On the other side of the hill lay darkness. The Akkadians had no campfires, and only the stream remained faintly visible in the dim moonlight. The sun had disappeared from the western sky some time ago, and the deep shadows from the cliff walls soon covered the landscape between the two forces. And hiding, Thutmose-sin hoped, the number and movements of his men.
Urgo arrived last, leaning on a stick as he limped his way to the edge of the fire to join the other war chiefs.
Thutmose-sin glanced up. “Is everything ready?”
“Yes, Sarum.” Despite his misgivings, Urgo had worked with all the clan leaders to prepare the attack. “Bekka and Altanar will lead their clans and attack along the southern edge of the stream. When they are in position, Suijan, Narindar, and Praxa will move forward and launch an arrow storm at the center of the dirt eaters’ battle line. They will empty their quivers and then attack. After that, it will be up to you.”
“After Suijan has begun his attack against the center,” Thutmose-in said, “I will lead the rest of our men against the northern part of the line.”
The cliff anchored the northern and apparently strongest end. If the dirt eaters believed the main attack was to the south, they would likely move some of their men down the line to face that threat.
“We will not fail you,” Suijan answered for the others.
Thutmose-sin studied their faces. “Make sure your men do not attack until Bekka and Altanar are in place and have begun the assault. If you move too soon, the enemy will not shift any of their men. Remember, we want them to think our attack is concentrated at the south.”
The southern part of the Akkadian line appeared the weakest, or at least the most exposed. If Thutmose-sin had more time, he would have sent a few hundred horsemen south to circle around the Akkadian camp. But that couldn’t be done in one day. The earliest those riders would be in position would be the following night, and tonight he knew he would need all his warriors.
“We will give you time to get into position, Sarum,” Suijan said.
Once the battle began, Thutmose-sin and Bar’rack would lead their men, over six hundred fighters, forward. They would stay close to the northern cliffs. The warriors would creep and crawl through the darkness, to get as near as possible before being seen.
The noise of the fighting should mask any sounds they made. With only a short distance to cover, they would swarm across the stream and break into the enemy’s line.
“Make sure the leaders of ten and twenty understand what is to happen.” Thutmose-sin hardened his tone. “There are to be no foolish charges, no loud talking. This battle must occur step by step, like three separate blows of the smith’s hammer on the forging stone.”
He turned to Bar’rack. “Are your men assembled and ready?”
“Yes, Sarum. And Urgo and I have instructed your men as well. Our warriors will fight bravely together.”
Thutmose-sin smiled at that. It had been many years since the Sarum of the Alur Meriki had waded into battle at the head of his clansmen. “We will, indeed. And Urgo will remain behind, with fifty warriors. He will send them in wherever they are needed.”
He turned toward his old friend. “Remember, Urgo, dispatch your men only if victory hangs in the balance. Do not waste their lives if the battle goes against us.”
“I will follow your orders,” Urgo said.
Thutmose-sin nodded. Urgo understood the value of each and every Alur Meriki warrior. He would not waste their lives foolishly. Thutmose-sin had another reason for leaving the old warrior in the rear. If Thutmose-sin were killed in the attack, Urgo would provide the voice of reason and wisdom in the Council, hopefully as the next Sarum.
“Then it is time. Start moving the men.”
As soon as night covered the ground, Markesh, second in command of the Akkadian slingers, said his farewell to Shappa. At the head of his men, Markesh led the group of sixty skirmishers across the stream in a single file. They crossed over at the northern end, as close to the cliff wall as possible. The shadows there blocked the moon’s rays, and the slingers took advantage of the deeper darkness.
Like all the men chosen for this expedition, Markesh was short and slim. He moved with care through the water, crouching over and ignoring the chill that numbed his feet and lower legs. He took his time wading across and made sure he didn’t make any unnecessary splashes that might reveal their presence in the water.
The tinkling stream covered what little sounds the slingers made. Their dark tunics helped conceal them as well. The archers, spearmen, and cavalry of Akkad’s fighting men all wore tunics the color of wheat, the natural tint of the linen.
The slingers, at Trella’s suggestion, wore garments dyed a light brown. At night, the slingers were almost impossible to see, and even during the daylight, when they hugged the ground, they tended to blend in with the sands or rocks of the landscape.
Once across, Markesh waited on the far side of the stream and counted his men. When the last of them had reached the opposite bank, they formed into three groups. Markesh took the first group of twenty, the one that had the farthest to go. He led the way, hugging the ground and crawling on his hands and knees.
One by one, his men followed after him, like a long snake slithering soundlessly over the rocks. Markesh kept the stream on his right, but slowly he angled away from the water, into the deeper darkness.
Shappa and Eskkar had warned him that the likeliest point of attack remained the southern end of the stream, and Markesh insisted on taking that position himself. If the barbarians tried to creep up under the cover of darkness, he would encounter them first. His orders were to stop them if he could, or delay them as much as possible. In any case, he had to send back knowledge of their strength.
Like the rest of his men, Markesh carried only his sling, twenty bronze bullets, and his sharp knife. The long curved blade made for a dangerous weapon at close range. When combined with the quick reflexes of agile young men, the well-trained slingers could defend themselves even against a sword. At night, creeping along on the ground, they could strike like a deadly serpent.
Though he made almost no sound, Markesh covered the ground quickly. At least, he decided, he wouldn’t have to crawl back. More likely he’d end up with an arrow in his back as he tried to retreat across the stream.
He had no trouble finding his way. The stream on his right glistened in the moonlight, and marked the line of the Akkadian defenders. Still, Markesh breathed a sigh of relief when he reached his first position, about sixty paces from the water. A slight rise in the ground concealed his prone body, and he lifted his head to stare into the darkness.
Glancing to his left, he saw nothing, which meant that the rest of his men had settled into their positions. He waited a few more moments, to give his men time to settle down.
One last look around, and he whispered the order to move out. Taking care not to make the slightest sound, Markesh and his men crawled away from the safety of the stream, straight toward the Alur Meriki position. The entire line of slingers would take their station on him. If all went well, they would crawl another hundred paces toward the enemy, then settle in to await the dawn.
If the barbarians attacked tonight, they would be in for an unpleasant and hopefully unexpected surprise. They would be expecting their enemy to be beyond the stream, not right in their path. Regardless, Markesh had his orders. Identify the point of attack, send word back to Shappa and Eskkar, and slow down any assaulting force. He took some pride in knowing that he would probably be the first to meet the Alur Meriki attack.