Clash Of Empires (The Eskkar Saga)

by Sam Barone

  With a snarl, he gave the order to turn his exhausted men around and start the bitter journey back to their own lands. By then his men were already on half rations. At least they had located a tiny spring deep within the mountain. That provided just enough water to refill the skins, and keep the horses alive and moving.

  The ignominious retreat galled on General Jedidia’s stomach with every rearward step of his horse. Of necessity, he’d sent messengers to King Shirudukh the day after the cliff toppled, informing him of the debacle. Jedidia didn’t dare show up in Zanbil without warning the King of what had happened.

  Of course, other, more dismal messages would soon have to be sent. Now that he had abandoned his mission through the Jkarian Pass, Jedidia would have to dispatch more messengers with the bad news. However that particular embarrassment could be postponed until he reached Zanbil. Once there, Jedidia would halt his men, then wait for resupply before proceeding through the Dellen Pass.

  He knew what to expect when King Shirudukh heard about the disaster. Jedidia would be ordered to place himself under Lord Modran’s command.

  That would mean an enduring humiliation for Jedidia. Worse, Jedidia would lose his opportunity to loot the Land Between the Rivers. No, Modran would carefully assign Jedidia to patrol only those places that had already been picked clean.

  At the same time, if there were any fighting to be done, Jedidia knew it would be his own men sent to the front lines, to lead the attack and bear the brunt of any casualties. By the time Akkad fell and the other cities were subdued, Jedidia would be lucky to be alive and with half his command intact.

  Despite the gloomy future awaiting him, Jedidia kept his troop moving at a brisk pace. Hunger gnawed at the bellies of both his men and their mounts. He needed food, and the horses needed grass to graze upon. Both would be available once back in Elam’s northern lands.

  On the third day after their departure, his cavalry exited the Jkarian Pass, and with a dismal sigh of relief, turned south. The grasslands provided the horses with a chance to assuage their hunger.

  Jedidia’s soldiers had much less luck finding food. For the sake of his men, Jedidia knew he should have left the accursed Pass days sooner. But he dared not face King Shirudukh without proclaiming to have done his utmost. If that meant a few hundred of his men died from hunger or injury, so be it.

  A day after they left the mouth of the Jkarian Pass, the last of the rations was gone. Soon real hunger would sweep over his men. Only a few cattle and chickens stolen from the occasional farmstead kept starvation at bay. Fortunately, Jedidia’s cavalry would reach Zanbil in less than two days, so his fighters would be spared the necessity to eat some horses.

  A shout broke into Jedidia’s unhappy thoughts. He glanced up to see one of his forward scouts galloping toward his commanders. Jedidia, riding beside Zathras, his second in command, didn’t bother to halt the weary column. The scout reached Jedidia with a rush, and let his horse fall in place beside his leaders.

  “General Jedidia, we found tracks about two miles ahead. Hundreds of horses crossed our trail. We followed the tracks for almost half a mile, until they rode closer to the foothills.”

  “You must be blind.” Zathras glared at the scout. “There aren’t a hundred horses left in these lands.”

  General Jedidia agreed. Every horse that could bear a rider had been pressed into King Shirudukh’s service months ago.

  The scout shook head. “My Lord, I know what I saw. The tracks came down from the foothills. The upper trail there is blocked for a half mile or so. But as soon as the riders got past that obstacle, they returned to the upper trail.”

  When Jedidia’s men exited the Pass, they had faced a choice of routes. They could follow what the scout called the upper trail, which hugged the foothills most of the way south. Or they could continue down to the lower plains, where the grass grew more plentiful, and the landscape made for an easier ride.

  Short of food and grass, he and Zathras agreed that the lower trail was their best route. But the upper trail, if one had a good horse and were in a hurry, was the shorter path.

  “You’re sure there were tracks from a hundred horses?”

  The scout shook his head. “General, the earth was churned to mud in some places. That takes hundreds of horses, many hundreds. The tracks are fresh, only a few days old.”

