“Until we meet again, Sargon of Akkad.” Den’rack’s voice sounded as confident as his words.
They mounted their horses and moved out, taking position behind Unegen. They let the animals pick their own pace through the darkness. Yassur, on foot, led the way, selecting the best path over the indistinct ground. The moon had risen, but it was young and shed little light. However, what hindered them now would help them soon enough.
As they moved slowly through the shadows, Sargon glanced up at the stars. His father often spoke about the stars and what they meant for men. Sargon had always considered his father’s ideas foolish, despite the fact that many of Akkad’s wise men said much the same.
Now, lifting his eyes to the night sky, Sargon wasn’t so sure. The stars could not be counted, and he knew that some wandered across the sky, moving little by little until a year passed, and they returned to the place from which they started.
“What are you looking at?” Garal rode right behind him.
“Nothing. Just the stars.” Sargon took one last at the sky. He wondered what his father thought about before he rode into battle. Strange that Sargon had never thought to ask him that simple question. Now it was too late.
30
Scattered clouds passed across the face of the moon and darkened the night sky. Sargon fretted about the slow pace as they moved toward the Ur Nammu refuge. He could dismount and walk faster than the plodding pace set by Yassur, Unegen, and the other Alur Meriki warriors leading the way.
Fashod, however, showed no signs of wanting to hurry. Sargon knew Fashod wanted to make his final approach in the middle of the night, when the guards would be least alert.
Once again Sargon found himself and his fate in the hands of others, as he followed the horse and rider in front of him. Part of him wanted to rush ahead, but another part wished he were back in Akkad, safe in some pleasant ale house. Soon he would be fighting, not for his life, but to save the life of Tashanella. In all his imaginings, Sargon had never once thought about dying to save another.
The moon had reached its highest point and started its descent when Sargon heard Unegen’s whisper down the line.
“This is close enough. Everyone dismount.”
Sargon swung down from his horse, handed the halter to one of Unegen’s men, and checked his weapons. An Alur Meriki warrior approached carrying a water skin, offering one last chance to drink. Sargon realized his mouth was dry, as much from fear as from thirst, and he gulped down as much as he could hold.
He heard Garal and a few others taking a piss, and suddenly the urge to do the same almost overpowered him. Sargon moved a few steps from the horses and relieved himself. It took far longer than usual to empty his bladder. When he finished, he found Fashod waiting for him.
“Follow me,” Fashod said. “Single file.” With those brief words, he started toward the plateau, its jutting height visible in the moonlight and the glow from a Carchemishi watch fire.
Unegen whispered a farewell. “Good hunting.”
Within moments, the Alur Meriki warriors and the horses vanished into the darkness, and Sargon and his companions were alone. No one had to tell Sargon to keep silent. Their sandals made little sound against the hard earth sprinkled with patches of grass that reached his knees.
Nevertheless, Sargon had to watch his footing. A misstep might send him tumbling to the ground, and even worse, might be heard by the enemy guards.
As the small group drew closer to the hilltop, Fashod moved ever slower. Once they had to drop to the ground, motionless, when an enemy patrol loomed up out of the darkness. Sargon counted ten riders, and for a moment thought he and his companions would be discovered.
But these men were concentrating on the ground before them, and only a few bothered to glance about. They passed within fifty paces without noticing the four men hugging the ground.
When they’d ridden off, Fashod moved to Sargon’s side, his face only a hand’s breadth away. “There’s a watch fire ahead. Don’t look at it. Keep your eyes on the ground and watch where you step. I’ll be right behind you. Are you ready?”
“Yes.” Sargon didn’t trust his voice to say anything else. Fear had reached into his body and clutched his stomach, but he knew he couldn’t let his companions down.
“Good.” Fashod gripped Sargon’s shoulder. “Just follow orders.”
To Sargon’s surprise, Fashod told Garal to lead the way, while Fashod brought up the rear, walking just behind Sargon. He heard the occasional horse whinny from the distant herd. Other odd sounds carried through the night. Sargon’s heart jumped at every shifting shadow, expecting to be discovered. If the Carchemishi discovered them, Sargon and his companions would be killed, or even worse, captured and tortured.
The Ur Nammu kept moving forward. They covered another two hundred paces, and by now had crossed within the outer lines of the Carchemishi sentries.
Suddenly Garal and Jennat ducked down. Fashod’s hand reached up and pulled Sargon down as well. Sargon heard voices ahead. Straining his eyes, he spotted two men sitting on a rock. Both faced the hilltop. Fashod’s whisper came. “Arrows.”
Garal and Jennat disappeared into the shadows moving toward the unsuspecting guards. Peering over a scraggly bush, Sargon stared at the two sentries about seventy or eighty paces ahead. He heard the men speaking, but couldn’t make out the words.
Time seemed to drag by. Sargon was about to ask Fashod what had gone wrong when he glimpsed two shadows rise up behind the sentinels. Then he heard the snap of bowstrings, followed by a single gasp of pain. Both guards toppled to the ground, struck in the back at close range by the powerful shafts.
Garal and Jennat rushed forward, to make sure their targets were indeed dead or unable to cry out. Sargon turned to Fashod, who had raised himself up, one hand holding Sargon’s arm. The warrior took his time scanning the landscape. The sounds of the guards’ death, which had seemed loud to Sargon, had gone unheard.
“Come.” Fashod moved toward the other warriors, jogging over the ground.
Sargon followed, clutching his lance in his right hand while trying to make as little noise as Fashod. In a moment, they had reached Garal, but Jennat had already moved on ahead. Sargon glanced down at the dead men sprawled at his feet.
He had seen death before, witnessed executions in Akkad’s marketplace, but never violent death. Even in the raid on the Carchemishi camp, he hadn’t got close enough to see men die, their lives ended. Now dead bodies lay within reach, and he could smell their blood, still spilling into the sandy earth.
Fashod and Garal dropped to one knee, and Sargon did the same. No one moved, and the moon seemed to travel faster and faster across the sky. Finally Sargon turned to Fashod. “Why are we waiting?”
“One can see as well as four,” Fashod whispered back.
Sargon gritted his teeth and waited.
Then Jennat loomed up in the darkness to rejoin them. The four huddled together, heads almost touching, to confer.
“There’s a guard post at the base of the hill,” Jennat said. “Eight men. The only way I can see up the slope is right in front of them.”
“Are you sure we can’t go around?” Fashod’s voice remained calm.
“I don’t think so,” Jennat whispered. “There are steep rocks all around the slope, loose rocks everywhere. It’s likely the best approach, since the guards are there. Unless you want to search for another way up the slope.”
“No, the two dead sentries might be discovered at any moment.” Fashod took this setback in stride. “Damn. We’ll have to kill them. We can’t take the time to find another way.”
Sargon glanced toward the plateau, looming up from the earth. He had no idea how steep the slope might be, or even if it could be climbed in the dark. Shadows shifted and moved, and some of that movement came from Carchemishi sentries. He couldn’t tell if any were moving in this direction.