Empire Rising (64 page)

“Rest easy, Annok-sur. It’s Eskkar. Can you stand?”

“Yes, I think . . . yes.”

He felt her relax, saw her head start to sag. “Don’t faint yet,” he ordered, practically shouting the words into her face as he lowered her feet to the floor; he needed her conscious. Annok-sur nodded, and Eskkar set her down inside the bedroom and let her lean against the wall. “Bar the door and don’t open it. Bandage Trella’s wound, before she bleeds to death.”

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Eskkar put Korthac’s knife in her hand, and watched her eyes narrow at the sight of the prone Egyptian. “No. Not until we’ve finished killing these vermin. Can you do that? Just watch Korthac. After you’ve tended to Trella, keep the knife at his throat. If he moves, or anyone tries to force the door, then kill him.”

He pulled the door shut behind him and scooped up his sword before crossing the outer room. Behind him, he heard Annok-sur drop the wooden bar into place. The women would be safe in there for now. Ariamus’s sword lay near the entrance. Annok-sur’s body had hidden it. He picked it up with his left hand and went to the door. Taking a deep breath, he lifted up the thick bar and yanked the door open.

Shouts and the twang of a bowstring sounded through the doorway, and the backs of Mitrac and another archer filled the opening. Both heads swiveled just long enough to see who stood behind them. He had to squeeze behind Mitrac to get out onto the landing. Dawn had arrived and light filtered through the open doorway and windows to illuminate the scene below.

The landing had barely enough space to hold the three of them. Mitrac stood beside Eskkar, bow drawn, blood pouring down his left arm.

Eskkar saw that only two arrows remained in his quiver. On the top steps two more archers crouched, extending swords that passed on either side of Grond’s body for protection; empty quivers on their belts explained the swords. His bodyguard wielded a sword and a spear, and kept at bay three or four rogues on the lower steps. Five or six more foes waited below, just inside the door to the courtyard, preparing for another rush. Bodies lay strewn about on the floor and steps, arrows protruding from most of them.

Eskkar took another quick look down as the others below looked up.

One of them called out something in Egyptian, but all Eskkar understood was Korthac’s name.

“Korthac is dead,” Eskkar snarled, putting all his rage into the words.

Everyone froze at the news. Eskkar raised his voice even louder and bellowed out his words, so that even those outside the house would hear them. “Korthac is dead!” Eskkar extended the long sword in his right hand, pointing at those beneath him, the blade stained with blood as if in proof.

Fury possessed him, the same emotion that had filled him as he fought against the Egyptian. “Korthac is dead, and now you will all die as well.”

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Without any hesitation, he ducked underneath Mitrac’s arm and jumped off the landing, his feet aiming for a clear space directly under the stairs. Eskkar went to one knee from the jump, but he rose up swinging the big sword as the fi rst of Korthac’s men rushed toward him. Grond shouted a war cry and led the way down the steps, the others following.

With a weapon in each hand and the battle frenzy upon him, Eskkar attacked Korthac’s suddenly disheartened followers.

The long sword struck one man across the face, and Eskkar parried a counterstroke from another attacker with the short sword in his left hand, then struck again with his right, wielding the heavy blade with renewed energy. The unexpected counterattack unnerved the Egyptians, despite their greater numbers; two of them bolted for the open door, and the rest hesitated. Grond’s war cry boomed again within the room, and Eskkar heard the snap-hiss as the last of Mitrac’s arrows struck his target.

Within a dozen heartbeats, four men had died, and the rest of Korthac’s men fled into the courtyard, driven back by half their number. More men gathered there, getting ready to join the assault. Nevertheless, many heard Eskkar’s words and more than a few of Korthac’s men began repeating that Korthac was dead.

One of the Akkadians took advantage of the enemy’s confusion to slam the front door shut and drop the bar across it.

“The servants’ entrance . . . secure the door.” Grond gave the order, though his voice sounded weak.

Eskkar faced Grond and saw blood covering his bodyguard’s neck and chest; the man was swaying on his feet.

“Mitrac,” Eskkar said, “the other door . . . better see if it’s closed and barred.”

The master archer raced down the corridor to bar the second entrance, while the other two archers moved from body to body, wrenching arrows out of the dead to replenish their quivers. Eskkar put his arm around Grond’s waist and guided him toward the stairs. “Rest here a moment,” Eskkar ordered.

