Empire Rising es-2

by Sam Barone

  The barracks door flew open again, but this time Bantor’s archers were ready. Their arrows flew into the darkened interior. Only one shaft, aimed high, came out. But a wave of men burst out, the ones in front carrying shields, and they hurled themselves toward the Akkadians, shouting war cries.

  From the storehouse roof above them, four archers who had just reached their positions fi red their shafts into the Korthac’s fi ghters’ backs, knocking down the first two shielded men emerging from the barracks.

  That gave Bantor’s archers more targets. They brought down another two men before the leader of the charging Egyptians reached Bantor’s sword.

  He caught the savage overhand thrust on his own weapon, then used one of Eskkar’s favorite tactics, stepping forward and slamming his shoulder in the man’s shield, halting the man’s advance. Before the man could regain either his balance or his momentum, Bantor’s short sword swept over the top of the shield and thrust deep into the man’s chest, at the base of the neck.

  With a scream the man dropped his sword, clutching at his wound.

  Wrenching his blade free, Bantor faced another attacker, but this man was already dying, another shaft flashing down from the storehouse roof into the man’s back. Their charge broken before most of them got clear of the doorway and their leader dead, the Egyptians fell back once again to their barracks. Again the door slammed shut, leaving one cursing man trapped outside, pounding on the door for entry, before two shafts in his back brought him down. The body slumped directly before the opening, and Bantor grunted in satisfaction. The Egyptians would have to step over their own dead to reach his men next time.

  “Bantor, the fire’s ready,” a voice called out.

  “Burn the roof, then.”

  Jarack returned carrying a large wooden shield and three spears, another three or four former prisoners carrying similar burdens behind him.

  More men appeared, all carrying weapons of one sort or another, and Bantor realized some villagers had entered the compound and helped themselves to the same weapons supply.

  The first firebrand mounted up into the sky, to fall downward onto the barracks’ roof. Another followed in its trail, then more smoked their way onto the roof, flung by the hands of arriving villagers. These alighted on the structure, and the mix of wood and straw ignited almost at once. Fresh fire shot up into the sky.

  Bantor glanced down at the ground before him, counting the dead Egyptians. Eight bodies lay in the dirt, most with arrows protruding from them. Three carried shields, something that wouldn’t normally be kept in the crowded barracks. So the Egyptians had their swords and knives, a few bows, and not much else.

  Another villager arrived, this one carrying a spear. He knelt on the ground right beside an archer, angling the spear point up, protecting the bowman, and no doubt well trained in how to rise up and thrust the weapon at any charging foe. Another villager arrived and did the same, and Bantor saw Jarack standing back at the storehouse, directing more villagers while he handed out more weapons.

  With a loud snapping noise, a wave of fire engulfed the barracks’ roof, and the bright flames added their light to the deepening dawn.

  Klexor arrived, bringing most of his archers with him. “The prisoners are free, Bantor,” he shouted, already having to raise his voice over the crackle of flames. “We lost a few men, but the rabble fled.”

  “Spread your men out,” Bantor ordered. “Get a few more up on the storehouse roof. The Egyptians will be coming out soon.”

  Bantor saw nearly twenty liberated soldiers stumbling behind Alexar.

  Most of them looked exhausted and scarcely able to stand, weakened by long hours of slave labor with little food.

  “Give them your bows,” Bantor ordered. Even in their weakened condition, these men would still be able to loose a shaft. At this distance, a bowman didn’t need to draw back an arrow very far.

  He stepped away from the front line, and took a moment to look around him. More towns people were joining the fi ght, carrying makeshift weapons or swords they obtained one way or another. The freed prisoners would help, too. If the blaze didn’t roast the Egyptians alive, his men, shooting down into the house, would start killing them. Korthac’s vaunted fighters were going to be slaughtered.

  “Klexor, finish off the ones here. I’ll take my men and head toward Eskkar’s house. Follow when you can.”

