by Sam Barone
The last of his sleep disappeared as he peered through the darkness toward the adjoining dwelling. The noise came from Korthac’s courtyard, separated from the one Hathor and Takany occupied by only a single high wall that extended to either side of the main structure. A man screamed in pain, the cry of agony rising up over the shouts and curses. Men were dying just beyond the wall, and that meant someone had attacked Korthac and his guards. No alarm had sounded, but fighting had erupted. . . . His mind finally made sense of the shouts. “Eskkar has returned!”
Hathor felt a chill pass over him. Eskkar! He was supposed to be dead.
“Osiris take us all,” he swore, pausing only to pull on his tunic before dashing out of the bedroom.
“Eskkar has returned . . . let none escape!” The shouts from Korthac’s courtyard could now be heard even inside the dwelling.
“Takany!” Hathor shouted, stepping into the common room. Korthac’s second in command slept in the next bedroom. “Takany, get up!” Hathor shouted into the darkness, moving inside the man’s chamber.
Takany lay in his bed, still snoring and besotted from last night’s drinking and wenching. He’d spent the first part of the evening at Zenobia’s, terrorizing her and her women, and forcing all of them to pleasure him.
Hathor had to remain awake until his superior returned, and Takany had brought one of Zenobia’s women with him, leading the shivering girl naked through the streets. Now she sat up, no doubt frightened and confused by Hathor’s interruption and the noise outside.
“What . . . what’s happening? . . .” Fear sounded in her voice.
Ignoring the wide-eyed girl, Hathor grabbed Takany’s arm, shaking the man out of his sleep. “Get up! There’s fighting next door.” Without waiting, Hathor moved toward the doorway. The half-dozen soldiers sleeping in the house had already gotten to their feet, fumbling for weapons in the dark and asking each other what to do.
“Sound the alarm,” Hathor ordered, pushing his way through the gathering crowd. “Get your swords and follow me to Korthac’s.”
The front entrance of this residence opened directly into the lane that provided access to Korthac’s compound. Hathor ran down the passage, stumbling once in the darkness and wishing he’d had time to put on his sandals. Behind him, a trumpet at last began to sound its warning, the shrill blast repeating the notes that would summon every soldier.
The guards supposed to be standing sentry at Korthac’s gate were lying in the dust, arrows protruding from their bodies. Clenching his sword, Hathor pushed his way through the gate.
Someone had lit a torch, and in its flickering light Hathor saw half a dozen bodies strewn about the courtyard, arrows jutting out at odd angles.
“Hathor,” a soldier called out. “Amun’s dead . . . men forced their way through the gate . . . they got inside the house and drove us out. They’ve archers . . .”
Amun had been in charge of the soldiers stationed in the courtyard.
“Enough,” Hathor said. “Get your men together and make sure they’ve all their weapons. Guard the doors. Don’t let anyone leave.”
“What’s going on?” Takany’s booming voice cut through the confusion. He hadn’t bothered to put on a tunic, and now he stood naked and barefoot, a sword in his hand.
The soldier had to repeat the story while Hathor twitched with impatience.
“You say this Eskkar is inside, alone with Korthac?”
Yes, that’s what he just said, Hathor wanted to shout. But he knew better than to challenge Takany’s authority, even if the man’s thought process was as slow as an ox. Precious moments passed while Takany sorted things out.
“You fools,” Takany said, his rage displacing any remaining trace of last night’s wine. “You let a handful of men drive you from the house!”
He grabbed a man backing away from the house and struck him with the flat of his sword. “Get in there and fight,” he ordered. “Hathor, gather the men. We’ll break down the door to the upper room and free Korthac.”
Before anyone could start moving, a man burst in through the gate, and every man’s eyes turned toward him. “Takany . . . Hathor,” he shouted, stumbling as he reached their side, and trying to catch his breath. “Men are attacking the main gate. They’ve captured one of the towers and barricaded themselves in. They’re shouting that Eskkar has returned to kill us all.”
“Order the men from the gate to fall back and meet us at the barracks,” Hathor said, facing Takany. “We should head there as well. We need to collect all our forces in one place. Then we can . . .”
