by Sam Barone
Korthac retreated a step, weaving lightly from side to side, striving to get past the sword tip that kept jabbing at his face and neck, waiting for Eskkar to tire and leave himself vulnerable to a solid counterstroke.
Eskkar kept advancing, taking small steps and keeping his balance, sliding his feet across the floor to avoid stumbling on something, jabbing and lunging, turning aside Korthac’s counters, and gradually forcing his enemy back toward the center of the room. Suddenly Korthac dropped low, swinging his sword at Eskkar’s legs. The unexpected maneuver stopped Eskkar’s advance for a moment, and in that instant Korthac leapt backward, abandoning the attack and darting through the door that led into the bedchamber.
The Egyptian slipped through the opening and tried to fling the door shut, but Eskkar, reacting almost as fast as his enemy, rammed his blade into the door, keeping it open before Korthac could bring his weight to bear and seal the door. Then Eskkar threw his shoulder and all his weight against the panel just as Korthac’s second effort tried to force the door shut. Eskkar’s bulk and momentum drove the door back into Korthac’s face. The Egyptian staggered back with a curse, knocking over a small table and sending a water jar crashing to the floor, as Eskkar struggled to force his way inside the bedroom.
Off balance, Korthac brought up his sword, but, with no time to swing the blade, he tried to hammer the hilt into Eskkar’s face. Eskkar caught his attacker’s wrist in his left hand, enough to deflect the blow, but the pommel’s rough edge ripped along Eskkar’s head, and a splash of blood spattered against the doorjamb.
Eskkar dropped his useless sword and reached for Korthac’s throat with his right hand. Before Eskkar could grasp Korthac’s neck, the Egyptian caught his hand and held it with a grip of bronze. Struggling and twisting, they stumbled back into the outer room, grunting and gasping for breath as they fought. They thudded hard into the wall, sliding along its smooth surface, the Egyptian moving so quickly that Eskkar couldn’t get any leverage.
Korthac still held his sword in his right hand, and he kept trying to free his wrist from Eskkar’s grasp. Korthac stood a good foot shorter in height, but to Eskkar’s surprise the Egyptian’s muscles not only resisted his own but nearly managed to bring the blade back into play. They crashed against the table, sending it skidding across the floor with a loud screech. Eskkar’s leg took the brunt of the collision, but he shouted in rage and forced the smaller man back by sheer strength. Suddenly Korthac smashed his forehead into Eskkar’s cheek with such force that Eskkar almost let his grip slip on the man’s sword arm.
Eskkar knew he’d be dead the instant his enemy got the sword into play. Turning his face away to avoid another head-butt, they struggled again, twisting and grunting. Eskkar spun on his heel, using all his strength to unbalance Korthac. Nevertheless, Korthac kept his feet, and the two of them slammed into the wall, bounced off, then crashed back into the half-open door of the inner room. This time they fell through the opening and landed in a heap on the floor.
Another lamp burned here, giving off a dimmer light that barely illuminated the smaller room. Eskkar caught sight of Trella crawling on the floor.
“Eskkar, the baby,” she cried out, pain sounding in her voice.
Trella said something more, but Eskkar couldn’t make out her words.
The baby’s wailing added to the confusion.
Eskkar rammed Korthac’s hand against the doorframe, and grunted in satisfaction when he heard the man’s sword clatter on the floor. Eskkar must have loosed his grip on Korthac’s wrist, for in the next moment, the Egyptian had twisted his wrist from Eskkar’s grasp and lunged away. Eskkar tried to rise, but he slipped on the wet floor. Korthac reached his feet first, a knife appearing in his hand as he moved forward, weaving quickly from side to side, like a snake readying to strike.
Reaching for his knife, Eskkar found the sheath empty, the blade lost in the struggle. Weaponless, Eskkar moved back, his hands extended, but he found himself forced backward into a corner.
“Now you’ll die, barbarian,” Korthac said, his voice hoarse from effort.
But as Korthac stepped past Trella’s prone body, she lifted herself on one hand, and Eskkar saw her drive a small knife into Korthac’s calf.
Korthac flinched in pain. He looked down, then slashed at Trella with the knife. But Eskkar needed no better opening. The instant Trella struck, he rushed the man, covering the short distance between them so fast that Korthac couldn’t react fast enough. Once again Eskkar caught Korthac’s wrist as their bodies crashed together and they tumbled heavily to the floor, and this time it was Korthac who landed on his back.
