Dawn of Empire es-1

by Sam Barone

  “Who are you?” the smaller of the two snapped out.

  “Rest easy, friend,” Esk kar replied in the barbarian language, slurring his words as if intoxicated. He kept walking slowly forward, grateful to the Ur Nammu for all the recent language practice. “We were drinking out in the plain when we heard the noise. What’s going on?” He let his words tail off and moved sideways a little, as if he were fi nding it diffi cult to walk a straight line.

  The taller guard spoke up, apparently eager to talk. “Something must have stampeded the horses. Maybe the dirt — eaters.”

  “No! How could they do that?” Esk kar stopped a few steps from the men and turned to his companion. “Did you hear that? Someone’s after our horses.”

  When he turned back, the knife flashed in his hand and he leapt at the smaller, more alert guard, shoving his dagger into the man’s stomach before he could clear his sword. At the same instant, Tellar fl ung himself on the other and dragged him down to the ground, where they wrestled a moment before Tellar arose, bloody knife in one hand and the man’s sword in the other.

  Esk kar wasted no time with the bodies. He climbed up the nearest cart to look around but saw nothing, no more guards, not even horses, just more torches and fires being lit in the main encampment. “Tellar, get Grond and the men. We don’t have much time.”

  Grond appeared out of the darkness almost instantly, carrying Eskkar’s burden as well as his own without apparent effort. Esk kar found time to grin at the man’s strength.

  “Push as many carts together as you can. Tellar, unseal the jars.” The wrapped pots contained the heavy black oil that burned for hours. The contents of one jar should be enough to turn any two carts into a pyre of flame within moments. Tellar’s sharp knives easily cut through the ropes and leather sealing the pots.

  Esk kar left his men to their task as he walked over to inspect a different pile of wood. Long planks had been nailed together, perhaps to form shields for fi ve or ten men at a time. The barbarians had planned for their fire attack well. They could use these great shields to protect them from arrows and stones as they piled the wood and carts against Orak’s gate.

  Esk kar didn’t know whether he could do anything about them, as it would take at least four men to lift one and they had no tools to break them apart. Perhaps they could drag some of them against the burning carts.

  Two carts squealed loudly when the men pushed them together. Within moments six carts were practically touching. Already two men had climbed atop them and started pouring oil over the contents.

  The men moved fast, carrying the oil, pouring it, then moving to the next cart. In moments they’d emptied the pots. The guards’ campfire came in handy now, as they tossed burning brands onto the carts. The oil — soaked wood caught fire at once and the flames began to grow.

  “Grond! Help me with these shields.” Men rushed over and four of them picked up the first shield and leaned it up against the nearest cart, before running back for another. By now at least twenty — eight fires had been set, emptying the fourteen jars they’d carried with such care. The dark of night erupted into a wall of flames.

  Esk kar and Grond ignored the waves of heat against their fl esh. They carried the huge shields to their destruction, placing them against whatever burning cart was closest. Ten… twenty… Esk kar lost count of how many they’d dragged to the fires, though his arms ached from the effort.

  “Captain! They’ve seen the fires. They’re coming,” Tellar shouted to be heard over the crackling flames. “We have to go now!”

  The fire roar grew deafening, as more dry wood burst into hot flames that shot up into the night sky. Esk kar glanced at Grond, who nodded.

  “Help me with this last shield, Grond.” The other men joined them to heave one of the most massive shields into position.

  “Get moving,” Esk kar ordered, gasping for breath against the heat of the fire, his men already melting into the darkness, eager to return to safety.

  Warriors near the main camp had spotted the flames. Men came on the run but so far none on horseback. Any warrior with a horse nearby would have headed straight for the river, anxious to recover his mounts.

  Esk kar started back toward the village when three warriors burst into the firelight and charged at him. He started to run, saw they’d quickly overtake him, and turned, pulling his sword from its sheath as they fl ung themselves at him.

  Thutmose — sin woke with a start, feeling the ground trembling beneath him. For a moment he thought it might be an earthshaker, but he recognized the sound of many horses on the move. The two wives he’d chosen for that night called out in fear, but he ignored their questions. Men shouted outside his tent, and by the time the first guard pushed open the tent flap, Thutmose — sin had arisen and buckled his sword around him.

