Ariamus had hidden his sixty-three horsemen in a tiny fold of ground, a little more than one hundred paces from the trail Bantor’s men were following back to Akkad. Ariamus had galloped his horse that far himself, and knew his horsemen could cover that distance in moments, long before his victims could dismount and string their bows. Horse to horse, his charging men on fresh mounts would have the advantage.
The low crest of the rise concealed fifty of Ariamus’s men abreast, and the remainder formed a smaller group behind the main line. He had twenty hard-bitten fi ghters scattered among them. Most of these he’d recruited himself, though Korthac had added half a dozen of his Egyptians, probably with instructions to keep an eye on their commander.
Chewing his lip, Ariamus waited for the single scout who tracked the approaching column. They’d sighted Bantor’s men hours ago, and they’d be here soon. Everything would work against the Akkadians-their horses would be tired from a long day’s ride, they would be traveling uphill, and they expected to reach Akkad’s gates and safety in a few more hours. Ariamus knew the Akkadians had shadowed the retreating Alur Meriki for over a month. That mission completed, Bantor and his soldiers were returning in high spirits to their women, plenty of ale, and a chance to sleep in their own beds. The last thing on their minds would be an ambush so close to home.
He grinned at the thought. Instead of safety, the returning soldiers would die right here, and it would be Ariamus’s men who would ride through the open gates of Akkad. Korthac had planned everything with care, Ariamus admitted, though he hated to give the man so much credit.
Ariamus and his men had done well in last night’s battle, capturing the river gate with a minimum of fighting. Just as important, he’d seized the boats docked there with no loss of cargo, and no vessels escaping up or down the Tigris. With both the river and the local roads under Korthac’s control, at least a few days would pass before the countryside learned what had taken place in Akkad. The only thing that could have gone better was if Takany had managed to get himself killed. Ariamus had craftily made sure the thickheaded Egyptian led the fight at the barracks, where the heaviest fighting would occur, but the man had survived without even a scratch.
“You did well, Ariamus,” Korthac had said afterward, grunting his approval at his newest subcommander’s efficiency. “Now take your men and destroy the Akkadians returning from the south. Then you will have your reward.”
Relishing the praise, Ariamus had bowed politely, gathered his men, and departed, as eager as Korthac to finish off the returning soldiers. He and his men camped for the night a few miles ride from the city, and Ariamus sent out scouts to look for the approaching Akkadians. A successful ambush of Bantor and his troops would ensure Korthac’s confi dence, and earn Ariamus an even bigger share of the loot waiting back in Akkad.
The moment to earn that reward had arrived. The men from Akkad marched unsuspectingly toward their fate. In a few moments, Ariamus would destroy Bantor’s soldiers, leaving no organized force to rally support against Korthac. The handful of men Eskkar had with him up at Bisitun would be no problem to defeat. Ariamus knew he could raise, recruit, and train an equal number in the week or ten days it would take for Eskkar to reach Akkad. And with any bit of luck, the barbarian would already be dead, struck down by Korthac’s assassins.
As soon as Ariamus returned to Akkad with the news of Bantor’s destruction, Korthac’s rule would be secure. The Egyptian would proclaim himself sovereign of the city, and Ariamus would stand at his side. With enough men to guard the walls, no power could force them out.
Assuming Ariamus could keep his men under control, he reminded himself. He’d readied his men for the ambush more than an hour ago.
Even after yesterday’s success in Akkad, many of the men looked nervous, and he saw fear on the faces of more than one. The sooner he got them into battle, the better. He wished he’d had a few more weeks to train them… but Korthac wouldn’t wait. News of Bantor’s approach had forced Korthac to move a little earlier than he planned. The city had to be taken the day before Bantor arrived. So far, everything had gone exactly as the wily Egyptian had planned.
Ariamus heard his men talking again, their voices quickly rising and threatening the whole plan. They kept testing his patience. Shifting their feet, they whispered to their neighbors and boasted about what they would do in the coming battle. His hand twitched at his sword, and he resisted the temptation to kill one as a lesson. Half-trained and lacking discipline they might be, but he’d worked with worse, and right now he needed all of them.
“Demons take you all,” he said. “Keep silent!”
Gritting his teeth at the fools who couldn’t keep still, he walked back and forth along the line, hand on his sword, urging them to stay ready, shut their mouths, and look to their mounts. Not that Ariamus cared how much his men twitched and worried, but he didn’t want the horses picking up their riders’ fears and getting spooked.
