by Sam Barone
Bekka shifted his body while he collected his words, surprised at being asked to offer his opinion ahead of his elders. “I think the dirt eaters are waiting for us to charge across the river. One hundred of them stopped our charge before we reached midstream. Struggling through the water, not one warrior got close enough to throw a lance. I thought Chulum and I had wasted our men’s lives. Now I agree with our Sarum that we have learned from their deaths. If we ride against them on horseback, we will be destroyed.”
“How can you be certain that an attack at night will succeed?” Praxa, the oldest of the clan leaders after Urgo, leaned forward, his eyes shifting from Bekka to Thutmose-sin.
“I cannot be certain,” the Sarum replied. “But at night, the long bowmen of the Akkadians will not be able to see us, nor will they have a large target to aim at. Eskkar has taught these men to aim for the horses. If we hug the ground as we approach, we may be able to cross the stream and close in on them.”
“How deep is the stream?” Altanar’s question showed support for his Sarum.
“Only above the knees, and a little deeper in the center.” Bekka answered without glancing at Thutmose-sin. “There it might reach mid thigh for a few steps.
“It will slow down our men.” Altanar kept his voice even. “But it would also slow down horses, who will be fearful of the depth of the water. At least we can tell the men what to expect.”
“And whatever slingers or bowmen the Akkadians have on the cliff will be of little use,” Bekka went on. “Once we close in, they will have no targets.”
Thutmose-sin waited for a moment, but no one offered anything else. “Urgo, you have not spoken. What would you recommend?”
Every eye turned toward the old warrior. He, too, took a moment before he replied.
“I agree that a mounted attack would fail, and with heavy losses. Eskkar will have planned well for just such an encounter. But an attack at night will be almost as bad. Do you think Eskkar will not be expecting this? Besides, our warriors are not used to fighting in the dark, while the dirt eaters have shown themselves to be good fighters after the sun goes down. Do not forget the lessons of Orak. At the great siege, we tried several attacks at night, and they all failed, but the dirt eaters raided our horses in the dark. And when Rethnar tried to slip into the city at night during their war with Sumer, his men were trapped and slaughtered like sheep in a killing pen.”
No one wanted to be reminded of Rethnar’s failure. At least he had the good fortune to get himself killed during the attack, which had saved Thutmose-sin the bother of doing it.
Or Bar’rack might have done it. He had ridden with Rethnar in that battle and fought in the Akkadian city. Afterwards, when the survivors collected themselves, Bar’rack had searched through the surviving and shattered warriors, naked blade in hand, calling out Rethnar’s name and demanding a challenge.
“What you say is true,” Thutmose-sin conceded. “But I see no other path to follow.”
“There is another way, perhaps two,” Urgo went on. “First, we can try to . . .” he had to pause to remember the word seldom used by the Clan, “to negotiate with Eskkar. Perhaps he can be persuaded to depart. Villagers like gold and horses. We can offer them to the Akkadians.”
“Buy our path to the water!” Even for Altanar, that course of action bordered on the unthinkable for a warrior. “Never!”
“You will buy the water from that stream, paying for it in the blood of our fighters and our horses.” Urgo shrugged, unperturbed by the passion of Altanar’s response. “If that is not acceptable, then I suggest that we turn the caravan around, and return to the last watering place. Many will die, the old, the young, the weak, and most of the herds, but much of the caravan will survive, as will many of our strongest horses and warriors. Meanwhile, Eskkar cannot remain in this place long. His thousand fighters and half as many horses need food and grain. In a day or two, once we are well on our way, the Akkadians will leave this place. Once they do, they will be vulnerable to attack by our warriors. And for once Eskkar is a long way from the safety of his walled city.”
“To fight and die is surely more honorable than a . . . retreat.” Praxa had nearly uttered the word “cowardly,” which no one dared say of Urgo.
“Perhaps Urgo is right,” Thutmose-sin spoke quickly, before tempers flared. “If we can talk to the Akkadians, perhaps we can trade horses and gold for passage.”
“We’ve no gold here,” Altanar said, “unless we strip every ring, necklace, and arm bracelet from our warriors.”
“How many horses would we offer?” Suijan’s voice held a trace of resignation.
