by Sam Barone
The moment of truth had come. If Kapturu gave the order, a death fight could break out within the tent, to be matched by another outside. Shulgi dropped his left hand to his own scabbard, the gesture telling everyone in the tent that he was as willing to fight as to talk.
Kapturu’s smile had vanished. Jaw clenched, he considered his options.
Shulgi kept talking, as much to relieve the tension as to give the Tanukh time to reach the right decision. “After your men remove the body, tell them to wait outside, Chief Kapturu. Our discussion should be more private, I think.”
No one spoke. Either the tent would erupt in bloodshed, or the Tanukh leader would realize how vulnerable he was, with Vanar and his men outside, and this boy-king facing him.
The silence dragged out, the Tanukhs still not moving, while Kapturu worked out the implications. Suddenly, he leaned back and laughed, then clapped his hands on his knees.
“Yes, it looks like a good blade. Perhaps one day I can give you a gift of equal value.” He turned to his men. “Remove the body, and wait outside.” Kapturu smiled up at Shulgi. “Then we can begin our talk.”
Shulgi moved to stand beside Razrek. He stood there while Kapturu’s three men rose and dragged the corpse of their companion out of the tent. A babble of voices rose up outside, as the Tanukhs saw the body. Shulgi kept his face calm, but he knew a moment of legend had come. Soldiers would talk about this story around the campfires for months, even years. How their leader had killed a Tanukh who offended him, how King Shulgi defied the desert-dwellers to strike back.
Kushanna had known the importance of such moments. She had urged him to seek out danger, to prove to his men that he was worthy of their loyalty and respect, to add to his reputation, and downplay the fact of his youth. “Just don’t get yourself killed, my husband,” she whispered in his ear.
Killing his father had been one such moment, Shulgi knew, but that had to remain an unspoken secret, only hinted at by those who could guess the truth. Now this story would begin to expand his reputation, and men would think twice before they dared to laugh at him or his youth.
At last only Kapturu and Razrek remained with Shulgi in the now uncrowded tent. The sword still remained in the tent’s center, bloody sand crusted around the blade where it emerged from the ground.
“Let’s us begin.” Shulgi settled himself on the ground, hitching his sword around until he found a comfortable position. “We have much to talk about, Chief Kapturu. Together, we can destroy our enemies, loot their villages, and take their women and horses.” He hadn’t ridden from Sumer to mince flattering words with any desert barbarian. “First we’ll destroy the Salibs, and then we’ll turn our attention to the north, where the real wealth of the land between the rivers lies. To make all that happen, we need only to work together. A few years, a few battles, and the desert and all it contains will be yours.”
Kapturu leaned forward, no doubt already anticipating the wealth that would flow through his fingers. He, too, knew how to speak directly.
“Then let us talk about the destruction of the Salibs… King Shulgi.”
I n Sumer, Kushanna frowned at the man standing before her, shuffling his weight from foot to foot. “Gone? Just gone? Gone where?”
“Yes, my queen.” Sohrab kept his eyes on the chamber’s floor. “I waited seven days in Akkad, but they never arrived. They must have continued north, probably by boat. Horses are scarce in Akkad, and almost none can be purchased at any price.”
Kushanna resisted the urge to have the man flogged. It was not the fool’s fault for being the bringer of bad tidings. The two spies she’d dispatched to Akkad had taken her gold and disappeared. They might even have sold their story to Trella, earning a few more pieces of gold before running to the north. Trella would be laughing at the Sumerians — at Kushanna — if that were the case. The traitors would stop laughing soon enough if ever they returned within the grasp of Sumer’s guard.
“And the other cities? Are our men in place there?”
Sohrab lifted his eyes, grateful for a chance to present good news. “Yes, Queen Kushanna. We have people in place in all the southern cities. They are still settling in, but already they’ve provided useful news.”
The most useful news of all would be the names of those who spoke out against Sumer’s growing influence. In the next few months, that would prove more valuable than any news of Akkad’s activities.
