Eskkar Saga 02 - Empire Rising

by Sam Barone

  “Ziusudra’s a good man, more than good enough to take care of Eskkar,” Ariamus said, shifting his feet and wishing he’d been invited to sit down. “You’ve promised him plenty of gold for the job. Even if he fails, it will take Eskkar a few days to figure out what’s happened, so we’ll have plenty of time to prepare.”

  Annok-sur appeared at the bedroom door and bowed low, keeping her eyes on the floor. “Master, may I fetch fresh water for Trella?”

  Ariamus looked at her and grinned. “Maybe you can carry something for . . .”

  A crashing sound echoed throughout the house, coming from below.

  For a moment, Ariamus and Korthac looked at each other. Then a shout in Egyptian came from the courtyard, and even Ariamus had no trouble understanding the message. He moved to the landing and looked down into the darkened room below. The main door remained closed. Then heavy steps echoed from the kitchen area, and again he heard men shouting Eskkar’s name. Louder footsteps sounded below, and Ariamus ground his teeth with an oath.

  Stepping back from the landing, he yanked the door shut, then dropped the heavy wooden bar across the braces.

  “What is it?” Korthac rose to his feet, though he remained behind the table. The guard moved beside him, hand on his sword.

  “We’re under attack! Eskkar has returned.” Ariamus heard heavy footsteps on the stairs, then the door shuddered. A voice he recognized called out “Trella” again and again.

  Ariamus backed away from the door. “It’s Eskkar! He’s here!” Something heavy pounded on the door, making it shake against the braces. Ariamus pulled his sword from its sheath. Damn the barbarian. How had he managed to get into the city, inside the compound? Not that it mattered.

  He turned to face the Egyptian. “Where are your men, Korthac?” Almost in answer, the sound of men fighting rose up from the courtyard.

  “Stop her!”

  Korthac’s voice made Ariamus turn. He saw Annok-sur, who’d shrunk against the wall when the noise started, dart past him toward the door.

  Ariamus lunged to catch her, but she slipped beneath his arm, reached the doorway, and flipped the bar up from its catches, shouting Eskkar’s name.

  Ariamus caught her by the hair and dragged her back, but the door burst open, crashing against the wall and outlining a looming shadow holding a long sword.

  Cries of alarm sounded across the courtyard. Eskkar knew Korthac’s men would be spilling from the doors behind him, swords in their hands. “Keep them pinned inside,” Eskkar shouted, hoping Mitrac’s archers could contain that threat. Then over all the clamor, Eskkar heard Grond’s voice, bellowing out to him.

  “Captain, come here.”

  Hearing the urgency, Eskkar abandoned his assault on the main entrance and rushed to his bodyguard’s side. The kitchen door stood open.

  A half-asleep servant had opened it, either to let the attackers in or just to find out about the commotion. Whatever the motive, Grond had already pushed his way inside, and Eskkar followed behind him. The two men rushed through the kitchen, knocking a stool aside, toward the dark corridor that led to the main room. They’d barely cleared the cooking area when two shadows stumbled into the hallway from one of the sleeping chambers.

  One of them cried out as Grond struck the first man down and grappled with the other. Eskkar ignored them, pushing both men aside. He knew the house even in darkness, and he ran past the other two doorways, turned the corner, and took the steps that hugged the wall two a time. At the landing he pushed against the door to the workroom, but found it, too, fastened. Nevertheless, he flung his weight against it, but this barrier, as strong as the one below, scarcely budged. Calling out Trella’s name at the top of his lungs, he pounded on it with the hilt of his sword.

  To his surprise, he heard a woman’s voice call his name. The sound of the bar rasping against the door caught his ear, and he shoved the thick planks, pushing the door open. Light from the upper room illuminated the landing, and he saw Annok-sur there, struggling with someone who reached out to slam the door closed. Eskkar shoved his shoulder against the thick wood and forced his way in.

  The man stepped back, knocking Annok-sur down with his fist even as he raised a sword in the other. Only a single oil lamp burned in the outer chamber, but the wavering flame gave more than enough light for Eskkar to recognize his opponent.

