Empire Rising (9 page)

“As we expected. As soon as they rode into the marketplace, we put seven arrows into the horses. That put them in a panic. The poor beasts started rearing and twisting, and two men were pitched right off their mounts. My men just kept shooting. Each of us got off at least five arrows.

That took the fight out of them.”

Eskkar wasn’t particularly adept at counting, but some numbers came to him more easily than others. Horses, men, arrows, these kinds of things he could count quickly enough. Thirty-five arrows from Hamati and his six men, in about twelve or fifteen seconds. In those same fifteen seconds, Mitrac, standing on the rooftop, had fired at least seven shafts, since he was Empire Rising

37

much faster than the others. Nearly forty-five arrows loosed into a crowd of sixteen or so bandits, since a few hadn’t made it all the way into the square before the ambush started.

“Did we lose anyone?”

Hamati grunted in disgust. “One of the bandits finally got an arrow fitted to his bow and Markas took a shaft in his arm. But it was poorly drawn. It didn’t even go through. The women are tending to him. He’ll be fine in a few days.”

Fitting an arrow to a bow, while trying to control a panicky horse at the same time, sometimes meant you couldn’t pull the shaft as far back as you wanted. With the smaller bows the horsemen used, that could result in a weakly launched shaft. The bows Eskkar’s men used were much larger, more powerful weapons, shooting a heavier arrow, and were as useful for hunting game as men. Their weakness was that they were too big to be used from horseback. That disadvantage didn’t trouble Eskkar, since he didn’t have many horses, nor men who knew how to fight from them.

The bandit leader on the ground groaned, and Hamati kicked him casually in the ribs, but not hard enough to break anything. “Captain, except for one bandit at the square who was knocked senseless when his horse was killed, these two are the only ones left alive. All the rest back there are dead or dying.”

The other prisoner was shoved to the ground, alongside the man Eskkar had fought. The wounded man gasped in pain at the impact. The shank of the arrow, still protruding from his back, had brushed against the ground, twisting the shaft inside his shoulder and no doubt sending a wave of pain through the man.

“Better pull that out of him,” Eskkar ordered, looking at the wound.

Mitrac’s arrow had struck the man’s right shoulder, but looked low and deep enough to be fatal. The man would likely die, but might live long enough to answer some questions.

“Bring them both back to the square, and we’ll see what we can get out of them.” Eskkar glanced up at the sun and realized it had scarcely moved.

The whole fight had lasted only moments.

Hamati, meanwhile, stepped over to the injured prisoner. Before he realized what was coming, Hamati gripped the shaft and ripped it from the man’s shoulder. A piercing scream erupted from the wounded man; then he fainted from the pain and shock.

Eskkar returned to the square. He counted nine carcasses, several with 38

SAM BARONE

multiple arrows protruding from breast and neck. The rest of the animals, some of them wounded, their eyes still wide with fear and nervous from the smell of blood, had been rounded up and pushed into the same rope corral that had contained the soldiers’ animals last night. The stink of blood, urine, and feces rose up from both man and beast. Eskkar didn’t mind the familiar smell. He knew you had to be alive to notice it.

A horseman since he’d grown old enough to sit astride one, Eskkar hated the thought of killing such fine horsefl esh. But despite the familiar pang of sorrow at their deaths, he knew that, in battle, you did what you had to do. The men remembered their training, to shoot fi rst at the horse.

When you shoot the horse, even if it’s only wounded, the animal panics and the rider can’t control it. When the horse goes down, the rider is usually stunned or injured from the fall. First you stop the charge, then you kill the dismounted riders. Hamati’s veterans had all fought in the siege of Akkad and they had learned that lesson very well indeed. Tonight, there would be plenty of fresh meat for everyone, and Eskkar had gained himself another eight or nine riding stock animals for his men.

The other sight wasn’t as pleasant. A woman, blood spattered all over her face and arms, sobbed as she knelt against the side of the elder’s house.

Nisaba and another woman attended her, their arms around her, trying to give comfort. The bandit captured in the square lay dead, his throat slit by the still-shaking woman. She had waited until Hamati’s men had bound the prisoner and gone off to chase after the loose horses.