  Calling out to his men, Bantor turned and jogged off, half the soldiers falling in reluctantly behind him. They wanted to see the Egyptians burn. The first section of the roof fell into the barracks, mixing with the screams of men trapped beneath the burning sections. From the rooftops, the archers began firing, shooting at anything that moved inside. Bantor ignored it all, shouting for his men to follow him. Ariamus wasn’t inside.

  Bantor would have recognized the man’s bellow anywhere.

  This time Bantor ran as hard as he could, twelve of his original fourteen men close on his heels. The alarm had sounded, and now speed mattered more than anything else. Men would be fighting at Eskkar’s house, and Korthac’s men would be rallying there. Bantor hoped he had enough men.

  A man, sword in hand, stepped out of a house into his path. Bantor struck him down, hardly slowing, and not caring if he were friend or foe.

  Every moment counted. He must get to Eskkar’s house. If Ariamus wasn’t at the barracks, he would be there, or nearby. Bantor knew the man’s character. Ariamus would look to his leader Korthac for direction. He’d fight hard enough, but only while he felt certain he could win. The moment the fight became too risky, Ariamus would do what he always did when danger got too close-melt away into the darkness. This time Bantor intended to make sure the wily former captain of the guard didn’t get away.

  So Bantor pushed the pace, covering the narrow lanes, his sword flashing up and down in the moonlight, while behind him his men filled the streets with their battle cries. “Eskkar has returned. Let none escape!”

  Eskkar counted on him to break into the compound. Eskkar and his handful of men, if they still lived, couldn’t hold out long, not against all of Korthac’s fighters quartered there. “Faster, men,” he shouted, lifting the sword high to lead the way.

  27

  Drakis watched as Enkidu and his men used the stakes taken from the wagon to brace the bottom of the cart’s wheel, levering it halfway into the opening, creating an effective barrier against anyone trying to enter.

  Satisfied that the wagon couldn’t simply be pulled aside, Enkidu turned toward him. “Are you wounded, Drakis?”

  “No, just out of breath. Can you hold the base of the tower?”

  “Yes, for now. They’ll not be able to force it easily, if our archers can cover us from the top of the tower. Leave me five men, and take the rest up top.”

  “Is that enough to hold here?”

  “Any more would just get in the way,” Enkidu said. “And we found some spears in the corner.”

  Spears could be even more effective than swords at close-quarters fighting. Taking a precious moment to clasp Enkidu on the shoulder, Drakis turned toward the steps, as Enkidu’s men kept shoving and pushing, trying to wedge the wagon tighter into the tower entrance. By now, most of the front wheel stood inside the opening. Enkidu was right. Even with plenty of men, the wagon wouldn’t be easy to drag aside, especially if defended. Already two men had taken up their bows, standing ready on either side of the barricade, searching for targets. Another returned lugging an armful of spears, then leaned them against the wall, ready for use.

  “Hold them off, Enkidu. Send word if you need help.”

  Leaving five men with Enkidu, Drakis led the rest back up the stairs, warning them to keep their heads low when they emerged on the battlement. To his surprise, the night’s darkness had given way to dawn’s first light, and he looked toward the east to see rays of gold pushing up into the sky, the sun itself just below the horizon.

  The streets below remained dark, sheltered from the rising sun by the wall and t
ower. An arrow hissed over his head. On the battlement Tarok, Drakis’s second in command and a seasoned veteran, had organized the men, all of them crouched below the battlement facing the opposite tower.

  “We’ve lost two men, Drakis. One dead, and the other has an arrow in his arm. Useless. But we’ve killed five or six of them. They must be Korthac’s Egyptians.” Tarok sneaked a quick look over the battlement for a moment, then turned back to his leader. “What’s happening below?”

  “We’ve blocked the entrance with a wagon. Enkidu will hold the doorway, if we can support him from here.”

  “We’re almost ready to begin,” Tarok said. “I’ve been waiting for dawn, so we could see them better. They’ll make easy targets. You keep watching the ones below.”

  Drakis looked eastward. A rosy red glow lit the horizon, and the sun’s edge would be flooding the land with light any moment now. He took a quick count of the men. Counting himself, he had fifteen archers who could draw a bow.