“A hundred, three hundred, it makes no difference,” Urgo said. “In three days we’ll lose that many and more to thirst.”
“Why should this Eskkar trust us to deliver the gold and horses?” Bekka’s tone indicated that he, too, preferred not to face the Akkadians.
Thutmose-sin already knew the answer to that one. “I, perhaps all of us, would have to give our oaths as warriors.”
A sigh of despair greeted his words. No warrior dared to break such an oath, even one given to a dirt eater. But no one spoke. Even for proud fighting men now reduced to offering horses for water, the idea of giving their solemn oaths to dirt eaters would take time to swallow.
“And if the traitor spurns your offer?” Bar’rack’s angry voice told everyone what he thought of the prospect.
Not “our” offer, but “your” offer, Thutmose-sin noted. “If we can save the lives of our warriors, we must try. Or we can turn the caravan around, as Urgo suggests. Who else is in favor of that?”
The clan leaders glanced at each other, but no one spoke. Retreating without a fight, refusal to accept the dirt eaters’ challenge, no, the leaders of the Alur Meriki were still not ready to consider that.
“Then we will first try and bargain with the Akkadians.” Thutmose-sin shook his head and took a deep breath. “Meanwhile, prepare your men for the night attack. Unless anyone has another plan?”
He glanced around the circle. No one appeared satisfied, but neither had anyone a better idea. Before he could end the council and send them to their duties, Bar’rack spoke again.
“There may be another way,” Bar’rack said. “I could challenge this Eskkar to fight, warrior against warrior. If I kill him, we agree that his men can depart in peace. If he kills me, then we can give them the horses.”
Thutmose-sin frowned. All of the clan chiefs knew Bar’rack had sworn the Shan Kar against Eskkar.
“I know of your bravery, Bar’rack,” Urgo said. “But Eskkar will not fight you. He commands an entire city and thousands of fighters. No such leader would accept a challenge to fight someone of lesser status. It is likely he does not even know your name. If you offer Eskkar a challenge, he will ignore it.”
Bar’rack flushed at the gentle rebuke, but said nothing.
“No, Eskkar would not fight you,” Thutmose-sin agreed, breaking the silence. “Still, he might take such a challenge from me. But we will hold off on that challenge for now.”
The messenger darted through the ranks, running as fast as he could to find Eskkar and deliver his message. Eskkar thanked the soldier, but he’d already seen the huge cross-pole totem that symbolized the might of the Alur Meriki and the power of its leader. Now placed atop the hill, the white streamers formed of clan tokens and animals symbols floated in the light breeze.
“What does it mean?” Alexar stood beside Eskkar as they stared at the enemy hilltop. Warriors were filling the crest, but their leisurely movement didn’t appear to portend an attack. Some of the Alur Meriki riders had even dismounted, and now stared down at the enemy that denied them water.
“It’s the great Alur Meriki standard, representing all the clans and all their victories. There are even a few yak tails brought down from the steppes,” Eskkar said. “It also means that Thutmose-sin is on the crest.”
By now Hathor, Mitrac, and Drakis had reached his side, all of them staring open-mouthed at
the sight. Part of the barbarian ranks parted, and three warriors rode over the crest and started down the slope, walking the horses with unusual care down the incline. They stopped at the base of the hill, well out of range of the Akkadian long bows.
“Is one of them Thutmose-sin?” Alexar couldn’t keep the excitement out of his voice.
“Those are all chiefs,” Hathor said. “Look at the horses.”
“Could be,” Eskkar said. None of the three warriors carried a bow or lance. “I think they want to talk, to meet face to face. They’ll wait there until they see three of us move toward them.”
“Why? What is there to talk about?”
Alexar’s blunt words brought a smile to Eskkar’s face. “Well, there’s only one way to find out.” He turned and strode over to where his horse stood. Eskkar’s long sword rested on the ground beside the animal. Eskkar gathered it up and slung it over his right shoulder, then tested it to make sure it drew easily.
“I’m going with you,” Hathor declared.
One glance at his horse commander told Eskkar that nothing would deter the Egyptian from accompanying him. Besides, Hathor’s grim demeanor would strike fear in any warrior’s heart.
