Hail, Akkad!” Yavtar’s voice carried easily over the black water, alerting the guards at the river gate well before they saw or heard the boat’s approach. The current pulled at the craft, and he had to lean hard on the steering oar while his two crewmen paddled furiously to bring the vessel alongside the jetty, out of the river’s rush. Ignoring the questions from the men guarding the gate, Yavtar leapt onto the dock and secured the stern.
When he straightened up and looked toward the gate, a half-dozen heads appeared atop the wall on either side, and one of them held a torch over the wall, casting just enough light to reach the boat rocking against the wharf.
“Who goes there?”
Ignoring the challenge, Yavtar waited until his crewmen had hooked on the bowline, leaving the craft securely moored to the dock. That done, he turned to face the gate, where twice as many men now stood watching. Even before Yavtar finished his count, the men had bows in their hands, arrows at the ready, and a second torch appeared and added its light to the scene.
“Who goes there? Answer, or I’ll cut you down!”
“I’m Yavtar, shipmaster, and I’ve a message for Korthac. Pass me in, or send someone to fetch him.” He strolled down the jetty as he replied.
A third torch joined the others, this last one held forward from the wall, illuminating the base of the gate. More men appeared atop the walls on either side of the opening, these newest arrivals shaking the sleep from their eyes. Yavtar’s count now estimated about fifteen defenders.
“You know the gate is closed until dawn. Get back in your boat and stay there until then. If you step off the dock, I’ll have my men put an arrow into you.”
Yavtar had reached the end of the jetty, so he stopped and put his hands on his hips. “It’s nearly dawn. What does it matter when you open the gate?” Behind him, the boat rocked loudly against one of the wooden support piles sunk into the riverbed. Yavtar had deliberately used more rope than needed to fasten the stern, leaving plenty of slack; the noise of the boat slapping against the jetty might help conceal any other sounds.
“No one’s admitted until dawn, and then only if…”
“Fine. I’ll stay here until Korthac arrives. Send someone to bring him here. I have a message for him from Ziusudra.”
“It will wait until morning. Stay on your boat until then.”
“It will not wait until morning.” Yavtar spoke loud enough to waken half the city. “Send word to Korthac now, or I’ll make sure you’ll find the lash on your back.” Since taking power, Korthac had applied his favorite punishment to many, including a few of his own men. Back at the farm, Rebba had described Korthac’s wrath at any that annoyed him, and his favorite punishment.
The watchkeeper thought about it for a moment. “Where’s Ziusudra?”
Yavtar smiled at that bit of luck. So this man knew Ziusudra, but not likely his mission. “Ziusudra’s dead. You’d better hurry, man, or Korthac will be very angry, I promise you. He’ll want to hear my words, and see what I have for him.”
“Tell me the message… What’s your name?”
“Yavtar. Shipmaster Yavtar, as you should know. I’ve delivered cargo here often enough. And my message is for your master, not you.” Without waiting for a reply, Yavtar turned back toward the boat, and spoke to his crewmen. After a moment, he walked back toward the dock.
“Stay on the jetty,” a voice shouted, but it was not the watchkeeper’s voice.
Again Yavtar stopped at the dock’s edge, and let out a loud sigh that carried all the way to the gate. “I’m sorry me and my two men frighten you so much. But we’ve been on the river for days, coming from Bisitun.
Anyway, I’ve got three prisoners for Korthac, and you might as well take charge of them.” He turned back toward the boat. “Bring the slaves to the gate.”
During this exchange, the watchkeeper had returned. He’d checked his men, making sure all of them were at their posts, weapons ready. “I’ve sent word to Korthac,” he called out.
“Fine. I’ll stay here. You can watch these slaves for me just as well from up there.” Yavtar turned back to his men, and they pushed forward three men, each with their hands bound in front of them. Their ragged clothes hung loosely about them. Covered with dirt, their heads hung slackly on their necks.
