by Sam Barone
Chaiyanar stared at the still burning fires, then glanced toward Sumer’s walls. The defenders had sallied forth from the city within moments of the attack, almost as if they expected it. The Sumerians had added their efforts to the destruction caused by the horsemen, and wreaked still more havoc on the supplies abandoned by his men. He’d heard the laughter and cheering from within the city.
Chaiyanar’s men tried to put out the fires and salvage what they could, but the heat drove them back. Of course there was no water to douse the flames. The largest bonfires would smolder long into the night. Whatever remained beneath the ashes would be useless, melted and twisted by the heat. His men had lost almost all their weapons, tools, and lumber, much of it irreplaceable.
By the time Chaiyanar had organized the rest of his horsemen, the cowardly Akkadians had fled to the south, crossed the river, and jeered at his men from the opposite bank. Then they rode off into the west, no doubt boasting about their success.
Now Chaiyanar had to deal with the mess. The cursed Akkadians had set back his schedule for capturing Sumer. Worse, he now had a large enemy contingent to deal with. This was no mere raid, to harry his efforts. With a force that size, he knew the Akkadians would be back, and they would seek to break the siege. He wondered why the Akkadians hadn’t persisted in their attack, instead of fleeing south at the first sign of opposition.
Fortunately, he yet had plenty of soldiers left. His cavalry would ring the doomed city, and the next time the Akkadian filth returned, he would be ready for them. Once the city fell, he would hunt down the Akkadians and slaughter them to the last man, to avenge today’s losses. There would be none of the usual assimilation of conquered soldiers. The Akkadian victory today would not be allowed to infect his army.
Still, he would need new supplies. Chaiyanar remembered the supply train that had gone south this morning. His pack handlers probably had run straight into the approaching horsemen. By now the bodies of the guards, porters, handlers, and, much more important, all the pack animals littered the way to the supply cove.
The more Chaiyanar thought about his situation, the angrier he grew. Damn the gods, he needed the supplies arriving each day from Sushan. He turned to one of his cavalry commanders.
“Take a thousand riders and as many extra horses as you need, and ride to the cove. Escort all the supplies you find here at once. Send word back to Sushan that we’ll need more food, weapons, and grain. Don’t forget to warn the commander at the cove about the Akkadians. Have the ships put to sea at the first sign of trouble.”
“Yes, Lord Chaiyanar. At once.”
The man wheeled his horse around and galloped off, no doubt glad to be away from his grim commander.
Chaiyanar turned toward the leader of his cavalry. “You’d better send word to the horse camp. If the Akkadians know about it, they may be headed there.”
The man blanched. He’d forgotten about the verdant valley where many of the Elamite cavalry had encamped, to have access to food and water for the horses.
‘Yes, Grand Commander!” The man started bellowing orders to his men.
If the filthy Akkadians rode straight to the camp, they would fall upon a small force of Elamite cavalry with as much surprise as the Akkadians had delivered at Sumer.
Chaiyanar turned his gaze back to Sumer’s walls. He hadn’t expected the haughty men from Isin and Akkad to ride to Sumer’s aid. After all, the two cities had fought a bloody war ten years ago. Still, if Eskkar’s horsemen were this far south, then Akkad itself would be undermanned. Unless Eskkar had some other trick planned for Lord Modran, who should even now be moving toward Akkad.
Thoughts about Lord Modran enraged Chaiyanar even more. If Modran could manage to capture Akkad before Chaiyanar could take Sumer, then Modran might lead his troops down to take command of the Sumerian assault. That would mean disaster and humiliation for Chaiyanar. King Shirudukh might even award Sumer to Modran.
Chaiyanar decided to redouble his efforts to take Sumer, no matter how many lives it cost.
“Damn all the gods, you’ll suffer for this, Eskkar of Akkad!”
Chapter 24
As soon as the men regrouped on the west bank of the Tigris, Hathor dispatched the messengers. Two groups of four men, each rider leading an extra horse, dashed off to the northwest, angling apart as they rode. They would take different routes to the same destination, an uninhabited strip of rocky watershed that stretched along one of the Tigris’s many tributaries.
