Modran felt his jaw drop. “Barbarians! Here? Why would they ride into the Pass, just to stampede our horses?”
“My Lord, they stampeded the horses in both directions.” Martiya kept his voice calm and his words soothing. He knew Modran’s patience had vanished. “Once they got the horses moving to the west, they turned around and raced back toward the east and Zanbil, driving a large herd ahead of them.”
“How many horses. . how many barbarians were there?”
“Not that many, maybe fifty or sixty,” Martiya said. “But they drove off more than two thousand horses. And the rear guard is a shambles, full of injured and dead men trampled underfoot. Horses are wandering around and through every camp. Some of our supplies were destroyed as well, not to mention the hundreds of injured or dead horses.”
Modran recalled how difficult it had been to find and pay for each and every one of those animals. Now many were gone, stolen by barbarians. The loss of the siege workers meant nothing, not now. “Can we get the stolen horses back?”
Martiya scratched his chin. “It’s almost seventy miles to the mouth of the Pass, and I don’t think even barbarians can control that many horses that far. Probably half will drop out and turn aside into the rocks. But at least ten or twelve hundred will be gone for good. My cavalry commander is getting his men organized and mounted. He can have three hundred men on their trail at daylight.”
“The barbarians ride at night! Why can’t your men do the same?”
“These barbarians have stolen almost two thousand horses, My Lord.” Martiya kept his tone respectful, though he, too, wanted to vent his frustration. “ If they lose a hundred of them riding in the dark, they won’t even notice.”
The more Modran thought about it, the less he liked it. By daybreak, the barbarians would have covered plenty of distance, at least ten or fifteen miles. Without leading extra horses themselves, Martiya’s men were not going to catch the raiders, not tomorrow.
Modran made up his mind. “No. Let them go. But post a strong guard at our rear, in case they decide to launch another raid.”
“That’s not what worries me,” Martiya said. “If the barbarians entered the Pass, that must mean Zanbil is gone, overrun, its supplies taken or destroyed. I don’t think we’ll be getting any help from there.”
Speechless for a moment, Modran stared at his general. The impact of Martiya’s words took a few moments to absorb. “Eskkar! Could he have done this? Turned the barbarians against us?”
“They say he was once one of them. He may have paid them to raid Zanbil and disrupt our supply line. It would explain why none of your messengers to Zanbil have returned.”
“Then we’ve no food coming,” Modran said. “We need those supplies now more than ever.”
Martiya took a deep breath. “If we want to eat and drink anything tomorrow, we’re going to have to take food from the Akkadians.”
Modran found himself clutching at the hilt of his sword, still belted around his waist. “What should we do about tomorrow’s attack?”
“Our soldiers are uneasy over the idea of barbarians behind them. They’re worried we’ll be attacked again. Many of them want to turn back.”
“Damn the cowards!” Modran’s bellow of rage echoed off the cliff. “A handful of men dead and some horses stolen by barbarian scum, and our men are frightened to death? Put a few of the weaklings to the sword. That should silence the rest. Tell the men the horses mean nothing, that we won’t need them once we’ve crushed the Akkadians.”
Modran’s anger and frustration threatened to rise to the surface. He took a deep breath, and tried to regain control of his emotions. “Martiya, tell the men that there’s no food in Zanbil. Tell them that as soon as we defeat these accursed Akkadians, every man will have his pay tripled for the rest of the war. That should put some courage in their backbones.”
Martiya glanced up at the moon. More than half the night had passed. “Perhaps it might be better, My Lord, to wait another day before attacking Eskkar’s lines? That would give the men time to get some rest and recover their will to fight.”
“The longer we wait, the stronger Eskkar becomes. Even now, our men are beginning to doubt that we can win. Some are saying foreign gods protect the Akkadians, and that Eskkar has never been defeated, cannot be defeated. The more time our soldiers have to dwell on such thoughts, the weaker we become. We attack at first light as planned. And remind them that any man who falters will be killed on the spot. The Immortals will break Eskkar’s battle line.”
Martiya saw that Modran’s mind was made up. “Yes, My Lord.” Martiya turned and strode off into the night. But deep within his heart, doubt about tomorrow’s battle had already taken hold.
Lord Modran got little sleep the rest of the night. He and Martiya found themselves forced to answer a host of questions. The stampede had disrupted not only the rhythm of the camp, but the very position of the men. The cavalry, most to be held in reserve for the final effort, still had not collected enough mounts for the three thousand man reserve. Every commander and even subcommanders sought guidance and clarification of the simplest orders.
When he did finally lie down, alone in his tent, Modran found he could do little more than toss and turn. Eskkar and his puny force had to be defeated, destroyed. Had to. Not since Modran’s youth had he fought in a battle to the death. Tomorrow’s fight had to be won, or Modran faced death as surely as if Eskkar shoved a sword into his stomach.
When Modran did slip into an uneasy sleep, dark dreams made him toss and turn. But soon enough, his servant woke him.
“It’s time, My Lord. Dawn approaches.”
Rubbing his eyes, Modran pushed himself to his feet. “I’ll come.” He laced on his sandals and armor, then belted the sword around his waist. Other than that, he’d laid down fully dressed.
A single torch burned outside his tent. Martiya, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, approached the war table. Modran stood and watched as Martiya went through the final preparations. At last, Martiya gave the order, and the commanders departed to join their men.
By the time the first glimmer of gray weakened the black of night, the Elamite army waited in their ranks, ready to attack. Modran would pace his horse alongside his infantry, until he reached his observation post just beyond range of the Akkadian long bows. There he would take command of the cavalry reserves and wait for the breakthrough. Martiya and his staff would lead the actual assault.
The eastern sky turned pink, outlining the mountains to the rear. As soon as the first rays of dawn banished enough of the night for his men to see their feet, Martiya gave the order. A drum began to beat. The third Elamite attack had begun.
Earlier that night, Eskkar, Alexar, and the other commanders stood at the center of their battle line, staring down the slope into the darkness. All of them had heard the sound of horses on the move, and the tumult from the Elamite position. At first Eskkar thought a night attack by the Elamite cavalry was in progress.
The Akkadians, sleeping at their positions, roused themselves and prepared to receive another assault. But instead of war cries emanating from the enemy position, they heard only shouts of confusion and the whinnying of horses.
Shappa’s slingers, out in the empty space between the two hosts, reported that riderless horses were wandering up the slope, picking their way through the dead bodies that littered the ground. Eskkar counted at least twenty of the curious animals, who trotted almost all the way to the ranks of the Akkadians before they decided to turn back down the slope.