whereabouts of the former captain of the guard; Ariamus had vanished, like a night demon with the coming of dawn.
When he’d learned that no one had seen Ariamus, alive or dead, Bantor knew the man would run, making his break over the wall. Little more than an hour after the last of the fi ghting, Bantor stood in Eskkar’s courtyard, surrounded by the pandemonium of rowdy soldiers and exuberant citizens celebrating their deliverance.
“He’ll head south,” Eskkar said, raising his voice over the din. “He won’t chance encountering anyone coming down the northern road, not if he’s got any of the Egyptians with him. He’ll want to cross the river as soon as he can. Take whatever men you need and go after him.”
“I’ll run him down,” Bantor said. He’d already worked through what Ariamus must be thinking, and had come to the same conclusion. Moving through the crowd, Bantor found Klexor sitting on the ground, feet sprawled out in front of him, his back against the house, and drinking wine straight from a jug.
“We’re going after Ariamus. Get nine men who can ride and meet me at the stable.”
Klexor’s eyes widened in surprise, but he put down the jug. The chance to pay back Ariamus pushed all thoughts of rest and merrymaking aside.
Bantor cursed the time wasted to round up enough horses, wrench the men away from their celebrations, and move his force through the celebrating crowds that filled the lanes.
On foot, Ariamus would head south, following the river. The land there contained many farms, and some of those farms might have a plough horse or two hidden away. Once mounted, Ariamus would disappear, eventually crossing the river to head west. He would expect pursuit, but maybe not this fast, and not supplied with extra mounts.
Once outside the city walls, the quiet sounds of the countryside returned. At first Bantor didn’t bother looking for tracks. Ariamus would have followed the endless, interconnected canals, moving slower through the water channels, but leaving no obvious trail. Instead, Bantor followed the main road south for a mile, until the farms began to spread out, before he moved his men toward the river.
At the riverbank, Bantor spread his line of men wide, looking for tracks as they moved southward, and anchoring the line at the river himself, searching the ground for any sign of a group of men entering the water. He stopped every confused and still-frightened farmer they encountered. Had anyone seen fugitives running from Akkad? Anyone missed any horses? No one had seen a band of men on foot, but the farmers all wanted to know what had happened in Akkad. Except for a brief statement that Eskkar had returned, Bantor refused to answer any questions about what had happened to Korthac and his men. All this took time, and Bantor grew more and more impatient, as he swept his men back and forth across the most likely routes.
“Bantor! This way,” Klexor shouted, his bellow covering a quarter mile of wheat and barley fields that separated the two. Bantor turned the horse and applied his heels, racing through the crops until he joined his subcommander atop a low rise.
By now they’d traveled about three miles from Akkad. Up ahead, a good-sized farm nestled in a grove of palm trees, near a broad canal that carried water from the river. Thin wisps of smoke rose from one of the three structures. Bantor saw the roof missing from one, and guessed what had happened.
He waved his bow to show his men the way. Taking care, they converged on the farmhouse, weapons at the ready; Bantor did not intend to be ambushed again. As he drew closer, Bantor saw the tracks of men for the first time, fresh mud showing where they’d come out of the canal. Approaching the farm, they saw no one, no farmer, wife, or child, not even a dog.
Bows strung and arrows nocked, they covered the last hundred paces, stopping when they reached the first body. It was a young boy, an arrow protruding from his back, shot down trying to escape to the fields. By then Bantor knew they’d find the farmhouse empty, except for the dead. He sent his men to circle the farm, looking for fresh tracks.
“Over here… men and horses going south, commander.” Klexor dismounted, dropping to his knees and studying the ground with care. “Looks like eight or ten men, but I only see tracks for two horses.”
“How long ago?”
“Not long. Maybe an hour. Less than two. They’re moving at a run, following the horses.”
Bantor thought it over. The horse trail went southwest, slightly away from the river. That meant Ariamus led the men. Only he would be crafty enough to head somewhat away from the river, knowing that boats might have already been dispatched north and south, to give warning of what had happened in Akkad and alerting every village to hunt down any escaping fugitives. So Ariamus would be riding one of those horses, and probably leading these fugitives; if there were any Egyptians among them, they would need someone who knew the land.
“Follow their trail, Klexor,” Bantor said.
They watered the horses at the canal, then resumed the pursuit, following the recent tracks. These renegades, desperate for horses, food, and weapons, would kill anyone in their path. If they managed to pick up more horses, the whole lot might scatter, and Ariamus might yet escape.
Bantor set the pace at a strong canter, his men spread out, with a clear trail to follow. The sun marched across the sky as morning prepared to give way to noon. They pushed the horses hard, changing mounts often, but always studying the land to make sure they didn’t ride into an ambush.
The tracks grew fresher. Bantor looked up at the sun. They’d have them all by early afternoon, he decided.
“Fresh tracks here,” Klexor said, halting the men and again dismounting to study the ground. His fingers traced the hoofprint in the dirt, getting the feel of the dirt as it hardened. “They’re not far ahead now.”
They rode on, passing fewer farms as they moved farther away from the river. The land became brown, the grasses sparse, with more rocks and gullies to slow them down. But the hoofprints and sandal tracks grew fresher with every stride, and Klexor no longer needed to dismount to read its message. They rode until the horses needed changing, then rested while Bantor talked to the men.
“When we catch up with them, I’ll take Naram-tanni and go after Ariamus and whoever’s riding the other horse.” Naram-tanni shot an excellent shaft. Bantor figured that would be all the help he needed. “Klexor, you take charge of the rest of the men. Kill all the Egyptians.”
Not long afterward, Bantor and his soldiers crested a hill and saw the enemy more than a mile away, walking now, heads down with fatigue, plodding a hundred paces behind two horsemen. Bantor grunted in satisfaction.
He kept to a steady pace, not pushing the horses, waiting until they’d been spotted, and using the time to study his quarry. As far as he could tell, only two of the fugitives carried bows, and both bowmen were on foot.
The Akkadians closed the distance to less than a mile before anyone turned around to spot them. The fugitives broke into a run, while the two horsemen, after watching for a moment, put their horses to a gallop.
Bantor held his men to a trot, and the gap between the two groups briefly widened. But the men on foot couldn’t keep up the pace, and the group began to straggle out, as the weaker men trailed behind the stronger.
Bantor grunted in satisfaction. He’d learned that Alur Meriki tactic from Eskkar. If he’d rushed down on the men at first sight, they’d have banded together to resist. If they thought they could get away, they’d keep running, exhausting themselves at the same time fear gnawed at their insides.
Bantor’s men spread out into a wide line that stretched a hundred paces across. The hindmost of the fugitives ahead of them stumbled and fell. He got to his feet and staggered on, but couldn’t keep up the pace. He turned to face his pursuers, sword in hand.
Bantor’s horsemen closed in. Their larger bows couldn’t be used effectively from horseback, but they could still be drawn, though not fully extended or aimed accurately. Nevertheless, at such short range, it didn’t matter. A hail of arrows flew at Korthac’s man, and he went down, his body riddled with shafts.
Another straggler died the same way. By then the Egyptians realized they couldn’t escape. The last six stopped and turned to face their enemy.
“Finish them, Klexor,” Bantor shouted. Then he and Naram-tanni, each still leading an extra horse, swung wide around the fugitives and galloped on.
Since two of the Egyptians carried bows, Klexor decided to take no chances. He called out new orders, the Akkadian line compacted, and they dismounted a hundred paces from the Egyptians. Three of Klexor’s men gathered up the horses and held them fast, while the others started shooting.
The Egyptians, tired from the day’s running and not used to the heavy bows, couldn’t find the range. One
