The arrow struck home, burying itself deep into the antelope’s shoulder. The creature cried out, even as it stumbled. A few more steps, and the animal tumbled to the ground, mortally wounded.
As soon as he loosed the shaft, Sargon pulled back on the halter, slowing his horse. By the time he eased his steed to a walk and turned it around, he’d traveled almost a hundred paces beyond the fallen antelope. Garal, too, had to slow his mount gradually, before he could reach Sargon’s side.
“A fine shot, Sargon. I was just a little too far behind.”
Sargon laughed. Garal was far and away the best bowman not only in this group of hunters, but in the entire Ur Nammu Clan. For the last two years, he had also been Sargon’s teacher, companion, friend, and fellow warrior. The two young men had fought side by side in two battles, a powerful bond that united them.
“For once the gods put the animal in my path,” Sargon said. “Even so, you almost dropped him.”
“I thought I could steal the kill from you, but it would only have been a lucky shot.”
They walked their horses back to the site of the fallen animal. One of the warriors had already dispatched the antelope. Each man offered some words of praise to Sargon, exactly the same way they would have spoken to one born and raised in their clan.
Two horse boys, riding well to the rear of the hunters, arrived at last. They would see to the gutting and cleaning of the carcass. With a careless wave toward the body, Garal led the horsemen back toward their camp, about fifteen miles away. The boys, learning the way of the warrior, would follow as soon as they finished.
The pleasant ride back didn’t take long, and Sargon enjoyed the moment. A fine day, a strong horse, and a successful hunt. Tonight they would eat well, and in the morning they would ride for the main camp of the Ur Nammu, less than a full day’s journey away.
They found their campsite undisturbed. Earlier in the day, the riders had brought down two antelope, which the horse boys had half-buried under some rocks to keep the scavengers away. The fresh meat would be welcomed by the clan’s women, and tomorrow evening there would be enough food to fill the bellies of every member of the Clan.
Sargon had scarcely finished tending to his horse when a shout floated across the landscape. He turned his eyes to the east, and saw a single rider galloping toward them, waving his arms in excitement.
Garal studied the approaching horseman. “It looks like Timmu.”
It took another few moments before Sargon could confirm the sighting. Garal possessed a keen sense of vision, another trait that made him stand out even among the Ur Nammu warriors.
“What brings him here?”
Garal shrugged. “We’ll know soon enough.”
Timmu, Garal’s half-brother, had only thirteen seasons, but he had grown tall, and would soon be accepted into the ranks of the warriors. He galloped into the hunting party’s camp, slowing only at the last moment, and jumping down from his mare even before it stopped moving. Garal frowned at the foolish display of horsemanship, but Sargon couldn’t keep his smile hidden.
“Sargon! Subutai sent for you. He wants you to return at once.”
“Is anything wrong? Is Tashanella well?”
In the two years since Sargon had claimed Tashanella, daughter of Clan Leader Subutai, his young wife had given birth to a daughter, and now was well into the final months of her second pregnancy. Tashanella had played an important role in reconciling Sargon with his mother, Lady Trella, and his father, King Eskkar.
“No, nothing like that, Sargon. Some soldiers arrived from Aratta, and said they had to speak to you. That’s why Subutai told me to find you.”
Sargon asked about the men and their message, but Timmu knew nothing more.
A glance at the setting sun told Sargon that he’d best wait for the morning to depart. “I’ll leave at first light,” he said. “I should be back at the main camp before midday.”
Garal nodded. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” As the leader of the hunting party, he had to remain with them. “Whatever it is, wait for me. You may need my help.”
“I’ll wait for you.” Sargon smiled. “Who else would keep me out of trouble?”
When Sargon crossed the ridge and saw the Ur Nammu camp, he breathed a sigh of relief. A handful of cooking fires sent long tendrils of white smoke slanting into the air, driven by the gentle breeze. Children played, and women strolled about, so clearly no danger to the Clan had arisen.
At a canter, Sargon rode toward the beckoning water, downstream from the camp. He paused long enough to plunge into the shallow water, and wash some of the dirt and horse stink from his body. Satisfied that most of the powerful horse smell had been rinsed away, he led the stallion, its thirst quenched, into the camp. As he approached the corral, a boy ran out to greet him and take charge of Sargon’s favorite mount.
Though he wanted to see Tashanella, Sargon headed straight for Subutai’s tent. When the Clan Leader sent for a warrior, that man didn’t stop first to see his wife, even if she were the clan leader’s daughter. Whatever Sargon’s position might be back in Akkad, in the Ur Nammu Clan, he remained just another warrior and as duty bound to obey his Clan Leader.
Subutai waited outside his tent, along with three soldiers from Akkad, all Hawk Clan members by the emblem on each chest. That meant the news, whatever it might be, was important. Then Sargon recognized Draelin, one of his father’s senior commanders. Something of import had happened or the long awaited summons to war had arrived, for Eskkar to dispatch Draelin to carry a message.
Draelin knew enough about barbarian clan customs to hold his tongue until Sargon had exchanged greetings with Clan Leader Subutai.
“Sargon, it’s good to see you again,” Draelin said. “You grow taller and stronger each day.”
“Stronger, perhaps,” Sargon laughed, “but no taller. Now, what brings you to Subutai’s camp?”
By now Sargon knew he would never be as tall or as powerful as his father. Instead Sargon had learned how to use his speed, agility, even his shorter stature to his advantage. After years of constant practice, his former teacher Garal admitted that Sargon had equaled him with a sword. Nevertheless, Sargon worked hard to improve his skills with lance and bow, as well as with the sword.
Draelin glanced around, and both Sargon and Subutai understood the look.
“Come into the tent. We can talk there. My wives will make sure we are not disturbed.”
No one would be allowed close enough to the tent to hear what words were exchanged within. If Subutai’s wives couldn’t hold their tongues, the clan leader would have beaten that defect out of them years ago.
Soon the three men were seated in the center of Subutai’s tent, each with a water cup at hand.
Draelin waited until Subutai nodded to him. “The King sent me to bring both of you the warning that the Elamite invasion is about to begin. Their soldiers are gathering, and they will start their march into the Land Between the Rivers within three months. That’s a little earlier than we expected. I delivered the same warning to the camp at Aratta, to the leader of the Hawk Clan there. They assured me that my message will also be received by the Alur Meriki within a few more days.”
Sargon exchanged looks with Subutai. The war had truly begun. All the planning and preparations of the last two years would soon be tested.
“The Elamites are sending men through the Jkarian Pass,” Draelin continued, “at least six thousand. Perhaps thirty thousand more will come through the Dellen Pass, to attack Akkad directly. Another large force, around fifteen thousand, will approach Sumer from the coast of the Great Sea.”
Subutai’s eyes widened at the numbers, so large that he could scarcely comprehend them. “So many! Can Eskkar defeat such a vast army?”
“My father always has a plan, Chief Subutai.”
“And a trick or two for our enemy,” Draelin added. “That’s why I have to rush back to Akkad. He says he has a special task for me.”