  “Ariamus!” All of Eskkar’s anger and hatred went into the name. He’d despised the man every day that he served under him, and now Ariamus stood here, in Eskkar’s private room. His sword lunged out, a straight, quick thrust that should have pierced his enemy’s heart.

  But Ariamus sprang back, then countered with a powerful thrust of his own. Another man, black bearded and dark skinned, no doubt one of Korthac’s guards, appeared at Ariamus’s side and thrust his sword as well.

  Eskkar knocked it aside, but yielded a step, the long sword cumbersome in this kind of fight, with no room to swing the blade. Both his attackers pressed forward and Eskkar, weaving the blade between them, had to take another step backward as he fended them off. One more step and he would be back on the landing, the door closed in his face again.

  Suddenly Ariamus cried out in pain, stumbled, and fell to his knees with a curse. Annok-sur clung to Ariamus’s leg, her teeth fastened to his calf. The distraction gave Eskkar the moment he needed. He took a half-step back, ducked down, then lunged forward. The foreigner shifted to parry the blow, but Eskkar stretched out his arm and extended his body into the thrust. The guard managed to deflect the point from his stomach, but the blade buried itself in the man’s side, and he gasped in pain. Eskkar tried to free the sword, but the man staggered against the wall, his body holding the blade fast.

  Eskkar twisted the hilt and the man shrieked in agony, dropping his sword as his hands clasped the blade that burned within him. Eskkar rushed forward, lowering his shoulder into the wounded guard and knocking him backward. At the same moment, Ariamus smashed the hilt of his sword on Annok-sur’s head, freeing himself from her clutch. He drew back his sword, but before he could thrust forward, Eskkar leapt toward him. He slammed into Ariamus, pulling the big sword free from the dying Egyptian as he did so.

  They grappled. Too close to use his sword, Eskkar dropped his weapon and seized Ariamus in both arms, pinning the writhing Ariamus before his enemy could bring his weapon into play. Something blocked the light for an instant, and Eskkar knew someone moved behind him. Keeping his arms locked around Ariamus, Eskkar whirled around, keeping Ariamus between him and whatever danger threatened.

  Eskkar caught the flickering flash of the blade in the lamplight, and Ariamus screamed as a sword pierced his upper arm. Lifting Ariamus off the floor in a burst of rage, Eskkar threw the man at this new attacker, stopping the third man’s advance for an instant, until he shoved Ariamus hard against the wall. The former captain of the guard slid to the floor, dazed and clutching at his arm.

  By then, Eskkar had reached down and scooped up his sword. This must be Korthac. No one else would be in these rooms. Only Korthac stood between him and Trella. But the door stood open behind him, and Korthac’s men might be here at any moment. Eskkar raised his bloody blade and moved forward.

  ——

  Atop the tower, the stars and moon provided barely enough light for Drakis to see his enemies, milling shadows outlined against the night sky. Screaming like a demon, he hacked left and right, striking at anyone who wasn’t shouting Eskkar’s name. His men burst through the opening behind him, shouting their war cries. They’d driven the confused defenders up the steps, out of the tower, and onto the battlement, but Korthac’s followers still had to be killed. Drakis had no thought except to swing his sword, yelling Eskkar’s name at the top of his lungs, as he struck and struck at the enemy before him, not caring where his blade landed.

  The defenders, panicked and thinking themselves outnumbered, lost the will to fight. Caught by surprise in the night, their thoughts turned to flight. One man died, then another, before the rest
dropped their swords and fled. They scrambled to get away, shouting for mercy and leaping to the parapet that butted against the side of the tower, a fifteen-foot drop to the parapet below. Those who managed it ran for their lives, thanking their gods for their escape. One man went over the outer wall into the ditch, falling nearly twenty-five feet. A scream of pain announced his landing.

  Gulping air into his lungs, his chest heaving, Drakis shook his head to clear his mind. He’d taken the tower. Looking around, he saw bodies strewn about. An arrow whistled past his head, and he realized that it came from the other tower. His excitement disappeared as he ducked down. The other tower still remained in enemy hands, guarded by men with bows of their own.