“Get forward, and stand at the foot of the gate,” Yavtar ordered, hoping no one would shoot them. For a moment the prisoners did nothing, so Yavtar grabbed the nearest by the shoulder and shoved him roughly on his way. The other two followed. When they reached the base of the gate, they sank wearily to the ground, heads still downcast.
On the wall, the watch commander saw Yavtar taking his ease. The gatekeeper worried about what to do. A glance down at the three slaves showed them to be harmless, unarmed and beaten men. When the messenger from Korthac arrived, Yavtar would likely be summoned to Korthac’s house, and that would be the end of it. Perhaps it might be better to bring them inside the gate, then escort this Yavtar directly to Korthac himself. That way he might earn a silver coin himself, or at least Korthac’s gratitude.
The watchkeeper took a torch from one of his men and leaned out over the top of the gate, then looked up and down the length of the wall.
He saw nothing unusual, and the jetty showed only Yavtar and his two boatmen. Dawn approached, and he’d be opening the gate soon enough anyway. He might as well open it early for this Yavtar. He turned away from the river.
“Open the gate. Bring Yavtar in.”
Alexar had never run so hard in his life. But now he waited in the darkness, his men beside him. The first five men who climbed over the wall, after Eskkar and his archers, had joined Alexar in his race to the river gate. They knew they had to hurry. Even if Yavtar talked the gate open, he’d need their help. They’d rushed through the lanes, making as little noise as possible, until, breathing hard, they reached their destination.
The huts here encroached closer to the portal than at Akkad’s main entrance. Hidden in the deeper shadow cast by a house wall, Alexar and his men stood close enough to the rear of the gate to hear every exchange.
They’d reached their position only moments after Yavtar docked his boat, and now Alexar, still breathing hard, stood listening, staring up at the guards manning the gate, waiting for the commander of the watch to react.
The gatekeeper took his time, talking to his men and ordering extra torches lit.
Rebba had told Eskkar that the river gate wasn’t as well guarded as Akkad’s main entrance. Using his fingers, Alexar counted sixteen men as they took their stations on either side of the gate. Sixteen against six. Even with surprise, it was going to be bloody if Yavtar couldn’t convince the watchmaster to open the gate. Alexar knew it took at least two men to lift the heavy beams that secured the gate closed, and if they had to fi ght off anyone…
“If they don’t open the gate,” Alexar said, “we’ll have to kill them all.
Keep shooting no matter what, then make sure that gate gets opened.”
Gripping his bow, he listened as Yavtar and the chief guard exchanged words. Then the watchkeeper grabbed one of his men by the arm and spoke to him before returning to the top of the gate. The man nodded, then began jogging toward the lane.
“Stand ready,” Alexar ordered, and moved to his right, staying in the shadow of the houses, and converging on the same lane the messenger would take. Eskkar had warned Alexar about the possibility of the watch commander dispatching a messenger. Hugging the wall, Alexar watched as the messenger turned the corner; once out of sight of the gate and its commander, the man slowed to a walk and started up the lane, heading toward Eskkar’s house.
When Alexar turned the same corner, only a few paces separated him from the shadowy messenger. Alexar drew his bow, and sent an arrow into the man’s back. His target, knocked to his knees by the force of the shaft, gasped in surprise as he pitched forward. By then Alexar had reached the dying man’s side, drawn his sword, and pushed it into the man’s neck, ending any possibility of a call for help. Snapping off the arrow, he rolled the body against the nearest wall.
He paused to look about. Everything seemed quiet, and perhaps no one had heard or seen anything. Alexar returned to his men, just in time to hear the watchkeeper give the order to open the gate. Alexar breathed a sigh of relief. Yavtar must have succeeded in convincing the watchmaster. Half a dozen guards put down their bows and descended the steps to the base of the gate. In moments, they struggled with the heavy wooden beams that secured the portal. With a loud creak, the right side of the gate began to swing inward. Then Yavtar stood in the opening, scratching his head.
