by Sam Barone
Orodes leaned back in his chair. “You are very persuasive, Lady Trella. If it will help Akkad, of course I will do my utmost.” Not that she needed to be so compelling with Orodes. He knew well enough what might happen to anyone who disagreed with her.
“Then I am sure you will succeed, Orodes. If you do not, the war with Elam may be lost.”
“When do we start?”
“Now. This morning. We will tell you everything we’ve learned, and the preparations we’ve already started.”
Orodes took a deep breath and nodded. Then he smiled at the dour Wakannh and the grim Annok-sur, both no doubt disappointed by having to let him live. At least Lady Trella hadn’t mentioned how much he was in her debt, or how she had rescued him from a filthy lane and saved his life.
Not to mention that Orodes knew what to expect if foreign invaders occupied the land. They’d take all his gold and seize the mine at Nuzi as well, after torturing him and his family to make sure he revealed the location of every last coin and nugget.
And if Akkad were besieged, Orodes might be better off in the mountains. There the only real danger he would face would be getting crushed in a rock slide, and that risk would be slight enough. Of course if he failed, his dead body would be tossed into some rocky chasm, never to be seen again. Yes, that outcome was much more likely.
Chapter 9
The northern lands, two hundred miles northwest of Akkad . . .
The antelope bounded over the crest of the low hill, running for its life and heedless of the rocks and boulders that littered the hillside. The thunder of hooves against the earth drove the desperate animal, ears flat against its head. A band of six horsemen galloped in pursuit, their fierce cries exhorting the horses onward, regardless of the risk.
Sargon, the son of the King of Akkad, led the chase, though no one in that city would have recognized him. The boy banished by his parents from the City of Akkad had grown into manhood. Dressed and armed like any steppes warrior, he guided his stallion with the skill that proclaimed his origins. Heedless of the danger, Sargon urged his mount ever faster over the rocky ground, where one slip likely meant a broken leg for the horse, and a nasty fall for its rider.
Today the vagaries of the hunt had let Sargon take the lead, pursuing the single antelope that had not managed to reach the safety of the wooded glen. Seeing the hunters riding toward the herd, it had turned away and burst into a run, trying to escape.
Caught up in the excitement of the chase, Sargon was determined to bring the creature down. The heavy breathing of his horse, the pounding of its hooves, the rush of air across Sargon’s face, all these added to the thrill of the hunt. However, the powerful beast, its black horns flashing, refused to give up. It leapt over obstacles that forced Sargon to change his course again and again.
So far the chase had lasted over half a mile, and now both hunter and hunted could see another stand of forest ahead that would shelter the fleeing antelope. Once within the trees, it would disappear. Unwilling to let the animal get away, Sargon, in his seventeenth season, urged the big warhorse to its fastest pace, swerving around or jumping over every ditch or large boulder in their path.
A flat patch of ground ahead caught his eye, and Sargon turned toward it, allowing the antelope to increase the gap by a few more paces. But the level ground gave Sargon the brief moment he needed to whip an arrow from his quiver and fit the shaft to the string, a difficult feat that few not born in the steppes could have accomplished.
By now the forest had drawn closer, less than two hundred paces away. Holding the halter rope and the bow in his left hand, Sargon leaned forward against the stallion’s neck and pulled the bowstring to his ear.
Behind him he heard his friend Garal coming up fast, the rumbling of his horse’s hooves growing ever louder. Both men had drawn ahead of the others. Sargon held the taut bow a few more moments, trying to close the gap by another handful of paces. He heard the snap of a bowstring, and an arrow flashed past his shoulder.
Garal, a master archer even from the back of a galloping horse, had launched a shaft. But either their prey veered or Garal’s aim was off, and the missile flew a hand’s breadth above the racing animal. Another flat patch of ground, and Sargon let fly his own shaft.
The arrow struck home, burying itself deep into the antelope’s shoulder. The creature cried out, even as it stumbled. A few more steps, and the animal tumbled to the ground, mortally wounded.
