Clash Of Empires (The Eskkar Saga)

by Sam Barone

  Chaiyanar’s men had already received their orders – no matter what resistance they encountered, the northern wall and main gate must be taken. After Sumer was captured, if any of its people resisted, they would be put to the sword. By sundown, he expected to ride through Sumer’s open gates, while the city’s few surviving inhabitants knelt in the dust with their heads bowed.

  The usual difficulties of preparing men for battle had already delayed his attack, but plenty of daylight still remained. He issued the final orders that would commence the offensives on the southern and eastern walls.

  That accomplished, Chaiyanar sat on his horse and waited. He studied his men, crammed shoulder to shoulder in the many trenches. They would launch the offensive. The rest of his soldiers stood just out of arrow range. Ladders, shields, ropes, carts, everything needed was at hand, and his three thousand soldiers appeared ready enough.

  They would be supported by fifteen hundred archers, who would follow behind the rush to the walls, and try to keep the defenders pinned down and unable to use their weapons.

  Yesterday’s foray had nearly succeeded, and today even greater numbers of Elamites would hurl themselves at Sumer’s ramparts.

  Chaiyanar had committed all his troops to this onslaught. Nothing would be held back. Even the siege workers would add their weight to the attack, carrying extra arrows and ladders, and a few water skins. Only the remnants of his cavalry would not partake in the storming.

  At last Grand Commander Chaiyanar heard the drumbeats that signaled the southern and eastern wall attacks had commenced. From where he sat on his horse, Chaiyanar now heard the shouts of his men, even if he couldn’t see them. They would have risen up from the trenches and rushed toward the bulwarks. The din of battle grew louder, as the city’s defenders added their clamor. Chaiyanar shifted his gaze to the strategic north wall and main gate, and the Sumerians facing his men.

  He saw many of their heads turned toward the other walls. They knew that an assault there had already begun, and now they would worry that they might be attacked from within their city. That fear would work to his advantage. It also meant the time had come.

  Chaiyanar gave the order, and his own battle drum began to sound. With a roar that echoed off Sumer’s wall, his men leapt from the trenches and earthworks that sheltered them. Ignoring the arrow storm that greeted them, they raced as fast as they could run across the open space toward the city’s wall. Many went down, struck by Sumerian arrows. Nevertheless, a wave of men, shouting their war cries, quickly reached the base of Sumer’s north wall.

  Arrows continued to fly from the wall, hundreds of them. Chaiyanar watched as many of his men were killed, but the dead and wounded men were ignored, even trampled underfoot. In moments, the last of the open space before the north wall had filled with the Elamites.

  The losses scarcely slowed the assault. Ladders were rammed against the sides of the city’s wall. Chaiyanar’s fifteen hundred bowmen had also moved forward. Now they stood exposed as they targeted any defenders who showed themselves, either to shoot at his soldiers or to try and dislodge the ladders.

  Stones were hurled blindly over the rampart and took their toll. But the first wave of Elamite attackers flung themselves onto the ladders and started climbing. Chaiyanar moved his horse closer, staying just out of range and urging his men to the attack.

  A shout from behind finally caught Chaiyanar’s attention. He turned to see three horsemen galloping at a dead run toward him, waving their arms and bellowing something incomprehensible. But even before the men pulled their lathered horses to a halt beside Chaiyanar, he had lifted his gaze over their heads, toward the low hills less than a half mile away.

  A large force of cavalry, hundreds and hundreds, was riding smoothly down the slope. As soon as the riders reached the level ground, they put their mounts to the gallop, waving their bows and swords in the air. For an instant, Chaiyanar thought Commander Simaski and his men had returned.

  “They’re Akkadians! Thousands of them!” The first scout to reach Chaiyanar’s side gasped out the words, even as he gestured to the men now galloping toward them. “They broke through our line, and they . . .”

  By now the thunder of the charging horses’ hooves echoed over the flat land that surrounded Sumer. For a moment, Chaiyanar stared open-mouthed at this dreadful apparition, a seemingly endless wave of horses flowing down the hill like a river. Akkadian cavalry! Here! Impossible!

  “Recall the men,” he screamed. “Sound the retreat! Sound the retreat!”

