4

After taking a full day and night of rest, the Akkadians collected their horses and weapons, and prepared to move out. Scouts galloped off in all directions, but stayed close to the main force of archers. Eskkar didn’t want to offer any tempting targets to the enemy horsemen. As long as the riders stayed within easy reach of the bowmen, they should be safe enough.

Before the Akkadians could begin the march, pushing and shoving broke out among the ranks. Instead of restoring order, Hathor and Alexar began arguing, their voices rising until they stood face to face, shouting at each other. Hathor struck Alexar in the chest with his fist, and the two men grappled. Soldiers shouted encouragement to their respective commanders, and a ring of cheering and shouting onlookers formed around them. Both commanders drew their swords. The clash of bronze against bronze once again echoed out over the grassland, as the two fighters weaved and shifted. Eskkar let the performance go on for a dozen strokes before he halted the brawl, stepping between the two and shoving them apart.

Raising his voice, he rained down abuse on both combatants, to the cheers and shouts of the men. The noise from the brief swordplay would have alerted any spies watching their camp, and Eskkar’s bellows would have carried almost as far. The Sumerian scouts would report a second day of continued dissension in the Akkadian ranks. Satisfied, Eskkar ordered his commanders to break camp, and get the soldiers moving.

Hathor and Klexor split the thirty horsemen between them and moved out ahead, screening the archers. They headed north, back the way they came. Alexar and the bowmen followed, the leaders of ten moving up and down the column of soldiers as they marched, reminding them to look weary, as if they’d already been beaten in a fight. Eskkar ordered a steady pace, but he rested the men much more often than he had in the last eight days. At mid-morning they turned off their own tracks, and headed westward, taking a different path than the one they’d followed when chasing after the bandits.

With Grond at his side, Eskkar now led the way at the head of the archers. The countryside here wasn’t entirely unfamiliar. His horsemen had scouted the countryside yesterday, and some of the archers and riders had lived in these lands before moving to Akkad. As the first of his scouts reported back, Eskkar listened to each report, and he picked the next part of the march with care. The survival of his soldiers might depend on the path he chose through the hills and valleys that led to the west.

Not long after the Akkadians turned westward, enemy horsemen appeared brazenly on the hills behind them, as if tempting the retreating force to turn and give chase. Eskkar ignored them, determined to avoid wasting his men’s strength pursuing riders who simply rode away. His main worry this morning remained the possibility of an ambush. Sooner or later, the Sumerians would get in his path, and attempt to halt his force. Hopefully his change of direction westward would keep them off balance for the rest of today.

At midday, Eskkar gave the order to halt beside a small stream, and the men sank to the ground while they ate stale bread. Some removed their sandals and soaked their feet in the water, while a few splashed their faces and hands. Eskkar ordered that every water skin be filled. The countryside around them had been stripped bare of food and flocks by the enemy horsemen. Only a few loaves of stale bread remained to fill the Akkadian soldiers’ stomachs. By tomorrow, even that would be gone and real hunger would set in. Nevertheless, Eskkar no longer worried about food. That would soon be the least of his men’s needs.

After a longer than usual break, the Akkadians abandoned the pleasant little stream and resumed their journey. The men trudged through the low hills and sparse grassland. The ground grew a little greener with each step nearer to the Tigris, still a few days’ march away.

When dusk approached, Eskkar gave the order to halt. The campsite didn’t appear very favorable. No stream meandered nearby, just a half-mile-wide expanse of thick grass surrounded by low hills. Nevertheless, the seemingly haphazard choice had been selected with care. It had to serve Eskkar’s purposes as well as his enemies’.

The men still had chores to do before they could rest. Eskkar made sure they collected plenty of wood and chips, and soon crackling fires sent smoke trails skyward, warming the men though they had little to put in their cooking pots. The scouts had seen no game during the day’s march. Eskkar’s marching orders kept the scouts close to the bowmen, and meant they had no opportunity to hunt.

As on the previous night, extra guards were posted, and a strong perimeter established. The last thing Eskkar wanted now was for his enemies to attack in force during the night. Grond brought over a small loaf of bread that he’d soaked in the last stream they crossed. Eskkar took half, and had to force the tasteless mush down.