  Zathras refused to believe his ears. “Only Lord Modran has any sizeable cavalry in these lands, and he took them all with him into the Dellen Pass. Why would he ride this far north before turning around?”

  “How far ahead is this place?” Jedidia didn’t like what he was hearing, but one way or another, he’d find out soon enough.

  “About two miles, General,” the scout said. “You can’t miss the signs.”

  Jedidia turned to Zathras. “Have our men pick up the pace. I want to see this for myself.”

  With Zathras at his side, Jedidia moved to the head of the column. He wanted to examine the ground himself, before his men trampled all over it.

  When they reached the spot, Jedidia halted his horse and stared at the earth. The scout hadn’t lied. Jedidia found himself agreeing with the man – not long ago, several hundred horses had trodden the soft grass into a green and brown mush. He saw where the tracks came down from the upper trail. A rockslide had obliterated a quarter mile stretch of the upper trail. Any riders using that trail would have had to descend here.

  Looking south and about three or four hundred paces ahead, Jedidia observed where the trampled ground slanted back toward the upper trail. So the unknown horsemen had returned to the upper trail as soon as they bypassed the obstruction. That meant the riders were traveling fast and not worried about the stamina of their horses.

  The more Jedidia studied the ground, the more worried he became. Every cavalry force in the Elamite Empire, whether friend or foe, rode in columns of twos or fours. Even the cursed Akkadians followed the same procedure. The only people who rode in an untidy mass, in as broad a front as they could manage, were the barbarians of the steppes.

  But where had they come from? Jedidia knew the Alur Meriki had departed Elam’s lands more than two years ago, unable or unwilling to face a confrontation with Modran’s cavalry. By now the barbarian clan should be far away, beyond even the Land Between the Rivers. Why would a few hundred return to Elam’s territory and risk another confrontation?

  More important, these riders hadn’t come through the Jkarian Pass, which meant they must have traveled through the foothills far to the north. Nor had they turned east, to raid the closest farms and small villages that dotted the landscape of Elam’s northern lands. Instead they had hugged the foothills, and if they kept moving south, the first large village in their path was Zanbil.

  Jedidia swore an oath that startled his horse, as well as Zathras. “It’s the Alur Meriki. They’ve come down from the north, and they’re riding toward Zanbil and the Dellen Pass.”

  Zathras mouth gaped. “Why would they go there? It’s a long ride to Zanbil.”

  “I’m not sure, but I’ll wager that Eskkar of Akkad has something to do with it. He must have paid them to raid our lands, disrupt our supply lines . . .”

  But Jedidia had never planned on being resupplied. The only force with a supply line was Modran’s. If Modran failed to make his way through the Dellen Pass, and his supply depot was destroyed, he, too, might have to turn back.

  The more Jedidia considered the possibility, the more he believed it. After all, Eskkar had somehow closed the Jkarian Pass, so why not the Dellen Pass as well? Where else would the barbarians go?

  “Zathras, halt the column and summon the commanders. We need to make sure they’re ready for a fight. Then we’re going to ride as hard as we can for Zanbil, even if we have to kill every horse to get there!”

  Just after midmorning two days later, General Jedidia sat on his horse atop the same small hill where the Alur Meriki had halted. He had the same good view of Zanbil, just over a mile away. The Alur Meri
ki warriors had seen him coming, of course. Their scouts had tracked his progress for over a day, and yesterday had even ambushed one of Jedidia’s scouting parties, killing fourteen of the twenty men.

  Jedidia brushed off the deaths without a thought. By his rough count, the Alur Meriki had about twelve or fourteen hundred men, perhaps less, certainly no match for his much larger force. All the same, the Alur Meriki seemed indifferent to his approach. They showed no signs of either retreating or attacking.

  The barbarians had abandoned Zanbil when Jedidia’s force drew near. They moved their fighters closer to the mouth of the Dellen Pass and about half a mile north of the opening. A good sized hill that backed onto the upper trail gave them a commanding position, as well as an excellent view of the surroundings. If Jedidia decided to attack, his fighters would be charging up the slope and into the teeth of a barbarian arrow storm.

