At the foot of the slope where Subutai and his people had taken refuge, some of the Carchemishi whirled about and fought to make a stand. Four or five hundred of them abandoned their positions and ran for the safety at the base of the hill, dodging the horses and Alur Meriki warriors wielding bloody swords who galloped past.
As Subutai watched, the stakes that would have impaled his horses disappeared, knocked loose by the stampede. The ditch vanished, too, filled with dead or dying animals and soldiers driven into what had become a death pit. Shrieks of pain sounded everywhere, a never-ending uproar that grated on the nerves of even the most battle hardened fighters.
As the stampede unraveled the Carchemishi defenses, Subutai saw them making their stand with their backs to the hill. Well before the last of the horses had raced past the base of the hill, Subutai’s gave the order.
“Attack! Ride them down!”
The first wave of Ur Nammu horsemen tore down the hill at a reckless speed, careless of the steep slope. The warriors, screaming war cries as frightening as those of the Alur Meriki, descended on the invaders. The last of the stampeding horses ran by, but their departure brought the Carchemishi no relief.
Shooting arrows as they rode, the Ur Nammu warriors charged down. Each rider launched four or five shafts in the brief time it took to make the descent. Then swords slid out of scabbards as Subutai’s men slammed into the disorganized mass at the base of the slope. Even though the enemy still outnumbered the attacking warriors, the surviving Carchemishi, caught between the Alur Meriki and the Ur Nammu, had no chance against such an onslaught.
Many of Subutai’s warriors went down, losing their horses either to the ditch or to the invaders’ swords. For a brief moment, the enemy withstood the brutal attack on their rear. But already the second wave of Ur Nammu bore down on them.
Gripping the halter rope, Sargon kept his gaze fixed on Chinua, who restrained his warriors as long as he could. Subutai’s men had scarcely gotten halfway down the slope before Sargon heard the order.
“Attack!” Chinua kicked his horse into motion. “Aim for the gaps!”
The second wave burst into motion, following their leader down the incline. Sargon’s horse, as excited as any of the warriors, needed no command from its rider. It raced down the hill a length behind Garal’s.
Rumbling hooves thudded against the earth, blotting out any further words, as the second wave charged. At the same time, the Ur Nammu war cries, now rising up from three hundred warriors, created a sound unlike anything Sargon had ever heard.
He leaned forward, urging the horse onward, but he couldn’t close the gap and reach Garal’s side. All around him, Sargon glimpsed the warriors loosing their arrows as they rode recklessly to the attack, trusting to their horses to keep their footing on the steep slope.
Sargon added his voice to those of his companions, shouting meaningless words as loud as he could. During Sargon’s training, Garal had always insisted that Sargon give voice to a war cry as he attacked, though the idea had seemed foolish at the time. Now each war cry added to the frightening din hurling itself down the hill.
Suddenly the ground leveled, and Sargon felt the jolt up his spine as his horse scrambled to keep its footing at the base of the slope. Garal, still fitting and shooting his shafts, had found a narrow gap in Subutai’s line, a place where the enemy struggled to make a stand.
The warrior’s horse burst in among a mass of the Carchemishi invaders. Now Garal had drawn his sword, and Sargon saw the blade descend once. Then Garal’s horse went down, either from a weapon thrust or because it lost its footing in the struggling mass of men.
Sargon saw the sweat-stained faces of his foes, eyes unnaturally wide and open mouthed. In that same instant of recognition, he glimpsed the terror of the Ur Nammu attack stamped on every visage. Nevertheless, the enemy’s fear didn’t prevent him from fighting for his life.
With a final leap, Sargon’s horse jumped over a dead body and into the midst of the invaders. He saw a sword raised up toward him, but he leaned forward and thrust hard with the lance, driving it under the up-thrusting blade. He felt the shock in his arm and shoulder, as the sharp point penetrated the man’s body, then burst out through the man’s back. The weapon was wrenched from Sargon’s hand, burning the skin on his palm.
His horse had scarcely slowed, and in another stride Sargon felt the impact as a second invader staggered back, knocked to the ground by the charging beast’s shoulder. One of his horse’s hooves landed on the man’s chest, and even through the din, Sargon heard rib bones snapping like dry sticks under the horse’s weight.
Two more strides sent another man hurling to the ground, knocked off his feet and trampled underfoot. Then the horse stiffened its front legs, sliding forward into a knot of Carchemishi. Sargon glimpsed sword points and spear tips, all searching for his heart.
A sword swung at Sargon’s head. Clutching the horse’s mane with his left hand, Sargon threw himself off the animal’s back. The moment his feet touched down, he wrenched his sword from the scabbard and thrust back at his assailant, reaching over the back of the horse. The sword point struck the man’s face, ripping through cheekbone and snapping the head back with a gasp of pain.
Sargon’s horse tore itself free from its rider’s grasp and bolted, charging through the mass of invaders and opening a path. Sargon saw Garal fighting against two foes. Another man thrust a sword toward Sargon, but he twisted aside and leapt forward, moving toward his friend.
A long step and a full lunge brought him close enough to run the tip of his sword into the back of one of Garal’s attackers, just above his waist. Sargon, with a vicious twist of his wrist, jerked the blade free from the writhing man. Just in time, Sargon whirled to face the man who had swung at him only moments ago.
Sargon managed to deflect the blow. He ducked low under the cut and rammed his head and shoulder into the man’s chest.
The breath knocked from his body, his foe tried to grapple with his attacker. But Sargon could smell the fear that surrounded the man, reflected in his eyes. Shoving hard with his legs, Sargon pushed him backwards and brought his sword into play, thrusting low into his enemy’s stomach. It wasn’t a killing blow, but it took the fight out of the man long enough for Sargon to jerk the blade free and thrust again. For the second time in his life, hot blood spurted along his arm.
“Sargon!”
Garal’s voice spun Sargon around, ducking low as he turned. A sword cut through the space where he’d stood. Without thinking, Sargon continued to turn, and used his movement to swing his sword around in a flat arc. The sharp bronze bit deep into the enemy soldier’s forearm, almost cutting it in two.
With a shriek of agony, the man’s sword fell to the ground as a spray of blood spattered into the air. The wounded man staggered backwards, then tripped and fell.
Sargon spun around on his heel, wary of more attacks, but to his surprise, he found no one facing him. The last of the invaders had fallen back toward the ditch, fighting desperately against the battle-enraged warriors. On horse and on foot, the blood-mad Ur Nammu pressed their enemies, giving them no time to form a defensive line.
Panic and terror had swept through the enemy’s ranks, as they tried to withstand the vicious thrusts directed against them. Many sought a way to flee from the carnage, away from these ferocious barbarians who fought with such abandon.
Before the Carchemishi could regroup, a screaming mass of old men, women, and boys, anyone old enough or still strong enough to carry a weapon, came charging down the hill and joined the attack. The man Sargon had wounded, on his knees and clutching his arm, was thrown back by a lance driven into his chest by a woman, disheveled hair swirling around her head and screaming as loud as any man.