Empire Rising (47 page)

He’d been one of the first to fire as the men rode past.

The ambush left everyone with a raging thirst, and they drank the remainder of their water with no thought to save any for later. They couldn’t carry it far on foot, anyway.

“Anyone know who they were?” Alexar tossed away the now-empty water skin. “They weren’t Alur Meriki, or we’d all be dead by now.”

“If they were Alur Meriki,” Klexor offered, “they would’ve finished us off with lances, the barbarian way, instead of riding through us like a bunch of old women who can’t control their horses.”

“Their leader was Ariamus, the former captain of the guard in Orak,”

Bantor said, staring at the ground. He tested his shoulder, moving his arm carefully; it didn’t hurt quite as much. Perhaps the bone hadn’t broken after all. Bantor took a deep breath, still struggling to control his emotions.

“The coward Ariamus ran off when he learned the barbarians were coming to Akkad, and that’s when Eskkar took command of the village.”

Bantor left unsaid that, a few months before his departure, Ariamus had sent Bantor out on a patrol, then summoned Annok-sur to his bed for an afternoon of pleasure. Annok-sur had never spoken about it, but Bantor had heard whispers of it from the men.

Short of stabbing Ariamus in the back, and so forfeiting his own life for killing his superior, Bantor could do nothing, so he’d swallowed his pride and pretended ignorance. He knew Annok-sur had not gone willingly, but to protect her husband and daughter.

Flexing his arm, Bantor couldn’t remember a time in the last few months when he wasn’t recovering from one wound or another.

“Well, whoever they were, they headed off toward Akkad,” Alexar replied, “so they must be sure of being able to enter the city.”

“They can’t enter Akkad, not that many of them, and not carrying weapons,” Bantor answered, trying to understand what had happened. No large force of armed men could get into Akkad, unless . . .

“Could they have taken the city?” Klexor asked, his mind going down the same path as his commander’s.

“They must have captured Akkad,” Bantor said. “They knew we were coming, and didn’t want us reaching the gates.”

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“Forty or so bandits isn’t enough to take Akkad,” Klexor offered. “They must have more men inside the city as well.”

“So they ambush us just before we reach Akkad,” Alexar said, “before we learn what’s happened to the city.”

That made sense, Bantor decided. Take the city, then take the soldiers piecemeal. He wondered if Eskkar’s force to the north might be next, if they hadn’t already been crushed.

“Damn the demons below,” Bantor swore. “We can’t just walk up to the gates and ask what the hell is going on! These bandits may have had enough fighters to capture Akkad from within.”

“Well, what are we going to do?” Klexor sounded worried. “If this Ariamus has captured Akkad, he may come back with more men. We can’t just stay here.”

A good question, Bantor thought, and he didn’t know what to answer.

What would Eskkar do, he wondered. Eskkar always knew what to do on a battlefield. Bantor thought about that for a while.

“How many horses and men do we have?” he asked abruptly.

Alexar had already taken the count. “Counting us, we’ve twenty-five men, six of them wounded, and seven horses.” He glanced at the soldiers gathered around their leaders. The men looked alert, some tended to the wounded, while others salvaged what they could from their dead companions or the bandits. “We may get a few more horses if we’re lucky, but darkness is coming on . . .”

Bantor thought that over. He took longer to work things out than some of his men, but he’d survived plenty of fights. One thing he knew for certain. He didn’t have enough information to decide what to do. If he picked the wrong course of action, they might all be dead by noon tomorrow. So he would get information first. He looked up to find his men watching him, waiting for him to speak.

“Here’s what we’ll do. Alexar, take the four best horses, and one other rider. Start north for Bisitun at once. We’ve got to make sure Eskkar and Sisuthros know what is happening. Get far enough away from here before you rest for the night, then keep going as fast as you can, changing mounts as often as you can. Ride the horses until they drop, if you have to. You should be able to get to Bisitun in five or six days, maybe less, with two horses for each man. Tell Eskkar what’s happened, and that it was Ariamus who led the attackers. Make sure you remember that name. Ariamus. Take anything you need for the trip.”

