Moving to the right side of the vessel, he took shelter behind some sacks of grain and began pulling as hard as he could, thrusting the paddle deep into the river and dragging it through the water. His surviving bowman, Iseo, did the same, crouching down as low as he could and working the dead crewman's oar. The boat moved farther from the left bank, slowly pa.s.sed through the center of the river, and glided closer to the opposite sh.o.r.e. Arrows continued to fall on the ship and splash into the water, but by now Scria's boat had moved well past the point of the attack.

"We should get to the opposite sh.o.r.e!" Scria's right hand clutched his b.l.o.o.d.y left arm. His voice had lost none of its panic.

Daro lifted his head and let his eyes scan the right bank. He saw a party of hors.e.m.e.n at least twenty following the course of the river and matching the pace of the boat. Many of them had bows in their hands. They rode easily, as if they didn't care if the boat slipped away from them. A third party of perhaps a dozen riders trotted into view on the left bank, going down river as well. The boat was trapped between the two forces.

"Turn the boat around," Daro shouted. He pointed to the hors.e.m.e.n on the right bank. "We have to go back up river."

Scria's eyes widened. "We can't go back!" he screamed. "We're too heavy to pull upstream!"

The boat captain had started with three crewmen. One had died, another lay on his back, an arrow in his shoulder. Only luck had saved the most important crewman, the one steering the boat. If he'd taken an arrow, the ship might have swung broadside and swamped. But Daro knew they couldn't continue south, and both sides of the river appeared to be crawling with who knew how many mounted men.

"Keep the boat in the center of the river! Scria, start dumping the cargo. Iseo, help him. Get the body over the side, too. Hurry!"

Scria, crouched on his knees, remained motionless. "We can't dump the cargo. It's worth at least thirty "

"It's worth nothing to you if you're dead! Iseo! If he doesn't start helping, throw him overboard."

Daro reached down and lifted the first sack, lifted it onto the gunwale, then pushed it over the side. Soon the boat was rocking back and forth, threatening to capsize at any moment, as the three of them tossed sacks, bales, and clay pitchers overboard.

He paused to look at the sh.o.r.e. The hors.e.m.e.n still kept pace with the boat's progress. The enemy didn't bother wasting arrows. They seemed satisfied as long as the boat went south. That meant more enemy would be waiting ahead, and likely with some way to force the boat to sh.o.r.e, perhaps a vessel of their own filled with armed men.

Daro scrambled back to the rear of the boat. The steersman, his face white with fear, clenched the steering oar with a grip that made the bones in his hand stand out.

"I'll take the oar!" Daro snapped. "You help Scria dump the cargo. Make sure we don't dump what we need for ballast." An empty boat would capsize at the least movement.

In a few more moments, the craft rode higher in the water, with almost all of the cargo over the side.

"Iseo, we're turning upstream. Start rowing, all of you. Steersman, as soon as we come about, get that sail up. Then stay low, and row for all you're worth."

He pushed hard on the steering oar, turning the boat first toward the right bank, then swinging it back across the center of the river and turning it upstream. As soon as he got the boat headed north, the men on sh.o.r.e took notice. Once again arrows flew through the air, splashing into the water, thudding into the sides of the boat, and a few striking inside the vessel.

The frightened steersman raised the sail faster than he'd ever done in his life. The soft breeze didn't help much, but it enabled the boat to keep headway against the river's current. As soon as Daro had the boat centered in the river and moving north, he ordered Scria to take the steering oar. With his wounded arm, the boatmaster would be of more use guiding his boat than trying to row.

Daro scooped up Scria's oar and began stroking. His powerful arms, strengthened from years of archery, helped push the boat up the river. Soon they retraced their way and reached the point of the first attack. As he watched, a dozen hors.e.m.e.n moved into sight, and guided their horses down the slope toward the river's edge. All of them carried bows.

Daro swore, dropped his oar and collected his bow. The enemy would ride into the stream as far as they could, which would bring them into killing range. They'd rake the little boat, and riddle everyone with arrows. "Iseo! Keep rowing!"