For once, Eskkar didn’t bother making the rounds of the camp. His commanders knew what needed to be done. Instead he gathered his blanket and tried to get some rest, stretching out on the ground and turning his back to the setting sun. Though he lay there unmoving, his mind raced with thoughts about the coming action. As dusk gathered, Eskkar managed to doze off, though he slept fitfully, as he always did the night before a fight. When Grond woke him, night had fallen, and the stars shone bright overhead. The fires already burned low, barely kept alive by soldiers tossing a few sticks on them now and again.

Eskkar took the hand Grond extended to him. “Is everything ready?”

“Yes, Captain. The men have already started slipping away. They’re waiting for us.”

Grond seldom wasted words, which might explain why the two had become good friends. As Eskkar slung his sword over his shoulder, Hathor slipped up beside him.

“My men are ready, Captain.”

Eskkar looked around the campsite. Men still moved about, and blankets still circled the dying fires. Grond and Hathor had let him rest as long as possible. “You’re sure you have everything you need?”

“Yes,” Hathor said. “Good luck to you and your men.”

“And good hunting to you.”

With a final clasp of his hand on Hathor’s shoulder, Eskkar disappeared into the darkness, following Grond. Hathor, Klexor, and all thirty horsemen would remain in the camp, tending the dying fires, acting as pickets, and trying to make themselves look as if they constituted all of the Akkadian forces. And praying to the gods that the Sumerians didn’t decide to attack tonight.

A hundred paces from the nearest fire, Eskkar found the rest of his men waiting silently for his arrival. The seven horse boys were there as well, scattered throughout the archers to make sure they kept silent. He’d considered leaving them behind, but knew what their fate would be in the morning. Though sitting on the ground, the archers had formed a double column, each man a long stride apart from his nearest companion, and ready for the long night march. The chill in the air made more than a few shiver.

Every bowman carried two quivers full of arrows, thirty shafts in each. Every fifth man carried a water skin, but that burden would be shared as they marched. In a few hours most of it would be gone. Other than their swords and knives, the archers carried nothing else, no food, no cooking pots, nothing. They’d already eaten the last of the food. Morning might herald a long day of hunger and thirst, with the grim possibility of a fight to the death.

Eskkar moved to the head of the column. Lifting his eyes, he studied the sky and located the North Star. He would keep that at his back. Before long, the moon would rise, but by then Eskkar and his force of archers intended to be well away from their campsite, which would remain in place to reassure those watching the Akkadians’ movements. With luck, he and his men would soon be far from the camp and any spying eyes.

It wouldn’t be a full moon tonight, but should shed enough light to help mark the trail. At least, Eskkar hoped it would.

“Tell the men to move out, Grond. Pass the word to each man.”

With that order, Eskkar had committed himself and his men to the risky plan. He waited until he felt certain the order had time to reach the rear of the column, and then started walking south, back along the trail they’d followed during the day.

Grond passed the order, then disappeared ahead into the darkness. He had the most dangerous assignment tonight. With two men, both experienced hunters, Grond would scout the way south and make sure Eskkar and the rest of the men didn’t blunder into any enemy sentries.

Now Eskkar had plenty to occupy his thoughts. His men would worry about the spirits and demons that prowled the land, searching for living bodies to carry back to their caves beneath the earth. No one liked to travel at night.

Eskkar, however, ignored any fears about the hunters of the underworld. Since childhood, he had heard many stories of people taken during the darkness, but he had never seen a demon himself. If they hadn’t bothered any of his enterprises until now, he doubted the evil spirits would choose tonight to try and carry off a few of his men. Instead, Eskkar worried more about someone tripping and breaking a leg, or stumbling over a bush and spraining an ankle. Any sound or movement could alert the enemy sentries, who might still be posted somewhere nearby, watching the Akkadian camp.

In the past Eskkar would have led the men himself, but he knew his eyes had lost some of their keenness in the dark. Better to let another with sharper sight lead the way than for Eskkar to stumble and fall, embarrassing himself in front of his men. Eskkar didn’t intend to allow his pride get in the way of his plan. Waradi, one of the youngest archers and raised in the hill country west of Akkad, had been assigned the lead.