  “Sarrum,” the breathless warrior gasped out, “the horses have stampeded. They all…”

  “What caused it? Do you know?” Anything might set horses moving, a strange scent, a strong breeze, even a clumsy nightrider.

  “No, Sarrum. Not yet…”

  “Find out,” he ordered. Stepping outside his tent, Thutmose — sin looked up at the stars. Still a few hours before sunrise. All the fires had burned out, except for a few scattered watch fires that still glowed on the outskirts of the camp.

  Around him, warriors milled about in confusion. Everyone had horses in the herd. Those who’d kept mounts nearby soon galloped off toward the river. A young warrior approached, leading Thutmose — sin’s horse.

  He swung up onto the animal, then rode off toward a nearby hilltop, his guards scrambling along on foot behind him. When he reached the small rise, he looked first toward the village. Everything there seemed quiet, so he turned his attention to the river. He couldn’t see the horses, but a few torches danced about, all moving toward the water’s edge.

  A rider galloped up, calling out Thutmose — sin’s name. In a moment, the horseman had raced his horse up the hilltop.

  “Sarrum, the dirt — eaters stampeded the horses.” The man had to pause for a moment. “They waved fire at them, drove many into the Tigris.”

  “Did you capture them?”

  “No, not yet, Sarrum. The horses blocked the way, but the patrol moved to cut them off, so they’re trapped along the riverbank.”

  Thutmose — sin again looked toward the village. Still no sign of activity.

  He shifted his gaze toward the south, but saw nothing, just the watch fires.

  Reassured, he decided to ride toward the commotion. Then he noticed the fires farthest away, where the carts and wood for the assault had been gathered. The watch fi res there burned brighter.. too bright for a campfire, he realized. And there should only be one campfire, not… even as he stared, he saw new fires come into existence, their fl ickering fl ames rising ever higher.

  “Get men back from the river. Send them to where we’re holding the carts. The dirt — eaters are raiding the carts. Bring men. Cut them off.”

  He looked about him. Only a dozen or so of his guards remained; the rest had gone to the river to see to their horses. “Follow me. Hurry, before they burn everything.”

  They broke into a run down the hillside. He followed more slowly, letting the horse pick its way down the slope. By the time he reached the bottom, his men had outdistanced him, stringing out in a ragged line and shouting for more men to join them. Thutmose — sin put the horse to a canter, as fast a pace as he could coax from the animal in the darkness.

  He soon began to pass his men. Fire from the burning wagons now illuminated the night, and he saw that more than a dozen wagons were covered in flames.

  He urged the horse faster. For a moment the animal responded. Then it shied away from the approaching flames, stiffened its legs, slid to a halt, and refused to move. Swearing at the frightened beast, Thutmose — sin leapt down and ran after his men. Darker shadows moved before the flames, and he could see men shoving wood against the burning wagons.

  �
�Stop them,” he shouted, drawing his sword. The sound of swords clashing told him men fought just ahead of him. By now the fires had gown so bright he could see the dirt — eaters working frantically, trying to burn the carts and wood his warriors had so laboriously collected.

  One of his men cried out, then stumbled and fell, clutching at the arrow in his arm. Damn these accursed village archers. Just ahead of him he saw another of his men cut down, this time by a tall warrior with a long sword. Ignoring an arrow that hissed by his head, Thutmose — sin raised his sword and rushed at the warrior.

  Esk kar met the first warrior with a savage sweep of his arm, knocking the man’s blade aside and thrusting into his attacker’s chest before he could recover. The second warrior, little more than a boy, swung his blade at Esk kar’s head, expecting to catch him before he could free his sword from the first man’s body. But Esk kar ducked and shoved his shoulder into the youth, his sword coming free at the movement. Before the warrior could strike again, Esk kar swung the sword around with all the force he could muster. The parry, weak and off balance, did little more than slow Esk kar’s blade as it slashed into the base of the young man’s neck.

  The third warrior reached Esk kar with a vicious overhand stroke, and Esk kar knew from the first contact he faced no gangling youth, but a warrior in his prime, with a powerful arm of his own. Esk kar parried a second blow, and a third, then a fourth, but he had to give ground with each stroke.