“Leave Korthac! Abandon the gate?” Takany shouted, as if disbelieving his ears. “If they get the gate open, we’ll have a horde of men pouring into the city.”
“Eskkar’s soldiers are already in the city,” Hathor countered,” and our men are scattered all about. We need to get the men together and . . .”
“No, we need to rescue Korthac now,” Takany snapped. He grabbed Hathor by the arm. “You take a dozen men and go to the gate. Take Ariamus,” Takany pointed with his sword across the courtyard, “and half his scum with you, too. If he and his men won’t fight, kill him. I’ll recapture the house and free Korthac. You make sure the gate stays shut.”
Hathor looked across the courtyard to where Ariamus stood, surrounded by a dozen of his men, getting his arm bandaged.
“Ariamus! Is it really Eskkar?” Hathor had to raise his voice to carry over the babble of noise, though Ariamus stood only a dozen paces away.
“Yes, it’s him,” Ariamus said. “He was fighting Korthac and his guard when I saw them last.”
Takany was right about Ariamus and his men, Hathor realized. The traitor had recruited most of these boasting thieves and bandits, and the weaklings wouldn’t charge into battle without Ariamus’s orders. Hathor wanted to know more about Eskkar and Ariamus, but couldn’t take the time now.
Hathor hesitated, but one look told him it would be futile to argue.
Takany’s decision might be wrong, but they’d wasted too much precious time arguing over what to do next. The man feared nothing that walked the earth, or under it for that matter, except Korthac. Takany knew his master’s wrath would be on him for this failure. Only this evening at dinner Hathor had listened while Takany assured Korthac of the city’s complete submission. Now Korthac might already be dead, according to Ariamus.
The upper door was bolted, and unknown archers defended the steps to the bedroom. By now the whole city had awakened, and half of them had already taken to the rooftops to shout Eskkar’s name.
Better a bad plan than none at all, Hathor decided, knowing there was nothing he could do.
“All right, Takany. You free Korthac.” Hathor turned to the messenger, still awaiting instructions. “Get back to the gate. Tell them I’m bringing reinforcements and to make ready to recapture the tower. Make sure the gate stays closed, no matter what.”
The man nodded, and ran out of the courtyard.
“I’ll take my men to the barracks.” Ariamus had joined them, a fresh bandage on his arm.
“How did this happen?” Takany shouted, pushing himself right in Ariamus’s face. “How did you . . .”
“Don’t try and blame this on me. Your Egyptians were supposed to be guarding Korthac,” Ariamus yelled right back, “when Eskkar walked right into the workroom. Your men are the ones who failed.”
“Stop it,” Hathor said, forcing his way between the two of them.
“We’ve no time for this. Korthac’s either trapped inside or he’s dead. Either way, we’ve got to put down this uprising.”
He pushed Ariamus away from Takany, no doubt saving the man’s life. One more word and Takany would have gutted him. Hathor had witnessed Takany’s rage before.
“We should go to the barracks,” Ariamus said. “The extra weapons are stored there.”
Hathor detected a hint of fear in Ariamus’s voice. Something had unhinged the man, made him eager to get away from this house.
&nb
sp; “Take half your men to the gate,” Hathor said. “Tell the rest to obey Takany. No arguing, just go.”
Ariamus opened his mouth as if to argue, then shrugged. “I’ll get them moving.” He strode off, shouting out orders to his men and dividing them up. In moments they started gathering at the entrance to the courtyard.
Takany had heard something in Ariamus’s voice, too. “Kill him when this is over,” Takany ordered, his voice cold with fury. “I don’t want to see him alive again. Understand? The coward will sell us out the first chance he gets.” Takany turned away and readied his own fighters for the push to regain the house.
Hathor did the same, grabbing the first twelve men he saw and ordering them to follow. He performed a quick check to see that they carried bows as well as their swords. By then Ariamus’s men had departed, disappearing out into the lane. Hathor ordered his own men to follow.
