Authors: Sam Barone
Esk kar repeated the message to Grond, who would whisper it to each man. Esk kar turned back to Myandro. “Jalen should have attacked by now.
It grows late.”
Myandro checked the progress of the moon before answering. “We’d have heard something if he were seen or captured. I’ll go back on watch.
More can be seen and heard from the hilltop. Keep close against the side of the hill, and make sure nobody makes a sound.”
Again he vanished, leaving Esk kar envious of his ability to move so quietly. But the idea of the sentry made him nervous, and Esk kar moved down the line of men, whispering to each and making sure every man hugged the hillside as much as possible.
More time passed as the moon seemed to race across the sky. When the moment came they felt it in the ground before they heard the noise, the rumble of hundreds of pounding hooves. The horses over the hilltop heard it as well, and a few began to whinny nervously, the first sounds they’d made.
Esk kar pictured the raid in his mind. Jalen would have gotten his men into position and built a tiny fire. Each man would light the thick, oil -
soaked bundle of rags already fastened to the ends of the ropes. Whirling the ropes overhead would create a big flaming circle that would frighten any horse, let alone a herd suddenly awakened to see eight circles of fire rushing toward them. The horses would bolt from the sight, and with luck, directly into the river if Jalen positioned his men properly.
Other noises came to Esk kar, horses screaming, the distant alarms of men, and above everything the thunder of hooves in the night. Behind the hill, men shouted and cursed, warriors suddenly jerked awake, fumbling for their swords, scrambling for their horses, damning the darkness and whatever unknown disaster had struck the herd. Each warrior probably had a mount or two in that band, and all would be keen to learn what had happened.
Myandro loomed up out of the darkness above them. “Down! And don’t look up!”
Esk kar and his men froze into the earth, hardly breathing, all of them pressing against the hill. He heard horses climbing the other side. At first Esk kar thought they’d been discovered, but realized that someone, likely the leader and a few others, had ascended the hill to see whether Orak showed any activity.
When the horses stopped moving, Esk kar glimpsed three or four horsemen, not forty paces above their heads and as many to their left, looking over the empty plain to the village walls. If any of them looked down toward the base of the hill …
But the riders searched toward the village, where nothing moved. At the base of the hill deep shadows covered the motionless men. Esk kar heard the horses snort and one of them neighed. The animals had probably picked up the scent of men beneath them. The warriors, however, ignored those small signs, certain the animals were spooked by the stampede.
At last the Alur Meriki leader shouted an order and the horses turned about and started back down the hillside. As they did so, the whole band burst into a gallop, riding off toward the north.
Esk kar remained rooted in place, waiting while Myandro climbed up the hill, looking for any guards left behind. If any remained, they’d have to be killed. Time again dragged by before Myandro called to them from above.
Instantly Esk kar and his men grabbed their pots and began climbing up the face of the hill, cursing silently the clumsy weights around their necks that unbalanced them and made them slip and stumble. At the crest they found Myandro and one of his men. Hugging the ground so no silhou-ette would show against the faint moonlight, Esk kar could see the main encampment about half a mile away. Only a few scattered fi res glowed in the darkness, but more were lit each moment as the camp roused itself to learn what had stampeded their horses.
“There, Captain,” Myandro gestured with his bow to the east. “See that small fire there? That’s where the carts are.” He pointed to a tiny fire about six hundred paces from where they stood. “Shall we go with you?”
Esk kar hesitated a moment, but realized a few more men wouldn’t help. “No, stay with the plan. Remain here and cover our retreat if you can. If not, save yourself.”
The man nodded, not bothering to tell Esk kar that Gatus had ordered him specifically not to return without the captain of the guard. “Then hurry, before they return and block the way. And there may be guards.”
Of course there would be guards, wide - awake ones at that, based on the sounds coming from the north. Moving as quietly as possible, Esk kar’s men descended the back side of the hill, still moving south, so they could approach the outpost from the rear, hoping to find the guards focused on the confusion in the north. They hadn’t far to travel now and they moved at a faster pace, helped by their brief rest.
