Empire Rising (65 page)

“We should go to the barracks,” Ariamus said. “The extra weapons are stored there.”

Hathor detected a hint of fear in Ariamus’s voice. Something had un-hinged the man, made him eager to get away from this house.

“Take half your men to the gate,” Hathor said. “Tell the rest to obey Takany. No arguing, just go.”

Ariamus opened his mouth as if to argue, then shrugged. “I’ll get them moving.” He strode off, shouting out orders to his men and dividing them up. In moments they started gathering at the entrance to the courtyard.

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Takany had heard something in Ariamus’s voice, too. “Kill him when this is over,” Takany ordered, his voice cold with fury. “I don’t want to see him alive again. Understand? The coward will sell us out the first chance he gets.” Takany turned away and readied his own fighters for the push to regain the house.

Hathor did the same, grabbing the first twelve men he saw and ordering them to follow. He performed a quick check to see that they carried bows as well as their swords. By then Ariamus’s men had departed, disappearing out into the lane. Hathor ordered his own men to follow.

Before he passed through the gate, he took one last look at the courtyard. Takany had organized his force of about twenty men. In a few moments, he’d begin the assault on the house. Hathor stepped out into the lane and began running. He hoped he wouldn’t need those twenty men at the gate.

Bantor raced toward the barracks. Days of being cooped up, hiding from his enemies and unsure of what to do, had filled him with rage.

Thoughts of Ariamus tormented his mind day and night since the ambush. Ariamus, who had taken his wife for an afternoon’s diversion. Ariamus, who ambushed and embarrassed him in front of his men. Ariamus, who had laughed at him a dozen times in the old days. Bantor swore once again to see his nemesis dead, preferably by slow roasting over hot coals.

The man must die, and more with him. Bantor planned to avenge himself and his men killed in the ambush. The faster he liberated the barracks, the sooner he could begin hunting Ariamus.

Bantor had been the first man to reach the river gate, but by then Yavtar and Alexar had taken care of most of those guarding it. Bantor’s men finished off the rest, leaving him no one to kill. He waited but a moment, until certain all of his men passed inside, before moving ahead through the twisted lanes, straight toward the barracks. His sword clenched tight in his hand, he yearned to encounter his enemy.

Halting before the last turn, he let his men catch up. Counting himself, Bantor only had twenty-four soldiers, since he’d left Alexar and Yavtar to hold the river gate. According to Rebba, there were at least forty or fifty Egyptians at the barracks, along with another twenty or thirty misfits recruited by Ariamus. To have any chance against such odds, Bantor needed not only to set free the prisoners, but to capture the weapons storehouse, Empire Rising

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as much to deny Korthac’s men access to them. For all this to work, Bantor had to catch his enemy by surprise.

Keeping within the shadows, he peered around the corner. The soldiers’ barracks, a collection of low huts formed into a half-circle around the training ground, looked peaceful enough. The remains of a watch fire flickered a few paces outside the leftmost structure, a handful of guards standing around it. Farthest away and facing him, he could just make out at least four guards walking posts at the smaller barracks, the building that, according to Rebba, held the prisoners.

Most of Korthac’s men slept in the main barracks, the only structure large enough in Akkad to hold so many men. Bantor saw three more guards a few paces from the barracks entrance, tending the fire that now barely glowed. As soon as dawn rose, those guards would wake the sleeping foreigners inside, so Bantor had to move now. One guard looked toward the lane that led to the river gate, no doubt curious about the occasional shout coming from that direction. But not yet curious enough to sound the alarm.

“We’re ready,” Klexor said moments later, his voice a whisper in Bantor’s ear.

“Take your men straight to the small barracks,” Bantor said. “Free the prisoners. Ignore everything else. I’ll take care of the Egyptians.”

Bantor had given Klexor ten of the men, leaving himself with only fourteen to face the Egyptians.

“Good hunting, then,” Klexor whispered, as he strung a shaft to his bow.

Bantor took a deep breath, and broke into a run, heading straight at the fire. The moment the first guard looked up, Bantor voiced his battle cry. “Eskkar has returned! Death to the invaders!”

