by Sam Barone
His Egyptians considered the powerfully built Ariamus tall, so Eskkar must be of considerable size, which might make him a formidable fighter, at least to these people. “Go on. Show me his face.”
Ariamus closed his eyes for a moment. “He has straggly dark brown hair, almost black, that he usually forgets to tie back. Hides most of his face half the time. Brown eyes, and hardly any beard. A thin scar, probably from a knife, slants down his left cheek, from just below the eye. Still has all his teeth, or at least he did when I last saw him. Speaks slowly, and with a strong accent. I thought he was dull-witted when I first met him.”
Ariamus shrugged. “Just an ordinary barbarian, lord. I still can’t believe he survived the barbarians’ attack.”
Despite Ariamus’s dismissive words, Korthac knew better. It took more than a sword to command, and ordinary men don’t rule mighty villages.
“But now these barbarians are gone, the fields are ravaged, and bandits such as you roam the countryside.” Korthac smiled at Ariamus. Once the man learned his place, Ariamus would make an excellent servant. More important, his brutish skills and crude desires matched Korthac’s needs perfectly. The time had come to tell the man of his role in Korthac’s plan.
“You are an experienced fighter, Ariamus, and I require one such as yourself, who knows the land and its people. You can help me, and at the same time take your revenge on Orak. And you can earn much gold and a place of honor in my city.” Korthac noted the gleam of interest that widened Ariamus’s eyes at the mention of gold.
Then a puzzled look came over Ariamus’s face. “Your city, lord?”
“Yes, my city. Orak will be my city when I take charge of it. My men are powerful and experienced soldiers. They have fought many battles and survived passage through the great desert. I intend first to rule this Orak, and then all these lands, as I reigned over the cities and villages of Egypt.
You will help me, and as my servant, you will have more power than you’ve ever dreamed of. Or have you already forgotten your oath to me?”
Ariamus glanced toward the two men standing nearby, watching and listening in silence. “You do not have enough men to conquer Orak.”
“Do not underestimate my desert fighters. They are the strongest of those who fought for me in Egypt, and each one of them is worth two or three of your kind.”
“Even so, Orak has hundreds of men to defend it, lord,” Ariamus said, shaking his head. “You do not have enough men.”
“No, not yet. But you will find them for me, and you will command them. Such men will prefer to follow one of their own kind, at least in the beginning. That is why I need someone from this land who knows how to fight and how to lead men. The treasure I carried across the desert will pay my new followers until all of Orak’s wealth is mine. If this land is as troubled and unsettled as you claim, we will soon have more than enough men.”
In the desert, Korthac’s followers had taken turns carrying the four sturdy bags containing amethyst, cornelian, jasper, onyx, quartz crystal, emeralds, and other sacred stones stolen from rich merchants or looted from the temples of the Egyptian gods. His men had thrown away their weapons, their gold, even their clothing, but Korthac refused to let them abandon the last part of the wealth he’d captured. They begged him to bury it, but Korthac killed one who refused the burden, and after that, they obeyed. He knew it would be needed if they made it across the desert.
Korthac recognized the doubt on Ariamus’s face. “Don’t think I will ride against the walls of Orak like those ignorant barbarians. No, I will take Orak from within. One night of blood will establish my rule. And you will help me.”
“What can I do, lord?” Ariamus leaned forward, greed and the desire for revenge on Orak struggling with his usual caution. “I mean
… lord… how can I…”
“You can and will do as I command, Ariamus. You will help me fulfi ll my destiny, which is to rule this land. If the village is as rich and prosperous as you claim, its resources will supply me and my men with all that we need. Soon all the other villages up and down the two rivers will succumb to my will. I will build a mighty empire, starting with Orak.”
Sufficient light remained for Korthac to see the lingering doubt in the man’s eyes. He smiled at his newest follower.
“And you, Ariamus, you will have more wealth and power as my subcommander than you could ever attain on your own. In my name, you will command hundreds of fighters, and enjoy the choicest women in Orak and the surrounding countryside. Or are you not interested in what I offer?”
“I am interested, lord,” Ariamus said. “I will be your subcommander.”
Korthac smiled. As he expected, Ariamus’s greed had overcome any misgivings. For wealth and power, the man would do anything.
Unlike most men, Korthac had no interest in gold and gemstones, mere tools to bind men to him. Only power, the power to rule everyone, to command their lives or their deaths, meant anything to Korthac. That destiny had guided him even before he grew to manhood, and he would not turn away from it now.
“Tomorrow we will leave this place and begin our journey east. We’ll take a few villagers with us as slaves, to carry food and water. I will allow you and your men to kill the rest, as revenge for capturing you. Besides, it’s best that no one know from whence we came. As we travel, I will tell you how I will capture this Orak.” Korthac changed the subject with a wave of his hand. “But now, tell me more about Eskkar, this wanderer turned mighty ruler. I must learn the ways of my enemy.”
“Lord, I’ve told you everything I can remember.”
“I am sure you can remember much more, Ariamus. Or do you need some encouragement?” Korthac smiled once again and leaned back against the tree. “Take your time and start at the beginning. Tell me of when you came to Orak, what you did, how you became captain of the guard.”
