by Sam Barone
“Korthac knows Bantor is returning,” Trella said, her mind beginning to think clearly once again. “Ariamus has taken every horse he could find and ridden south. They’ll meet Bantor’s men on the road, long before they arrive here.”
“Bantor has plenty of men, trained men. They won’t be easy to defeat.”
Trella shook her head. “No, Korthac must have some plan in mind. If Bantor’s force is defeated, even driven off, Korthac can turn his full attention to the north. He’s defeating Eskkar’s forces piece by piece. That’s his plan.” She reached out and took Annok-sur’s hand. “I fear for your husband.”
“Ariamus will find killing Bantor harder than he thinks. Bantor hates the man since . . . from the old days, when he was captain of the guard.”
She put her arm around Trella. “And Eskkar isn’t easy to stop, either.”
“I wanted Eskkar back here, but now . . . it’s better that he remains up north. He might be safer there.”
Both women stayed silent for a moment. Their hopes for survival depended on their husbands living long enough to rescue them.
“Is there anything we can do, Trella? I mean, can we kill Korthac somehow?”
“Even if we could, his Egyptians would cut us to pieces, then slaughter half the city. And I saw his face. He’ll use any pretext to beat me, but he’s looking for an excuse to kill you, to keep me in fear of him. You must not give him any reason. No matter what he does to me, keep still. Don’t provoke him. I need you to stay alive. Promise me that.”
“You know what he’ll do to you. He’ll want to show everyone in Akkad that you belong to him now, that you’re nothing more than his slave.”
Trella touched her swollen face, still feeling the sting in her cheek from where Korthac struck her. “Whatever Korthac wants, we’ll do. We need to stay alive, at least for now. In a few days, if we find everything is hopeless, then I’ll try to kill him.”
“He’ll use the child to control you.”
“The child will have to die. I know that. He’ll want no reminder of Eskkar or me left alive.” She shook her head at the thought. “I’ll kill the babe myself, if it comes to that.”
Trella reached out and took Annok-sur’s hand. “You’ll die as well. He surely knows what role you played in gathering information. As soon as he thinks he’s secure, then we’ll no longer be needed.” Trella shrugged.
“I have the birthing knife, Trella, if it comes to that. Though I prefer trying to slit his throat with it.”
During the confusion, Trella had seen Annok-sur slip the small knife inside the lamp. But the tiny implement, a special gift from Drusala, and meant to be used to cut the umbilical cord, had a blade no longer than Trella’s finger.
“It’s not much of a weapon against Korthac,” Trella said, “although it may serve to end our own lives. Keep the knife safe, Annok-sur. We may have to use it on ourselves. Until that day, we obey our new master. We must stay alive, for the child’s sake, if nothing else, and to give Eskkar time to gather his forces. As long as we obey Korthac instantly, as long as he thinks we’re of use to him, he’ll keep us alive for a little while longer.”
“So we grovel before this Egyptian.”
“We grovel, Annok-sur.” Out of habit, Trella reached for the coin that she’d worn around her neck since Eskkar first gave it to her. Her freedom coin, he’d called it. Now it was gone, given to another, as vanished as her freedom. “We grovel, and we wait.”
Chapter 17
Ariamus had hidden his sixty-three horsemen in a tiny fold of ground, a little more than one hundred paces from the trail Bantor’s men were following back to Akkad. Ariamus had galloped his horse that far himself, and knew his horsemen could cover that distance in moments, long before his victims could dismount and string their bows. Horse to horse, his charging men on fresh mounts would have the advantage.
The low crest of the rise concealed fifty of Ariamus’s men abreast, and the remainder formed a smaller group behind the main line. He had twenty hard-bitten fighters scattered among them. Most of these he’d recruited himself, though Korthac had added half a dozen of his Egyptians, probably with instructions to keep an eye on their commander.
