But near day’s end, the men rode mostly in silence, keeping their thoughts to themselves. If Akkad weren’t only a few more hours ahead, they’d be making camp right now.
Tomorrow they’d get their pay, and each man would have plenty of silver in his pouch. The taverns would be full of cheap wine and smiling women, all glad to welcome back their men. They’d been away for five weeks, shadowing a still dangerous and much larger force of warriors, and in all those days, they had never relaxed their guard. Until today. Now, close to home, they rode easy.
The two lead horses lifted their heads at the same time, ears twitching as they rolled their eyes to the left. Bantor’s eyes followed those of his horse, just as a burst of sound rolled toward them. A force of screaming men arose from what had appeared to be level ground to their left, racing their horses toward the column, flashing swords in their hands. The ground shook from the thudding hooves that threw clods of dirt and grass high into the air.
For a single moment, every man froze, the sudden appearance of the attackers a complete surprise. Bantor felt the fear rising in his chest.
“Dismount! String your bows!” He heard Klexor echoing the same orders, as both men pulled their horses around to face their attackers. “Form a line!”
Several horses reared up in terror, other soldiers began shouting, and already the attacking warriors had covered half the open ground.
Bantor saw that not all the activity was panic. Even as they’d watched the southerly progress of the retreating Alur Meriki, these Akkadians had trained for such an attack by their enemy. The men, seeing the oncoming danger, had reacted without hesitation. They flung themselves from their horses and moved to string their bows in a rush of action. All of their weeks and months of training had told them one thing over and over.
They could not defeat the Alur Meriki on horseback. So they had been trained to dismount, ready their weapons, and band together.
Bantor leapt down from his horse, then smacked the animal’s rump with the flat of his sword, sending the animal lumbering toward the oncoming riders. All the other riderless horses began to mill around, scattering in different directions, some of them racing toward the attackers. Their movements slowed the oncoming riders a bit, as the bandits shifted their course to avoid the frantic animals. Even so, only a handful of Bantor’s men managed to launch an arrow before the wave of bandits struck them.
Bantor waited with dread for the killing flight of arrows from the Alur Meriki bows, but the arrows never came. Instead the attackers arrived in a thunder of hooves that shook the earth, a terrifying sound to those facing it on foot. Swords slashed downward at Bantor’s men, some still struggling to string their bows, others drawing swords. Screams of the wounded mingled with the war cries of the attackers. Nevertheless, the Akkadians had no time to ready themselves, and the attackers cut their way through Bantor’s men. Some of the soldiers threw themselves to the ground, trying to avoid the swords that flashed down at them.
With nothing to slow them down, no line of men on horseback to impede their attack, most of the bandits galloped right through what remained of the column, swinging their swords at anything, man or beast, within reach. Some of the attacking horses jumped over the prone Akkadians, following their animal instinct to avoid stepping on anything that moved.
Not all of the soldiers managed to get flat to the ground, and many took blows from slashing swords or found themselves crushed under the horses’ hooves. For the first time, Bantor realized he didn’t face Alur Meriki horsemen. As he flung himself facedown on the grass, he saw his attackers rode more like bandits, not barbarian warriors from the steppes.
A man wielding a sword on a galloping horse cannot reach down far enough to strike at anyone lying on the ground. Barbarians carried lances to take care of that very problem. A trained rider could thrust the lance down to kill someone crouching or even lying prone, or hurl it at someone hugging the earth. These attackers carried neither lance nor bows, and some of Bantor’s men escaped without a scratch, though fewer than half struggled to their feet after the wave of riders smashed through them.
Bantor’s left shoulder burned in agony. A flying hoof had landed on him, and he wondered if his arm had been crushed. Ignoring the pain, he pushed himself to his feet, fumbling for his sword with his good hand.
“Form a line on me. Hurry, before they turn. Hurry!”
It took the attackers time to slow their horses and turn them around, expecting to ride back and deliver the killing blow. But the very speed of their charge had carried them another sixty or seventy paces past the shattered column. Before the first man could goad his horse back toward the Akkadians for a second attack, an arrow reached out and struck him in the chest, then another, and another.
“Hold,” Bantor shouted, as the survivors rushed together, lining up to face their attackers. “Draw… aim,” he waited until every man had drawn his shaft to his ear. “Loose!” As the bandits finished turning their horses and began their second charge, twenty arrows flew into their ranks.
Man and beast went down, both screaming in pain, and the second charge slowed. Less than three seconds later, another wave of arrows struck, and now some of the bandits had no thought but to get away from these deadly archers. The brave few men who kept riding toward the archers died, killed in the third wave, delivered at less than twenty paces, the shafts striking with enough force at that distance to stop even a horse in its tracks.
Horses and men flopped on the ground between the two forces, and the scattered dead and dying prevented a quick assault on the line of bowmen. Again Bantor directed the men’s fire, and another wave of arrows landed in the midst of a group trying to rally for another attack.
The attackers turned away, urging their horses to either side of the bowmen. Still within range, more horses and men died before the last of the bandits galloped to safety.
Bantor had seen broken men flee before, and guessed that these attackers wouldn’t be back, not for some time at least. He cursed at their backs, and flung his sword down into the earth, before sinking to his knees.
The whole fight had lasted but moments from beginning to end, but more than half of Bantor’s men had died, and his horses scattered over the countryside.
When Klexor reached his side, he found his leader wincing in pain and muttering one word over and over. “Ariamus!”
It took more than half a mile before Ariamus and his subcommanders managed to halt and regroup their men. Some of them had bolted for Akkad, others just raced in any direction, anxious to get away from the great arrows that buzzed like bees about their heads, striking down their companions. They circled about, trying to regroup, and Ariamus finally brought them together.
“Dismount,” he shouted. “Get down off those horses.”
Some refused, still frightened of the Akkadian bowmen. Most kept glancing back toward the place of ambush.
“They’ve no horses to follow us, you fools,” he bellowed. “What are you, a bunch of cowards to run from half your number? Nebibi, Rihat, bring the men together. Kill anyone who disobeys.”
Ariamus took a quick count of his riders, then slapped his hand upon his leg so hard his horse jumped in surprise. Ariamus had struck Bantor’s line with over sixty men, losing only one or two to arrows before they clashed, and Ariamus doubted if he’d lost a man as they rode through them. One more charge would have finished the job.
Now Ariamus counted less than forty men, and these looked so shaken up he doubted he could drive them back for another attack. He had lost an equal number of horses, but had more than recouped that loss, since almost all of Bantor’s horses had trotted after his own animals.
He stopped cursing at his men, dismounted, and squatted down on the ground to think things over, Nebibi and Rihat joining him. The rest of the men began to breathe a little easier, relaxing enough to lick their wounds or to tell their companions how bravely they had fought.
“We killed most of them,” Rihat offered. “And we’ve got almost all of their horses.”
“We’re not here to steal horses, you fool! You should…” Ariamus took a deep breath. It wouldn’t help to shout at his underling. And the man was right, they had killed most of Bantor’s men. “How many do you think were left alive?”
Rihat closed his eyes, the better to think about what he had seen.
“Twenty, maybe less. Not more than that.”
Ariamus had made the same guess. So he’d killed more than half of Bantor’s men. Perhaps some of the