Waradi moved out ahead, Eskkar right behind. The soldiers gathered strength from his presence, and from the knowledge that he took the same or greater risks as any of them. Eskkar ordered every warrior to follow three paces behind the man in front of him. That should be close enough to maintain contact with the man ahead, yet far enough apart so that if someone tripped, he wouldn’t take the man ahead or behind down with him.

The first few hundred paces would be the most dangerous. If the enemy saw or heard them, and sounded the alarm, Eskkar would have to call the whole plan off and return to Hathor and his horsemen. Then they would have no choice but to fight their way north. Alexar, Drakis, Grond, and the other commanders would have warned the men over and over about the need to keep silent, watch where they stepped, and keep the proper distance. Nevertheless, Eskkar kept glancing behind him. Finally, he realized that the more he fretted about his men, the more he stumbled himself. Swearing under his breath, he concentrated on the ground before him.

That first part of the long night march moved with maddening slowness. Eskkar worried that the enemy had detected them, might even now be gathering strength to attack. Still, as the Akkadians moved farther away from the camp, their chances of being seen lessened. All that mattered now was maintaining his place behind Waradi, and keeping silent. In that way, step by step, the column crept through the darkness and, despite the occasional stumbles, no alarm was given.

Waradi moved back beside Eskkar. “I think we’re safe enough. We’ve traveled at least a mile from the camp.”

“No sign of Grond?”

“No, not yet. He might be far ahead.”

Eskkar, who tended to worry over every thing that might go wrong, had little concern for Grond’s safety. The man was made of bronze, and it would take more than a few men to subdue him. If Grond encountered any of the enemy, the noise would carry over a great distance in the still night air.

“Speed up the pace, Waradi.”

“Yes, Captain,” Waradi said, risking the familiarity usually reserved for Eskkar’s closest friends and commanders.

Eskkar grunted. He turned to the man behind him. “Pass the word, we’re picking up the pace.”

Each man whispered the order to the man behind him. Soon eighty-five men and the horse boys were stretching their legs at a fast walk, risking the occasional stumble over a rock or patch of high grass. A broken leg or even a sprained ankle would mean a man out of the fight, and Eskkar needed every archer he had. Thankfully the moon had risen, shedding a bit more light to mark both the hills around them as well as the ground beneath their feet.

They kept moving, covering the dark ground as fast as they could. Only when Eskkar’s own legs protested did he halt for a brief rest. Every man sank to the ground, glad to be off his feet. Nevertheless, Eskkar paused only long enough to let the men catch their breath. The archers’ legs would just have to suffer.

They resumed the grueling march. All too soon the moon rose to its highest point and began its descent. Eskkar estimated that they needed to cover at least fifteen or sixteen miles to reach the Sumerian camp. And, of course, that assumed that a Sumerian force existed, and that this unseen enemy had moved north to pursue the retreating Akkadians. If that held true, Eskkar was still gambling his enemy would camp at the most likely place, where the small stream would provide plenty of water. Still, for all Eskkar knew, they could have marched ten or twenty miles in the opposite direction, back toward Sumer.

Walking through the blackness, Eskkar wondered if his march was anything more than a fool’s errand. The plan that had seemed so reasonable yesterday now seemed more like a dangerous gamble that would put the Akkadians in harm’s way. If dawn arose without their encountering the enemy, he would have wasted more than just a long and dangerous night’s march. Hathor and the horsemen would be miles away, possibly in as much danger as Eskkar’s archers. And some of his men would gaze at him before looking away, wondering about their leader’s ability. The thought of looking foolish in their eyes always bothered him.

“Look into the mind of your enemy,” Trella had often advised him, “and try to think as he does.” That single piece of advice from his beautiful wife had accounted for more of Eskkar’s good fortune in battle than anything else. So he placed himself in the enemy’s mind, and tried to think like the leader of the Sumerian force behind him. If the Sumerians wanted a fight, they would follow his trail, chasing after him as fast as they could, and counting on their large force of horse fighters to slow the Akkadians down until they could be caught from behind. Now the long string of assumptions seemed tenuous. Eskkar forced such thoughts out of his head. It was too late now to have qualms about appearing foolish.