Before he passed through the gate, he took one last look at the courtyard. Takany had organized his force of about twenty men. In a few moments, he’d begin the assault on the house. Hathor stepped out into the lane and began running. He hoped he wouldn’t need those twenty men at the gate.
Bantor raced toward the barracks. Days of being cooped up, hiding from his enemies and unsure of what to do, had filled him with rage.
Thoughts of Ariamus tormented his mind day and night since the ambush. Ariamus, who had taken his wife for an afternoon’s diversion. Ariamus, who ambushed and embarrassed him in front of his men. Ariamus, who had laughed at him a dozen times in the old days. Bantor swore once again to see his nemesis dead, preferably by slow roasting over hot coals.
The man must die, and more with him. Bantor planned to avenge himself and his men killed in the ambush. The faster he liberated the barracks, the sooner he could begin hunting Ariamus.
Bantor had been the first man to reach the river gate, but by then Yavtar and Alexar had taken care of most of those guarding it. Bantor’s men finished off the rest, leaving him no one to kill. He waited but a moment, until certain all of his men passed inside, before moving ahead through the twisted lanes, straight toward the barracks. His sword clenched tight in his hand, he yearned to encounter his enemy.
Halting before the last turn, he let his men catch up. Counting himself, Bantor only had twenty-four soldiers, since he’d left Alexar and Yavtar to hold the river gate. According to Rebba, there were at least forty or fifty Egyptians at the barracks, along with another twenty or thirty misfits recruited by Ariamus. To have any chance against such odds, Bantor needed not only to set free the prisoners, but to capture the weapons storehouse, as much to deny Korthac’s men access to them. For all this to work, Bantor had to catch his enemy by surprise.
Keeping within the shadows, he peered around the corner. The soldiers’ barracks, a collection of low huts formed into a half-circle around the training ground, looked peaceful enough. The remains of a watch fire flickered a few paces outside the leftmost structure, a handful of guards standing around it. Farthest away and facing him, he could just make out at least four guards walking posts at the smaller barracks, the building that, according to Rebba, held the prisoners.
Most of Korthac’s men slept in the main barracks, the only structure large enough in Akkad to hold so many men. Bantor saw three more guards a few paces from the barracks entrance, tending the fire that now barely glowed. As soon as dawn rose, those guards would wake the sleeping foreigners inside, so Bantor had to move now. One guard looked toward the lane that led to the river gate, no doubt curious about the occasional shout coming from that direction. But not yet curious enough to sound the alarm.
“We’re ready,” Klexor said moments later, his voice a whisper in Bantor’s ear.
“Take your men straight to the small barracks,” Bantor said. “Free the prisoners. Ignore everything else. I’ll take care of the Egyptians.”
Bantor had given Klexor ten of the men, leaving himself with only fourteen to face the Egyptians.
“Good hunting, then,” Klexor whispered, as he strung a shaft to his bow.
Bantor took a deep breath, and broke into a run, heading straight at the fire. The moment the first guard looked up, Bantor voiced his battle cry. “Eskkar has returned! Death to the invaders!”
Behind him, his men took up the war cry, heavy feet pounding the dirt in the lane. The guard tending the fire reacted slowly, staring wide-eyed into the darkness for a moment before fumbling for his weapon. The man’s sword hadn’t even cleared its scabbard when Bantor cut him down, feeling the blade he’d sharpened each day bite deep into the man’s shoulder. Wrenching it free, he whirled on the next man, blocking his stroke and slashing at his face. The first screams of the night pierced the air, mixing with the confused shouts of disoriented men. Bantor’s soldiers pushed past him, and the last guard broke and ran, ducking back into the barracks.
The main barracks, capable of domiciling forty men, housed Korthac’s foreigners. Bantor ran toward the opening, just as a handful of men stumbled out the door, weapons in hand. An arrow killed one in the doorway.
Then Bantor reached the Egyptians, swinging his sword with fury and striking at every man in his path.
The foreigners, still half asleep, pushed their way through the barracks door by sheer force of numbers and attempted to form a line. But arrows flew from out of the shadows, cutting them down before they could organize themselves. At such close range, the archers had little need to aim, and the lethal shafts flew off their bowstrings with such rapidity that the Egyptians thought they faced a hundred archers.
