Grond tapped him on the shoulder. All the soldiers had climbed up on the roof and knelt behind him, including Mitrac and his two men. Every Akkadian had a bow, except Eskkar and Grond, who carried only their swords. Eskkar turned to Mitrac. “There, see them, to the right of the gate.
And the one at the well, and those two on the rampart.”
Mitrac nodded as Eskkar pointed out the first targets. Mitrac took over, pushing in front of Eskkar and moving closer to the edge of the roof. Eskkar stepped farther back and shoved the wooden frame that covered the access hole to the roof into place. He didn’t want anyone coming up behind them. The dry rasp of arrows on wood sounded, as Eskkar’s thirteen archers stood up, bows drawn, as Mitrac’s low voice prepared the men for the first release. Then Mitrac drew his own arrow to his ear and released.
Even after all these months, Eskkar still found himself amazed at Mitrac’s skill. He scarcely seemed to aim, and yet the shaft that vanished into the darkness would no doubt find its mark, while another arrow seemed to leap from his quiver to the bowstring. The other men fired as well and immediately the screams started. It would take the defenders a few moments to figure out that they’d been attacked, and many of their leaders would be down before they turned and located their attackers.
The men Mitrac had chosen for this raid had proven themselves among the best archers in the troop, and now, despite being crowded together, they poured arrows into their enemies at a rate that made them seem like twice their number.
The roof gave Eskkar’s men clear shots, and the watch fires burning at the gate provided plenty of light for their shooting. For the defenders, the shafts seemed to come out of the darkness, and at such short range, little more than forty paces, the heavy shafts with their bronze, leaf-shaped points struck with lethal accuracy.
Before a man could count to fifty, the Akkadian archers swept the area beneath the gate clear of defenders, the defenders tripping and scrambling down from the walls, some of them tossing their bows and buckets aside. Out of the corner of his eye, Eskkar made note of every time the closest archer fired. The man had released his tenth arrow before anyone spotted them, and another four volleys were launched before anyone turned a bow against them.
Eskkar couldn’t count that quickly, but he guessed nearly two hundred arrows had been launched, enough to break any small group of men, let alone those still recovering from being defeated by Sisuthros at the camp.
The bandits broke and ran, determined to get out of the killing zone.
With the defenders fleeing, Eskkar called out to Grond, who raised a small trumpet to his lips and blew a long blast that echoed out over the walls and into the darkness. Eskkar heard an answering sound from the Akkadians outside the gate. Sisuthros and his men now pressed their attack in earnest, the trumpet announcing that most of the defenders had abandoned the walls. They screamed and howled like wild men as they charged, every man shouting at the top of his lungs, as ordered. They carried with them the rest of the ropes, and would soon be over the palisade and into the village, even if the gate remained fastened.
Eskkar kept his eyes moving, and finally saw for what he searched. A flash of silver in the flames, and he saw the leader of the defenders on the move. Eskkar cursed the bad luck that let the man survive the archers’ arrows. Now Ninazu would need to be hunted down and killed before he could escape over the fence into the darkness. No, even now, the darkness had started to give way to dawn, and the fi rst rays of the sun already climbed slowly into the heavens. “Grond! Mitrac! Come with me!”
Eskkar ran to the side of the house and swung himself down, Grond, Mitrac and his two archers following him. Ninazu and a group of his men were moving down one of the village streets, already out of sight, and no doubt headed toward the river gate. The bandits’ horses would be kept there, close to the rear gate and the river.
Ninazu had decided to run for it. The bandit leader would have no idea how many soldiers had slipped inside Bisitun, not that it made any difference. With all the casualties his men had taken, the Akkadians now outnumbered them. More important, Ninazu’s men had lost the will to fight. Every bandit’s thought would be on fleeing the village and saving his own skin. To stay meant death. Within hours, the villagers would turn in or denounce any of Ninazu’s men still in Bisitun. Only escape could save them now.
Eskkar didn’t care if a few dozen leaderless bandits escaped, but a man like Ninazu, who could organize and lead others, would only cause more trouble if he remained on the loose. Ninazu must be stopped, before he escaped.
In his younger days, Eskkar believed his strength and skill with a sword had brought men to follow him. Now he knew better. As Trella said, those skills might be useful, but they didn’t make a man a true leader. A good leader, she’d told him, could think months ahead as he bent men to his will.
A great leader, she added, could think years ahead.
Eskkar didn’t consider himself a great leader, but he knew he didn’t want to be chasing Ninazu around the countryside for the next few months.
So now he and his men ran headlong down the lane, ignoring the frightened villagers who screamed and shouted in terror, panicked by the fi res that lit the sky, and worried their entire village might go up in flames.
For the fi rst time that night, Eskkar drew his sword, raising it up over his head as he lowered his shoulder to clear the way whenever some panicked villager blundered into his path. But before they had gone very far, Grond passed Eskkar, whirling his sword overhead, as he opened the way for his captain.
Then the lane widened and converged with the other, and they ran right into Ninazu and his followers. The bandits had started first, but they had the farthest distance to travel, and the two lanes joined here. Eskkar guessed Ninazu had twelve or fifteen men with him, at least three times Eskkar’s group. But these confused men had only flight on their minds.
Half of them kept running, screaming in fear, while the others turned, raising their swords more in surprise than anything else.
Grond struck down two of them with two rapid strokes. Eskkar slashed at another. The man parried the stroke, but the force of the blow took all the fight out of him and he turned and ran. Eskkar and Grond kept running, hardly slowing their pace and still pursuing the fleeing Ninazu and his men.
This time the narrow streets and villages worked to Eskkar’s advantage.
The frightened villagers slowed Ninazu’s men. One of them stumbled, and Grond slashed at the man as he ran past, opening a gaping wound in the man’s shoulder. Another man tried to duck into a house, but a woman peered out from the doorway and they collided. Eskkar struck at the man’s back, and again a scream went up into the night, as the wounded man staggered against the doorframe. Eskkar and Grond ignored their victims.
Wounded bandits would be easy to gather up later.
He and Grond burst into an open area where two lanes joined. Eskkar caught the stable smell even before he heard the animals whinnying in fear of all the shouting and the scent of fire. Someone attempted to rally the bandits at the corral. Three of Ninazu’s men turned to face their pursuers, but others pushed their way into the corral, diving through the enclosure’s fl imsy bars.
Three men or a dozen meant nothing to Eskkar. He and Grond charged ahead like men possessed, each of them shouting at the top of his lungs. They rushed at the bandits. One raised his sword and died when Eskkar’s blade struck twice, once to knock the sword aside and then a killing thrust before the man could recover. The other bandits changed their minds before Grond could reach them, one dropping his sword and diving through the corral.