One of Yavtar’s messenger boats would be waiting there, ready to carry the news of Hathor’s activities to the north. The extra horses should allow them to escape any Elamite war parties they might encounter. At least one of the riders had to get through. The survival of Hathor’s force depended on making contact with Yavtar’s fleet.
While Hathor dispatched the men, Naxos sent out scouts ahead of the Akkadian cavalry and on either flank. Hathor and Naxos then led their force north, in three main columns, always keeping the Tigris on their right.
They rode hard, pushing the horses. The animals hadn’t had much work during the long and plodding journey through the mountains, so they remained fresh enough. However, there had been little forage in the mountains, and Hathor’s men had emptied the last of their grains sacks just before they arrived at the cove.
The Elamite supplies at the landing site had provided each horse a few mouthfuls of grain, but the creatures needed to graze to maintain their strength.
“Do you think the Elamites will follow?” Naxos had to raise his voice to be heard over the drumming hoof beats.
“They’ll be fools if they don’t,” Hathor replied. “What else are they going to do with their cavalry?”
The Elamite cavalry at Sumer numbered at least five or six thousand horsemen, a force fully equal to the Akkadians. Hathor had to engage and destroy as much of that force as he could, if the siege of Sumer were to be broken. But first the Akkadians needed supplies and some fresh horses.
By mid afternoon they were almost twenty miles from Sumer. They turned west, following a small branch of the Tigris. A mile later, they crested a low hill, and saw a wide valley of rich farmland ahead.
Naxos took one look at the bright green grass and grinned. Three separate horse herds grazed placidly in the warm sun. “At the gallop, men,” he shouted, and kicked his horse to the forefront.
The men spread out into a line of battle, stringing bows as they rode. Now the earth shook under the hooves of the horses, and the din of hoof beats overwhelmed the shouts of the riders.
The Elamites had quartered at least a thousand cavalrymen in the valley, for the same reason that drew the Akkadians. The thick grasslands and pastures, watered by a wide stream, could easily support a large number of horses. The Elamites planned to feed and rest part of their horses there for a few days. Then the detachment would return to Sumer, while another force arrived to take advantage of the plentiful grazing.
“They must not have gotten word from Sumer yet,” Hathor shouted, over the pounding of the horses.
The Elamites saw them coming, but even so they were slow to react. Men dashed about, gathering their weapons or chasing after their mounts. But the war cries of the Akkadians, mixed with blasts from the ram’s horn, affected the enemy horses. They milled about, many eluding capture and adding to the confusion.
By then it didn’t matter. The Akkadians, scattered over a wide area, overran the enemy’s main encampment. Attacking at full speed, nothing could stop the assault. The Elamites had no time to prepare a defense.
The killing began. Once again, the Akkadians used overwhelming force against a much smaller number of the enemy. While the surprise might not be as complete, the turmoil kept the Elamites from putting up any real resistance. Those who could reach a horse, fled. The rest were ridden down and killed, in groups of twos and threes.
The fight lasted longer than the one at Sumer, and the Akkadians suffered more than a few causalities, but the enemy lost more than half th
eir men before the remainder escaped. Even as the last of the killing ended, Hathor swung down from his horse in front of the largest farmhouse.
From the standard waving in the breeze just outside the entrance, Hathor guessed that the same structure had previously been used by the Elamites as their headquarters. Soon Akkadian patrols were riding out in every direction. Other parties went out to round up the horses left behind by the fleeing men.
By the time Naxos returned, Hathor had the horses grazing, the captured food and grain distributed, and the men cleaning their weapons and seeing to their mounts. Three prisoners, their hands bound behind their backs, knelt in the dirt outside the farm house.
Hathor shook his head as Naxos dismounted, but Hathor couldn’t keep the smile from his face. “How was the hunting?”
Naxos laughed. “I only killed three. One of them actually attacked me.”
“Only three? I thought you would have at least ten to your credit.”
Naxos glanced around sheepishly. A long table, brought outside from the house, had two Elamite maps spread over its surface. Subcommanders stood beside it, setting up the night camp and issuing any needed instructions. “Good thing I’ve got you to look after things,” Naxos said.
