Eskkar Saga 02 - Empire Rising

by Sam Barone

Yavtar frowned. “Where would we get the tools?”

  Alexar turned to the crowd of onlookers gathering about them. Sleepy citizens from adjacent houses had heard or seen the fight, and now peered out from doorways, the braver ones stepping forth cautiously from their houses. Their voices contributed to the babble of sound that increased every moment.

  “We won’t need tools,” Alexar said. He raised his voice just enough to carry to those nearby. The time for silence had passed. “Akkadians! Eskkar has returned to bring vengeance to Korthac. Keep silent, and bar the gate! Hammer it shut. Find weapons and keep the gate closed. Make sure no one leaves the city! Get moving. Eskkar has returned.”

  Eskkar’s name emptied the nearby houses, and a few cheers from the rooftops floated into the night, praising Eskkar’s return.

  “Keep silent, you fools!” Alexar’s voice stopped the cheering.

  “Should we go to the barracks?” Yavtar glanced up at the night sky.

  “It’ll be dawn soon.”

  “No, Bantor has enough men for that. Let’s head for the main gate. Maybe we can help Drakis.”

  “Lead the way,” Yavtar said, fingering his sword. One fight was as good as another.

  Drakis led his men at a fast walk. Enkidu brought up the rear, spacing the men five paces apart to keep their passage as quiet as possible. With luck, no one would hear them pass along the dark lanes. If he were going to surprise the defenders at the main gate, Drakis needed to get there without arousing attention.

  Fortune had favored them so far. First they’d slipped over the wall with scarcely a delay and without alerting Korthac’s men, a feat thousands of Alur Meriki warriors had failed to accomplish in more than a month’s fighting. Earlier, Drakis worried that he might be fighting his way up this very street. Instead, he strode purposefully, his bow held close against his side. If the gods smiled a little longer, he’d have the chance to strike first.

  Luck in battle. Drakis, like everyone else, knew Eskkar had more than his fair share of it. The warrior gods always seemed to smile on him, and, of course, he had Lady Trella at his side to whisper in his ear. Drakis would have preferred going with Eskkar to rescue her, but his own mission might prove just as important and probably more dangerous.

  Eskkar had given him twenty men. Never before had Drakis commanded so many, and this time he would be on his own. He vowed to succeed, even if he and every one of his men died doing so. Shaking away the dark thought, he quickened his pace, recalling his meeting with Eskkar right after they left Rebba’s house.

  With Bantor at his side, Eskkar had asked Drakis to choose one of his twenty men to be second in command. Drakis had immediately named Enkidu. Eskkar nodded approvingly, then called out for Enkidu to join them.

  “Drakis, you and Enkidu must plan everything as best you can, in the little time you have. I want you both to think of what can go wrong, and how you’ll respond. Each of you must choose another to replace you should you be killed. At every step, make sure your men know what they are to do, and how they are to do it. Think now about what you will do when you reach the towers, how you will attack them, and how you will defend them, where you will position your men. And when you attack, remember to scream your heads off as the barbarians do. You must make your twenty men sound like a hundred. Nothing frightens men more at night than shouts of death and destruction.”

  Eskkar had spoken for only a few moments, but Drakis and Enkidu still struggled to resolve all the questions and decisions their leader raised.

  Drakis recalled his captain’s final words. “Hold the gate, Drakis. It’ll take the backbone out of our enemies if they think we’re trying to keep them trapped in Akkad. Keep shouting those words, that none must escape alive.

  That will send half of them scurrying across the wall, fleeing for their lives.”

  Drakis nodded his understanding, and put his hand on his leader’s shoulder. “I’ll hold the gate, Captain.”

  “It won’t be easy. But if you can hold, Drakis, no one on horseback will be able to get away, and those who go over the walls will be easy prey to mounted men in the morning. But your danger will be great. If Bantor and I succeed, every bandit in Akkad will be rushing toward you, trying to escape, and desperate to fight their way past you and your men, to reach the safety of the countryside. Stop them, Drakis. Kill them all.”

