Battle For Empire (The Eskkar Saga)

by Sam Barone

  “And I will kill you myself.” Bar’rack moved his horse a few steps closer. “I’ve sworn the Shan Kar against you, Eskkar of Akkad, to avenge my brother’s death. He died in the valley north of Orak, ambushed by you and the Ur Nammu scum. If you have any honor, you will take the challenge I offer you, and fight me man to man, here and now.”

  So that was why Thutmose-sin brought the young warrior. To see if he could goad Eskkar into accepting a challenge.

  At Bar’rack’s advance, Hathor let his horse take one step forward, ready to block the way, and moved his hand closer to his sword’s hilt. Mitrac shifted his bow, which had been resting across the back of the horse’s neck, and let it hang down at his left side. Despite what many believed, he could nock and shoot a shaft from a horse if he had to.

  “I accept no challenge from unweaned loud talkers.” Eskkar remained relaxed on A-tuku.

  “Then you refuse to face me? The leader of Akkad has grown old and soft, afraid to fight.”

  “What else does Thutmose-sin wish to say?” Eskkar ignored the angry warrior and let disdain show in his voice. “Or does the Great Chief of the Alur Meriki have no control over his men? Does he not honor the truce of his own calling?”

  “Enough talk, Bar’rack.” Thutmose-sin ordered. “Return to my side.” He waited until the warrior backed his horse into position. “If you will not take our horses or our gold, then it will be war to the death.”

  “If you fight, my men will take the gold from your warriors’ bodies.” Eskkar let the force of his voice show for the first time. “And there will be many riderless horses to be collected.”

  “Then it will be war,” Thutmose-sin repeated. “I will see you on the battlefield.”

  The Sarum jerked the head of his horse around, and set his mount to a canter. Bekka also turned away, but Bar’rack paused to spit on the ground. “The next time we meet, Eskkar, you will die.” He whirled his mount around with such force that it reared up for a moment, before its front hooves crashed to the earth once more, then burst into a gallop.

  Eskkar watched the warriors depart. “Now they’re committed. They have to fight.”

  “Let’s get out of here.” Hathor glanced around. “I don’t like being exposed like this.” He guided his horse back toward the west.

  Back across the stream, Eskkar and his commanders prepared their men. At any moment the barbarians could ride over the crest and launch an attack. The Akkadians stood close to their weapons and assigned positions.

  The easy talk and occasional laughter died out. Everyone now understood they faced a fight to the death. But as the afternoon lengthened and no attack materialized, Eskkar turned to Alexar.

  “Either they don’t have enough warriors yet, or they’re coming tonight.”

  “They’ve had plenty of time to gather their men,” Alexar said. “And they’ve got to be running low on water. They’ll come tonight, or at first light.”

  Eskkar swore. “Damn them, I thought they’d attack today. Now we’ll have to keep the men alert all night.”

  “They’ve had a day to rest,” Alexar said, unperturbed at the prospect of an all night vigil for his soldiers. “Every other man will keep watch during half the night, while the others get what sleep they can. If barbarians come, we’ll be ready.”

  “Shappa!” Eskkar’s voice soon brought the leader of the slingers trotting toward his commander.

  “Yes, Captain?”

  “The barbarians may attack tonight. Prepare a force of skirmishers to cross the stream after dark. I want to make sure we know when and where the enemy is coming.”

  The slingers, mostly young men and boys, and all too small to make a good spearman or archer, had proven themselves in the war with Sumer. Since those days, they had learned to take on many roles, and one of the most important was that of scouting out enemy positions and intentions. Their small stature made them difficult to see in the dark, and they could creep through the night with hardly a sound.

  Their slings made almost no noise, and they prided themselves on their skill with the long, curved knives they carried. Those sharp blades could hamstring a horse and send it crashing to the earth. Every one of Shappa’s men carried twenty perfectly round bullets made of bronze in their pouches, and the slingers could launch their missiles fast enough to keep pace with any archer.

