Ariamus walked up and down the line one last time, looking each man in the eye, and making sure each knew his orders. The veterans, spread throughout the line, would steady the fools and urge them onward. They lined up the horses almost shoulder to shoulder, with the men standing beside them, waiting. Ariamus could still hear some men whispering. He swore to himself, but said nothing. Anything he did now might spook the horses even more than his men’s talk. Besides, the beasts appeared to have grown used to the incessant chatter.
Nevertheless, now was not the time to take chances. “Nebibi, Rihat, I want absolute silence. Kill the next man who opens his mouth.” Both subcommanders drew their swords, and Ariamus nodded in satisfaction. “Remember, men, we’ll be watching you. Any man who breaks too soon, or disobeys orders, dies on the spot. Now mount up, and ready your weapons.”
Their smiles disappeared, and silence came at last over the group. He smiled in approval at their fear. That fear would drive them forward, which was all he wanted. Destroying Bantor’s force meant everything, and he would take any casualties to accomplish that end. Low sounds of men and horses rippled up and down the line for a few moments, before stillness again fell over the group. Ariamus scanned the line one last time-men, horses, and weapons-they were ready.
Ariamus climbed the low rise, lying flat on the ground to make sure he wouldn’t be seen as he peered through the tall grass. The path Bantor followed remained empty in front of him, no other travelers or dust trails in sight in either direction. He turned his gaze to the south and waited. He checked the sun’s progress and cursed at his enemy’s slow approach. Dusk would be on them in little more than an hour.
At last, the head of the column appeared, as if rising slowly out of the ground. The Akkadians walked their horses two abreast, the men relaxed, talking to each other, their bows slung across their backs. They would be tired, hungry, and thirsty. No doubt all of them looked forward to an evening of food and ale in Akkad.
Behind him he heard the faint whispers of his subcommanders as they kept the men in check, each man attending to his beast, making sure it didn’t whinny at the scent or sound of the approaching horses and men.
No wind blew, and even the occasional breeze came from the south. He counted the men as they appeared, and ended at forty-six, with three more for the rear guard. Ariamus knew that fifty-three men had gone south with that fool Bantor weeks ago. The missing soldiers had probably returned to Akkad earlier or, even more likely, deserted.
He could hear the Akkadians now, the horses plodding along. Ariamus wanted to return to his horse, but he didn’t want to move until the very last moment, to make sure none of his men charged out before the column reached the spot directly in front of them. Ariamus waited those last few moments, then slipped backward down the hill before rising to his feet and walking calmly to his horse. He jerked the halter free and swung onto the animal’s back.
The whole line began to move a little, back and forth, and the animals started pawing the earth and snorting, but it no longer mattered. Ariamus tightened his knees on his horse’s back.
“Attack!” he shouted, and the whole line of his fighters burst into motion. In an instant, they raced up over the top of the rise and charged at the startled column of men in front of them.
Bantor rode with Klexor at the head of the column, while Alexar, another leader of ten, rode behind the column, with the rear guard.
Bantor felt as weary and thirsty as his horse. Earlier in the day, everyone had spoken of getting home, women, warm beds, hot food, and thick ale.
But near day’s end, the men rode mostly in silence, keeping their thoughts to themselves. If Akkad weren’t only a few more hours ahead, they’d be making camp right now.
Tomorrow they’d get their pay, and each man would have plenty of silver in his pouch. The taverns would be full of cheap wine and smiling women, all glad to welcome back their men. They’d been away for five weeks, shadowing a still dangerous and much larger force of warriors, and in all those days, they had never relaxed their guard. Until today. Now, close to home, they rode easy.
The two lead horses lifted their heads at the same time, ears twitching as they rolled their eyes to the left. Bantor’s eyes followed those of his horse, just as a burst of sound rolled toward them. A force of screaming men arose from what had appeared to be level ground to their left, racing their horses toward the column, flashing swords in their hands. The ground shook from the thudding hooves that threw clods of dirt and grass high into the air.
For a single moment, every man froze, the sudden appearance of the attackers a complete surprise. Bantor felt the fear rising in his chest.
“Dismount! String your bows!” He heard Klexor echoing the same orders, as both men pulled their horses around to face their attackers. “Form a line!”
Several horses reared up in terror, other soldiers began shouting, and already the attacking warriors had covered half the open ground.
Bantor saw that not all the activity was panic. Even as they’d watched the southerly progress of the retreating Alur Meriki, these Akkadians had trained for such an attack by their enemy. The men, seeing the oncoming danger, had reacted without hesitation. They flung themselves from their horses and moved to string their bows in a rush of action. All of their weeks and months of training had told them one thing over and over.
They could not defeat the Alur Meriki on horseback. So they had been trained to dismount, ready their weapons, and band together.
Bantor leapt down from his horse, then smacked the animal’s rump with the flat of his sword, sending the animal lumbering toward the oncoming riders. All the other riderless horses began to mill around, scattering in different directions, some of them racing toward the attackers. Their movements slowed the oncoming riders a bit, as the bandits shifted their course to avoid the frantic animals. Even so, only a handful of Bantor’s men managed to launch an arrow before the wave of bandits struck them.
Bantor waited with dread for the killing flight of arrows from the Alur Meriki bows, but the arrows never came. Instead the attackers arrived in a thunder of hooves that shook the earth, a terrifying sound to those facing it on foot. Swords slashed downward at Bantor’s men, some still struggling to string their bows, others drawing swords. Screams of the wounded mingled with the war cries of the attackers. Nevertheless, the Akkadians had no time to ready themselves, and the attackers cut their way through Bantor’s men. Some of the soldiers threw themselves to the ground, trying to avoid the swords that flashed down at them.
With nothing to slow them down, no line of men on horseback to impede their attack, most of the bandits galloped right through what remained of the column, swinging their swords at anything, man or beast, within reach. Some of the attacking horses jumped over the prone Akkadians, following their animal instinct to avoid stepping on anything that moved.
Not all of the soldiers managed to get flat to the ground, and many took blows from slashing swords or found themselves crushed under the horses’ hooves. For the first time, Bantor realized he didn’t face Alur Meriki horsemen. As he flung himself facedown on the grass, he saw his attackers rode more like bandits, not barbarian warriors from the steppes.
A man wielding a sword on a galloping horse cannot reach down far enough to strike at anyone lying on the ground. Barbarians carried lances to take care of that very problem. A trained rider could thrust the lance down to kill someone crouching or even lying prone, or hurl it at someone hugging the earth. These attackers carried neither lance nor bows, and some of Bantor’s men escaped without a scratch, though fewer than half struggled to their feet after the wave of riders smashed through them.
Bantor’s left shoulder burned in agony. A flying hoof had landed on him, and he wondered if his arm had been crushed. Ignoring the pain, he pushed himself to his feet, fumbling for his sword with his good hand.