“That’s the signal,” Alexar whispered. “Bantor’s men are ready. Take the guards on the wall first, anyone with a bow in his hands.” Alexar nocked a shaft to his bow. By now the other half of the gate began to swing open as well. The firelight showed Yavtar stepping forward. He paused, remaining one stride from the opening, still talking to the gatekeeper, who stood there with four of his men.
“Fire!” Six arrows flashed out of the darkness, striking at the men looking out over the wall or down at the ever-widening opening. Before anyone could react, the second wave of shafts flew toward the gate, taking almost half their enemies by surprise. The gatekeeper died, crying out in surprise as two arrows knocked him from his feet. A guard atop the wall shouted a warning, but more arrows flew, and he pitched forward, falling with a loud crash onto a small cart beneath the wall.
By then Yavtar and the three “slaves,” knives in hand, had forced their way through the opening, striking down two more men, and making sure the heavy gate stayed open. Still hidden in the shadows, Alexar and his men picked their targets, selecting anyone attempting to close the gate, or trying to give the alarm. A few shouted for help, but the heavy shafts whistling through the air soon silenced the voices.
An arrow skipped off the wall behind Alexar, the guards’ first attempt to strike back. But the gate’s defenders couldn’t see their targets well, while the dropped torches and watch fire gave Alexar and his men plenty of light for shooting.
Then it was too late. The heavy portal, once opened, couldn’t be easily closed. Yavtar’s two crewmen rushed to his side, carrying extra swords, but they weren’t needed. Both sides of the gate burst apart, pushed aside by a wall of men. Bantor and his thirty men, hidden less than a hundred paces away from the gate, had sprinted forward the moment Yavtar gave the signal. The few surviving guards turned and ran, scattering in all directions.
Alexar and his men, shooting as fast as they could, dropped a few more, but darkness soon hid their targets, and at least two or three escaped into the night.
Alexar stepped forward, holding his bow above his head. “Eskkar has returned,” he called out, just loud enough to be heard. Bantor recognized him, and the two forces joined together.
“Yavtar,” Bantor said without stopping, “you and Alexar must hold the gate.” Bantor had no more time for words. At a run, he and his men departed for the barracks less than four lanes away, their feet pounding against the dirt the only sound to mark their departure.
Yavtar strode over to Alexar, his two boatmen following. Together they watched the last of Bantor’s men disappear up the street. “I don’t want to stay here, Alexar. There won’t be any more fighting in this place.”
Alexar didn’t want to miss the fighting either. “We’re supposed to make sure no one gets away. That’s what Eskkar said.”
“No one will try to escape this way. They’ll go over the wall,” Yavtar countered. “Besides, Eskkar is going to need every man.”
The more Alexar thought about it, the more he decided Yavtar was right. “We could bar the gate, and hammer it shut. That should keep it sealed.”
Yavtar frowned. “Where would we get the tools?”
Alexar turned to the crowd of onlookers gathering about them. Sleepy citizens from adjacent houses had heard or seen the fight, and now peered out from doorways, the braver ones stepping forth cautiously from their houses. Their voices contributed to the babble of sound that increased every moment.
“We won’t need tools,” Alexar said. He raised his voice just enough to carry to those nearby. The time for silence had passed. “Akkadians! Eskkar has returned to bring vengeance to Korthac. Keep silent, and bar the gate!
Hammer it shut. Find weapons and keep the gate closed. Make sure no one leaves the city! Get moving. Eskkar has returned.”
Eskkar’s name emptied the nearby houses, and a few cheers from the rooftops floated into the night, praising Eskkar’s return.
“Keep silent, you fools!” Alexar’s voice stopped the cheering.
“Should we go to the barracks?” Yavtar glanced up at the night sky.
“It’ll be dawn soon.”
“No, Bantor has enough men for that. Let’s head for the main gate.
Maybe we can help Drakis.”