  More battle sounds came from below. By now, most of his men had reached the tower’s top. “Get down! Watch for enemy bowmen on the other tower,” Drakis called out, as he grabbed one of his men and yanked him to safety below the rampart. Frustration set in an instant later when he realized Enkidu had failed to take the right tower.

  “Use your bows to clear the top of the other tower, then cover the gate! Make sure it stays closed. I’m going back down.” Shoving his way back into the tower’s blackness, Drakis trod carefully down the now-bloody stairs, making sure of his footing. He reached the bottom in a rush, stumbling over the last few steps.

  The base of the tower had no door, and little in it, except for the steps that wound their way along the walls and up to the battlement. He found Enkidu and his men standing beside the entrance, using their bows, shooting at anything that moved.

  “What happened? Why didn’t you—”

  “They blocked the doorway with a table before we could reach it, Drakis. They spoke a strange language . . . must be Korthac’s men. I lost two men trying to force it.” Enkidu paused to take a breath. “So I ordered the men here.”

  “Damn the gods.”

  Grunting in rage, Drakis peered out into the open. The plan to take both towers had failed, but he could still control the gate with one tower, if he could hold it. At least he would have all his men together.

  The fire outside still burned, but the flames had started to die down.

  Enkidu had given him an idea. If he could barricade the door with something, they could hold both the tower and the gate. This tower had no table, nothing, in fact, except for a few blankets strewn on the floor. Drakis peered out the doorway. Down the street, following the wall toward the north, he could just make out the usual carts and tables, pushed against their owner’s houses for the night. One object loomed up larger, even in the dim light—a country wagon, with its wheels nearly as tall as a man. If he could bring it here, it would make a formidable barrier.

  “See that wagon up the lane? We’ll drag it here and use it to block the doorway.”

  Enkidu looked out the opening. “They’ll be shooting at us. Korthac’s fighters are gathering near the other tower. Their archers are already targeting this entrance.” As if to give emphasis to Enkidu’s word, an arrow clattered off the side of the opening.

  “I’ll go for it. I’ll take three men. Send some of your men to the top. Cover us from there. Hurry.”

  Ignoring Enkidu’s protests, Drakis grabbed three men and told them what he planned. Putting down his bow, he stepped close to the doorway and studied the lane. Confused shouts sounded everywhere, and men darted about the cleared space, but no one had dared to approach the tower as yet, and the lane to the north appeared empty. Still, it wouldn’t be long before someone took charge and the counterattack began.

  “Come!” he said, and burst through the opening, running as fast as he could. Glancing behind him, Drakis saw his men following and even caught sight of Enkidu and another man standing inside the doorway, arrows at the ready.

  The wagon stood a good hundred paces from the tower, and, once there, they’d have to push the cumbersome vehicle back. Breathing hard, he reached the wagon and found it facing the wrong direction. They’d have to turn it around, or it would be even more difficult to get moving.

  Drakis ran past the back end of the wagon, then knelt and lifted the long wooden tongue, grunting at its weight.

  One of his men joined him, and together they lifted the heavy wooden trace from the ground and pushed it higher and higher, until it fell backward, landing on the top of the wagon with a loud crash. His other men had already slipped alongside the house wall and started shoving. Drakis grasped the edge of the front wheel and added his weight. Slowly, with much squeaking and protesting, the heavy conveyance began to move.

  As soon as they cleared it from the wall, Drakis called his men to the rear of the wagon. All four of them picked up the back end, straining under the weight, and simply walked it around, so that the wagon’s front pointed toward the tower.

  “Put your shoulders into it,” Drakis said, his breathing labored from the effort, and shoved his body against the rear of the clumsy wagon.

  Creaking loudly, it started to move. Drakis cursed himself for not bringing more men; two full-grown oxen normally moved a wagon this size.

  After a few steps it rolled more easily, but they couldn’t get it going faster than a slow walk, and no amount of effort seemed to increase its speed.

  Still, they’d covered half the distance to the tower before the first sign of anyone noticing their movement. An arrow slammed into the wagon with a twang, and from its angle Drakis guessed it had come from the other tower.

