

The drums of the Elamites changed their tempo, and Eskkar glanced down the slope. The enemy continued its advance, its soldiers trudging slowly up the Pass, the men shifting into their attack positions. For a long moment Eskkar stared at the oncoming invaders, studying the advance until he felt sure of their intent.

“It’s as we expected, Mitrac,” Eskkar said. “Good hunting to you, and may your arrows find their marks. And to you, Alexar.”

Alexar nodded and trotted off down the ranks of spearmen, moving toward the far end of the left flank. Where once the Akkadian infantry had stood four deep, now only two ranks remained, except for the very center of the line, where another forty men formed a third rank.

Mitrac’s bowmen had also lost many archers, and while they still maintained four ranks in depth, the spacing between each man had widened.

Modran’s army, despite its two defeats, yet filled the Pass from side to side, a solid block of men. The Elamites remained quiet, knowing what awaited them. Even so, their masters would drive them forward with threats and the flat of their swords. Once they closed with Eskkar’s men, the sheer weight of numbers would be in the Elamites’ favor.

Everyone in the first four or five ranks carried some type of shield. Modran must have collected anything that could stop an arrow and given them to the front ranks for this final assault.

Watching his foes advance, Eskkar swore under his breath. He needed one more victory to make the Elamites cut and run. Even if his men just managed to hold them off, it would mean the end of the invasion. Eskkar needed something to make them hesitate, something to break their spirit and convince them that they couldn’t win.

Win or lose, this fight was going to be close, and plenty of Akkadians were going to die. The loss of so many of his valuable spearmen and archers was bad enough, but to fail to defeat the enemy would make their deaths in vain.

Alexar cantered back toward the center, and waved at Drakis, who waved his spear in return. Alexar swung down from his horse beside Eskkar. “Our men are ready, Captain, at least as ready as they’ll ever be. But it looks like it’s going to be close. Good hunting.” He handed his horse’s halter to one of his men and strode calmly back toward his position in the center of the left flank.

Eskkar knew Alexar preferred to fight on foot, beside his men.

Then Mitrac’s drum sounded and the time for orders and doubts had passed. The Elamites had moved within range.

“Loose!” Mitrac launched the first flight of arrows into the sky.

The third battle of the Dellen Pass had begun.

From his higher position up the slope, Eskkar could see almost the entire Elamite army, and he saw the weight of Modran’s cavalry, grouped closer toward Eskkar’s right flank. He guessed Modran had less than four thousand mounted fighters remaining, and the effectiveness of that force might be the key to victory or defeat today.

Nevertheless, almost eighteen thousand Elamites, a mix of infantry and archers, filled the width of the Pass. All of them urged on by their commanders, and determined to finish off the Akkadians once and for all.

But first the Elamites needed to come to grips with their enemy. Once again, more than fifteen hundred of Mitrac’s archers continued to pour arrows into the advancing troops, slowing their approach. Another three hundred bowmen, Muta’s dismounted cavalry, faced the approaching Immortals. Now they, too, began launching their arrows. The screening Elamite infantry lacked a sufficient number of shields, and the Akkadian arrows ripped into their ranks.

However despite taking heavy losses, the enemy commanders drove their men onward.

Eskkar, keeping his shield between himself and the enemy, trotted his horse behind the bowmen. He ignored the occasional shaft that overshot the Akkadian ranks. The Elamites, those who survived the arrow storm, were almost within charging distance. In another fifty paces, they would fling themselves forward.

The time had come. Eskkar raised his sword, and waved it back and forth. Two drummers, awaiting that signal, pounded out a quick beat, a special sound meant to alert every Akkadian in the Pass. That sound was repeated by one of Muta’s men at the top of the slope. Almost at once, Eskkar felt the ground rumble. From higher up the Pass, a herd of horses galloped into view, running toward the Akkadian position.

More than a thousand riderless horses, urged on by the swords and shouts of another six hundred mounted Akkadian horsemen, burst around the curve in the Pass and thundered down the slope. The terrified horses stampeded down the Pass, driven to a full gallop by the swords and arrows of Muta’s riders.

As soon as the animals appeared, the Akkadian infantry and archers abandoned their positions on the left and center, and raced toward the right flank, opening a wide gap in what had been the center and left flank of the battle line.

The Akkadian soldiers from the left flank, running for their lives across the width of the Pass, barely had time to reach the right flank. Brandishing their spears and bows, they created a wall of weapons and shouting men that kept the stampeding horses in the center and left side of the Pass. Still racing at a full gallop, the panicked Akkadian horses poured through the suddenly empty gap in what had been only moments before two-thirds of the Akkadian position.

