by Sam Barone
Eskkar looked again into the corral. With the first rays of dawn, he had just enough light to pick out two forms, both of them struggling to hold on to their mounts. Another man lay senseless on the ground, while a fourth pushed himself up from the dirt, trying to get to his knees. One of Mitrac’s arrows took him, and he pitched forward without a sound.
Then three more men from Akkad rushed up behind Eskkar, swords in hand, calling out as they did so. By now, between the dead or dying animals and Eskkar’s men, any chance of escaping from the corral had ended.
“Alive!” Eskkar shouted. “Take them alive!” He wanted Ninazu in one piece if possible, to show the villagers the power of Akkad. Grond shouted something, too, and Mitrac’s young voice cried out, reminding his archers to aim at the horses.
The bandit leader had not given up yet. He and his companion, each holding on to a horse’s halter, pushed against the rear of the corral. In a moment, they’d knocked two of the wooden bars from their fastening.
Immediately the frightened horses took advantage, breaking through this new gap. Ninazu and the last of his followers swung up onto their mounts, hugging the animal’s necks as they urged their beasts into the opening.
But this new passage led directly into a narrow lane, forcing the frightened horses to turn sharply. More chaos ensued as the animals jammed together for a moment. Mitrac and his archers moved forward and loosed their shafts.
One arrow, either on purpose or by mistake, struck one of the escaping men in the back. The other two struck Ninazu’s horse in the haunches, and the animal whinnied in agony, reared up, and crashed into the wall of a house. The flimsy mud bricks gave way, and both man and beast half fell into the dwelling amidst a swirl of dust and crumbled mud. By then, Eskkar had raced through the shambles of the corral, ducking away from one horse that reared up at him and pushing another aside, until he and Grond reached the side lane. “Up on the roof, Grond! Don’t let him escape!”
Grond stepped back, sheathed his sword, and jumped for the top of the house, pulling himself up and out of sight in moments. Eskkar shoved his way past another frightened horse until he reached the rubble of the half-crushed house, the dying animal still struggling to reach its feet. Behind Eskkar, the rest of the half-crazed horses finally broke free, hooves pounding as they made their escape from the smell of blood and death that filled the corral.
He saw Ninazu there, on his knees, barely a shadow in the darkness at the rear of the house, but a sword shone in the faint light. The bandit had nowhere to go, and even now the tip of Grond’s blade glinted at the top of the ladder, the tiny house’s only other exit. Ninazu was trapped.
Mitrac rushed up, as did several more of Eskkar’s men. “Shall I finish him, Captain?” He had an arrow on the string.
Eskkar shook his head, but kept his eyes on the trapped man. “Put down your sword, Ninazu,” Eskkar commanded. “You’ve no place to go.”
For an answer, Ninazu leapt to his feet and flung himself at the opening. Eskkar saw Mitrac start to draw the bow and knew that he wouldn’t have time. Eskkar shoved Mitrac to one side, even as he jumped to the other. Ninazu’s blade flashed between them. Eskkar struck at the man’s sword, but Ninazu recovered, then thrust again with his own weapon.
Eskkar’s own sword countered the stroke, though he gave back half a step from the force of it. Ninazu raised his weapon to strike again, a shout on his lips, and charged forward. Then he jerked back, his balance upset, and his sword flailed wildly. Grond had dropped down from the roof, landed on his feet, and leaped on Ninazu from behind, yanking the man back by his hair with one hand as he caught the man’s sword arm with his other.
Eskkar ducked through the jagged opening, his blade pointed up in the ready position. As Ninazu struggled with Grond, Eskkar struck the bandit in the face with the butt of his sword, the thick knob of bronze smashing against the man’s nose, stunning him. Grond tore the sword from Ninazu’s slack fingers, and struck him again with his free hand on the side of his head. Ninazu collapsed like a sack of grain, unconscious before he hit the earth. The fight for Bisitun was over.