But the hors.e.m.e.n weren't close enough for that yet. Daro stood, aimed, and launched his first arrow. He'd aimed for the nearest rider, but the shaft struck the lead horse in the shoulder. The animal went mad with pain, rearing up and twisting its head to tear at the arrow with its teeth. The rider slipped from the animal's back and went into the water with a mighty splash. The wounded animal kicked out with its hind legs, and the next horse panicked as well.

Aim for the horses, you fool. Remember Eskkar's advice. Daro shot arrow after arrow, as fast as he could nock them to the string. The slippery slope leading to the water didn't provide the riders much room, forcing the hors.e.m.e.n to bunch together. With the animals all taking fright, either from their own wounds or hearing the cries of the other horses, they dug in their hooves and refused to enter the water. Daro shot arrow after arrow, as fast as he could nock them to the string. The slippery slope leading to the water didn't provide the riders much room, forcing the hors.e.m.e.n to bunch together. With the animals all taking fright, either from their own wounds or hearing the cries of the other horses, they dug in their hooves and refused to enter the water.

A few of the enemy gave up the effort and dismounted, trying to find their footing in the slippery mud and continue shooting arrows at the boat, but by then the craft had swung by the curve and moved out toward the deeper center channel. The moment the curve blocked the enemy from sight, Daro dropped the bow and picked up his oar. "Stay in the center! And row, d.a.m.n you, row!"

He kept Iseo and the steersman rowing until well after dark, matching them stroke for stroke, an agonizing effort that sapped every bit of strength he possessed. By then everyone was exhausted, but the evening breeze had strengthened, and allowed the craft to keep moving slowly upstream, despite the tiring rowers. Daro let each man take a turn resting, always keeping two men pulling the oars. At least they could quench their thirst easily enough, scooping water from the river with their burning hands to refresh themselves.

The moon sent a pale glimmer of light down the water, providing just enough light for the steersman to keep the boat in the center of the river. They dragged the oars through the water in silence, everyone struggling against the pain, until even Daro thought his heart might burst. As midnight approached, the boat slid around yet another curve in the river.

"Daro! The way station's up ahead!" Scria's shout echoed his relief.

"Keep your voice down, you fool."

Daro lifted his eyes and saw the single rickety jetty protruding from the east bank. It looked peaceful enough, with one boat tied up at the little dock and another drawn up on the sh.o.r.e. No fires burned, but any crews pausing here on their way south would be asleep by now. He made up his mind. Daro knew he'd never get to Akkad with just the men onboard the boat. If the breeze died, which likely would happen at any moment, certainly well before dawn, they didn't have the strength to keep the craft moving northward.

He looked down and saw the gleam of his sword at his feet, then took a deep breath. "Akkad! Akkad!"

The shout floated out over the water and brought a challenge from the soldier on night watch, a shadowy figure who sprang to his feet, surprised to hear a boat approaching at this time of night.

"There's a boat on the river! Everyone get up! Get up!" At the sentry's loud command, other shapes appeared. Men sat up, fumbling for their weapons and trying to shake the sleep from their eyes. Another voice called out. "Who's there?"

"Daro, leader of one hundred from Akkad." He let himself relax. The guard's voice held the accent of someone who'd lived in Akkad all his life. "Bring us in to sh.o.r.e, Scria."

When the boat ground against the sandy bank, Daro had to concentrate to keep his footing. He felt lightheaded and weak as a newborn lamb. Hands reached out from the darkness and dragged the boat up the sandy bank and out of the river's grasp.

"Commander, what are you doing going upriver at night?"

"Enemy hors.e.m.e.n between here and Kanesh. The outpost may have been taken." By the time Daro finished explaining, everyone was on their feet, the soldiers belting weapons around their waists and the rivermen getting their belongings back into their boats.

"I'll take all the soldiers with me in Scria's boat. Six men on each side, we should be able to make good time going upriver."

"There won't be anyone to guard the ships," a boatmaster Daro didn't recognize protested from the darkness.

"Doesn't matter. The enemy will be here by morning, maybe sooner. Sink one of the ships, dump the cargo of the other, and double up your crews. Take the one ship and row for all your worth back to Akkad."

Daro climbed back into the boat, shouting his words over his shoulder. He settled in at the steersman's station. With twelve men pulling oars, he'd be back in Akkad by noon, if the wind stayed favorable. He didn't care what happened to the traders. As soon as the last of his men settled in, Daro gave the order. "Push off and start pulling on those oars. I want to be halfway to Akkad by dawn."