Korthac had heard the story several times already, but each reitera-tion added some new insight, some further detail that helped him better understand this land and its people. He called out for ale, all this miserable village could provide in the way of strong spirits. A woman appeared with a jar and two wooden cups. Kneeling, she filled his cup, then did the same for Ariamus before returning to the shadows.
He watched Ariamus staring into his ale cup. The man wanted to drink, but he’d learned his place and his manners in the last few weeks.
Only after his new master had taken a sip would the man drink from his own cup. Korthac drank a mouthful of the bitter barley brew, then waited until Ariamus drank, gulping loudly until he lowered his empty cup.
“Now, Ariamus, tell me again of this barbarian and the slave girl who bewitched him. They stand in my way… our way now. So tell me everything, every little story you can remember, about Eskkar and his witch-wife.”
1
3157 B.C.E.-The City of Akkad (Orak), on the eastern bank of the Tigris River…
Lord Eskkar of Akkad pulled down hard on the restive horse, as impatient as its master to begin the long-awaited campaign. He had planned to be on his way soon after sunup. Instead a missing horse, then a broken pack strap, and finally two soldiers still befuddled from too much drinking the night before prevented the early departure. At last his embarrassed subcommanders signaled their readiness.
Eskkar gritted his teeth as he yanked on the halter, turned the horse around, and took the first steps to reclaim the countryside from roving bands of marauders. A few cheers came from the small crowd of Akkadians who bothered to watch his departure, but most just stared in silence.
Less than two months ago every one of them had praised his name to the gods, acclaiming him ruler of Akkad for saving their lives and their homes. But already many chaffed at the very restrictions he established to protect them.
As he led his soldiers through the city’s gates and out onto the plain, Eskkar knew that, at this moment, he cared more about getting out of Akkad than pacifying the surrounding farmlands. With each step away from the city he felt his respons
ibilities lessen and he longed to put his horse to the gallop. That would have been unfair to the seventy soldiers, only twenty of them mounted, who marched behind him. Eskkar restrained both himself and the eager horse until he reached the first of the low hills about a mile away from Akkad.
He turned his mount aside from the trail and urged the animal up the steepest part of the slope. At the crest, the horse snorted from the climb, then restlessly pawed the earth, as if to say it wanted to race across the soft grassland, not scramble up rocky and slippery inclines. Eskkar first studied the ragged column of soldiers moving beneath him. A small force for what needed to be done, but all that could be spared to drive off the marauders and bandits who had plagued the land for almost a year, thriving in the chaos caused by the barbarian invasion. The dreaded Alur Meriki horsemen had passed on, but turmoil and anarchy marked their passage throughout the land.
Eskkar shifted his gaze to the river, only a few hundred paces away.
The midmorning sun reflected off the slow-moving waters of the Tigris, giving the wide waterway a rare pale blue tint. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the clean air that blew across the water, glad to be rid of the city-smell of too many men and animals living too close together. Eskkar looked back toward Akkad nestling against the great curve of the river. The tall wooden gates remained open, and rising from one of the towers that guarded them, a large banner floated in the breeze. Eskkar could just make out the stalking lion embroidered on it. The lion spirit now protected the new city, the city that had changed him from a mere soldier to captain of the guard to a fighting leader, and nearly killed him in the process.
Another horse scampered up to the hilltop and his bodyguard halted beside him. “Do you miss it already, Captain?” Grond used the old title for his commander.
“Akkad? Do I miss the stink and the noise? Or the whining and scheming? No, the place can fall to the ground for all I care. But I haven’t gone a mile yet and already I’m worrying about Trella.”
“Lady Trella will be well protected by the soldiers,” Grond said patiently.
“I suppose she’ll be safe enough for a month or so.” All this had been discussed many times in the last few days. Gatus, Eskkar’s second in command and the oldest of the soldiers, doted on Trella as if she were his own daughter. Offi cially, Gatus would command during Eskkar’s absence, but everyone knew the real ruler of Akkad would be Lady Trella. Gatus, busy as ever with the training of new recruits, would do nothing without her approval.
Nevertheless, Eskkar stared at the city, with its hastily built walls that had withstood brutal attacks and still showed scars from the recent confl ict. This very hilltop had served as a watching post for the fi ve thousand barbarians who laid siege to Akkad for almost two months. A few hundred paces behind him lay the remains of the besiegers’ camp. He and his men would pass through it as they journeyed northward.
A tug on the halter, and Eskkar’s horse shifted to face northward. He’d seen the remnants of the onslaught, still visible everywhere around him, often enough in the last few weeks. Blackened circles of fire-split stones still contained scattered ashes marking the residue of hundreds of campfires. Animal bones lay everywhere, moved and displaced by dogs, birds, and carrion eaters. The scavengers had gorged themselves for many weeks on the battle-dead.
By now the easy pickings had disappeared, the bones gnawed clean.
Human and animal waste would provide less tasty tidbits for several more weeks or until the rains came. The city’s inhabitants had gathered anything of value weeks ago. They’d searched through whatever the barbarians left behind, looking for whatever they could use or sell. More than a dozen large mounds marked the burial places of the enemy dead The common burial pits contained those who had survived the battles but died from their wounds, or the dead deemed important enough to be carried back to the barbarian camp and interred in a mass grave before being covered over.
