Authors: Sam Barone
This caravan would prove far mightier than the watery obstacle nature had placed in its path. The people of the steppes, the Alur Meriki, traveled wherever they chose and nothing stood in their path. They dominated all the peoples of the world, just as Thutmose - sin dominated them.
He was their king, and he ruled the world.
In his thirty - fifth season, the leader of the Alur Meriki stood as strong and powerful as in his youth, with not a trace of fat on his tall, muscu-lar frame. Around his neck hung a copper - linked chain with a three - inch gold medallion identifying the Alur Meriki leader. Unlike his followers, he wore no other jewelry or rings to show his importance or his conquests.
The medallion proclaimed his power—only the strongest and most capable ever earned the right to wear it.
Thutmose - sin regarded the scene beneath him with satisfaction. The clan extended in a wide and crooked line for nearly four miles, a snake-like procession that sent a long plume of reddish dust into the still air.
Four hundred warriors shepherded them along, helping the wagons get through places where the earth turned to soft sand, keeping the flocks of sheep, goats, and cattle moving, and occasionally dismounting to add their own muscles to those of the weary animals that struggled over the rough ground. The caravan traveled slowly, but it never stopped.
The column consisted of horses, oxen, wagons, stock animals, women, children, old men, and slaves, in roughly that order of importance.
The real strength of his people, its great force of warriors, traversed the land many days’ ride ahead and to each side of the line of march. Some searched out the best and easiest route for the clan’s travel. But most plundered the countryside, taking whatever of value they found, to enrich themselves and to keep the clan alive and growing.
The Alur Meriki had become the largest gathering of those who’d come forth from the northern steppes many generations ago. They now numbered more than five thousand people, not counting slaves. That meant that Thutmose - sin had nearly two thousand fighting men at his command. No other steppes clan had produced so many warriors. More important, the Alur Meriki warriors had never suffered defeat in battle. It had been more than twenty years, in the days when Maskim - Xul led the Alur Meriki, since another clan had even dared to challenge them.
Satisfied with his peoples’ progress, Thutmose - sin turned his horse away from the edge of the promontory. As he did so, a small band of riders approached, a clan leader at their head.
“Greetings, Sarrum.” Urgo, clan leader and kinsman to Thutmose - sin, used the formal title to refer to his lord. The first to swear allegiance to Thutmose - sin after the death of Maskim - Xul six seasons ago, Urgo stood a hand’s width shorter but a little broader than his cousin. Though seven seasons older, Urgo looked just as fit. Eight or ten hours a day on the back of a spirited horse kept any man in fighting shape.
“Greetings, Urgo.”
“I bring news, Thutmose - sin.”
Of the twenty clan leaders who ruled the Alur Meriki, Urgo’s clan had grown into one of the most powerful, with two hundred warriors under his standard.
Not that Urgo or any of the clan leaders made life easier for Thutmose -
sin, even though half of them shared kinship to one degree or another.
At times the entire Alur Meriki horde, with their endless disputes over women, horses, or some warrior’s honor, took less effort to manage than the fractious disputes of the twenty council members.
Thutmose - sin led Urgo back toward the crest of the hill. They left their bodyguards behind, out of earshot, and sat near the promontory’s edge where they could watch the procession below. It would take three or four days before the clan could ford the Tigris. They’d camp here for at least a week, resting while repairing the wagons, and letting the sheep and goats graze on the plentiful grass, fattening themselves before moving on.
“A river trader told me something of interest,” Urgo began without ceremony. “He said there’s a great village far to the south. It’s called Orak.
The trader claims there are two thousand dirt - people living there.”
“Two thousand?” Thutmose - sin’s voice rose in disbelief. That was easily twice as large as anything the Alur Meriki had ever encountered before. A village that size, if it could feed itself, would have great resources that would provide much plunder. “Can that many dirt - eaters live in one place? Are you sure your trader speaks the truth?”
