Bantor and ten men galloped through the main gate, heading south.
All were bone-weary after a long night without sleep, but no one complained. Every one of them had a score to settle with Ariamus, and Bantor had no trouble finding volunteers. Each man led a spare horse, and carried his bow slung across his back.
After Bantor put down the last resistance at the gate, the city had gone wild, with all the inhabitants out in the streets, cheering and praising their deliverers, and generally getting in the way. He wasted close to an hour before he fi nished searching the dead and wounded that surrounded the towers, looking for Ariamus. Bantor even spoke with the prisoners, wounded or those who surrendered, asking for Ariamus, but no one knew the whereabouts of the former captain of the guard; Ariamus had vanished, like a night demon with the coming of dawn.
When he’d learned that no one had seen Ariamus, alive or dead, Bantor knew the man would run, making his break over the wall. Little more than an hour after the last of the fi ghting, Bantor stood in Eskkar’s courtyard, surrounded by the pandemonium of rowdy soldiers and exuberant citizens celebrating their deliverance.
“He’ll head south,” Eskkar said, raising his voice over the din. “He won’t chance encountering anyone coming down the northern road, not if he’s got any of the Egyptians with him. He’ll want to cross the river as soon as he can. Take whatever men you need and go after him.”
“I’ll run him down,” Bantor said. He’d already worked through what Ariamus must be thinking, and had come to the same conclusion. Moving through the crowd, Bantor found Klexor sitting on the ground, feet sprawled out in front of him, his back against the house, and drinking wine straight from a jug.
“We’re going after Ariamus. Get nine men who can ride and meet me at the stable.”
Klexor’s eyes widened in surprise, but he put down the jug. The chance to pay back Ariamus pushed all thoughts of rest and merrymaking aside.
Bantor cursed the time wasted to round up enough horses, wrench the men away from their celebrations, and move his force through the celebrating crowds that filled the lanes.
On foot, Ariamus would head south, following the river. The land there contained many farms, and some of those farms might have a plough horse or two hidden away. Once mounted, Ariamus would disappear, eventually crossing the river to head west. He would expect pursuit, but maybe not this fast, and not supplied with extra mounts.
Once outside the city walls, the quiet sounds of the countryside returned. At first Bantor didn’t bother looking for tracks. Ariamus would have followed the endless, interconnected canals, moving slower through the water channels, but leaving no obvious trail. Instead, Bantor followed the main road south for a mile, until the farms began to spread out, before he moved his men toward the river.
At the riverbank, Bantor spread his line of men wide, looking for tracks as they moved southward, and anchoring the line at the river himself, searching the ground for any sign of a group of men entering the water. He stopped every confused and still-frightened farmer they encountered. Had anyone seen fugitives running from Akkad? Anyone missed any horses? No one had seen a band of men on foot, but the farmers all wanted to know what had happened in Akkad. Except for a brief statement that Eskkar had returned, Bantor refused to answer any questions about what had happened to Korthac and his men. All this took time, and Bantor grew more and more impatient, as he swept his men back and forth across the most likely routes.
“Bantor! This way,” Klexor shouted, his bellow covering a quarter mile of wheat and barley fields that separated the two. Bantor turned the horse and applied his heels, racing through the crops until he joined his subcommander atop a low rise.
By now they’d traveled about three miles from Akkad. Up ahead, a good-sized farm nestled in a grove of palm trees, near a broad canal that carried water from the river. Thin wisps of smoke rose from one of the three structures. Bantor saw the roof missing from one, and guessed what had happened.
He waved his bow to show his men the way. Taking care, they converged on the farmhouse, weapons at the ready; Bantor did not intend to be ambushed again. As he drew closer, Bantor saw the tracks of men for the first time, fresh mud showing where they’d come out of the canal. Approaching the farm, they saw no one, no farmer, wife, or child, not even a dog.
Bows strung and arrows nocked, they covered the last hundred paces, stopping when they reached the first body. It was a young boy, an arrow protruding from his back, shot down trying to escape to the fields. By then Bantor knew they’d find the farmhouse empty, except for the dead. He sent his men to circle the farm, looking for fresh tracks.