  “I’ll send out sixty men.” Expecting the order, Shappa had already made his preparations. “I’ll spread them out in a curve just over the stream. And I’ll have those with the sharpest eyes on the cliff. From up there, they may have enough moonlight to see men moving.”

  Eskkar nodded. “Barbarians don’t like fighting at night and they hate leaving their horses behind. They won’t be skilled at moving through the darkness.”

  “You don’t think they’ll try and cross the stream on horseback?” Alexar didn’t sound so certain.

  “No, not at night. The horses would balk and whinny and make too much noise. The barbarians will come on foot if they come tonight.”

  “Let’s hope your luck holds, and they come tonight.” Alexar sounded relieved. “If they find another source of water, they might just decide to starve us out.”

  9

  The silvery stream glistened in the faint moonlight, its gurgling passage a soothing murmur of endless repetitions as it flowed along the boundary of the Akkadian camp. To Shappa, however, the sound was only another distraction. His men were out there, on the enemy side of the stream, while he remained safe, surrounded by the Akkadian host.

  Crouched down in the dark, Shappa swore at the responsibility of command. He wanted to be with his men, crawling around on the rocky ground, listening for the slight sounds of the enemy moving toward them. Instead, as commander of Akkad’s slingers, Shappa had to send others out to risk their lives, when he, with all his heart, wanted to be at their side.

  If he had told Eskkar that he wanted to join his skirmishers across the stream, Eskkar would probably have let him go. Afterward, assuming Shappa survived, the King would have selected someone else to take command of the slingers.

  Foolish courage, as Eskkar often reminded everyone, did not always win battles. A commander had a higher responsibility to his men, all his men. That responsibility demanded that Shappa stay behind, where he was most needed and could do the most good.

  Tonight Shappa’s main duty was not to fight, but to get the reports of his scouts, assess the information, and relay his conclusions to Eskkar and the other commanders. Not to mention Shappa might have to dispatch more slingers if necessary.

  Still, he was eager to fight. He wanted to prove to all of Akkad, once and for all, the value of his men. In their hands, the sling became a powerful weapon, especially at close range. But in the last five years, he’d trained them to move through the darkness without a sound, and to strike and withdraw unseen.

  Now those skills would be put to the test. The duty of his skirmishers was to first gather information, then disrupt and harry the enemy’s forces until the more powerful fighting units of Akkad could be brought into play. In the blackness of night, Shappa’s slingers would be even more effective.

  These Alur Meriki warriors might be fearsome fighters on a horse, but Shappa doubted they would do as well at night and on foot.

  Shappa had learned all the skills of a night hunter at an early age. He’d grown up on a farm just a day’s journey from Akkad. As the youngest son in a family of six, he seldom got enough to eat, and soon became skilled at hunting for food among the night creatures, if he wanted to eat well. Rabbits, rodents, small game, birds, even a young deer, anything that moved after the sun went down soon fell victim to his expert sling.

  Tonight Shappa envied his companions, most of them with less than sixteen seasons, who now risked their lives facing the hardy and ferocious barbarians. They might be afraid deep inside, but the bravado of youth easily overcame that, and he felt confident they could handle themselves.

  A glance into the night sky showed the
waxing moon still rising. Its dim light marked the dark hulk of the cliff to the north. Shappa had positioned men with the keenest night vision on the massive stone towers that rose up over the stream. He had to stay in contact with those above, making sure that news of any enemy movement they spotted reached the King’s ears.

  Nevertheless, Shappa grimaced in frustration, as he touched the leather sling at his belt. It was going to be a long night.

  In the Alur Meriki encampment, Thutmose-sin sat beside a small fire. Its low flames did nothing to warm the small circle of clan leaders gathered around it. Only a handful of glowing fires marked his warriors’ camp. Wood and anything else that would burn was scarce in these foothills, and the few clumps of horse dung dry enough to burn had already gone up in smoke. His guards had done well to collect even these few twigs to light their Sarum’s meeting.

