by Sam Barone
At last Eskkar reached the lane where he lived. Spacious structures lined both sides of the street, almost all of them hidden behind man-high, irregular walls that formed the passage. His house, by far the largest, loomed above the others, near the center of the lane. A faint glow emanated from the upper story, and he wondered who guarded his workroom.
Mitrac touched his shoulder, and Eskkar let the master archer slip past. Mitrac’s eyes would be almost as keen at night, and he had the hunter’s ability to move noiselessly. Only moments went by before he stepped back to Eskkar’s side.
“There are two of them, Captain. One’s leaning against the wall. I think the gate is open, but I can’t be sure.”
The gate should have been closed, but, of course, these bandits had already grown careless. “Quickly, then, Mitrac. Get your men in position.”
He watched as the archer eased across the lane, to the side opposite Eskkar’s house, and then walked slowly down that side of the street. Eskkar could scarcely see Mitrac’s path in the darkness. The archer disappeared from sight, vanished into a doorway. Two archers followed his lead, one by one. As soon as the last man reached his position, Eskkar turned to the others.
“Grond and I will start in. You three wait until we’re at the gate. Make sure no one comes up behind us.”
Eskkar turned the corner, and started moving toward the house, Grond at his side.
They walked slowly, talking loudly to each other, weaving every few steps as if from too much ale. Eskkar wanted to draw all attention to themselves, to keep the guards’ eyes focused on them, not the shadowy figures on the other side of the lane.
The guards heard them and straightened up, but did not draw their swords. They had no worries. In the last few days, Akkad’s inhabitants had learned their place. Besides, behind these sentinels, in the two houses that made up Eskkar’s residence, more than twenty of Korthac’s desert fighters took their rest. Rebba said he’d seen at least that many there.
As Eskkar approached, he saw that the gate indeed stood ajar. A closed and fastened gate would have been another problem. He guessed that more men would be in the courtyard, probably taking their ease at the table, helped by an occasional drink from a wineskin. The rest of Korthac’s men would be asleep inside, but the nighttime watch would end soon, and these guards would be looking forward to getting some sleep of their own.
Eskkar stopped about ten feet away from the guards. Just then a muffled shout reached his ears. From its direction, he guessed that Bantor’s men had reached the river gate. Hopefully the guards would not know what it meant. Before the men could react, Eskkar turned to Grond, raising his voice.
“Did you hear that? Sounds like women screaming. Maybe we should go and see if there’s room for two more.”
“No! We have to get back before Ariamus finds us. We’re in enough trouble already.”
The distant shouting faded away, and the two guards seemed confused. One took a step toward them, but the other turned in the direction of the noise.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” Eskkar said loudly, and dropped down to one knee, by now only a few paces from the sentries.
“Let me help you,” Grond said, slurring the words and stooping down beside him.
The instant he was down, three arrows flashed out of the darkness and struck Korthac’s men. One of them made a strangled gasp, but Eskkar laughed to cover the sound. He and Grond reached the men, catching them before they could fall. Neither guard had a weapon in his hand, making it easy to lower them silently to the ground.
A bench scraped in the courtyard, and Eskkar began speaking again, raising his voice to cover the small sounds as Mitrac and his two archers slipped up beside them. “Maybe we should wake Korthac and tell him. That’s good, let’s ask him to settle it.” The words meant nothing, but Korthac’s name should give the guards inside pause.
One arm around Grond’s shoulders, Eskkar pushed the gate inward, keeping his other arm extended to make sure the gate stayed wide open as he weaved drunkenly into the courtyard.
“Who are you?” came a voice from the darkness.
“We come from Ariamus,” Eskkar said, slurring his words as if from too much wine.
“Get out of here, you drunken Akkadian scum. Come back after dawn.”
The words, spoken with a strong accent, came from the big plank table placed between the two dwellings. So at least that hadn’t been moved. “Ariamus sent us,” Eskkar said humbly, bowing his head. “We have a message for Korthac.” Looking up, he saw faint flickers of light coming from the upper story, from both rooms.