Those barbarians who died assaulting the wall suffered the final indignity-abandoned by their clan and dumped in the river by their enemies, to be carried wherever by the whim of the gods, assigned a bitter fate in the afterlife. Everyone knew that without a proper burial, the spirits of the unburied dead would wander beneath the earth for eternity, prey for the shades and demons who would live off their tormented souls.
“How many years before all this disappears,” Grond said, “before the grass covers everything?”
His bodyguard’s question echoed Eskkar’s own thoughts. “Probably two, maybe three years,” he said. “Farmers will be unearthing debris longer than that. You don’t fight battles like that and not leave traces everywhere.”
Eskkar turned his gaze back toward the city. His city. He could make out the scars on the walls from the thousands of arrows launched against them. Even today, almost two months after the barbarians had departed, men still labored on Akkad’s repairs. So much had been destroyed, but the city and its people had survived. Most of them, Eskkar remembered so-berly. Many good and brave men had died in its defense. He took comfort in knowing that the bodies of his soldiers had received the proper rites, and their phantoms would not be condemned to wander in the darkness.
Eskkar shook the black thoughts from his head. Better to think of the future than the past. “We’d best be on our way, Grond. Half the day’s passed, and we’ve a long way to travel.”
They wheeled their horses away from Akkad and rode down the slope.
The horses wanted to stretch their legs as much as their masters, and the two men soon caught up to the rear of the soldiers. Once there, however, Eskkar slowed his mount, to ride behind the column instead of at its head, as was the usual custom. From the rear, he could observe the men, see how they marched, even encourage them if need be. One lesson Eskkar had grasped very well in the last year’s training and fighting was that he needed his soldiers’ loyalty as much as their skill.
Aware of his gaze, the soldiers at the rear of the column straightened up and quickened their pace. Eskkar knew the new men thought him a legend, the fierce warrior who had defeated the mighty Alur Meriki.
The more experienced veterans knew better. They understood exactly how close they’d come to being overwhelmed by the barbarians. These recent recruits needed to master the trade of soldiering. They’d better learn quickly, Eskkar thought. They might be fighting for their lives in a week or two.
“What do you think of the men?” Eskkar said, glancing at his companion. Grond had been a slave in a distant land to the west before coming to Akkad. He’d fought well during the siege and earned the rank of subcommander, but now he filled the role of Eskkar’s bodyguard and friend. A big man, nearly as tall as his Captain, Grond stood even wider across the shoulders, with massive arms that, not too long ago, had carried Eskkar to safety as easily as one might carry a child. In the last few months, the former slave had saved Eskkar’s life more than once.
Grond took his time before replying. “They’ll do, I suppose. But you should have brought more veterans, Captain. Seventy isn’t going to be enough to reclaim a hundred and fifty miles of rough country, not with almost half of the men newly trained.”
Eskkar didn’t want to start that argument again, especially when he’d insisted enough seasoned men must stay behind to guard the walls and patrol the land to the south. He didn’t think the barbarian horde that attacked Akkad would return, but Eskkar had too much respect for their fighting abilities and their hatred of defeat to take any chances.
“All we’ll be doing is chasing after stray bandits and looters, Grond. It’s not as if we’ll be facing hardened warriors in a pitched battle. Besides, the recruits need battle experience, and this is the best way to get it.”
In addition to the soldiers, the column included a dozen camp boys to act as servants to those who could afford to feed them. Five liverymen looked after the fifteen pack animals and the twenty horses, and three younger sons from Akkad’s leading merchants represented their father’s trading interests. They
would help reestablish local trade wherever possible. Akkad’s ruling council had also assigned two scribes to help Eskkar.
They would record anything of interest and keep track of any goods or loot Eskkar and his men might acquire.
He hadn’t wanted to take the scribes, but the elders had insisted. How else, they had asked, could everything be accounted for? Eskkar had looked across the table at Trella, saw her nod her head, and gave in. Now he wondered if he had enough soldiers. It seemed such a small force to establish control of all the villages and farms north of Akkad.
“Did you hear anything more about Dilgarth?” Grond said, changing the subject.
“Another trader arrived just before sunset yesterday,” Eskkar said. “He claimed he saw other wayfarers being robbed near the village. There may be several bands of thieves attacking and robbing travelers on the road between here and Dilgarth.”
The small village of Dilgarth lay more than forty miles north of Akkad. Eskkar planned to pass through the place on their way to Bisitun, a much larger village that was his main destination. He intended to sweep the land clear of bandits and marauders between Akkad and Bisitun, to protect the hundreds of farmers and herders who produced the food that Akkad and its busy traders depended upon.
“Well, we should be able to finish off a handful of robbers easily enough,” Grond said.
“Yes, after fighting the barbarians, a few bandits shouldn’t present any problems,” Eskkar said. “And once we’ve taken control of the land around Bisitun, the countryside should start settling down.”
“I hope they brew some decent ale in Bisitun,” Grond said. “I’m thirsty already.”