“Drunken fool! You said you wanted to see the sights and offer a prayer!” A slash of Yavtar’s staff on Daro’s arm showed his displeasure. “I wasted a copper coin so you could see the city!” Yavtar, as angry as only a ship master with an undelivered cargo could get, didn’t hesitate to turn his rage on Callis.
“And you were supposed to show my steward the temples, not let him get drunk.” Yavtar raised his staff. “By the gods I should make you finish his work!”
Grinning, Callis shambled away, while the usual dockside idlers watching the affair laughed at the Ship Master and his inebriated steward.
“Damn you,” Yavtar’s voice could be heard the length of the dock, “get aboard, before I have you whipped.”
Daro, still grinning, staggered across the wharf and down into the boat, narrowly avoiding a plunge into the river. Before long, he was sound asleep on some sacks of grain.
Yavtar turned his frustration on the Dock Master. “Damn the gods, where is my cargo?”
By nightfall, Daro had shrugged off the effects of the wine. He’d drunk far less than his companion, sipping while others guzzled their cups. Daro had escorted enough of his men who had overindulged back to the barracks, and he knew well how to play the part of an intoxicated fool. While he lay on the grain sacks pretending to be asleep, Daro had worked out his plan.
Now he sat facing Yavtar in the stern of the boat. Both men sat close together, their heads almost touching. Neither raised his voice above a whisper.
“You know how dangerous this is,” Yavtar said. “You could get us all killed.”
By the laws of Sushan, after sundown, foreigners were not permitted to leave the dockside area and the few taverns that lined the warehouses.
“I know,” Daro said. “But think of what this man knows, what he could tell us. Isn’t this exactly what you and Lady Trella hoped for?”
Trella had devised several plans to obtain more reliable information about Elam. One involved working with Yavtar. The two had purchased, in the name of Yavtar’s cousin, a small trading House in Sumer, one that traded regularly with the Elamite city of Sushan.
With a few reliable Hawk Clan soldiers mixed in with the mostly Sumerian crew, Ship Master and crew might learn much about the goings on in Elam. Yavtar had already made two voyages from Sumer to Sushan. For Daro, however, this was his first trip.
“He may already be too far gone to be of any use,” Yavtar argued. “Tortured for six days? You’re sure you want to do this?”
Yavtar couldn’t keep the anxiety out of his voice. Over the years, he and Daro had become good friends. If Daro were discovered away from the boat and his Master, Daro would likely be put to death. Yavtar would be lucky to get off with a hefty fine, assuming they didn’t confiscate his ship and cargo. If they caught Daro within Sushan’s barracks, Yavtar and the entire crew might even be put to death as spies.
“It’s worth a try,” Daro said. “We may never get another chance to reach one so high in King Shirudukh’s army. Besides, no one is likely to think foreigners would steal a prisoner. They’ll blame his friends and relatives. I’ll be careful, and if it looks too risky, I’ll just come back.”
“Don’t get caught,” Yavtar reminded him with a grimace.
Not alive, Daro thought. He had no intention of taking Sabatu’s place in the torture pit. Daro glanced up at the moon. Midnight had arrived. “It’s time to go.”
With a final clasp on Yavtar’s arm, Daro slid over the side, and taking care not to make any splashes, he swam slowly out into the river. Once away from the dock and the line of boats alongside, he turned upstream. The river’s lazy current slowed his progress, but Daro’s powerful arm muscles, hardened by years of archery, more than matched the river’s force.
Daro had learned to swim as a child, and he’d taken many long swims in the Tigris. Tonight’s journey, a mere half mile upriver, would be little more than exercise.
Even so, he kept his strokes slow and steady. He didn’t want to attract the attention of anyone on the shore, who might wonder where Daro was going so late at night.
He soon reached the soldiers’ barracks where Grand Commander Chaiyanar kept his victims. One of Yavtar’s crew had once delivered goods to the place, so Daro knew it had a main gate and a wooden palisade that surrounded the area on all sides, except for the river. Taking his time, Daro eased his way toward the shore.
He glimpsed three men splashing about in the shallows beside the small dock that projected into the river. Daro tread water for a few moments, until they, laughing the whole time, pulled themselves from the water. The three late night swimmers left the little jetty and headed back into the barrack’s grounds, refreshed from their late night swim.
Daro studied the dock, and saw only a single empty skiff tied up. He took one final look around, then swam over to the nearest piling and pulled himself from the water. Taking his time, he shook off some of the water, then strolled into the grounds. At this time of night, most of the soldiers would be asleep, but a man walking around, perhaps unable to sleep, shouldn’t attract too much attention.
At least that’s what Daro told himself, now that he faced his first obstacle. He might have gotten into the barracks, but he had no idea where they held the prisoner, or even how many men might be guarding him. He walked past the main gate, keeping a good distance away, and counted four men at the watch fire.
They never gave him a glance. Obviously their main duty was to keep anyone from leaving the barracks. Deserters were the bane of every army.
Moving past the gate, Daro headed north. He caught the scent of latrines, that familiar smell that every soldier lived with. Following his nose, he kept moving north and back toward the river, until the smell grew stronger and turned into a stench. Another fire, a smaller one, burned feebly, and Daro saw two men sitting beside it. The dim flames cast a glow on the walls of a small hut, set apart from the other structures. Aside from the men on watch at the gate, these were the only other armed men he’d seen.
He paced his way toward the fire, thinking hard. In Akkad, they usually established a corral near the latrines. Horses couldn’t complain. Of course no one wanted to bunk or train near the foul odor, but a prisoner had even less choice than a lowly recruit. So this might be where they kept their captives, including any insubordinate soldiers.
Reaching inside his tunic, Daro loosened the knife that he’d tied to his body, and made sure that he could draw it easily. Yavtar had given him the blade. The copper weapon had a cracked wood grip, and one of the crew had purchased it right here in Sushan on the last voyage.
The two guards, one old and the other much younger, glanced up as Daro approached. “Who are you?” The older man’s tone didn’t sound particularly threatening.
“My name is Mather,” Daro replied.” I just arrived today from Anshan. Is this where they’re keeping the pig Sabatu?”
“What business is it of yours?”
“I want to spit in his face,” Daro said, putting force into his words. “The filthy pig had my brother put to death for no reason.”
The older man grunted at that. “No visitors.”
Daro shook his head. “I don’t want to visit him, just spit on his face. Maybe give him a kick or two to help him remember my brother. It will help his spirit to know that he is finally avenged.”
The younger guard laughed. “I’ll take him in.” He stood up and stretched. “But he may not even hear you. He’s nearly dead.”
“My thanks to the gods, that I got here just in time,” Daro said, bowing several times.
The guard led the way to the hut. The door stood open, and a rank odor emanated from within. Ducking their heads, they passed inside, and out of sight of the other soldier.
“Sabatu’s the one against the wall,” he said, gesturing with his hand.
The stink inside the hut nearly took Daro’s breath away. “I can’t see his face. Are you sure it’s him?”