“But we can’t remember what it was,” laughed Grond, and slapped Eskkar on the back.
Moving forward as he spoke, Eskkar saw the guards, two darker shadows sitting at the table, one with his feet up on its surface, the other leaning back with his hands behind his head. Their eyes shone whitely in the faint light. Glancing around the garden, he saw no one else.
Eskkar stepped away from the gate, moving sideways toward the main house. “Is Korthac awake yet? We have a message . . .”
The sound of many voices shouting at the tops of their lungs interrupted him. This time Eskkar realized the noise came from the west, not the river gate. That meant Bantor had entered the city and reached the barracks. The two men at the table started to move, one dropping his water cup, but they were already falling, three arrows flashing into their bodies as Mitrac and his archers stepped in from the gate.
Nevertheless, one of the Egyptians cried out as the arrow struck him, loud enough to give a warning. Eskkar ignored the dead or dying guards, certain Mitrac’s men’s arrows would finish them or anyone else issuing from the soldiers’ quarters. Instead Eskkar burst into a run, and in three giant strides reached the main entrance and flung himself with all his weight against the door.
But the portal, built to withstand just such an attack, held firm, and he bounced back, his left shoulder tingling from the impact. He’d hoped the door might not be barred or securely fastened. To his left, he heard another crash as Grond hurled himself at the kitchen entrance. But that doorway, too, was closed, and instead of a quick entry, all they’d managed to accomplish was to awaken those sleeping within.
Chapter 23
“Hail, Akkad!” Yavtar’s voice carried easily over the black water, alerting the guards at the river gate well before they saw or heard the boat’s approach. The current pulled at the craft, and he had to lean hard on the steering oar while his two crewmen paddled furiously to bring the vessel alongside the jetty, out of the river’s rush. Ignoring the questions from the men guarding the gate, Yavtar leapt onto the dock and secured the stern.
When he straightened up and looked toward the gate, a half-dozen heads appeared atop the wall on either side, and one of them held a torch over the wall, casting just enough light to reach the boat rocking against the wharf.
“Who goes there?”
Ignoring the challenge, Yavtar waited until his crewmen had hooked on the bowline, leaving the craft securely moored to the dock. That done, he turned to face the gate, where twice as many men now stood watching. Even before Yavtar finished his count, the men had bows in their hands, arrows at the ready, and a second torch appeared and added its light to the scene.
“Who goes there? Answer, or I’ll cut you down!”
“I’m Yavtar, shipmaster, and I’ve a message for Korthac. Pass me in, or send someone to fetch him.” He strolled down the jetty as he replied.
A third torch joined the others, this last one held forward from the wall, illuminating the base of the gate. More men appeared atop the walls on either side of the opening, these newest arrivals shaking the sleep from their eyes. Yavtar’s count now estimated about fifteen defenders.
“You know the gate is closed until dawn. Get back in your boat and stay there until then. If you step off the dock, I’ll have my men put an arrow into you.”
Yavtar had reached the end of the jetty, so he stopped and put his hands on h
is hips. “It’s nearly dawn. What does it matter when you open the gate?” Behind him, the boat rocked loudly against one of the wooden support piles sunk into the riverbed. Yavtar had deliberately used more rope than needed to fasten the stern, leaving plenty of slack; the noise of the boat slapping against the jetty might help conceal any other sounds.
“No one’s admitted until dawn, and then only if . . .”
“Fine. I’ll stay here until Korthac arrives. Send someone to bring him here. I have a message for him from Ziusudra.”
“It will wait until morning. Stay on your boat until then.”
“It will not wait until morning.” Yavtar spoke loud enough to waken half the city. “Send word to Korthac now, or I’ll make sure you’ll find the lash on your back.” Since taking power, Korthac had applied his favorite punishment to many, including a few of his own men. Back at the farm, Rebba had described Korthac’s wrath at any that annoyed him, and his favorite punishment.
The watchkeeper thought about it for a moment. “Where’s Ziusudra?”
