Clash Of Empires (The Eskkar Saga)

by Sam Barone

  The early reports had mentioned a large number of cavalry, but Modran now perceived that the Akkadian front line consisted of ranks of infantry, with archers formed up behind them. Further back he could make out the horse fighters, clearly intended to be used as a reserve.

  Despite Modran’s impatience to close with his adversary, it took until midmorning before the bowmen and Jedidia’s former soldiers, both contingents marching near the rear of the column, could get in position. During the delay, an impatient Modran watched the steady arrival of men that continued to swell the Akkadians’ ranks. These latest arrivals, however, seemed different. Not as many bore weapons. Indeed, most carried sacks or what looked like water skins.

  “Our men are ready, Lord Modran.” Martiya pulled his horse to halt beside his general.

  Modran, his eyes fixed up the slope, decided to change his tactics. “Hold the cavalry ready. Order the rest of the men to follow behind Jedidia’s infantry. When we attack, I want all our men brought into play. We’ll crush these Akkadians with the first charge.”

  Martiya glanced up at the Akkadians. Obviously he, too, had seen the battle line taking shape and growing in numbers. “Yes, Lord Modran. Better to take our losses and break through their ranks as quickly as we can.”

  This second delay didn’t take as long, as Modran’s men had readied themselves for battle, and by now every man knew his station. At last Martiya waved his sword in readiness.

  Lord Modran took one last look up the slope, and gave the order. “Begin the attack!”

  As Eskkar watched the Elamites massing below, more Akkadians continued to arrive. In groups of ten or twenty, archers and spearmen swelled the ranks. The final march into the Dellen Pass had sapped their strength, but every man had gotten a good night’s rest.

  All of them felt grateful that the long march from Akkad had finally ended. Directed to their positions by Alexar’s impatient subcommanders, the infantry and bowmen shuffled into their places. By now, Eskkar knew, his men would prefer a tough fight rather than any more hard marching over the rough and hilly ground.

  After the last of the infantry arrived, Alexar and Drakis had formed up their men in four ranks of four hundred men each. That presented a solid front that stretched the width of the Pass. Every spearman, in addition to his spear, wore a short sword at his waist.

  Each man carried a large, but surprisingly lightweight shield just thick enough to stop an arrow or deflect a sword. A leather vest covered his chest and a bronze helmet protected his head. Thick leather gauntlets covered each wrist and forearm. Sturdy sandals, laced up high on each calf, provided firm footing.

  Every Akkadian possessed not only a dependable weapon, but also the finest clothing and leather armor. Trella’s supply clerks had done their job well. They had outfitted sixty-four hundred men for battle, and at the same time ensured that each soldier had enough food and water to last at least ten to fifteen days.

  Nor had all those supplies burdened the men. More than a thousand porters and livery men, volunteers from Akkad and its neighboring villages, had delivered those supplies, gathered from the many storage depots along the way.

  About a quarter of the infantry, usually the strongest men, carried spears nearly three paces long. The rest carried weapons about half a pace shorter. Every spear was tipped with a bronze point, its slim, leaf-shaped blade riveted to the shaft. All the weapons had a long strip of leather wrapped tight around the grip, to make certain the wood didn’t slide through the man’s hand on impact.

  Twenty paces behind the infantry, Mitrac had assembled his sixteen hundred archers, also in four ranks. They wore leather vests and caps, as well as a leather guard on their left arm. On their right hip, a short sword hung from every belt. Each man wore a quiver of fifteen arrows on his left hip, and another slung over his shoulder. Between each pair of bowmen rested a linen sack containing an additional fifty arrows, carried to the battle site by Trella’s porters.

  Twenty paces behind the archers stood twelve hundred dismounted cavalry, also arranged in four ranks. They carried the shorter horseman’s bow that lacked the range of Mitrac’s archers. But at close range, up to sixty paces or so, the weapons were just as deadly. The rest of the cavalry tended the horses and kept themselves ready as the reserve, with each man holding fast his own mount plus three others.

