Conflict of Empires es-3

by Sam Barone

  “And just as important, I want you to keep an eye on our rear. If anything comes up behind us, you must let me know at once. Can you do that?”

  “Yes, Lord, we’ll watch the rear.”

  “Good. Then good hunting to you. If you do well, you’ll have a full share in any loot we capture.”

  “Captain.” Grond approached. “It’s almost light.”

  Eskkar strode back to the center of the line. “Drakis, take the right side, Alexar the left. Grond and I will take the center. Keep the men moving forward, and keep the line as even as you can.” He drew his long sword from his sheath and raised it in the air. It wouldn’t be needed for some time, but it would do to mark his place in the line, so that every man would know where their captain stood, and could look to his position for orders if need be.

  The men had already strung their great war bows, each one almost as tall as the archer holding it. Arrows were loosened in the quivers, and swords made ready. For well-trained soldiers, these preparations took only moments, so often had they practiced them. Then the men had a chance for one final rest. Most sank to one knee, but a few squatted down while they waited for the order to advance.

  The enemy camp was awakening now, the sleepy sounds of men knowing that dawn approached, the cooks already up, the leaders of ten and twenty starting to move about, yawning as they shook the sleep from their own eyes. The first rays of the sun crossed the hill behind Eskkar, illuminating the land before him with a soft glow. The sun wouldn’t be directly behind his men, but at least his archers wouldn’t be staring into a rising sun. The time had come.

  “Start the men moving,” Eskkar said, extending his blade straight toward the enemy camp. Up and down the line, seventy-two men stood, nocked an arrow to the string, and started walking forward, long strides that covered plenty of ground. The fatigue from the long night march had vanished. The prospect of closing with their enemy gave every man renewed strength.

  From his position at the center, Eskkar glanced to either side. The line remained as even as could be expected, rippling in places for a few steps before the men regained their position. The archers paced forward in silence, still in the deep shadow cast by the hill behind them. Fifty paces, then one hundred. Someone in the camp gave a shout, but Eskkar knew it didn’t matter now. Another thirty steps and he gave the order. “Halt! Shoot!”

  Seventy-two arrows flew through the air. The sentries went down, some struck three or four times. Another volley was already on the way, as the archers loosed their shafts as fast as they could. At this range, less than seventy paces from the edge of the camp, it was almost impossible to miss. And even when they did fail to hit the intended target, the shafts were just as likely to strike some other Sumerian stumbling to his feet in the rear.

  Confusion swept over the camp. Men still half-asleep stumbled to their feet to find arrows hissing through their ranks. Wounded men screamed in pain as the heavy shafts pierced arms and legs. Everyone seemed to be shouting orders, and Eskkar knew that would only add to his opponents’ panic. Any enemy who picked up a bow was targeted at once, the distinctive silhouette easily noticeable even in the half-light of dawn. The twang of the bowstrings and the buzzing of the shafts tearing through the air could be heard even above the din coming from the camp.

  Eskkar used Waradi’s bow to keep the arrow count. As soon as the archer had launched his tenth shaft, Eskkar gave the order to advance, while he kept moving up and down the line, encouraging the men to take their time and aim their shafts.

  The line surged forward another thirty paces, the archers shooting as they walked, before Eskkar halted them. He wanted the Sumerians to fall back, but he also wanted to keep them in a close killing range, just far enough away so that the Akkadians couldn’t be rushed by a desperate counter-attack. Another dozen volleys swept into the milling crowd, all discipline gone with the arrival of the deadly arrows that struck a man down with savage force at such close range.

  “Forward, another thirty paces,” he shouted. “On the run!”

  With a shout the men jogged forward, the line still fairly straight. They reached the dead sentries and crossed into the camp itself, the scent of blood and worse already thick in the air.

  “Akkad! Akkad!” The archers shouted their battle cry as they drove the enemy back. By now most of the bowmen had emptied their first quiver and began drawing shafts from the second.

  “Select your targets!” Eskkar bellowed, his voice carrying up and down the line. “Don’t waste arrows!” He didn’t want the men to run out of shafts until the Sumerians broke completely. “Forward! Another thirty paces forward!”