“Just try not to get yourself killed chasing after helpless fools.”
“No need to worry about that.” Naxos clapped his hand on Hathor’s shoulder. “These men are poor fighters. If the rest of the Elamites are as bad, we’ll have no trouble beating them.”
After the fight outside Sumer’s walls, and the reports of his men, Hathor had much the same opinion. But men caught by surprise were one thing. The Elamites might prove tough enough in a real battle.
Both men took the time to wash up, and wolf down some captured food. Afterward, Hathor made the rounds of the camp. Tonight, however, Naxos joined him. Hathor did most of the talking with the men, but he noticed right away the difference Naxos’s presence made, especially to his own soldiers.
“The men were glad to see you,” Hathor remarked, as they returned to the command post at the farmhouse.
“It’s not something easy for me,” Naxos said. “Talking to the men, encouraging them, asking about their needs. I see how it affects them, but . . . I’m always afraid I’m going to say something stupid.”
“It is difficult,” Hathor agreed. “For me also. But it’s something I learned from Eskkar.”
“Him again. The great Eskkar.”
The two men stepped through the doorway. For a moment, they had the place to themselves. Hathor unbuckled his sword and leaned it against the wall.
“Do you remember Gatus? The man who helped train so many of Akkad’s men?”
Naxos nodded. “I met him once, long ago, when he was just a member of the guard. But everyone knows how he trained the archers to fight on Akkad’s walls.”
“He told me a story about Eskkar, how in the beginning, Eskkar seldom spoke more than a handful of words in a month. Eskkar, too, had trouble speaking to the villagers and soldiers. Even the thought of speaking to a group of villagers terrified him. Eskkar had to force himself, and hated every moment.”
“Really? Eskkar always seems to know what to say. He spoke easily enough when the two of us met outside Isin’s walls.”
“Ah, I missed that meeting. I didn’t arrive at Isin until the next day, right before the battle.”
“I know now why he sent word for me to come out from my city,” Naxos said. “Eskkar could have shouted his threats from outside the city’s walls, or sent messengers to carry his words. Later I realized he didn’t want to embarrass me before everyone in Isin. Part of me wanted to kill him just for that. But his words rang true. After the destruction of Larsa, I couldn’t take the chance he would do the same to Isin.”
“Gatus told me that most people, in the beginning, thought Eskkar too ignorant to speak, much less lead the city. And when Eskkar and Trella started working together, everyone thought she was a witch who summoned a fiend from the pits below to take over his mind and put words on his lips.”
Naxos laughed. “I never heard that. But I can believe it.”
“It’s more than a little true. Trella helped him, of course. She encouraged him to talk with at least a few of the men every day. In time, Eskkar got better at it. Perhaps like sword fighting, the more you practice, the more skillful you get.”
“I take your point, Hathor.” Naxos unbuckled his sword belt and tossed it on the flimsy table. “If you don’t mind, I’ll join you again for tomorrow’s morning rounds.” He took a deep breath, and stretched out his arms. “Perhaps by the time we get done with this campaign, I’ll be as good a talker as Eskkar.”
Chapter 25
The morning after the raid by Naxos and Hathor at Sumer, Eskkar rode out of Akkad just after dawn, with the feel of rain on his face. A glance at the thick clouds above warned him to expect more of the same during the day, which meant a slower pace for the horses. Rain had fallen on the city for the last three days, and Eskkar had remained within the city, hoping that the weather would clear.
When the rain persisted, Trella had ordered the priests in Ishtar’s temple to pray for fair weather. Nonetheless the useless priests or indifferent gods had refused to stop the storm showers. At last Eskkar could delay his departure no longer. Akkad and its King rode to war, and now more than ever, Eskkar had to share the discomforts of the trail with his men.
Drakis, riding at Eskkar’s side, ignored the light drizzle. His always cheerful voice floated over the already cursing men who followed behind their leaders. Before they’d gone a mile, mud had splattered every horseman. “Another beautiful day for a ride, you lazy sons of whores! A little rain will toughen you up.”