As soon as he loosed the shaft, Sargon pulled back on the halter, slowing his horse. By the time he eased his steed to a walk and turned it around, he’d traveled almost a hundred paces beyond the fallen antelope. Garal, too, had to slow his mount gradually, before he could reach Sargon’s side.
“A fine shot, Sargon. I was just a little too far behind.”
Sargon laughed. Garal was far and away the best bowman not only in this group of hunters, but in the entire Ur Nammu Clan. For the last two years, he had also been Sargon’s teacher, companion, friend, and fellow warrior. The two young men had fought side by side in two battles, a powerful bond that united them.
“For once the gods put the animal in my path,” Sargon said. “Even so, you almost dropped him.”
“I thought I could steal the kill from you, but it would only have been a lucky shot.”
They walked their horses back to the site of the fallen animal. One of the warriors had already dispatched the antelope. Each man offered some words of praise to Sargon, exactly the same way they would have spoken to one born and raised in their clan.
Two horse boys, riding well to the rear of the hunters, arrived at last. They would see to the gutting and cleaning of the carcass. With a careless wave toward the body, Garal led the horsemen back toward their camp, about fifteen miles away. The boys, learning the way of the warrior, would follow as soon as they finished.
The pleasant ride back didn’t take long, and Sargon enjoyed the moment. A fine day, a strong horse, and a successful hunt. Tonight they would eat well, and in the morning they would ride for the main camp of the Ur Nammu, less than a full day’s journey away.
They found their campsite undisturbed. Earlier in the day, the riders had brought down two antelope, which the horse boys had half-buried under some rocks to keep the scavengers away. The fresh meat would be welcomed by the clan’s women, and tomorrow evening there would be enough food to fill the bellies of every member of the Clan.
Sargon had scarcely finished tending to his horse when a shout floated across the landscape. He turned his eyes to the east, and saw a single rider galloping toward them, waving his arms in excitement.
Garal studied the approaching horseman. “It looks like Timmu.”
It took another few moments before Sargon could confirm the sighting. Garal possessed a keen sense of vision, another trait that made him stand out even among the Ur Nammu warriors.
“What brings him here?”
Garal shrugged. “We’ll know soon enough.”
Timmu, Garal’s half-brother, had only thirteen seasons, but he had grown tall, and would soon be accepted into the ranks of the warriors. He galloped into the hunting party’s camp, slowing only at the last moment, and jumping down from his mare even before it stopped moving. Garal frowned at the foolish display of horsemanship, but Sargon couldn’t keep his smile hidden.
“Sargon! Subutai sent for you. He wants you to return at once.”
“Is anything wrong? Is Tashanella well?”
In the two years since Sargon had claimed Tashanella, daughter of Clan Leader Subutai, his young wife had given birth to a daughter, and now was well into the final months of her second pregnancy. Tashanella had played an important role in reconciling Sargon with his mother, Lady Trella, and his father, King Eskkar.
“No, nothing like that, Sargon. Some soldiers arrived from Aratta, and said they had to speak to you. That’s why Subutai told me to find you.”
Sargon asked about the men and their message, but Timmu knew nothing more.
&nb
sp; A glance at the setting sun told Sargon that he’d best wait for the morning to depart. “I’ll leave at first light,” he said. “I should be back at the main camp before midday.”
Garal nodded. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” As the leader of the hunting party, he had to remain with them. “Whatever it is, wait for me. You may need my help.”
“I’ll wait for you.” Sargon smiled. “Who else would keep me out of trouble?”
When Sargon crossed the ridge and saw the Ur Nammu camp, he breathed a sigh of relief. A handful of cooking fires sent long tendrils of white smoke slanting into the air, driven by the gentle breeze. Children played, and women strolled about, so clearly no danger to the Clan had arisen.
At a canter, Sargon rode toward the beckoning water, downstream from the camp. He paused long enough to plunge into the shallow water, and wash some of the dirt and horse stink from his body. Satisfied that most of the powerful horse smell had been rinsed away, he led the stallion, its thirst quenched, into the camp. As he approached the corral, a boy ran out to greet him and take charge of Sargon’s favorite mount.