Yavtar smiled at that bit of luck. So this man knew Ziusudra, but not likely his mission. “Ziusudra’s dead. You’d better hurry, man, or Korthac will be very angry, I promise you. He’ll want to hear my words, and see what I have for him.”
“Tell me the message . . . What’s your name?”
“Yavtar. Shipmaster Yavtar, as you should know. I’ve delivered cargo here often enough. And my message is for your master, not you.” Without waiting for a reply, Yavtar turned back toward the boat, and spoke to his crewmen. After a moment, he walked back toward the dock.
“Stay on the jetty,” a voice shouted, but it was not the watchkeeper’s voice.
Again Yavtar stopped at the dock’s edge, and let out a loud sigh that carried all the way to the gate. “I’m sorry me and my two men frighten you so much. But we’ve been on the river for days, coming from Bisitun. Anyway, I’ve got three prisoners for Korthac, and you might as well take charge of them.” He turned back toward the boat. “Bring the slaves to the gate.”
During this exchange, the watchkeeper had returned. He’d checked his men, making sure all of them were at their posts, weapons ready. “I’ve sent word to Korthac,” he called out.
“Fine. I’ll stay here. You can watch these slaves for me just as well from up there.” Yavtar turned back to his men, and they pushed forward three men, each with their hands bound in front of them. Their ragged clothes hung loosely about them. Covered with dirt, their heads hung slackly on their necks.
“Get forward, and stand at the foot of the gate,” Yavtar ordered, hoping no one would shoot them. For a moment the prisoners did nothing, so Yavtar grabbed the nearest by the shoulder and shoved him roughly on his way. The other two followed. When they reached the base of the gate, they sank wearily to the ground, heads still downcast.
On the wall, the watch commander saw Yavtar taking his ease. The gatekeeper worried about what to do. A glance down at the three slaves showed them to be harmless, unarmed and beaten men. When the messenger from Korthac arrived, Yavtar would likely be summoned to Korthac’s house, and that would be the end of it. Perhaps it might be better to bring them inside the gate, then escort this Yavtar directly to Korthac himself. That way he might earn a silver coin himself, or at least Korthac’s gratitude.
The watchkeeper took a torch from one of his men and leaned out over the top of the gate, then looked up and down the length of the wall.
He saw nothing unusual, and the jetty showed only Yavtar and his two boatmen. Dawn approached, and he’d be opening the gate soon enough anyway. He might as well open it early for this Yavtar. He turned away from the river.
“Open the gate. Bring Yavtar in.”
Alexar had never run so hard in his life. But now he waited in the darkness, his men beside him. The first five men who climbed over the wall, after Eskkar and his archers, had joined Alexar in his race to the river gate. They knew they had to hurry. Even if Yavtar talked the gate open, he’d need their help. They’d rushed through the lanes, making as little noise as possible, until, breathing hard, they reached their destination.
The huts here encroached closer to the portal than at Akkad’s main entrance. Hidden in the deeper shadow cast by a house wall, Alexar and his men stood close enough to the rear of the gate to hear every exchange.
They’d reached their position only moments after Yavtar docked his boat, and now Alexar, still breathing hard, stood listening, staring up at the guards manning the gate, waiting for the commander of the watch to react.
The gatekeeper took his time, talking to his men and ordering extra torches lit.
Rebba had told Eskkar that the river gate wasn’t as well guarded as Akkad’s main entrance. Using his fingers, Alexar counted sixteen men as they took their stations on either side of the gate. Sixteen against six. Even with surprise, it was going to be bloody if Yavtar couldn’t convince the watchmaster to open the gate. Alexar knew it took at least two men to lift the heavy beams that secured the gate closed, and if they had to fight off anyone . . .
“If they don’t open the gate,” Alexar said, “we’ll have to kill them all. Keep shooting no matter what, then make sure that gate gets opened.”
Gripping his bow, he listened as Yavtar and the chief guard exchanged words. Then the watchkeeper grabbed one of his men by the arm and spoke to him before returning to the top of the gate. The man nodded, then began jogging toward the lane.
