“How much am I expected to contribute?”
Trella smiled again. “A gift of five hundred gold pieces would be most helpful.”
Less than fifteen percent of his wealth. Orodes met her gaze. Something was wrong. Trella likely knew exactly how much gold he possessed. For that small a sum, Trella could have sent one of her clerks, and Orodes would have paid it without a second thought.
“Is there anything else I can do, Lady Trella?”
“Since such a contribution to help save Akkad is so small, we have another request to make. There is a very special task that only you are qualified to perform. We need a Master Miner who knows how to dig in the earth, and clear away obstacles.”
Her request surprised him. He straightened up in his chair. Had another mine been discovered?
“Eskkar’s cavalry needs a secret route through the southern mountains to the Great Sea.” She unrolled a map and spread it on the table. “We’ve charted a path through the mountains. We’ll need a trail wide enough for two horses to ride side by side. You’re the only man in Akkad bold enough and skilled enough who can carve a pathway through the foothills in the time we have. Of course I’ll make sure you have everything necessary, skilled laborers, soldiers, tools, supplies, food and water. Whatever you need, as much as you require, you have only to ask.”
Orodes stared at the map. The route marked by Trella’s finger extended through the last third of the mountains. Many miners had explored the area, but never found a trace of anything valuable. Every one of them, however, attested to the rough terrain. As far as he knew, no one had ever reached the Great Sea.
He lifted his eyes. “If I agree to do this, how much time do I have?”
“Three months, no longer,” Trella answered.
“It can’t be done. Not in that short a time. Such an effort would take at least six months, possibly more.”
“For anyone else, I would agree. But you are the Master Miner of Akkad. If anyone knows how to cut through a mountain, it is Orodes. Besides, three months is all the time we have.”
Orodes opened his mouth, then closed it. He’d been about to ask what would happen if he refused. Only a simpleton would ask that question, and Orodes was no halfwit. A single glance at Annok-sur provided all the answer Orodes needed.
Most of the fools in Akkad feared King Eskkar’s temper. Those closer to the truth worried about Trella, who had probably sent more men to their deaths than her bloodthirsty husband. The presence of Annok-sur, who still hadn’t said anything, reinforced the unmentioned threat.
A night swim in the Tigris, Akkadians called it. The innocent saying meant that a dead body might be tossed into the river and carried downstream seven or eight miles before the waters slowed enough to drift a corpse to the shore.
Not that he thought Lady Trella would do such a thing to him. First they would confiscate his fortune. Then it might be just as easy to have a pinch of poison dropped into his stew. Bad food still killed plenty of people every year, and not even the healers could always tell the difference between poison or fouled meat. Especially if the healers happened to be in Trella’s service. Orodes shook the gloomy thought from his mind.
“If you do this, Orodes, we will be in your debt,” Trella said. “I can promise you that no more of your wealth will be needed. And your effort may help win the war. Besides, we need someone we can trust, someone who can keep his mouth closed, someone with your special skills of mining and digging, and someone who can’t be bribed.”
Orodes leaned back in his chair. “You are very persuasive, Lady Trella. If it will help Akkad, of course I will do my utmost.” Not that she needed to be so compelling with Orodes. He knew well enough what might happen to anyone who disagreed with her.
“Then I am sure you will succeed, Orodes. If you do not, the war with Elam may be lost.”
“When do we start?”
“Now. This morning. We will tell you everything we’ve learned, and the preparations we’ve already started.”
Orodes took a deep breath and nodded. Then he smiled at the dour Wakannh and the grim Annok-sur, both no doubt disappointed by having to let him live. At least Lady Trella hadn’t mentioned how much he was in her debt, or how she had rescued him from a filthy lane and saved his life.
Not to mention that Orodes knew what to expect if foreign invaders occupied the land. They’d take all his gold and seize the mine at Nuzi as well, after torturing him and his family to make sure he revealed the location of every last coin and nugget.
And if Akkad were besieged, Orodes might be better off in the mountains. There the only real danger he would face would be getting crushed in a rock slide, and that risk would be slight enough. Of course if he failed, his dead body would be tossed into some rocky chasm, never to be seen again. Yes, that outcome was much more likely.
Chapter 9
The northern lands, two hundred miles northwest of Akkad. .
The antelope bounded over the crest of the low hill, running for its life and heedless of the rocks and boulders that littered the hillside. The thunder of hooves against the earth drove the desperate animal, ears flat against its head. A band of six horsemen galloped in pursuit, their fierce cries exhorting the horses onward, regardless of the risk.
Sargon, the son of the King of Akkad, led the chase, though no one in that city would have recognized him. The boy banished by his parents from the City of Akkad had grown into manhood. Dressed and armed like any steppes warrior, he guided his stallion with the skill that proclaimed his origins. Heedless of the danger, Sargon urged his mount ever faster over the rocky ground, where one slip likely meant a broken leg for the horse, and a nasty fall for its rider.
Today the vagaries of the hunt had let Sargon take the lead, pursuing the single antelope that had not managed to reach the safety of the wooded glen. Seeing the hunters riding toward the herd, it had turned away and burst into a run, trying to escape.
Caught up in the excitement of the chase, Sargon was determined to bring the creature down. The heavy breathing of his horse, the pounding of its hooves, the rush of air across Sargon’s face, all these added to the thrill of the hunt. However, the powerful beast, its black horns flashing, refused to give up. It leapt over obstacles that forced Sargon to change his course again and again.
So far the chase had lasted over half a mile, and now both hunter and hunted could see another stand of forest ahead that would shelter the fleeing antelope. Once within the trees, it would disappear. Unwilling to let the animal get away, Sargon, in his seventeenth season, urged the big warhorse to its fastest pace, swerving around or jumping over every ditch or large boulder in their path.
A flat patch of ground ahead caught his eye, and Sargon turned toward it, allowing the antelope to increase the gap by a few more paces. But the level ground gave Sargon the brief moment he needed to whip an arrow from his quiver and fit the shaft to the string, a difficult feat that few not born in the steppes could have accomplished.
By now the forest had drawn closer, less than two hundred paces away. Holding the halter rope and the bow in his left hand, Sargon leaned forward against the stallion’s neck and pulled the bowstring to his ear.
Behind him he heard his friend Garal coming up fast, the rumbling of his horse’s hooves growing ever louder. Both men had drawn ahead of the others. Sargon held the taut bow a few more moments, trying to close the gap by another handful of paces. He heard the snap of a bowstring, and an arrow flashed past his shoulder.
Garal, a master archer even from the back of a galloping horse, had launched a shaft. But either their prey veered or Garal’s aim was off, and the missile flew a hand’s breadth above the racing animal. Another flat patch of ground, and Sargon let fly his own shaft.