When he reached his position, Esk kar gave the order to halt. He dropped to one knee to let his burden slip carefully to the ground, then pulled the rope over his head. Another movement freed the sword strapped to his back and he buckled it around his waist. He carried no other weapon.
Esk kar chose two men to come with him. One carried a short bow and six arrows, the standard weapon of the barbarians, an item now in plentiful supply, taken from dead warriors. The other man carried two knives.
The three men walked openly toward the campfire. The first cart loomed in his path and Esk kar stumbled over the tongue hidden in the darkness at his feet. Up ahead, just past the small fire, he spotted two men facing north, away from him. Esk kar turned to the man with the bow. “Stay here in case there are more guards,” he whispered. “We’ll take care of those two. Come, Tellar,” he ordered the other man, “and give me one of those knives.”
Tellar could handle a knife better than most, one of the reasons for bringing him. He handed Esk kar one of his daggers and Esk kar held it concealed against his arm.
He walked straight toward the guards, making no effort to keep quiet.
Nevertheless they closed within thirty paces and hadn’t been noticed, so Esk kar pretended to slip and swore loudly. The guards turned at the sound, hands on their swords as they saw two men weaving toward them.
“Who are you?” the smaller of the two snapped out.
“Rest easy, friend,” Esk kar replied in the barbarian language, slurring his words as if intoxicated. He kept walking slowly forward, grateful to the Ur Nammu for all the recent language practice. “We were drinking out in the plain when we heard the noise. What’s going on?” He let his words tail off and moved sideways a little, as if he were fi nding it diffi cult to walk a straight line.
The taller guard spoke up, apparently eager to talk. “Something must have stampeded the horses. Maybe the dirt - eaters.”
“No! How could they do that?” Esk kar stopped a few steps from the men and turned to his companion. “Did you hear that? Someone’s after our horses.”
When he turned back, the knife flashed in his hand and he leapt at the smaller, more alert guard, shoving his dagger into the man’s stomach before he could clear his sword. At the same instant, Tellar fl ung himself on the other and dragged him down to the ground, where they wrestled a moment before Tellar arose, bloody knife in one hand and the man’s sword in the other.
Esk kar wasted no time with the bodies. He climbed up the nearest cart to look around but saw nothing, no more guards, not even horses, just more torches and fires being lit in the main encampment. “Tellar, get Grond and the men. We don’t have much time.”
Grond appeared out of the darkness almost instantly, carrying Eskkar’s burden as well as his own without apparent effort. Esk kar found time to grin at the man’s strength.
“Push as many carts together as you can. Tellar, unseal the jars.” The wrapped pots contained the heavy black oil that burned for hours. The contents of one jar should be enough to turn any two carts into a pyre of flame within moments. Tellar’s sharp knives easily cut through the ropes and leather sealing the pots.
Esk kar left his men to their task as he walked over to inspect a different pile of wood. Long planks had been nailed together, perhaps to form shields for fi ve or ten men at a time. The barbarians had planned for their fire attack well. They could use these great shields to protect them from arrows and stones as they piled the wood and carts against Orak’s gate.
Esk kar didn’t know whether he could do anything about them, as it would take at least four men to lift one and they had no tools to break them apart. Perhaps they could drag some of them against the burning carts.
Two carts squealed loudly when the men pushed them together. Within moments six carts were practically touching. Already two men had climbed atop them and started pouring oil over the contents.
The men moved fast, carrying the oil, pouring it, then moving to the next cart. In moments they’d emptied the pots. The guards’ campfire came in handy now, as they tossed burning brands onto the carts. The oil - soaked wood caught fire at once and the flames began to grow.
“Grond! Help me with these shields.” Men rushed over and four of them picked up the first shield and leaned it up against the nearest cart, before running back for another. By now at least twenty - eight fires had been set, emptying the fourteen jars they’d carried with such care. The dark of night erupted into a wall of flames.
Esk kar and Grond ignored the waves of heat against their fl esh. They carried the huge shields to their destruction, placing them against whatever burning cart was closest. Ten … twenty … Esk kar lost count of how many they’d dragged to the fires, though his arms ached from the effort.