  The terrified drummer standing beside his leader obeyed, and immediately the rhythmic drumbeat sounded. But the din of battle added to that of the charging Akkadian horses, and masked the drum sound. The brutal fighting at the north wall still occupied all of the Elamites’ attention, and most never heard the drum, or if they did, understood its message. Savage fighting erupted along the top of the wall, as many of the Elamites tried to force their way over the top.

  However Chaiyanar knew that no longer mattered. There wasn’t enough time to get his soldiers into the city and take control. “Get the men back here,” Chaiyanar bellowed, furious that no one heeded his order. “We have to drive them off!”

  By now the Akkadian cavalry had closed to within a few hundred paces. At last the Elamite commanders directing the assault heard the pounding hoof beats as well. One by one, they, too, turned to stare in stunned surprise at the approaching horsemen.

  A single glance told the Elamite soldiers that their attack was doomed. The wall could not be carried before the enemy cavalry arrived. The war cries of four thousand riders added to the onslaught, and their swords glinted in the sunlight.

  The first flight of Akkadian arrows flew into the air, launched by the riders at the front of the charge. In moments hundred of shafts struck the rear of the Elamite attackers. Chaiyanar’s personal guard and staff numbered twenty men, and four of them went down with shafts protruding from their bodies. The next wave of arrows, aimed higher, struck at the ranks of the Elamite bowmen, most of them still facing the north wall and main gate, and shooting their weapons.

  Chaiyanar kicked his horse into motion. He had to get away from these Akkadian horsemen. His soldiers attacking the northern wall were doomed. Pinned against the wall, his men would be shot to pieces. Already he saw Sumer’s bowmen daring to lean over the wall, aiming arrows at the frantic Elamites now scrambling down the ladders even faster than they’d climbed up only moments before.

  Without having to worry about counter fire, the Sumerian archers atop the wall killed their enemies as fast as they could work their bows.

  The Elamite bowmen tried to turn about to drive off these unexpected attackers, but by then the Akkadians had drawn far too close. Flung lances devastated the Elamites, knocking men to their knees. Then the cavalry smashed into the panicked archers, tearing their ranks to shreds and hacking at anything that moved.

  The warhorses added to the killing, hammering aside anyone in their path and trampling underfoot those who went down. Some of the riders, still shooting their bows, continued right through the disorganized ranks of Elamite bowmen. The horsemen now wielded their swords on the rear ranks of the Elamites.

  Chaiyanar ignored the turmoil. Abandoning his staff, he raced his horse as close to Sumer’s wall as he dared, weaving the powerful beast around both friend and foe. If he could reach his soldiers assaulting the eastern wall, he might be able to regroup them and establish a defense. Or they might even had surmounted the wall. He swept around the corner, and could see his men still fighting. But they looked no closer to success than Chaiyanar’s northern attack.

  By now his soldiers, too, had heard the hoof beats of the horses and realized what the sound portended. The Sumerians added their voices to the din, rejoicing in the arrival of the Akkadians. Chaiyanar glimpsed his men fleeing from the southern wall, and knew that the attack there had also faltered.

  Chaiyanar glanced up at the Sumerians. The eastern wall appeared packed with so
ldiers, and hundreds, perhaps thousands of people. The defenders, crammed atop the parapet, fought like wild men, hurling the ladders down, striking with axes, swords, and spears. Most were not even soldiers, but they had resisted the trained attackers nonetheless.

  Chaiyanar reached his men, galloping into their midst, but despite his frantic shouts and waving arms, he could not restore order to his wild-eyed soldiers. All organization had given way to chaos, and the first instinct of every Elamite soldier was to flee. Everyone remembered the slaughter that resulted from the Akkadian cavalry attack of five days ago. Those few Elamites who heard their commander’s words ignored them.

  Close on Chaiyanar’s heels came another wave of Akkadians, no doubt those not needed at the north wall killing ground. Not so many this time, but enough to ride behind the Elamite line, and keep them penned into the area between the horsemen and Sumer’s eastern wall.

  With a screech that rose over the din of battle, Chaiyanar saw Sumer’s main gate swing open. Instantly a wave of soldiers poured through the widening gap, spears, bows, and swords in their hands. In moments hundreds of screaming Sumerian fighters had raced out of the city and charged into the still regrouping Elamites.