“Yes, Sarrum, I believe him,” Urgo answered. “Others have spoken of this place before. Let me show you.” He began to trace out a map in the sand. With a few light strokes of his knife and the help of some pebbles to represent the mountains and other landmarks, Urgo made the rivers appear and the mountains to the east rise up. As always, he impressed his sarrum as much with his memory as with his skill at mapmaking. Urgo could re - create maps from all the places the clan had traveled as accurately as if he’d seen them yesterday, instead of five or even ten years ago.
“When we cross the Tigris,” Urgo said, “we’ll continue east. In a few weeks we’ll have to choose a route to the south. If we turn here, or here,”
he indicated places on the map, “as we planned, we’ll pass this Orak far to the northeast. It will be too distant to raid. So if we wish to capture this place, we must turn sooner. We could head more toward this village, perhaps even following the path of the Tigris. The lands along the river are fertile. There’d be much grain and goods to capture. It’s not the line of march that we planned, but this great village would yield many spoils.”
Urgo took a deep breath. “With whatever route we choose, when we’re a few months closer, we can send raiding parties ahead to capture this Orak. Two thousand dirt - eaters will have plenty of valuables and no way of hiding them all.”
Thutmose - sin looked down at the lines in the sand. “This place, it seems familiar.”
“It should,” Urgo said with a laugh. “You raided it a few years before you became sarrum. Orak was a fat village even then, and you brought back many slaves.”
Thutmose - sin fingered the hilt of his sword, trying to recall one raid out of so many. The name meant nothing to him, but he recognized the bend of the Tigris. “Yes, I remember. A good raid. But the village wasn’t so large then, and we killed everyone and destroyed it. Can it have grown back so quickly?”
Urgo shrugged. “It must have.”
It seemed a simple decision, easy to make, no different from many other such choices the clan faced every day. Still, Thutmose - sin hesitated.
“A village that big defies our way of life, Urgo,” he said, “and for that reason alone it should be destroyed. But we hadn’t planned to go so far south. If we do, we’ll add many more miles to our journey. We’d have to hurry to reach our winter camp. What we find when we reach this Orak may not be worth the extra weeks of travel.”
“Yes, that may be so,” Urgo answered. “It’s the usual problem.”
Thutmose - sin understood the man’s prudence. Urgo did not make such decisions. Only Thutmose - sin or the entire council could change the route. But Urgo had the responsibility of collecting information about the land through which they passed and suggesting possible raids or routes to follow. While the Alur Meriki would eventually begin to move south, what route they chose and how fast they traveled would be critical to the prosperity and health of the clans. The sarrum understood the problem Urgo referred to all too well. If they sent raiding parties, that meant delays and difficulties of carrying the loot back to the main camp. A mounted warrior, burdened by weapons, water, and whatever he needed for his horse, could carry little else. Loaded - down slaves traveled slowly and required large quantities of food and water, which must also be carried. If instead they took the entire clan closer to Orak, then they’d be nearly two hundred miles west of where they wanted to be. As always, not every need could be satisfied. No matter what decision he reached, some would be displeased.
“If we head toward this place,” Thutmose - sin said, tapping the pebble that represented Orak, “they’ll learn of our coming. These large villages empty themselves long before our warriors arrive. Even the farmers along the way will fl ee, after first burying their tools and seed crops deep in the ground. No matter what route we choose, word of our coming will soon spread.”
Ideally, they would capture this Orak with all its people and goods inside, but such an occurrence almost never happened, even with raiding parties that could travel far and fast. Tools, grain, and valuables would disappear, while horses and herd animals would be scattered or hidden. The clan would be lucky to capture a third of what the village possessed.
Thutmose - sin turned away from the map and stared at the land below.
But his thoughts stayed focused on this Orak. Such an abomination could not be allowed to exist. Villagers scratched in the dirt like pigs for their food, instead of hunting or fighting for it like true men. The dirt - eaters lived and bred like ants. You could kick over their anthill, but in a few years it grew back, with more of them than before. Just like this Orak. He had leveled it years ago and already it had risen again, with more dirt -
eaters than before.