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He waited until Alexar nodded understanding, then Bantor turned to his other commander. “Klexor, put the wounded on the other three horses, and send them south, back the way we came. We passed some farmhouses a few miles back. Maybe they can hide there until they recover.”

“And the rest of us, where are we going?” Klexor asked.

Bantor shifted his shoulder, wincing at the pain, but he could move it.

He’d have to hope it mended itself in a few days. “We are going to take what we can carry and head north ourselves, as if we were heading for Bisitun as well. We’ll walk all night, and tomorrow morning. Then we’ll cut over to the river. If any follow us, they’ll think we’ve crossed over to the west bank.

We’ll see if we can find some boats to take us south, back to Akkad.”

“Back to Akkad!” Klexor questioned. “What can less than twenty do against the city?”

“Nothing. Don’t worry, we won’t be going into Akkad, just to the farms north of the city. Rebba’s farm, that’s where we’ll go. He has a jetty on the river, and plenty of room to hide twice as many men. He can tell us what the hell is going on.”

Bantor turned back to Alexar. “Tell Eskkar that’s where we’ll be, and to get word to us at Rebba’s farm. Get ready to move out.”

They all picked up their weapons, gathering up all the spare arrows they could carry. Alexar picked a young archer to ride with him, a man no taller than a boy, departed on the four strongest horses and started moving north at an easy canter. A few minutes later, the injured started south, walking their horses to ease the wounded. The rest of the men closed in around Bantor, waiting for the order to move out.

Klexor broke the silence. “Why didn’t this Ariamus come back to fi nish us off ?” The others moved in closer, eager to hear their commander’s words.

“Because the coward knew we’d kill most of his men before they over-ran us.” Bantor pulled his sword from the earth, knocked the dirt off, and returned it to its sheath. He didn’t like admitting defeat, or that Ariamus had still enough men to finish the job. “But I know one thing. I’m going to kill him myself, if it’s the last thing I do. I’m going to rip his heart right out of his chest.”

No one said anything, and Bantor went on, talking as much to himself as his men. “We’ll have to wait, at least until Eskkar gets word about what’s happened. If we can join our force with his, we’ll have enough men to face Ariamus, and I can spread his guts in the sun.”

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The men looked at each other. Bantor rarely spoke with such passion, but all could see that hatred and a desire for revenge possessed the man, just as they could hear it in his voice. They, too, wanted their revenge.

Ambushed like raw recruits, they’d seen their friends and fellow soldiers killed. Worse, their dead would have to lie unburied, while their comrades fled for their lives.

Hands tightened on sword hilts and bows. Counting Bantor, they numbered seventeen. They looked at each other. The fight wasn’t over. For these men, the battle had just begun.

Bantor looked up at the descending sun, slipping halfway below the horizon. It would be dark soon. He had thought they’d all be drinking in a tavern by then.

“All right, men. Get what you need, and let’s go. We’ve a long walk tonight.” Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, he picked up a bow and a full quiver, and started north.

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O nce the moon rose, they had enough light to make out the flat terrain. Bantor drove the men hard all night. They’d alternated between jogging and walking, and the threat of Ariamus and his horsemen not only drove them onward, it kept them looking over their shoulders. Except for an occasional farmhouse, they saw little. Twice they stopped at a farmer’s well for water. The first time they went unnoticed, but at the second, the dogs awoke everyone with their barking, and Bantor had to order the family back into their house, warning them to say nothing to anyone.

By the time he gave the order to halt, only a few hours remained before dawn. Exhausted, sore-footed, and hungry, the men had covered twenty miles and reached the trail that led north to Bisitun. Everyone fell asleep in moments, falling to the earth without regard to comfort. When the sun woke them, no one felt rested. They’d slept only long enough to sustain them.

The road posed even greater danger. Travelers and traders would be coming along, some on horseback, and it wouldn’t be long before word of their passage got back to Akkad. Even more worrisome, Ariamus might send any number of riders up the road, to prevent their escape to the north. Bantor determined not to lose a moment.

As soon as he started walking, the pain in his shoulder returned. Sleeping on the hard ground hadn’t helped; the brief rest had stiffened it, and each step made him wince in pain. The soreness seemed worse than the 274

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day before. Klexor examined him and declared that nothing seemed broken, and for that small comfort, Bantor gave thanks.