38.

Adarnar outpost on the Sippar river, at sunset . . .

Enkidu made his rounds of the outpost three times each day just after dawn, at midday, and when the sun touched the western horizon. He took his time, talking to the guards, making sure none had gotten drunk, forgot their weapons or failed to take their posts. After four months under his command, such occurrences seldom happened. The nearly thirty soldiers and equal number of craftsmen and their families knew Enkidu and his ways by now.

Like every fort on the edge of Akkad's lands, the group of soldiers a.s.signed to the Adarnar outpost contained the usual number of fools and dullards, slackers and the sharp witted. These provided a daily trial to the more professional soldiers. Enkidu had worked hard training all of them with equal parts firm discipline and helpful encouragement, and while some of his men might not be good enough to strut up and down on top of Akkad's walls, they had all become proficient enough for patrolling the border. They now took as much pride in their duties as their commander, and he in turn felt satisfied with every man under his authority.

As always, pride in their skills proved helpful, as Adarnar possessed few amenities either for its men or its horses. Compared to Kanesh, which lay a good two days' march to the west, Adarnar was scarcely large enough to hold the barracks and corrals for the twenty-two horses. The small fortified settlement sat on the northern edge of the Sippar river, its single dock running along the water's edge just wide enough to berth three ships.

The boats that sailed along the Sippar, as well as the occasional caravan following its banks, were Adarnar's main reason for existence. All trade and commerce throughout the land had to be protected from bandits, if Akkad were to continue to grow stronger. Since taking command of the post, Enkidu had not lost a single sack of trade goods, which was more than most of the other outposts could say.

The wealthy merchants in Akkad often acted as though only the trade on the Tigris and Euphrates mattered, but plenty of goods flowed along the Sippar and the other streams that branched off or merged into the two giant rivers. With the threat of war making everyone uneasy, most boats carried their cargoes only as far as the market at Kanesh, but that settlement enabled the local farmers and herders to obtain all the goods anyone could buy in Akkad or Sumer for that matter, and usually at cheaper cost. For humble farmers struggling to survive, places like Kanesh and even Adarnar provided both security and a convenient place to exchange goods. As soon as King Eskkar established the protective string of forts along the Sippar, the adjacent land with its bountiful farms had flourished.

Not that Enkidu cared about trade. Four years ago he'd fought at Drakis's side in the desperate battle against Korthac. Both of them had nearly died that night. In fact, most of the men they led in the b.l.o.o.d.y fight for the city's gates had succ.u.mbed to death or taken serious wounds. Enkidu not only survived, but earned his entry into the Hawk Clan. He soon progressed to a leader of twenty, then fifty, and four months ago Alexar and Drakis had given Enkidu command of the post at Adarnar.

Already into his twenty-sixth season, Enkidu knew he would command even more soldiers in the coming war. In two more months he'd return to Akkad with half of his best-trained men, leaving behind a well-run garrison for the next commander and the latest batch of raw recruits, who would start the process all over again.

Enkidu inspected the last guard on the northern wall, found nothing to require his attention, and headed back toward his quarters. He enjoyed the private room that as commander of the post he shared only with one local farmer's daughter, who was quite pleased to have caught his eye and grateful for the chance to escape life on the farm. Enkidu's wife and two sons remained in Akkad with her family, waiting for his return. He still hadn't decided if he would bring his concubine with him when he returned to the city. The girl pleasured him well each evening, but Enkidu's wife had a sharp temper, and he didn't know how she would react to a second wife. He shook such thoughts from his mind and thought instead about the evening's pleasure.

"Commander! South Post! Hurry!"

The voice held urgency mixed with fear, and Enkidu's pleasant thoughts of the future vanished. He burst into a run across the outpost, reached the wobbly wooden steps, and climbed them two at a time.

The guard had his hand extended toward the river, and one glance told Enkidu all he needed to know. "Get everyone in the fort. Close the gates!" He bellowed the last words, but already the other guards were raising their own alarms. "Everyone to their posts! Prepare for an attack."