Now Thutmose - sin wanted to obliterate it and destroy everyone within it. The Alur Meriki might tolerate small villages. They’d be plundered but not destroyed, so that they could be raided again in the future. But a village of two thousand was more than an insult. He considered what might happen if they returned in another ten years to find the village had again doubled in size. No, this Orak must be destroyed to make sure such a thing could never happen.
It wouldn’t be easy. Thutmose - sin needed to find a way to keep all the villagers inside, with their goods, until it was too late to get away.
“This village,” Thutmose - sin said, “the ford there is a good one?”
Urgo nodded. “According to the trader, it’s the only easy crossing for thirty or forty miles in either direction. Likely that is what helps the place grow so large.”
“Then most of the important villagers will flee across the Tigris or down the river.” Thutmose - sin took his dagger from his belt and moved closer to Urgo’s map. “Perhaps there’s a way to take it before too many escape.”
His knife inscribed fresh lines in the sand as he spoke. The plan he sketched was simple, but unlike anything they had ever done. The lay of the land would help, as would the Tigris. By the time Thutmose - sin finished, their heads nearly touched as they leaned over the map.
“It’s a cunning plan, Thutmose - sin. We’ll gain many slaves.”
“The tactics are simple enough, and we’ve twice as many warriors as we need. And the dirt - eaters will do what they always do, and so help destroy themselves.”
Finally Urgo nodded. “Yes, Sarrum, I can’t think of anything that can go wrong. We’ll capture much of value to the clan. I’ll begin the preparations. There are many months to work out the details, and we can always change our tactics if something unexpected happens.”
“Then it’s decided.” Thutmose - sin rose to his feet, his subcommander doing the same. “We’ll discuss it tonight with the council.” They’d approve it, of course, especially if Urgo supported it.
He swung back up on his horse, his bodyguards again forming up around him, then rode back to the edge of the escarpment for one last look at the caravan. His people continued their inexorable march. Their traveling pace would be slow, but the rulers of the world had no need to hurry.
Thutmose - sin smiled in anticipation as he turned his horse around and put him to the gallop. He had set in motion the route and the objectives of the Alur Meriki for the next six months. Those plans meant that some villages would be spared, their foolish inhabitants thanking the gods for their deliverance, never realizing that they existed only at his sufferance.
This great village of Orak would be taken just as easily as the smallest farmhouse in their path. Orak’s inhabitants would die or become slaves.
He, Thutmose - sin, had decided and so it would be. No clan, no village, no force of nature could stop the full might of his people. And this time when he finished with it, Orak would be sunk back to the mud from which it came. This time, the anthill would not recover.
–––––-
–-
The eastern bank of the river Tigris, two hundred miles north of the great
sea …
Awake, Eskkar, awake now! Nicar sent for you. You must come at once!” Eskkar realized the words had been spoken several times, accompanied by vigorous shaking. Now they ceased being mere sounds and became instead a message, one that slowly found its way through the haze that still clutched at his mind and body from last night’s drinking.
“Enough,” Eskkar grunted, swinging an arm clumsily at the messenger.
But the nimble youth dodged easily. Eskkar pushed himself up to a sitting position on his hard pallet, while the room revolved around him and the blood pounded in his head from the sudden motion. His throat felt dry, like the gritty dirt floor beneath his naked feet, and his skull seemed ready to split apart at any moment as he paid the price for last night’s vinegary wine.
“Water,” he growled. After a few moments, the messenger placed a wooden cup in Eskkar’s shaking hands. He swallowed a few mouthfuls, though much of the liquid dribbled down his chin onto his bare chest. His eyes refused to focus, and the bright sunlight that streamed through the open doorway into the shadowy soldiers’ quarters added to his misery.
As soon as Eskkar lowered the cup, the boy started again. “Hurry, Eskkar. Nicar awaits you now! You must come at once.”
What in the name of the gods could Nicar want from him? But Nicar’s name and position as the ruler of the village of Orak started him moving, stumbling first to the rank chamber pot inside the soldiers’ common room, then back to his pallet to don his tunic.
Leaving the barracks, his eyes half - shut against the sun, Esk kar managed to find his way to the well. He leaned against the rough stones for a moment, then upended the bucket to splash water on his face before drinking.