child from her arms, then offered the babe to Annok-sur. She handed the knife to Eskkar, then took and held the infant close to her breast.
“Let Ventor tend to your wound, Trella,” Eskkar said, stroking her hair for a moment.
She nodded, and her head fell back onto the bed. “Look at your son.”
Eskkar took a step to Annok-sur’s side, and peered down at the infant for a few moments. The child, its cheeks red and eyes screwed shut, looked very small.
“He looks well, Trella,” Eskkar said, not sure what to say.
A moan from the floor turned his attention to Korthac, still lying there unmoving. Eskkar reached down and grasped the unconscious man by the shoulders and dragged him out of the bedroom, pulling him across the workroom until he reached the top of the stairs. The soldier Eskkar had ordered to guard the stairs still held his post at the foot of the stairs. Just then two of the household’s servants stepped through the remains of the door, moving gingerly past the bodies of the dead, their eyes wide at the sight of all that blood and death.
“Get this filth out of my house,” Eskkar said, letting Korthac slump to the landing. Eskkar resisted the urge to roll Korthac off the landing; the fall might kill him, and that would be too easy a death. “Find three men to guard him. They’re to stay within arm’s length of the Egyptian. If he gives you any trouble, or anyone tries to rescue him, kill him.”
The soldier nodded.
Eskkar called down to the servants, and told them to bring fresh blankets, water, and anything else they thought Trella and Annok-sur would need. He turned back inside, pushing the door closed to lessen the noise from the courtyard.
Annok-sur didn’t even look up when he returned, just rocked slowly back and forth, trying to soothe the baby. Ventor had pulled back the blanket from Trella’s hips and leaned over to examine her wound, his face inches from the still-oozing cut.
“I’m afraid you’ll need to change the bedding when I’m done, Lord Eskkar,” the old man said. “There must have been much blood lost during the birthing.”
Another woman, one of the regular servants, came into the room, but left almost immediately as Ventor called for bandages and fresh water.
Eskkar stood there, unsure of what to do. He wanted to ask Ventor if Trella would live, but he knew better than to interrupt the healer with questions; the man would tell him as soon as he knew. The baby began to cry, and Annok-sur whispered soothingly to the infant. Ventor began wiping the blood from Trella’s side, and Eskkar saw the wound from Korthac’s knife. The slashing blow had struck a little above her hip.
The servant returned with water and linen. Ventor washed the gash, then wiped the blood from Trella’s body before pressing the cloth against the wound. “She’s still bleeding from the birthing, but not heavily. The wound is only a deep cut, and she won’t be walking for a few days. I believe she will recover.”
Eskkar exhaled a long sigh of relief. His wife would live. That was all that mattered.
Ventor’s touch calmed Trella almost as much as his words. Her eyes closed, and she seemed to fall into a light sleep.
The healer worked swiftly. He cut up a clean part of the blanket and used it to bind Trella’s wound. Then he washed the rest of the blood from her body.
Eskkar handed him the second blanket, and Ventor draped it gently over her, leaving only her head and shoulders exposed.
“She needs to rest for a few hours,” Ventor said. “We’ll know more then. I’ll go tend to the other wounded.” He stood and went to Annok-sur, gazing down at the child. “The baby seems healthy, though a bit small.”
“The child is safe, Eskkar,” Annok-sur said, ignoring Ventor’s comment.
“And so is Trella. The wound is not deep. But she’s lost a lot of blood.”
Eskkar muttered thanks to the gods. His wife would live, and he had a son. He’d captured Korthac, broken his men, and retaken Akkad. Eskkar started to shake, as much a reaction from worrying about Trella as from all the fighting. Suddenly his legs felt weary.
Annok-sur recognized the signs. Wincing from the effort, she lifted the baby up onto her shoulder. “Come outside, Eskkar. You can do nothing here. Let her rest for a few moments, to regain her strength.”
Giving Trella one last look, Eskkar followed Annok-sur out of the bedroom, peering over her shoulder at his son’s tiny face. For the first time, Eskkar felt the stirring of pride. He’d fathered a son, Sargon, who would carry on not only Eskkar’s name but his descendants’, those who would come afterward, down through the ages. The thought surprised him. Eskkar had never thought more than a few days ahead before, but now, the future appeared to stretch before him, the child showing the way. Somehow that seemed more important than Korthac’s defeat.
28
Hathor and his Egyptians had finally gained control of the mob milling about the main gate. A handful of the cursed Akkadian archers had slipped into the city and captured the left tower, but his men still held the right. They reported no activity in the countryside outside the gate, no horde of fighters waiting for the gate to be flung open. Once again, Takany had chosen an unwise course of action. For a moment Hathor felt tempted to take his men and return to Korthac’s house, but that would have provoked Takany beyond all reason. Better to fi nish the business here and then return, with the gate safe and under Hathor’s control.
He had a rough count of the enemy who’d taken refuge in the tower, and knew he faced less than twenty men. Now Hathor needed to come to grips with them, to kill these intruders before the city turned against him.
He didn’t have much time. Eskkar’s name sounded everywhere around him, growing louder every minute as more and more people of Akkad took up the cry. Dawn had broken over the city’s walls, exposing the full extent of the carnage at the gate. Bodies littered the open area, most with arrows protruding. Wounded men cried out for help, or tried to crawl to nearby houses seeking safety.
Hathor didn’t know how Korthac had lost control of the city so quickly. No word had come from Nebibi, who’d slept at the barracks, or from Takany, since he’d ordered Hathor to the gate. He’d dispatched two runners, one to the barracks and one back to Korthac’s house, but neither had returned and Hathor had no idea whether Korthac’s men remained in control at either location. Not that it mattered. Right now, and for his own protection, Hathor needed to retake the gate from these Akkadians.
He had more than enough men, but the longer Eskkar’s men could hold Hathor at bay, the greater the danger to all of them.
One loud voice kept bellowing out Eskkar’s name as a battle cry from the tower’s top, the man’s powerful lungs sending the name over half the city. The booming voice rattled his men, another evil omen that weakened their nerve. Hathor knew it wouldn’t be long before all these cursed Akkadians rose up against them. If he failed to destroy these men in the next few moments, he, Korthac, all of them, might be overwhelmed by the city’s enraged citizens. The last thing Hathor wanted was to be trapped inside Akkad.
Reinforcements kept arriving, swelling the number of fighters under his command. That would have reassured him, until Hathor discovered most of them had fled from fighting elsewhere. Apparently battles had been fought at the barracks as well as at Korthac’s house. Hathor swore briefly at this demon Eskkar, and wondered how he and so many men had sneaked into the city.
Nevertheless, Hathor’s veterans gathered all of Korthac’s remaining followers who arrived, forced them to stand ready, and ordered them to obey his commands. Hathor, striding up and down before them, promised to kill any man who started to flee or who refused to fight. Already he had more than fifty men, half of them carrying bows, and the number continued to grow.
“We must recapture the tower,” he called out in the language of Akkad. “From there we’ll control the city.” In Egyptian, he gave different orders. “Drive the cowards toward the gate. Let them take the arrows. Then we’ll force the doorway.” He still had men in the other tower, and they would add their efforts to his.
Hathor took one last look. He had enough men, and his own bowmen would at least keep the archers atop the tower pinned down. The sun’s rays bathed the towers in a golden light. He gave the order, and, with a shout,