  Eskkar, sitting on his second-best horse just behind the archers, watched his spearmen ready themselves for the coming attack. Years of training, intensified over the last two years, had turned these men into the fiercest foot soldiers in the Land Between the Rivers. He had no doubt they would soon demonstrate their fighting skills to the Elamites. In the Battle of Isin, the Akkadian infantry had torn apart their far more numerous adversaries.

  For his personal guard, Eskkar had ten Hawk Clan fighters protecting his front, and another ten, mostly archers, protecting his back. The remaining Hawk Clan soldiers had taken positions with Alexar and Drakis. The rest of Eskkar’s command staff consisted of ten messengers, two drummers, and two clerks. The task of the scribes was to keep track of the enemy’s forces, and the Akkadian dead and wounded.

  The rising slope gave each of the Akkadian contingents a clear and unobstructed view of any approaching enemy. From their elevated position, each bowman’s shaft would fly at least twenty or thirty paces farther than the enemy, who would be shooting uphill.

  Both the men and the plan were in place. The time for doubt and worry had passed. The strength and skill of Eskkar’s men, with the help of the battle gods, would decide Akkad’s fate.

  A commotion down the trail began, and Eskkar saw the Elamite bowmen, at least three thousand strong, moving forward, with a dense mass of horsemen behind them. The moment for the assault had finally arrived.

  “Make ready!” Alexar’s voice boomed against the cliff walls.

  Eskkar ignored the shifting ranks and cursing men all around him. His soldiers moved with purpose, forming and adjusting the battle lines, and readying their weapons. Each man inspected his companion’s gear as well, looking for anything out of place or overlooked. Eskkar kept his eyes on the Elamites as they moved into position. Alexar and Drakis, helped by their subcommanders, checked and rechecked the infantry lines, confirming that each man knew how to place their shield for the coming arrow storm.

  Mitrac’s archers flexed their bows, inspected bowstrings, and made sure the spare arrows stood close at hand. His subcommanders readied the archers, making certain they formed even lines with enough room between each man so that he could work his bow without interference.

  Muta, standing with the cavalry, had one of the most critical assignments. His task was to reinforce any weakness that developed in the lines, and if it appeared that the enemy might break through, to deliver a counterattack with his horsemen.

  Despite the activity, Eskkar had little to do with the preparations. For months, the men had trained to form similar battle lines, all without knowing the true reason for the odd formations. Now, within the narrow width of the Pass, that training reassured the men. Eskkar felt confident that the infantry understood both their role and how they were to fight.

  With a loud shout that echoed up the Pass, the enemy archers started forward. Eskkar dismounted and handed the horse’s halter to one of his guards. Surrounded by thousands of soldiers on foot, any man riding a horse would be targeted. Eskkar had already donned his bronze chest plate and helmet, and he wore the same cloak he’d worn when he met with the Alur Meriki.

  While not needed, it identified the leader of the Akkadians to his men, and he wanted to be sure that today of all days he was recognized. If the enemy also picked him out, so be it. Eskkar would not try to hide from their arrows.

  Eskkar carried his round bronze shield, and his short sword, better for close-in fighting. His long sword waited with A-tuku, should he need to fight from horseback.

  Looking down the slope at the mass of men surging forward, he nodded in grudging approval. The enemy had not wasted eithe
r time or men in a probing attack. Instead, Modran was hurling his entire force, or as much of it as he could bring to bear in the confines of the Pass, as soon as he could get them into formation.

  Even so, Modran had made his first mistake. The presence of so many horsemen near the front ranks showed that he intended to attack with his cavalry. They paced their horses up the slope behind the mass of archers, and would charge after the Elamite bowmen weakened Akkad’s battle lines and cleared the way.

  But those horses, would soon work in Akkad’s favor. Eskkar felt confident that his bowmen could not only stop a cavalry charge, but turn it to his advantage.

  Mitrac gave his first order, and a drumbeat began, the distinctive pattern immediately echoed by two more drummers equidistant from Mitrac’s position. At the sound, Akkad’s archers planted their feet, fitted their first shaft to the string, and waited.