“Come, then.” Three barbarian chiefs meant an equal number of Akkadian leaders could meet them in the center of the battleground. Eskkar considered only a moment. “Mitrac! String your bow and find yourself a horse. I want you with me.”
A chorus of disappointed groans rose up at Eskkar’s choice.
“By the gods, Eskkar, don’t take Mitrac,” Alexar said. “Even he can’t use his bow from horseback. Let me come with you.”
Draelin and Drakis joined in the protest, each suggesting he should accompany his leader.
“Only three can face them,” Eskkar said. “And I want to send a message.”
He waited until Mitrac had strung his bow, slung a fat quiver of arrows over his shoulder, and climbed onto the back of a horse. Then Eskkar led the trio through the ranks. He guided his stallion into the stream, letting A-tuku choose its path through the rocks, Hathor and Mitrac following.
Eskkar halted in the middle of the water. A-tuku snorted at the chilly flow, but lowered his head enough to gulp a few mouthfuls of water.
Hathor, too, paused to let his horse drink. “That should send another message.”
When all three horses had slacked their thirst, Eskkar started forward. The three riders splashed onto the opposite shore and let the horses pick their way through the scattered stones. After another twenty paces, Eskkar paused again.
“Do you want me to count their numbers?” Mitrac had taken his station at Eskkar’s left.
Eskkar glanced up at the hilltop. Warriors filled the ridgeline from end to end, two and three deep in places. “No. I’m sure Alexar has his men getting a count.”
Not that it mattered how many warriors the Alur Meriki could field. The Akkadians would have to fight them all.
They waited, but the Alur Meriki didn’t advance. They seemed to be conferring among themselves. It didn’t last long, and the three started toward the Akkadians.
“Nice and steady,” Eskkar said, touching his heels to his horse. “Just match their pace.”
Step by step, the two groups walked their way toward one another. The gap between them narrowed, until the Alur Meriki halted.
“They’re just in range,” Mitrac commented, his eyes gauging the distance. “My archers can reach that far.”
Eskkar shook his head. “The minute they see a shaft in the air they’ll turn and gallop away.” He touched the halter against his horse’s neck, and the three resumed their slow pace.
When the distance closed to ten paces, Eskkar eased A-tuku to a stop, and the enemy warriors did the same. Mitrac and Hathor remained on either side, about two paces away from their Captain, leaving each with enough space to use their weapons.
Eskkar studied the three chiefs facing him. In the center, wearing the gleaming bronze medallion that signified the leadership of the Alur Meriki, was Thutmose-sin. He rode a powerful looking gray stallion.
Though Eskkar couldn’t recall the man’s face, he recognized the powerful emblem of the clan. As a youth, he’d seen it hanging on the breast of Maskim-Xul, father of Thutmose-sin. And in the nighttime fight outside Orak’s walls, Eskkar had glimpsed it again on the chest of Thutmose-sin, gleaming in the light from the raging fires.
The second warrior wore a fresh bandage on his thigh and another on his arm. Despite the wounds, he seemed calm enough, betraying no emotion either by his face or body movements. That one, Eskkar decided, would be dangerous.
The third and youngest chief struggled to control his anger. While Eskkar didn’t have Trella’s skill in reading people’s faces, he recognized raw hatred when he saw it. Eskkar returned his gaze to Thutmose-sin.
“You are Eskkar of Akkad, what was once known as Orak. I am Thutmose-sin, leader of the Alur Meriki. This is Chief Bekka,” he nodded to the bandaged warrior on his left, “and Chief Bar’rack.”
Eskkar acknowledged their names with a nod. “I am Eskkar of Akkad. This is Hathor, commander of my cavalry, and this is . . .”
“We know the Great Slayer of warriors,” Thutmose-sin finished. “He is Mitrac the Archer. Many of our women have cried out into the night and cursed both his name and his arrows.”
Even before the siege of Orak, Mitrac’s shafts had killed many warriors. During the siege Mitrac and his deadly bow had killed or wounded an uncountable number of the enemy. No single man had ever slain so many of the Alur Meriki. No wonder they knew his name and cursed his existence at their cooking fires.