The Elamites, about to launch their own charge, looked up to see a stampede of wild-eyed horses bearing down on them, with mounted Akkadian cavalry waving their swords and urging the riderless beasts on from behind.

The onrushing horses, fearful of the line of spears and bows brandished by Eskkar’s shouting men, charged past the Akkadians and into the open space. Out of control, they jumped over the dead bodies littering their way. Although many of the beasts went down, the mass of crazed animals, driven by the loud battle cries of Muta’s men, tore into the approaching Elamites.

The front ranks of enemy soldiers disappeared under the horses’ hooves, trampled to death. Many of the Elamite soldiers panicked, as the animals continued to force their way through the advancing enemy, and even their great number of soldiers could not halt them.

The center of the Elamite assault collapsed. Men scrambled to get out of the path of the charging animals. The forward progress of the assault vanished. At the back of the Akkadian horses now appeared a line of slingers. Shappa and his four hundred men, hidden in the rocks just behind the abandoned front line, had raced into the wide gap where the Akkadian left flank and center had been only moments ago.

The slingers formed a rough line, and then they, too, moved forward, following the horses. Their task was to prevent the Elamites from regrouping and launching an attack at Muta’s rear.

Running hard and using their stones, they kept the stampede moving, striking animals and inflicting pain that caused the panicky beasts to continue surging down the slope. Even those Elamites who managed to keep their feet and avoid the maddened animals had no chance to use either their swords or their bows.

For a brief moment, all of Eskkar’s soldiers, with the exception of Muta’s horsemen and the slingers, were packed together on the right flank.

Then a column of Akkadian archers, standing just behind the wall of spears, charged fifty paces down the slope, before halting and aiming their weapons toward their right. They poured arrow after arrow into the front rank of the few surviving Elamites who had screened the Immortals. Shooting at close range, sometimes less than ten or twelve paces, they inflicted such horrendous losses that those soldiers abandoned their position and fled toward the rear, despite the efforts of Modran’s commanders and the Immortals to keep them in place.

The last of the three thousand infantry leading the Immortal attack vanished, either dead or running to the rear. Now the shafts of Mitrac’s bowmen poured into the front and side ranks of the Immortals with a fury that devastated the battle-hardened and elite Elamites. Each of Mitrac’s archers, supplied with two quivers of arrows, had at least sixty shafts to launch.

The Immortals on Eskkar’s right flank suddenly found themselves opposed on two sides, their front and right flank, by the entire weight of Akkadian infantry and archers. Almost two thousand bowmen launched shaft after shaft at the Immortals. Their advance slowed, but somehow they kept moving forward.

Brave men who had never known defeat, they continued advancing, the men in the rear replacing those in front who were struck down. Despite horrific losses, the Immortals struggled on, until they were within thirty paces of Drakis and his front line of spearmen.

But before Immortals could launch their final charge, Drakis bellowed an order and his drummers sounded their own call to action. More than twelve hundred spearmen burst into a run, screaming their war cries and leveling their spears as they rushed across the last bit of open ground that separated the two armies.

With a shock that echoed off the cliff walls, the Akkadian infantry tore into the tattered front ranks of the Immortals. Their long spears were driven forward on the run with all the strength in each man’s arm, and even the Immortals’ sturdy shields could not deflect them.

The entire front rank of the Elamites went down, most without striking a blow. A moment later, the second met the same fate, entangled by the dead in front of them, and driven backward or into the ground by the Akkadian spears that reached over their companions or between gaps in the line.

Meanwhile the last of the stampeding horses had charged their way past the disorganized mass of Modran’s infantry that had advanced toward Eskkar’s left flank and center. Now Muta turned his six hundred remaining cavalry away from the path of the stampeding horses, and swung them to his right.

Akkad’s cavalry crashed into the right rear of the Immortals. Driving their horses ever forward, they flung their lances into the tightly packed enemy. Then they slashed and cut at anything that moved, their targets always easy to spot by the red headscarf.

No matter how fierce the Immortals might be, mounted riders always possessed the advantage against sword-wielding infantry, especially men bunched together in a thick column. That dense formation, formidable in a forward assault, proved much weaker when attacked on its flank.

Behind the Akkadian spearmen, Mitrac’s bowmen and Muta’s dismounted archers ran forward. They launched arrows at any target they could find, aiming for faces, legs, even sword arms.