Blood still dripped from the man’s eyes and nose, as well as from his neck and chest. Eskkar guessed she stabbed the helpless man a dozen times before someone pulled her off him. The victim must have done some injury either to her or to her kin. Eskkar couldn’t do anything about it now.

He turned to Hamati, but the soldier, after shaking his head in disgust at his men’s carelessness, had already given orders to guard the two remaining prisoners.

Eskkar went to the well and brought up a fresh bucket of water, drinking his fill and dumping the rest across his face. Once again, he was surprised at how thirsty he became after a fight, even one as brief as this. That was the way of most battles, he decided—a sudden, brief burst of activity with no time for thought or fear.

Then he recalled the long battles for Akkad’s walls. Those fights had seemed endless, and every man had been completely exhausted when they ended. He remembered men on their knees, trying to catch their breath, Empire Rising

39

some with tears running down their faces, suddenly unable to control their emotions or even to raise their arms. Eskkar shook off the gloomy vision, refilled the bucket, and drank again. His thirst satisfied, he went back inside the house, picked up the same stool he had used last night, and brought it back outside.

He sat down under a small tree barely large enough to provide a bit of shade. Hamati’s men dragged the two prisoners in front of Eskkar. Both of them were bleeding and covered with dust. They were forced to their knees, the hot sun directly in their faces. No doubt they were even more thirsty than Eskkar. They had ridden a wide circle to return to Dilgarth, where they found death waiting for them instead of food and water.

“What are your names?” Eskkar asked sharply.

The wounded man answered immediately. “I am called Utu, noble.”

His voice cracked as he spoke, and he swayed a little from side to side.

Loss of blood had drained the color from his face. “Water, noble, can I have . . .”

“Keep silent, you dog of a coward!” His leader spat the words at him, though his own voice croaked harshly as well. Before anyone could stop him, the bandit leader threw his shoulder against Utu’s body, knocking him into the dirt and wrenching another long moan of pain from the wounded man who lay twitching in the dust.

This time Hamati kicked the leader with force, using the heel of his sandal. Once. Twice. And a third time, until the man let out a moan through clenched teeth.

“Bring Utu into the house, Hamati, and give him some water. Go easy with him. Keep the other here, and
keep him quiet!
” Eskkar stood, picked up the stool, and carried it back into the house.

Inside, the mud walls and roof provided some shelter from the heat of the day. Eskkar sat down again while Hamati and one of his men carried Utu inside, then held a ladle of water to his lips. Eskkar studied the man while he drank. His face had turned as white as unleavened bread, and his wound still bled, though not as rapidly as before. The man had lost much blood, and Eskkar guessed he didn’t have long to live. Utu finished the water and asked for more. Eskkar nodded, then waited while the wounded man emptied a second ladle.

“Utu, you’re in pain, and you’ll probably be dead within the hour. I want you to tell me about your leader and what you’ve been doing for the last few weeks. If you do, you can have plenty of wine and water to 40

SAM BARONE

comfort yourself. If not, you will be put to the torture. I can even hand you over to the women outside and let them toy with you. They won’t be in such a rush this time.”

A sob came from the man, and tears ran from his eyes. “Then I’m to die?” He whispered the words in a trembling voice.

“You
are
dying, Utu. The arrow struck deep and hard. Nothing can save you, not even the gods. Only how you die is left for you to choose.”

Eskkar spoke with the certainty of one who had seen many die before.

Then he waited, saying nothing. The dying man needed some time to grasp his plight.

It took Utu only moments to decide. “Wine, noble! For the pain.”

“Untie his hands and put something under his head,” Eskkar ordered.

He had done this many times before. Tell them the truth, that they were dying or would be put to death. It didn’t matter which. In that state of mind, most wounded men would appreciate every comfort. Hamati untied the man, then eased him down on the dirt floor, with his head elevated by a folded blanket. Hamati brought over the last of the soldier’s wine and held the wineskin to Utu’s lips, letting the man drink until he coughed and spat up some of the harsh liquid.

“Now tell me, Utu,” Eskkar asked, “what is the name of your leader, and how many others have been raiding the lands?”

“Shulat, noble. His name is Shulat.” Utu coughed again, but cleared his throat and swallowed hard. He rolled his eyes toward Hamati.