“Over here… men and horses going south, commander.” Klexor dismounted, dropping to his knees and studying the ground with care. “Looks like eight or ten men, but I only see tracks for two horses.”
“How long ago?”
“Not long. Maybe an hour. Less than two. They’re moving at a run, following the horses.”
Bantor thought it over. The horse trail went southwest, slightly away from the river. That meant Ariamus led the men. Only he would be crafty enough to head somewhat away from the river, knowing that boats might have already been dispatched north and south, to give warning of what had happened in Akkad and alerting every village to hunt down any escaping fugitives. So Ariamus would be riding one of those horses, and probably leading these fugitives; if there were any Egyptians among them, they would need someone who knew the land.
“Follow their trail, Klexor,” Bantor said.
They watered the horses at the canal, then resumed the pursuit, following the recent tracks. These renegades, desperate for horses, food, and weapons, would kill anyone in their path. If they managed to pick up more horses, the whole lot might scatter, and Ariamus might yet escape.
Bantor set the pace at a strong canter, his men spread out, with a clear trail to follow. The sun marched across the sky as morning prepared to give way to noon. They pushed the horses hard, changing mounts often, but always studying the land to make sure they didn’t ride into an ambush.
The tracks grew fresher. Bantor looked up at the sun. They’d have them all by early afternoon, he decided.
“Fresh tracks here,” Klexor said, halting the men and again dismounting to study the ground. His fingers traced the hoofprint in the dirt, getting the feel of the dirt as it hardened. “They’re not far ahead now.”
They rode on, passing fewer farms as they moved farther away from the river. The land became brown, the grasses sparse, with more rocks and gullies to slow them down. But the hoofprints and sandal tracks grew fresher with every stride, and Klexor no longer needed to dismount to read its message. They rode until the horses needed changing, then rested while Bantor talked to the men.
“When we catch up with them, I’ll take Naram-tanni and go after Ariamus and whoever’s riding the other horse.” Naram-tanni shot an excellent shaft. Bantor figured that would be all the help he needed. “Klexor, you take charge of the rest of the men. Kill all the Egyptians.”
Not long afterward, Bantor and his soldiers crested a hill and saw the enemy more than a mile away, walking now, heads down with fatigue, plodding a hundred paces behind two horsemen. Bantor grunted in satisfaction.
He kept to a steady pace, not pushing the horses, waiting until they’d been spotted, and using the time to study his quarry. As far as he could tell, only two of the fugitives carried bows, and both bowmen were on foot.
The Akkadians closed the distance to less than a mile before anyone turned around to spot them. The fugitives broke into a run, while the two horsemen, after watching for a moment, put their horses to a gallop.
Bantor held his men to a trot, and the gap between the two groups briefly widened. But the men on foot couldn’t keep up the pace, and the group began to straggle out, as the weaker men trailed behind the stronger.
Bantor grunted in satisfaction. He’d learned that Alur Meriki tactic from Eskkar. If he’d rushed down on the men at first sight, they’d have banded together to resist. If they thought they could get away, they’d keep running, exhausting themselves at the same time fear gnawed at their insides.
Bantor’s men spread out into a wide line that stretched a hundred paces across. The hindmost of the fugitives ahead of them stumbled and fell. He got to his feet and staggered on, but couldn’t keep up the pace. He turned to face his pursuers, sword in hand.
Bantor’s horsemen closed in. Their larger bows couldn’t be used effectively from horseback, but they could still be drawn, though not fully extended or aimed accurately. Nevertheless, at such short range, it didn’t matter. A hail of arrows flew at Korthac’s man, and he went down, his body riddled with shafts.
Another straggler died the same way. By then the Egyptians realized they couldn’t escape. The last six stopped and turned to face their enemy.
“Finish them, Klexor,” Bantor shouted. Then he and Naram-tanni, each still leading an extra horse, swung wide around the fugitives and galloped on.
Since two of the Egyptians carried bows, Klexor decided to take no chances. He called out new orders, the Akkadian line compacted, and they dismounted a hundred paces from the Egyptians. Three of Klexor’s men gathered up the horses and held them fast, while the others started shooting.