Two days ago he’d had to kill a slow-witted fool who disobeyed him once too often, and hopefully that memory remained fresh in their minds.
Just so long as they followed orders. Ariamus didn’t care how much they feared the enemy, as long as they feared him more.
Nevertheless, most of these bandits had little experience in attacking battle-hardened men. Fresh from Akkad’s capture, they now fancied themselves fearsome fighters. Almost all had seen some fighting, or raided enough farms and small caravans to convince themselves of their bravery, but Ariamus knew they could never stand against the Alur Meriki. Even facing the soldiers from Akkad, most of this rabble would be dead in moments. Still, Ariamus had more than enough men to do the job, and if he could surprise Bantor, the combination would guarantee victory.
The men’s talking grew louder, and Ariamus turned to see his scout trotting toward them. At least the man, one of Korthac’s subcommanders, had remembered his orders to raise no dust trail and to make sure he wasn’t seen. Ariamus turned back toward his still-mumbling men, and again put his hand on his sword. They fell silent under his glare. The sooner the attack got under way, the better.
“Well, Nebibi, are they coming?” Speaking in the language of the Egyptian, Ariamus didn’t even wait for the man to dismount.
“Yes, Ariamus. They’re but moments behind me. Their horses look weary, and they suspect nothing. All ride with bows slung.”
“You’re sure? No scouts out to the front or flanks?”
“None,” Nebibi replied. “Only a rear guard of three men. They’re trailing a good distance behind the column, but that’s all.”
Ariamus grunted in relief. If he and his men had been spotted..
Korthac had warned him not to challenge the Akkadians’ bows. If Ariamus couldn’t smash them before they could bring their bows into play, he would have to return to Akkad and get more men.
“Good work, Nebibi. Return to your men and make sure they know what to do. Try to keep the fools quiet.” Nebibi had charge of one-third of the men. Rihat, Ariamus’s other subcommander, commanded another third.
“Rihat.” Ariamus called out to his other commander, now speaking in their native tongue. “Get the men ready. They’re almost here.”
Ariamus walked up and down the line one last time, looking each man in the eye, and making sure each knew his orders. The veterans, spread throughout the line, would steady the fools and urge them onward. They lined up the horses almost shoulder to shoulder, with the men standing beside them, waiting. Ariamus could still hear some men whispering. He swore to himself, but said nothing. Anything he did now might spook the horses even more than his men’s talk. Besides, the beasts appeared to have grown used to the incessant chatter.
Nevertheless, now was not the time to take chances. “Nebibi, Rihat, I want absolute silence. Kill the next man who opens his mouth.” Both subcommanders drew their swords, and Ariamus nodded in satisfaction. “Remember, men, we’ll be watching you. Any man who breaks too soon, or disobeys orders, dies on the spot. Now mount up, and ready your weapons.”
Their smiles disappeared, and silence came at last over the group. He smiled in approval at their fear. That fear would drive them forward, which was all he wanted. Destroying Bantor’s force meant everything, and he would take any casualties to accomplish that end. Low sounds of men and horses rippled up and down the line for a few moments, before stillness again fell over the group. Ariamus scanned the line one last time-men, horses, and weapons-they were ready.
Ariamus climbed the low rise, lying flat on the ground to make sure he wouldn’t be seen as he peered through the tall grass. The path Bantor followed remained empty in front of him, no other travelers or dust trails in sight in either direction. He turned his gaze to the south and waited. He checked the sun’s progress and cursed at his enemy’s slow approach. Dusk would be on them in little more than an hour.
At last, the head of the column appeared, as if rising slowly out of the ground. The Akkadians walked their horses two abreast, the men relaxed, talking to each other, their bows slung across their backs. They would be tired, hungry, and thirsty. No doubt all of them looked forward to an evening of food and ale in Akkad.
Behind him he heard the faint whispers of his subcommanders as they kept the men in check, each man attending to his beast, making sure it didn’t whinny at the scent or sound of the approaching horses and men.
No wind blew, and even the occasional breeze came from the south. He counted the men as they appeared, and ended at forty-six, with three more for the rear guard. Ariamus knew that fifty-three men had gone south with that fool Bantor weeks ago. The missing soldiers had probably returned to Akkad earlier or, even more likely, deserted.