More thoughts of Trella jumped into his mind. He always worried when he left her behind, though he knew she was safe enough. Akkad now had sufficient soldiers to man the extended walls, more than enough to repel any attacker and to defend Trella and their son, Sargon from any assault from within. With old Gatus guarding the city, and Bantor protecting Trella, Eskkar felt certain he had little to concern himself about in that regard. Those two were his most trusted and loyal followers, and both would defend Trella and her son while they had breath in their bodies.

He shook his head, angry at himself for letting his mind wander. Now was not the time to be wasting thoughts on Trella. Instead, Eskkar turned his mind toward the coming fight. He still didn’t know for certain who or how many he would be facing.

Sumer, deep in the Sumerian south, had yielded little information to Trella’s few informants in the last six months. They had gathered some rumors of war and of men training to fight. Loose talk provided only a rough count of their numbers, and Eskkar estimated that Eridu could have as many as two hundred men under his command. If supported by a strong force of horsemen, King Eridu might be tempted to attack the border.

Whatever enemy Eskkar faced in the morning, he guessed he would be outnumbered at least two or three to one, but that fact didn’t trouble him. If he could achieve the surprise he intended, it wouldn’t matter how many men his unknown opponent had.

But if Eskkar didn’t come to grips with the enemy, if the campsite by the stream lay empty, Eskkar’s split forces would be in deadly danger. Hathor would be lucky to rejoin the bowmen without a fight. Again and again Eskkar forced the ever-returning doubts from his mind. Dawn would answer all these questions.

As he strode along, he remembered another night march from almost ten years ago. That time Eskkar and a band of fighters led their horses, guiding the nervous animals through another long night of darkness. Luck had favored him then, and he closed with his enemy just in time for a daybreak raid through their camp. Now Eskkar had to hope tonight’s march turned out as fruitful as the one long ago.

Waradi stopped short, raising his hand to halt the column. Behind Eskkar, the line of men stumbled and muttered at the sudden cessation of movement. To Eskkar’s ears, the noise sounded loud enough to wake the demons below.

“Captain, it’s Grond.” Waradi’s voice carried just enough to be heard a few dozen paces away.

Eskkar breathed a sigh of relief. “Pass the word for the men to halt.”

Grond reached Eskkar’s side, giving his captain a hug of delight. “We’re making good time. Mitrac’s hill is just ahead. My two scouts are on the far side, watching. But so far, we’ve seen nothing.”

Eskkar digested the news. His archers had covered nearly two-thirds the distance to the stream. Best of all, they weren’t lost, or marching in the wrong direction. “Good. Then we can increase our pace again.” He moved back down the column, until he reached Mitrac and his group of hand-picked archers. “Mitrac. We’re here. Gather your men.”

The young archer had only nineteen seasons, but had more experience killing men than anyone in Akkad, including his captain. His bow had brought down countless numbers of barbarians, bandits and invaders, and even Eskkar stood in awe of Mitrac’s skill with his chosen weapon.

Soon twelve of the archers stood behind Mitrac, all of them facing Eskkar.

“At least you don’t have to walk any more,” Eskkar said, in a feeble attempt at humor. Mitrac and his men would be left behind, to act as a rearguard and slow down any pursuit.

“Good luck to you, Captain,” Mitrac answered.

“Is there anything else you need?” Eskkar wanted to say more, but there was nothing more to say. Everything had been discussed yesterday on the march up.

“No, Captain,” Mitrac said. “You should keep moving. We’ll catch up to you later in the day.”

“Good hunting to you, then.” He turned to Waradi. “Get the men moving. They’ve rested long enough.”

With muted groans the column started off once again. Eskkar had time for a glance behind him at Mitrac and his men. The young archer had risked his life a dozen times, but always at Eskkar’s side. Now Mitrac might have to face an unknown number of enemies, and Eskkar hoped he hadn’t sacrificed one of his most loyal followers. Still, another dozen archers probably wouldn’t make much difference in the morning, but here, if they could slow the enemy horsemen, they would strike a hard blow of their own.

