Battle For Empire (The Eskkar Saga)

by Sam Barone

  “Garal! Take the sacks and make a trail to the northeast. Scatter one sack by that big rock, and the second a few hundred paces further on.” Garal swung down from his mount and strode back to where Sargon and Makko waited. Garal handed his horse to Sargon, then took both sacks and trotted away.

  “Skala, take Sargon and Makko and lead the way on foot. I’ll clean up any sign that we’ve changed direction.”

  Obviously Chinua didn’t trust either horse boy to not leave any sign of their passing. Sargon moved to the head of the group, just behind Skala, who guided the band now toward the northwest. Chinua and two other warriors walked behind, making sure no horse droppings fell where they could be seen, and that no hoof marks left any impression that might be spotted by anyone tracking them.

  If any pursuers followed the warriors onto the rocky shelf, they would see the horse droppings up ahead, and, hopefully, believe the riders had continued their flight to the northeast.

  The warriors moved slowly over the next quarter mile. At last Garal, breathing hard from his long run, rejoined them. When they swung behind a low ridge, Chinua gave the order to mount up, and the Ur Nammu scouting party, now reduced from eighteen to fifteen, changed direction and headed toward the northwest.

  To Sargon’s surprise, Chinua set a rapid pace, and the miles passed quickly. The ridges provided cover from anyone on the lower slopes, though Chinua dismounted and studied each gap that they had to pass through to make sure it would not reveal their presence. Once again they alternated between riding the horses and running alongside.

  Gradually Chinua shifted their direction, climbing ever higher into the foothills, until they rode almost due west. The late afternoon sun now shone in their faces, and it would be dark soon.

  Sargon’s feet had blistered, after his sandals had finally given out. By then everyone was barefoot. Chinua halted just before the sun set. He didn’t need to tell them to rest, as every man sank to the ground as soon as he’d looked after his horse.

  Sargon, his legs stretched out before him, sprawled beside Garal. No one questioned his right, or Makko’s either, to sit with the warriors now. All of them were going into battle, and the youngest boys had been sent home. They watched as Chinua went to scan the countryside below, taking Skala with him.

  They were gone a long time, and dusk cloaked the hills before they returned.

  “They’ve found something.” Garal jostled Sargon with his elbow. Sargon saw a trace of excitement on Skala’s face.

  Sargon wasn’t the only one who had to be prodded into wakefulness. Soon every eye was on Chinua as he dropped to the ground. The warriors crowded around, eager to learn what their leader had seen.

  “We saw riders, we counted twelve, riding west,” Chinua said. “They were moving fast, as if anxious to rejoin the rest of their men before darkness fell. They may have been tracking us, and turned back when they lost the trail. That might mean the main party is drawing close.”

  One of the warriors asked the question. “How far away do you think they are?”

  To Sargon’s surprise, Chinua turned to Skala. The warrior accepted the compliment, and answered the question.

  “No more than five or six miles. They won’t want to risk the horses by riding far after dark.”

  Sargon saw the glint of teeth in the gathering darkness as some of the warriors smiled. He didn’t understand the reaction. Chinua noticed Sargon’s confusion.

  “It means, Sargon, that the enemy’s night camp is not too far away. It also means that we can set an easy pace as we move closer, and pick the time for our attack.”

  “How many men do you think will be at the camp?” For once Sargon couldn’t keep his curiosity inside.

  “It doesn’t matter how many there are, if we can catch them by surprise.” Chinua glanced up at the darkness. Just enough light remained to let him scratch a few lines in the dirt. “Here’s what we’re going to do.”

  Sargon leaned closer and listened as Chinua told them what he intended. To Sargon’s ears it sounded reckless in its daring, quite unlike the meticulous preparations made by his father and his commanders in the Map Room. Sargon had sat through many of those tedious sessions, listening while Eskkar, Bantor, and the others labored over details of possible assaults from or attacks on the other cities in the Land Between the Rivers.

