“Yes, Chief Bekka.” Den’rack couldn’t keep the excitement from his voice. “We will need time to get into position.”
“Hurry, then,” Bekka answered. “Remember, not one man can escape.”
Out of sight of Zanbil, the warriors made their preparations. Soon nearly six hundred men departed. They would backtrack for nearly a mile. From there, Sargon knew they would turn east, keeping out of sight of the village, until they were in position.
Bekka leaned back against the boulder. “At least our men will get a chance to rest their horses. Once Suijan launches his attack, we will have to ride like the wind.”
Sargon stared at the village. It seemed peaceful enough, the soldiers there unaware of the terror that would soon be upon them. Still, this was war, and these men planned to destroy Akkad and the other cities in the Land Between the Rivers.
“Are you worried about something?” With the chiefs making their preparations, Garal had rejoined his companion.
Sargon smiled at his friend’s concern. “No, not any longer. During the ride, I had my doubts that we would arrive here unopposed. But it seems we will surprise the Elamites after all.”
“Perhaps some of your father’s luck now guides your footsteps.”
References to his father no longer troubled Sargon. “I hope it does. This campaign, there is much that can go wrong. Even if we drive the Elamites back, they may return again in a year or two, this time better prepared.”
“Did we not smash the Carchemishi, beat them so badly that few escaped our riders? They have withdrawn all the way to Carchemish, and who knows if they will ever have the stomach to ride into our lands again.”
“The Elamites are stronger than the foolish Carchemishi, and more cunning. But you may be right. My father thinks so, too. Beat them hard enough, show them they can’t win, he says, and their will to fight again will vanish.”
“The Alur Meriki, and the Ur Nammu, too, have fought many battles. But your father knows how to win. He has fought alone many times, like the day he slew Thutmose-sin. Out here, in these lands, if something goes wrong, we can just ride away. It takes much courage to stand in one place and face an enemy five or six times your number. And Subutai says Eskkar will have little chance to fall back if he is defeated. Yet he rode into the Dellen Pass to confront his enemy.”
“My father once told me that courage follows once you’ve picked your course of action. If the Pass can be held, he will hold it. His soldiers are both tough and skilled.”
The waiting continued. Bekka and the other leaders paced among the warriors, confirming that each man knew what he had to do. The horses were examined yet again, to make sure each mount had the stamina for one final charge. Men strung their bows and tested their draw. Arrows were loosened in quivers, and everyone sharpened their swords and knives. The tasks helped fill the time until Suijan and Den’rack completed their encircling movement.
Sargon heard a murmur pass through the warriors, as they caught sight of Suijan and his riders. Even before Bekka gave the order, men swung themselves up on their horses, everyone impatient to launch the attack.
Subutai, too, appeared more than ready to ride. Sargon and Garal mounted their horses, and took their place behind Chinua and Fashod.
Chief Bekka called out to Subutai and Virani, who acknowledged the command.
“We ride.” With those two words, Subutai led the way. The horses descended the final slope to reach the level ground. In moments, the Ur Nammu warriors spread out, dividing into three main groups. Now Chinua took the lead, with Sargon and Garal riding just behind the clan leader.
Glancing to his right, Sargon saw the long column of Bekka’s warriors also on the move. The terrain that led to their destination, the mouth of the Dellen Pass, was more rugged, and it would take them longer to reach their position.
Virani and Subutai’s men, now spread out in a wide line, kept the already excited horses to an easy canter. They held that pace for the first mile. Looking ahead, Sargon saw no signs of alarm, no Elamite soldiers scurrying about. Clutching his lance, Sargon watched the distance between the riders and the village close, until only a half mile remained.
By now, even the most careless of sentries would have heard the horses approaching. Subutai flashed his sword over his head, and the warriors burst into a gallop. At the same time, they voiced their war cries, the dreaded sound of the steppes warriors riding into battle.
Looking ahead, Sargon now observed the panic sweeping over the villagers. Some of the soldiers reached for their weapons, but most, after one look at the nearly five hundred warriors descending upon them, turned and ran, desperate to get to their horses.
But the Elamites had no chance. Even those who leapt onto their horses could already see the column of warriors approaching from the east, a long line of men that would stretch across the trail that led south. Suijan’s riders would extend that line until it reached the base of the foothills, blocking any chance of escape.
Subutai’s warriors thundered into the village. Sargon had expected the Elamites to resist, but there were far fewer soldiers than he anticipated, and only a handful tried to put up a fight. The horsemen, still screaming their war cries, launched arrows at anything that moved.
Standing or fleeing, the Elamites were cut down. Those who could not reach a horse ducked into the houses to hide, but the warriors were already swinging down from their mounts, to search each hut. When they emerged, blood streaked every sword blade.
Sargon ignored the chaos and the screams. He rode straight through the village, halting only when he reached the other side. No more than ten or fifteen Elamites had galloped away, but even as he watched, he saw Suijan’s men angling toward them. The desperate Elamites tried to dodge this new threat, but they were far too late. Within moments, Sargon witnessed the last of the fleeing riders riddled with arrows.
Satisfied that no enemy had slipped away, Sargon turned his horse back to the village. Screams now filled the air, not the sounds of men dying in pain, but those of the women. Captured, they would be raped before they found their own release in death. Sargon slipped down from his horse in front of the largest hut in the village. Subutai was there, and three Elamites, their hands tied behind their backs, knelt in the dirt before him.
Glancing at the prisoners, Sargon saw that they were all soldiers. One had taken a shaft in his left arm, another had a large bruise on his forehead.
Fashod and Chinua strode over, both smiling grimly. “Our men are searching the village,” Chinua said. “Every body will have a lance thrust into its throat, to make sure they are truly dead.”
“Are there any more prisoners?” Subutai glanced around what had once been the center of the village.
“No, Chief Subutai.” Fashod gestured toward the kneeling men. “Only these three, and the women.”
“Sargon will want to question them,” Subutai said. “Chinua, have some of your men help him. Tell our warriors to leave the women alive. They may be of use.”
The captured men did not speak the language of the steppes, but they realized that they were being discussed. Sargon saw the fear in their eyes. If they’d been standing, they would have collapsed to their knees. He moved to face them.
“I am Sargon, son of King Eskkar of Akkad. You are my prisoners, and you will answer my questions.”
He saw the surprise in their eyes that anyone riding with steppes warriors would speak their language. But for the last few months, Sargon had studied the Elamite tongue from a captured Elamite trader, snatched up from an ale house late at night, and taken to Annok-sur’s farm for interrogation. In exchange for his life, the prisoner promised to teach the Elamite speech to the Akkadians. When he’d finished that task, Annok-sur had sent the man north to the Ur Nammu, to teach Sargon.