What remained of the center of the Elamite advance, demoralized by the stampede and now the incessant hail of stones from Shappa’s slingers, turned and ran. First the wild horses, followed by the charging horsemen, and finally the agile slingers proved too much for the already tired and thirsty enemy soldiers. Without any strong leaders to keep them moving forward, their flight to the rear soon turned into a rout.

The entire force of slingers now formed a thin line that stretched across the Pass. Eskkar had gambled that Modran would not waste any more of his troops trying to force their way through the boulders. That left the slingers free to abandon the cliff and rocks, and take a stand out in the open. The stones of Shappa’s men now kept the horses moving down the slope, and prevented the Elamites from mounting an effective attack.

Nevertheless, the battle remained in doubt. Muta’s attack had caught the Immortals by surprise, and now the elite Elamites desperately tried to regroup and face the danger that threatened them from front and flank. The din of the battle filled the Pass. Even the lone war cry of Garal of the Alur Meriki floated over the air, as Muta’s cavalry recklessly pushed the attack.

Eskkar’s horsemen, scarcely used in the first two battles, now took advantage of their opportunity. In their frenzy to strike at the Elamites, they inflicted heavy losses on the Immortals, disrupting their formation and weakening their resolve.

Less than a hundred paces from the attacking Akkadian horsemen, Lord Modran’s cavalry struggled to push their way through the crowd of their own retreating soldiers. If they could charge into Mitrac’s bowmen and attack Muta’s horse fighters, they would relieve the pressure on the Immortals.

Ignoring the confusion in the center of the Pass, Drakis’s infantry, after their first wild charge, continued moving forward. A relentless wall of spears, borne by shouting fighters, had stopped the vaunted Immortals from advancing, and began forcing them back.

General Martiya tried to rally the Immortals and the other troops still uncommitted to the battle. Waving his sword, he turned to face Modran’s commanders and signaled to those fresh troops in his rear. Martiya realized the critical point of the battle had arrived. If the Elamite cavalry could be brought into play, they could run down the Akkadian bowmen. Without the archers, the spearmen would not be strong enough to break the Immortals.

But Martiya’s efforts to order his reserves forward attracted the keen eyes of others. Mitrac saw the enemy commander waving his sword but looking to the rear. Halting his steps, Mitrac launched three arrows at the Elamite general, by now less than sixty paces away.

The first missed, but the second slammed into Martiya’s left shoulder, spun him around, and knocked him down. The third arrow flashed into the side of one of the Immortals, and he, too, dropped to his knees.

Lord Modran, at the head of the cavalry reserve, watched Martiya disappear from sight, probably trampled by his own soldiers. Modran cursed the filthy Akkadian bowmen, who targeted anyone who looked like a commander. Even so, the battlefield was opening up. His own cowardly men, in their flight to the rear, had momentarily blocked his cavalry from advancing.

But now a gap appeared. Despite his infantry losses, Modran could drive his horsemen into the disintegrating center. In moments his cavalry could be behind Eskkar’s line of infantry.

Raising his voice, Modran waved his sword over his head. The time to counterattack had come.

Suddenly a fresh hail of stones, flung by Eskkar’s slingers, slammed into the closest of Modran’s cavalry. One horse, struck in the forehead, went mad with pain, biting and kicking at anything within reach. Modran saw that the slingers, after helping rout the Elamite infantry, had now turned their attention to Modran’s cavalry. They shifted their line and hurled stone after stone high in the air, targeting his horsemen. The hail of bronze bullets unnerved his men and their horses even more than a flight of arrows.

Nevertheless, many rallied to Modran’s side. Ignoring the stones, the riders urged their horses forward, trampling on some of their own infantry in the process.

Garal had not followed Muta and his horsemen in their attack on the Immortals. Instead he kept his horse just behind Mitrac’s archers. Garal had his own orders, to target the Elamite leaders. Voicing his war cry again and again, Garal continued loosing shafts at every enemy commander he could find. Now he observed the movement of men and horses beside Modran’s standard.

So far in the brief encounter, the Ur Nammu Master Archer had already emptied one quiver. Guiding his horse with his knees, he loosed five arrows at Modran’s commanders. The shafts struck two guards and one of the horses. A gap opened in the screen of men protecting Lord Modran. But before Garal could loose a shaft at Lord Modran, his horse stumbled and went down, tumbling the Ur Nammu warrior to the ground.

