The horses attended to, Hathor’s riders guided their animals away from the fast flowing water. They had to drink slowly, to ensure that they did not swallow too much too fast. The men would bring their mounts back later for a second chance to satisfy their thirst.
Lifting his gaze, Hathor studied the barbarians who had retreated reluctantly before him. Just over half a mile away another hill rose up to the east. The enemy fighters had ridden up the slope that ridged the sky. From there, they stared down at the Akkadians. A few still brandished their bows or lances, while other expressed their anger by shouting what must be curses in his direction. If what Eskkar said were true, these fighters hated to retreat, especially after a challenge by those they called dirt eaters.
They could shake their fists and wave their weapons as much as they wanted. All that mattered was that Hathor’s men had the stream, and if anyone wanted a drink of water, they would pay for it with their blood.
The brief encounter between the two forces had taken only moments. The flight of arrows launched by the barbarians had wounded two horses, and Hathor doubted the shafts of his own riders had done any better, especially shooting uphill, always a difficult shot.
His men might bask in the glow of their small victory, but Hathor needed to hold this position until Eskkar and the rest of the Akkadians arrived. Handing his horse over to one of his men, Hathor paced the length of the stream. From its origin in the northern cliff wall, the Khenmet flowed in a nearly straight line for almost four hundred paces before it disappeared into another maze of impenetrable rocks and steep, gray crags.
He knew the stream travelled underground for more than two miles before it emerged from a cleft in the rocks as a waterfall, its clear waters then plunging several hundred paces to a rock-filled canyon below. From there the water flowed south, slicing its way through more cliffs and crags, and still inaccessible to a horse or wagon.
And while a man might risk his neck and clamber down the canyon’s walls to slack his thirst, by the time he regained the land above, he’d be as thirsty as when he started.
Even worse for the barbarians, the caravan of wagons and livestock would have to be left behind, as the terrain to the south was far too rough. If the Alur Meriki did not cross the stream here, they would be forced to travel nine or ten miles over treacherous cliffs and rocky ground to the south before the stream reemerged and gave them a place to access the water.
But those ten miles would take several days to traverse, and leave them no better off than they were now. They would face another four or five days of rough travel just to get back to the trail, leaving them still short of water for the rest of their descent from the mountains. No, the Alur Meriki would water their herds and ford here, or turn back toward the east and retrace their path.
Hathor let his eyes sweep the terrain. He’d been here before with Eskkar, but that was more than a year ago, when Eskkar first hatched the idea of an ambush. With a handful of riders, they spent almost twenty days exploring the pass and hills that marked the likely Alur Meriki migration trail, until they found this place. Hathor remembered how Eskkar’s eyes had widened in satisfaction at the find.
“A good place to give battle,” Eskkar had said. They remained at the Khenmet most of a day studying the land before moving on to the east. Only when they had discovered all the possible watering places within four or five days ride did a satisfied Eskkar and his men turn their horses’ heads toward Akkad.
As soon as he and Hathor returned, they met with Ismenne the Map Maker. From their descriptions, she sketched out the all the land from Aratta to the Khenmet, laying out the routes and the Alur Meriki migration path. Once completed, the planning for this expedition had begun.
Hathor took another look at the stream, less than forty paces wide. The water splashed noisily from a cleft between two large rock formations, both tall and formidable. While not particularly wide or deep — Hathor guessed that he could throw a stone from one bank to the other — it gave the Akkadians another advantage besides a place to quench their thirst. But for a horse charging through the chilly waters, the current would slow both horse and rider, and make them an easy target for his archers.
Draelin, still leading his horse, strode over to stand by his commander. “Where do you want the men?”
Hathor turned away from studying the stream to gaze at the north rock wall rising above him. “I want the men closest to the cliffs. Have them form a defensive line starting from there.”
“We don’t have enough men to hold the length of the stream.”
“I know, but if they overrun us, we can keep our backs to the cliff, and our archers can control the crossing.”
It wasn’t much of a defensive plan, but it would have to do. “Picket the horses in the little hollow in the cliff,” Hathor ordered. “That should give most of them some protection from the barbarian arrows.”
“We’re going to fight on foot?” Draelin sounded dubious at the idea.
“Oh, yes, at least until Eskkar gets here.” Hathor lifted his gaze once more toward the enemy hilltop. “If the barbarians arrive in force, they’ll overwhelm us if we try to match them on horseback.”
“I’ll settle the men in,” Draelin said, his eyes already searching the ground for the best possible fighting position.
“And see if we’ve got anyone who knows how to climb,” Hathor said. “Eskkar claimed a fit man could scale that cliff. A pair of eyes up there would be useful.”
Draelin’s mouth opened as he stared up at the seemingly sheer cliff. “I’ll ask. Maybe some fool will volunteer, but don’t expect me to try it. I’d just fall and break my neck.”
Hathor laughed. “I wouldn’t attempt it either. But Eskkar will have a few slingers with him who can do it, I’m sure. Wait until morning before you ask anyone to try. It’ll soon be too dark to see anything.” He turned his gaze back across the stream to where the Alur Meriki watched. “I wonder what they’re thinking about?”
“Nothing good for us,” Draelin said. “I just hope Eskkar gets here by tomorrow.”
“If he doesn’t, we’re all going to be dead.”
Neither man worried about that. The earth would have to open up and swallow Eskkar and his men before he let anything stop his march to this place.
The two commanders trudged back to where their men waited, holding the halters of their mounts.
“Subcommanders! Everyone!” Draelin’s voice echoed against the cliff. “Every tenth man, collect the horses and move them into that cleft. The rest of you, form a line twenty paces from the stream, every man a step apart. Once you’ve taken your position, put down your bows, and we’ll all start carrying rocks from the stream. I want to scatter a layer of rocks between us and the stream, to slow down any charging horsemen. Everyone, keep your swords with you at all times.”
Hathor nodded approval. Plenty of work still remained to be done. To make matters worse, there would be no fire, as the bare ground this close to the mountains held little in the way of trees or bushes. With the coming darkness, the Alur Meriki might try to attack, or even attempt to steal or stampede the horses. The tired Akkadians would get little sleep tonight.
At midmorning the next day, Bekka returned to the hilltop once again and stared down at the invaders. They kept busy, and except for a line of sentries, ignored the hill to their east. Bekka, meanwhile, cursed the slow gathering of his fighters.
The number of warriors under his command had grown slowly since yesterday, as the men he had dispatched to collect the Alur Meriki raiding parties had rejoined his force. At least twenty members of his clan had come back, and another fifteen or so had not yet reported. At last count, Bekka had close to seventy fighting men under his command.