“Lead the way,” Yavtar said, fingering his sword. One fight was as good as another.
Drakis led his men at a fast walk. Enkidu brought up the rear, spac-ing the men five paces apart to keep their passage as quiet as possible. With luck, no one would hear them pass along the dark lanes. If he were going to surprise the defenders at the main gate, Drakis needed to get there without arousing attention.
Fortune had favored them so far. First they’d slipped over the wall with scarcely a delay and without alerting Korthac’s men, a feat thousands of Alur Meriki warriors had failed to accomplish in more than a month’s fighting. Earlier, Drakis worried that he might be fighting his way up this very street. Instead, he strode purposefully, his bow held close against his side. If the gods smiled a little longer, he’d have the chance to strike first.
Luck in battle. Drakis, like everyone else, knew Eskkar had more than his fair share of it. The warrior gods always seemed to smile on him, and, of course, he had Lady Trella at his side to whisper in his ear. Drakis would have preferred going with Eskkar to rescue her, but his own mission might prove just as important and probably more dangerous.
Eskkar had given him twenty men. Never before had Drakis commanded so many, and this time he would be on his own. He vowed to succeed, even if he and every one of his men died doing so. Shaking away the dark thought, he quickened his pace, recalling his meeting with Eskkar right after they left Rebba’s house.
With Bantor at his side, Eskkar had asked Drakis to choose one of his twenty men to be second in command. Drakis had immediately named Enkidu. Eskkar nodded approvingly, then called out for Enkidu to join them.
“Drakis, you and Enkidu must plan everything as best you can, in the little time you have. I want you both to think of what can go wrong, and how you’ll respond. Each of you must choose another to replace you should you be killed. At every step, make sure your men know what they are to do, and how they are to do it. Think now about what you will do when you reach the towers, how you will attack them, and how you will defend them, where you will position your men. And when you attack, remember to scream your heads off as the barbarians do. You must make your twenty men sound like a hundred. Nothing frightens men more at night than shouts of death and destruction.”
Eskkar had spoken for only a few moments, but Drakis and Enkidu still struggled to resolve all the questions and decisions their leader raised.
Drakis recalled his captain’s final words. “Hold the gate, Drakis. It’ll take the backbone out of our enemies if they think we’re trying to keep them trapped in Akkad. Keep shouting those words, that none must escape alive.
That will send half of them scurrying across the wall, fleeing for their lives.”
Drakis nodded his understanding, and put his hand on his leader’s shoulder. “I’ll hold the gate, Captain.”
“It won’t be easy. But if you can hold, Drakis, no one on horseback will be able to get away, and those who go over the walls will be easy prey to mounted men in the morning. But your danger will be great. If Bantor and I succeed, every bandit in Akkad will be rushing toward you, trying to escape, and desperate to fight their way past you and your men, to reach the safety of the countryside. Stop them, Drakis. Kill them all.”
Thinking back, Drakis realized that Eskkar had paid him quite a compliment, giving him a command and assuming that Drakis could work out the rest of the details himself. He’d watched as Eskkar next went to talk with Bantor, Klexor, and Yavtar. Their assignment was to force and capture the river gate. Afterward, they would attack the barracks, to endeavor to liberate the soldiers held captive there. If Bantor succeeded, he’d drive the rest of Korthac’s men toward the main gate, straight at Drakis, who’d have to keep them at bay until help arrived. If he lived that long.
Drakis lengthened his stride. He and his men had the greatest distance to cover, nearly the width of Akkad, and he wanted to get there before the alarm was given. But he’d lived in the city for years, and knew its winding lanes and streets, even in the dark.
With one lane to go, Drakis muttered a curse when he heard a rush of noise from the direction of the river gate. It lasted only moments, stopping almost as soon as it began, and silence again settled over the darkened city.