But Hamati, one of Mitrac’s skilled bowmen, still led the remnants of those assigned to kill enemy leaders, and now he reached the same spot where Garal had fallen. Hamati had run farther down the slope than any of the archers, following after the horses. He had already killed two commanders himself, and his bowmen had accounted for another handful. Only four of his men remained, however. But then Hamati saw who Garal had been targeting — the flashing sword of yet another Elamite leader, and the enemy cavalry getting ready to launch their attack.

“There, behind the Immortals,” Hamati shouted, pointing with his bow at the man with the sword. “Take him!”

Without another word, the five of them drew their bows and launched a small flight of arrows at the cluster of mounted commanders, now just over eighty paces away. A long shot for most bowmen, but not for these Akkadian marksmen. Three shafts missed, but one struck the horse in the neck, and another lodged in the rider’s upper arm. The dying horse reared up in its frantic agony, pitching Lord Modran to the side.

Hamati’s men, still not sure if they’d finished off their target, shot another flight into the massed cavalry nearby, the missiles striking down a few more mounted men. Glancing around, Hamati could see no other enemy leaders worth targeting.

“Just kill them all,” he shouted, his voice rising above the din. He snapped a shaft to the bowstring and loosed another missile. “Akkad! Akkad!”

Another steppes war cry echoed between the cliffs and over the battle ground. Eskkar had reverted to the war cry of his youth. Urging A-tuku forward, Eskkar led his bodyguards and twenty of Muta’s cavalry into the center of the enemy, this blow also aimed at the rear of the Immortals. He’d seen Modran’s standard, and Eskkar hurled his small force directly at the enemy leader. If he could kill the Elamite general, the enemy attack would collapse.

But first Eskkar had to get past part of the Immortals. Many of them had started to fall back, unnerved by the savagery of the Akkadian counterattack. They still fought tenaciously even as they retreated. He charged into the disorganized throng of the enemy, hacking left and right with the long sword. He’d killed three men before the crush of bodies slowed his horse almost to a standstill.

A-tuku trampled another soldier before Eskkar, knowing that a rider on a slow moving horse made for an easy target, flung himself down. Dropping his long sword, he snatched the shorter blade from its scabbard. Grasping his shield, he lunged forward, thrusting and stabbing at the crowded mass of Immortals.

A spear slipped past Eskkar’s shield and struck him in the chest, but the bronze breastplate deflected the killing blow. Knocking the shaft aside with his shield, Eskkar thrust twice at the Immortal wielding it. The second stroke caught the man in the mouth and ripped through the back of his neck, sending the choking man to the earth.

Then two Immortals hurled themselves at Eskkar. They recognized the armor of an Akkadian commander. Jerking away from one stroke, Eskkar used his shield to deflect the second man’s thrust, then struck with his sword at the first man. The three continued to engage, each one stumbling over the dead and wounded, trying to strike and kill.

Enraged at the thought of Modran getting away, Eskkar reverted to his ancestry. Another Alur Meriki war cry burst from his lips, and he swung his sword with all his strength. One Immortal went down, and the second now faced the full fury of Eskkar’s sword arm. Trying to take a step back, the second Immortal slipped on the bloody ground. Before he could recover, Eskkar drove his sword through the man’s throat.

Behind Eskkar, Chandra, Myandro, and others from the Hawk Clan widened the gaps their Captain created. Fighting like wild men, they pushed past Eskkar and through the last of the Immortals. The bellowing war cries of the Akkadians now carried the sounds of victory.

The Elamite cavalry, after watching Lord Modran knocked from his horse and General Martiya wounded, were taken aback by the ferocious charge of the bloodthirsty Akkadians. They saw the Elamite center in ruins, the Immortals being slaughtered, and most of their leaders down. Many had already turned aside.

Too many arrows and stones had struck at the horsemen. Most realized that death awaited them if they continued the fight, even if they managed to sway the outcome of the battle. With frantic shouts to those behind, they turned their horses around and kicked them into motion.

Three of Modran’s surviving guards, stopping only long enough to snatch up the stunned and wounded Lord Modran, followed the cavalry. Kicking their horses to the gallop, they scattered their own men and thus sealed the fate of the engagement. They rode hunched over, hoping an arrow didn’t take them in the back.

Eskkar cursed in his rage, his path now blocked by the fleeing Immortals. He’d fought his way within twenty paces of Modran, but the enemy commander, surrounded by a handful of his men, had managed to get away.