  The line surged again. This time his men had to watch their step, as the dead and wounded littered the blood-slicked ground. Behind him, Eskkar heard the horse boys’ high-pitched voices crying out with glee as they hacked away at any wounded enemy that still moved. Horses bolted from behind the tent, and Eskkar saw four men riding away, clinging to their mounts. Damn, that would be the leader of the enemy escaping. Eskkar cursed himself for not telling a few of the archers to target the tent’s occupants or the tethered horses.

  By now the Akkadians had swept through half the camp, and the Sumerians gave up any attempt at defending themselves. Screams of the wounded rose up, adding to the survivors’ confusion. Their leaders had abandoned them, and now every man thought only about how to save himself. Everywhere Eskkar looked, he saw men throwing weapons to the ground and bolting to the rear. He knew broken men when he saw them. They would run and run until they fell exhausted to the ground.

  The archers reached the far edge of the camp, leaving only dead and wounded behind them. They continued shooting their arrows, angling the shafts higher into the air, until everyone had emptied his quivers. On the plain stretching to the south, Eskkar watched the surviving Sumerians run for their lives, escape from the deadly Akkadian arrows their only thought.

  “HALT!” There was nothing else he could do. His men were too tired to chase after the fleeing men.

  Eskkar turned to face the camp. The sun had just cleared the top of the low hills, and he realized the entire battle had taken only moments. Each of his archers had loosed close to sixty arrows, and it didn’t take long for his Akkadian bowmen to launch that many shafts. Bodies littered the ground, most with arrows protruding from them. Wounded men shrieked out for mercy or water. The smell of blood now mixed with the more powerful odor of vomit and human waste. Stores of food and piles of water skins, weapons, blankets, cooking pots, clothing, helmets, sandals and tunics lay scattered about, kicked over and trampled in the confusion. Even if the enemy managed to regroup, the survivors would have nothing to fight with and no food to sustain them.

  Drakis joined his captain and Grond. “Well done, Captain. We caught them completely by surprise.”

  “We were lucky,” Eskkar said, sliding his sword into its scabbard. Another battle fought without his needing to use it. The few enemy who had offered any resistance had been cut down at once, and he doubted if he’d ever been in any danger.

  “Well, I for one hope that your luck doesn’t run out.”

  “I’m sure it will.” Eskkar laughed and clapped Drakis on the shoulder. “But not today. At least you survived this fight without a wound.”

  In the last battle, Drakis had fought like a lion, taken half a dozen wounds, and nearly died. He spent months recovering, while healers hovered over him.

  Alexar arrived at almost the same time, a big smile on his face. “Another great victory, Captain.”

  “We’ve only won half the battle,” he reminded them. “Now let’s get busy. There’s plenty of work to be done. Have the men collect their arrows first. We don’t want to be standing here with empty quivers if the Sumerian horsemen arrive.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “Myandro, put out pickets to guard the camp. Drakis, have some of the men collect the weapons, then count and drag off the dead. Gather the food and anything of value in one place. Grond, come wit
h me.”

  Eskkar led the way toward the tent, picking his steps through the bodies and waving off the already gathering flies. He swept aside the opening flap. Grond ducked in first, and Eskkar followed.

  Big enough to hold seven or eight people, and almost high enough for Eskkar to stand erect, the tent contained cushions, a small chest, two wineskins, and scattered clothing. A sword hung from the central post, still in its scabbard.

  “Our enemy travels well,” Grond said, kicking a cushion aside. “All the comforts of home.”

  “Must be some soft merchant who…” Eskkar reached out his arm and pointed to the far corner of the tent. Something had moved under a pile of blankets.

  Grond drew his sword, the blade rasping as it came out of the sheath. “Come out! Now! Or I’ll gut you where you hide!”

  Eskkar saw the top of a head, then another. He laughed again, and let himself relax.

  Two women appeared, clinging to each other, eyes wide with fear. Young girls, with probably less than thirteen seasons. One covered her mouth with her hands, and both trembled as they stood. They looked like terrified children.

  “Please don’t hurt us, master,” one said, dropping to her knees, while tears streamed down her face.