  In a soft voice, Tarok explained to the latest arrivals what he planned to do. Then he arranged the men in two ranks of seven, arrows strung, waiting for the order to attack. Tarok nocked his own shaft and readied himself alongside the first rank.

  “Now,” Tarok said. The first rank rose up as one man, picked their targets, and fired, ducking back down as soon as the shafts flew free. In the same motion, the second rank stood, arrows already drawn to their ears.

  These men searched for targets before shooting.

  The first volley disrupted the men in the other tower. Now the second volley, carefully aimed at any target that showed itself, targets less than thirty paces away, snapped out across the gate.

  Drakis had under his command most of the best archers in Akkad, second only to Mitrac and his chosen few. Drakis’s marksmen had no trouble hitting a man’s head at that distance, even at fi rst light. He peered across the wall. The first volley might not have struck anyone, but the second killed two or three of the enemy. Again the first rank rose up, shafts drawn, but found nothing to shoot at.

  Korthac’s soldiers might be fierce fighters, they might even be using the same bows that Drakis’s men carried, but the Egyptians hadn’t practiced hours each day for months. Today they faced archers schooled in volley firing, with muscles strong enough to hold an arrow to the ear while counting to fifty, if necessary. More important, months of training had given the Akkadians pride in their skills, and they weren’t about to cower before some foreigners holding bows.

  Drakis saw something move on the other tower and heard the snapping of bowstrings as seven arrows flashed across the open space between them.

  The archers ducked down again, to nock another shaft. The second rank took their place without a word, searching for targets. But there weren’t any, and Drakis gave a sigh of relief. Perhaps this would be easy enough after all.

  “Tarok, can you sweep the tower with half the men? I need the rest to cover the entrance and the gate.”

  “Yes, for now. If I need help…”

  “You’ll have it,” Drakis said. In a moment, he had his men moving, shifting them to the rear of the battlement, where they could look down into the square. Because their flank would be exposed to fire from the other tower, they would have to depend on Tarok’s bowmen to protect them. Drakis didn’t like fighting like this, with his flank unprotected, but at least he could cover the approach to the tower.

  As Drakis searched for enemies below, an arrow struck the wall a foot beneath his head before glancing off the tower. Below him, a mix of bowmen and men carrying swords jostled about, getting ready to rush his position, gathering in nearly the same spot Drakis had used to launch his own assault.

  “We have to hold them off, keep them from forcing the entrance below,” Drakis said, as he lined up his men on either side. “Aim for the archers first.” Picking up his bow and stringing a shaft, he gave one last look toward the other tower.

  “Now!”

  They rose up together and loosed eight arrows into the bandits assembling below. Some fired back. A few arrows rattled against the wall, but most flew overhead. It would take them a shot or two to find the range, and Drakis, like every archer, knew how difficult it was to shoot uphill. His men ignored the counterfire, and kept launching shafts into the enemy fighters, pouring shafts down as fast as they could, and trying to kill off anyone carrying a bow. Under that rapid fire, the exposed men below scattered, some running back down the street, others ducking into houses or hiding behind anything they could find.

  The Akkadians fired a few more arrows at anything that moved. Finally Drakis saw nothing to shoot at, and he let his bow go slack as he studied the square beneath him. He couldn’t see anyone, but knew his enemy was gathering just out of sight. If he’d captured both towers, his archers could have swept the lane with arrows. Again he cursed the fates that hadn’t let him arrive a few moments earlier. Still, he thanked the gods that only bandits had defended this tower, not Korthac’s desert fighters.

  He wondered about Eskkar. In the distance, he could hear the shouts and battle cries rising and falling, most of them coming from the direction of the barracks. Hopefully, Bantor and his men would be in the city. If things did not go well for Bantor, Drakis and his men would be trapped up here, cut off with no way to escape. He tightened his grip on his bow. He’d know about that soon enough. Right now there was nothing Drakis could do, except wait for the next attack.

