Hathor glanced down the hill, where the last of the horsemen still slipped and stumbled on their way to the top of the crest. “How much faster can we move the men?”
“Not fast enough, not if we want them to be able to lift a sword when they get there.” Eskkar took a deep breath and swore. “We need to get to the Khenmet first. I’ll take a hundred men and ride hard for the stream. That should be enough to hold it. Then you. .”
“No, I’ll do it, Captain.” Hathor used Eskkar’s old title, the one he preferred. “You can’t leave the men behind. They’ll start thinking the worst the moment you’re out of sight.”
Eskkar’s grip on the halter tightened. A-tuku lifted its head in response, and Eskkar patted the animal’s neck to steady it. The two commanders didn’t have time to argue, and besides, he knew Hathor spoke the truth. “All right, you go. Take two companies and get to the stream as fast as you can. Hold it until we get there.”
“I’ll take Draelin’s men with me.”
Those two companies, almost every man a veteran of the Isin War, numbered one hundred riders. Not enough to drive off any sizeable force, but even if Eskkar sent all his cavalry, it wouldn’t be enough to withstand the full might of the barbarians. If he sent any more, he’d be splitting his force, always a dangerous tactic in enemy territory.
“I’ll be waiting at the stream.” Hathor turned his horse around, touched his heels to his mount, and started down the hill, shouting orders to his subcommanders as he went.
“Leave Muta with me,” Eskkar called out as the Egyptian rode off. Hathor waved one hand in acknowledgement. If an Alur Meriki horde suddenly appeared galloping over some hilltop, Eskkar wanted at least one senior cavalry commander with him.
Muttering an oath at his bad luck, Eskkar took one deep breath, filling his lungs, then bellowed out the names of his senior commanders. “Drakis! Alexar!”
When they joined him, Eskkar repeated Hathor’s grim news. “We’ll have to make better time. I don’t want Hathor and his men surrounded at the stream and overrun before we can get there.”
Drakis shook his head in disgust. “I’ll tell the men. But we won’t get there before late tomorrow, if the ground stays as bad as this.”
“We can leave some gear behind,” Alexar said. “Maybe some of the food and spare arrows.”
“No, not after carrying it this far,” Eskkar said. “We’re going to need all those supplies even more. Just get the men to pick up the pace.”
Drakis nodded and turned his horse around. “I’ll warn the men what’s at stake. Let’s just hope Hathor doesn’t run into trouble.”
Eskkar grunted. The war gods and the Alur Meriki made that hope a faint one. The barbarians would find Hathor’s men soon enough. Eskkar just hoped that the Egyptian didn’t find himself facing the full might of the Clan’s warriors.
Chief Bekka, leader of the Wolf Clan, frowned at the warrior who had galloped to his side. Approaching his twenty-eighth season, Bekka’s stocky frame sat lightly on his brown and white warhorse. “A force of dirt eaters? Here? This far north?”
“Yes, Chief Bekka.” The scout, a brawny man named Unegen and a leader of twenty, kept his reply formal. “I counted eleven of them. They saw us, and did not run, at least not at first. Only when we moved toward them did they turn away toward the west, riding at a canter.”
Bekka didn’t like the sound of that. Until this moment, he’d considered scouting these bare hills a waste of time. As the youngest of the Alur Meriki clan leaders, Bekka often drew the worst assignments, such as scouting ahead through empty hills and checking anything of interest along the route. And while that assignment often proved fruitful, this barren terrain promised nothing but rocks and hills.
He’d been about to return to the main caravan. Enough daylight remained to ensure that, if he and his men rode hard, they would reach the wagons of the Alur Meriki in time for Bekka to have a late supper with his wives and children. “Perhaps they were other steppes warriors. Even the accursed Ur Nammu occasionally ride this far east.”
Unegen shrugged. “Perhaps it is as you say. They weren’t close enough to be sure, but they all wore the same clothing and did not look like warriors.”
He guessed that Unegen had wanted to add, ‘to me, at least.’ Bekka grunted at the subtle criticism. All the same Unegen was one of his best scouts, and an Alur Meriki horseman who couldn’t tell the difference between a dirt eater and a steppes rider at any distance didn’t deserve to be called a warrior.
Dirt eaters all tended to dress the same, unlike warriors who liked bright colors and wore whatever clothing they preferred, mixed with the occasional animal skin. Dangling feathers ornamented bow and lance tips, and leather strips slung across shoulders held knives and food pouches.
“Your men are following them?”
“Ten men,” Unegen said. “I brought the rest back with me.”
Bekka opened his mouth, then closed it again. Unegen had taken the right course of action. If there were a large force of horsemen operating in this land, it could only mean trouble. Bekka considered his options. His clan numbered just over eighty, but they were scattered over the countryside, mostly to the south, hunting game and searching for anything of value along the caravan’s route.
Bekka had already scouted those lands when Unegen caught up with him. Like everyone else, Bekka assumed any danger to the Alur Meriki would come from the south, not their line of march to the west. Now that assumption would be tested.
A force of horsemen this far north had to be a war party of some kind. The steep hills and endless boulders of these foothills held no dirt eaters or places to grow food, not even enough grass to support sheep or goats for any length of time. These barren lands were meant to be crossed as quickly as possible. The only reason for anyone to be up here was to get water at the stream that flowed from the mountains.
Supper with his family would have to wait. “I’ll gather my men and head southwest. We may be able to cut them off. You return to your scouts, and see what else they have discovered. As soon as you learn anything, send riders to find me. I don’t want to waste time looking for you.”
Unegen nodded. “And the caravan? Should we dispatch riders to tell them what we’ve found?”
The great caravan of the Alur Meriki moved slowly toward them, still a few days travel from here at their creeping pace. Bekka considered sending word to the caravan. However, he didn’t know anything for certain. And only a fool of a clan leader would waste Thutmose-sin’s time over a single sighting of so small a force, especially one that had turned away at first sight of Unegen’s scouting party.
“No, not yet. Not for a handful of riders. If there is any danger, we have more than enough time. I’ll collect as many men as I can and follow you.”
Unegen shrugged again. “I’ll return to my men.” He’d done his duty, and he had his orders. If trouble arose, Chief Bekka would deal with it. Unegen turned his horse around and rode back toward the west. Somehow he felt certain he would get little rest tonight.
At midmorning the next day, Hathor and his two companies reached the crest of one more hill and halted for a brief rest. He felt as weary as any of his men. Not that he cared about that. The exhausted horses, however, needed rest and water. Man and beast had emptied the last of the water skins at dawn, and neither would get much rest, let alone anything to drink, until they reached the Khenmet.
“Commander!” A man raised his arm and pointed to a somewhat higher hilltop a little to the south and about half a mile away.
Hathor’s eyes followed the direction, and he saw them, a line of horsemen coming into view. By the time the last rider appeared on the crest, Hathor had the count. Fourteen barbarians, sitting stolidly on their horses, staring down at the intruders.
Hathor’s men saw them, too, and now they chattered among themselves, and the ragged line they presented brought a growl to his lips. “Shut your mouths! And form up, instead of gaping. Do you want these barbarians to think you’re a bunch of sheep?”