  The other girl, her eyes wide with fright, couldn’t mouth a word.

  At least they could answer one question.

  “Who is your master?”

  One girl swallowed. “Our master is King Eridu of Sumer.”

  Eskkar had to lean forward to hear the words. He grunted in disgust at the name of the former trader turned king. No wonder it had been such an easy victory.

  “Get them outside. You’d better assign someone to guard them.” If they’d been a few seasons older, Eskkar would have turned them over to his archers as a reward. Now he’d have to waste time and men to keep two useless pleasure slaves from harm.

  The thought surprised him. A few years ago, he would have taken both girls himself. Even now, if he’d done any fighting, the thought of burying himself in a woman’s flesh would have tempted him. Now he regarded them as just another problem to be dealt with. Living with Trella more than satisfied his urges.

  “Maybe they’ll tell us something useful,” Grond said, when he returned.

  “Yes, I’m sure they’ll know plenty about Eridu’s rod and what wines he favors,” Eskkar said. “I doubt if they have the wits to remember what he dined on last night.” Remembering Trella’s advice, he took a deep breath. Women, even ones as young as these, still heard everything their master said. “But you’re right. They may be helpful. We’ll get back to them later. Now there’s work to do. I want to be ready if the Sumerian horsemen arrive.”

  5

  In the morning, Razrek was up before the dawn, inspecting his men and making sure they were ready for battle. He, too, had doubled his guards for the night, spreading them out around his forces and making sure his horses were protected. The Akkadians knew he was close by, and Razrek didn’t intend to be surprised by a night attack, especially after warning Eridu to beware the same possibility. The first rays of the sun had just lifted above the horizon when Mattaki galloped up, his horse snorting and throwing clods of dirt in the air as its rider pulled it to a halt.

  “Razrek! They’re gone, all of them! The Akkadians have broken camp!”

  A feeling of dread washed over Razrek. The Akkadians might be flanking him. They could attack at any moment. “Which way did they go?”

  “South, damn them,” Mattaki said. “I said they’re gone. I watched the last of them ride off at first light, traveling fast.”

  “And the archers?”

  “Gone as well. I rode to the top of the hill, but saw no sign of them. They must have left well before dawn.”

  Razrek clenched the hilt of his sword until his hand began to hurt. “What were our sentries doing? Sleeping again. You were supposed to keep…”

  “No, I checked the guards twice last night, and watched the Akkadians myself. They settled in for the night. Damn the gods, they were all sleeping when the camp fires burned out.”

  “Then they can’t be far ahead.” Razrek took a deep breath. No sense appearing worried in front of his men. He hadn’t survived so many years by panicking at the unexpected, and his wits told him to think the situation through. Eskkar was a cunning bastard who always had a trick or two ready to spring on his opponents. Razrek realized it didn’t make much sense for the foot soldiers to leave an hour or two earlier. The Akkadian cavalry would overtake them soon enough, so what was to be gained by such a maneuver? Unless… unless the archers had left long before the dawn. Could they have slipped away without his men seeing them go?

  “Demons below,” Razrek said. “They’re going back to attack Eridu’s men. He thinks he’s pursuing the Akkadians. Instead he’ll be walking into a trap.”

  “Impossible,” Mattaki said. “The Sumerians are at least twenty, maybe twenty-five miles behind.”

  “Not any more. If Eridu marched north yesterday, even his ragged band of cut-throats would have covered at least ten miles. If Eskkar’s men can cover twelve or fifteen miles during the night, they can meet Eridu at daybreak.”

  Mattaki looked dubious. “Could foot soldiers travel that far in the dark? There wasn’t much of a moon last night.”

  Razrek wanted to believe they couldn’t. He knew Eridu’s men couldn’t manage such a thing, but Eskkar’s soldiers…

  “Marduk’s bones, these Akkadians might.” Razrek spat on the ground in anger. “Eridu had better hope to the gods Eskkar’s men can’t reach his Sumerians before dawn. If he doesn’t have a strong guard posted, the fool might wake up with an arrow in his belly.”