“Stand ready,” Alexar ordered, and moved to his right, staying in the shadow of the houses, and converging on the same lane the messenger would take. Eskkar had warned Alexar about the possibility of the watch commander dispatching a messenger. Hugging the wall, Alexar watched as the messenger turned the corner; once out of sight of the gate and its commander, the man slowed to a walk and started up the lane, heading toward Eskkar’s house.
When Alexar turned the same corner, only a few paces separated him from the shadowy messenger. Alexar drew his bow, and sent an arrow into the man’s back. His target, knocked to his knees by the force of the shaft, gasped in surprise as he pitched forward. By then Alexar had reached the dying man’s side, drawn his sword, and pushed it into the man’s neck, ending any possibility of a call for help. Snapping off the arrow, he rolled the body against the nearest wall.
He paused to look about. Everything seemed quiet, and perhaps no one had heard or seen anything. Alexar returned to his men, just in time to hear the watchkeeper give the order to open the gate. Alexar breathed a sigh of relief. Yavtar must have succeeded in convincing the watchmaster. Half a dozen guards put down their bows and descended the steps to the base of the gate. In moments, they struggled with the heavy wooden beams that secured the portal. With a loud creak, the right side of the gate began to swing inward. Then Yavtar stood in the opening, scratching his head.
“That’s the signal,” Alexar whispered. “Bantor’s men are ready. Take the guards on the wall first, anyone with a bow in his hands.” Alexar nocked a shaft to his bow. By now the other half of the gate began to swing open as well. The firelight showed Yavtar stepping forward. He paused, remaining one stride from the opening, still talking to the gatekeeper, who stood there with four of his men.
“Fire!” Six arrows flashed out of the darkness, striking at the men looking out over the wall or down at the ever-widening opening. Before anyone could react, the second wave of shafts flew toward the gate, taking almost half their enemies by surprise. The gatekeeper died, crying out in surprise as two arrows knocked him from his feet. A guard atop the wall shouted a warning, but more arrows flew, and he pitched forward, falling with a loud crash onto a small cart beneath the wall.
By then Yavtar and the three “slaves,” knives in hand, had forced their way through the opening, striking down two more men, and making sure the heavy gate stayed open. Still hidden in the shadows, Alexar and his men picked their targets, selecting anyone attempting to close the gate, or trying to give the alarm. A few shouted for help, bu
t the heavy shafts whistling through the air soon silenced the voices.
An arrow skipped off the wall behind Alexar, the guards’ first attempt to strike back. But the gate’s defenders couldn’t see their targets well, while the dropped torches and watch fire gave Alexar and his men plenty of light for shooting.
Then it was too late. The heavy portal, once opened, couldn’t be easily closed. Yavtar’s two crewmen rushed to his side, carrying extra swords, but they weren’t needed. Both sides of the gate burst apart, pushed aside by a wall of men. Bantor and his thirty men, hidden less than a hundred paces away from the gate, had sprinted forward the moment Yavtar gave the signal. The few surviving guards turned and ran, scattering in all directions.
Alexar and his men, shooting as fast as they could, dropped a few more, but darkness soon hid their targets, and at least two or three escaped into the night.
Alexar stepped forward, holding his bow above his head. “Eskkar has returned,” he called out, just loud enough to be heard. Bantor recognized him, and the two forces joined together.
“Yavtar,” Bantor said without stopping, “you and Alexar must hold the gate.” Bantor had no more time for words. At a run, he and his men departed for the barracks less than four lanes away, their feet pounding against the dirt the only sound to mark their departure.
Yavtar strode over to Alexar, his two boatmen following. Together they watched the last of Bantor’s men disappear up the street. “I don’t want to stay here, Alexar. There won’t be any more fighting in this place.”
Alexar didn’t want to miss the fighting either. “We’re supposed to make sure no one gets away. That’s what Eskkar said.”
“No one will try to escape this way. They’ll go over the wall,” Yavtar countered. “Besides, Eskkar is going to need every man.”
The more Alexar thought about it, the more he decided Yavtar was right. “We could bar the gate, and hammer it shut. That should keep it sealed.”