By midmorning, they’d walked and jogged another ten miles, and every tired step took them farther from Akkad. They began to encounter travelers, most heading in the opposite direction, toward Akkad, and all of them on foot.

“Shouldn’t we warn them there might be danger in Akkad?” Klexor asked, the first time they passed some travelers heading toward the city.

“If we do, they’ll spread the word, and soon half the countryside will know we’re heading north. They’ll have to take their chances at Akkad.

Otherwise any scouts Ariamus has in the area will know we’ve passed this way.”

“They may mention us anyway, when they arrive.”

“Or they may forget all about us in the excitement.” Bantor had anticipated this during the night’s walk. More important, he’d learned from Eskkar the need to appear confident before the men, even when uncertainty gripped your insides. “Besides, it will take them hours to reach Akkad, maybe even until sunset. We’ll cover a lot of ground before then.”

Bantor turned to face Klexor. “Tell the men to say nothing to anyone we pass. Not a word.”

Klexor grunted, and began to pass the word down the line.

Not that anyone wanted to speak to them anyway, Bantor decided. He and his heavily armed men looked gaunt, dirty, and dangerous, and the few wayfarers they encountered shrank aside, staring openmouthed and with fear in their eyes, as the soldiers strode past in silence.

They rested every hour, all of them trying to ignore the pangs of hunger that rumbled in their bellies. Just before noon, Bantor gave the order to halt. The men sank to the ground, too tired to complain about their hunger.

“Klexor, we’re about thirty miles north of Akkad.” Bantor wiped the sweat from his face, as his men grouped themselves around their leaders.

“It’s time to cut over to the river. I know a farm that has some boats. We’ll wait until the road is clear, then we’ll move west. ”

“We’re nearly halfway to Dilgarth. We could be there by early morning, if we push hard.”

“I’d like to, Klexor, but we don’t know what might be waiting for us in Dilgarth. And even if we made it there, we’d never be able to get back to Akkad.” Bantor shook his head. “No, I think the river is safer for us. We can Empire Rising

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fi nd something to eat at the farm, too. If things are really bad, we may be safer on the other side of the Tigris anyway.”

Klexor shrugged, but didn’t have anything better to offer. “Then let’s get off the road now, while it’s clear.”

One by one, they slipped off the dusty trail, leaving as little trace of their presence as possible. They stumbled along as best they could on the uneven terrain, until they’d passed well out of sight of anyone traveling on the road. They covered the last stretch to the river at a slow walk, the only pace they could manage.

When they cleared a low hill and saw the farmhouse ahead, nestling a stone’s throw from the river, Bantor felt close to exhaustion. The pain from his shoulder, combined with the unfamiliar effort of walking, had tired him more than he would have expected. His men looked no better, and he decided he’d made the right choice; traveling on the road, they would never have reached Dilgarth before riders caught up with them.

Spreading his men out to avoid leaving tracks, they stepped down into the nearest irrigation ditch, and splashed along its winding course down to the river.

The farm, a large one with several separate buildings surrounded by fields of wheat and barley, belonged to a man named Hargar. Children playing under a tree noticed them approaching, and ran to warn the adults.

The family barricaded themselves inside the main building. Bantor knew the appearance of so many armed men would frighten any farmer.

When they reached the sheep pen, Bantor climbed out of the ditch.

“Wait here,” he told the men. “Klexor, come with me.” The two men walked side by side to the house.

“Ho, Hargar! No need to hide in your cellar. It’s Bantor, commander at Akkad, and we need your help.”

Nothing happened, so Bantor and Klexor sat in the dirt under a fruit tree in front of the main house, a few paces from the door. Bantor leaned gratefully against the tree and hoped nobody in the house decided to launch an arrow at him. After a long moment, they heard shuffling at the door, and a young man stuck his head out and stared at them, eyes wide and mouth open.

“Who are you?” Bantor called out.

“I’m Hargar’s son, Hannis. My father has gone to Dilgarth to sell a goat. Is it really you, Bantor?” His voice sounded fearful, but he stepped outside and slowly approached the men sitting on the ground. “By the 276