All the same, Eskkar knew that once the Elamite cavalry started rearward, they had lost the battle. Even though they still outnumbered their attackers, the disorganized and panicked enemy turned, almost as one man, and fled, stepping on their own wounded in their panic to get to the rear. Many had seen General Martiya and Lord Modran go down, and decided the time had arrived to save themselves as best they could.

Only the Immortals remained. More than half of them had already died, but the rest, now trapped with their backs against the cliff, refused to surrender. Ranks of Akkadian archers poured shaft after shaft into what remained of the Elamite position, often from distances as close as four or five paces, while Alexar and Drakis kept driving the Akkadian spearmen against them, keeping them at bay and pinned against the cliff.

Their shields gone, and the rest of the army fleeing, the Immortals abandoned any thoughts of holding their ground. With a rush, they tried to retreat, but hundreds of arrows continued to tear into their ranks.

Drakis finally halted his exhausted infantry, and let Mitrac’s bowmen finish off the Immortals. By the time the archers had emptied the remainder of their second quiver, less than a hundred Immortals remained alive. These had dropped their weapons and fell to their knees, begging for mercy.

Eskkar, leaning on his sword and breathing hard, watched the last of the fighting end. The Elamites fled down the slope, tossing swords and shields aside to run all the faster. As the battle fury left him, Eskkar found he could scarcely stand.

Though he had not fought as long as most of his men, the incredible effort he expended had nearly proved too much for him. The battlefield appeared blurry to his eyes, and his heart pounded in his chest, no matter how much air he drew into his lungs.

For a moment, Eskkar thought he would collapse to the earth, exhausted. But he managed to stay on his feet, though he lurched from side to side. The long years had finally caught up with him. He knew he’d grown too old for this kind of fighting and killing.

Stumbling over the battlefield, he found A-tuku wandering around, a bloody gash on his right flank. His favorite horse had survived the battle as well. Using the last of his strength, Eskkar swung himself onto the horse’s back, paused to catch his breath once again, then rode back up into the Pass.

The only force that remained at the near original battle line was Shappa’s slingers, who had bravely filled the gap until the tide of battle had swung completely in Akkad’s favor. Once Eskkar arrived at what originally had been the center of the Akkadian position, he turned A-tuku around and let his eyes sweep the battleground.

Everywhere he looked, he saw the dead and dying. Others, too, had fought themselves to exhaustion, and many dropped to their knees while they tried to catch their breath. The overpowering smell of blood and human waste made it hard to breathe, and filled the Dellen Pass from wall to wall. Cries of the wounded, many begging for water, now echoed off the walls.

That sound, he knew, would gradually diminish as men died, and the victors finished off the vanquished. Nonetheless it was time for the Akkadians to tend to their own injured.

The third battle of the Dellen Pass had ended. And this time, the enemy had broken, caught by surprise by the unexpected horse stampede, then ripped apart by the savage countercharge of Alexar and Drakis’s spearmen. The fearless slingers had held the center long enough. Finally the deadly arrows of Mitrac’s bowmen had finished off the last few still fighting.

Eskkar watched the enemy survivors, running as hard as they could, until the last of them disappeared around the curve in the Pass. He cared nothing for them. They would run until they collapsed. When they recovered, they would run again, terrified of the Akkadian pursuit.

But Eskkar had no intention of chasing after them. Without food, many more Elamite soldiers would die before they reached Zanbil, and he doubted the survivors would find much succor there. Better to let them go. He didn’t intend to waste even a single life of his soldiers in pursuit.

Someone shouted his name, and Eskkar saw Drakis waving his sword at him. For once after a battle, Drakis didn’t look ready to die from his wounds. Aside from a few scratches, he had managed to avoid any serious injury. Behind him walked four spearmen, cursing their bad luck at not being allowed to go looting. They carried a wounded Elamite by his arms and legs.

The men carelessly dropped the injured man at Eskkar’s feet, as he gazed down from his horse. Blood had seeped the length of the Elamite’s left arm and across the front of his tunic. An Akkadian shaft had ripped completely through the fleshy part of his shoulder. Aside from the loss of blood, the wound didn’t appear that serious, and the man might actually survive.

“Who’s this?” Eskkar’s voice sounded harsh in his ears. One glance at the wounded man’s garments and Eskkar knew his men had captured one of the senior Elamite commanders. “What’s your name?”

Martiya might not understand the language, but he recognized the King of Akkad. “General Martiya.”

Eskkar understood the Elamite word for ‘general.’ He knew that Modran’s second in command was named Martiya.