  “Keep the wagon between us and the tower,” he commanded, and his men shifted a little more to the left. Another arrow whistled over their heads. Then a voice cried out from above them.

  “Look out behind you!”

  The warning came from the rooftop beside them, where the still half-asleep citizens of Akkad had retreated, some for safety, others to watch the spectacle. Drakis glanced over his shoulder and saw four men nearly upon them, swords flashing as they ran.

  “Behind us!”

  He pulled his sword from its scabbard and lifted it high as he readied himself. A few steps before the attackers reached them, one of them stumbled and went down, a cry of pain echoing through the night. Drakis saw an arrow sticking in the man’s leg. It meant one less man, and it gave the attackers a moment of hesitation before they struck, and by then Drakis and his men stood ready.

  Swords clashed. Drakis, the fighting madness still on him, screamed Eskkar’s name with all his might, swinging his sword as he struck back at his attacker, mixing thrust and cut with a savagery that put fear into his opponent’s heart. His opponent broke off and ran. Another lay dead or dying, and the last attacker turned and fled into the darkness.

  Drakis didn’t even pause for breath. Sword in hand, he lowered his back against the wagon and pushed with his legs. His heels dug deep ruts into the dirt, and he slipped again and again, but at least he could watch their rear.

  It took a long moment to get the wagon moving again, and now they had to guide it slightly to the left, in order to point it toward the tower’s opening. The wagon slowed even more as it turned. Suddenly it began to move faster, and Drakis realized two more archers had come from the tower and started pulling on the left front wheel, helping the unwieldy wagon along and guiding it straight at the tower’s entrance.

  That made them easy targets. The front of the wagon stood exposed not only to Korthac’s bowmen in the other tower, but to those men Drakis saw assembling on the other side of the square. He heard an arrow glance off the base of the tower, then felt two more shafts strike into the wagon itself.

  Then the wagon wheezed past the opening. “Everyone inside!” Drakis followed them in, his legs trembling so much from the exertions that he stumbled and nearly fell. The fighting and the heavy wagon had drained his strength, and he needed a moment to catch his breath. He heard Enkidu giving orders, so he just watched for a moment.

  His second in command had six men struggling with the wagon, this time using their efforts to tug one of its great wooden wheels into the doorway. One man crawled under the wagon an
d back out into the lane, then swung himself up and into the wagon’s bed. Drakis had expected the cart to be empty, but now he saw two thick stakes stored there, no doubt used to lever the wagon out of mud or soft sand. The quick-thinking soldier handed them down to Enkidu, arrows whistling about him, before diving headfirst back into the tower. The two lengths of wood, as tall as a man, would help jam the wagon against the wall.

  Drakis leaned against the doorway. The wagon blocked the entrance and provided a shield wall to protect his archers. His men could defend the tower for now, at least. He dragged more air into his lungs. “Ready your bowmen, Enkidu,” Drakis said. Unlike the rabble he’d caught by surprise and driven from this tower, Drakis knew he’d next be facing disciplined Egyptian fighters, and that real fighting had just begun. “They’ll be coming for us soon.”

  Unlike the rest of the alehouse patrons, En-hedu awoke well before the dawn, the habit acquired since she’d first started watching Korthac’s house. Since the Egyptian had left that house behind the day he took power, En-hedu had given up selling her wares. The need to watch Korthac had passed; he ruled here now, at least until Eskkar returned. Until then, Tammuz and she waited, glad for the first time that almost no one knew of his real activities.

  Nevertheless, the habit of early rising remained, though now she used the brief interval for another purpose. En-hedu turned on her side, facing Tammuz, who still slept soundly. She couldn’t get out of the bed without crawling over him, so she decided to wake him. That had become a new experience for her. Not waking a man, she’d done that often enough for her former master. Waking Tammuz, in the last few weeks, had become a pleasure instead of the start of a day’s new degradations.

  She moved closer to him, raising herself on one elbow and letting her breast fall upon his bare chest. He stirred, but didn’t wake, so she reached between his legs and began stroking him. Still asleep, in moments he grew hard, and when she grasped his rising manhood he moaned in pleasure.