  One look told Chaiyanar that the battle was lost. Even though his men still outnumbered their foes, the sudden appearance of the Akkadian cavalry had wreaked havoc upon his men. Fear swept through his disorganized soldiers. Even if they wanted to fight, soldiers, archers, siege workers, and support men were crammed together and unable to form a battle line.

  With the charging Akkadian horsemen now augmented by soldiers from within Sumer and supported by archers from its walls, the tide of defeat washed over the panicked Elamites.

  Arrows flew through the air. Every Sumerian or Akkadian that could pull a bowstring launched as many shafts as he could. Chaiyanar realized his own escape was cut off. He saw only one chance. If he could overwhelm the Sumerians who had sortied forth from the city, he might be able to get his men inside the main gate.

  Drawing his sword for the first time, Chaiyanar waved it over his head. “Follow me, into the city. The gate is open! Into the city!” He wheeled his horse around to face the open gate.

  But before Chaiyanar’s words could reach enough of his men, an arrow struck his horse’s chest, digging deep into the left shoulder. With an almost human scream, the animal reared up, eyes wide with pain and lashed out with its front hooves. Then the beast crashed back down with a jolt that loosened Chaiyanar’s grip. The wounded animal kicked out with its hind legs, and that motion pitched Chaiyanar forward over the horse’s shoulder. He tumbled to the earth, his head striking a discarded shield with enough force to knock him senseless.

  When Chaiyanar regained consciousness, the din of battle had ceased. Instead of thundering hooves and the boastful war cries of his men, he heard only the usual aftermath of battle – the wretched pleas and moans of the wounded, and the laughter of the victors. He pushed himself to a sitting position, and tried to take stock of what had happened.

  His eyes wouldn’t focus and the ground beneath his legs was tinged with red. Blood had congealed over his left eye, and he rubbed that away with the back of his hand. Then he perceived all too clearly the battle ground, covered with heaps of the dead and dying. A second look revealed only Sumerians walking among the corpses, finishing off the injured, and already busy looting their bodies of anything of value. Chaiyanar’s own sword had vanished, and his breastplate, its laces cut, rested on the ground a few paces away.

  “He’s coming around,” a voice said.

  Chaiyanar glanced behind him, and saw two archers standing there regarding him. One had a wide smile on his face, and his bow was slung across his back. The other held a bow in his left hand, but no arrow rested on the bowstring. He wore a sword on his hip, but the weapon hung in its scabbard. That, more than anything else, convinced Chaiyanar the battle had indeed ended.

  “You don’t remember me, do you, Grand Commander Chaiyanar of Sushan?”

  Chaiyanar turned again and stared at the soldier holding the bow. The man’s voice sounded familiar. Then Chaiyanar’s eyes went wide with horror. The bowman had spoken in the language of Elam, with the accent of the nobility. Comprehension came with a rush, as Chaiyanar’s mind put the face and voice together.

  “Sabatu!”

  “Yes, Sabatu. I’m glad you remembered my name, Grand Commander Chaiyanar. It was my arrow that brought down your horse. I could have killed you then, but I wanted you alive, so that you could look into my eyes as I took your life from you.”

  “Sabatu, wait. Tell them who I am. We can return to Sushan together. I’ll give you anything you want, gold, a new command, anything!”

  “You would ignore the royal order of King Shirudukh?” Sabatu’s words mocked Chaiyanar for daring to suggest such an action. “You would presume to disobey the one who sentenced me to death, and the one whose orders you carried out so efficiently. My wife, my children, tortured and murdered one by one in front of me, while you took your ease in the comforts of your palace.”

  “Please, Sabatu, please . . .”

  With a growl, Sabatu took a step forward and lashed out with his foot. The sandal caught Chaiyanar flat on the face, the force of the blow breaking his nose. His head snapped back, and blood gushed from his nostrils.

  “Hurin, tie his hands behind him,” Sabatu ordered. “Make sure they’re as tight as you can make them. He won’t be needing them any longer.”

  Hurin, laughing all the while, cut the sandal laces from a dead Elamite, and used them to fasten Chaiyanar’s hands. By the time he recovered from Sabatu’s kick, pain lanced through Chaiyanar’s wrists, as the leather stretched and pulled tight.