He could hear the Akkadians now, the horses plodding along. Ariamus wanted to return to his horse, but he didn’t want to move until the very last moment, to make sure none of his men charged out before the column reached the spot directly in front of them. Ariamus waited those last few moments, then slipped backward down the hill before rising to his feet and walking calmly to his horse. He jerked the halter free and swung onto the animal’s back.
The whole line began to move a little, back and forth, and the animals started pawing the earth and snorting, but it no longer mattered. Ariamus tightened his knees on his horse’s back.
“Attack!” he shouted, and the whole line of his fighters burst into motion. In an instant, they raced up over the top of the rise and charged at the startled column of men in front of them.
Bantor rode with Klexor at the head of the column, while Alexar, another leader of ten, rode behind the column, with the rear guard.
Bantor felt as weary and thirsty as his horse. Earlier in the day, everyone had spoken of getting home, women, warm beds, hot food, and thick ale.
But near day’s end, the men rode mostly in silence, keeping their thoughts to themselves. If Akkad weren’t only a few more hours ahead, they’d be making camp right now.
Tomorrow they’d get their pay, and each man would have plenty of silver in his pouch. The taverns would be full of cheap wine and smiling women, all glad to welcome back their men. They’d been away for five weeks, shadowing a still dangerous and much larger force of warriors, and in all those days, they had never relaxed their guard. Until today. Now, close to home, they rode easy.
The two lead horses lifted their heads at the same time, ears twitching as they rolled their eyes to the left. Bantor’s eyes followed those of his horse, just as a burst of sound rolled toward them. A force of screaming men arose from what had appeared to be level ground to their left, racing their horses toward the column, flashing swords in their hands. The ground shook from the thudding hooves that threw clods of dirt and grass high into the air.
For a single moment, every man froze, the sudden appearance of the attackers a complete surprise. Bantor felt the fear rising in his chest.
“Dismount! String your bows!” He heard Klexor echoing the same orders, as both men pulled their horses around to face their attackers. “Form a line!”
Several horses reared up in terror, other soldiers began shouting, and already the attacking warriors had covered half the open ground.
Bantor saw that not all the activity was panic. Even as they’d watched the southerly progress of the retreating Alur Meriki, these Akkadians had trained for such an attack by their enemy. The men, seeing the oncoming danger, had reacted without hesitation. They flung themselves from their horses and moved to string their bows in a rush of action. All of their weeks and months of training had told them one thing over and over.
They could not defeat the Alur Meriki on horseback. So they had been trained to dismount, ready their weapons, and band together.
Bantor leapt down from his horse, then smacked the animal’s rump with the flat of his sword, sending the animal lumbering toward the oncoming riders. All the other riderless horses began to mill around, scattering in different directions, some of them racing toward the attackers. Their movements slowed the oncoming riders a bit, as the bandits shifted their course to avoid the frantic animals. Even so, only a handful of Bantor’s men managed to launch an arrow before the wave of bandits struck them.
Bantor waited with dread for the killing flight of arrows from the Alur Meriki bows, but the arrows never came. Instead the attackers arrived in a thunder of hooves that shook the earth, a terrifying sound to those facing it on foot. Swords slashed downward at Bantor’s men, some still struggling to string their bows, others drawing swords. Screams of the wounded mingled with the war cries of the attackers. Nevertheless, the Akkadians had no time to ready themselves, and the attackers cut their way through Bantor’s men. Some of the soldiers threw themselves to the ground, trying to avoid the swords that flashed down at them.
With nothing to slow them down, no line of men on horseback to impede their attack, most of the bandits galloped right through what remained of the column, swinging their swords at anything, man or beast, within reach. Some of the attacking horses jumped over the prone Akkadians, following their animal instinct to avoid stepping on anything that moved.
Not all of the soldiers managed to get flat to the ground, and many took blows from slashing swords or found themselves crushed under the horses’ hooves. For the first time, Bantor realized he didn’t face Alur Meriki horsemen. As he flung himself facedown on the grass, he saw his attackers rode more like bandits, not barbarian warriors from the steppes.
A man wielding a sword on a galloping horse cannot reach down far enough to strike at anyone lying on the ground. Barbarians carried lances to take care of that very problem. A trained rider could thrust the lance down to kill someone crouching or even lying prone, or hurl it at someone hugging the earth. These attackers carried neither lance nor bows, and some of Bantor’s men escaped without a scratch, though fewer than half struggled to their feet after the wave of riders smashed through them.
Bantor’s left shoulder burned in agony. A flying hoof had landed on him, and he wondered if his arm had been crushed. Ignoring the pain, he pushed himself to his feet, fumbling for his sword with his good hand.
