Battle For Empire (The Eskkar Saga)

by Sam Barone

  Thutmose-sin frowned at Urgo’s words and what they implied.

  “The outcast Eskkar seems confident of victory,” Altanar said, after a long silence, “if he brings so many dirt eaters to this place. Although he blocks our way, he, too, is trapped here, cut off from his supplies. He cannot have brought much food with him. We could starve him out in eight or ten days.”

  “Yes, if we could last that long.” Urgo reached behind to massage a sore spot on his hip. “Meanwhile we have not enough water to fill our bellies, let alone our horses. And what will our women and children drink? Already their water skins hang flat from the wagons. In one day and half of the next, they will arrive here, desperate for water.”

  Yesterday the clan leaders had met and decided to move forward, not back. No one believed that a force of dirt eaters could prevent the Clan reaching the water. Once again Urgo had urged them to turn the caravan around, but that choice was too bitter for any of the others to stomach.

  And now, Thutmose-sin realized, it was too late to change his mind. Even if he gave the order to retrace their path, half and maybe more of the Alur Meriki would never reach their last watering place.

  “What do you say, Bekka?” Thutmose-sin gazed at the man beside him. “You’ve been watching the dirt eaters for more than two days, and fought them. What do you think?”

  “I say we must drive them away from the water. I know that many of us will die, but at least we will die with honor. To turn back without a battle . . . to refuse to fight dirt eaters, how could we face our women and children again?”

  Urgo shook his head. “We know Eskkar has two or three times this number of fighters at his command in Akkad. By now, a second horde could be marching toward this place from the south. Even if we drive these dirt eaters away from the water, if we kill every one of them, how many warriors will we have left to face the next force of soldiers Akkad will send against us? Who will defend our women and children and wagons then?”

  “We do not know if there are more coming,” Altanar countered. “Our scouts have seen nothing. If the Akkadians come, we can attack them in the foothills. These dirt eaters fight well in a fortified position, but on the march, out in the open, they may not prove so formidable.”

  “Your scouts may have seen nothing, but that does not mean they are not coming.” Urgo shook his head again. “We did not see these dirt eaters approaching until it was too late.”

  “The Council has made its decision.” Thutmose-sin didn’t want to go over the old arguments again. “But no matter what, we need every warrior we can put on a horse to finish Eskkar and these dirt eaters. If more Akkadians are indeed coming toward us, the sooner we destroy those in our path and secure the water, the better.”

  He turned to Bekka. “Your men are more rested. Dispatch riders to collect every band of warriors. I want every warrior from every clan here as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, Sarum.”

  Even as Thutmose-sin gave the order, he wondered if this was not exactly what Eskkar wanted him to do. The Sarum let his gaze roam up and down the ranks of the Akkadians. Two men, taller than most, stood together, staring up at this very hilltop. One of them likely was Eskkar himself.

  Without thinking, Thutmose-sin touched the scar on his forehead. The next time he met Eskkar in battle, no broken blade would be enough to stop Thutmose-sin from killing the traitor. Of that, he was certain.

  “Is it him?” Alexar strode over to join Eskkar and Hathor, craning his neck and shading his eyes as he stared across at the enemy hill. None of the Akkadians had ever seen the dreaded Thutmose-sin, except for Eskkar.

  “I think so,” Eskkar said. “If it’s not, then whoever it is has taken charge.”

  “The one on the end.” Hathor pointed toward the right. “I recognize him. He was one of the leaders in the attack.”

  “Four clan chiefs together. They’re making their plans while they gather their men.” Eskkar turned away from the hill. “By now they’ve figured out that they have to fight. Let’s just hope they don’t come up with anything better than charging at us from across the stream.”

  Eskkar glanced toward his own soldiers. “How soon before we are ready?”

  “Not long,” Alexar said. “The men still need some time to recover from the march. Meanwhile, the slingers are busy chipping away at the cliffs, and the rest of the men are cursing at me for making them carry rocks. By the end of the day, we’ll be as ready as we’re going to be.”

