Battle For Empire (The Eskkar Saga)

by Sam Barone

  By the time Daro and Callis returned to docks, dusk was approaching. The two stumbled onto the wharf, and Daro clutched his companion’s arm for support. Both men, red in the face, laughed at their missteps. Fortunately, the wharf wasn’t that far from the tavern, and Daro, his head hanging, soon stood before Yavtar, his frowning Master.

  “Drunken fool! You said you wanted to see the sights and offer a prayer!” A slash of Yavtar’s staff on Daro’s arm showed his displeasure. “I wasted a copper coin so you could see the city!” Yavtar, as angry as only a ship master with an undelivered cargo could get, didn’t hesitate to turn his rage on Callis.

  “And you were supposed to show my steward the temples, not let him get drunk.” Yavtar raised his staff. “By the gods I should make you finish his work!”

  Grinning, Callis shambled away, while the usual dockside idlers watching the affair laughed at the Ship Master and his inebriated steward.

  “Damn you,” Yavtar’s voice could be heard the length of the dock, “get aboard, before I have you whipped.”

  Daro, still grinning, staggered across the wharf and down into the boat, narrowly avoiding a plunge into the river. Before long, he was sound asleep on some sacks of grain.

  Yavtar turned his frustration on the Dock Master. “Damn the gods, where is my cargo?”

  By nightfall, Daro had shrugged off the effects of the wine. He’d drunk far less than his companion, sipping while others guzzled their cups. Daro had escorted enough of his men who had overindulged back to the barracks, and he knew well how to play the part of an intoxicated fool. While he lay on the grain sacks pretending to be asleep, Daro had worked out his plan.

  Now he sat facing Yavtar in the stern of the boat. Both men sat close together, their heads almost touching. Neither raised his voice above a whisper.

  “You know how dangerous this is,” Yavtar said. “You could get us all killed.”

  By the laws of Sushan, after sundown, foreigners were not permitted to leave the dockside area and the few taverns that lined the warehouses.

  “I know,” Daro said. “But think of what this man knows, what he could tell us. Isn’t this exactly what you and Lady Trella hoped for?”

  Trella had devised several plans to obtain more reliable information about Elam. One involved working with Yavtar. The two had purchased, in the name of Yavtar’s cousin, a small trading House in Sumer, one that traded regularly with the Elamite city of Sushan.

  With a few reliable Hawk Clan soldiers mixed in with the mostly Sumerian crew, Ship Master and crew might learn much about the goings on in Elam. Yavtar had already made two voyages from Sumer to Sushan. For Daro, however, this was his first trip.

  “He may already be too far gone to be of any use,” Yavtar argued. “Tortured for six days? You’re sure you want to do this?”

  Yavtar couldn’t keep the anxiety out of his voice. Over the years, he and Daro had become good friends. If Daro were discovered away from the boat and his Master, Daro would likely be put to death. Yavtar would be lucky to get off with a hefty fine, assuming they didn’t confiscate his ship and cargo. If they caught Daro within Sushan’s barracks, Yavtar and the entire crew might even be put to death as spies.

  “It’s worth a try,” Daro said. “We may never get another chance to reach one so high in King Shirudukh’s army. Besides, no one is likely to think foreigners would steal a prisoner. They’ll blame his friends and relatives. I’ll be careful, and if it looks too risky, I’ll just come back.”

  “Don’t get caught,” Yavtar reminded him with a grimace.

  Not alive, Daro thought. He had no intention of taking Sabatu’s place in the torture pit. Daro glanced up at the moon. Midnight had arrived. “It’s time to go.”

  With a final clasp on Yavtar’s arm, Daro slid over the side, and taking care not to make any splashes, he swam slowly out into the river. Once away from the dock and the line of boats alongside, he turned upstream. The river’s lazy current slowed his progress, but Daro’s powerful arm muscles, hardened by years of archery, more than matched the river’s force.

  Daro had learned to swim as a child, and he’d taken many long swims in the Tigris. Tonight’s journey, a mere half mile upriver, would be little more than exercise.

  Even so, he kept his strokes slow and steady. He didn’t want to attract the attention of anyone on the shore, who might wonder where Daro was going so late at night.

  He soon reached the soldiers’ barracks where Grand Commander Chaiyanar kept his victims. One of Yavtar’s crew had once delivered goods to the place, so Daro knew it had a main gate and a wooden palisade that surrounded the area on all sides, except for the river. Taking his time, Daro eased his way toward the shore.

  He glimpsed three men splashing about in the shallows beside the small dock that projected into the river. Daro tread water for a few moments, until they, laughing the whole time, pulled themselves from the water. The three late night swimmers left the little jetty and headed back into the barrack’s grounds, refreshed from their late night swim.

  Daro studied the dock, and saw only a single empty skiff tied up. He took one final look around, then swam over to the nearest piling and pulled himself from the water. Taking his time, he shook off some of the water, then strolled into the grounds. At this time of night, most of the soldiers would be asleep, but a man walking around, perhaps unable to sleep, shouldn’t attract too much attention.