“Captain! They’ve seen the fires. They’re coming,” Tellar shouted to be heard over the crackling flames. “We have to go now!”
The fire roar grew deafening, as more dry wood burst into hot flames that shot up into the night sky. Esk kar glanced at Grond, who nodded.
“Help me with this last shield, Grond.” The other men joined them to heave one of the most massive shields into position.
“Get moving,” Esk kar ordered, gasping for breath against the heat of the fire, his men already melting into the darkness, eager to return to safety.
Warriors near the main camp had spotted the flames. Men came on the run but so far none on horseback. Any warrior with a horse nearby would have headed straight for the river, anxious to recover his mounts.
Esk kar started back toward the village when three warriors burst into the firelight and charged at him. He started to run, saw they’d quickly overtake him, and turned, pulling his sword from its sheath as they fl ung themselves at him.
Thutmose - sin woke with a start, feeling the ground trembling beneath him. For a moment he thought it might be an earthshaker, but he recognized the sound of many horses on the move. The two wives he’d chosen for that night called out in fear, but he ignored their questions. Men shouted outside his tent, and by the time the first guard pushed open the tent flap, Thutmose - sin had arisen and buckled his sword around him.
“Sarrum,” the breathless warrior gasped out, “the horses have stampeded. They all …”
“What caused it? Do you know?” Anything might set horses moving, a strange scent, a strong breeze, even a clumsy nightrider.
“No, Sarrum. Not yet …”
“Find out,” he ordered. Stepping outside his tent, Thutmose - sin looked up at the stars. Still a few hours before sunrise. All the fires had burned out, except for a few scattered watch fires that still glowed on the outskirts of the camp.
Around him, warriors milled about in confusion. Everyone had horses in the herd. Those who’d kept mounts nearby soon galloped off toward the river. A young warrior approached, leading Thutmose - sin’s horse.
He swung up onto the animal, then rode off toward a nearby hilltop, his guards scrambling along on foot behind him. When he reached the small rise, he looked first toward the village. Everything there seemed quiet, so he turned his attention to the river. He couldn’t see the horses, but a few torches danced about, all moving toward the water’s edge.
A rider galloped up, calling out Thutmose - sin’s name. In a moment, the horseman had raced his horse up the hilltop.
“Sarrum, the dirt - eaters stampeded the horses.” The man had to pause for a moment. “They waved fire at them, drove many into the Tigris.”
“Did you capture them?”
“No, not yet, Sarrum. The horses blocked the way, but the patrol moved to cut them off, so they’re trapped along the riverbank.”
Thutmose - sin again looked toward the village. Still no sign of activity.
He shifted his gaze toward the south, but saw nothing, just the watch fires.
Reassured, he decided to ride toward the commotion. Then he noticed the fires farthest away, where the carts and wood for the assault had been gathered. The watch fi res there burned brighter … too bright for a campfire, he realized. And there should only be one campfire, not … even as he stared, he saw new fires come into existence, their fl ickering fl ames rising ever higher.
“Get men back from the river. Send them to where we’re holding the carts. The dirt - eaters are raiding the carts. Bring men. Cut them off.”
He looked about him. Only a dozen or so of his guards remained; the rest had gone to the river to see to their horses. “Follow me. Hurry, before they burn everything.”
They broke into a run down the hillside. He followed more slowly, letting the horse pick its way down the slope. By the time he reached the bottom, his men had outdistanced him, stringing out in a ragged line and shouting for more men to join them. Thutmose - sin put the horse to a canter, as fast a pace as he could coax from the animal in the darkness.
He soon began to pass his men. Fire from the burning wagons now illuminated the night, and he saw that more than a dozen wagons were covered in flames.
He urged the horse faster. For a moment the animal responded. Then it shied away from the approaching flames, stiffened its legs, slid to a halt, and refused to move. Swearing at the frightened beast, Thutmose - sin leapt down and ran after his men. Darker shadows moved before the flames, and he could see men shoving wood against the burning wagons.