  Mitrac, his own bow in hand, stood at the center of the line, just behind his men. He needed no orders from Eskkar as to when to begin. As soon as the enemy drew within range, Mitrac would unleash his archers. The keen-eyed Master Bowman studied the approaching Elamites and took one last gauge of the wind.

  “Draw!

  The drummer changed his beat, and Eskkar heard the rasp of sixteen hundred arrows. Every bowman raised his weapon to achieve maximum distance. Except for the drum, still repeating the same notes, the Akkadian ranks fell silent, waiting for the final command.

  “Loose!”

  The Battle of the Dellen Pass had begun.

  The twang of the bowstrings mixed with the hiss of the shafts in flight, louder than any flock of birds taking wing. The first cloud of arrows rose up into the still air of the Pass, the missiles aimed to strike the front rank of the Elamites, and timed to arrive just as the enemy entered extreme range. Well before the first missiles arrived, a second volley took flight.

  “Keep the count,” Eskkar ordered Zerla, the senior of his two clerks.

  The Elamite archers, still out of range with their smaller bows, slowed their advance as they watched the arrow cloud descending upon them. Because of that hesitation, Eskkar guessed more than half of the Akkadians’ first volley fell short, the arrows clattering and bouncing off the hard ground.

  Even so, enough struck into the advancing mass to slow further the approaching front ranks. Then the second volley landed, this time with many more shafts reaching the formation of Elamite bowmen.

  Eskkar saw that the enemy archers wore little defensive leather. Without shields to protect them, the long Akkadian arrows slammed home into flesh, disrupting the line. The Elamites would have to advance at least another hundred paces to get within range of their opponents. The enemy commanders urged their men forward, knowing they had to endure the arrow storm.

  Without thinking, Eskkar realized he’d also been keeping count of the volleys. Mitrac’s men launched sixteen flights of arrows before the first ranks of the Elamite archers drew close enough to raise their bows.

  Twenty paces away, Alexar’s voice boomed out, and another drummer raised his sticks and echoed the commander’s order. The front rank of infantry went down on one knee, placing their shield on the ground directly in front of them. The second rank closed up, and set their shield atop those of the first rank. The third and fourth ranks raised their shields and turned them sideways, to provide protection from any arrows arching down from above.

  His usual bodyguards, Pekka and Chandor, moved into position in front of Eskkar, raising their shields to protect the King. At his left side stood Saruda, and on his right were two more of Saruda’s men, their own shields raised. Eskkar lifted his shield, holding it just below his eyes. He needed to see the battle as it progressed.

  Arrows began to strike the ground in front of the Akkadian infantry. A few reached the shield wall. By now Mitrac’s archers had loosed twenty four ragged volleys, as the faster bowmen plied their weapons more efficiently than the slower. Mitrac’s men needed no urging to continue the arrow storm. They had little enough armor, and the longer they could keep the enemy bowmen at a distance, the safer they would be.

  Despite heavy losses, the sheer numbers of Elamite archers kept pushing the front rank forward. More and more arrows began striking the Akkadian infantry’s shields. Eskkar glanced behind him, but Muta had already given the order. The first volley from the dismounted cavalry, eight hundred of them, rose up into the sky. The shorter bows might not have the reach of the Elamite weapons, but from the greater height, they would strike the front line.

  Eskkar grunted in satisfaction. The Elamites were dropping, struck down by the long shafts that slammed into the ranks, their sharp bronze tips still moving fast enough to tear through flesh and bone. Now smaller arrows began to arrive, falling almost straight down, to strike heads and shoulders. Eskkar glanced at Mitrac’s archers. As far as he could tell, not a man had been killed, though Eskkar saw one bowman had taken a shaft in the arm.

  This was the way to win a battle, Eskkar knew. Killing large numbers of the enemy at long range would take the fight out of the invaders. No man likes to stand and die without being able to inflict a few blows of his own.

  He saw the confusion in the Elamite ranks. No doubt their leaders wondered when the arrows would lessen, when the Akkadian bowmen would run out of missiles. But the bundles of arrows were being steadily replaced. Hundreds of men had carried many thousands of those shafts, spears, and bronze bullets all the way from Akkad, and even now, during the fight, Trella’s porters continued to distribute them. Mitrac’s bowmen would drop from exhaustion before they ran out of arrows.