  Water-polished stones from the stream, some larger than a melon, were being scattered over both sides of the waterway, with twice as many on the Akkadian side. If the barbarians succeeded in crossing over, the stones would make it difficult for a charging man to keep his footing. It would be yet one more obstacle to overcome before the enemy could come to grips with the Akkadians.

  “They’ve known about us for almost four days,” Eskkar said. “It will take them at least the rest of the day, and probably tomorrow, to assemble enough warriors for another attack. And Thutmose-sin knows by now that he’s going to need every one if he wants his horses to drink from the stream.”

  “Then I’ll have time to rest the men. All that walking has taken its toll.” Alexar rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “I’ll even make sure they do a little training.”

  “You sound like old Gatus.” Eskkar grinned at his infantry commander. “Always eager to make his men sweat.”

  Alexar laughed. “Well, Gatus would be happy to be here and see what we’ve done.”

  “He would be proud of these men, and of all of you,” Eskkar agreed. “The veterans tell the new men stories about how hard training was in the old days, and how easy the recruits have it today.”

  Gatus had been dead for more than eight years, yet many of the men still spoke of him as if they’d suffered one of his tongue lashings only yesterday. Eskkar, too, missed the old warrior, who had befriended Eskkar and Trella early on, and remained loyal to the very end. At least he had died as he wanted, in his sixtieth season, fighting with his companions.

  “Let’s hope his spirit is watching over us.” Alexar took one last look at the enemy hilltop. “I think we’re going to need him.”

  Thutmose-sin spent the rest of that day and half of the next on the hilltop, watching the Akkadians, while he waited for the remainder of his forces to arrive. His enemy kept busy. Gangs of dirt eaters moved rocks from the base of the cliff, the stream bed and the water itself. They scattered these in a wide belt along the bank, creating an obstacle for ten paces as the ground sloped up and away from the flowing water.

  With the west side of the stream littered with the smooth river rocks, they repeated the process on the east bank. Then, to further stymie the Alur Meriki warriors, they started piling more stones on the far side, to provide their bowmen with some protection, at least for their lower legs.

  The speed of the Akkadians impressed him. In less than a day, they created a barrier on the west side of the stream that would slow any charge. Any horses that managed to make it through the rocks and across the stream would find even more dangerous footing on the Akkadian side. Nor would his bowmen shoot their arrows effectively while guiding their mounts through the water’s current and past the field of stones.

  In yet another affront to the Alur Meriki, the hated Akkadian archers set up some target butts. Thutmose-sin watched as groups of bowmen took turns practicing with their long bows, launching the heavy shafts that could bring down a horse at close range, let alone stop a man. Those tall bowmen with their brawny arms would launch two or three arrows before his warriors rode into range.

  Nor were the archers the only ones practicing. Groups of slingers flung stones at the cliff face. He could see the puffs of stone chips fly off the hard rock wall. Small of stature, they looked like boys at this distance. Some had used ropes to scale the cliffs on the west side of the stream. From those heights, they would hurl their missiles at any approaching warriors. More important, they ended Thutmose-sin’s
idea of sending a band of his fighters to slip over the north end of the stream, clamber through the rocks, and catch the Akkadians unaware.

  The steepness of the south cliff, where the flowing water disappeared into the ground, prevented even Akkad’s slingers from using it to advantage. No enemy could work his way through those rocks, to attack from behind.

  Thutmose-sin didn’t fully understand the purpose of the Akkadian slingers. He’d used a sling himself as a boy. But somehow the traitor Eskkar had created a whole class of fighters using what Alur Meriki warriors considered a toy for women and children. Scattered across the cliff, or mixed in with the rest of Eskkar’s fighters, they would no doubt add to the killing of his men. Otherwise, the traitor would not have brought them, instead of more bowmen or spearmen.

  The Alur Meriki had never faced slingers before, and while he doubted they would be as dangerous as archers, they might take their toll. What effect they would have on the battle remained to be seen.