The Egyptians, tired from the day’s running and not used to the heavy bows, couldn’t find the range. One enemy bowman went down in the first volley. Another took up the fallen man’s weapon, but Klexor’s five archers poured volley after volley of arrows at them. Both enemy bowmen went down by the third volley. The next volley struck down two more. One Egyptian killed himself, falling on his sword rather than be captured. The last three, one of them wounded, charged at their attackers and died, the deadly shafts taking them down long before they could close the distance.
Bantor and Naram-tanni ignored the fighting behind them. They kept moving, racing at full speed after the two horsemen, by now almost out of sight. The gap began to close. Bantor’s horses might not be as fresh as the ones Ariamus rode, but the best horseflesh always wound up in Akkad, and these mounts now proved their quality over the stolen farm animals. When the horse Bantor rode started to tire, he slowed to a walk and leaped onto the second animal without dismounting, and broke into a gallop, abandoning the tired horse to be recovered by Klexor’s men.
The distance had closed to less than three hundred paces when one of the horses ahead of Bantor stumbled and went down. The rider, caught looking behind at his pursuers, landed hard. Bantor saw the man’s dark skin and galloped ahead. “Kill the Egyptian, Naram-tanni,” Bantor said as he swung wide around the dismounted man and galloped after Ariamus.
Naram-tanni pulled his horse to a stop about a hundred paces away, nocked an arrow, and waited, watching his quarry. The Egyptian looked fit and hard, and Naram-tanni didn’t want to waste shafts trying to hit a dodging target. He decided to wait. Klexor and the rest of the soldiers would be arriving soon.
The Egyptian drew his sword and stood there, waiting for Naram-tanni to advance. Moments passed, until he realized the horseman wasn’t attacking. Suddenly he burst into a run, coming straight toward the mounted archer.
Before the Egyptian had covered half the distance between them, Naram-tanni turned his horse aside and cantered off, glancing back to make sure he stayed just ahead of the Egyptian.
Exhausted by the chase, the Egyptian stopped and waited. Naram-tanni guided his horse back until another hundred paces separated them. He sat there, staring. Naram-tanni had plenty of time, and the Egyptian wasn’t going anywhere. The sound of hoofbeats floated over the grass, and Klexor and two other men rode into view, each of them leading a spare horse.
“The other bandits are all dead,” Klexor said, when he reached Naram-tanni’s side. “Let’s take this one alive.”
“I don’t think this one is going to throw down his sword,” Naram-tanni said.
“Put a shaft into him,” Klexor ordered, readying his own bow. “That’ll change his mind.”
Looking a little dubious, Naram-tanni dismounted. He handed the halter to Klexor, and started walking forward.
The Egyptian, determined to sell his life, charged again, lifting his sword and shouting something incomprehensible.
Naram-tanni waited until the man closed to within a dozen paces before shooting. His shaft flew at the man’s legs, but the Egyptian leapt aside, and the arrow hissed by. But before he could change his path again, a shaft from Klexor’s bow followed, this one reaching the charging man a moment before he could close the gap between him and Naram-tanni.
Struck in the leg, the Egyptian went down. He struggled to stand, but his leg gave way. Before he could recover, Naram-tanni, sword in hand, closed in. With a savage overhand thrust, Naram-tanni knocked the Egyptian’s weapon from his hand.
With Naram-tanni’s sword’s tip at his chest, the exhausted and wounded man yielded. Naram-tanni held the prisoner that way, until Klexor joined him.
“What’s your name, Egyptian?” Klexor put his sword point at the man’s throat, as Naram-tanni sheathed his weapon, took a halter rope, and moved toward the prisoner. He pushed the Egyptian down, and began tying his hands in front of him.
“I asked you for your name,” Klexor repeated, this time jabbing the sword tip into the man’s chest just enough to draw blood, and loosen his tongue.
“Hathor, leader of thirty, in the service of Korthac.”
“You speak our language well, Egyptian dog,” Klexor complimented him. “And you’ll get to see your Korthac soon enough.”