Eskkar smiled at his commander’s words. Forty of the toughest horsemen in Akkad provided security for the King of Akkad.
A ragged chorus of groans greeted Drakis, as he picked up the pace. Nothing bothered the man. The more conditions worsened, the more upbeat his words would become. The man had, after all, survived enough deadly wounds to bury a handful of soldiers. Some of his men called him The Invincible for just that reason.
Eskkar reached into his pouch and removed a hunk of bread. Better to eat it now, before it grew too soggy and fell apart. The rain, which had thankfully slowed to an occasional sprinkle, didn’t appear to affect the men. Eskkar, however, felt the stiffness in his old wounds. In the last few years, bad weather made his leg ache painfully, the same injury that had nearly killed him when he first limped into Akkad, supported by Bracca’s arm.
His left shoulder twinged, too, another painful remembrance of a sword tip that had reached the bone. In his youth, Eskkar had often smiled at the older warriors who struggled against stiff joints and complained about old wounds, especially during the rain or cold weather. Now, to his chagrin, he had joined them.
These gloomy signs of advancing age did little to cheer Eskkar’s disposition, but he shrugged them off, after muttering a curse or two beneath his breath. Soon enough he’d be fighting for his life, and a few aches and pains would mean little.
This morning Eskkar had said his goodbyes to Trella, neither of them dwelling on the chance that he might be defeated and dead in the next few days. As she had done often before, Trella merely urged him to hurry back, and said she would be waiting for him.
Both mother and father had said more painful goodbyes to Sargon. He had departed five days earlier to join Akkad’s allies – the Ur Nammu and Alur Meriki. The likelihood of Sargon’s survival wasn’t much better than his father’s. Eskkar had clasped his son tight, while Trella stood by with tears in her eyes, as her oldest son went off to war.
Nevertheless, Eskkar put all thoughts of wife and son out of his mind, and forced himself to concentrate on the current task – guiding his horse through the wet earth. Like Eskkar, each of his forty riders led a second horse, a precious gift from the last of Trella’s herds. The extra horses would allow Eskkar to make up some of the lost time, assuming, of cou
rse, that the gods didn’t pour more rain down upon his head. The Dellen Pass and the approaching Elamites awaited his arrival.
Despite its personal discomfort, the wet weather could be considered a gift from Ishtar, the Goddess who oversaw Akkad’s welfare. The rains came from the east, and would have likely slowed the Elamites as well, burdened with food and weapons, in their march toward the Land Between the Rivers. The Akkadians, traveling across a much shorter distance and less rugged terrain, would not be as affected.
The dark clouds stayed overhead during most of the day’s miserable ride and the evening’s wet camp. The next morning, however, the gods finally answered the priests’ prayers, and the sun shone bright in a cloudless sky. By noon the ground had dried enough for a quicker pace, and the Akkadians pushed their horses.
Two more days of hard riding and fast walking followed, but by alternating horses, Eskkar’s troop made good progress over the rough ground. They traveled almost a hundred and twenty difficult miles as they headed for the eastern mountains and the Dellen Pass.
Just before noon of the fourth day after setting out, Eskkar reached the top of a small hill, and saw the looming foothills and the mouth of the Dellen Pass in the distance. He smiled in satisfaction, and thanked the gods for the speedy trek. Only two animals had gone lame during the journey, forcing their cursing riders to fall behind and catch up when they could.
From his vantage point, Eskkar studied the approaches to the Dellen Pass. The mouth of the Pass splayed out from the foothills, spreading wide, the ground appearing as if the gods had poured the liquid earth from a pot, letting it scatter across the ground. The trail itself disappeared into the foothills, wending its way eastward. It finally emerged, more than a hundred miles later, on the far side of the mountains.
On this side, after exiting from the Pass, the traveler had a choice of three trails. One, the least used, led to the northwest. The second went due west, the favored approach for those traders heading for the Euphrates. The third, and most traveled, wended its way southwest. On that path lay Akkad, the gateway to the Tigris and the southern cities. And the intended destination of the invading Elamites.