Eskkar’s blow had knocked Thutmose-sin once again to the ground. This time blood covered his left shoulder, running freely down his chest. The man still clutched his sword, however, as he struggled to his knees.
Eskkar slid down from his mount and strode across the bare ground. He didn’t want to risk an injury to A-tuku by attacking someone so low to the ground. Thutmose-sin might be wounded, but he could yet strike a heavy blow.
As Eskkar approached, he saw the extent of Thutmose-sin’s wound. A glimpse of white revealed the bone in the warrior’s shoulder, and a strip of flesh hung from his arm. With so much blood spurting from the wound, nothing could save him. He would be dead soon.
“You’re dying, Thutmose-sin. You should have trained your horse better. Now I will avenge my father Hogarthak, and my kin.”
“Then come and finish me if you dare, you. . outcast!”
Eskkar raised his sword up. Thutmose-sin struck upwards, aiming at his enemy’s groin, but Eskkar had expected it. He twisted aside, and his sword whirled down and struck at Thutmose-sin’s right arm, the sharp edging cutting into the man’s hand. The weapon tumbled to the ground.
Eskkar never let his sword stop moving. The blade whirled up and swung down in a sideways motion, and at the bottom of its arc, driven by all the strength in both of Eskkar’s arms, it sliced through Thutmose-sin’s neck with a spray of blood, sending the Sarum’s head rolling across the hard ground.
A roar erupted from the Akkadian line. Men jumped and waved their weapons. “Eskkar! Eskkar!” The deafening cry echoed from the cliff. Eskkar took a deep breath, then reached down and slid the big copper medallion from the Sarum’s body and stuffed it into his tunic. Suddenly the cheers from the Akkadian line changed in intensity. Eskkar glanced up toward the hilltop.
A lone rider raced down the hillside in a reckless display of horsemanship. This one clenched a bow in his left hand, and even as he descended, Eskkar saw him fit an arrow to the string.
A-tuku stood waiting only a dozen paces away, chewing on a lonely tuft of grass. Eskkar could leap astride and reach the safety of his men before the rider could get close enough to launch an arrow. But Eskkar recognized the horse. It belonged to Bar’rack, the clan leader who had sworn the Shan Kar against his hated enemy.
Eskkar made up his mind. The lances that he and Thutmose-sin had hurled to show their defiance stood close at hand. Eskkar ran toward them, shifting his sword to his left hand. The drumming hoof beats changed as the warrior’s horse reached the base of the hill and increased its speed. Head down, Eskkar covered the last few paces.
Without stopping he ripped the Akkadian lance from the earth and flung himself to the side, back toward the way he’d run. An arrow hissed through the spot where Eskkar had been only a moment ago.
As Bar’rack fitted another shaft to his string, Eskkar charged toward him, reaching back at the same time with his right hand and tightening his grip on the weapon. Before Bar’rack’s bow could come up, Eskkar’s lance flew through the air, flung with all his strength. The bronze tipped lance struck the charging horse, now less than twenty paces away, full in the chest.
The animal took two more strides, stumbled, and fell to its knees, less than five paces from where Eskkar stood. The arrow launched by the warrior flew wide, as Bar’rack was pitched from the dying horse’s back. He landed heavily, rolling once, the bow flying from his hand.
Stunned, Bar’rack tried to regain his feet as he tugged clumsily at his sword. By then Eskkar had reached him.
“Your brother died with honor, but you will die like a coward, and your kin will not mourn your passing.” Once again the big sword descended and bit deep into flesh, a showering of blood marking the place where the blade impacted the side of Bar’rack’s neck. The warrior fell, and lay twitching on the ground, still alive, bleeding to death.
Eskkar stared at him. Before Eskkar could regain his breath, Bar’rack’s body went limp, the man’s sword still half in its scabbard. Taking his time, Eskkar wiped his bloody blade on the dead man’s tunic. Then he walked back to A-tuku and swung astride. He forced himself to take a deep breath, though he felt his heart race within his chest from the battle fury. He had truly avenged his father’s death.
“We did it, A-tuku.” He patted the animal on the side of the neck. “We defeated the best the Alur Meriki could send against us. Never again will they doubt the strength of our men or of our horses.”
Overhead, the last of the dusky rain clouds had faded away, and suddenly a wide swatch of sunlight streamed down from the sky, bathing the patch of ground where Eskkar stood with its warmth. A good omen, Eskkar thought, to mark the death of Thutmose-sin.
A glance toward the enemy hill showed the Alur Meriki warriors looking up, and the faint murmur of their words drifted toward him. They, too, saw the omen and understood. The gods had given their approval to Eskkar’s victory.
Another shout from the Akkadians turned Eskkar’s head back toward the enemy’s hilltop. Two riders were descending, but this time at a slow and measured pace. Neither carried bow or lance, and one lifted his right hand high in the air, to show that he carried no weapon.
“Now what do these two want, A-tuku?”
A-tuku snorted in reply, and lowered his head once again to tug at the stubborn clump of tough grass.
From the hilltop, Bekka and Urgo watched Thutmose-sin’s final moments. Every Alur Meriki warrior knew of their Sarum’s prowess, but it seemed that this Eskkar had dispatched their ruler with both skill and a display of better horsemanship.
“That bay didn’t look that powerful,” Bekka remarked, sitting on his horse beside Urgo. “I think Thutmose-sin made the same mistake.”
They both turned to stare when they saw Bar’rack disobey his Sarum’s final order, and dash down the hill, blind in his hatred.
Urgo shook his head. “Bar’rack is a good clan leader for one so young, but his Shan Kar has driven reason from his head. If he kills Eskkar, we are doomed. The Akkadians will never leave the stream until we are all dead.”
“He will not get close enough,” Bekka said. “The archers will. . by the gods!”
Both men stared open mouth as the King of the Akkadians raced across the field to where the jutting lances protruded from the earth. A few moments later, they saw the long sword, reflecting a gleam of sunlight, swing down to end the life of another clan leader.
Silence swept across the hilltop. Until now, the Alur Meriki warriors had offered many reasons for their defeat at the Akkadians’ hands. Now one man, even one who once had belonged to the Clan, had struck down two of their leaders with apparent ease. No longer could any warrior dare impugn such a fighter’s honor.
“At least it is finished.” Urgo raised his voice. “Pass the word. No warrior is to leave the hilltop.” He waited a moment as the order spread out to either side. “Come, Bekka, ride with me.” He touched his horse’s neck with the halter, and the animal started down the slope.
Bekka joined him. Neither man said anything, both concentrating on guiding their respective horse. Urgo led the way, and Bekka suspected that he did so to conceal the grimaces of pain from his body. Bekka knew the old warrior could ride for short stretches on level ground, but a steep slope such as this amounted to agony with each step.
“He waits for us,” Bekka said, as they reached the level ground.
“He has no fear,” Urgo agreed. “Which means that he probably won’t order his archers to strike us down.”
Bekka had been thinking about that as they stepped past the ragged line of long shafts angled skyward that marked the extreme range of the powerful Akkadian bows.
“It’s not that I’m afraid, Urgo, but you have lived many years, while I still have more children to father.” He could see a wide line of Akkadian bowmen formed up along the edge of the stream, and Bekka recognized the Slayer of Warriors, bow in hand, standing at their center. A hundred shafts could rain down from the sky upon them at any time.