“Korthac is alive? We thought…”
“Oh, he’s alive. Lord Eskkar broke his nose, half-blinded him, and cracked his leg.” Klexor laughed when he saw that the man didn’t believe him. “By himself. They fought man to man in the upper room. Your Korthac didn’t fare too well in the encounter.”
For the first time, Klexor saw defeat in the man’s face. By then, the rest of the men had reached them. “Pull that arrow out of his leg and bind it up. Then put him on a horse. Eskkar may want to talk to him. So make sure he stays alive.”
Picking up his bow, Naram-tanni mounted his horse. “I’ll go after Bantor. He may need help.”
Klexor grinned. “Wait for me.”
Bantor rode steadily, carefully watching the ground before him. A misstep, a broken leg, and Ariamus might get away. The distance narrowed faster now, as Ariamus’s weary horse stumbled more and more often. Bantor saw Ariamus glancing behind every few paces.
When the gap shrank to less than a hundred paces, Ariamus gave up.
He slowed the tired horse to a stop and drew his sword. “Well, where’s Eskkar?” he called out. “Was he afraid to face me himself? Or did the Egyptian kill him?”
At twenty paces, Bantor pulled up his horse and drew his own sword, noting the bloody bandage wrapped around Ariamus’s left arm. “Eskkar is well and sends his greetings. He asked me to bring you back alive, but I think I’d rather kill you myself.”
“I’m here, Bantor, waiting for you. Or are you afraid, too? Even your wife wasn’t afraid. She got down on her knees fast enough, and begged for more.”
“Your horse is finished, Ariamus. I’ll fight you on foot. If you win, you can take my horse before my men get here. Otherwise I’ll wait, and we’ll bring you down like any jackal, with arrows.”
Ariamus looked around. He didn’t like the offer, but he had no choice.
Bantor’s men couldn’t be far behind. He slid off the horse. In a fit of anger, Ariamus smacked the sweat-soaked animal with the flat of his blade, and the startled horse lumbered off a few steps before halting again, its weary legs splayed out, blowing air from its nose.
Dropping his bow, Bantor dismounted. He tossed the halter rope to the ground and walked toward the former captain of the guard.
“You’re an even bigger fool than Eskkar,” Ariamus said, baring his teeth in a wide grin. “There never was a day you could beat me with a sword.” With a shout of rage, Ariamus closed the distance, swinging the sword high in a feint, then sweeping the blade low toward Bantor’s legs.
Bantor moved a step to the side, letting Ariamus’s blade pass within a handsbreadth, and countered with his own stroke.
The clash of bronze rolled over the land, sending a flock of birds squawking into the sky. Ariamus fought with the desperation of a wounded animal trying to escape a trap, determined to get rid of his opponent; he knew the rest of Bantor’s men would be close behind. If Ariamus hadn’t taken a wound, he might have done better. But Bantor met every stroke and knew every trick. Like all the Akkadian subcommanders during the siege, he’d practiced against Eskkar and other top swordsmen for months.
The minute he sensed Ariamus tiring, Bantor swung wide, leaving an opening for his opponent. But when the blade flashed at his stomach, Bantor slipped aside and hammered down, aiming not at his opponent’s body, but where the sword arm would be.
In a gush of blood, the blade clove deep into the forearm bone. Ariamus screamed, and his weapon fell from his nerveless fingers. Bantor never stopped. Another stroke took Ariamus in the knee, staggering him to the ground. A hammer blow descended on the man’s collarbone, shattering that. Then a low thrust into his right side pierced his lung. Ariamus, blood gushing from his mouth, fell onto his back, eyes bulging, unable even to cry out in pain.
Standing over his opponent, Bantor spat in his face. He put his own sword aside, and picked up Ariamus’s. “This is for Annok-sur. And for me.”
Holding the hilt with both hands, Bantor raised the weapon up, then thrust it down with all his strength, shoving the point into the man’s groin, driving it right through his body and deep into the earth. That elicited a lingering scream that echoed over the empty countryside.
Bantor let go of the sword and watched the former captain of the guard of the village of Orak bleed to death as he writhed in agony, clutching at his own blade with hands already streaked with blood.