  Compared to his father’s efforts, Chinua’s didn’t sound like much of a plan, but Sargon understood that the details needed to be filled in, and that could only happen when they reached the Carchemish camp. Even so, all the warriors crowded around Chinua and Skala nodded agreement, and Sargon realized this handful of men had just committed themselves to raiding an enemy whose size, force, and exact location remained unknown.

  After Chinua finished, he gave his warriors little rest. He wanted to have as much time as he needed getting into position.

  Once again the warriors moved out on foot, walking the horses single file through the gathering darkness. As before, a slip or fall for a warrior might mean being left behind, so everyone took care. This time, however, Sargon noticed that Chinua wasn’t quite as concerned for the horses. Obviously he expected to find plenty of mounts at the enemy’s camp.

  The surface beneath their feet was mostly smooth rock washed clean by wind and rain coming off the mountains, with tufts of hardy grass sprouting wherever pockets of dirt had accumulated. Chinua didn’t lead them on a straight line, but followed any ravine or sheltered hill that provided cover.

  Why that was necessary after dark, Sargon didn’t understand, but no one raised the issue. Like the others, he kept his eyes on the ground, until he heard the soft spoken order to halt.

  Sargon took the opportunity to ease his aching feet. The darkness hid the cuts and scrapes that covered them.

  Skala came down the line, explaining in a soft whisper why they stopped. “Chinua saw a glow up ahead. It may be the fools still have a campfire burning.” Sargon and Makko received the message last, since they brought up the rear.

  “They must have plenty of wood to burn a fire so late into the night.” Garal had chosen to walk just ahead of Sargon, either out of concern for his pupil, or to keep a close watch on the untried dirt eater and make sure he didn’t do anything foolish. “Isn’t that unusual, even for soldiers?”

  “If soldiers think they might be attacked at night,” Sargon answered, “they might want to have enough light to find their weapons and form a battle line.”

  “A fire will make it all the better for us,” Garal said. “Now, we must stay silent.”

  Chinua returned from his brief scouting. “It’s them, about a mile and a half away. They’ve two watch fires going.”

  Sargon climbed to his feet once again, as Chinua ordered the troop to move out. They mounted their horses, but kept the pace at a slow walk, giving the animals plenty of time to choose their footing.

  To Sargon’s ears, the hooves of their horses sounded as loud as if they were at a gallop, but the ridges no doubt blocked the noise. He worried about what might happen if the horses started whinnying, and the enemy’s horses answered them. Chinua had already warned everyone to be ready to clamp a hand over any offending nose until it calmed down. The fact that the horses were more than a little weary made them easier to handle.

  At last Chinua gave the order to halt beside a wide swath of dirt and sand that had sprouted a few clumps of grass, and each of the warriors eased his mount to a stop. Chinua dropped to the ground, and rolled around in the gritty mixture, then yanked out a clump of grass and rubbed it over his face, arms, feet, and hands. One by one, the warriors imitated their leader.

  “Why are we doing this?” Sargon whispered to Garal as they waited their turn.

  “The smell of the earth will help mask our scent from the enemy horses. If we smell like dirt and grass, we may be able to get a few steps closer before they take notice. And we’ll be harder to see in the moonlight, too.”

  Garal pushed Sargon ahead, and made sure his pupil cove
red himself completely. They remounted and continued riding for another few hundred paces, staying in the lee of a rocky outcropping. At last Chinua swung down from his horse, the men following his example.

  “Skala, come with me. The rest of you, wait here until I send for you.” Chinua left them behind, as he and Skala worked their way to the top of the ridge that concealed their approach.

  The two leaders disappeared from sight. Chinua must be studying the enemy’s camp. Or at least that’s what Sargon assumed they would be looking at, though he wasn’t sure how much they could see in the dark. Sargon stood beside his horse, his arm resting on the animal’s shoulder. Even so, he always kept the halter rope gripped firmly in his hand.

  Time passed, and Sargon sensed the men getting restless. At last Skala returned.

  “Chinua wants every man to see the enemy camp. Two at a time, go up to the crest. Chinua will tell you what to do.”