“Good.” Kushanna leaned back in her chair. Sohrab would continue to stand in her presence, at least until he learned to bring better news. “And what of Razrek? What have you learned about our brave horse commander?”
Sohrab met her eyes for the first time. “Razrek is not his true name. His birth name is Sondar. No one knows where he was born, but he lived many years in a small village in the north-eastern part of Sumeria, named Carnax. A prosperous but dreary place, from all accounts. Bandits destroyed the village, killing or enslaving its inhabitants. Only a few farmers live nearby now. The rest remains in ruins, and men say the land is accursed.”
“But our brave commander survived somehow?”
“More than survived, my queen.” He glanced around, as if concerned that someone might be listening. “One person claimed that Sondar himself was involved in the village’s destruction, that he killed his master, the village elder. At any rate, Sondar survived, and with plenty of gold. He formed a band of horsemen, and began plundering the countryside. Eventually, your father, King Eridu, took notice and… persuaded Sondar to change his ways and fight for Sumer.”
Kushanna’s irritation at the mention of her father’s name almost made her miss something. The name of the village, Carnax… she’d heard that name before. It took her a moment, but then she recalled the conversation. One of the spies reporting on Akkad had mentioned that Lady Trella, as she preferred to be called, rather than queen, had come from a Sumerian village named Carnax.
She leaned forward and stared straight into the man’s eyes. “What else do you know of Razrek’s past?”
Kushanna dragged every bit of information she could extract from Sohrab, but he had little more to add. At first she’d been merely curious. Now she sensed something more useful might be gleaned.
“I want you to discover everything you can about this village of Carnax. Visit it yourself, talk to those living nearby, find out exactly what happened to the survivors. If you can, bring one or two of them here, so I can question them myself.”
Sohrab had proved useful in finding things out, but he lacked the skill to probe beneath the surface. Any information about Trella would be useful, if only to understand how she’d gained her power over the men of Akkad. Kushanna didn’t believe in the priests or their gods and demons, but witches existed. Everyone knew that some women could bend men to their will, or call down spells to render them impotent. More than a few in Sumer had called her one, too.
“Yes, my queen. I’m sure I can find a few survivors from Carnax. It was only four or five years ago that it was destroyed, so many should know about it.”
“Good. And this time bring me back something useful.”
When she dismissed Sohrab, Kushanna moved from the table to the balcony. She liked to sit and gaze out over the city. Her city. Already everyone obeyed her slightest wish, and in the coming months and years, her power would only increase. Shulgi desired only conquests, and there would be years of fighting ahead of him, leaving her more than enough time to solidify her grip on Sumer. And fighting could prove deadly, even to Shulgi. After a few years, if he fell in battle, she could continue to rule in his name, at least until she could sit another, even more pliable, man on the throne.
That brought a smile to her face. She’d already caught one of Vanar’s commanders staring at her every time she passed. Kushanna had given him the slightest smile, just enough to keep his interest. Like many others, he was smitten by her beauty. Such a soldier would do well enough, should she need another man at her side.
Nevertheless, she hoped
Shulgi survived the battles in the desert, and the coming war with Akkad. At least, survived until victory was assured. Then, she knew, anything could happen. In her private chest, hidden in the false bottom, was a small box containing three different kinds of poisons. Any one of them, their taste masked by strong wine, would free her of her husband’s company, should he need to be removed.
For now, Shulgi worshipped her body, and that gave her all the power she needed. Together they’d killed their foolish father and taken his city. Now the son and daughter would build Sumer into an empire worthy of them both. And she would be right at his side, to whisper in his ear at night. Yes, such thoughts brought a pleasant glow to her body. Shulgi rode her well, long into the night, leaving them both exhausted and satisfied. She’d allowed only a handful of men to enjoy her body, and he was by far the most energetic.
Kushanna looked forward to his return. Perhaps by then, she would have learned all there was to know about Lady Trella. Possibly even enough to have her killed. There was, after all, plenty of poison in the box.