  On the other side of the hill lay darkness. The Akkadians had no campfires, and only the stream remained faintly visible in the dim moonlight. The sun had disappeared from the western sky some time ago, and the deep shadows from the cliff walls soon covered the landscape between the two forces. And hiding, Thutmose-sin hoped, the number and movements of his men.

  Urgo arrived last, leaning on a stick as he limped his way to the edge of the fire to join the other war chiefs.

  Thutmose-sin glanced up. “Is everything ready?”

  “Yes, Sarum.” Despite his misgivings, Urgo had worked with all the clan leaders to prepare the attack. “Bekka and Altanar will lead their clans and attack along the southern edge of the stream. When they are in position, Suijan, Narindar, and Praxa will move forward and launch an arrow storm at the center of the dirt eaters’ battle line. They will empty their quivers and then attack. After that, it will be up to you.”

  “After Suijan has begun his attack against the center,” Thutmose-in said, “I will lead the rest of our men against the northern part of the line.”

  The cliff anchored the northern and apparently strongest end. If the dirt eaters believed the main attack was to the south, they would likely move some of their men down the line to face that threat.

  “We will not fail you,” Suijan answered for the others.

  Thutmose-sin studied their faces. “Make sure your men do not attack until Bekka and Altanar are in place and have begun the assault. If you move too soon, the enemy will not shift any of their men. Remember, we want them to think our attack is concentrated at the south.”

  The southern part of the Akkadian line appeared the weakest, or at least the most exposed. If Thutmose-sin had more time, he would have sent a few hundred horsemen south to circle around the Akkadian camp. But that couldn’t be done in one day. The earliest those riders would be in position would be the following night, and tonight he knew he would need all his warriors.

  “We will give you time to get into position, Sarum,” Suijan said.

  Once the battle began, Thutmose-sin and Bar’rack would lead their men, over six hundred fighters, forward. They would stay close to the northern cliffs. The warriors would creep and crawl through the darkness, to get as near as possible before being seen.

  The noise of the fighting should mask any sounds they made. With only a short distance to cover, they would swarm across the stream and break into the enemy’s line.

  “Make sure the leaders of ten and twenty understand what is to happen.” Thutmose-sin hardened his tone. “There are to be no foolish charges, no loud talking. This battle must occur step by step, like three separate blows of the smith’s hammer on the forging stone.”

  He turned to Bar’rack. “Are your men assembled and ready?”

  “Yes, Sarum. And Urgo and I have instructed your men as well. Our warriors will fight bravely together.”

  Thutmose-sin smiled at that. It had been many years since the Sarum of the Alur Meriki had waded into battle at the head of his clansmen. “We will, indeed. And Urgo will remain behind, with fifty warriors. He will send them in wherever they are needed.”

  He turned toward his old friend. “Remember, Urgo, dispatch your men only if victory hangs in the balance. Do not waste their lives if the battle goes against us.”

  “I will follow your orders,” Urgo said.

  Thutmose-sin nodded. Urgo understood the value of each and every Alur Meriki warrior. He would not waste their lives foolishly. Thutmose-sin had another reason for leaving the old warrior in the rear. If Thutmose-sin were killed in the attack, Urgo would provide the voice of reason and wisdom in the Council, hopefully as the next Sarum.

  “Then it is time. Start moving the men.”

  As soon as night covered the ground, Markesh, second in command of the Akkadian slingers, said his farewell to Shappa. At the head of his men, Markesh led the group of sixty skirmishers across the stream in a single file. They crossed over at the northern end, as close to the cliff wall as possible. The shadows there blocked the moon’s rays, and the slingers took advantage of the deeper darkness.

  Like all the men chosen for this expedition, Markesh was short and slim. He moved with care through the water, crouching over and ignoring the chill that numbed his feet and lower legs. He took his time wading across and made sure he didn’t make any unnecessary splashes that might reveal their presence in the water.