  In the last two years, Trella’s supply clerks had accumulated and hidden tens of thousands of the missiles in supply depots throughout the land. Akkadian volunteers, following the path of the soldiers, had carried their bundles all the way from the city and surrounding villages to this place in the Dellen Pass.

  With no slackening of the arrow storm, the Elamite commanders abandoned their initial plan. Their bowmen fell back and to the sides of the Pass, clearing the way for their cavalry to advance.

  Mitrac’s drummers sounded the call to halt, and the arrows ceased to fly. Every left arm dropped down, the men grateful to have even a few moments rest. The Elamite cavalry had to pick its way through the dead bodies strewn in its path, before it could gather itself for the charge.

  “Draw!” The drums echoed Mitrac’s command.

  Eskkar turned to Zerla. “What’s the count?”

  “Twenty-six!” The man’s excited voice brought a few chuckles from the men nearby.

  Sixteen hundred bowmen had each launched twenty-six arrows. That calculation was beyond Eskkar’s ability. He glanced at the other clerk, Enki, who as a young boy had helped save Trella’s life. She had trained him as a clerk, and soon discovered that he possessed a unique skill in calculations. Now he knelt almost at the King’s feet.

  “Enki, how many arrows is that?”

  Moving his lips and fingering his counting beads, the young clerk took only a few moments. “Forty-one thousand, six hundred, My Lord.”

  A staggering sum, one Eskkar could barely comprehend. Each bowman had nearly emptied the two quivers he had carried into the Pass. Now they would be supplied by the bundles brought by Akkad’s inhabitants. He swiveled his head, making sure that each archer still had a plentiful supply at hand.

  Then Eskkar realized that Enki’s total didn’t count the volleys shot by Muta’s eight hundred dismounted cavalry. No wonder the Elamite archers had been driven back. No fighting force could withstand such an arrow storm.

  Now the Elamite cavalry would have their turn. Even at this distance, Eskkar could see the jerky movements and hesitations that signaled fear in their ranks. The enemy could see the trail before them, strewn with their dead and wounded, thousands of arrows protruding from the hard ground like so many blades of tall grass. Modran’s cavalry knew they would have to endure the same devastation.

  “Loose!” The enemy horsemen had surged forward, and
Mitrac’s order launched a fresh wave of destruction on them. Once again, sixteen hundred shafts flew up into the sky. The frightening hiss of the arrows in flight echoed against the rock walls, as the bolts reached their peak and, with a whistling sound, began to descend.

  This time the Akkadians had the range, and almost all arrows struck home against the enemy cavalry just beginning to surge forward. Horses and men went down, and the shrill shrieks of the wounded animals overpowered the shouts and screams of their riders.

  All the same, the charge was underway, urged on by the Elamite commanders. The enemy horsemen galloped over and around their dead and dying, or trampled them underfoot. The protruding Akkadian arrows slowed the enemy riders, as the horses sought to avoid stepping on those as well. Yet more and more horsemen flooded up the trail, like a rising river, the shouts from their riders driving the horses forward.

  The Akkadians ignored the mass of horses rushing toward them. Arrows flew as fast as each archer could work his bow, and Eskkar saw their left arms lowering as the enemy drew closer, until they were shooting straight down the slope. For a moment, Eskkar wondered if the Elamites could ride through the flights of missiles, but then Muta’s men launched their shafts and increased the carnage. Screams from the wounded or dying horses added to the confusion, and the injured animals fought their riders.

  The charge broke. Hundreds of the enemy, both horse and rider, had taken more than one shaft. Now many Elamites dragged on their halter ropes, turning their mounts around, unwilling to ride into the certain death that never ceased streaking toward them. And they could see the four ranks of spearmen waiting patiently, the spears glinting in the sunlight. Even as the Elamites tried to fall back, the Akkadians continued to shoot, every archer working his bow as fast as he could.

  The retreat turned into a rout, and with what seemed like a single motion, every horse turned toward the rear. The deadly shafts continued seeking out their targets until the last fleeing Elamite was out of range.