  The warrior kept pressing forward and Esk kar couldn’t mount a counterstroke as the vicious blows clanged against his weapon, pushing him back into the firelight, toward the heat of the flames.

  Esk kar saw an opening and thrust at the man, the stroke stopping his adversary’s advance and giving Esk kar a chance to set his feet. Wielding the great sword, he lunged and slashed at his opponent with half a dozen strokes, before cutting deep into the man’s sword arm. The wounded man staggered back with a curse, his sword slipping from his grasp. Eskkar swung his sword up for the killing blow, but another half — dozen Alur Meriki arrived, shouting their war cries, and he turned to face them. Before they could overwhelm Esk kar, Tellar, Grond, and two others reached their captain’s side, forming a rough line to Esk kar’s left.

  Esk kar barely had time to catch his breath before the first of these new warriors rushed in, using his momentum to take a powerful cut at Esk kar’s head. He deflected the blow, but felt the shock up his arm. The impact slowed him down as the warrior’s momentum carried him into Eskkar’s chest, the two of them falling to the earth. Esk kar got his arm under the man’s neck and heaved him away, then scrambled to his feet. Fighting raged all around, but for the moment, no new Alur Meriki appeared. The warrior Esk kar had flung aside rolled twice and somehow regained his feet, faster than Esk kar thought possible, and again the sword came at Eskkar’s head, shifted at the last moment and aimed at his shoulder. Esk kar blocked the blow and countered with a thrust that forced his opponent to twist his body to the side.

  The movement swung the necklace the man wore, and the firelight glowed against the polished copper medallion, the medallion that proclaimed its bearer the Alur Meriki’s sarrum.

  “Thutmose — sin!” Esk kar spat the words at the ruler of the clans.

  Then he had no time or breath for anything else. The two leaders stood toe to toe, neither man willing to back off, too close to effectively use the long swords, but each man making up for the lack of room by cutting and thrusting. Esk kar’s anger flared up. This man’s father had killed his family.

  Bloodlust overcame him, and the sword slashed viciously at Thutmose — sin’s neck.

  But the Alur Meriki ruler had honed his expertise since his youth, with muscles hardened by hours on horseback, and he blocked every stroke with skill that bespoke of years of practice. Stroke fell upon stroke, and Esk kar’s opponent moved effortlessly. Esk kar’s rage began to fade as he felt his arm growing weaker. Forcing himself to ignore the tiredness in his arm, he lunged at his opponent.

  The sarrum of the Alur Meriki pivoted as he brushed the point aside, and countered with a stroke so fierce it drove Esk kar back two steps. The blows kept hammering at him, giving him no time to counter. Esk kar’s arm began to tremble and he knew his opponent sensed it as well. The man increased his efforts, his mix of thrusts and cuts coming faster and faster, never allowing Esk kar time to recover.

  Esk kar felt fear rising up. Any moment now and a stroke would catch him off guard. The heat raged at his back, all — enveloping now. He retreated another step, but a wagon wheel burned hot against his shoulder and he knew he’d run out of room. Already Esk kar had to use both hands to parry the endless blows that arrived with the force of a woodsman plying his axe.

  Grunting with confidence now, Thutmose — sin swung his blade at Eskkar’s head but at the last moment aimed at Esk kar’s shoulder. Esk kar’s counter nearly came too late. He barely managed to get his sword in front of his chest, its tip bumping against the burning wagon. The two blades met with a clang and a shower of sparks, and then the unthinkable happened.

  Thutmose

  — sin’s sword shattered against Esk kar’s new blade. The weapon’s failure caught the warrior by surprise for a single instant. Esk kar pushed forward, ramming his hilt into Thutmose — sin’s head, knocking him backward and off balance. Thutmose — sin’s heel caught on a wood scrap, and he fell flat on his back, stunned, his sword dropping from his hand.

  Gasping, and with the last of his strength, Esk kar lowered his sword’s point and lurched toward his blood enemy, ready to thrust the blade savagely into the fallen man’s chest.