He'd given that order many times before, but only to train his men, never in a real attack. Enkidu turned back to stare across the river. One hundred, two hundred, perhaps more riders had emerged from the low hills and scattered trees that hugged the far side of the river. The lead elements already splashed their way into the Sippar, churning the calm waters to froth beneath their hooves. The river here was wide but shallow, and they'd be across in moments. With a chill, he realized he could do nothing to stop them.

"Get men on horseback. Ride for Akkad. Tell them . . . we're under attack!"

He'd almost said what he already knew, that they were all already dead. The marauders, now that he could see them better, looked like Tanukhs, but those desert-dwellers hadn't raided this far east in many years, not since Eskkar took command at Akkad. Enkidu's second in command, a veteran named Sargat, arrived, took one look across the river, and swore.

"We'll never be able to hold them off. Ready the horses," Enkidu said. "I'll try to slow them down. We'll have to break out of here."

That meant abandoning the villagers living in the fort, but he couldn't help that. Enkidu shouted another order, and the handful of men on the palisade began shooting arrows at the advancing horde, in a futile effort to slow them down.

Enkidu dashed down the steps toward the rear of the fort. "Get everyone into the boats. Pull for Kanesh." That place might have already fallen, but this could be an isolated raid, and if the boats escaped, they might find safety at the larger fort or ash.o.r.e somewhere in between. At the corral he saw men moving about, throwing halters on the skittish animals. They'd reacted to the unfamiliar scent of fear in the men handling them. A leader of ten reached the corral at the same moment. Enkidu grabbed him by the shoulder and shouted in his ear.

"Take five men and try to get through before they encircle us. Fight your way past them if you can and warn Akkad."

The man nodded, and began shouting his own orders. Frightened villagers pushed past him and through the open rear gate, heading for the jetty. The two boats rocked wildly as panicky men, women and children tried to pile into them. One ship pushed off, already heavily loaded. A few villagers jumped into the river, to try to swim to safety downstream. They knew that drowning would be a better fate than to be taken by the Tanukhs. Anyone captured on sh.o.r.e would die within moments, if a worse fate didn't befall them.

Five horses burst out of the gate, heading north. For a brief moment, Enkidu felt tempted to take a horse and go after them. But he couldn't leave his men. With an oath, he turned his back on the coral and s.n.a.t.c.hed a bow that one of the departing riders had abandoned.

"Fall in with me! Form a line! We've got to hold them off for a few moments!"

Enkidu bellowed the words to make himself heard. The undulating Tanukh war cries floated over the confusion in the fort. Then the drumming of hooves on hard ground told him the enemy was only moments away.

Six men moved to his side, bows in hand. Another handful of soldiers struggled to catch their horses. "Go! Ride for Akkad!"

They burst out through the gate, kicking their horses to a gallop. Enkidu saw the fear mixed with relief on their faces. Then the din of screaming Tanukhs drowned out everything. The enemy hors.e.m.e.n had reached the main gate. The first one swung over the top of the now undefended palisade. Enkidu put an arrow right through his chest. But a dozen more pulled themselves up and over. The archers beside him loosed their shafts, but it only slowed the wave of attackers for a moment.

"Get to the horses! Ride for Akkad!"

The rest of his men dropped their bows and dashed for the remaining horses. Enkidu followed them, moving backward, and still shooting arrows as fast as he could. A handful of the attackers flung open the main gate, while dozens more continued to scale the fence and drop from the parapets into the fort, screaming their war cries and waving swords.

Another group of soldiers galloped out, but the din of exultant war cries and approaching hooves told Enkidu that the Tanukhs had already reached the rear of the fort. Women screamed in fear, pushing their way toward the water. Enkidu reached the rear gate, still shooting shafts as fast as he could nock them to the bowstring. Already he'd emptied one quiver. He s.n.a.t.c.hed up another from the ground.

The Tanukhs, shouting in triumph, rushed toward him. "Mount up!" Enkidu shouted. He continued launching arrows, dropping a man with every shot, the powerful long bow of Akkad deadly at such close range. Bodies, arrows protruding, lay scattered over the inside of the fort, mixing in death with those villagers too slow to get to the boats.