23
Mid-morning had come and gone before Eskkar arrived at the barracks, his long strides forcing his guards to hurry to keep pace. He hated being late, especially over such a petty interruption as the one he had just left behind. A dispute between two traders had escalated into a pushing and shoving match, which brought them before Nicar, in his role as Chief Judge of Akkad. For once, even Nicar’s conciliatory skills had not managed to resolve the issue, and both sides had demanded an appeal before the king.
After three years of settling many foolish disputes, Eskkar had learned to control his temper and keep his patience. Today’s crisis, however, required him to keep from laughing. The two men involved, both prosperous merchants, had practically come to blows over a prospective virgin bride. The girl’s father had somehow managed to offer his daughter in marriage to both belligerents. The man who first received the promise demanded the girl at the original and agreed upon price. The second potential husband had entered the fray soon after, offering more coins for the girl. Naturally, the father had changed his mind as to his choice of suitors.
The men involved caught up with Eskkar just as he departed the compound for the barracks, and insisted on their case being heard right there in the lane. While the two traders exchanged insults and threats, the father demanded his right to sell his daughter to whomever he pleased, and the girl alternated between sobbing at her embarrassment or shrieking at her father. It seemed she preferred the first suitor, but Eskkar couldn’t be sure.
His first thought, which he decided to keep to himself, was that whoever won the girl would be overpaying and getting a poor bargain.
By then the crowd included the families of the two prospective husbands, the father of the girl involved, and a few dozen onlookers as excited as if they were watching a wrestling match. The onlookers voiced their own opinions, calling out one or the other’s name, each faction trying to outshout the other. A few placed bets on the outcome. At last Eskkar made his ruling. The girl was to go to the first suitor, but the father was ordered to pay half the dowry to the second man, because he’d offered something for sale that he didn’t have, a clear violation of the marketplace rules.
Howls arose over the harsh ruling, but Eskkar ignored that. The next time a foolish dispute cropped up, those seeking settlement might remember and accept the Chief Judge’s decision.
By the time everything resolved itself and Eskkar could slip away, the sun had moved high in the sky, and no one appeared satisfied, except perhaps the red-faced virgin and most of the onlookers, who always enjoyed watching someone else’s discomfort. Eskkar’s good mood had vanished into a black cloud of anger that showed itself on his usually calm face.
With Grond at his side, Eskkar entered the training ground and strode to where Gatus sat on his tall stool, taking advantage of a sliver of shade cast by the barracks. On the wall just behind Gatus and his stool, a charcoal outline of a man had been scratched into the mud. A small table stood nearby. Two young men Eskkar didn’t recognize sat in the dirt beside Gatus. A few dozen paces away, half a dozen skinny youths waited with barely suppressed excitement, staring open mouthed at the king of Akkad.
Eskkar caught the look on Gatus’s face, and knew the old soldier was tempted to remark about the lateness of the hour. Gatus resisted the urge, probably only because there were so many young recruits around.
“We were delayed by the Chief Justice, Gatus,” Grond called out as they approached, thereby avoiding Eskkar having to say something that might sound like an apology.
“No matter.” Gatus slid off the stool, and paused a moment to adjust his tunic. “At my age, I need the rest anyway.”
“What have you got for me?” Eskkar asked, aware that his voice sounded harsh. He took a deep breath. No sense taking things out on Gatus and these men, older boys, actually, and probably too young to know what they were getting into.
“I’ve found a few slingers for you.” Gatus nodded his head toward the two young men beside him. They scrambled to their feet as soon as they saw Eskkar. “They’re ready to give you a demonstration.”
Eskkar appraised the two. Both wore ragged clothing, tunics either too small or too large, both patched and worn through in spots. Each had long and wiry arms. Neither man came up to Eskkar’s shoulder in height, and he guessed their age as about fifteen or sixteen seasons, barely enough to be considered a man, even in Akkad.
Gatus stretched his arm and pointed to the closest one. “This is Nivar.”
