by Sam Barone
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 Akka
dian 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 al
l 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.
Chapter 40
The eastern mouth of the Jkarian Pass . . .
Five days after the cliff came down in the Jkarian Pass, General Jedidia gave the order to turn about and head for the lands of Elam. Despite every available man searching, Jedidia had not discovered any way to get around the obstacle the filthy Akkadians had heaped in his way. While his men exhausted themselves in a futile hunt for another path, he had another thousand men trying to move enough rocks and boulders so as to force a way through the debris.
Those men labored in the heat of the day until their hands bled, and there were more than a few crushed toes and broken ankles. His men had scrambled over the barrier, but for the horses, the Pass remained closed. In the end, what Jedidia’s Master Builder declared the first day remained true – General Jedidia did not have enough time, supplies, or proper tools to force a passage through the rubble-choked Jkarian Pass.