“He gives insult by bringing the Slayer before us,” Bar’rack said, not bothering to conceal his hatred. “Even an outcast should know that bows are forbidden when warriors meet.”
“Control your tongue.” Despite giving the rebuke, Thutmose-sin betrayed no trace of anger toward his commander for speaking out of turn.
Eskkar smiled. So that was what had prompted the brief discussion when they had first seen him and his men ride out.
He considered Bar’rack’s outburst. It seemed odd for the Sarum of the Alur Meriki to bring a young clan leader with him, one who could not control his emotions. Eskkar finished his examination of the three clan leaders before he answered. “We have met once before, Thutmose-sin, on the night of the great burning.”
“My sword shattered against your blade,” Thutmose-sin said, “or I would have killed you.”
Eskkar shrugged. “Perhaps. But you are the one who bears the mark of my sword on your forehead. If the wagon had not burst into flame, I would have killed you.”
Thutmose-sin frowned at the memory. Though the years had faded the scar, the force of Eskkar’s pommel had indeed left its mark, and not only on Thutmose-sin’s body. “The custom of meeting before battle forbids the carrying of bows.”
“Your customs mean nothing to me.” Eskkar kept his voice calm, almost placid, another piece of useful advice from Trella. Let your words carry the message, not your voice or face, lest you reveal too much of what is in your heart. “If Mitrac frightens you, I can send him back to my men.”
That elicited a second, deeper frown from Thutmose-sin, while Bar’rack’s lips formed a thin line across his face. Only Bekka remained unmoved, almost unconcerned.
Eskkar kept his face impassive as the warriors swallowed the insult. “What does the leader of the Alur Meriki wish to say?”
“Your men hold the water.” Thutmose-sin once again had his voice under control. “Our women and children will soon arrive here. They need water for themselves and their herds.”
“The water of this stream belongs to Akkad, as all of this land now belongs to Akkad. If you want water, you will have to find it somewhere else.” Eskkar didn’t bother to add, or fight for it.
“We have come too far to turn back,” Thutmose-sin said. “And a battle between us will leave many dead on both sides. If you abandon this place, we will let you depart in pe
ace.”
“We are not ready to depart,” Eskkar said. “In four or five days, we may wish to move on. If you wait until then, you may have your water.”
Thutmose-sin knew that in four more days, the Alur Meriki wouldn’t have any warriors who could fight or horses to carry them. “If you leave now, we will give you gold, as well as many horses, at least one hundred.”
The Alur Meriki were indeed desperate. Eskkar shook his head. “You want to burden my men with gold and have them tending a horse herd when you attack? The moment your warriors’ horses finished drinking they would ride to attack us. No, keep your gold. If you want water, turn your horses back toward the east and leave this land.”
“So you came here only to challenge the Alur Meriki.” Thutmose-sin’s voice now betrayed his anger.
Trella’s advice once again proved its worth. The calmer Eskkar remained, the angrier Thutmose-sin grew.
Eskkar leaned forward and rested his left hand on the neck of his horse, who bobbed its head contentedly at the touch. “I came here to end once and for all time the raids and attacks against the farms and villages and herds of this land. If that means I have to destroy the Alur Meriki . . .” He shrugged again, the gesture so familiar among steppes warriors.
Silence met the blunt words. At least now, there would be no compromise, no turning back for either side.
“Then you will never leave this place alive.” Thutmose-sin’s voice betrayed his hatred.
“That may be. But even if we are defeated, the might of the Alur Meriki will be broken here forever. Never again will your warriors ride freely though our lands. And while we fight, more forces from Akkad approach. How will you stop them?”
There were no more soldiers coming, but Eskkar knew Thutmose-sin couldn’t be sure of that.
“You are a traitor to your kind.” Thutmose-sin clenched his fist, unable to contain his rage any longer. “Your father killed my half brother. For that you and your clan were declared outcast. Now you shall pay for that deed as well.”
Eskkar had never heard the whole story of what had happened the night his parents died. To learn that his father, Hogarthak, had killed a clan leader before his own death, now made his memory all the stronger. “Then my father died as a brave warrior doing his duty. I will honor his memory.”