“Form a line on me. Hurry, before they turn. Hurry!”
It took the attackers time to slow their horses and turn them around, expecting to ride back and deliver the killing blow. But the very speed of their charge had carried them another sixty or seventy paces past the shattered column. Before the first man could goad his horse back toward the Akkadians for a second attack, an arrow reached out and struck him in the chest, then another, and another.
“Hold,” Bantor shouted, as the survivors rushed together, lining up to face their attackers. “Draw… aim,” he waited until every man had drawn his shaft to his ear. “Loose!” As the bandits finished turning their horses and began their second charge, twenty arrows flew into their ranks.
Man and beast went down, both screaming in pain, and the second charge slowed. Less than three seconds later, another wave of arrows struck, and now some of the bandits had no thought but to get away from these deadly archers. The brave few men who kept riding toward the archers died, killed in the third wave, delivered at less than twenty paces, the shafts striking with enough force at that distance to stop even a horse in its tracks.
Horses and men flopped on the ground between the two forces, and the scattered dead and dying prevented a quick assault on the line of bowmen. Again Bantor directed the men’s fire, and another wave of arrows landed in the midst of a group trying to rally for another attack.
The attackers turned away, urging their horses to either side of the bowmen. Still within range, more horses and men died before the last of the bandits galloped to safety.
Bantor had seen broken men flee before, and guessed that these attackers wouldn’t be back, not for some time at least. He cursed at their backs, and flung his sword down into the earth, before sinking to his knees.
The whole fight had lasted but moments from beginning to end, but more than half of Bantor’s men had died, and his horses scattered over the countryside.
When Klexor reached his side, he found his leader wincing in pain and muttering one word over and over. “Ariamus!”
It took more than half a mile before Ariamus and his subcommanders managed to halt and regroup their men. Some of them had bolted for Akkad, others just raced in any direction, anxious to get away from the great arrows that buzzed like bees about their heads, striking down their companions. They circled about, trying to regroup, and Ariamus finally brought them together.
“Dismount,” he shouted. “Get down off those horses.”
Some refused, still frightened of the Akkadian bowmen. Most kept glancing back toward the place of ambush.
“They’ve no horses to follow us, you fools,” he bellowed. “What are you, a bunch of cowards to run from half your number? Nebibi, Rihat, bring the men together. Kill anyone who disobeys.”
Ariamus took a quick count of his riders, then slapped his hand upon his leg so hard his horse jumped in surprise. Ariamus had struck Bantor’s line with over sixty men, losing only one or two to arrows before they clashed, and Ariamus doubted if he’d lost a man as they rode through them. One more charge would have finished the job.
Now Ariamus counted less than forty men, and these looked so shaken up he doubted he could drive them back for another attack. He had lost an equal number of horses, but had more than recouped that loss, since almost all of Bantor’s horses had trotted after his own animals.
He stopped cursing at his men, dismounted, and squatted down on the ground to think things over, Nebibi and Rihat joining him. The rest of the men began to breathe a little easier, relaxing enough to lick their wounds or to tell their companions how bravely they had fought.
“We killed most of them,” Rihat offered. “And we’ve got almost all of their horses.”
“We’re not here to steal horses, you fool! You should…” Ariamus took a deep breath. It wouldn’t help to shout at his underling. And the man was right, they had killed most of Bantor’s men. “How many do you think were left alive?”
Rihat closed his eyes, the better to think about what he had seen.
“Twenty, maybe less. Not more than that.”
Ariamus had made the same guess. So he’d killed more than half of Bantor’s men. Perhaps some of the survivors had taken wounds. Damn Bantor. Ariamus had planned well, but he hadn’t expected to find himself in this situation, with only half a victory. What would he tell Korthac?
How could Ariamus explain that he’d left twenty Akkadians alive, when he had over twice that number still fit to fight?
“Exactly how many men did we lose, Rihat?”
Rihat shrugged, then got up and began a detailed count. It took some time before he came back and sat down on the grass. “We’ve forty-one men left, not counting us. Two are wounded, but not too badly. They can still ride.”
Only two men wounded, but more than twenty dead or missing. The numbers didn’t improve his mood. Those arrows had struck with such force, and at close range, the shafts struck hard enough to knock a man off his mount. He doubted any of his men who’d lost their horses or gotten wounded survived. The Akkadians’ arrows would have finished any survivors by now. Ariamus had lost about as many men as he had killed.