His fury raging and ignoring the arrows flashing past his head, Bantor fought his way through, determined to fight his way into the barracks.
With each kill, he shouted Eskkar’s name.
The Egyptians recoiled before battle-crazed Bantor and his men, abandoning the effort to form a battle line. Five more of the enemy died before they managed to retreat back into the barracks and slam the door shut.
Cursing, Bantor threw himself against the door, but it didn’t move, and he knew at least half a dozen men stood behind it, holding it fast. He heard the sounds of pallets being shoved against the door. From within, a trumpet rang out, sending its muffled warning notes into the night, waking the city and announcing to all that Akkad was under attack.
Bantor glanced about him, as his men, bows drawn, watched the two narrow ventilation windows set high in the wall. The surprise attack had trapped the Egyptian fighters inside, and now Bantor was determined to keep these foes penned in. Stepping away from the barracks’ entrance, he looked first down the lane, then at Klexor’s men. In the lane he saw no one, certainly no armed and trained reinforcements rushing to aid Korthac’s men. Less than fifty paces away, Klexor and his bowmen poured arrows into anything that moved, attacking the smaller barracks. Bantor saw men running away into the darkness, a good sign, for now.
Bantor had to hope that Klexor’s force succeeded. He’d felt certain that at least half of the bandits and farmers recruited from the countryside by Ariamus and quartered in the two smaller structures would flee at the first sign of trouble, some toward Eskkar’s house, others toward the main gate. They didn’t matter, not right now. Bantor had to destroy these Egyptians before they could organize a defense or escape.
“Surround the barracks! They may try to break through the wall. Get to the roof,” Bantor shouted. “Use fire on the roof. Burn them out! Don’t let any escape. Hurry!”
A soldier raced to the fire pit and began tossing more wood on the fire.
The low flames dimmed for a few moments, then the fresh wood caught and the flames began to build. The archers fanned out, all of them facing the structure with their bows ready. The barracks had only the one entrance, and the single window on the opposite side was too small for a man to climb through.
Shouts of rage came from within the barracks. Bantor couldn’t believe his luck. He’d trapped forty or so of these Egyptians in a single building.
If he could hold them ther
e a few moments longer . . .
“Cover the door,” he shouted. “And get some archers on that roof.” He pointed with his sword at the soldiers’ storehouse, a smaller structure open on two sides. Battle-axes, shields, spears, and other weapons were stacked within, only a few paces away from the main barracks. Meanwhile, the watch fire crackled under its load of fresh fuel, and thick smoke began to trail up into the sky, already showing a rosy glow to the east. It wouldn’t be long before the flames took hold.
The barracks door suddenly flew open. Three arrows flashed out into the Akkadian line. One shaft flew right past Bantor’s ear, and an archer two steps away groaned and fell to the ground. His men returned the fi re, but the door had already been pulled closed, leaving nearly a dozen shafts protruding from the wooden portal.
Bantor opened his mouth to berate his men, but they’d already adjusted, some cursing at themselves, others shifting positions and readying for the next attack. They’d not be caught so easily next time.
“Bantor! Is it you?”
He turned to find three men stumbling toward him. It took a moment before he recognized Jarack and two other Hawk Clan members from Eskkar’s household guard. They appeared unsteady, and marks from the lash covered their nearly naked bodies.
“Give us weapons, Bantor,” Jarack demanded, his hand on Bantor’s arm. “We can fight.”
“Take charge of those we’ve freed,” Bantor said. “Arm yourself from the storehouse. Bring out shields and spears for my men. We’ll need them in a moment.”
“No, we want . . .”
Bantor grabbed Jarack by the arm and pushed him toward the storehouse. “Go!”
The barracks door flew open again, but this time Bantor’s archers were ready. Their arrows flew into the darkened interior. Only one shaft, aimed high, came out. But a wave of men burst out, the ones in front carrying shields, and they hurled themselves toward the Akkadians, shouting war cries.