  Takany watched Ariamus and Hathor leave the courtyard, glad to be rid of both of them. If Ariamus survived this night, if Hathor didn’t kill the man, Takany vowed to kill both of them himself. Even if Hathor did kill Ariamus, Takany decided he wanted Hathor dead anyway. The man had questioned his decisions before, and now wanted to leave Korthac behind. Takany knew one thing. The gate must be defended. Without control of the gate, they couldn’t stop more troops from entering Akkad. This Eskkar might have hundreds of men out there, just waiting for the gate to open.

  Shaking his head, he put both men out of his mind. Instead, he cursed the evil demons who’d attacked the house at night, catching everyone still asleep or lax at their posts. These Akkadians were too cowardly to challenge his men in daylight, when his men could slaughter them with ease.

  Looking about, Takany found the last handful of men still gathering up weapons and lacing on sandals. To his satisfaction, with the number of men in the courtyard halved, the situation improved. The twenty or so fighters remaining knew their work. They’d recapture the house soon enough. Takany knew he had to move quickly, before something happened to Korthac, though in the back of his mind Takany started considering life without Korthac.

  If these weaklings had killed Korthac, Takany would take charge of Akkad, and he swore a curse on the city’s inhabitants for this attack. He’d kill so many that none of them would ever dare rise from their knees again.

  Leaving a handful of soldiers to guard the kitchen door and prevent any escape that way, Takany readied his men, moving those carrying shields to the forefront. Spearmen followed behind them, and six or seven archers would bring up the rear. Hathor had taken most of the bowmen with him. Bows wouldn’t be of much use inside the house.

  “Once we start in,” Takany shouted, moving up and down in front of his men. “There must be no hesitation. Go straight up the landing and kill everyone in your path.” He took a deep breath, hefted his shield. “Now!”

  Six men stood ready with the courtyard table. They’d positioned it a few paces from the door. Now they picked it up and charged the door, using it as a battering ram and smashing it against the door with all their strength. The heavy table, made of thick planks, split part of the doorway with the fi rst attempt. Takany heard men shouting behind the door. They knew what was coming.

  “Good,” Takany yelled. “Hit it again.”

  The men battered the door again, the sound of ripping wood adding to the din. The third time smashed the door open, snapping the bar that braced it, and knocking aside a table the defenders had
shoved up against it.

  Arrows flew through the splintered doorway. One of the men closest to the door sank to his knees, a shaft in his chest. The rest of Takany’s soldiers moved back.

  “Shields, get those shields up front,” Takany shouted.

  Other men moved forward, carrying shields and holding swords, ready to face the danger they knew lay within. A few carried the heavy Akkadian bows. Once inside, if they could get their weapons in play, they’d wreak havoc on any defenders trapped on the landing.

  “Attack!”

  The men surged forward, the human wedge knocking the last of the door from the frame as they rushed inside. Arrows struck down the first two men through the doorway, head shots that slowed the Egyptians only for a moment. They knew the fastest way to end the battle was to rush in and kill everyone, so the Egyptians ignored their losses.

  Standing just outside, Takany made sure the last of his fighters had surged through the door before following him inside. Raising his shield, Takany followed his fighters in, shouting at them to push ahead. “Kill them all,” he roared, “get close and finish them.”

  His men took up the cry, the fearful words echoing throughout the chamber. “Kill them all!”

  Muttering a curse at Takany’s stupidity, Hathor stepped through the courtyard gate, pushing along the last straggler of those he’d ordered to the main gate. The fool had knelt in the dirt to fasten his sandal.

  “Leave that, you ox,” Hathor ordered, shoving the man into a run. He’d sent ahead more than twenty-five men, more than enough to recapture the tower. Unlike Takany, Hathor had decided that Eskkar and his men numbered far fewer than the supposed “hundreds” that Takany feared lurked outside the gate. Otherwise Eskkar wouldn’t have let himself get trapped inside Korthac’s house. Probably Eskkar had slipped into the city with a few men, and hoped to raise the inhabitants.

  By the time Hathor broke into a run, most of his men had already disappeared up the lane. He wanted to catch up before anything else went wrong. Turning the corner, Hathor and the soldier nearly stumbled over the dead body of one of his men lying in the lane.