by Sam Barone
Shulgi had no doubt that they were. He had known Razrek for almost three years, and the man knew how to recruit men, and lead them in battle. Razrek’s weaknesses were his lust for gold, and his preference for relaxing in Sumer’s alehouses. As long as Shulgi could keep Razrek away from the city’s temptations, the Sumerian would help build Shulgi’s army.
A soldier entered the tent. “The leader of the Tanukhs is coming, commander.”
“They must have seen you riding in,” Razrek said.
Shulgi nodded to the guard. “Tell Vanar to join us, and to bring the gift.”
A few moments later, they heard the sound of horses. Shulgi stepped outside the tent just as Kapturu halted his horse, a white stallion even bigger than Shulgi’s. A touch on the heels and a flick of the halter against its neck, and the animal reared up, its hooves flashing in the air before they plunged back to the earth with a spray of sand.
Satisfied with his impressive entrance, Kapturu swung down from his mount with a swagger. The Tanukh leader, tall and with a thick black beard, patted his horse on the neck, then glanced around, his eyes resting on Shulgi only in passing.
“Where is . . . ah, Razrek. The greetings of the desert to you, my friend.”
“Welcome, Chief Kapturu, mightiest leader of the brave Tanukh clans.” Razrek favored Kapturu with a near-fawning bow before straightening up and smiling. “Enter our tent. We’ve wine and water inside.”
Before Razrek could say anything more, Kapturu strode past Shulgi, almost brushing him aside, as the Tanukh entered the tent. Four of Kapturu’s men, either bodyguards or advisors, Shulgi couldn’t decide, followed their leader inside. They, too, ignored Shulgi, who was left standing alone outside the tent.
Vanar walked up, pushing his way through the Tanukh horsemen. “You sent for me, Lord Shulgi?” He carried the gift under his arm.
“Yes.” Shulgi took the bundle from his second in command. “Order your men to approach as close to the tent as possible. If there’s any trouble with these Tanukhs, I want you to be ready. Then join me inside as quickly as you can.”
Without waiting for Vanar to reply, Shulgi ducked into the tent. The last of Kapturu’s men had just taken a seat, closing the ring that contained Razrek and the Tanukh leader, seated face to face with a small open space between them.
“This is King Shulgi of Sumer,” Razrek announced, already aware of the awkward situation that had developed.
Everyone turned toward Shulgi, who smiled and stepped into the circle. “One of your men will have to wait outside, Chief Kapturu.” Shulgi gestured toward the man seated at Razrek’s right. “I don’t think there’s room for all of us.”
“This boy is your king?” Kapturu’s voice boomed throughout the tent, and his words carried easily to those waiting beyond. “I thought he was one of your playthings.”
All the Tanukhs laughed, including Kapturu. Razrek tightened his lips, concerned that things had gone badly and could go worse.
“I’ve a gift for you, Chief Kapturu.” Shulgi’s words slowly ended the laughter. He untied the cord fastening the bundle, unwrapped the cloth, and held up a gleaming bronze blade. Unlike the straight swords the Sumerians carried, this one had a curve that started a hand’s length from the tip, where the blade widened as well. “Would you like to see how well it strikes? I can kill that one now, if he doesn’t get up from my place.”
The laughter and smiles vanished. Shulgi stood in the center of the tent, his head barely brushing the roof, with a sword in his hand. Everyone else was seated. Even if they reached for their swords, they would be at a disadvantage.
“You dare to insult my men?” Kapturu’s voice hardened.
The tent flap jostled again, and Vanar ducked inside. He took one look at Shulgi standing there, sword in hand, and instinctively dropped his left hand to clasp his scabbard.
“Ah, Vanar, are your men outside? How many did you summon?”
“Yes, my king. Two sections . . . sixty men.”
“Good.” Shulgi turned to face Kapturu, sword now held high in both hands. “You might as well tell all your guards to leave.” Shulgi decided that these Tanukhs were mere bodyguards, meant to impress the Sumerians. “They won’t be needed while we speak.”
“My men stay with me. And I don’t take orders from a Sumerian boy who calls himself a king.”
Shulgi shrugged in resignation. “Very well.”
He whirled around, striking as fast as any desert snake, the blade swinging sideways, narrowly missing Razrek’s head before slicing deep into the neck of the Tanukh seated beside him. The blow came so fast that no one had time to react. Blood splattered everywhere, the spray covering Razrek. Without stopping after the killing stroke, Shulgi spun the blade around, its bloody tip now a hand’s length from Kapturu’s throat.
“Would you like a further demonstration, Chief Kapturu?”
“Stop!” Kapturu directed the word, not at Shulgi, but to the rest of his men, who had started to draw their weapons. Seated on the ground, Kapturu knew he’d be dead before anyone could strike a blow in his defense.
Shulgi’s eyes flickered to Vanar. His commander remained in the tent’s opening, blocking the entrance, and no one outside could have seen what happened. “Perhaps we should begin our meeting.” Shulgi took a half-step backwards, then thrust the bloody blade deep into the sand. “As you can see, this sword will take a man’s head from his shoulders with ease.”
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 un-crowded 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.” H
e 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.”
In 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.
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br /> 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.