Taking a deep breath, Eskkar forced himself to control his shaking arms. He had only three men who could still fight. If the Egyptians forced the outer door, Eskkar could retreat to the upper rooms.

He took stock of the situation. He’d reached Trella, and both she and the baby were safe. And captured Korthac. They could hold the house for the moment. Now everything depended on Bantor and his men. If they Empire Rising

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failed, if they couldn’t come to Eskkar’s rescue in time, Eskkar planned to use Korthac to bargain his way out. If that didn’t work, if the Egyptians broke in, Eskkar would kill Trella and the child with his own hand, before falling on his sword. No matter what happened, he couldn’t let either of them fall into these foreigners’ hands alive.

He shook the gloomy thought away. He wasn’t dead yet. They’d just have to hold out until help arrived. “Shove that table against the door,”

Eskkar ordered, reaching down to pick up a spear. It was time to get ready for the next fight.

26

——

——

H athor woke with a start, the unexpected but always familiar sound still echoing in his ears. Instinctively he grasped the sword that lay on the bed next to him. The noise that had awakened him resolved itself into a mixture of men shouting and the occasional clash of bronze on bronze, the din rising and falling, but steadily growing louder and more urgent. Already on his feet, he moved to the window, leaning outside to hear what was happening.

The last of his sleep disappeared as he peered through the darkness toward the adjoining dwelling. The noise came from Korthac’s courtyard, separated from the one Hathor and Takany occupied by only a single high wall that extended to either side of the main structure. A man screamed in pain, the cry of agony rising up over the shouts and curses. Men were dying just beyond the wall, and that meant someone had attacked Korthac and his guards. No alarm had sounded, but fighting had erupted. . . . His mind finally made sense of the shouts. “Eskkar has returned!”

Hathor felt a chill pass over him. Eskkar! He was supposed to be dead.

“Osiris take us all,” he swore, pausing only to pull on his tunic before dash-ing out of the bedroom.

“Eskkar has returned . . . let none escape!” The shouts from Korthac’s courtyard could now be heard even inside the dwelling.

“Takany!” Hathor shouted, stepping into the common room. Korthac’s second in command slept in the next bedroom. “Takany, get up!” Hathor shouted into the darkness, moving inside the man’s chamber.

Takany lay in his bed, still snoring and besotted from last night’s drink-Empire Rising

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ing and wenching. He’d spent the first part of the evening at Zenobia’s, terrorizing her and her women, and forcing all of them to pleasure him.

Hathor had to remain awake until his superior returned, and Takany had brought one of Zenobia’s women with him, leading the shivering girl naked through the streets. Now she sat up, no doubt frightened and confused by Hathor’s interruption and the noise outside.

“What . . . what’s happening? . . .” Fear sounded in her voice.

Ignoring the wide-eyed girl, Hathor grabbed Takany’s arm, shaking the man out of his sleep. “Get up! There’s fighting next door.” Without waiting, Hathor moved toward the doorway. The half-dozen soldiers sleeping in the house had already gotten to their feet, fumbling for weapons in the dark and asking each other what to do.

“Sound the alarm,” Hathor ordered, pushing his way through the gathering crowd. “Get your swords and follow me to Korthac’s.”

The front entrance of this residence opened directly into the lane that provided access to Korthac’s compound. Hathor ran down the passage, stumbling once in the darkness and wishing he’d had time to put on his sandals. Behind him, a trumpet at last began to sound its warning, the shrill blast repeating the notes that would summon every soldier.

The guards supposed to be standing sentry at Korthac’s gate were lying in the dust, arrows protruding from their bodies. Clenching his sword, Hathor pushed his way through the gate.

Someone had lit a torch, and in its flickering light Hathor saw half a dozen bodies strewn about the courtyard, arrows jutting out at odd angles.

“Hathor,” a soldier called out. “Amun’s dead . . . men forced their way through the gate . . . they got inside the house and drove us out. They’ve archers . . .”

Amun had been in charge of the soldiers stationed in the courtyard.

“Enough,” Hathor said. “Get your men together and make sure they’ve all their weapons. Guard the doors. Don’t let anyone leave.”