  Thinking back, Drakis realized that Eskkar had paid him quite a compliment, giving him a command and assuming that Drakis could work out the rest of the details himself. He’d watched as Eskkar next went to talk with Bantor, Klexor, and Yavtar. Their assignment was to force and capture the river gate. Afterward, they would attack the barracks, to endeavor to liberate the soldiers held captive there. If Bantor succeeded, he’d drive the rest of Korthac’s men toward the main gate, straight at Drakis, who’d have to keep them at bay until help arrived. If he lived that long.

  Drakis lengthened his stride. He and his men had the greatest distance to cover, nearly the width of Akkad, and he wanted to get there before the alarm was given. But he’d lived in the city for years, and knew its winding lanes and streets, even in the dark.

  With one lane to go, Drakis muttered a curse when he heard a rush of noise from the direction of the river gate. It lasted only moments, stopping almost as soon as it began, and silence again settled over the darkened city.

  More important, no trumpet, no general alarm sounded. Perhaps the inhabitants had grown used to screams and the sound of fighting, even after dark. The streets were deserted at this time of night, but anyone might be awake and see them from a doorway or rooftop. Rebba had assured Eskkar that the towns people wouldn’t give them away, but it would take only one enemy or some stupid fool to raise a cry.

  Clenching his teeth, Drakis prayed to the gods, asking for a bit more time, and held his bow tighter to his side. Lengthening his stride, he felt his heart thumping. At last he saw the lane widen in front of him, turning slightly into the broad space, empty now, behind the gates. He’d reached his objective.

  The two tall wooden portals faced him, closed and barred, flanked by square towers that rose above the highest part of the gate by another fifteen feet. Each tower had an opening at the base that provided access to the interior, but had no connection to the wall that extended away on either side. The towers themselves were mostly empty space, with a few cots for guards to sleep on, and weapons-storage areas under the steps that hugged the walls as they rose to the battlement, the open space at the top of the tower.

  Drakis stopped and held up his hand. In moments, his men took their positions on either side, lining up facing the gate, readying their bows and waiting for the order to attack. They didn’t have much time left. The moon had faded to a dim, barely noticeable glow in the sky, but the tower guards had built a small fire at the base of the left tower, about seventy paces away. More than enough light for night archery at that distance, he knew.

  His men’s arrows would strike from the darkness.

  Three of Korthac’s men stood around the flickering fire. Drakis didn’t know how many more guards would be inside the towers, but Rebba had guessed that twenty or thirty men attended Akkad’s main entrance day and night, more to stop anyone from leaving than to protect the city’s inhabitants from outside marauders.

  The alarm might sound at any moment, and the sooner Drakis captured the two towers, the better. From their vantage, his archers would make sure the gate stayed closed. So far they hadn’t been discovered, and he wanted to keep that advantage as long as possible, at least until he had drawn first blood and . . .

  A roar went up into the night behind him, a din that reached even where they stood, the sound followed by the piercing note of a trumpet that lingered faintly in the night air. Drakis ground his teeth in anger. They had been so close to surprise, and now they would have to fight their way in.

  “We’ll take the left tower first. Spread out, and stay even with me. Let’s go.”

  No one had noticed them yet. Another guar
d stepped out of the right tower, looking about and calling out to those tending the fire. Fortunately, one fool started tossing more fuel on the fire, and the flames shot up, providing even more light for Drakis’s archers.

  He nocked an arrow to his bowstring as he stepped forward into the cleared ground. Alongside him, his men did the same, spreading out to either side as they advanced. In moments, his men stretched across the open space, all striding swiftly toward the gate. Drakis took a dozen steps before he gave the order to halt and fire.

  The line stopped, ready arrows were drawn to each man’s eye, and the flight of shafts flew on its way. Even as he issued the order, a shout from one of the towers rang out to warn the defenders of the approaching archers, and several peered toward the street just as the arrows struck the still-confused men. Too late for them. Those tending the fire died, riddled with arrows. More guards stumbled out of both towers, looking stupidly around them, trying to understand what had happened.

  Before Drakis’s shaft reached its target, he started jogging forward, his men taking their lead from him. “Halt!” He nocked the shaft he’d drawn.

