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.
“Stop them,” he shouted, drawing his sword. The sound of swords clashing told him men fought just ahead of him. By now the fires had gown so bright he could see the dirt — eaters working frantically, trying to burn the carts and wood his warriors had so laboriously collected.
One of his men cried out, then stumbled and fell, clutching at the arrow in his arm. Damn these accursed village archers. Just ahead of him he saw another of his men cut down, this time by a tall warrior with a long sword. Ignoring an arrow that hissed by his head, Thutmose — sin raised his sword and rushed at the warrior.
Esk kar met the first warrior with a savage sweep of his arm, knocking the man’s blade aside and thrusting into his attacker’s chest before he could recover. The second warrior, little more than a boy, swung his blade at Esk kar’s head, expecting to catch him before he could free his sword from the first man’s body. But Esk kar ducked and shoved his shoulder into the youth, his sword coming free at the movement. Before the warrior could strike again, Esk kar swung the sword around with all the force he could muster. The parry, weak and off balance, did little more than slow Esk kar’s blade as it slashed into the base of the young man’s neck.
The third warrior reached Esk kar with a vicious overhand stroke, and Esk kar knew from the first contact he faced no gangling youth, but a warrior in his prime, with a powerful arm of his own. Esk kar parried a second blow, and a third, then a fourth, but he had to give ground with each stroke.
The warrior kept pressing forward and Esk kar couldn’t mount a counterstroke as the vicious blows clanged against his weapon, pushing him back into the firelight, toward the heat of the flames.
Esk kar saw an opening and thrust at the man, the stroke stopping his adversary’s advance and giving Esk kar a chance to set his feet. Wielding the great sword, he lunged and slashed at his opponent with half a dozen strokes, before cutting deep into the man’s sword arm. The wounded man staggered back with a curse, his sword slipping from his grasp. Eskkar swung his sword up for the killing blow, but another half — dozen Alur Meriki arrived, shouting their war cries, and he turned to face them. Before they could overwhelm Esk kar, Tellar, Grond, and two others reached their captain’s side, forming a rough line to Esk kar’s left.
Esk kar barely had time to catch his breath before the first of these new warriors rushed in, using his momentum to take a powerful cut at Esk kar’s head. He deflected the blow, but felt the shock up his arm. The impact slowed him down as the warrior’s momentum carried him into Eskkar’s chest, the two of them falling to the earth. Esk kar got his arm under the man’s neck and heaved him away, then scrambled to his feet. Fighting raged all around, but for the moment, no new Alur Meriki appeared. The warrior Esk kar had flung aside rolled twice and somehow regained his feet, faster than Esk kar thought possible, and again the sword came at Eskkar’s head, shifted at the last moment and aimed at his shoulder. Esk kar blocked the blow and countered with a thrust that forced his opponent to twist his body to the side.
The movement swung the necklace the man wore, and the firelight glowed against the polished copper medallion, the medallion that proclaimed its bearer the Alur Meriki’s sarrum.
“Thutmose — sin!” Esk kar spat the words at the ruler of the clans.
Then he had no time or breath for anything else. The two leaders stood toe to toe, neither man willing to back off, too close to effectively use the long swords, but each man making up for the lack of room by cutting and thrusting. Esk kar’s anger flared up. This man’s father had killed his family.
Bloodlust overcame him, and the sword slashed viciously at Thutmose — sin’s neck.
But the Alur Meriki ruler had honed his expertise since his youth, with muscles hardened by hours on
