“We saw riders, we counted twelve, riding west,” Chinua said. “They were moving fast, as if anxious to rejoin the rest of their men before darkness fell. They may have been tracking us, and turned back when they lost the trail. That might mean the main party is drawing close.”
One of the warriors asked the question. “How far away do you think they are?”
To Sargon’s surprise, Chinua turned to Skala. The warrior accepted the compliment, and answered the question.
“No more than five or six miles. They won’t want to risk the horses by riding far after dark.”
Sargon saw the glint of teeth in the gathering darkness as some of the warriors smiled. He didn’t understand the reaction. Chinua noticed Sargon’s confusion.
“It means, Sargon, that the enemy’s night camp is not too far away. It also means that we can set an easy pace as we move closer, and pick the time for our attack.”
“How many men do you think will be at the camp?” For once Sargon couldn’t keep his curiosity inside.
“It doesn’t matter how many there are, if we can catch them by surprise.” Chinua glanced up at the darkness. Just enough light remained to let him scratch a few lines in the dirt. “Here’s what we’re going to do.”
Sargon leaned closer and listened as Chinua told them what he intended. To Sargon’s ears it sounded reckless in its daring, quite unlike the meticulous preparations made by his father and his commanders in the Map Room. Sargon had sat through many of those tedious sessions, listening while Eskkar, Bantor, and the others labored over details of possible assaults from or attacks on the other cities in the Land Between the Rivers.
Compared to his father’s efforts, Chinua’s didn’t sound like much of a plan, but Sargon understood that the details needed to be filled in, and that could only happen when they reached the Carchemish camp. Even so, all the warriors crowded around Chinua and Skala nodded agreement, and Sargon realized this handful of men had just committed themselves to raiding an enemy whose size, force, and exact location remained unknown.
After Chinua finished, he gave his warriors little rest. He wanted to have as much time as he needed getting into position.
Once again the warriors moved out on foot, walking the horses single file through the gathering darkness. As before, a slip or fall for a warrior might mean being left behind, so everyone took care. This time, however, Sargon noticed that Chinua wasn’t quite as concerned for the horses. Obviously he expected to find plenty of mounts at the enemy’s camp.
The surface beneath their feet was mostly smooth rock washed clean by wind and rain coming off the mountains, with tufts of hardy grass sprouting wherever pockets of dirt had accumulated. Chinua didn’t lead them on a straight line, but followed any ravine or sheltered hill that provided cover.
Why that was necessary after dark, Sargon didn’t understand, but no one raised the issue. Like the others, he kept his eyes on the ground, until he heard the soft spoken order to halt.
Sargon took the opportunity to ease his aching feet. The darkness hid the cuts and scrapes that covered them.
Skala came down the line, explaining in a soft whisper why they stopped. “Chinua saw a glow up ahead. It may be the fools still have a campfire burning.” Sargon and Makko received the message last, since they brought up the rear.
“They must have plenty of wood to burn a fire so late into the night.” Garal had chosen to walk just ahead of Sargon, either out of concern for his pupil, or to keep a close watch on the untried dirt eater and make sure he didn’t do anything foolish. “Isn’t that unusual, even for soldiers?”
“If soldiers think they might be attacked at night,” Sargon answered, “they might want to have enough light to find their weapons and form a battle line.”
“A fire will make it all the better for us,” Garal said. “Now, we must stay silent.”
Chinua returned from his brief scouting. “It’s them, about a mile and a half away. They’ve two watch fires going.”
Sargon climbed to his feet once again, as Chinua ordered the troop to move out. They mounted their horses, but kept the pace at a slow walk, giving the animals plenty of time to choose their footing.
To Sargon’s ears, the hooves of their horses sounded as loud as if they were at a gallop, but the ridges no doubt blocked the noise. He worried about what might happen if the horses started whinnying, and the enemy’s horses answered them. Chinua had already warned everyone to be ready to clamp a hand over any offending nose until it calmed down. The fact that the horses were more than a little weary made them easier to handle.
At last Chinua gave the order to halt beside a wide swath of dirt and sand that had sprouted a few clumps of grass, and each of the warriors eased his mount to a stop. Chinua dropped to the ground, and rolled around in the gritty mixture, then yanked out a clump of grass and rubbed it over his face, arms, feet, and hands. One by one, the warriors imitated their leader.
“Why are we doing this?” Sargon whispered to Garal as they waited their turn.
“The smell of the earth will help mask our scent from the enemy horses. If we smell like dirt and grass, we may be able to get a few steps closer before they take notice. And we’ll be harder to see in the moonlight, too.”
Garal pushed Sargon ahead, and made sure his pupil covered himself completely. They remounted and continued riding for another few hundred paces, staying in the lee of a rocky outcropping. At last Chinua swung down from his horse, the men following his example.
“Skala, come with me. The rest of you, wait here until I send for you.” Chinua left them behind, as he and Skala worked their way to the top of the ridge that concealed their approach.
The two leaders disappeared from sight. Chinua must be studying the enemy’s camp. Or at least that’s what Sargon assumed they would be looking at, though he wasn’t sure how much they could see in the dark. Sargon stood beside his horse, his arm resting on the animal’s shoulder. Even so, he always kept the halter rope gripped firmly in his hand.
Time passed, and Sargon sensed the men getting restless. At last Skala returned.
“Chinua wants every man to see the enemy camp. Two at a time, go up to the crest. Chinua will tell you what to do.”
Sargon and Garal were the last to go. They worked their way up through the rocks. Just before Sargon reached the top, Chinua called down in a soft voice, telling them to crawl the final few paces. Sargon and Garal obeyed, and on hands and knees, they crawled up the last part of the slope. When Sargon reached the crest, he was surprised to find that he could see the enemy camp quite well in the moonlight, and what he saw gave him a shock.
The camp was more than big. It was huge, and stretched out along a narrow stream that flowed down from the hills. Sargon could see the path of water glistening in the moonlight. Two small watch fires burned, and they were well apart from each other. He glimpsed a sentry walking around, but the camp itself seemed quiet enough. These soldiers from Carchemish obviously weren’t expecting an attack.
The horse herd, held between the stream and the extended camp, was far more numerous than Sargon expected. He guessed at least a hundred horses, perhaps more, were packed into what must be a rope corral, though he couldn’t see what restrained them. “So many horses!”
Garal, lying beside Sargon, grunted in satisfaction. “The fools put the horses closest to the stream and the mountain, to make sure no one can sneak in and steal any. That makes it easier for us. They don’t expect anyone come at them from the mountain side of the stream.”
“There must be three or four hundred men out there,” Sargon whispered.
“Probably more.” Chinua kept his voice low, but didn’t bother to whisper. They were too far away to be heard. “But most of them are foot soldiers, not mounted fighters. Once we get to the horses, all we need to worry about are how many horsemen will take up the pursuit.”