Eskkar found his face pressed against Korthac’s stomach as the man squirmed, writhing along the floor, striving to get away and at the same time attempting to force his knife into Eskkar’s side. They struggled, rolling back and forth across the floor. Eskkar lunged forward and clamped his right hand on Korthac’s neck and squeezed, trying to choke the man enough to weaken his hold on the knife. They’d jammed themselves against the wall, near Trella’s dressing table. From above their heads the baby continued to cry, its tiny wails competing with the men’s grunts of rage.
Korthac’s free hand searched Eskkar’s face, trying to find his eyes, but Eskkar ground his face deeper into the man’s stomach as he dragged himself up the shifting body and closer to Korthac’s face. The Egyptian used his feet and knees, snapping them up and down with all the force he could muster, searching for Eskkar’s groin, all the while trying to dislodge Eskkar’s hold on his knife hand.
With a savage heave, Korthac loosened Eskkar’s grip enough to bring the knife into play. The Egyptian’s blade seared along Eskkar’s arm. But the pain only enraged Eskkar, and he redoubled his efforts against the man who’d seized his wife and threatened his child. Eskkar tightened his grip on Korthac’s right wrist, putting all his force into squeezing the man’s bones together, harder and harder, as the blood pounded in Eskkar’s ears.
Korthac twisted and jerked his arm, but he couldn’t break Eskkar’s grip, and with a low gasp, his fingers dropped the knife.
Instantly Eskkar released his grip on the man’s neck and levered himself up onto Korthac’s chest, using his weight to keep the man pinned to the floor. Korthac’s fingers groped for the knife and managed to grasp it, but Eskkar, with a brutal surge, slammed his knee onto Korthac’s forearm, pinning his foe’s right arm against the floor. Eskkar shifted his weight, caught Korthac’s other wrist, then raised his fist and struck the Egyptian in the face with his left hand, once, twice, a third time.
The third blow slowed his opponent and gave Eskkar the chance he needed. He heaved his other leg up and used it to pin Korthac’s free arm.
The smaller man now had Eskkar’s full weight upon his body and Eskkar took only a moment to draw back his fist and strike Korthac with his right fist.
This blow, driven with all Eskkar’s pent-up rage, stunned his opponent.
Before the man could recover, Eskkar seized Korthac by the hair, pinning Korthac’s head to the floor, while with his other hand Eskkar smashed him again and again, aiming each blow at Korthac’s left eye, putting all his force and hatred into the attack. At the fifth blow the man went limp. Taking no chances that his opponent feigned unconsciousness, Eskkar raised his fist like a hammer and pounded the heel of his hand against Korthac’s forehead.
A burst of blood splattered up, but the man lay still. Eskkar gasped for breath, the blood pounding in his head, every muscle trembling with exhaustion. Never had he fought such an enemy before. He searched for Korthac’s knife, groping along the floor with clumsy fingers until he found it, then grabbed it by the bloody blade. The weapon shook in his hand. Eskkar reversed it and put the tip against Korthac’s throat. Only then did he lean back and gulp air into his lungs. Still astride Korthac’s chest, he took a quick look over his shoulder.
Their bedroom, still lit by the oil lamp that somehow remained upright during the struggle, showed Trella on the floor a few feet
away, her body shuddering. She pulled herself toward Eskkar, a tiny, bloody dagger still in her hand, but she could scarcely move, and her sobs had joined with the sounds of the baby crying.
The sight of her made Eskkar want to plunge the blade into Korthac’s throat, but the thought that he might need the Egyptian alive stayed his hand. Korthac appeared unconscious, but Eskkar wanted to make certain; he jabbed the tip of the knife into Korthac’s throat, just enough to draw blood. The man didn’t react, so Eskkar raised the weapon and struck down on the man’s forehead with the hilt. The Egyptian’s body stayed limp.
Satisfied that his enemy wouldn’t be moving for at least a few moments, Eskkar pushed himself to his feet. His legs trembled and blood from the side of his head still dripped on his chest, joining with the blood that flowed from the cut on his arm and all the scratches on his face from Korthac’s efforts to gouge out his eyes.