Chapter 7
The same dawn that greeted Eskkar’s victory found Trella lying in her bed, awake and already thinking about Korthac. Yesterday afternoon the council had accepted Korthac’s petition, and his gold, to establish a trading house in Akkad. Though he’d complained loudly enough last week when given the terms, he’d handed over the forty gold coins with scarcely a comment. To everyone’s surprise, he offered up more than the coins, presenting a large peridot crystal to each of the seven council members. A small gift, he explained, to express his appreciation, show the value of his goods, and encourage further purchases from his stock.
Each of the gemstones glittered even in the dimly lit council room, the dark green crystals tinged with a hint of yellow. Trella’s peridot stood out in quality from the other fine stones, much larger and with a deeper shade of green enhanced by the well-polished surface.
Trella would have preferred not to accept the costly bribe. But even she could not go against the looks and words of the other council members, who quickly took their gifts as they gave thanks to Korthac. Hers, of course, would be sold to help pay Eskkar’s expenses.
Gifts for council members were nothing new, but since they all had wealth in their own right, they had little need for outright bribery. No, Trella recognized this more subtle offering. Korthac wanted friends in high places, influential friends who could assist him in the future, in a way that she still couldn’t fathom.
Sleeping on it hadn’t helped, and this morning the puzzle remained unresolved. That meant more positive steps would be needed to uncover the mystery. After breakfast, she waited for Annok-sur to return. Every morning, Annok-sur walked the village, giving those with information a chance to meet with her, away from their homes or places of labor. Some women dared not venture far from their husband’s sight. By moving about, Annok-sur gave these women, free or slave, the opportunity to pass along what their men said or did the previous night. More than once, Trella had garnered useful information through this informal network. When Annok-sur returned, midmorning had just passed.
Alone in the workroom, Trella fingered the gold coin that hung around her neck as she faced Annok-sur across the table. “Have we learned anything further, anything new, about Korthac?”
“Only that he’s ready, today or tomorrow, to purchase a place to live. He’s looked at a few houses, but he’s still staying at the inn and . . .”
“Nothing from his men, nothing from the women they’ve approached, people he’s dealt with?”
“No, nothing like that. His men keep to themselves and stay close to the inn. Twice he’s brought women back there for a few hours, to entertain his followers, but I haven’t found any woman who’ll admit to pleasuring him.” Annok-sur shrugged. “Perhaps he prefers men or boys, though I’ve heard nothing of that, either.”
“It’s been more than ten days, and we still know little about him, except he possesses a good deal of wealth and pays well.” Trella reached out and touched the peridot that rested on the table between them. “We need to learn more.”
“You still think there’s something amiss with him, something in his past?”
“It’s not his past that worries me, Annok-sur. It’s his plans for the future. He’s hiding something, I’m sure of it. I’ve been thinking, perhaps Tammuz can discover what it is. Can you bring him tonight?”
Tammuz, barely into his sixteenth season, had ridden as a camp boy with Eskkar at the start of the campaign against the Alur Meriki. His one and only battle had shattered his arm, and he’d nearly died from his wounds. The fight also ended his dream of becoming a soldier. Before joining Eskkar’s fighters, Tammuz had survived as a petty thief, but now even that life would be denied him. With little to look forward to except life as a beggar, the young man had been devastated.
Trella, always searching for friends and allies no matter what their station in l
ife, had devised a plan for him. Four months earlier, she and Eskkar gave Tammuz enough silver to set himself up in a small alehouse in the worst part of Akkad, one catering to the poorest and most desperate inhabitants. Acting under the cover of his former profession, Tammuz joined Trella’s network of spies, keeping his ears and eyes open for any plots against Eskkar’s House. Gatus provided an old veteran, injured while training for the siege, to help Tammuz run the establishment, which soon became more a den of petty thieves than alehouse. Tammuz flourished better than Trella hoped, and had already supplied some minor but useful information.
“I’ll escort him past the guards,” Annok-sur said. “You’ll want Gatus here as well, in case Tammuz needs anything from him. Midnight would be the best time.”
