It would indeed be a hard fight. No matter what happened today, whether Eskkar lived or died, whether the Akkadians won or lost this battle, he intended to deal such a deadly blow to the Elamites that any siege of Akkad would be severely blunted, if not turned back.
Eskkar shook the gloomy thoughts away. The strength of his arm, honed by months and years of training, still served him well enough. He might be weary, but he doubted Lord Modran, even though nearly twenty years younger, had gotten any more sleep. Both leaders would contend today less rested than any of their followers. All the same, Eskkar knew he only needed to keep up his strength for a little longer. The enemy would be tired enough, too.
The long night had proven grim for the Elamites. First their planned assault using the Immortals had collapsed in the confusion brought about by the sting of Akkad’s slingers. Before Modran’s forces had fully recovered from that, the horse stampede had further disrupted the formations.
By that raid, even the lowest and slow-witted of the Elamite soldiers realized that their leaders had lied to them, that no new supplies or reinforcements would be coming through the Pass. Now the day of the final battle had come, forcing Lord Modran to attack in daylight.
The Akkadians had made their own preparations, and they, too, had slept little. Eskkar glanced from one side of the Pass to the other. Everything looked much the same as in the previous battles. At least, he hoped it still appeared that way to Modran’s commanders. Eskkar wanted them to believe his Akkadians would fight today’s battle the same way as the first two assaults.
The longer Eskkar studied Modran’s advancing formations, the more convinced Eskkar became that an attack by the Elamites last night would have succeeded. He could just make out the vaunted Immortals moving into position, behind a frontal mass of barely organized infantry. Modran obviously no longer cared about preserving his elite fighting force. Even in a victory today, they would sustain heavy losses. The Elamite commander had grown desperate indeed.
Eskkar felt certain that some of that same desperation had also seeped into the enemy commanders and even individual soldiers. The forebodings that had swept through Modran’s men last night would still linger in their hearts this morning. That, and their lack of food and water, gave the Akkadians yet another advantage.
The outcome of the battle might well rest on just how anxious and fearful the Elamite soldiers had become. He glanced around at his own men. They, too, seemed subdued. They knew what approached, and word had spread about the Elamite Immortals, and their fighting abilities.
“Here they come.” Drakis’s cheerful voice broke into Eskkar’s grim thoughts. “And just like Markesh reported, the Immortals are bunched together against our right flank.”
Alexar galloped up to join them. “Muta’s men are ready, Captain. As are my spearmen and Mitrac.” He lowered his voice. “By Ishtar’s honey pot, I hope this works.”
Eskkar and Drakis both laughed at the crude joke, the sound making hundreds of heads turn toward their leader. “We’ll know soon enough,” Eskkar said.
The worries and qualms that had nagged Eskkar’s thoughts during the night had vanished. The sight of your adversary often accomplished that. Only confidence remained. Whether his plan succeeded or failed, at least he would have taken the initiative. Waiting patiently for the Elamites to attack, and then suffering under their assaults was not the kind of fighting he preferred. That impatience was no doubt ingrained in the blood of every steppes warrior.
“That we will,” agreed Alexar. “At least we have our own Immortal, Drakis, to match against those of our enemy.”
Drakis would be commanding the right flank, where the brunt of the Elamite attack would fall. Even so, his combativeness and determination would spread to his troops, and they would fight hard and follow wherever he led.
“Then to your posts,” Eskkar said. He turned his horse and cantered across the Pass, until he could see Shappa and his subcommanders. “Are you ready?” Eskkar’s bellow easily reached up into the rocks where Shappa waited.
“Yes, Captain.”
Eskkar grunted in approval. The final orders had been given. Today there would be no speeches to his men, nor any further orders to his commanders. They knew their tasks, what needed to be done, and how high the stakes. Every man seemed ready.
He trotted the horse back to the center of the line, settling beside Mitrac. The Master Archer stood by his ranks of bowmen, just as he had done in each of the previous attacks. Only today, most of the sacks containing the extra shafts had vanished. Instead, every archer had a second quiver belted on his hip.
“Once again I need your arrows, Mitrac,” Eskkar said.
Of all of Akkad’s soldiers, only Mitrac had followed Eskkar into every battle, starting even before the first Alur Meriki siege of Akkad, then known as the village of Orak. Mitrac and his deadly archers had played a key role in the campaigns at Sumer and Isin, and many others. He would do so again today against the Elamites.
“We’re ready, Captain,” Mitrac said. He waved his bow toward ten men who stood behind him. “My archers will find their marks, and every leader of ten knows what to do. Many of the enemy commanders have already been killed.”
That, too, would likely be a factor today. While many Akkadian leaders of ten and twenty had died, the number was insignificant compared to the losses of their counterparts among the Elamites.
Eskkar took one last look at his reserves behind him, where a handful of mounted Akkadian cavalry stood waiting, positioned much the same as the previous two battles. He glimpsed Garal riding at Muta’s side. The Ur Nammu warrior, feathers once again dangling from his bow, also had a lance slung across his back.
The rest of the horsemen had been moved farther up the slope, presumably to protect the Akkadian horses from the enemy’s arrows. Only a small portion of the herd was visible before the trail twisted out of sight.
The drums of the Elamites changed their tempo, and Eskkar glanced down the slope. The enemy continued its advance, its soldiers trudging slowly up the Pass, the men shifting into their attack positions. For a long moment Eskkar stared at the oncoming invaders, studying the advance until he felt sure of their intent.
“It’s as we expected, Mitrac,” Eskkar said. “Good hunting to you, and may your arrows find their marks. And to you, Alexar.”
Alexar nodded and trotted off down the ranks of spearmen, moving toward the far end of the left flank. Where once the Akkadian infantry had stood four deep, now only two ranks remained, except for the very center of the line, where another forty men formed a third rank.
Mitrac’s bowmen had also lost many archers, and while they still maintained four ranks in depth, the spacing between each man had widened.
Modran’s army, despite its two defeats, yet filled the Pass from side to side, a solid block of men. The Elamites remained quiet, knowing what awaited them. Even so, their masters would drive them forward with threats and the flat of their swords. Once they closed with Eskkar’s men, the sheer weight of numbers would be in the Elamites’ favor.
Everyone in the first four or five ranks carried some type of shield. Modran must have collected anything that could stop an arrow and given them to the front ranks for this final assault.
Watching his foes advance, Eskkar swore under his breath. He needed one more victory to make the Elamites cut and run. Even if his men just managed to hold them off, it would mean the end of the invasion. Eskkar needed something to make them hesitate, something to break their spirit and convince them that they couldn’t win.