  At least that’s what Daro told himself, now that he faced his first obstacle. He might have gotten into the barracks, but he had no idea where they held the prisoner, or even how many men might be guarding him. He walked past the main gate, keeping a good distance away, and counted four men at the watch fire.

  They never gave him a glance. Obviously their main duty was to keep anyone from leaving the barracks. Deserters were the bane of every army.

  Moving past the gate, Daro headed north. He caught the scent of latrines, that familiar smell that every soldier lived with. Following his nose, he kept moving north and back toward the river, until the smell grew stronger and turned into a stench. Another fire, a smaller one, burned feebly, and Daro saw two men sitting beside it. The dim flames cast a glow on the walls of a small hut, set apart from the other structures. Aside from the men on watch at the gate, these were the only other armed men he’d seen.

  He paced his way toward the fire, thinking hard. In Akkad, they usually established a corral near the latrines. Horses couldn’t complain. Of course no one wanted to bunk or train near the foul odor, but a prisoner had even less choice than a lowly recruit. So this might be where they kept their captives, including any insubordinate soldiers.

  Reaching inside his tunic, Daro loosened the knife that he’d tied to his body, and made sure that he could draw it easily. Yavtar had given him the blade. The copper weapon had a cracked wood grip, and one of the crew had purchased it right here in Sushan on the last voyage.

  The two guards, one old and the other much younger, glanced up as Daro approached. “Who are you?” The older man’s tone didn’t sound particularly threatening.

  “My name is Mather,” Daro replied.” I just arrived today from Anshan. Is this where they’re keeping the pig Sabatu?”

  “What business is it of yours?”

  “I want to spit in his face,” Daro said, putting force into his words. “The filthy pig had my brother put to death for no reason.”

  The older man grunted at that. “No visitors.”

  Daro shook his head. “I don’t want to visit him, just spit on his face. Maybe give him a kick or two to help him remember my brother. It will help his spirit to know that he is finally avenged.”

  The younger guard laughed. “I’ll take him in.” He stood up and stretched. “But he may not even hear you. He’s nearly dead.”

  “My thanks to the gods, that I got here just in time,” Daro said, bowing several times.

  The guard led the way to the hut. The door stood open, and a rank odor emanated from within. Duck
ing their heads, they passed inside, and out of sight of the other soldier.

  “Sabatu’s the one against the wall,” he said, gesturing with his hand.

  The stink inside the hut nearly took Daro’s breath away. “I can’t see his face. Are you sure it’s him?”

  Before the helpful soldier could answer, Daro grasped the guard’s right arm and plunged his knife into the man’s chest, the blade driving upward through the ribs and into the heart. The guard, caught by surprise, remained on his feet a moment, before his legs gave way. Daro eased the dead body to the ground.

  “Curse you, Sabatu,” Daro said, making sure the remaining guard could hear. He kicked the body of the guard, too. “I curse you for what you did to my brother.” He spat on the ground, making sure the sound could be heard. Then he strode out of the hut, and headed for the fire.

  “By the gods, what a smell in there!”

  The older guard looked up and his mouth opened as he realized Daro was alone. But before he could react, Daro leapt on him, driving him to the ground, one hand over his mouth even as the knife buried itself in the man’s throat.

  For a few moments, the dying man struggled, his hands clawing at Daro’s arms. He tried to call for help, but the knife, twisted from side to side, ensured that little more than a gurgle escaped from his mouth. Then the guard’s head flopped back and he went limp.

  Taking no chances, Daro jerked the knife from his victim, and struck him again, this time in the heart. He glanced around, ready to run for his life if anyone had seen the attack. But no one had given an alarm. Grabbing the dead man by his feet, Daro dragged the body to the wall of the hut, out of the light from the dying fire.

  Darting into the hut, Daro found Sabatu. The prisoner made no response when Daro shook him. The man’s hands were still bound, probably hadn’t been untied for days. Using the bloody knife, Daro cut the ropes, and the release of the tough cords brought a groan of pain from Sabatu.

  “Come on, Sabatu, wake up.” Daro shook him again, but the man refused to regain consciousness. With a curse, Daro dragged Sabatu from the hut.

  Once outside, Daro pulled him upright, and then, grunting with effort, threw Sabatu over his shoulder. Daro’s left arm passed between the man’s legs, and Daro’s left hand grasped Sabatu’s right hand.

  Daro thanked the gods for Sabatu’s thin build. The river lay about a hundred and fifty paces away, and Daro knew he would need some luck to get there unchallenged. But even so, he dared not try to keep to the shadows. Anyone skulking around carrying a body would be stopped and questioned. So Daro walked straight toward the river, passing without notice between two sleeping huts filled with snoring men.

  Then he reached the riverbank. It took time and care to descend the bank, and the sharp rocks on the river’s edge cut into Daro’s bare feet.