Aside from Eskkar, Gatus, and Annok-sur, no one knew of Tammuz’s new role. Even the founding Hawk Clan soldiers had already dismissed the memory of the crippled youth; warriors formed the Hawk Clan, and none of them expected Eskkar to remember his campfire promise to an insignificant boy. Since the day he left Eskkar’s compound, Tammuz had returned only once, at night and with his face concealed by a cloak. Only Gatus or Annok-sur could vouchsafe an unknown person past the house guards.
“No, two hours before midnight,” Trella said. “I want you to bring Zenobia here at midnight.”
“Ah, then it’s time to help her establish a House?”
Trella sighed. “It’s past time, I think. I wish we’d helped her before, but there was no time. Now we’ll have to move faster.”
Annok-sur laughed. “It won’t take Zenobia long to get noticed.”
Trella could laugh at that. “Let’s hope not.”
That night Gatus accompanied Tammuz and Annok-sur into the workroom, where two lamps burned, an extravagance that lent weight to the importance of the meeting. Trella always paid close attention to people’s faces when they spoke, and if that required burning extra oil, she didn’t consider it a waste. She rose and bowed respectfully to the young man, reminding herself not to count his seasons, though he was much the same age as she. As Eskkar reminded her, you don’t treat someone who’s killed an enemy in battle as a boy.
“Greetings, Tammuz,” she said. “Thank you for coming.”
Tammuz pushed back the cloak that hid his face, worn more to mask his identity than keep out the nighttime chill, and bowed as well. Straightening up, he pushed light brown hair away from his face, revealing a broad smile. “My thanks to you, Lady Trella. It’s good to see you again.”
Trella returned the smile, remembering how Eskkar had saved Tammuz’s life, then placed him in her care. When Tammuz smiled, he looked like a young boy, innocent, though she recognized his growing maturity.
“Come,” she said, “sit down, and tell me what you’ve been doing. But first, let me look at your arm.”
The left arm had been broken in two places, and, out on the battlefield, none of Eskkar’s men knew how to set the break properly. The ride back to Akkad had almost killed the boy. Tammuz lost most of the use of his left hand, and now the arm itself seemed shrunken, bent, and hanging at an odd angle. But the young man lived, and Trella knew that life, even as a cripple, was preferable to death.
She ignored Tammuz’s embarrassment as she came around the table and helped him remove his cloak before taking his hand. “Let me see you move your fingers,” she ordered. “Have you kept to the healer’s advice?”
“I have, Lady Trella, though I don’t think it much matters. He says . . . he says my arm will never be straight, and there’s nothing more he can do.
If it weren’t for you and Captain Eskkar . . .” His voice trailed off as he lowered his head. “There’s no work for a man with one arm.”
Trella had not only nursed him back to health and made sure the healers did their best, but she’d given him a reason to live. More than that, she showed him a different way to fight, a different kind of warfare that went on each day in the shadows, where men whispered over cups of ale.
“Don’t forget you are Hawk Clan, Tammuz. We are always proud of you, and you will never lack for friends.” Trella lifted her hand to include Gatus and Annok-sur, sitting quietly at the other table. “Besides, what you do is more important than soldiering, remember that.”
“I try to remember, Lady Trella, though it is hard sometimes.”
“As is your work. You are our eyes and ears among the poor, the thieves, the prostitutes, and the murderers. With Akkad growing in size each day, there are many desperate men, men who will steal, cheat, and kill. More such will arrive in the coming months. We need someone who can mingle with these people to learn the things Eskkar needs to know. Do you have enough silver? Do you need more?”
“No, Lady Trella, not yet. I collect a share of what my customers steal, in return for letting them hide themselves and their goods in the alehouse. And I resell a few items myself, mostly small things that can’t be traced back to me. Sometimes customers disappear, leaving their goods behind. It’s enough to keep food on the table and ale jars filled.”
Part of the arrangement with Eskkar and Trella was that Tammuz need only report on things that concerned Eskkar’s House. Trella did not care about petty crimes or cut purses. Nevertheless, everyone knew that when the wealthy wanted a private murder done, they often sought out and hired desperate men, like those who frequented Tammuz’s establishment.
