Sam Barone: Conflict of Empires

Yavtar clasped Gemama’s arm, the age-old gesture of friendship. “Then let two old friends celebrate a successful voyage.”

“May it not be the last one, for either of us.”

That same day…

The afternoon sun drifted toward the horizon as Eskkar, ruler of the city of Akkad, galloped his horse down the gentle slope to rejoin his commanders and their men. Tall and powerfully built, he carried a long sword slung over his shoulder. Dark brown hair, fastened with a strip of leather, almost reached his shoulders. People seldom noticed the thin scar, scarcely visible after so many years, that marked one cheek. Instead their eyes were drawn to the broad face and strong jaw that marked him as a child of the northern steppes. His grim countenance and penetrating brown eyes tended to make strangers uneasy in his presence. They sensed a remnant of the fierce barbarian that still dwelt beneath the surface.

Eskkar’s face provided no clue to his thoughts. In his long years as an outcast and wandering sword for hire, he’d learned to keep his emotions from showing. But Eskkar’s companion and bodyguard, Grond, who rode beside him, had less control over his features. Frustration showed clearly on his face.

After leaving Akkad, it had taken five days of hard traveling to reach the border and take up the pursuit. Then for three more days, Eskkar, his Akkadian archers, and a small force of horsemen had searched the low hills and gentle valleys for the bandits who had terrorized and ravaged Akkad’s southern border. The soldiers had waded through high grass or rocky ground as they trudged up and down the headlands in pursuit of the band of horsemen who somehow managed to stay just out of reach. The chase had wearied everyone. The eight days of constant marching at such a fast pace had taken its toll even on their sturdy legs.

Eskkar and Grond reached the base of the ridge and rode toward the Akkadian soldiers. Most lay sprawled about on the ground, winded from a long climb up yet another in the seemingly endless hills and grateful for every chance to rest. Only Hathor the Egyptian remained mounted, waiting for Eskkar’s approach. Hathor commanded the thirty horsemen that comprised Eskkar’s mounted force. They’d spent most of the day searching for the bandits, or riding patrols to prevent an ambush. The rest of the Akkadian force consisted of eighty-one archers.

“Are the scouts back yet?” Eskkar hooked his leg over his horse and slid to the ground, handing the halter to one of the camp boys, who dashed up to take the king’s mount. The boys, who had no status and received no pay, followed the soldiers and helped tend to the horses, all for the privilege of helping Akkad’s fighters.

Hathor glanced toward the rear of the column, where the last two of his scouts had just crested a hilltop. “They’re coming in now, Captain.”

The soldiers who had fought beside Eskkar the last three years called him Captain, from the days when he’d been Captain of the Guard. The city dwellers in Akkad called him Lord Eskkar, while those in the surrounding villages called him king. Those who merely disliked his rule called him an uncouth barbarian. His enemies used worse language. Some claimed he was a demon summoned from the deepest subterranean fire pits by his witch-wife to carry out her sinister commands. Whatever men called him, all respected his ability to not only lead men, but to win battles.

All these names and titles held some truth to them. Born a barbarian, he’d fled his clan in his fourteenth season, when his family perished in a blood feud. He’d killed one of the executioners, stabbing the man in the back as he killed Eskkar’s younger brother. For more than fifteen years he wandered the lands of his hereditary enemies, the dirt eaters. He suffered abuse and contempt, each day expecting some ignoble death to strike him down but somehow managing to stay alive. As he survived each crisis, he grew stronger and more skillful, until the day came when he feared no one.

The chaos of a barbarian invasion had changed his fate. Eskkar rose to Captain of the Guard, and with luck and advice from his new wife, united the people of Akkad and drove off their attackers. With the defeat of the invaders, the city’s inhabitants pleaded with him to be their leader, ruler of the largest city in the land. Little more than two years had passed since that day, but new challenges arose to replace the ones vanquished, and each morning brought another struggle for survival.

By now Eskkar had ceased to fear the future or worry about the present. Each day was a gift from the gods, and a chance to defeat one more enemy. And a new adversary seemed to arise at every turn. Whenever men prospered, others appeared with a sword in hand, always ready to take what they had not earned themselves.

The two scouts reached the head of the column, dismounted, and joined Eskkar and the others.

“We saw more bandits coming up from the south-east, Captain.” Alexar commanded the main force of archers. Now his face showed his concern.

“I saw another dozen following our line of march to the west,” Eskkar said. “Probably more. They’re following us on either flank, with more at our rear.”

“With the forty or fifty we’ve seen, they already outnumber our horsemen,” Hathor said. “Who knows how many more are waiting up ahead?”

“I don’t like it, Captain,” Alexar said. “They’re leading us on, staying just out of our reach.”

Eskkar, too, recognized the signs. All along the southern border, they found dead bodies, farm houses and crops burned to the ground, and the land ravaged beyond all reason. With each grim discovery, Eskkar’s anger grew, along with the determination to make these raiders pay for their incursion.

Even barbarians didn’t wreak such havoc. They might kill many men and take their women, but they left most of those they ravaged alive, so that they could be looted again on some future raid.

By now Eskkar and his commanders realized that the so-called bandits were anything but. Instead of scattering or fleeing at Eskkar’s approach, they yielded ground slowly, staying well away from his force of archers, and confident in their superior number of horsemen. They retreated in only one direction, southward. With each passing day, the situation had worsened, as more and more of the enemy showed themselves.

“Commanders, follow me,” Eskkar ordered. He strode a hundred paces away from the men and sank to the ground on a grassy swell. A lone tree provided some welcome shade from the late afternoon sun, and honey bees buzzed at the nearby flowers. One by one, his commanders — Grond, Alexar, Hathor, Mitrac, Klexor, and Drakis — joined him, sitting knee to knee as they completed the circle.

Looking at their faces, he saw the same anger and frustration that burned in his own belly. He had chosen his commanders well. All were Hawk Clan members and proven in battle.

The Hawk Clan formed the elite corps of Akkad’s soldiers. After a near-fatal skirmish in the early days of the struggle against the barbarians, Eskkar and the few survivors of that first contact had sworn a solemn oath of brotherhood to each other, and to Eskkar, who had saved their lives and led them to victory.

In those days, most of his followers had been outcasts themselves, men without family, kin or clan. The creation of the Hawk Clan changed all that, providing each member with a new family, Eskkar’s own. In Akkad, everyone recognized the bravest of the brave, for only through valor in battle and the acclaim of his fellow warriors could a man become a member of the Hawk Clan. To wear the Hawk emblem on his chest was the greatest ambition of each fighter that served in Akkad, the goal that each soldier sought above all else.