The column of soldiers, now reduced to seventy-nine men and boys, pressed on. Once again Grond went on ahead to rejoin his two scouts. Their station would be at least a quarter mile in advance, alert for any signs of the enemy. Eskkar couldn’t be sure, but estimated his men had no more than four or five miles to go to reach the camp site.

He glanced up at the heavens. The moon seemed to move faster now across the cloudless sky dotted with uncountable numbers of stars. The march continued, and the ground grew rougher, and more men stumbled or tripped as they tired. Eskkar’s legs ached from the strain, and he heard the labored breathing of the soldiers behind him. They had covered several miles since their last stopping place. Better to halt now and let the men rest for a few moments.

“Waradi, we’ll stop and rest. Pass the word to halt, then see if there’s anything up ahead.”

Alexar moved up from his post at the rear of the column. He joined his leader and sat down on the grass with a grunt of pleasure. Everyone was feeling the strain. “I left Drakis in charge of the rear, Captain.” He glanced up at the sky. “Not much longer to sunrise,” Alexar offered.

Eskkar’s temper flared at the innocent words, but he caught himself. Alexar meant no criticism of his leader’s plan. “Well, if we can’t reach the camp by dawn, then all the men can enjoy a good rest.”

“I meant . . .”

“I know what you meant, Alexar,” Eskkar said, softening his tone. “We’ll give it one more push. If we don’t find anything, we’ll build a camp of our own and wait for Hathor to join us.”

That was the plan in the event of failure, or as much of it as they’d worked out. They would need food and water, and only the horsemen could bring that, and then only if they could avoid the enemy horsemen. In fact, Eskkar and his men would be trapped wherever they were, weary and helpless with scarcely any food.

“We’ve still got time,” Alexar said. “Though I thought we’d have reached the stream by now.”

Eskkar glanced up at the moon. It was fading, about to dip below the horizon. Not long after that, dawn would come. “We’ve rested long enough. Let’s get the men moving.” With a long sigh of soft murmurs, the column climbed back on its feet and started moving. By now Eskkar had no idea of how far they’d come, or how much farther they had to go.

“Captain! Captain!” Waradi rushed back to the head of the column. “One of the scouts, Myandro, he came back. He says he thinks they saw a glow in the night up ahead.”

That might mean a single campfire, but Eskkar doubted any scouting party would burn a fire all night long. Only a large camp full of men would do that, to keep some fire available during the night should an emergency arise.

“Lead the way, Waradi,” Eskkar said. “Alexar, get back to the rear and keep the men moving. Tell every one of them not to make a sound or I’ll cut their tongues out myself.”

In moments, and despite his orders, whispers of the sighting swept down the length of the column. Waradi and Eskkar pushed the pace even harder. The race against dawn continued, but now at least the Akkadians had some hope. It would be crushing to reach the enemy camp and find them awake and preparing for battle.

The archers moved quicker now, covering the next half mile almost at a trot. Then Waradi halted the column. Myandro, one of Grond’s advance scouts, loomed up out of the shadows.

“Captain, there are campfires up ahead, at least three of them,” Myandro said. “Less than a mile from here. As soon as we saw that, Grond sent me to find you. He and Ishme are waiting there, watching the camp.”

A fire’s light could be seen for miles at night. “You saw none of their sentries?” Eskkar bit his lip as soon as the words were uttered. Myandro, a Hawk Clan warrior, had proven himself as one of the finest night hunters in Akkad. If the scout had seen anything of importance he would have spoken.

“No, nothing. If they have sentries posted, they’re staying close to the camp.”

“Let’s keep moving, men,” Eskkar said, speaking just loud enough to reach the archers now clustering around him. “Their camp is just ahead.” Without waiting for a reply, Eskkar started jogging south. Myandro flashed by and raced ahead into the darkness with scarcely a sound coming from the thick grass beneath his sandals, while Waradi retook the lead position, stretching his own legs to keep pace with Eskkar’s longer limbs.