Nivar had long brown hair tied back with a bit of leather.
“Shappa has fifteen seasons,” Gatus said, gesturing toward the other. “He’s the older, so I’ve put him in charge of Nivar and the others for now. They’re the first of your detachment of slingers, if ever there is such a thing. As for the rest of them,” he jerked his head toward the others standing nearby, “we’ll see.”
Eskkar ignored Gatus’s remark, in part because he knew the old soldier was as interested as Eskkar in learning if slingers could play a part in Akkad’s growing army. Nevertheless, Eskkar had proposed this idea, and he didn’t intend to change his mind now, no matter how foolish it might turn out to be. He studied the two slingers. For a moment, he was reminded of Tammuz, a skinny thief who had disobeyed orders, taken a bow, and killed an Alur Meriki warrior in the first battle to save the city.
Another of Trella’s sayings came to mind. If a thing is worth doing, then do it as well as you can. It was her idea, after all, to make use of Tammuz, and that had worked out well, despite Eskkar’s misgivings.
He walked over to the table and picked up one the slings. Eskkar hadn’t touched one of these since his boyhood, when he’d used one to hunt rabbits and other small game for his mother’s cooking pot. This sling was longer, with a shaped leather pouch at the end of two long strands of flaxen cords. The cords, he noticed, were made of thinner, plaited strands that felt supple to the touch. One end of the cord ended in a small loop, the other in a thick knot. The pouch differed as well. Square-shaped, but fastened at opposite corners, the remaining points faced up and down. It had a hole the thickness of his thumb in the center.
“Well, Nivar and Shappa, I’m glad Gatus found you. Perhaps we can convince old Gatus that slings can be as deadly as an arrow, and even more useful in other ways.”
The boys bowed, and only Shappa managed to mumble a greeting. They were clearly in awe of Eskkar, who towered over them both. In fact, everyone appeared tense, not sure what would be asked of them. He decided to relieve the tension a bit.
“Did I ever tell you, Gatus, about the time I was nearly killed by a slinger?” Eskkar raised his voice so that everyone could hear. “The stone flew right past my ear and splintered against a cliff face.” He didn’t add that it was a woman who’d nearly split his head.
“It would take a dozen stones to dent your head, Eskkar,” Gatus said.
Grond laughed, while the boys standing close enough to hear
gaped in shock at the rude jest directed at their king.
“It’s true.” Eskkar ignored the remark. “Then another time, I was on horseback and a… man nearly unhorsed me with a sling.” He’d almost said the word “shepherd”, but decided that it didn’t sound very impressive to admit he’d almost been killed fighting a sheep herder over a band of foul-smelling sheep.
“But you survived,” Gatus said. “So the slinger’s stones didn’t bother you too much.”
“No, but they made me change my tactics, and that’s why I want to see what can be done with these men.” He turned to Shappa. “Show me what you can do.”
Shappa took the sling from Eskkar’s hand, and selected three slightly oval stones about the size of a fat walnut from a pouch at his waist. The boy could scarcely control his excitement. He slipped the middle finger of his right hand into the loop and grasped the knot of the other stand between thumb and forefinger. He dropped a stone into the pouch, and started walking away from the wall.
Everyone moved with him, leaving the wall empty. Two of the boys carried the table well to the side, and Gatus picked up his stool and took it with him.
Shappa stopped about forty paces from the wall, and looked at Gatus.
“Go ahead.” He settled himself on the stool once again.
The slinger turned slightly away from the target, with his left hand closest to the wall. The pouch hung straight down from his hand. With a snap of the wrist, Shappa spun the sling toward the ground, stepping forward and extending his right arm as he released the cord.
A shower of mud showed where the stone impacted, close to the center of the target’s body. For the first time, Eskkar noticed the many pock marks in the wall. Gatus must have had the boys practicing for some time.
Eskkar frowned. He’d been unprepared for the swiftness of the throw, and had missed what Shappa had done. “Again,” he ordered.