  Sargon and Garal were the last to go. They worked their way up through the rocks. Just before Sargon reached the top, Chinua called down in a soft voice, telling them to crawl the final few paces. Sargon and Garal obeyed, and on hands and knees, they crawled up the last part of the slope. When Sargon reached the crest, he was surprised to find that he could see the enemy camp quite well in the moonlight, and what he saw gave him a shock.

  The camp was more than big. It was huge, and stretched out along a narrow stream that flowed down from the hills. Sargon could see the path of water glistening in the moonlight. Two small watch fires burned, and they were well apart from each other. He glimpsed a sentry walking around, but the camp itself seemed quiet enough. These soldiers from Carchemish obviously weren’t expecting an attack.

  The horse herd, held between the stream and the extended camp, was far more numerous than Sargon expected. He guessed at least a hundred horses, perhaps more, were packed into what must be a rope corral, though he couldn’t see what restrained them. “So many horses!”

  Garal, lying beside Sargon, grunted in satisfaction. “The fools put the horses closest to the stream and the mountain, to make sure no one can sneak in and steal any. That makes it easier for us. They don’t expect anyone come at them from the mountain side of the stream.”

  “There must be three or four hundred men out there,” Sargon whispered.

  “Probably more.” Chinua kept his voice low, but didn’t bother to whisper. They were too far away to be heard. “But most of them are foot soldiers, not mounted fighters. Once we get to the horses, all we need to worry about are how many horsemen will take up the pursuit.”

  The idea of the raid, which had seemed risky enough at dusk, now appeared to Sargon like madness itself. How could fifteen men challenge so many. He turned his head toward the moon, which had started to drift lower in the night sky. Dawn would be coming soon.

  “This is what we will do,” Chinua said.

  In a few words, he explained how they would attack, what position each man would take, and how far apart they would stand. Chinua told Sargon what role he would play in the coming raid, where he would wait, and when he would move forward. Chinua made Sargon repeat his instructions, to make sure he understood.

  Sargon listened as Garal received his orders, which were much different. Chinua spoke to each of them, until he was satisfied that both knew what to do. To Sargon’s ears, the plan seemed hasty and ill-advised. He glanced at Garal, who showed no doubts about his leader’s plan of attack.

  After one last look at the enemy camp, Chinua led the way back down the slope, until they joined the others.

  As soon as Sargon reached his horse, Skala drew both horse boys aside. Sargon expected to be ignored, but the warrior spent as much time with Sargon as he did with his own son, going over once again what they were to do. “If anything unexpected happens, Sargon, do as Makko tells you. Otherwise, both of you know what to do.”

  With a grunt, Skala moved off to attend to his own preparations.

  Garal came over and wished both boys good hunting, the usual words spoken by warriors before going into battle.

  “I wish I were going with you,” Sargon said. He half believed the words himself. Part of him did want to go with Garal, but another part insisted that they were all going to their deaths.

  “Someone has to stay with the horses,” Garal said. “We’re going to need them. Remember your orders.”

  Chinua gave his men a last few instructions, then he slipped away into the semi-darkness, crouching low. The warriors had spotted three sentries strolling carelessly around the horse herd, but there could easily be more. One was directly between the warriors and the horses, and another about a hundred paces to the east. The third one patrolled near the west end of the herd, and appeared too far away to hinder the warriors.

  “I’ll kill the closest sentry,” Chinua said. “Garal will kill the easternmost one as soon as the attack starts. Good hunting to you all.” Bow in hand, Chinua started up the slope, Garal following a few moments later.

  Chinua obviously considered Garal the best archer in the troop, Sargon decided, to have selected him for the task. Sargon and Makko collected the horses, and made sure they had a firm grip on every halter.

  Skala and the rest of the men waited just below the crest of the ridge line, watching to see if Chinua succeeded in killing the sentry without raising an alarm.

  To Sargon, the waiting seemed endless. Then suddenly Skala moved back down the ridge and took the halter of his horse in his hand. “It’s done,” he said in a loud whisper. “Bowmen, get moving.”