Though he wanted to see Tashanella, Sargon headed straight for Subutai’s tent. When the Clan Leader sent for a warrior, that man didn’t stop first to see his wife, even if she were the clan leader’s daughter. Whatever Sargon’s position might be back in Akkad, in the Ur Nammu Clan, he remained just another warrior and as duty bound to obey his Clan Leader.
Subutai waited outside his tent, along with three soldiers from Akkad, all Hawk Clan members by the emblem on each chest. That meant the news, whatever it might be, was important. Then Sargon recognized Draelin, one of his father’s senior commanders. Something of import had happened or the long awaited summons to war had arrived, for Eskkar to dispatch Draelin to carry a message.
Draelin knew enough about barbarian clan customs to hold his tongue until Sargon had exchanged greetings with Clan Leader Subutai.
“Sargon, it’s good to see you again,” Draelin said. “You grow taller and stronger each day.”
“Stronger, perhaps,” Sargon laughed, “but no taller. Now, what brings you to Subutai’s camp?”
By now Sargon knew he would never be as tall or as powerful as his father. Instead Sargon had learned how to use his speed, agility, even his shorter stature to his advantage. After years of constant practice, his former teacher Garal admitted that Sargon had equaled him with a sword. Nevertheless, Sargon worked hard to improve his skills with lance and bow, as well as with the sword.
Draelin glanced around, and both Sargon and Subutai understood the look.
“Come into the tent. We can talk there. My wives will make sure we are not disturbed.”
No one would be allowed close enough to the tent to hear what words were exchanged within. If Subutai’s wives couldn’t hold their tongues, the clan leader would have beaten that defect out of them years ago.
Soon the three men were seated in the center of Subutai’s tent, each with a water cup at hand.
Draelin waited until Subutai nodded to him. “The King sent me to bring both of you the warning that the Elamite invasion is about to begin. Their soldiers are gathering, and they will start their march into the Land Between the Rivers within three months. That’s a little earlier than we expected. I delivered the same warning to the camp at Aratta, to the leader of the Hawk Clan there. They assured me that my message will also be received by the Alur Meriki within a few more days.”
Sargon exchanged looks with Subutai. The war had truly begun. All the planning and preparations of the last two years would soon be tested.
“The Elamites are sending men through the Jkarian Pass,” Draelin continued, “at least six thousand. Perhaps thirty thousand more will come through the Dellen Pass, to attack Akkad directly. Another large force, around fifteen thousand, will approach Sumer from the coast of the Great Sea.”
Subutai’s eyes widened at the numbers, so large that he could scarcely comprehend them. “So many! Can Eskkar defeat such a vast army?”
“My father always has a plan, Chief Subutai.”
“And a trick or two for our enemy,” Draelin added. “That’s why I have to rush back to Akkad. He says he has a special task for me.”
“Does my father wish me to return to Akkad?”
More than two years ago, Eskkar had delivered his rebellious son Sargon to the Ur Nammu. The Clan agreed to teach him the way of the warrior, although both Subutai and Eskkar knew that Sargon’s death would be the most likely result. But the headstrong boy found the path to honor. Instead of death or dishonor, he helped save the Ur Nammu from invaders, and at the same time reconciled them with the Alur Meriki, long their bitter enemy.
Accepted as a warrior by the Ur Nammu Clan, Sargon took Chief Subutai’s daughter, Tashanella, as his wife. Over the course of time, she helped Sargon make his peace with his parents. Though he remained with the Ur Nammu, Sargon had regained his position as heir to the Kingdom of Akkad.
Nevertheless, relations between father and son remained delicate, and neither wanted to provoke a quarrel.
Draelin, of course, knew the whole story. “He thought you might ask that. The King said you should do whatever you think best, but that he hoped – that’s the word he told me to use – you would at least come back with me for the meeting he’s arranged with all the commanders. After that, you can return here. Or if you decide to fight at his side, you will be considered a leader of two hundred, under the command of Muta. Or you can ride with Hathor in the south.”