  “Fire!”

  Another wave of arrows swept toward the gates’ defenders. More men went down, pierced by the heavy shafts powerful enough to knock a man off his feet at this distance. The screams of wounded men added to the confused shouting. By now Drakis had crossed more than half the distance to the gate. Again he halted, just out of the fire’s light. “Halt!” The dragging rasp of arrow against bow sounded loud to his ears as he drew back the shaft. “Fire!”

  This time he aimed high, at the man shouting atop the tower. The shaft whistled up into the night, but he didn’t bother to see if he’d struck his target.

  All those guards caught outside the towers died in the third flight of shafts, launched from less than forty paces.

  The instant his shaft had flown, Drakis burst into a run, heading directly toward the left tower, gripping his bow in his left hand and drawing his short sword with the other. “Eskkar! Eskkar has returned!” Drakis shouted, letting the name no one had dared speak aloud echo around the walls. “Let none of the traitors escape!”

  Angry and confused outcries came from the men atop the towers, and a shaft from above hissed past him. Now Drakis and his men showed clearly in the firelight, splitting into two groups as they charged toward the towers. They needed to get inside, before they became targets themselves.

  Panic and confusion took control of the defenders at the sound of Drakis’s war cry. For nearly a week they’d lorded it over the city, laughing and taunting those who dared to speak Eskkar’s name. Now, accompanied by hissing arrows, that name struck fear into their hearts. Many forgot their orders, others abandoned their duties. A few broke and ran, disappearing into the darkness along the walls, escape the only thought in their heads.

  Drakis kept shouting at the top of his lungs. “Eskkar has returned! Death to all traitors!” His men took up the cry, screaming the words into the darkness as they raced to the leftmost tower, Drakis raising his sword as he ran. He hurtled over the dead bodies just as four men burst out of the tower’s entrance, swords in their hands.

  But two of them saw what looked like a hundred demon shadows rushing at them, and darted back inside the tower. The others raised their swords, and one swung his blade at Drakis’s head. Drakis screamed his war cry even as he parried the thrust. Then he let his momentum carry him into the man’s chest, and he used his shoulder to knock the man to the ground, then thrust hard with his sword.

  Wrenching his sword free, Drakis flung himself inside the tower’s dark opening. A shadow moved before him, and he struck at it, screaming “Eskkar! Eskkar!” The words rang up into the darkness. Here, deep within the tower’s base, almost no light penetrated. Normally a torch burned inside the doorway, to light the steps that led to the top. The careless guards had let it go out, too lazy to replace it with dawn approaching.

  Drakis pushed forward; he needed to destroy the defenders as quickly as possible, before they could regroup, before they realized that they still outnumbered their attackers.

  The guards inside the tower reacted slowly. They’d been caught relaxing, most of them asleep. Jolted awake, unsure of what was happening, the gatekeepers fumbled for their swords, trying to fend off what seemed like a horde of ferocious attackers. Some fled up the stone steps, bumping into those trying to come down.

  Drakis reached the base of the steps, and saw a man coming at him, stumbling in the dark. Drakis had the advantage—anyone in front of him must be an enemy. He lunged upward, arm extended, and felt the sword bite deep into muscle.

  His victim screamed as the blade pierced his thigh, and Drakis felt hot blood splatter his arm and chest. The stabbed man tried to step back, but the wounded leg failed him, and he pitched off the steps, crying out as he fell.

  The other defenders stopped their descent, bunching up at the first landing. Drakis never hesitated, pushed on by his men sounding their war cries behind him. He hurled himself up the steps, toward the guards, still screaming Eskkar’s name, the confines of the tower amplifying his voice into something inhuman, something full of menace.

  Another guard turned away, to scramble back up the steps, but lost his footing and fell to the stairs. Drakis swung his sword down viciously at the man’s back, ignored the scream as the blade cut deep into the man’s shoulder, knocking his opponent to the steps. The rest of the guards fled back the way they came, anything to get away from the demons charging at them. Drakis stepped on the wounded man’s back, and raced up the stairs two at a time.