Eskkar didn’t stop jogging until he saw the glow of the fires up ahead. Then he slowed to a fast walk, breathing hard. A horseman born and bred, he hated walking, let alone running. Even after all those years living as an outcast among villagers and farmers, Eskkar still believed the farthest a warrior should walk was the distance from his tent to his horse. Villagers, who possessed few horses, had grown accustomed to walking great distances. Nor did they need many horses, living as they did jammed together in villages, with every man and animal within touching distance.

He glanced up at the sky. The moon had faded to a mere speck. But there should be just enough time to reach the enemy’s camp. Myandro’s figure again appeared out of the darkness.

“We’ll need to be silent, Captain,” he warned. “Every sound carries farther at night. We’re close enough now that they might hear us coming.”

“Just get us into position before the sun comes up,” Eskkar whispered.

The Akkadians resumed their march, moving slower now and exercising caution with every step. They all followed Myandro, who led the way toward the base of a low hill. When Eskkar and the men started to climb, Myandro gave the order to halt.

“Keep the men here, Captain,” he said. “You come to the top of the hill.”

Soon Eskkar, Waradi, Alexar, Drakis, and Myandro lay at the top of the hill, facing south. Grond and Ishme were already there waiting for them, but one look over the crest told Eskkar everything he needed to know.

The enemy camp lay less than a quarter mile away, outlined by the fading glow from three watch fires. Eskkar could even make out the dozen or so trees that lined the tiny stream.

At this late hour, the guards hadn’t bothered to replenish the flames, with dawn so near, even assuming they had any firewood left. The size of the encampment surprised Eskkar. He could even make out the hulking shadow of a large tent on one side of the camp. After one quick look, Eskkar raised his estimate of the enemy facing him to at least three hundred. No wonder the enemy felt confident enough to challenge Akkad.

“We won’t be able to get a good count until dawn,” Alexar said, thinking along the same lines.

“It doesn’t matter,” Eskkar said. “A hundred or a thousand, we have to attack. If nothing else, we need the food and water.”

“Do you think they have any guards this far from camp?” Alexar had lifted himself up on one elbow to better scan the landscape.

“I haven’t seen any,” Grond whispered. “I’ve been watching, but the only sentries I see are those pacing the camp’s perimeter. But there’s at least ten of them guarding this approach.”

“Let’s see how close we can get before they spot us,” Eskkar said. “It’s the end of a long nightwatch, and their sentries will be tired. Alexar, you and Grond go back and tell the men what is up ahead. I don’t want any of them falling down the hill because they’re gawking at the campfires.”

“Come on, Grond,” Alexar said, excitement in his voice. “We’ll bring them up a dozen at a time.”

Eskkar rose and crested the hill. The sentries would be unable to see this far into the blackness, and every glance toward the campfires would reduce their night vision. He moved across the grass, feeling his way, until he reached a point about two hundred paces from the camp, as close as he dared go without risking detection. He stopped and waited until Grond crept up with the first group of men.

“Spread out along this line,” Eskkar ordered, extending his arms. He kept his voice low, so that he couldn’t be heard a dozen paces away. “We’ll wait here until dawn.”

Time seemed to race by, and the eastern sky began to lighten. Little by little, the Akkadian line extended as each group of men joined them. When all of them were in place, his line of seventy bowmen stretched more than a hundred paces. Eskkar walked up and down the rank of men, whispering to each one, telling them one last time what they were to do and what to expect. No one showed the slightest fear at the prospect of attacking an unknown force more than three or four times their size. These archers knew their trade, and knew what devastation they could wreak on unprepared men.

With everything ready, Eskkar found he had time for one more set of orders. He gathered the seven horse boys around him.

“Boys, remember what I told you. Spread out and stay a dozen paces behind the archers. Your task is to kill any of the enemy wounded. Use your knives, until you can pick up a sword. Just stay behind the line, and keep silent. I don’t want the archers to hear you shouting behind them. You might frighten them.”

A few giggled softly at the thought. The boys, ranging in age from twelve to fifteen, were nearly wild with excitement and fear. “Yes, Lord,” they whispered.

“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 with 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.”