  Six warriors, one by one, slipped over the top of the ridge and headed down the slope to follow the path Chinua and Garal had taken. Sargon watched them go, moving like spirits into the darkness, and making as little noise.

  Skala and his four warriors stood patiently beside their mounts, just below the crest.

  Sargon and Makko took their own positions. Between them, they held the halters of the ten remaining horses, including their own. The task of the horse boys was to bring those horses down the slope and hold them in readiness until Chinua and his men needed them.

  “Remember to keep a tight grip on the ropes,” Makko warned. “Don’t let any get loose.”

  Sargon heard the nervousness in Makko’s voice. This would be his first battle, too. Sargon tried to control his own fears. His hands felt sweaty, and he kept adjusting his grip on the halter ropes. He had trouble swallowing, and took some deep breaths to try and calm himself.

  Some time passed before Skala gave the order to move out. The big warrior grunted and led the way up the slope and over the crest. Sargon saw that Skala’s right hand held the halter rope of his mount just below the horse’s head. That kept the animal’s head down, and made it less likely to try and bolt.

  Following him went the four warriors considered the best horsemen. Their job was to stampede the enemy’s herd, and at the same time, cut out enough animals for the Ur Nammu to use to make good their escape. Without fresh horses, they would never be able to outrun any pursuers.

  Suddenly, Sargon and Makko found themselves alone at the bottom of the gulley with the horses, all the warriors gone. The boys had no weapons, except for their knives, which weren’t likely to be of much use against a sword.

  Obviously Chinua didn’t expect them to do any actual fighting. They stood there, each holding the halters of five horses. Makko and Sargon were to wait until the others reached their positions before bringing up the horses.

  The time dragged on, and Sargon felt his heart racing in his chest. He heard Makko’s rapid breathing. Both tried to conceal their fears.

  “Let’s go,” Makko said at last. “And try to keep the horses quiet.”

  He moved up the slope at an easy pace, following the path taken by Skala. Sargon let Makko get a few paces ahead, then started after him. He walked between the animals, two on his left and three on his right, the halter ropes clutched firmly in each hand.

  Sargon had never tried to lead five horses before, and he foun
d it took all his strength to keep them close together and moving forward. He whispered to them as he walked, trying to keep them calm. Sargon made sure he followed in Makko’s path. Sargon’s horses would be less nervous trailing another group of animals.

  They crossed over the crest and traveled about fifty paces toward the enemy camp before Makko halted. Sargon stopped when Makko did. He knew they didn’t need to get too close as yet.

  The enemy camp was only about two hundred paces away, just across the stream. To Sargon’s ears, the ten horses they were leading made a noisy din that should have sounded an alarm inside the camp.

  However, at night horses are always moving about, and the occasional soft sound of hoof on rock was no different from what the animals in the corral would make. At this distance, only the sentries might hear their approach, and they should all be dead by now.

  Sargon felt as exposed as if the noon sun was shining down on him. But when he glanced behind him, he realized the black bulk of the mountain made the small number of Ur Nammu horses almost impossible to see.

  His mouth felt dry, though he, like the others, had emptied their water skins before starting out. Every horse had received a few mouthfuls of water as well. The stream ran along the edge of the camp, too close to be of any use to Chinua’s men. If they survived, Sargon had no idea when he or any of the others would get a chance to drink again.

  A few horses in the enemy corral whinnied, not the sound of frightened animals, but just the usual sound any horse might make when it sensed something strange coming toward it. But no one seemed to take any notice.

  Looking toward the enemy camp, Sargon glimpsed Chinua’s men creeping along, their bows held low in their left hands. Skala’s men had angled toward the right, so as to be better positioned to stampede the horses.

  Before they set out, Skala had distributed most of his men’s arrows among Chinua’s warriors, leaving himself and his four men only a few shafts apiece in their quivers. Skala’s attack force wouldn’t need the arrows, while Chinua’s men would need every one they could get.