Eskkar lifted his shoulder to wipe the blood from his face on his tunic, and felt the muscles in his arms twitch from the strain of the fight. It took a moment before he could see clearly. Taking a deep breath he reached down and gathered Trella with one arm and lifted her from the floor.
Keeping his eyes on Korthac, he guided Trella back onto the bed, easing her down. She struggled to speak, but her body shook as much from the tears as from her wound. Blood flowed from an ugly cut above her hip, and he took her hand and pressed it against the wound.
“Keep your hand steady, Trella,” he said. “I’ll get help.”
Looking around the room, he saw the stool that normally sat before Trella’s dressing table. Knocked on its side, it lay against the wall.
He scooped it up, and keeping it on its side, lifted Korthac’s left foot and slid the stool underneath it. Then Eskkar raised his sandal and smashed it down on the man’s shin.
Eskkar grunted with satisfaction as he heard the bones break. “That’s for Trella and my child, Egyptian,” he said. For the first time, Eskkar felt certain Korthac wouldn’t be doing any more fighting tonight, even if he regained consciousness any time soon.
“Eskkar . . . Eskkar . . . is the child all right?”
He had to strain to make out the words, but he understood her up-lifted arm that pointed toward the still-wailing child. He realized she still held the small knife, covered with Korthac’s blood, in her hand. Taking it from her fingers, Eskkar dropped it next to her on the bed. His breathing slowed, and he started moving with more confidence. Eskkar stepped over to the cradle. He picked up his crying child, hands still clumsy with fatigue. Keeping Korthac’s knife in his hand, Eskkar carried the infant carefully to Trella.
“Stay here. Don’t try to move.” Looking down at her stomach and legs, he saw more blood, and fear went through him. “Are you wounded? Where else . . .”
“No, not wounded . . . the baby . . . your son . . . he came only a few hours ago . . . I was . . .”
She hadn’t realized that she had taken a cut across her hip from Korthac’s blade. Blood oozed from the cut, seeping between her fingers; but she kept her hand pressed tight against her side where he’d placed it.
She sounded weak, and the wound needed bandaging.
“Don’t get up,” he repeated. “I’ll be back.”
Korthac’s knife still clutched in his hand, he stepped into the workroom. The flame from the lamp in the outer room burned low and didn’t provide much light, but Eskkar picked it up and held it aloft. Only two bodies greeted his eyes. The dead Egyptian bodyguard lay where he’d fallen, but Annok-sur’s body had moved. She lay motionless, directly in front of the outer door, now shut and bolted. Ariamus had vanished.
Annok-sur must have closed and barred the door with the last of her strength before she passed out. Eskkar set the lamp down, retrieved his sword from the floor, and put it on the table.
Sounds of fighting came from beyond the door, and reminded him that he had left Grond and the others behind, and that he might not have much time. He lifted Annok-sur from the floor, and she groaned at his touch. As he carried her back to the bedroom, she started to struggle in his arms.
“Rest easy, Annok-sur. It’s Eskkar. Can you stand?”
“Yes, I think . . . yes.”
He felt her relax, saw her head start to sag. “Don’t faint yet,” he ordered, practically shouting the words into her face as he lowered her feet to the floor; he needed her conscious. Annok-sur nodded, and Eskkar set her down inside the bedroom and let her lean against the wall. “Bar the door and don’t open it. Bandage Trella’s wound, before she bleeds to death.”
Eskkar put Korthac’s knife in her hand, and watched her eyes narrow at the sight of the prone Egyptian. “No. Not until we’ve finished killing these vermin. Can you do that? Just watch Korthac. After you’ve tended to Trella, keep the knife at his throat. If he moves, or anyone tries to force the door, then kill him.”
He pulled the door shut behind him and scooped up his sword before crossing the outer room. Behind him, he heard Annok-sur drop the wooden bar into place. The women would be safe in there for now. Ariamus’s sword lay near the entrance. Annok-sur’s body had hidden it. He picked it up with his left hand and went to the door. Taking a deep breath, he lifted up the thick bar and yanked the door open.
Shouts and the twang of a bowstring sounded through the doorway, and the backs of Mitrac and another archer filled the opening. Both heads swiveled just long enough to see who stood behind them. He had to squeeze behind Mitrac to get out onto the landing. Dawn had arrived and light filtered through the open doorway and windows to illuminate the scene below.
