“No, we need to rescue Korthac now,” Takany snapped. He grabbed Hathor by the arm. “You take a dozen men and go to the gate. Take Ariamus,” Takany pointed with his sword across the courtyard, “and half his scum with you, too. If he and his men won’t fight, kill him. I’ll recapture the house and free Korthac. You make sure the gate stays shut.”
Hathor looked across the courtyard to where Ariamus stood, surrounded by a dozen of his men, getting his arm bandaged.
“Ariamus! Is it really Eskkar?” Hathor had to raise his voice to carry over the babble of noise, though Ariamus stood only a dozen paces away.
“Yes, it’s him,” Ariamus said. “He was fighting Korthac and his guard when I saw them last.”
Takany was right about Ariamus and his men, Hathor realized. The traitor had recruited most of these boasting thieves and bandits, and the weaklings wouldn’t charge into battle without Ariamus’s orders. Hathor wanted to know more about Eskkar and Ariamus, but couldn’t take the time now.
Hathor hesitated, but one look told him it would be futile to argue.
Takany’s decision might be wrong, but they’d wasted too much precious time arguing over what to do next. The man feared nothing that walked the earth, or under it for that matter, except Korthac. Takany knew his master’s wrath would be on him for this failure. Only this evening at dinner Hathor had listened while Takany assured Korthac of the city’s complete submission. Now Korthac might already be dead, according to Ariamus.
The upper door was bolted, and unknown archers defended the steps to the bedroom. By now the whole city had awakened, and half of them had already taken to the rooftops to shout Eskkar’s name.
Better a bad plan than none at all, Hathor decided, knowing there was nothing he could do.
“All right, Takany. You free Korthac.” Hathor turned to the messenger, still awaiting instructions. “Get back to the gate. Tell them I’m bringing reinforcements and to make ready to recapture the tower. Make sure the gate stays closed, no matter what.”
The man nodded, and ran out of the courtyard.
“I’ll take my men to the barracks.” Ariamus had joined them, a fresh bandage on his arm.
“How did this happen?” Takany shouted, pushing himself right in Ariamus’s face. “How did you…”
“Don’t try and blame this on me. Your Egyptians were supposed to be guarding Korthac,” Ariamus yelled right back, “when Eskkar walked right into the workroom. Your men are the ones who failed.”
“Stop it,” Hathor said, forcing his way between the two of them.
“We’ve no time for this. Korthac’s either trapped inside or he’s dead. Either way, we’ve got to put down this uprising.”
He pushed Ariamus away from Takany, no doubt saving the man’s life. One more word and Takany would have gutted him. Hathor had witnessed Takany’s rage before.
“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.
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, 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.
The main barracks, capable of domiciling forty men, housed Korthac’s 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.
