tell you.”
Later Daro learned that Yavtar had asked Eskkar for Daro’s services. After Eskkar’s approval, no further discussion seemed necessary, at least to Yavtar. The shipmaster obviously had no qualms about using his position in Eskkar’s inner circle of advisors to obtain what he wanted.
Even then, Akkad’s boatmaster didn’t tell Daro everything, but Yavtar revealed enough to make Daro’s eyes widen at the prospect of war with Sumeria.
Two years had passed since then, the war approached, and by now Daro had made countless trips up and down the rivers. Months ago he’d earned the title of commander of one hundred, and his force of river archers continued to grow. With the threat of war looming ever closer, Daro decided to make every third trip down to Kanesh, to inspect those of his men stationed there.
The trading outpost would be the first target for Sumer’s army, and Eskkar had stationed a strong garrison there. As the tension between Akkad and Sumer increased, Daro wanted to ensure that his archers had prepared themselves and their boats. That inspection would take most of tomorrow, but tonight he would sip some ale with his men, relax in their company, and try not to think about what the future might bring.
Once again he let his gaze sweep over the riverbank and the farmland stretching beyond. Despite the peaceful setting, something felt out of place. Still, Daro saw nothing unusual.
“A fine evening, commander.”
Daro turned to see Scria, the ship’s master, standing beside him. Scria’s face reminded Daro of a rat, thin and pointed, with yellow teeth that protruded from his lips. The lank, greasy hair added to the resemblance. But despite his appearance, the man knew the river and could sail his boat well enough. Yavtar apparently thought as much.
“Yes. I’ll be glad when we dock.”
“An empty river makes for a fast voyage,” Scria said, looking out over the prow and scratching his chest.
When Daro didn’t reply, Scria turned away and began weaving his way back to the stern.
“Wait! Come back!”
Now Scria’s rat face held a frown. He didn’t like to be ordered about by some soldier, even a commander.
“You said the river was empty.” Daro rose to his feet, bracing himself against the boat’s motion and stretching upwards to see downriver. “How long has it been… we haven’t passed a boat coming upstream.”
Since they started out early this morning, they’d waved greetings to at least a dozen ships headed north. But as the morning turned into afternoon, the sightings of ships bound for Akkad and other cities upriver had ceased.
“Mmm… has been a long time. This late in the day, we should have seen a few, unless they decided to stop in Kanesh.” Scria scratched his chest again, this time in a different place. “Maybe they pulled ashore to rest.”
A stupid answer, Daro knew. No boat captain worth his salt would sit idly on the riverbank while the sun remained in the sky. Especially with a way station not that far upstream. There should be boats. Something was wrong. He glanced at the river, then up into the sky. He saw no birds, heard no sounds other than their own soft passage through the water.
“You men! On your feet. String your bows.”
Daro had brought only two archers with him, more than enough to drive off any casual bandits or pirates. Suddenly, he wished he’d brought a dozen, though that many would have overloaded Scria’s boat. As his men scrambled to their feet, Daro turned to the boat captain.
“Get the boat in the middle of the river, away from the bank.”
The man at the steering oar followed the current, and at this point in the river, that brought them closer to the left bank, scarcely fifty paces away. “Why… what’s the problem?”
Daro gripped Scria’s shoulder and squeezed. “Just do it. Now!” He pushed the man away and reached down to grasp his own bow. With the ease of years of practice, he strung the weapon, then slung the quiver over his shoulder, letting it hang down to his waist on his left side.
The boat had already turned into a curve of the river. Scria’s shouts to his steersman brought the bow around, and the vessel moved sluggishly toward midstream, struggling against the current. Daro rested his foot on the prow, to get a better look.
A flight of arrows burst from the brush along the river’s left bank. They hummed through the air, striking the boat, the crew, and the water on either side. One shaft grazed Daro’s arm, and two struck the boat on the left side.
“Get down!” Daro shouted the order, but those who survived the first flight were already ducking as low as possible. An archer lay sprawled beside the mast, and one of Scria’s three crewmen had taken two shafts and fallen overboard.
The boatmaster — his voice rising to a hysterical shout — had an arrow protruding from his arm, as he crawled along the bottom of the vessel. Daro loosed a shaft at the shore, now filled with men emerging from the bushes and splashing into the shallow water, some still launching shafts. Fortunately, the crewman steering the boat had survived, and he kept the vessel moving toward the center of the river.
A quick glance at their numbers told Daro all he needed to know. At least twenty archers had attacked them, maybe more. He dropped his bow and picked up an oar. “Everyone row!” A few arrows launched toward the riverbank weren’t going to accomplish anything.
Moving to the right side of the vessel, he took shelter behind some sacks of grain and began pulling as hard as he could, thrusting the paddle deep into the river and dragging it through the water. His surviving bowman, Iseo, did the same, crouching down as low as he could and working the dead crewman’s oar. The boat moved farther from the left bank, slowly passed through the center of the river, and glided closer to the opposite shore. Arrows continued to fall on the ship and splash into the water, but by now Scria’s boat had moved well past the point of the attack.
“We should get to the opposite shore!” Scria’s right hand clutched his bloody left arm. His voice had lost none of its panic.
Daro lifted his head and let his eyes scan the right bank. He saw a party of horsemen — at least twenty — following the course of the river and matching the pace of the boat. Many of them had bows in their hands. They rode easily, as if they didn’t care if the boat slipped away from them. A third party of perhaps a dozen riders trotted into view on the left bank, going down river as well. The boat was trapped between the two forces.
“Turn the boat around,” Daro shouted. He pointed to the horsemen on the right bank. “We have to go back up river.”
Scria’s eyes widened. “We can’t go back!” he screamed. “We’re too heavy to pull upstream!”
The boat captain had started with three crewmen. One had died, another lay on his back, an arrow in his shoulder. Only luck had saved the most important crewman, the one steering the boat. If he’d taken an arrow, the ship might have swung broadside and swamped. But Daro knew they couldn’t continue south, and both sides of the river appeared to be crawling with who knew how many mounted men.
“Keep the boat in the center of the river! Scria, start dumping the cargo. Iseo, help him. Get the body over the side, too. Hurry!”
Scria, crouched on his knees, remained motionless. “We can’t dump the cargo. It’s worth at least thirty — ”
“It’s worth nothing to you if you’re dead! Iseo! If he doesn’t start helping, throw him overboard.”
Daro reached down and lifted the first sack, lifted it onto the gunwale, then pushed it over the side. Soon the boat was rocking back and forth, threatening to capsize at any moment, as the three of them tossed sacks, bales, and clay pitchers overboard.
He paused to look at the shore. The horsemen still kept pace with the boat’s progress. The enemy didn’t bother wasting arrows. They seemed satisfied as long as the boat went south. That meant more enemy would be waiting ahead, and likely with some way to force the boat to shore, perhaps a vessel of their own filled with armed men.
Daro scrambled back to the rear of the boat. The steersman, his face white with fear, clenched the steering oar with a grip that made the bones in his hand stand out.
“I’ll take the oar!” Daro snapped. “You help Scria dump the cargo. Make sure we don’t dump what we need for ballast.” An empty boat would capsize at the least movement.