“What’s going on?” Takany’s booming voice cut through the confusion. He hadn’t bothered to put on a tunic, and now he stood naked and barefoot, a sword in his hand.

The soldier had to repeat the story while Hathor twitched with impatience.

“You say this Eskkar is inside, alone with Korthac?”

Yes, that’s what he just said
, Hathor wanted to shout. But he knew better than to challenge Takany’s authority, even if the man’s thought process 380

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was as slow as an ox. Precious moments passed while Takany sorted things out.

“You fools,” Takany said, his rage displacing any remaining trace of last night’s wine. “You let a handful of men drive you from the house!”

He grabbed a man backing away from the house and struck him with the flat of his sword. “Get in there and fight,” he ordered. “Hathor, gather the men. We’ll break down the door to the upper room and free Korthac.”

Before anyone could start moving, a man burst in through the gate, and every man’s eyes turned toward him. “Takany . . . Hathor,” he shouted, stumbling as he reached their side, and trying to catch his breath. “Men are attacking the main gate. They’ve captured one of the towers and barricaded themselves in. They’re shouting that Eskkar has returned to kill us all.”

“Order the men from the gate to fall back and meet us at the barracks,”

Hathor said, facing Takany. “We should head there as well. We need to collect all our forces in one place. Then we can . . .”

“Leave Korthac! Abandon the gate?” Takany shouted, as if disbeliev-ing his ears. “If they get the gate open, we’ll have a horde of men pouring into the city.”

“Eskkar’s soldiers are already
in
the city,” Hathor countered,” and our men are scattered all about. We need to get the men together and . . .”

“No, we need to rescue Korthac
now
,” Takany snapped. He grabbed Hathor by the arm. “You take a dozen men and go to the gate. Take Ariamus,” Takany pointed with his sword across the courtyard, “and half his scum with you, too. If he and his men won’t fight, kill him. I’ll recapture the house and free Korthac. You make sure the gate stays shut.”

Hathor looked across the courtyard to where Ariamus stood, surrounded by a dozen of his men, getting his arm bandaged.

“Ariamus! Is it really Eskkar?” Hathor had to raise his voice to carry over the babble of noise, though Ariamus stood only a dozen paces away.

“Yes, it’s him,” Ariamus said. “He was fighting Korthac and his guard when I saw them last.”

Takany was right about Ariamus and his men, Hathor realized. The traitor had recruited most of these boasting thieves and bandits, and the weaklings wouldn’t charge into battle without Ariamus’s orders. Hathor wanted to know more about Eskkar and Ariamus, but couldn’t take the time now.

Hathor hesitated, but one look told him it would be futile to argue.

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Takany’s decision might be wrong, but they’d wasted too much precious time arguing over what to do next. The man feared nothing that walked the earth, or under it for that matter, except Korthac. Takany knew his master’s wrath would be on him for this failure. Only this evening at dinner Hathor had listened while Takany assured Korthac of the city’s complete submission. Now Korthac might already be dead, according to Ariamus.

The upper door was bolted, and unknown archers defended the steps to the bedroom. By now the whole city had awakened, and half of them had already taken to the rooftops to shout Eskkar’s name.

Better a bad plan than none at all, Hathor decided, knowing there was nothing he could do.

“All right, Takany. You free Korthac.” Hathor turned to the messenger, still awaiting instructions. “Get back to the gate. Tell them I’m bringing reinforcements and to make ready to recapture the tower. Make sure the gate stays closed, no matter what.”

The man nodded, and ran out of the courtyard.

“I’ll take my men to the barracks.” Ariamus had joined them, a fresh bandage on his arm.

“How did this happen?” Takany shouted, pushing himself right in Ariamus’s face. “How did you . . .”

“Don’t try and blame this on me. Your Egyptians were supposed to be guarding Korthac,” Ariamus yelled right back, “when Eskkar walked right into the workroom. Your men are the ones who failed.”

“Stop it,” Hathor said, forcing his way between the two of them.

“We’ve no time for this. Korthac’s either trapped inside or he’s dead. Either way, we’ve got to put down this uprising.”

He pushed Ariamus away from Takany, no doubt saving the man’s life. One more word and Takany would have gutted him. Hathor had witnessed Takany’s rage before.