  The foot soldiers, spearmen as they were called, presented another unknown. Thutmose-sin knew his warriors had ridden down bands of dirt eaters armed with spears in the past, but the Akkadians had brought two hundred of these fighters to this place, and they, too, were an unknown.

  Even at this distance, he could see the spearmen moving back and forth as they practiced, thrusting with their spears from behind shields. The spears looked to be both thick and long, and the bulky shields appeared solid enough to stop an arrow or turn a sword stroke.

  For Thutmose-sin’s warriors scrambling up from the stream and picking their way through the rocks, the spears would be a daunting weapon to face. A powerful thrust could impale a rider before he could bring his sword to bear. Nor would horses willingly charge a bristling line of sharp spear points.

  Of course if his warriors could ride back and forth, launching their arrows, the spearmen would be cut down soon enough. But the Akkadian archers and slingers would make sure that tactic failed.

  The six hundred horse fighters Thutmose-sin counted also looked dangerous. If they had truly learned how to shoot a bow from the back of a fast moving horse, they presented a threat as dangerous as another steppes clan. Their presence ended any hope of sending an Alur Meriki force of warriors to the Akkadian rear.

  However many Thutmose-sin dispatched on the two day trek, they would only find themselves facing these horsemen after a long ride, and the Alur Meriki would be that much weaker on this side of the stream. Scouts on the cliffs would see his warriors coming in plenty of time for the Akkadians to shift their soldiers and counter the attack.

  Man for man, Thutmose-sin had no doubt his warriors were superior. They had, after all, learned to ride almost as soon as they could sit on the back of a horse. But Eskkar had chosen his place of battle well. Most Alur Meriki tactics relied on movement and skill with a horse. Those would be less effective in this enclosed pass through the foothills.

  And if Eskkar had trained and prepared his men for a steppes battle, Thutmose-sin had to respect their strength. They’d out-fought his warriors before.

  The odd mixture of forces Eskkar had established on the west bank worried Thutmose-sin. He didn’t know how effective they might be in a combined effort. On an open plain, the Alur Meriki could hurl their entire force at a single point, and nothing could withstand that. But here, the cursed stream with its desperately needed flowing water prevented the warriors’ best tactic.

  Midday had just passed when Bekka returned from his duties and rejoined his Sarum on the crest. A fresh bandage covered his thigh, now marked by only a trace of blood.

  “The last of our men have arrived, Sarum. There can’t be more than a handful who haven’t ridden in.”

  Thutmose-sin turned away from the enemy camp. He’d seen all he needed. “What is the count now?”

  “Over twenty-two hundred warriors,” Bekka answered.

  That included more than four hundred old men and young boys, fit to ride and capable of holding a sword, called up from the caravan. These would take their station in the front ranks, to take the first rush of arrows from the Akkadians. Many, if not most, of the old and young would sacrifice their lives to allow his seasoned warriors to close with their enemy.

  “Then it is time to prepare.” Thutmose-sin rose and swung onto the back of his horse. “Ride ahead and summon the clan leaders.”

  As Bekka rode off, Thutmose-sin took one last look at the Akkadians. Obviously they didn’t have more than a few days supply of food, and by now the first stirrings of hunger might be making itself felt.

  The invaders had dragged a few dead horses from the stream and gutted them. That would give each man a fistful of raw meat, since the bare ground held little in the way of firewood. Too much uncooked flesh made men sick, but it would take several days for that to happen.

  Meanwhile, his own men had nearly emptied the last of their water skins. The thirsty horses, who could scent the water just over the hill, would soon be more than restive. At last Thutmose-sin turned his horse’s head aside, and followed Bekka’s path back to camp.

  When Thutmose-sin reached the area set aside for the gathering of clan leaders, he gazed in satisfaction at the men waiting there. Bekka, Urgo, and Altanar had been joined by Suijan, Narindar, and Praxa. Bar’rack arrived last. Accompanying Bar’rack were the warriors who guarded the caravan, along with the old men and boys. He also brought a pack train loaded down with all the arrows, lances, and other weapons normally stored in the caravan’s wagons.