  Behind him, his men filled the tower with a wall of sound. An arrow launched by one of Drakis’s men hissed by, followed by a scream as another guard pitched off the steps, falling heavily to the ground below.

  Drakis ignored it all, shouting his war cry and sprinting up the last stair-way until he reached the opening at the top of the stairs. Another guard met Drakis at the top of the stairs, a sword in his hand, but Drakis struck at him so quickly that the man didn’t even have time to attempt to parry the stroke. Knocking the wounded man aside, Drakis, breathing hard, pushed his way out of the darkness and onto the tower’s battlement. He saw shadows moving about and naked blades glinting in the starlight, as the tower’s defenders rallied their forces. “Eskkar has returned!” he shouted, and charged straight at his opponents.

  Chapter 24

  Ariamus woke before dawn, a lifetime habit that had served him well, whether for fighting or fleeing. He’d gone to sleep late last night, once again in Korthac’s new residence. Ariamus would have preferred sleeping in his own house, the one he’d appropriated for himself. Nicar, the former ruler of Akkad, had lived there for more than ten years. Ariamus had enjoyed ordering him out. Now the wealthiest noble in the city and his entire family lived in a wretched one-room mud hut, and counted themselves lucky to have even that.

  Unfortunately, Korthac wanted Ariamus close by, and Ariamus had swallowed his objections and accepted his leader’s “invitation” to take a room in the big house. In many ways it had turned out to be a good idea.

  Ariamus had a half-dozen subcommanders who pestered him constantly with questions and petty problems. Having to pass by Korthac’s Egyptians, grim men who spoke little and fingered their sword hilts often, helped Ariamus avoid his men in the evenings.

  He thanked all the gods he’d ever heard of that Korthac didn’t have a few dozen more Egyptians. Instead, Korthac needed Ariamus and the men he’d recruited. Not that Korthac trusted Ariamus or his men. Ariamus didn’t have much faith in them either. He had few enough experienced fighters, men who could do more than follow orders and swing a sword. In a few more days it wouldn’t matter. He’d be riding out into the countryside, recruiting more displaced and desperate men willing to do whatever he told them for a chance to eat and earn some silver. With enough followers, even inexperienced ones, they could hold the city indefinitely.

  Dawn still hadn’t risen when Ariamus fin
ished dressing and stepped out of his room, the one closest to the kitchen. To his surprise, he heard Korthac’s voice coming from the upper rooms. Climbing the stairs, he found the Egyptian seated at the big table, a lamp casting a soft glow around the big room. The ever-present guard stood a few steps behind his master, watching the inner room but keeping one eye on Ariamus as well.

  “Did the slave deliver her child?”

  “Yes, about an hour ago.” Korthac frowned at him. “You haven’t heard her screams? She woke the whole house when she finally delivered.”

  “A woman screaming in the night?” Ariamus laughed, a booming noise that filled the room. “Never keeps me awake.”

  Korthac cut the laughter short with a look. “Are you ready to ride out today?”

  “Yes, lord.” Ariamus managed to look properly subservient. “I’ll ride to the east. I should be able to get another ten or twenty farm boys to join up with us, one way or another.” Ariamus planned to take a dozen men and begin visiting the big farmhouses surrounding Akkad. The local farm-holders had plenty of silver, women, and other valuables, and Korthac wanted to make sure they felt no safer on their farms than did the city’s inhabitants. Ariamus intended to pick up some more booty along with the recruits, after enjoying their women.

  “Make sure you’re back by sunset,” Korthac said. “And I want you to ride north, toward Dilgarth, not east. I haven’t heard from Ziusudra, but I expect this Eskkar is dead by now. Just in case he isn’t, I want more patrols along the road, if he tries to move against us.”

  Ariamus shrugged. “Even if he’s alive, what can he do? With less than seventy men? I wouldn’t be surprised if he stays where he is, or runs to the west.”

  Korthac sighed, a long breath that made Ariamus regret his light-hearted words. “No, the barbarian will come here. I’ve learned much about him in the last few weeks. He won’t give up such power without a fight. And there is something about his whore”—Korthac inclined his head toward the bedroom—“that will bring him back.”