Behind him, his men took up the war cry, heavy feet pounding the dirt in the lane. The guard tending the fire reacted slowly, staring wide-eyed into the darkness for a moment before fumbling for his weapon. The man’s sword hadn’t even cleared its scabbard when Bantor cut him down, feeling the blade he’d sharpened each day bite deep into the man’s shoulder. Wrenching it free, he whirled on the next man, blocking his stroke and slashing at his face. The first screams of the night pierced the air, mixing with the confused shouts of disoriented men. Bantor’s soldiers pushed past him, and the last guard broke and ran, ducking back into the barracks.

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foreigners. Bantor ran toward the opening, just as a handful of men stumbled out the door, weapons in hand. An arrow killed one in the doorway.

Then Bantor reached the Egyptians, swinging his sword with fury and striking at every man in his path.

The foreigners, still half asleep, pushed their way through the barracks door by sheer force of numbers and attempted to form a line. But arrows fl ew from out of the shadows, cutting them down before they could organize themselves. At such close range, the archers had little need to aim, and the lethal shafts flew off their bowstrings with such rapidity that the Egyptians thought they faced a hundred archers.

His fury raging and ignoring the arrows flashing past his head, Bantor fought his way through, determined to fight his way into the barracks.

With each kill, he shouted Eskkar’s name.

The Egyptians recoiled before battle-crazed Bantor and his men, abandoning the effort to form a battle line. Five more of the enemy died before they managed to retreat back into the barracks and slam the door shut.

Cursing, Bantor threw himself against the door, but it didn’t move, and he knew at least half a dozen men stood behind it, holding it fast. He heard the sounds of pallets being shoved against the door. From within, a trumpet rang out, sending its muffled warning notes into the night, waking the city and announcing to all that Akkad was under attack.

Bantor glanced about him, as his men, bows drawn, watched the two narrow ventilation windows set high in the wall. The surprise attack had trapped the Egyptian fighters inside, and now Bantor was determined to keep these foes penned in. Stepping away from the barracks’ entrance, he looked first down the lane, then at Klexor’s men. In the lane he saw no one, certainly no armed and trained reinforcements rushing to aid Korthac’s men. Less than fifty paces away, Klexor and his bowmen poured arrows into anything that moved, attacking the smaller barracks. Bantor saw men running away into the darkness, a good sign, for now.

Bantor had to hope that Klexor’s force succeeded. He’d felt certain that at least half of the bandits and farmers recruited from the countryside by Ariamus and quartered in the two smaller structures would flee at the first sign of trouble, some toward Eskkar’s house, others toward the main gate. They didn’t matter, not right now. Bantor had to destroy these Egyptians before they could organize a defense or escape.

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“Surround the barracks! They may try to break through the wall. Get to the roof,” Bantor shouted. “Use fire on the roof. Burn them out! Don’t let any escape. Hurry!”

A soldier raced to the fire pit and began tossing more wood on the fire.

The low flames dimmed for a few moments, then the fresh wood caught and the flames began to build. The archers fanned out, all of them facing the structure with their bows ready. The barracks had only the one entrance, and the single window on the opposite side was too small for a man to climb through.

Shouts of rage came from within the barracks. Bantor couldn’t believe his luck. He’d trapped forty or so of these Egyptians in a single building.

If he could hold them there a few moments longer . . .

“Cover the door,” he shouted. “And get some archers on that roof.” He pointed with his sword at the soldiers’ storehouse, a smaller structure open on two sides. Battle-axes, shields, spears, and other weapons were stacked within, only a few paces away from the main barracks. Meanwhile, the watch fire crackled under its load of fresh fuel, and thick smoke began to trail up into the sky, already showing a rosy glow to the east. It wouldn’t be long before the flames took hold.

The barracks door suddenly flew open. Three arrows flashed out into the Akkadian line. One shaft flew right past Bantor’s ear, and an archer two steps away groaned and fell to the ground. His men returned the fi re, but the door had already been pulled closed, leaving nearly a dozen shafts protruding from the wooden portal.