  “If we have to climb that hill,” Zathras said, studying the ground, “we’ll lose half the men. It will have to be an all-out charge, one single attack, and no turning back until they’re overwhelmed.”

  Jedidia considered his options. He could keep confronting the barbarians with most of his force, while smaller contingents of his men went one by one to the stream at Zanbil for water. So water would not be a factor.

  His main problem was food. Jedidia’s men hadn’t eaten much in the last four days, and they’d ridden hard. The lack of food manifested itself in the slack jaws and empty gazes of his men. If he were going to challenge the barbarians, it would have to be now, before his men lost more of their strength and the will to fight what was sure to be a desperate battle.

  “We could move all our men to Zanbil,” Jedidia said, “to get at the water. We’re going to need that stream no matter what. And there might be food there.”

  Zathras snorted. “The barbarians have been here for what, four or five days? The cattle pen is empty. What they haven’t eaten has probably been dumped into the stream or burned. Besides, if we do that, the barbarians will escape to the north, if that’s their intention.”

  Jedidia glanced toward Zanbil. Three thin plumes of gray smoke still drifted into the air. Zathras was right. The Alur Meriki had received plenty of warning of his approach. They wouldn’t have left anything useful in the village. Nonetheless, after Jedidia’s failure in the Jkarian Pass, even a victory over these barbarians might soften the blow that was sure to come from King Shirudukh.

  A ragged shout from the barbarians echoed off the mountains. A small band of riders, less than twenty, had emerged from the mouth of the Pass. Running their horses flat out, they turned off the trail to Zanbil, and instead followed the crest line to rejoin their companions.

  “Do you think there are any more of them coming out of the Pass?”

  Jedidia kept his gaze on the Alur Meriki. The newcomers had raced to the center of the barbarian position, and now were in an animated discussion with what must be their leaders.

  Suddenly a huge cheer went up from their ranks, starting at the center and extending to the wings. Warriors waved bows, lances, and swords in the air. The undulating battle cry of the barbarians floated over the empty land between the two forces. The barbaric celebration continued for a long time, the noise grating on his nerves even at this distance.

  Zathras swore at the sound. “What are they celebrating?”

  Jedidia could guess the answer to that question. The riders had come from the Pass, riding at top speed. No doubt they brought a report of some victory over Lord Modran’s men. And if Modran’s army had suffered a defeat, or even been driven back, then Jedidia’s situation had changed.

  What a few days ago might have seemed a major disaster to King Shirudukh’s invasion plans now might pale in comparison to Lord Modran’s failure. Jedidia’s mind raced, as he considered the implications.

  The silence dragged on, but Zathras knew better than to interrupt his commander’s thoughts.

  “Get the men moving,” Jedidia ordered at last.

  “Are we going to attack?”

  “No, we’re moving our men to Zanbil. We’ll make camp there until we learn what has happened to Modran’s army. If the news is what I think it is, Modran is in trouble.”

  “What about the barbarians?”

  “If they come off the hill to attack us in Zanbil, we’ll cut them down. Otherwise they can burn farms and villages from one end of Elam to the other for all I care. We’re going to need every single one of our men. With luck, we’ll soon be riding for Sushan.”

  “Then we’re giving up on joining with Modran’s army and riding toward Akkad?”

  “Oh, yes.” Jedidia laughed, a grim sound with little mirth. “Modran got the army and the target he wanted. If he couldn’t handle it, that’s his problem. I have a much better, and closer, goal. Now, let’s ride for Zanbil, before those barbarians change their minds and decide to attack us here. Now start the men moving!”

  Two days later, one of Jedidia’s scouts found his commander sitting under an awning attached to one of the two remaining huts still standing in Zanbil. The man reported that a small troop of horsemen, riding slowly, was coming through the Pass. Jedidia summoned Zathras, and they again went over the plan they had put together the day before.