“If you need more silver, send word through Annok-sur or Gatus.”
She pulled the cloak back over his arm and returned to her chair. Leaning forward, she focused her attention on Tammuz. Along with his responses, she would examine every expression, gesture, even the way he sat. Very little escaped her eyes and ears, and she knew how to take stock of what she heard and observed. “And now I have something different to ask of you. It may be dangerous.”
Tammuz shrugged. “I’ve learned much about danger in the last few months.”
“Still, I want you to be extra careful in this. Do you know of Korthac, the Egyptian?”
“Everyone knows of him.”
“I want to learn more about him, especially more about his men. It’s possible you may be able to find things out, overhear something, notice something.” Trella told him what she’d learned about Korthac, and what she suspected.
“Don’t underestimate him, Tammuz. He has sharp wits and knows how to lead men. He may have been a soldier in Egypt, possibly a leader of soldiers. Our spies have learned nothing about him, his men, or his plans, so do not think this will be easy. You must not let him be aware of your interest. Anything you can discover, even some small bit of gossip, might be useful. This is a challenge worthy of the Hawk Clan.”
“When I see the Hawk Clan walking the streets, their heads held high. . . sometimes, Lady Trella, I don’t feel like a Hawk Clan.”
“You are Hawk Clan, Tammuz. I know how you all swore an oath to help each other, to fight to the death if necessary.” Eskkar had described the horrific fighting, and the pact the survivors had espoused; he repeated the oath for her, depicted the ceremony, the wind blowing through the dunes and the fire casting its light on each man’s face as they swore binding vows to each other. No man could vouch such words and ever think of breaking his pledge while he drew breath.
“You, of course, were unconscious or delirious most of the time, but they swore for you just the same. And remember, Tammuz, someday there will be much more to the Hawk Clan than simple fighting. In the next few years, there will be more than just battles to be fought.”
At their last meeting, Eskkar had reminded Tammuz that the binding oath extended both ways. He would always be a Hawk Clan, a true brother warrior to Eskkar and his clan.
“Now it is time to speak of other things. Have you thought about taking a wife?”
Tammuz’s mouth fell open in surprise at the odd question. “A wife . . . why . . . who would want to be with a cripple?”
“You are old enough, and you own an alehouse,” Trella said, ignoring his question. “That makes you
a man of substance. Annok-sur thinks you can use some help, someone you can trust, and Gatus agrees. I’ve picked out a slave girl for you. She’s only a season or two older than you. If she proves agreeable and dutiful, we can free her for marriage. If you’re not pleased with her for any reason, you can return her to me.”
Gatus, watching and listening from a stool placed against the wall, couldn’t repress a chuckle. “You should see your face, Tammuz. A woman isn’t the worst thing in the world . . . at least not all the time.”
Tammuz looked at Gatus, then back to Trella. “I don’t know what to say. . . .”
“Then please me in this, and give her a chance. En-hedu is well suited to you, Tammuz, and has her wits about her. She is strong enough to work hard and free you for your other duties. She needs to be treated well; her previous owner drank too much wine and beat her often. You must be gentle with her, and patient, until she forgets her former master. She is not beautiful, but I think she will be loyal, especially if you treat her with respect. I’ve spoken to her several times, and told her about you.”
Trella leaned back in her chair, feeling the child move within her.
“Would you consider taking her?”
“Lady Trella, if you think it best, but . . . I’ve never been with a woman, and she might think my arm . . .”
“Bring her in, Annok-sur,” Trella said. “Tell her nothing about the Hawk Clan, Tammuz. That’s to remain our secret, for now at least. Other than that, you can tell her anything. And don’t worry about what you know or don’t know. She will guide you through Ishtar’s mystery.”
A few moments later the door creaked open and Annok-sur led a tall, sturdy young woman wearing a modest and patched shift into the workroom. Brown hair framed a plain but pleasant enough face, except for her nose, broken and never straightened properly afterward. Once again Trella stood, a sign of respect especially important to a slave, and Tammuz followed her example.