  “Eridu’s men outnumber the Akkadians by at least three to one, more if their cavalry won’t be there.”

  “Numbers won’t matter to Eskkar. Even if he can’t destroy Eridu’s soldiers, he’ll maul them so bad they’ll be ready to run home.” Razrek looked up at the sky. By now Eskkar’s archers might be closing on Eridu’s men. “Get the men mounted, all of them. Call in the scouts. We’ll have to ride hard to save whatever’s left of Eridu’s soldiers. I just hope they can hold out until we arrive.”

  “Which route will we take, to the east or west?”

  “The shortest, which means we’ll have to follow the path the Akkadians took.”

  “We’re going to chase them? Are you mad? They’ll expect us to follow, they’ll set up an ambush for sure. We should swing around them, take a different route.”

  “No time. We’ll have to take the chance.” Razrek shook his head in anger. “Besides, it’s the Sumerians Eskkar wants to smash, not us. By now he’s figured out who his real enemy is. If Eskkar leaves a strong enough force behind to ambush us, he won’t have enough to break Eridu’s forces. We only have to get to Eridu before he’s overrun, and that means we’ll need to take the shortest path.”

  “You’re going to get us all killed.”

  “No, at the first sign of an ambush, we’ll just pull back, swing around them. If their cavalry tries to follow, we’ll finish them off. Now get moving.”

  Mattaki took only moments to get the men ready to ride. Razrek waited, frowning at every delay. He felt his own doubts rising. Suddenly, he was dependent on Eridu’s men holding their ground, and he felt certain Eskkar wouldn’t gamble his forces like this if he weren’t confident of winning. Or would he? King Eskkar believed in luck, that much was certain. Still, even the Akkadian might not be able to cover all that distance during the night. He might be counting on engaging whatever force he encountered before Razrek could arrive.

  “Damn all the demons to the fires.” Razrek swung onto his horse. “Let’s ride!”

  M itrac figured he had more than enough time to prepare his position. Even if the Sumerian horsemen began their pursuit at first light, the sun would be nearly halfway to its zenith before they reached this valley. In fact, they might not even come at all, if they took another route to reach the enemy’s camp ground
. That would be the best solution, Mitrac knew, because it would delay the horsemen even more, and he wouldn’t have to risk his men. Nevertheless, he hoped the enemy would take the most direct route. If the Sumerian horsemen followed Hathor’s trail, then they would have to ride past Mitrac and his archers.

  Eskkar and Mitrac had marked this position yesterday, on the march north. They’d been searching for a place where a few archers might hold off Eridu’s cavalry. This gentle valley seemed a perfect place for the archers. The dale’s walls were not particularly high or steep, but the slope was long and would be tiring for any horse and rider. At the valley’s center, the walls pinched in, and a small hill jutted up a few dozen paces from the floor, leaving only one narrow path that circled the base of the hill.

  Mitrac knew his archers could sweep the approach, and then follow the horsemen as they rode past. The hilltop might not be that imposing, but it would slow down any horsemen foolish enough to try attacking uphill and overrunning the archers’ position. Unless, Mitrac corrected himself, the enemy was willing to risk taking plenty of casualties. Best of all, if the horsemen decided to avoid the killing zone and bypass Mitrac’s archers, the enemy would have to turn around and ride back more than a mile, then find another trail south. That would waste even more time.

  His mission wasn’t to defeat or even stop the Sumerian horsemen, only to slow them down and give Eskkar enough time to finish off the foot soldiers. If the enemy didn’t take this route, then Mitrac would have to find a way to join up with Eskkar’s archers. Mitrac and his band would be needed, too, especially if Eskkar arrived too late to take Eridu’s men by surprise.

  All that mattered little now, Mitrac decided. “Let’s get to work.” He posted two guards on the top of the hill, and the others descended to the base and started digging.

  The Akkadians had brought one bronze-tipped shovel with them on the march south, and Mitrac had requested it. He wanted to dig as many small holes as possible, to help block the expanse between the foot of the hill and the other side of the valley wall. The holes didn’t need to be deep or wide. Half a sword-length deep would be more than enough to break a horse’s leg.