Chewing his lip, Ariamus waited for the single scout who tracked the approaching column. They’d sighted Bantor’s men hours ago, and they’d be here soon. Everything would work against the Akkadians—their horses would be tired from a long day’s ride, they would be traveling uphill, and they expected to reach Akkad’s gates and safety in a few more hours. Ariamus knew the Akkadians had shadowed the retreating Alur Meriki for over a month. That mission completed, Bantor and his soldiers were returning in high spirits to their women, plenty of ale, and a chance to sleep in their own beds. The last thing on their minds would be an ambush so close to home.
He grinned at the thought. Instead of safety, the returning soldiers would die right here, and it would be Ariamus’s men who would ride through the open gates of Akkad. Korthac had planned everything with care, Ariamus admitted, though he hated to give the man so much credit.
Ariamus and his men had done well in last night’s battle, capturing the river gate with a minimum of fighting. Just as important, he’d seized the boats docked there with no loss of cargo, and no vessels escaping up or down the Tigris. With both the river and the local roads under Korthac’s control, at least a few days would pass before the countryside learned what had taken place in Akkad. The only thing that could have gone better was if Takany had managed to get himself killed. Ariamus had craftily made sure the thickheaded Egyptian led the fight at the barracks, where the heaviest fighting would occur, but the man had survived without even a scratch.
“You did well, Ariamus,” Korthac had said afterward, grunting his approval at his newest subcommander’s efficiency. “Now take your men and destroy the Akkadians returning from the south. Then you will have your reward.”
Relishing the praise, Ariamus had bowed politely, gathered his men, and departed, as eager as Korthac to finish off the returning soldiers. He and his men camped for the night a few miles ride from the city, and Ariamus sent out scouts to look for the approaching Akkadians. A successful ambush of Bantor and his troops would ensure Korthac’s confidence, and earn Ariamus an even bigger share of the loot waiting back in Akkad.
The moment to earn that reward had arrived. The men from Akkad marched unsuspectingly toward their fate. In a few moments, Ariamus would destroy Bantor’s soldiers, leaving no organized force to rally support against Korthac. The handful of men Eskkar had with him up at Bisitun would be no problem to defeat. Ariamus knew he could raise, recruit, and train an equal number in the week or ten days it would take for Eskkar to reach Akkad. And with any bit of luck, the barbarian would already be dead, struck down by Korthac’s assassins.
As soon as Ariamus returned to Akkad with the news of Bantor’s destruction, Korthac’s rule would be secure. The Egyptian would proclaim himself sovereign of the city, and Ariamus would stand at his side. With enough men to guard the walls, no power could force them out.
Assuming Ariamus could keep his men under control, he reminded himself. He’d readied his men for the ambush more than an hour ago.
Even after yesterday’s success in Akkad, many of the men looked nervous, and he saw fear on the faces of more than one. The sooner he got them into battle, the better. He wished he’d had a few more weeks to train them . . . but Korthac wouldn’t wait. News of Bantor’s approach had forced Korthac to move a little earlier than he planned. The city had to be taken the day before Bantor arrived. So far, everything had gone exactly as the wily Egyptian had planned.
Ariamus heard his men talking again, their voices quickly rising and threatening the whole plan. They kept testing his patience. Shifting their feet, they whispered to their neighbors and boasted about what they would do in the coming battle. His hand twitched at his sword, and he resisted the temptation to kill one as a lesson. Half-trained and lacking discipline they might be, but he’d
worked with worse, and right now he needed all of them.
“Demons take you all,” he said. “Keep silent!”
Gritting his teeth at the fools who couldn’t keep still, he walked back and forth along the line, hand on his sword, urging them to stay ready, shut their mouths, and look to their mounts. Not that Ariamus cared how much his men twitched and worried, but he didn’t want the horses picking up their riders’ fears and getting spooked.
Two days ago he’d had to kill a slow-witted fool who disobeyed him once too often, and hopefully that memory remained fresh in their minds.
Just so long as they followed orders. Ariamus didn’t care how much they feared the enemy, as long as they feared him more.
