Bantor had to hope that Klexor’s force succeeded. He’d felt certain that at least half of the bandits and farmers recruited from the countryside by Ariamus and quartered in the two smaller structures would flee at the first sign of trouble, some toward Eskkar’s house, others toward the main gate. They didn’t matter, not right now. Bantor had to destroy these Egyptians before they could organize a defense or escape.
“Surround the barracks! They may try to break through the wall. Get to the roof,” Bantor shouted. “Use fire on the roof. Burn them out! Don’t let any escape. Hurry!”
A soldier raced to the fire pit and began tossing more wood on the fire.
The low flames dimmed for a few moments, then the fresh wood caught and the flames began to build. The archers fanned out, all of them facing the structure with their bows ready. The barracks had only the one entrance, and the single window on the opposite side was too small for a man to climb through.
Shouts of rage came from within the barracks. Bantor couldn’t believe his luck. He’d trapped forty or so of these Egyptians in a single building.
If he could hold them there a few moments longer…
“Cover the door,” he shouted. “And get some archers on that roof.” He pointed with his sword at the soldiers’ storehouse, a smaller structure open on two sides. Battle-axes, shields, spears, and other weapons were stacked within, only a few paces away from the main barracks. Meanwhile, the watch fire crackled under its load of fresh fuel, and thick smoke began to trail up into the sky, already showing a rosy glow to the east. It wouldn’t be long before the flames took hold.
The barracks door suddenly flew open. Three arrows flashed out into the Akkadian line. One shaft flew right past Bantor’s ear, and an archer two steps away groaned and fell to the ground. His men returned the fi re, but the door had already been pulled closed, leaving nearly a dozen shafts protruding from the wooden portal.
Bantor opened his mouth to berate his men, but they’d already adjusted, some cursing at themselves, others shifting positions and readying for the next attack. They’d not be caught so easily next time.
“Bantor! Is it you?”
He turned to find three men stumbling toward him. It took a moment before he recognized Jarack and two other Hawk Clan members from Eskkar’s household guard. They appeared unsteady, and marks from the lash covered their nearly naked bodies.
“Give us weapons, Bantor,” Jarack demanded, his hand on Bantor’s arm. “We can fight.”
“Take charge of those we’ve freed,” Bantor said. “Arm yourself from the storehouse. Bring out shields and spears for my men. We’ll need them in a moment.”
“No, we want…”
Bantor grabbed Jarack by the arm and pushed him toward the storehouse. “Go!”
The barracks door flew open again, but this time Bantor’s archers were ready. Their arrows flew into the darkened interior. Only one shaft, aimed high, came out. But a wave of men burst out, the ones in front carrying shields, and they hurled themselves toward the Akkadians, shouting war cries.
From the storehouse roof above them, four archers who had just reached their positions fi red their shafts into the Korthac’s fi ghters’ backs, knocking down the first two shielded men emerging from the barracks.
That gave Bantor’s archers more targets. They brought down another two men before the leader of the charging Egyptians reached Bantor’s sword.
He caught the savage overhand thrust on his own weapon, then used one of Eskkar’s favorite tactics, stepping forward and slamming his shoulder in the man’s shield, halting the man’s advance. Before the man could regain either his balance or his momentum, Bantor’s short sword swept over the top of the shield and thrust deep into the man’s chest, at the base of the neck.
With a scream the man dropped his sword, clutching at his wound.
Wrenching his blade free, Bantor faced another attacker, but this man was already dying, another shaft flashing down from the storehouse roof into the man’s back. Their charge broken before most of them got clear of the doorway and their leader dead, the Egyptians fell back once again to their barracks. Again the door slammed shut, leaving one cursing man trapped outside, pounding on the door for entry, before two shafts in his back brought him down. The body slumped directly before the opening, and Bantor grunted in satisfaction. The Egyptians would have to step over their own dead to reach his men next time.
“Bantor, the fire’s ready,” a voice called out.
“Burn the roof, then.”
Jarack returned carrying a large wooden shield and three spears, another three or four former prisoners carrying similar burdens behind him.
More men appeared, all carrying weapons of one sort or another, and Bantor realized some villagers had entered the compound and helped themselves to the same weapons supply.
The first firebrand mounted up into the sky, to fall downward onto the barracks’ roof. Another followed in its trail, then more smoked their way onto the roof, flung by the hands of arriving villagers. These alighted on the structure, and the mix of wood and straw ignited almost at once. Fresh fire shot up into the sky.
Bantor glanced down at the ground before him, counting the dead Egyptians. Eight bodies lay in the dirt, most with arrows protruding from them. Three carried shields, something that wouldn’t normally be kept in the crowded barracks. So the Egyptians had their swords and knives, a few bows, and not much else.
Another villager arrived, this one carrying a spear. He knelt on the ground right beside an archer, angling the spear point up, protecting the bowman, and no doubt well trained in how to rise up and thrust the weapon at any charging foe. Another villager arrived and did the same, and Bantor saw Jarack standing back at the storehouse, directing more villagers while he handed out more weapons.
With a loud snapping noise, a wave of fire engulfed the barracks’ roof, and the bright flames added their light to the deepening dawn.
Klexor arrived, bringing most of his archers with him. “The prisoners are free, Bantor,” he shouted, already having to raise his voice over the crackle of flames. “We lost a few men, but the rabble fled.”
“Spread your men out,” Bantor ordered. “Get a few more up on the storehouse roof. The Egyptians will be coming out soon.”
Bantor saw nearly twenty liberated soldiers stumbling behind Alexar.
Most of them looked exhausted and scarcely able to stand, weakened by long hours of slave labor with little food.
“Give them your bows,” Bantor ordered. Even in their weakened condition, these men would still be able to loose a shaft. At this distance, a bowman didn’t need to draw back an arrow very far.
He stepped away from the front line, and took a moment to look around him. More towns people were joining the fi ght, carrying makeshift weapons or swords they obtained one way or another. The freed prisoners would help, too. If the blaze didn’t roast the Egyptians alive, his men, shooting down into the house, would start killing them. Korthac’s vaunted fighters were going to be slaughtered.
“Klexor, finish off the ones here. I’ll take my men and head toward Eskkar’s house. Follow when you can.”
Calling out to his men, Bantor turned and jogged off, half the soldiers falling in reluctantly behind him. They wanted to see the Egyptians burn. The first section of the roof fell into the barracks, mixing with the screams of men trapped beneath the burning sections. From the rooftops, the archers began firing, shooting at anything that moved inside. Bantor ignored it all, shouting for his men to follow him. Ariamus wasn’t inside.
Bantor would have recognized the man’s bellow anywhere.
This time Bantor ran as hard as he could, twelve of his original fourteen men close on his heels. The alarm had sounded, and now speed mattered more than anything else. Men would be fighting at Eskkar’s house, and Korthac’s men would be rallying there. Bantor hoped he had enough men.