More important, no trumpet, no general alarm sounded. Perhaps the inhabitants had grown used to screams and the sound of fighting, even after dark. The streets were deserted at this time of night, but anyone might be awake and see them from a doorway or rooftop. Rebba had assured Eskkar that the towns people wouldn’t give them away, but it would take only one enemy or some stupid fool to raise a cry.
Clenching his teeth, Drakis prayed to the gods, asking for a bit more time, and held his bow tighter to his side. Lengthening his stride, he felt his heart thumping. At last he saw the lane widen in front of him, turning slightly into the broad space, empty now, behind the gates. He’d reached his objective.
The two tall wooden portals faced him, closed and barred, flanked by square towers that rose above the highest part of the gate by another fifteen feet. Each tower had an opening at the base that provided access to the interior, but had no connection to the wall that extended away on either side. The towers themselves were mostly empty space, with a few cots for guards to sleep on, and weapons-storage areas under the steps that hugged the walls as they rose to the battlement, the open space at the top of the tower.
Drakis stopped and held up his hand. In moments, his men took their positions on either side, lining up facing the gate, readying their bows and waiting for the order to attack. They didn’t have much time left. The moon had faded to a dim, barely noticeable glow in the sky, but the tower guards had built a small fire at the base of the left tower, about seventy paces away. More than enough light for night archery at that distance, he knew.
His men’s arrows would strike from the darkness.
Three of Korthac’s men stood around the flickering fire. Drakis didn’t know how many more guards would be inside the towers, but Rebba had guessed that twenty or thirty men attended Akkad’s main entrance day and night, more to stop anyone from leaving than to protect the city’s inhabitants from outside marauders.
The alarm might sound at any moment, and the sooner Drakis captured the two towers, the better. From their vantage, his archers would make sure the gate stayed closed. So far they hadn’t been discovered, and he wanted to keep that advantage as long as possible, at least until he had drawn first blood and…
A roar went up into the night behind him, a din that reached even where they stood, the sound followed by the piercing note of a trumpet that lingered faintly in the night air. Drakis ground his teeth in anger. They had been so close to surprise, and now they would have to fight their way in.
“We’ll take the left tower first. Spread out, and stay even with me.
Let’s go.”
No one had noticed them yet. Another guard stepped out of the right tower, looking about and calling out to those tending the fire. Fortunately, one fool started tossing more fuel on the fi re, and the flames shot up, providing even more light for Drakis’s archers.
He nocked an arrow to his bowstring as he stepped forward into the cleared ground. Alongside him, his men did the same, spreading out to either side as they advanced. In moments, his men stretched across the open space, all striding swiftly toward the gate. Drakis took a dozen steps before he gave the order to halt and fire.
The line stopped, ready arrows were drawn to each man’s eye, and the flight of shafts flew on its way. Even as he issued the order, a shout from one of the towers rang out to warn the defenders of the approaching archers, and several peered toward the street just as the arrows struck the still-confused men. Too late for them. Those tending the fire died, riddled with arrows. More guards stumbled out of both towers, looking stupidly around them, trying to understand what had happened.
Before Drakis’s shaft reached its target, he started jogging forward, his men taking their lead from him. “Halt!” He nocked the shaft he’d drawn.
“Fire!”
Another wave of arrows swept toward the gates’ defenders. More men went down, pierced by the heavy shafts powerful enough to knock a man off his feet at this distance. The screams of wounded men added to the confused shouting. By now Drakis had crossed more than half the distance to the gate. Again he halted, just out of the fire’s light. “Halt!” The dragging rasp of arrow against bow sounded loud to his ears as he drew back the shaft. “Fire!”
This time he aimed high, at the man shouting atop the tower. The shaft whistled up into the night, but he didn’t bother to see if he’d struck his target.
All those guards caught outside the towers died in the third flight of shafts, launched from less than forty paces.
The instant his shaft had flown, Drakis burst into a run, heading directly toward the left tower, gripping his bow in his left hand and drawing his short sword with the other. “Eskkar! Eskkar has returned!” Drakis shouted, letting the name no one had dared speak aloud echo around the walls. “Let none of the traitors escape!”