The landing had barely enough space to hold the three of them. Mitrac stood beside Eskkar, bow drawn, blood pouring down his left arm.
Eskkar saw that only two arrows remained in his quiver. On the top steps two more archers crouched, extending swords that passed on either side of Grond’s body for protection; empty quivers on their belts explained the swords. His bodyguard wielded a sword and a spear, and kept at bay three or four rogues on the lower steps. Five or six more foes waited below, just inside the door to the courtyard, preparing for another rush. Bodies lay strewn about on the floor and steps, arrows protruding from most of them.
Eskkar took another quick look down as the others below looked up.
One of them called out something in Egyptian, but all Eskkar understood was Korthac’s name.
“Korthac is dead,” Eskkar snarled, putting all his rage into the words.
Everyone froze at the news. Eskkar raised his voice even louder and bellowed out his words, so that even those outside the house would hear them. “Korthac is dead!” Eskkar extended the long sword in his right hand, pointing at those beneath him, the blade stained with blood as if in proof.
Fury possessed him, the same emotion that had filled him as he fought against the Egyptian. “Korthac is dead, and now you will all die as well.”
Without any hesitation, he ducked underneath Mitrac’s arm and jumped off the landing, his feet aiming for a clear space directly under the stairs. Eskkar went to one knee from the jump, but he rose up swinging the big sword as the first of Korthac’s men rushed toward him. Grond shouted a war cry and led the way down the steps, the others following.
With a weapon in each hand and the battle frenzy upon him, Eskkar attacked Korthac’s suddenly disheartened followers.
The long sword struck one man across the face, and Eskkar parried a counterstroke from another attacker with the short sword in his left hand, then struck again with his right, wielding the heavy blade with renewed energy. The unexpected counterattack unnerved the Egyptians, despite their greater numbers; two of them bolted for the open door, and the rest hesitated. Grond’s war cry boomed again within the room, and Eskkar heard the snap-hiss as the last of Mitrac’s arrows struck his target.
Within a dozen heartbeats, four men had died, and the rest of Korthac’s men fled into the courtyard, driven back by half their number. More men gathered there, getting ready to join the assault. Nevertheless, m
any heard Eskkar’s words and more than a few of Korthac’s men began repeating that Korthac was dead.
One of the Akkadians took advantage of the enemy’s confusion to slam the front door shut and drop the bar across it.
“The servants’ entrance . . . secure the door.” Grond gave the order, though his voice sounded weak.
Eskkar faced Grond and saw blood covering his bodyguard’s neck and chest; the man was swaying on his feet.
“Mitrac,” Eskkar said, “the other door . . . better see if it’s closed and barred.”
The master archer raced down the corridor to bar the second entrance, while the other two archers moved from body to body, wrenching arrows out of the dead to replenish their quivers. Eskkar put his arm around Grond’s waist and guided him toward the stairs. “Rest here a moment,” Eskkar ordered.
Taking a deep breath, Eskkar forced himself to control his shaking arms. He had only three men who could still fight. If the Egyptians forced the outer door, Eskkar could retreat to the upper rooms.
He took stock of the situation. He’d reached Trella, and both she and the baby were safe. And captured Korthac. They could hold the house for the moment. Now everything depended on Bantor and his men. If they failed, if they couldn’t come to Eskkar’s rescue in time, Eskkar planned to use Korthac to bargain his way out. If that didn’t work, if the Egyptians broke in, Eskkar would kill Trella and the child with his own hand, before falling on his sword. No matter what happened, he couldn’t let either of them fall into these foreigners’ hands alive.
He shook the gloomy thought away. He wasn’t dead yet. They’d just have to hold out until help arrived. “Shove that table against the door,” Eskkar ordered, reaching down to pick up a spear. It was time to get ready for the next fight.
Chapter 26
Hathor woke with a start, the unexpected but always familiar sound still echoing in his ears. Instinctively he grasped the sword that lay on the bed next to him. The noise that had awakened him resolved itself into a mixture of men shouting and the occasional clash of bronze on bronze, the din rising and falling, but steadily growing louder and more urgent. Already on his feet, he moved to the window, leaning outside to hear what was happening.