  “Make sure they’re the men we selected,” Jedidia ordered. He and Zathras had picked the forty men themselves. They chose only tough, hardened men who would fight anyone for a few extra coins, and who would follow orders without question.

  “What if Lord Modran is not with these men?”

  “Then we’ll see what they have to say. But if there’s been a defeat, I know the man well enough. Modran will be the first one out of the Pass,” Jedidia said. “He’ll want to get back to Sushan and the King’s ear before anyone else, to sweeten his side of the tale. And Zathras, take down my standard. I want my being here to be a little surprise for Modran.”

  Jedidia’s men always set his standard, a long red and black streamer, into the ground wherever their General set up his command.

  Jedidia went into the hut, the largest one in Zanbil, that he had taken for his use. He belted on his sword, and made sure his sandals were tightly laced. Then he ordered his warhorse brought up.

  When he stepped outside, he saw that the horsemen had come into view from the mouth of the Pass. Jedidia counted them as they came down the trail. By the time the last had left the opening, their leader was halfway to Zanbil. Less than sixty men rode behind him, slowly pacing their horses.

  Jedidia recognized the subtle signs of defeated men. No victorious soldiers, no matter how weary, rode with their heads down and shoulders slumped. Clearly, these men had fought and lost a battle somewhere inside the Dellen Pass.

  Jedidia personal guards numbered twenty. He ordered half of them into his hut, and scattered the other ten near the stream, only a few paces away. The second hut concealed another twenty picked men armed with bows. He spent a few quick moments with his commanders, making sure they understood what to do.

  When Jedidia felt certain they were ready, he glanced once again toward the approaching horsemen. One look was enough to recognize Lord Modran’s tall figure leading the way.

  “Stay alert, and ready your weapons.” Jedidia checked his sword as well, making sure it slid easily in its scabbard.

  He left the hidden bowmen, swung up onto his horse, and waited. The palm of his right hand felt moist, and he rubbed it against his tunic. The years of humiliation, of putting up with Modran, were coming to an end. Now Jedidia would gamble his life and his fortune for the ultimate prize.

  “You! What are you doing here?” Modran’s bellow rang out the moment he recognized Jedidia, though he was still almost seventy paces away.

  Jedidia had no intention of entering into a shouting match. He waited until Modran drew close enough for Jedidia to see the vein throbbing on the man’s forehead, and the bloodstained bandage on his right arm.

  “Welcome, Lord Modran.” He kept his voice affable. “Did your battle in
the Pass go well?”

  Jedidia already knew the answer to that question. Before the Alur Meriki departed, they left one of their Elamite prisoners, minus his thumbs, to carry a message.

  And so Jedidia learned that Modran’s forces had been stopped by Eskkar’s soldiers in the Pass, and that the barbarians even had the gall to raid Modran’s rear guard and steal hundreds of horses. They had also found time to loot his supply tents, inflicting yet one more hard blow against Modran’s men.

  “That demon Eskkar, curse his name, and his bowmen blocked the Pass. We fought for five days, but couldn’t break through.” He scowled at Jedidia. “Why are you here? You should be riding to Akkad, damn you to the pits. You should have been behind Eskkar, cutting his supply line, and attacking his rear! Without him being resupplied, I would have destroyed him!”

  Jedidia lifted his hands and let them drop. “An earthquake blocked the Jkarian Pass, so we had to turn back.”

  “Where are your men?” Modran moved closer and practically screamed the words in Jedidia’s face.

  “Most of them are riding patrols. A horde of barbarians attacked Zanbil, and they’re still nearby. But don’t worry, you’ll be safe here.”

  In his anger, Modran had pushed his horse almost alongside Jedidia’s. “You will place yourself under my command,” Modran cried, spittle flying from his mouth. “You and your men will obey my . . .”

  Jedidia jerked his sword from its scabbard, even as he kicked his horse forward, bringing him even closer, close enough to run the sharp blade, driven with all of Jedidia’s strength, through Modran’s chest. His eyes went wide in surprise at the unexpected and swift thrust, and Modran never even got his hand on his sword.