Empire Rising (59 page)

“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.

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“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 pos-346

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sible. 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.

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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 348

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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.

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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.

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Drakis kept shouting at the top of his lungs. “Eskkar has returned!