  “King Eskkar of Akkad promised me your life, Grand Commander. You wanted to ride into Sumer as a conqueror, but you’ll walk through the gates like a slave, at the end of a rope. You’ll die slowly, a little each day, and I will spend every moment with you. I swear by all the gods in Elam and Sumer that, day or night, I’ll not leave your side. Not for a moment. I’ll make sure you suffer more than any man who has ever died by your order in Sushan’s marketplace.”

  “Sabatu, please!” Chaiyanar managed to get to his knees. “Shirudukh will give you gold, all the gold you desire, if you set me free.”

  With a movement almost too quick to follow, Sabatu snatched an arrow from his quiver, nocked it to the bowstring, and drew back the shaft. The bronze tip, almost touching Chaiyanar’s face, pointed toward Chaiyanar’s left eye. “Look at my hands, you dog. ‘Break his thumbs,’ you said. Now my hands are weak, and I don’t know how much longer I can hold back my arrow.”

  “By the gods, mercy, Sabatu! Please don’t kill me.”

  With a snarl of rage, Sabatu shifted his aim and released the bowstring. The bronze tip sliced through Chaiyanar’s left ear.

  The former High Commander of Sushan screamed, as much in fright as pain.

  Taking his time, Sabatu selected another shaft from his quiver.

  “You’re not going to kill him before I get my ten silver coins, are you?”

  “Oh, no, he won’t die that fast.” Sabatu let the bow go slack. “Hurin, there’s a ring with a ruby stone on his finger. You can have that for a start.”

  Chaiyanar cried out, as Hurin twisted the Elamite’s fingers. “Can’t get it loose.”

  Sabatu leaned forward, his face only a hand’s breadth from Chaiyanar’s. “Use my knife. It’s very sharp. Cut it free.” He drew the blade, Daro’s gift, from its scabbard, and dropped it beside the squirming prisoner.

  “Ah, no need, I’ve got it!” Hurin stood and held the ring up to the sun. “This is worth more than ten coins.”

  “You’ll earn the rest by helping me torture Grand Commander Chaiyanar.”

  “No! You must not torture . . .”

  “Is this Chaiyanar?” Another man strode over to join Sabatu. An older man, his tunic was splattered with blood. A grim expression covered his face.

  �
��Yes, and he’s my prisoner, Captain Jarud,” Sabatu said.

  “Grand Commander Chaiyanar, I’m glad to see you’re still alive.” Jarud laughed, a chilling sound that seemed out of place on the bloody battlefield. “My name is Jarud, and I am the Captain of the Guard for the City of Sumer.” Anger and hatred now showed in his clenched jaw and narrowed eyes.

  Chaiyanar shivered as much at Jarud’s dour countenance as at his words. But Chaiyanar saw the possibility of avoiding Sabatu’s torture. “I am Chaiyanar, Commander of the Elamite Army. My cousin is the King of Elam, and he will pay a rich ransom for my safe return.”

  “Oh, yes, I’m sure he would. And I’m sure King Gemama would be interested in speaking with you, and welcoming you into our City. But yesterday, my nephew Jaruman, died defending Sumer’s gate. One of your archers killed him. He was a good man, like a son to me, and I will mourn his loss for many days.”

  Taking his time, Jarud slid his sword, still stained with blood, from its scabbard. “I swore as I held Jaruman in my arms and watched him die, that I would kill many Elamites to avenge his death.”

  “King Shirudukh will pay three hundred gold coins, no, five hundred, for my safe return.” The words gushed from Chaiyanar’s mouth, even as the blood from his broken nose dripped down his chin. He tried to stand, but Hurin pushed him back onto his knees.

  “You came into our land, killed our people, and tried to sack my City.” Jarud took a step closer and stared down at the frightened and cringing leader of the Elamites. “Each day from the wall I watched you, sitting under your awning, taking your ease while your men prepared to kill thousands of Sumerians who had done you no injury. But I will avenge my nephew. That will require that I kill one more Elamite. Just one. And after I kill you, I’ll have your head nailed to Sumer’s gate and your body cut into pieces and fed to the dogs, so that your spirit is cursed forever in the afterlife. May the demons there burn your body in the pits for all time.”