A man, sword in hand, stepped out of a house into his path. Bantor struck him down, hardly slowing, and not caring if he were friend or foe.
Every moment counted. He must get to Eskkar’s house. If Ariamus wasn’t at the barracks, he would be there, or nearby. Bantor knew the man’s character. Ariamus would look to his leader Korthac for direction. He’d fight hard enough, but only while he felt certain he could win. The moment the fight became too risky, Ariamus would do what he always did when danger got too close-melt away into the darkness. This time Bantor intended to make sure the wily former captain of the guard didn’t get away.
So Bantor pushed the pace, covering the narrow lanes, his sword flashing up and down in the moonlight, while behind him his men filled the streets with their battle cries. “Eskkar has returned. Let none escape!”
Eskkar counted on him to break into the compound. Eskkar and his handful of men, if they still lived, couldn’t hold out long, not against all of Korthac’s fighters quartered there. “Faster, men,” he shouted, lifting the sword high to lead the way.
27
Drakis watched as Enkidu and his men used the stakes taken from the wagon to brace the bottom of the cart’s wheel, levering it halfway into the opening, creating an effective barrier against anyone trying to enter.
Satisfied that the wagon couldn’t simply be pulled aside, Enkidu turned toward him. “Are you wounded, Drakis?”
“No, just out of breath. Can you hold the base of the tower?”
“Yes, for now. They’ll not be able to force it easily, if our archers can cover us from the top of the tower. Leave me five men, and take the rest up top.”
“Is that enough to hold here?”
“Any more would just get in the way,” Enkidu said. “And we found some spears in the corner.”
Spears could be even more effective than swords at close-quarters fighting. Taking a precious moment to clasp Enkidu on the shoulder, Drakis turned toward the steps, as Enkidu’s men kept shoving and pushing, trying to wedge the wagon tighter into the tower entrance. By now, most of the front wheel stood inside the opening. Enkidu was right. Even with plenty of men, the wagon wouldn’t be easy to drag aside, especially if defended. Already two men had taken up their bows, standing ready on either side of the barricade, searching for targets. Another returned lugging an armful of spears, then leaned them against the wall, ready for use.
“Hold them off, Enkidu. Send word if you need help.”
Leaving five men with Enkidu, Drakis led the rest back up the stairs, warning them to keep their heads low when they emerged on the battlement. To his surprise, the night’s darkness had given way to dawn’s first light, and he looked toward the east to see rays of gold pushing up into the sky, the sun itself just below the horizon.
The streets below remained dark, sheltered from the rising sun by the wall and tower. An arrow hissed over his head. On the battlement Tarok, Drakis’s second in command and a seasoned veteran, had organized the men, all of them crouched below the battlement facing the opposite tower.
“We’ve lost two men, Drakis. One dead, and the other has an arrow in his arm. Useless. But we’ve killed five or six of them. They must be Korthac’s Egyptians.” Tarok sneaked a quick look over the battlement for a moment, then turned back to his leader. “What’s happening below?”
“We’ve blocked the entrance with a wagon. Enkidu will hold the doorway, if we can support him from here.”
“We’re almost ready to begin,” Tarok said. “I’ve been waiting for dawn, so we could see them better. They’ll make easy targets. You keep watching the ones below.”
Drakis looked eastward. A rosy red glow lit the horizon, and the sun’s edge would be flooding the land with light any moment now. He took a quick count of the men. Counting himself, he had fifteen archers who could draw a bow.
In a soft voice, Tarok explained to the latest arrivals what he planned to do. Then he arranged the men in two ranks of seven, arrows strung, waiting for the order to attack. Tarok nocked his own shaft and readied himself alongside the first rank.
“Now,” Tarok said. The first rank rose up as one man, picked their targets, and fired, ducking back down as soon as the shafts flew free. In the same motion, the second rank stood, arrows already drawn to their ears.
These men searched for targets before shooting.
The first volley disrupted the men in the other tower. Now the second volley, carefully aimed at any target that showed itself, targets less than thirty paces away, snapped out across the gate.
Drakis had under his command most of the best archers in Akkad, second only to Mitrac and his chosen few. Drakis’s marksmen had no trouble hitting a man’s head at that distance, even at fi rst light. He peered across the wall. The first volley might not have struck anyone, but the second killed two or three of the enemy. Again the first rank rose up, shafts drawn, but found nothing to shoot at.
Korthac’s soldiers might be fierce fighters, they might even be using the same bows that Drakis’s men carried, but the Egyptians hadn’t practiced hours each day for months. Today they faced archers schooled in volley firing, with muscles strong enough to hold an arrow to the ear while counting to fifty, if necessary. More important, months of training had given the Akkadians pride in their skills, and they weren’t about to cower before some foreigners holding bows.
Drakis saw something move on the other tower and heard the snapping of bowstrings as seven arrows flashed across the open space between them.
The archers ducked down again, to nock another shaft. The second rank took their place without a word, searching for targets. But there weren’t any, and Drakis gave a sigh of relief. Perhaps this would be easy enough after all.
“Tarok, can you sweep the tower with half the men? I need the rest to cover the entrance and the gate.”
“Yes, for now. If I need help…”
“You’ll have it,” Drakis said. In a moment, he had his men moving, shifting them to the rear of the battlement, where they could look down into the square. Because their flank would be exposed to fire from the other tower, they would have to depend on Tarok’s bowmen to protect them. Drakis didn’t like fighting like this, with his flank unprotected, but at least he could cover the approach to the tower.
As Drakis searched for enemies below, an arrow struck the wall a foot beneath his head before glancing off the tower. Below him, a mix of bowmen and men carrying swords jostled about, getting ready to rush his position, gathering in nearly the same spot Drakis had used to launch his own assault.
“We have to hold them off, keep them from forcing the entrance below,” Drakis said, as he lined up his men on either side. “Aim for the archers first.” Picking up his bow and stringing a shaft, he gave one last look toward the other tower.
“Now!”
They rose up together and loosed eight arrows into the bandits assembling below. Some fired back. A few arrows rattled against the wall, but most flew overhead. It would take them a shot or two to find the range, and Drakis, like every archer, knew how difficult it was to shoot uphill. His men ignored the counterfire, and kept launching shafts into the enemy fighters, pouring shafts down as fast as they could, and trying to kill off anyone carrying a bow. Under that rapid fire, the exposed men below scattered, some running back down the street, others ducking into houses or hiding behind anything they could find.
The Akkadians fired a few more arrows at anything that moved. Finally Drakis saw nothing to shoot at, and he let his bow go slack as he studied the square beneath him. He couldn’t see anyone, but knew his enemy was gathering just out of sight. If he’d captured both towers, his archers could have swept the lane with arrows. Again he cursed the fates that hadn’t let him arrive a few moments earlier. Still, he thanked the gods that only bandits had defended this tower, not Korthac’s desert fighters.