Angry and confused outcries came from the men atop the towers, and a shaft from above hissed past him. Now Drakis and his men showed clearly in the firelight, splitting into two groups as they charged toward the towers. They needed to get inside, before they became targets themselves.
Panic and confusion took control of the defenders at the sound of Drakis’s war cry. For nearly a week they’d lorded it over the city, laughing and taunting those who dared to speak Eskkar’s name. Now, accompanied by hissing arrows, that name struck fear into their hearts. Many forgot their orders, others abandoned their duties. A few broke and ran, disappearing into the darkness along the walls, escape the only thought in their heads.
Drakis kept shouting at the top of his lungs. “Eskkar has returned!
Death to all traitors!” His men took up the cry, screaming the words into the darkness as they raced to the leftmost tower, Drakis raising his sword as he ran. He hurtled over the dead bodies just as four men burst out of the tower’s entrance, swords in their hands.
But two of them saw what looked like a hundred demon shadows rushing at them, and darted back inside the tower. The others raised their swords, and one swung his blade at Drakis’s head. Drakis screamed his war cry even as he parried the thrust. Then he let his momentum carry him into the man’s chest, and he used his shoulder to knock the man to the ground, then thrust hard with his sword.
Wrenching his sword free, Drakis flung himself inside the tower’s dark opening. A shadow moved before him, and he struck at it, screaming “Eskkar! Eskkar!” The words rang up into the darkness. Here, deep within the tower’s base, almost no light penetrated. Normally a torch burned inside the doorway, to light the steps that led to the top. The careless guards had let it go out, too lazy to replace it with dawn approaching.
Drakis pushed forward; he needed to destroy the defenders as quickly as possible, before they could regroup, before they realized that they still outnumbered their attackers.
The guards inside the tower reacted slowly. They’d been caught relaxing, most of them asleep. Jolted awake, unsure of what was happening, the gatekeepers fumbled for their swords, trying to fend off what seemed like a horde of ferocious attackers. Some fled up the stone steps, bumping into those trying to come down.
Drakis reached the base of the steps, and saw a man coming at him, stumbling in the dark. Drakis had the advantage-anyone in front of him must be an enemy. He lunged upward, arm extended, and felt the sword bite deep into muscle.
His victim screamed as the blade pierced his thigh, and Drakis felt hot blood splatter his arm and chest. The stabbed man tried to step back, but the wounded leg failed him, and he pitched off the steps, crying out as he fell.
The other defenders stopped their descent, bunching up at the first landing. Drakis never hesitated, pushed on by his men sounding their war cries behind him. He hurled himself up the steps, toward the guards, still screaming Eskkar’s name, the confines of the tower amplifying his voice into something inhuman, something full of menace.
Another guard turned away, to scramble back up the steps, but lost his footing and fell to the stairs. Drakis swung his sword down viciously at the man’s back, ignored the scream as the blade cut deep into the man’s shoulder, knocking his opponent to the steps. The rest of the guards fled back the way they came, anything to get away from the demons charging at them. Drakis stepped on the wounded man’s back, and raced up the stairs two at a time.
Behind him, his men filled the tower with a wall of sound. An arrow launched by one of Drakis’s men hissed by, followed by a scream as another guard pitched off the steps, falling heavily to the ground below.
Drakis ignored it all, shouting his war cry and sprinting up the last stair-way until he reached the opening at the top of the stairs. Another guard met Drakis at the top of the stairs, a sword in his hand, but Drakis struck at him so quickly that the man didn’t even have time to attempt to parry the stroke. Knocking the wounded man aside, Drakis, breathing hard, pushed his way out of the darkness and onto the tower’s battlement. He saw shadows moving about and naked blades glinting in the starlight, as the tower’s defenders rallied their forces. “Eskkar has returned!” he shouted, and charged straight at his opponents.