A few grinning heads lowered in embarrassment. While the Akkadians settled down, Hathor made up his mind. That number of barbarians presented no threat to his hundred fighters, and there was no reason to suppose the enemy would waste a large force of riders in these desolate hills.
But somewhere behind them, more barbarians would be gathering. Nevertheless, it would take time, and Hathor might as well push on. The stream, if he remembered right, couldn’t be more than twenty or so miles ahead, a good half-day’s ride.
The distance no longer mattered. He had to reach it before dark. The new moon had moved into the sky only two days ago. It would rise late, and the slight light it would shed meant no horse could travel safely after dark, not in this rocky land.
Hathor turned to his subcommanders. “Get the men moving. We’ve still a long way to go.”
He put heels to his horse and led the Akkadian cavalry down the hill. He refused to look at the Alur Meriki warriors, though he knew his men would be glancing up at them every few steps. Hathor understood what thoughts raced through his soldiers’ minds. They were moving deeper and deeper into the heart of enemy territory, riding straight into danger. And that was exactly how it felt to him, too.
On the opposite hilltop, Bekka watched the dirt eaters, his lips moving slowly as he counted the strangers. Unegen, who sat beside him, had sharp eyes indeed. Not another clan of steppes warriors, but dirt eaters. Nonetheless, these strangers knew how to handle their mounts, unlike most of the dirt eaters the warriors encountered. It didn’t take long before Bekka had a good idea of who the unknown horsemen were, and where they might be headed.
“Where are they going, Chief Bekka? Are they lost?”
A stupid question, but Unegen was young, less than twenty-two seasons, with much to learn. Bekka softened his reply. “They’re heading for the water that flows from the mountains.”
Unegen digested that for a moment. “Why go there? Why don’t they run from us?”
Bekka ignored the first question. “They don’t run from us because they’re from Akkad, and they’ve been taught how to fight by the demon Eskkar, curse him.” He spat on the ground to appease the gods for speaking the traitor’s name. Bekka’s horse jerked its head at the rider’s sudden movement.
Bekka faced his subcommander. “Take two men and ride to the caravan as quick as you can. Find Thutmose-sin and tell him everything that we’ve seen, that we first found eleven, then one hundred dirt eaters. Say that they’re heading for the water, and that I will raise as many men as I can to stop them from reaching it.”
Without waiting for Unegen to reply, Bekka started giving orders to the rest of his men. In moments the Alur Meriki horsemen disappeared from the hilltop. Once out of sight, they broke into groups of twos and threes, and rode off in different directions. The Alur Meriki had more than one war party scouting these lands, though most of them were too far south to help Bekka. Something tightened in his stomach. He had a feeling that he was going to need every man he could gather.
Hathor and his men pushed their way east, up and down the seemingly endless succession of hills. They rode with care, bows strung, swords loose in their scabbards. Although he could see nothing that smacked of danger, Hathor felt the eyes of the Alur Meriki watching his progress.
His own scouts, six riders spread out along the line of movement, rode with even greater caution, arrows nocked and bows at the ready. At the crest of any hill, they might encounter a hidden band of barbarians ready to cut them down.
The rest of the cavalry rode together, four abreast, with the five pack animals under careful guard in the middle of the column. So far the pack horses hadn’t slowed him down, and Hathor didn’t dare abandon them. Those animals, and the supplies they bore, might mean the difference between defeat or victory.
The sun moved higher in the sky, passed its highest point, and began to descend. No Alur Meriki had yet challenged their passage, but Hathor knew that time approached. As soon as the barbarians gathered enough warriors, they would harass his movements, even if they lacked enough men to stop him. When they thought they had enough, they would attack in earnest.
The Akkadians kept moving, the men dismounting to lead the horses up the steepest part of the trail. By now his riders were too tired even to swear at their misfortune. The sun kept moving, too, falling toward the horizon.
A shout from his rear guard snapped Hathor’s head around. A band of twenty or so warriors, perhaps the same one he’d seen earlier, was traversing another hill to the Akkadian right. They’d come from the south, and now moved in the same direction as Hathor. The barbarians had fresher horses, and their riders didn’t carry the burden of the extra food and weapons.
Whatever the reason, they were making better time across these hills, and at this rate they would reach the stream before him.
Up ahead, Hathor watched his scouts disappear over the top of the next hill. A few moments later, one of them reappeared, waving his arms. Hathor kicked his horse into a canter, and rode up the hill to join him.
“The stream’s not much farther, Commander. I think I recognize the landmarks you described.” He pointed to a pair of almost identical boulders, tall and slim, that pointed like angled fingers toward the mountain peaks. Each stone stood four or five times the height of a man.
Hathor halted his men while he studied the landscape. Mountain crags towered to his left, while fingers of rock extended from their base, as if to lend support to the vast weight of stone soaring above them. He, too, remembered that two large boulders marked the trail, with the stream less than a mile ahead.
Of course all the rocks looked much the same, and it had been over a year since he’d ridden these hills. Still, he agreed with the scout, it couldn’t be much farther. If it were, they weren’t going to make it before dusk.
“Two more hills,” Hathor said. “Call the rest of the scouts back, except for two. We might as well all arrive together.”
No sense in having a few men picked off by the barbarians, or even having his scouts chased back to the main force.
Draelin rode up to join his commander. Hathor had given him responsibility for the rear guard.
“Any sign of the barbarians?” Draelin’s face showed that mixture of nervousness and excitement that often accompanied men riding into battle.
“No, but they’re probably all around us by now,” Hathor said. “The Khenmet isn’t far ahead. Tell the men we just need to push over one or two more hills, and we’ll be there. Tell them to ready their weapons, and make sure they stay close together.”
Draelin laughed. “They’ll be glad enough. They’re sick of riding and walking.”
Hathor’s second in command turned his horse and rode back to the rear. As the word spread through the ranks, men prepared themselves and their horses. They loosened their packs, so they could be discarded at a moment’s notice. The short rest would have to do.
Hathor waited until Draelin gave the signal that he was ready. “Move out!” The Egyptian’s voice easily carried the length of the column.
They rode down the slope, enjoyed a brief respite of almost flat ground for a few hundred paces, then another gradual ascent up the next hill. Once again Hathor found the two scouts waiting at the crest, and when Hathor reached it, he understood why.
A line of barbarian warriors stretched across the top of the next hill. As the rest of Hathor’s men reached the top, he took a count of the enemy.
“Between forty and forty-five,” Hathor commented, as Draelin reached his side.
“There could be five hundred waiting for us behind the hill.”