Enkidu glanced over his shoulder. Sargat swung up onto his horse, and held the halter of the last horse for Enkidu. An arrow already nocked on his string, Enkidu drew back his arm, loosed the shaft, and turned to run. Instead a burning pain shot through his chest, and he saw the point of an arrow protruding from his side. He took two steps, stumbled and fell to the ground. Each breath felt like fire, too hot to take into his body, and the strength drained from his legs. He lifted his eyes. He knew he wouldn't be able to mount a horse. He met Sargat's eyes.

"Go! Get to Akkad." He managed to get the words out.

Sargat shook his head in frustration, dropped the halter, and put his heels to his horse, drawing his sword as he galloped out of the fort. Enkidu heard the clash of bronze as Sargat and the last of the Akkadians charged into the Tanukhs attempting to force their way toward the rear gate. Enkidu tried to get to his feet, his hand fumbling for his sword. Something knocked him over, and he fell against the side of the gate. Somehow he managed to drag the suddenly heavy sword from its scabbard.

A Tanukh, his teeth bared, appeared before him. The man raised his sword with a grin and swung down. Enkidu saw the blow descending and managed to raise his weapon. But the Tanukh's powerful stroke brushed aside his feeble resistance, and he felt the blade bite deep into his neck. A rush of pain exploded through his body, blinding him for a moment before the blackness fell over him. The pain vanished, and he had time for only one thought before death took him. At least he'd died a warrior's death, with a weapon in his hand and facing his enemies. There would be no evil voices calling him a coward to haunt his way through the underworld.

39.

Eskkar stood at the entrance to the Map Room, watching Trella and Ismenne make yet more of the never-ending adjustments to the pictorial that depicted all the major landmarks and marking stones between Akkad and Sumer. In the two years since Trella had unveiled it, the map had changed again and again, rebuilt and redrawn countless times to include ever more detail, and to take into consideration the steady stream of new information that, month by month, flowed to the map maker's hand.

Trella's walkers had paced off the distances between nearly every village and city from north of Bisitun to as far south as Sumer. Discreet landmarks, recognizable only to those who knew what to look for, marked the most direct paths a man might travel. Marking stones indicated the length of the journey between various points. Both hors.e.m.e.n and walkers had trod many of the same routes, recorded their travels, and confirmed their findings. Piece by piece, Ismenne's deft fingers added each new bit of information to the map.

After so many years of effort, the layout held a prodigious quant.i.ty of information. Since neither Eskkar nor his commanders knew for certain what might end up being useful, they tended to add everything they could. Eskkar's doubts about the Map Room's benefits had vanished long ago. It had already demonstrated its worth, and as long as it remained a secret known only to a few, it would prove even more useful in the coming war.

With so many details to represent, Trella and Ismenne had created new symbols to explain the map. Eskkar and his commanders had memorized these new symbols out of necessity, but Ismenne still received an occasional question over how to comprehend some of the less familiar markings.

Today Ismenne took the lead in the latest adjustments, and Trella, standing at her side, deferred to her decisions. While his wife could complete almost any task she undertook, Eskkar knew Ismenne understood the map better than anyone in Akkad, and could interpret its patterns of lines and images without effort. When one of the commanders had a question, Ismenne could convert the scale on the map at a glance, and she seldom made even minor mistakes.

Eskkar remembered that, not many years ago, he had needed Trella to explain to him the meaning of the word scale. scale. Now he could grasp the distances, landmarks, rivers, and paths with ease. It helped that he had ridden to and from many of these places on his training visits, and had verified much of the information with his own eyes. With his experience and that of his commanders, routes could be planned, difficulties accounted for, and the necessary supplies and equipment calculated. No one man no leader of any group of fighting men could keep so much information in his head. The map, however, held it all. Now he could grasp the distances, landmarks, rivers, and paths with ease. It helped that he had ridden to and from many of these places on his training visits, and had verified much of the information with his own eyes. With his experience and that of his commanders, routes could be planned, difficulties accounted for, and the necessary supplies and equipment calculated. No one man no leader of any group of fighting men could keep so much information in his head. The map, however, held it all.

The map maker, as everyone called Ismenne, worked as hard as any soldier sweating in the training camps. Not that many in the city knew either of her existence or her skills. The Map Room's master crafts-woman seldom left the Compound. When she did, Hawk Clan soldiers provided an un.o.btrusive protective guard. Not only did Ismenne know more about the Map Room than anyone, but she had heard every plan, every strategy, every resource that would be used in the eventual conflict with Sumer.