Nevertheless, most of these bandits had little experience in attacking battle-hardened men. Fresh from Akkad’s capture, they now fancied themselves fearsome fighters. Almost all had seen some fighting, or raided enough farms and small caravans to convince themselves of their bravery, but Ariamus knew they could never stand against the Alur Meriki. Even facing the soldiers from Akkad, most of this rabble would be dead in moments. Still, Ariamus had more than enough men to do the job, and if he could surprise Bantor, the combination would guarantee victory.
The men’s talking grew louder, and Ariamus turned to see his scout trotting toward them. At least the man, one of Korthac’s subcommanders, had remembered his orders to raise no dust trail and to make sure he wasn’t seen. Ariamus turned back toward his still-mumbling men, and again put his hand on his sword. They fell silent under his glare. The sooner the attack got under way, the better.
“Well, Nebibi, are they coming?” Speaking in the language of the Egyptian, Ariamus didn’t even wait for the man to dismount.
“Yes, Ariamus. They’re but moments behind me. Their horses look weary, and they suspect nothing. All ride with bows slung.”
“You’re sure? No scouts out to the front or flanks?”
“None,” Nebibi replied. “Only a rear guard of three men. They’re trailing a good distance behind the column, but that’s all.”
Ariamus grunted in relief. If he and his men had been spotted . . .
Korthac had warned him not to challenge the Akkadians’ bows. If Ariamus couldn’t smash them before they could bring their bows into play, he would have to return to Akkad and get more men.
“Good work, Nebibi. Return to your men and make sure they know what to do. Try to keep the fools quiet.” Nebibi had charge of one-third of the men. Rihat, Ariamus’s other subcommander, commanded another third.
“Rihat.” Ariamus called out to his other commander, now speaking in their native tongue. “Get the men ready. They’re almost here.”
Ariamus walked up and down the line one last time, looking each man in the eye, and making sure each knew his orders. The veterans, spread throughout the line, would steady the fools and urge them onward. They lined up the horses almost shoulder to shoulder, with the men standing beside them, waiting. Ariamus could still hear some men whispering. He swore to himself, but said nothing. Anything he did now might spook the horses even more than his men’s talk. Besides, the beasts appeared to have grown used to the incessant chatter.
Nevertheless, now was not the time to take chances. “Nebibi, Rihat, I want absolute silence. Kill the next man who opens his mouth.” Both subcommanders drew their swords, and Ariamus nodded in satisfaction. “Remember, men, we’ll be watching you. Any man who breaks too soon, or disobeys orders, dies on the spot. Now mount up, and ready your weapons.”
Their smiles disappeared, and silence came at last over the group. He smiled in approval at their fear. That fear would drive them forward, which was all he wanted. Destroying Bantor’s force meant everything, and he would take any casualties to accomplish that end. Low sounds of men and horses rippled up and down the line for a few moments, before stillness again fell over the group. Ariamus scanned the line one last time—men, horses, and weapons—they were ready.
Ariamus climbed the low rise, lying flat on the ground to make sure he wouldn’t be seen as he peered through the tall grass. The path Bantor followed remained empty in front of him, no other travelers or dust trails in sight in either direction. He turned his gaze to the south and waited. He checked the sun’s progress and cursed at his enemy’s slow approach. Dusk would be on them in little more than an hour.
At last, the head of the column appeared, as if rising slowly out of the ground. The Akkadians walked their horses two abreast, the men relaxed, talking to each other, their bows slung across their backs. They would be tired, hungry, and thirsty. No doubt all of them looked forward to an evening of food and ale in Akkad.
Behind him he heard the faint whispers of his subcommanders as they kept the men in check, each man attending to his beast, making sure it didn’t whinny at the scent or sound of the approaching horses and men.
No wind blew, and even the occasional breeze came from the south. He counted the men as they appeared, and ended at forty-six, with three more for the rear guard. Ariamus knew that fifty-three men had gone south with that fool Bantor weeks ago. The missing soldiers had probably returned to Akkad earlier or, even more likely, deserted.