Eskkar nodded again, and Hamati dribbled more wine into the man’s mouth. “How many others, Utu?” Eskkar repeated.

Utu swallowed twice before he could speak, and even then he could barely raise his voice above a whisper. “There is another band of men up north, in Bisitun. Many men there . . . Shulat is the brother of their leader, Ninazu. He rules in Bisitun.” Utu’s voice gave out and he looked pitifully at Hamati, who gave him another mouthful of wine. “Ninazu . . . Ninazu wanted to know about the lands to the south, and Shulat wanted to raid the farms, so we came here a few weeks ago.” The man paused to take a labored breath, and his eyes closed for a long moment.

“Give him more wine,” Eskkar said, while he used the time to think.

Bisitun was a much larger village five or six days march farther north from Dilgarth. Bisitun sat on the northern edge of the lands that bordered Akkad, right at the point where the Tigris turned sharply north. It marked the outlying boundary of the lands Eskkar intended to bring under his rule.

Empire Rising

41

He planned to leave Sisuthros in charge of Bisitun, after they finished ridding the surrounding countryside of bandits and marauders. With Akkad and Bisitun working together, more than half of the best farmlands on this side of the Tigris would be under Eskkar’s control. Eskkar’s plan, worked out with the elders in Akkad, depended on securing Bisitun.

“How many men does this Ninazu have with him in Bisitun?” The man whimpered, but said nothing. Eskkar placed his hand on Utu’s good shoulder and shook him gently, knowing even a small movement would send a wave of pain through the man and keep him conscious. “How many men, Utu?” He spoke sharply, to make sure his words penetrated Utu’s weakening mind. “Tell me! Or there’ll be no more wine!”

Utu rolled his eyes toward Eskkar, his face a mixture of fear and pain.

But the dying man wanted the wine, wanted anything that would ease the pain and the fright of dying. “Seventy or eighty . . . maybe ninety . . . I don’t know . . . maybe more.” His voice trailed off a little.

“Do they plan to stay there, or will they ride on?” Utu’s eyes closed again, and he didn’t answer. Eskkar looked at Hamati and a few more drops of wine were carefully dripped into the man’s mouth. Another spasm of coughing took Utu and he choked on the wine. It took time before his breathing slowed and he could speak again.

Eskkar waited patiently. “Utu, do they plan to stay there, or will they ride on?” Eskkar had to lean close to hear the man’s words.

“Ninazu plans . . . to stay in Bisitun. He says the village is his now.

From there . . . he rules over the land.”

Eskkar ground his teeth in anger. Another petty ruler had arisen. With eighty or ninety determined and well-armed men, it would have been easy to take control of Bisitun, already devastated by the Alur Meriki’s passage.

Once in power, Ninazu’s force would grow steadily each day, as more and more desperate men joined him, either out of a desire for loot or simply as a way to get something to eat. Again Eskkar silently cursed the barbarians and their passage. Whatever they touched, they left in chaos. He had expected to find problems in and around Bisitun, but not a village full of fighting men who surpassed him in numbers.

Eskkar had more questions, but Utu’s mind wandered now, his voice weak as he struggled to breathe. The vague answers came slower and slower. Blood seeped into the dirt underneath the man. Utu’s face looked even whiter than before and now a bluish tinge showed on his lips. Finally the only word Eskkar could get out of him was “wine.”

42

SAM BARONE

Hamati, still holding the wineskin, looked at Eskkar, who noted the nearly empty wineskin and shook his head. “No, we may need the wine for the other one. Give him water. He won’t know the difference.”

Eskkar stood up, picked up his stool, and walked back outside. The sun still shone bright in the late afternoon sky, and he had to shade his eyes when he left the house.

The square bustled with activity. Drakis, one of Hamati’s men, sat on the ground next to the prisoner, to make sure he stayed alive and to keep him quiet. Before Eskkar could speak, Drakis began. “I’ve posted a guard by the main entrance, Captain, and Mitrac keeps watch from the roof,”

indicating the house Eskkar had just left. “The bodies are being loaded on a cart and will be dumped in the river. The rest of the men are helping the women butcher the dead horses or gather firewood. We’ll have plenty of meat for the next few days.”