  Thutmose-sin settled himself on the ground beneath the great standard of the Alur Meriki. Each of its feathers, ox-tails, and leather loops represented a particular clan, or commemorated a victory or conquest, some of which no one any longer remembered.

  The clan leaders followed their Sarum’s example. Each was attended only by one of his most trusted or senior subcommander. Thutmose-sin studied their faces as they settled into their places.

  All the leaders looked grim. Each had ascended to the hilltop and stared at the Akkadians in silence. Even the fools and loud talkers among the warriors realized that this would be no easy victory.

  More than twelve years had passed since the mighty assault on Orak had decimated the Alur Meriki. Almost four years later, seeking revenge for that defeat, the Clan, at the urgings of the Sumerians, had launched a night attack on Akkad’s walls. The leaders of the Great Clan had split into two factions over the attack, and Thutmose-sin faced the most serious threat to his rule.

  He’d objected to that attack, but a large force of his warriors chose to join with those willing to battle Akkad. Fortunately for Thutmose-sin, the attack had failed, and most of those opposing him died, trapped and cut down within the walls of the dirt eater’s city.

  Yet the stupidity of the attack had also taken its toll, both in lost warriors and honor. The Great Clan had not yet regained the strength it boasted before the first attack on Orak. Now Thutmose-sin and the Alur Meriki faced a desperate battle, and for the first time, one not of their own choosing. Every clan leader sitting in the circle knew how much was at stake.

  “For almost two days I have studied the Akkadians.” Thutmose-sin chose not to use the usual name of dirt eaters. Whatever low beginnings these men from Akkad might have had, they had turned into fighters, and the sooner his clan leaders and warriors accepted that fact, the better.

  “They are well prepared to face us, and they have used the time to strengthen their position. They show no fear. They may not have food for more than a few days, but they have the water. A hungry man can still fight. A warrior weakened by thirst is not as strong. We must drive them away from the stream, and soon. Another two or three days, four at the most, and we will all be opening the veins and drinking the blood of our few surviving horses to stay alive.”

  He let the words sink in, as he glanced around the circle. No one challenged his assertions.

  “So we must make a choice, right here and right now, about how to fight and how to drive them away from the w
ater. If we fail to do that, the Alur Meriki may be finished as a people. And let me not hear loud talk about wiping these invaders out to the last man. I would let the Akkadians ride away tomorrow unscathed, if we could somehow secure the water for the caravan.”

  Thutmose-sin turned to Bar’rack. “How soon before the caravan reaches this place?”

  “I made sure the wagon masters understood the need for speed. We marked the trail, and the caravan will travel as far as it can into the evening. It should be here by midmorning tomorrow.”

  “Good.” Thutmose-sin did not feel comfortable about leaving the caravan undefended and so far behind, but it couldn’t be helped. “When they arrive, the path to the water must be free.”

  He glanced around the circle of warriors. “We’ve already wasted two days gathering our strength. Now it is time to plan the defeat of these Akkadians.”

  Murmurs of approval greeted Thutmose-sin’s words.

  “To kill these dirt eaters, we must come up with a new way to fight. We cannot waste our warriors’ lives by charging across the stream. Chulum’s foolishness at least convinced our men of that. The first to die will slow our approach, and leave the survivors easy targets for their archers. Even if we are successful, too many of our men will die. Since that is so, I believe we should attack at night and on foot. There will be little moon, and we should be able to get close to the stream before we launch our attack.”

  “On foot and at night!” Suijan shook his head. “No warrior with any honor would agree to such a battle plan! Better to die on a horse, under the sun and sky.”

  The man’s outburst surprised Thutmose-sin. Suijan had proven himself to be strong fighter and wise beyond his years. “You have been here less than a day, Suijan.” Thutmose-sin kept his temper despite the man’s angry words. “Let us ask Bekka, who has not only been here the longest, but who has actually ridden against these invaders.”