Not that he cared about his losses. With Korthac’s gold, they could always recruit more men.
More important, Bantor’s men had been soldiers, men trained to fight, and not so easy to replace. The horses couldn’t be easily restocked either.
Ariamus had to scour the western lands to get the mounts he had acquired.
On foot, the Akkadians wouldn’t be much of a threat. Ariamus remembered seeing Bantor go down under hooves, and didn’t recall seeing him get up. He recalled Bantor as a slow-witted fool anyway, and once again Ariamus wondered what Eskkar had seen in the man. Nevertheless, Eskkar’s stupidity was Ariamus’s good fortune.
He’d broken Bantor’s men, and left them on foot. Their bows would be useless against the walls of Akkad, and from those walls Korthac and his men would have their own bows. No, the situation looked less bleak the more he thought about it. At least, it would have to sound that way when he reported to Korthac. Ariamus had promised the man he would destroy all the Akkadians, not just half of them. He started thinking about what he would say to the new ruler of Akkad.
Even more important, Ariamus didn’t dare lose any more men. Without a sizable force reporting to him, Takany would overshadow him, and Ariamus, as leader of the horsemen, would lose whatever influence he had with Korthac. No, Ariamus decided, he’d already lost more men than he’d expected. Any more would be disastrous, even if he survived another attack himself.
“We must go back and finish them, Ariamus,” Nebibi interrupted Ariamus’s thoughts. “Korthac said we should…”
“Korthac isn’t here, Nebibi.” Ariamus cut him off. “Do you want to charge again against those bowmen?”
Nebibi’s face told him the answer. The Egyptian had plenty of courage, but they both knew what kind of men they led.
“We’ve no bows, Nebibi,” Ariamus began, lowering his voice and speaking now in the language of Egypt. “Even if we could drive this lot back for another attack… even if we succeed, we’ll lose too many of our own doing it. And remember, those archers will be targeting anyone urging the men to the attack.”
Nebibi opened his mouth, then closed it. The man might fear Korthac’s wrath, but Nebibi had never seen arrows such as those, knocking horses to their knees.
“We’ve done what we set out to do, Nebibi. We’ve smashed Bantor’s force. The few that survived, that escaped, let’s say less than a dozen, are masterless men now, and helpless. Korthac will be pleased when he receives our report.”
Nebibi thought it over, no doubt trying to balance the danger of shad-ing the truth to Korthac compared to facing Bantor’s men again. At last he nodded uneasily. “Yes, Ariamus, only a few escaped us. Less than a dozen.
Korthac will be pleased.”
Ariamus smiled in satisfaction, then turned to Rihat. “Close up the men.”
Moments later, the whole force of bandits clustered around their commander.
“Men! We have won a great victory. We have broken our enemies, and left less than a dozen alive, most of them wounded, and without horses.
You have done well to fight so bravely.”
That raised a ragged cheer from his fighters, though some of them wondered how they could be cowards and fools one moment, then heroes the next.
“Now we return to Akkad. We will join up with Korthac’s men, and enjoy the city we took yesterday. The gold, the women, the horses, all the best of Akkad, will be ours.”
They cheered again, as they realized the fighting had ended. He saw the smiles on their faces, and knew their confidence had returned, that they once again considered themselves ferocious fighters. So long as they didn’t have to face those archers again.
That would be how he explained it to Korthac. Nebibi would support the story, or have to admit to his own failure. Besides, a few men on the loose, scattered over the countryside, wouldn’t matter anyway. They’d round them up in a few days.
“Back to Akkad,” Ariamus shouted, as he climbed on his horse, “back to Akkad and our gold!”
Another cheer, louder this time, went up. Nebibi looked at Ariamus, and nodded acquiescence, tight-lipped. Their report would satisfy Korthac, at least for now.
By the time the three trailing scouts reached the column, the fight had ended. Bantor, back on his feet, shook with rage, swearing torture and death to Ariamus. Half the men had never heard the name before.
“Take it easy, Bantor,” Klexor said, trying to calm his captain down.
“Let’s take a look at your shoulder.”
Alexar walked up, carrying a water skin. “They took us by surprise, but we drove them off and killed more of them than we lost.” He and the other two men acting as rear guard, had rushed forward as soon as they saw the ambush, but none of the attackers had passed within a hundred paces of him. Alexar managed to dismount and tie his horse to a bush.
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.”
“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.”
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.”
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.