  Before he could avenge his family, an explosion blew Esk kar to the ground, a wave of searing heat passing over him. The wagon behind him, pushed into the flames only moments earlier by Esk kar and Grond, had contained more than just wood for shields. Unnoticed, half a dozen jars of oil rested beneath the wood, and the fire set by Esk kar’s men had finally reached them. The clay containing the oil had cracked from the heat, adding a flood of fresh oil to the roaring inferno that turned the cart into something beyond his comprehension.

  A blast of fire shot up into the night, as burning pieces of the cart flew in every direction. All fighting stopped in an instant, the men knocked to their knees or flat on the ground, forgetting their enemy to look in awe at the writhing flames climbing into the dark night sky. No one had ever seen or heard anything like it before.

  Stunned by the blast, Esk kar felt Grond helping him to his feet. Eskkar, mouth sagging, still clutched his sword. A dozen paces away, he saw Thutmose — sin being dragged to safety in the opposite direction.

  The flames from the oil cart had collapsed from their height, but the other fires raged on, merging and growing ever hotter, with the roar of the combustion increasing until Esk kars thought his ears would burst.

  Tellar, his sword gone and blood dripping from one arm, flung his good arm around Esk kar’s waist. With Grond carrying most of the burden, they stumbled away from the firestorm.

  Another Alur Meriki appeared out of the darkness and raced at him, his sword high. Esk kar, still dazed and unable to react, saw Grond raise his weapon, but suddenly the man tripped and fell, nearly at Esk kar’s feet. An arrow protruded from the man’s chest. Esk kar caught a glimpse of Myandro notching another arrow at the far edge of the fire. Esk kar heard without comprehending the clash of other swords at the edge of the blaze. His back felt scorched. Grond shouted something, his blade reflecting fire and blood from the flames, as the bodyguard pulled Esk kar into a run.

  At the same time two more of Myandro’s archers arrived, loosed their shafts, then fell back with the rest of Orak’s men, rushing into the darkness and leaving behind the angry shouts of the warriors.

  Esk kar’s head began to clear as he lurched along. The cooler air away from the conflagration helped restore his strength. He shoved Tellar away as the weakness in his legs lessened, but Grond’s grip stayed firm on his left arm. Esk kar staggered along, t
rying to lengthen his steps.

  They ran for their lives, Grond pulling Esk kar along until his captain hit his stride. Moving as fast as they could over the uneven ground, they had no breath for words. As they reached the top of the hill, Esk kar pulled himself loose and stopped. He took a quick glance behind him.

  A fiery mass lit up the sky. Shouts from angry warriors mixed with the roar of flames that illuminated dozens of Alur Meriki who had reached the burning carts. Some tried to pull wagons and wood away from the inferno, while others searched for the raiding party.

  Grond jerked hard on his captain’s arm and Esk kar turned back to the darkness. Orak remained more than a mile away. They’d covered barely half the distance when the fearful sound of hoofbeats gave their legs a fresh burst of energy. The terrifying vision of what happened to men on foot, caught from behind by mounted riders, flashed into Esk kar’s mind.

  They raced on, Grond and Esk kar slipping farther behind the others.

  Esk kar’s heart pounded in his chest and his legs trembled with exhaustion. His breathing came raggedly. Two nights with little sleep and the hard fight took their toll. Grond moved behind him now, his hand on his captain’s back, urging him along.

  Orak’s walls, outlined against the moonlight, were growing in size and the ditch couldn’t be more than two hundred paces ahead when Esk kar saw a line of men rising up in the darkness. He slowed, thinking the barbarians had gotten in front of them. Then he heard the welcome voice of Gatus calling to them. Esk kar lowered his head and kept running, ignoring the piercing pain in his chest at every breath.

  They reached the line of soldiers, passing between men who stood with bows drawn to the ear. The moment they passed out of the line of fire, Gatus shouted. “Loose!”

  Twenty arrows whistled into the night.

  Esk kar stumbled and nearly fell, but Grond, still at his side, caught his arm. The big man had remained behind him the whole time, protecting his back, when Grond could easily have outrun him. Now he resumed his grip on Esk kar’s arm and pulled his captain along. Behind them, the archers sent two more flights of arrows into the approaching horsemen before they, too, turned and fled for the safety of Orak’s walls. The rescuers soon caught up with Esk kar’s weary party. All reached the ditch together, jumping down into the mud, the loud slap of feet revealing their position.