  Nearly exhausted by his efforts, Daro lowered Sabatu to the ground. He stood there a moment, trying to catch his breath. He wanted to move right into the river, but the cool water would surely wake Sabatu. Then he would start struggling, and probably drown them both.

  Instead, Daro knelt at the man’s side and kept shaking him until Sabatu groaned and lifted his hands.

  “Wake up, but keep silent.” Daro repeated the words, hoping they would penetrate the pain racked body. The man groaned a few more times, then suddenly went silent.

  But Daro saw the whites of the man’s eyes staring up at him, the eyes focused. The man had regained consciousness.

  “Listen to me, Sabatu. I’ve come to rescue you. But we’ll have to use the river to escape, and you must not struggle. Can you understand me? You won’t drown, I promise you.”

  He repeated the words until the man nodded understanding. “Drowning . . . sounds good.” A long breath. “Better than torture.” Another rasping breath. “I can swim.”

  The man would drown in less than ten strokes, left to his own. “You won’t need to. Just let me hold you up. Now let’s get going. Keep silent. I had to kill your guards, and they may find the bodies at any moment.”

  Once again Daro lifted Sabatu, but this time he carried him in both arms. Daro stepped down the last few paces of the river bank, and eased his way into the water. He waded out as far as he could, then let himself fall into the water. He wrapped one arm around Sabatu’s chest, to keep his head above water, and began swimming out toward the center of the river.

  Sabatu, thank the gods, remembered Daro’s words and didn’t struggle. Soon they were heading south. Daro concentrated on keeping Sabatu’s head above water, and let the current do most of the work. He used his legs only to add to the river’s force.

  In far less time than it had taken to go upstream Daro saw the lines of boats run up on shore, and Sushan’s dock itself, where Yavtar would be anxiously waiting. Daro had to kick hard with his feet, but he reached the side of their boat. Yavtar’s hand caught his own, and the two men had to combine their strength to get Sabatu out of the water.

  They stretched the escaped prisoner out on the bottom of the boat, where he couldn’t be seen from the dock. Yavtar forced some water mixed with wine into Sabatu’s mouth. A handful of bread was wolfed down.

  “That’s enough for now, Sabatu,” Daro whispered. “You’ll have to keep quiet and hidden until we sail at dawn.”

  “Who are you? Why did you rescue me?”

  The man’s wits were returning, and Daro breathed a sigh of relief. At least he hadn’t risked Yavtar and his life to rescue someone who had lost his mind.

  “Time enough for that later,” Yavtar said. “But would you like a chance to take revenge on those that killed your family?”

  “Yes.”

  The single word burst from the man’s lips without hesitation. Yavtar glanced at Daro, and both men nodded.

  “Then you’ll have that chance. But for now, save your strength,” Daro said. “We’ve a long day tomorrow.

  “Where are you taking me? They’ll find me.”

  “Well, we’ll see about that,” Yavtar said. “Welcome to the Army of Akkad.”

  Sabatu’s eyes widened at Akkad’s name, and Daro smiled in satisfaction. The Elamites might have started their preparations for war, but Akkad had struck the first blow.

  Only time would tell if the abduction of High Commander Sabatu was a hard one, one hard enough to upset King Shirudukh of Elam and his bold plan for the conquest of The Land Between the Rivers.

  The End

  Acknowledgement

  Many thanks to all those who helped in the writing and production of this book. My wife, Linda, whose fine editing caught many a mistake, and her suggestions improved every draft of Battle For Empire. Vijaya Schartz and her critique group also provided much assistance, as did early reviewers Scott Tkach and Joe DiBuduo. And when the deadline approached, my life-long friend Bill Morgan read the final draft and pounced on the last of the typos.

  Special thanks to Minga and Norton, our two literary cats, who sat on my lap late at night and provided inspiration while I tried to write. Without their help, we might never have completed the book.

  About the Author

  Born and raised in Queens, New York, Sam Barone graduated from Manhattan College with a BS degree. After a hitch in the Marine Corps, he entered the world of technology.

  In 1999, after thirty years developing software in management, Sam retired from Western Union International, as VP of International Systems. He moved to Scottsdale Arizona, to take up his second career as a writer.

  Seven years later, the author’s first Eskkar story, Dawn of Empire, was published in the USA and UK. It has since been released worldwide. Sam’s sixth book in the Eskkar saga, Clash of Empires, will be published in spring 2013.

  History and reading have always been two of Sam’s favorite interests, and considers himself more of a storyteller than a writer. “I write stories that I would enjoy reading, and it’s a true blessing that others have found these tales interesting, informative, and entertaining.”

  Sam and his wife L
inda, and their two cats (Minga and Norton) enjoy life in beautiful Prescott Arizona.

  Sam’s books have been published in nine languages and he has over 180,000 readers. He receives correspondence from all over the world. Sam enjoys hearing from his readers, and invites them to visit www.sambarone.com.