Muta was second in command of all of Akkad’s horse fighters, under Hathor. The last time Sargon had visited with his father, they had spoken of such an arrangement. Sargon had expected a direct order to return to Akkad, but instead Eskkar had merely said that he trusted Sargon’s judgment.
“You will do what is best, Sargon,” his father had said at their last meeting. “If you choose to fight with Akkad’s cavalry, you will have a real command, with all the responsibilities that go with it.”
In the last few months, Sargon had thought long and hard about those words. But in the end, he had chosen to stay with the Ur Nammu. When the time came for battle, no one else would have as much influence with the Clans as Sargon possessed, not even his father.
Eskkar had defeated the Alur Meriki in battle, and won from them a promise to fight Akkad’s enemies when called upon. The Alur Meriki would fulfill their oath, but Sargon had managed to transform their pledge into an alliance, one that now benefitted both the Ur Nammu and Alur Meriki.
“If my father wishes me to join the commanders’ meeting, I will return with you, Draelin. I will tell him in person that I have decided to ride with the Ur Nammu and the Alur Meriki.”
Draelin grinned his approval. “I thought as much. You’ll have good hunting, I’m sure.”
“Tell Eskkar that the Ur Nammu will be ready.” Subutai, too, had a smile on his face. “In two months, I will have almost two hundred and fifty warriors ready to ride.”
“I will carry your words, Chief Subutai,” Draelin said, bowing his head in respect. “Oh, there is one thing more. I brought a prisoner with me. Annok-sur’s guards grabbed him up coming out of a tavern in Akkad. She said Yarna would be happy to teach you the language of the Elamites, and that you could set him free after three months, if he pleases you. Or just kill him. He’s so terrified of the Ur Nammu that his knees were shaking. I would have conveyed him here, but I thought it best to give him some time to control his fear. His name is Yarna, an Elamite trader from Susa, and he’s waiting with my men.”
Sargon had no doubts about the man’s willingness to help. A few sessions with Annok-sur and her torturers would make any man eager to follow her bidding. Of course, whenever anyone spoke about Annok-sur, they really meant Sargon’s mother. Regardless, Trella believed that learning the Elamite language might prove useful, and Sargon agreed.
By the time Yarna found his way back to Elam, the war would be over. Nor would the prisoner be eager to tell
anyone where he’d been or what he’d been doing. “Tell Annok-sur I am grateful,” Sargon said. “It may help all of us.”
“Then my duties here are finished,” Draelin said. “If it does not give offense, I would like to depart as soon as possible. The faster I get back to Akkad, the quicker I can begin whatever assignment your father has waiting for me. He said it’s important.”
“You may leave whenever you wish,” Subutai said. “My men will give you whatever food or provisions you require.”
“I will need a few moments to prepare for the journey, Draelin” Sargon said. “With your permission, Chief Subutai?”
“Granted. And Draelin, bring your prisoner to me. I will make sure he is taken care of. In fact, I think Garal should also learn to understand and speak the language of the Elamites. The more we know the ways of our enemy, the better.”
“Chief Subutai, please tell Garal why I could not wait for him.” Sargon stood. “Now I must talk with Tashanella.”
He preferred not to leave his wife, but it would only be for eighteen days or so. Both Tashanella and Sargon knew how important this meeting of Eskkar’s commanders would be. She would want Sargon to stand at his father’s side before the other leaders. Such a gesture would reaffirm her husband’s position as Eskkar’s heir.
“Then I’d better prepare as well.” Draelin stood. “Good hunting to you, Chief Subutai. May your ride bring you even more honor and glory.”
Subutai shrugged. “I have had more than enough glory in my life. But honor, that is something else. We owe much to the people of Akkad, and now we will honor the friendship between our two peoples. Tell Eskkar that we will ride in his service with pride.”
Chapter 10
While Draelin galloped north to find Sargon, Eskkar rode out of Akkad to visit the training camps. In the last two years, he’d spent time at each camp, meeting with the commanders and observing the men, their equipment, and their morale. Eskkar wanted his subcommanders to know that the time for training had passed. War loomed on the horizon, and he wanted to make sure every one of his soldiers had what he needed to fight.