He could hear the Akkadians now, the horses plodding along. Ariamus wanted to return to his horse, but he didn’t want to move until the very last moment, to make sure none of his men charged out before the column reached the spot directly in front of them. Ariamus waited those last few moments, then slipped backward down the hill before rising to his feet and walking calmly to his horse. He jerked the halter free and swung onto the animal’s back.
The whole line began to move a little, back and forth, and the animals started pawing the earth and snorting, but it no longer mattered. Ariamus tightened his knees on his horse’s back.
“Attack!” he shouted, and the whole line of his fighters burst into motion. In an instant, they raced up over the top of the rise and charged at the startled column of men in front of them.
Bantor rode with Klexor at the head of the column, while Alexar, another leader of ten, rode behind the column, with the rear guard.
Bantor felt as weary and thirsty as his horse. Earlier in the day, everyone had spoken of getting home, women, warm beds, hot food, and thick ale.
But near day’s end, the men rode mostly in silence, keeping their thoughts to themselves. If Akkad weren’t only a few more hours ahead, they’d be making camp right now.
Tomorrow they’d get their pay, and each man would have plenty of silver in his pouch. The taverns would be full of cheap wine and smiling women, all glad to welcome back their men. They’d been away for five weeks, shadowing a still dangerous and much larger force of warriors, and in all those days, they had never relaxed their guard. Until today. Now, close to home, they rode easy.
The two lead horses lifted their heads at the same time, ears twitching as they rolled their eyes to the left. Bantor’s eyes followed those of his horse, just as a burst of sound rolled toward them. A force of screaming men arose from what had appeared to be level ground to their left, racing their horses toward the column, flashing swords in their hands. The ground shook from the thudding hooves that threw clods of dirt and grass high into the air.
For a single moment, every man froze, the sudden appearance of the attackers a complete surprise. Bantor felt the fear rising in his chest.
“Dismount! String your bows!” He heard Klexor echoing the same orders, as both men pulled their horses around to face their attackers. “Form a line!”
Several horses reared up in terror, other soldiers began shouting, and already the attacking warriors had covered half the open ground.
Bantor saw that not all the activity was panic. Even as they’d watched the southerly progress of the retreating Alur Meriki, these Akkadians had trained for such an attack by their enemy. The men, seeing the oncoming danger, had reacted without hesitation. They flung themselves from their horses and moved to string their bows in a rush of action. All of their weeks and months of
training had told them one thing over and over.
They could not defeat the Alur Meriki on horseback. So they had been trained to dismount, ready their weapons, and band together.
Bantor leapt down from his horse, then smacked the animal’s rump with the flat of his sword, sending the animal lumbering toward the oncoming riders. All the other riderless horses began to mill around, scattering in different directions, some of them racing toward the attackers. Their movements slowed the oncoming riders a bit, as the bandits shifted their course to avoid the frantic animals. Even so, only a handful of Bantor’s men managed to launch an arrow before the wave of bandits struck them.
Bantor waited with dread for the killing flight of arrows from the Alur Meriki bows, but the arrows never came. Instead the attackers arrived in a thunder of hooves that shook the earth, a terrifying sound to those facing it on foot. Swords slashed downward at Bantor’s men, some still struggling to string their bows, others drawing swords. Screams of the wounded mingled with the war cries of the attackers. Nevertheless, the Akkadians had no time to ready themselves, and the attackers cut their way through Bantor’s men. Some of the soldiers threw themselves to the ground, trying to avoid the swords that flashed down at them.
With nothing to slow them down, no line of men on horseback to impede their attack, most of the bandits galloped right through what remained of the column, swinging their swords at anything, man or beast, within reach. Some of the attacking horses jumped over the prone Akkadians, following their animal instinct to avoid stepping on anything that moved.
Not all of the soldiers managed to get flat to the ground, and many took blows from slashing swords or found themselves crushed under the horses’ hooves. For the first time, Bantor realized he didn’t face Alur Meriki horsemen. As he flung himself facedown on the grass, he saw his attackers rode more like bandits, not barbarian warriors from the steppes.