Every fifth day, Eskkar and any of his commanders whose duties kept them in Akkad met in the Map Room to review the latest information from Trella and Annok-sur's agents in the south, and to work on the various plans they would set into motion when the war began. This morning's meeting had included some new information from the city of Isin. King Naxos of Isin had strengthened his walls yet again, and increased the number of men under arms in the nearby camp. This report required a slight reworking of the map at Isin. Eskkar and the commanders had discussed the new possibilities until midday, when his leaders took a break from the morning's work to return to their homes for the midday meal.

Eskkar had stayed behind, waiting for Trella to finish her discussion with Ismenne. He and Trella would dine together in the workroom. The midday meal often provided the day's only opportunity for them to relax in each other's company. He could have taken his place at the table and started without her, but it pleased him to watch his wife work.

She had come to him as a slave more than four years ago. From that humble beginning, Trella had worked day and night, often at his side, until the city's inhabitants had raised their voices and demanded that Eskkar take power in Akkad. Now Trella helped rule the city which she helped create. Thanks to her guidance, the people prospered. No one starved to death, while others had too much food on their tables. The King's Judge made sure that the laws of Akkad applied to all, rich and poor.

Eskkar and his wife set the example for the more wealthy of the city dwellers. No one wanted to flaunt their riches while the king lived in more humble surroundings, with no public display of his power. As a result, the prosperous merchants and craftsmen held the respect of those beneath them. Everyone knew the king and queen of Akkad ruled for all all their subjects, not just those who possessed wealth. their subjects, not just those who possessed wealth.

Since the barbarian invasion, Eskkar and his soldiers had worked hard to keep at bay all of Akkad's enemies. Nevertheless, many gave as much credit to Trella's plans and guidance. Between husband and wife, Akkad's inhabitants slept peacefully at night. The approaching war would change all that. From all the stories and tales trickling into Akkad, Eskkar expected the outbreak of hostilities soon. The coming conflict made these peaceful moments even more precious.

At last Trella straightened up, and Eskkar knew that the latest difficulty had been resolved. She looked at him, surprised to find him standing in the doorway. Trella was, he decided, even more beautiful than that night when he saw her for the first time. Then she'd been a young girl, but one already past the usual age for marriage. Now she was a woman grown.

Eskkar had taken her to his bed that night, and even that first time he knew she possessed something special, that she was unlike any woman he had ever known. For her part, Trella had worked her magic on him. Facing threats from within and without, they learned to help each other. Soon their lives were bound together, first as master and slave, then as partners working to save the city, next as husband and wife, and finally king and queen of Akkad. They had saved each other's lives, they had fought together, and now they ruled together. Trella was, as the barbarians said, a gifted woman.

Eskkar knew that some men grew tired of their women, or needed second and third wives. While he had taken other women from time to time, he remained under Trella's spell, if that were what it was, as much today as when they'd first joined.

Even now, he felt the stirrings of desire pa.s.s through him, as he watched the firm muscles move beneath her simple dress. Shaking himself from his thoughts, Eskkar entered the Map Room, strode down the length of the table, and placed his arm around Trella's shoulder. "I think it's time for you and Ismenne to take some food and rest." He leaned down and kissed the top of Trella's head.

"Yes, Lord Eskkar," Ismenne said. "As soon as I finish making these changes."

"Eat first." He couldn't help smiling at the girl. "Or you'll be too tired to get through the day."

Not that he believed it, of course. The young girl had plenty of energy and strength. Still, some fresh air and a bite to eat wouldn't hurt. Perhaps some day Trella would bear him a daughter who might grow up as beautiful and wise as Ismenne. Despite her youth, Corio's daughter and her efforts might yet help win the war with Sumer.

They left the Map Room. Ismenne closed the door behind them, then disappeared down the stairs to tell the servants to bring food to Eskkar and Trella. Before they could sit down, shouting erupted from the courtyard below. Hoof beats drummed on the earth, a horse neighed, and Eskkar's own mount, always close at hand, answered it. A guard called out the challenge.

"Another problem," Eskkar muttered, "and always as we sit down to eat."