“Chandra! Guard this prisoner and bind his wound. If he lives, we’ll take him back to Akkad. He might prove useful.”

“Yes, Captain,” Chandra said. His own hands and face were covered with blood, none of it his own. “I’m sure Annok-sur will be eager to talk to him.”

Eskkar laughed, the hoarse sound releasing the stress that had built up over the last five days and nights. The stomach-twisting stench of death hung in the air, but to Eskkar, it smelled as sweet as honey. You had to be alive to savor it. He had survived another battle, and with luck, turned back the Elamite invasion of the Land Between the Rivers.

He stared down at General Martiya, who shivered in apprehension at the grim look. “By the time Annok-sur finishes with him, General Martiya will wish he died in the battle.”

The sun had climbed nearly to its peak before Eskkar, wearing a fresh tunic and with the blood washed from his body, met with his commanders. Exhausted, dirty, splattered with blood, every one had taken at least one minor wound. Nevertheless, every face held a wide smile, and Eskkar knew at once that his men had suffered few casualties.

Eskkar, too, found himself smiling. “How many dead?”

“The clerks just finished the count,” Alexar said. “Less than six hundred dead or wounded. We got off easy, Captain. The stampede worked. After all that happened to the Elamites last night, Muta’s horses rattled Modran’s men and took the fight out of them.”

Despite the low number of today’s dead, Eskkar knew he had lost nearly half the men he’d led into the Dellen Pass only six days ago, a staggering number for a city the size of Akkad. But a victory of this magnitude softened the blow. And soldiers could be replaced. After this triumph, many restless boys and men would flock to his standard once again.

“With Lord Modran’s army destroyed,” Eskkar said, “and General Jedidia’s cavalry turned back, it’s time for us to return to Akkad. Muta, you will stay here with your cavalry and half the infantry for ten days, until we’re sure all the Elamites are gone. I don’t want any one of them trying to desert into our lands or becoming bandits. I’ll take a hundred horsemen with me, and start for home right away. Alexar, have every man that can march on the move at dawn tomorrow. They’ll be needed in Akkad.”

Groans greeted his orders, but the commanders understood the war hadn’t yet ended. The fight for Sumer might have gone badly, and every Akkadian soldier might be crucial in the defense of their own city’s walls.

“But before I leave,” Eskkar said, “I want to send a message to King Shirudukh.”

He called first for Garal, who had also survived the brutal charge into the enemy’s ranks. “I want you to translate for me, Garal.”

Eskkar swung onto A-tuku’s back, and rode over to where the remnants of the Immortals sat on the ground, their backs against the cliff wall.

A line of fifty spearmen guarded them, backed by fifty bowmen. These were, after all, dangerous and desperate men. For a long moment Eskkar studied them.

Nearly one hundred and thirty dejected and defeated men returned his gaze. Except for those who had managed to flee, these were all that remained of Elam’s once invincible Immortals. Now they waited to learn how they would die, and how much torture they would have to endure before death released them from the pain. Or when the endless drudgery of slavery began.

“I am Eskkar of Akkad.” He made sure his voice reached all of them. Garal repeated Eskkar’s words, with the same force. “You came to this land intending to conquer those who had done you no harm. For that the penalty is death.”

Their eyes showed little emotion. They knew all too well what happened to captured soldiers.

“But you fought bravely until the last,” Eskkar went on, “and kept your honor. For that, I will pay tribute to the powerful gods of the Land Between the Rivers. I give you back your lives. You may return to the lands of Elam. But each of you will leave behind the thumb of your right hand. That will make sure you remember to carry a message from me to the people of Elam and to King Shirudukh. Tell them never again dare to invade our lands, or the wrath of Ishtar and Marduk will descend upon them all. And if any of you should ever forget or disobey, I will call upon the gods to destroy you. I will unleash my soldiers on the people of Elam until your land is empty of life, the crops burned, and its herds slaughtered and left to rot in the sun. Tell them that, before they think of war again.”

Looks of disbelief greeted his words. Expecting death, they had been granted life. Losing their thumb meant they would fight no more, but better that than death.

Eskkar turned to Myandro, the leader of the alert guards. “Cut off their thumbs. They will leave naked, and with no weapons. Escort them to the bottom of the slope and send them on their way. Kill any that try to return or pick up a weapon.”

“Yes, My Lord,” Myandro said.

Eskkar wheeled A-tuku around and took one last look at the battlefield. It was time to take care of Grand Commander Chaiyanar.