Bantor opened his mouth to berate his men, but they’d already adjusted, some cursing at themselves, others shifting positions and readying for the next attack. They’d not be caught so easily next time.

“Bantor! Is it you?”

He turned to find three men stumbling toward him. It took a moment before he recognized Jarack and two other Hawk Clan members from Eskkar’s household guard. They appeared unsteady, and marks from the lash covered their nearly naked bodies.

“Give us weapons, Bantor,” Jarack demanded, his hand on Bantor’s arm. “We can fight.”

“Take charge of those we’ve freed,” Bantor said. “Arm yourself from the storehouse. Bring out shields and spears for my men. We’ll need them in a moment.”

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“No, we want . . .”

Bantor grabbed Jarack by the arm and pushed him toward the storehouse. “Go!”

The barracks door flew open again, but this time Bantor’s archers were ready. Their arrows flew into the darkened interior. Only one shaft, aimed high, came out. But a wave of men burst out, the ones in front carrying shields, and they hurled themselves toward the Akkadians, shouting war cries.

From the storehouse roof above them, four archers who had just reached their positions fi red their shafts into the Korthac’s fi ghters’ backs, knocking down the first two shielded men emerging from the barracks.

That gave Bantor’s archers more targets. They brought down another two men before the leader of the charging Egyptians reached Bantor’s sword.

He caught the savage overhand thrust on his own weapon, then used one of Eskkar’s favorite tactics, stepping forward and slamming his shoulder in the man’s shield, halting the man’s advance. Before the man could regain either his balance or his momentum, Bantor’s short sword swept over the top of the shield and thrust deep into the man’s chest, at the base of the neck.

With a scream the man dropped his sword, clutching at his wound.

Wrenching his blade free, Bantor faced another attacker, but this man was already dying, another shaft flashing down from the storehouse roof into the man’s back. Their charge broken before most of them got clear of the doorway and their leader dead, the Egyptians fell back once again to their barracks. Again the door slammed shut, leaving one cursing man trapped outside, pounding on the door for entry, before two shafts in his back brought him down. The body slumped directly before the opening, and Bantor grunted in satisfaction. The Egyptians would have to step over their own dead to reach his men next time.

“Bantor, the fire’s ready,” a voice called out.

“Burn the roof, then.”

Jarack returned carrying a large wooden shield and three spears, another three or four former prisoners carrying similar burdens behind him.

More men appeared, all carrying weapons of one sort or another, and Bantor realized some villagers had entered the compound and helped themselves to the same weapons supply.

The first firebrand mounted up into the sky, to fall downward onto the barracks’ roof. Another followed in its trail, then more smoked their way Empire Rising

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onto the roof, flung by the hands of arriving villagers. These alighted on the structure, and the mix of wood and straw ignited almost at once. Fresh fire shot up into the sky.

Bantor glanced down at the ground before him, counting the dead Egyptians. Eight bodies lay in the dirt, most with arrows protruding from them. Three carried shields, something that wouldn’t normally be kept in the crowded barracks. So the Egyptians had their swords and knives, a few bows, and not much else.

Another villager arrived, this one carrying a spear. He knelt on the ground right beside an archer, angling the spear point up, protecting the bowman, and no doubt well trained in how to rise up and thrust the weapon at any charging foe. Another villager arrived and did the same, and Bantor saw Jarack standing back at the storehouse, directing more villagers while he handed out more weapons.

With a loud snapping noise, a wave of fire engulfed the barracks’ roof, and the bright flames added their light to the deepening dawn.

Klexor arrived, bringing most of his archers with him. “The prisoners are free, Bantor,” he shouted, already having to raise his voice over the crackle of flames. “We lost a few men, but the rabble fled.”

“Spread your men out,” Bantor ordered. “Get a few more up on the storehouse roof. The Egyptians will be coming out soon.”

Bantor saw nearly twenty liberated soldiers stumbling behind Alexar.

Most of them looked exhausted and scarcely able to stand, weakened by long hours of slave labor with little food.

“Give them your bows,” Bantor ordered. Even in their weakened condition, these men would still be able to loose a shaft. At this distance, a bowman didn’t need to draw back an arrow very far.