  The tinkling stream covered what little sounds the slingers made. Their dark tunics helped conceal them as well. The archers, spearmen, and cavalry of Akkad’s fighting men all wore tunics the color of wheat, the natural tint of the linen.

  The slingers, at Trella’s suggestion, wore garments dyed a light brown. At night, the slingers were almost impossible to see, and even during the daylight, when they hugged the ground, they tended to blend in with the sands or rocks of the landscape.

  Once across, Markesh waited on the far side of the stream and counted his men. When the last of them had reached the opposite bank, they formed into three groups. Markesh took the first group of twenty, the one that had the farthest to go. He led the way, hugging the ground and crawling on his hands and knees.

  One by one, his men followed after him, like a long snake slithering soundlessly over the rocks. Markesh kept the stream on his right, but slowly he angled away from the water, into the deeper darkness.

  Shappa and Eskkar had warned him that the likeliest point of attack remained the southern end of the stream, and Markesh insisted on taking that position himself. If the barbarians tried to creep up under the cover of darkness, he would encounter them first. His orders were to stop them if he could, or delay them as much as possible. In any case, he had to send back knowledge of their strength.

  Like the rest of his men, Markesh carried only his sling, twenty bronze bullets, and his sharp knife. The long curved blade made for a dangerous weapon at close range. When combined with the quick reflexes of agile young men, the well-trained slingers could defend themselves even against a sword. At night, creeping along on the ground, they could strike like a deadly serpent.

  Though he made almost no sound, Markesh covered the ground quickly. At least, he decided, he wouldn’t have to crawl back. More likely he’d end up with an arrow in his back as he tried to retreat across the stream.

  He had no trouble finding his way. The stream on his right glistened in the moonlight, and marked the line of the Akkadian defenders. Still, Markesh breathed a sigh of relief when he reached his first position, about sixty paces from the water. A slight rise in the ground concealed his prone body, and he lifted his head to stare into the darkness.

  Glancing to his left, he saw nothing, which meant that the rest of his men had settled into their positions. He waited a few more moments, to give his men time to settle down.

  One last look around, and he whispered the order to move out. Taking care not to make the slightest sound, Markesh and his men crawled away from the safety of the stream, straight toward the Alur Meriki position. The entire line of slingers would take their station on him. If all went well, they would crawl another hundred paces toward the enemy, then settle
in to await the dawn.

  If the barbarians attacked tonight, they would be in for an unpleasant and hopefully unexpected surprise. They would be expecting their enemy to be beyond the stream, not right in their path. Regardless, Markesh had his orders. Identify the point of attack, send word back to Shappa and Eskkar, and slow down any assaulting force. He took some pride in knowing that he would probably be the first to meet the Alur Meriki attack.

  Standing just behind the ranks of spearmen, Eskkar and Mitrac watched the slingers move into position. Eskkar’s eyes had lost the keenest of his youth, and his ability to see into the night’s shadows had suffered as well. It took some time to discern the crawling men. If they made any noise, he couldn’t hear it over the gurgling of the stream, and he doubted if any Alur Meriki could either.

  Then the line of skirmishers vanished. “I can’t see them any more.”

  The moment he uttered the words, Eskkar swore under his breath. Of course he couldn’t see them. They weren’t supposed to be seen. He hated revealing his nervousness by making foolish statements.

  “They’ve moved away from the stream,” Mitrac said. “I can just make out the last of them disappearing toward the hill.”

  Eskkar gritted his teeth, grateful for the darkness that hid his frustration. Still, the master bowman Mitrac, raised in the vast distances of the northern steppes, had better eyesight than most men.

  “Now we wait.” Only the growl in his voice betrayed Eskkar’s tension.

  “I’ll go check on my bowmen,” Mitrac said, no doubt glad for the excuse to leave the King’s brooding presence.

  All the Akkadian archers, including Hathor’s men, sat on the ground, their weapons ready. The men tried to rest, catching a few moments of sleep when they could, but always prepared for battle. If the barbarians attacked, arrows would be flying everywhere, and every man who wielded a bow needed to be ready.