Quest for Honour (56 page)

“How long will this go on?” En-hedu was beginning to worry. “They can’t keep the docks closed forever.”

“I asked the guards, but they really didn’t know. They thought only a few days, but they know less than we do.”

“Tonight there is a meeting at King Shulgi’s house. All the leading merchants and traders are required to attend, and without their wives. I thought . . .”

En-hedu realized tonight’s meeting would not be to discuss the coming conflict. It would announce to the city’s leaders that the war had already started. No doubt King Shulgi would be telling them more about their future contributions to that effort.

“Then it’s war, for certain,” Tammuz said, completing her unspoken words. “We have to get word to Akkad somehow. There must be some caravans going north.”

An innocuous message delivered to an elderly widow in Akkad would warn Lady Trella that war was imminent. If the message ever arrived. En-hedu knew it would be risky and unreliable to give such a message to a stranger, but until the regular messenger from Akkad arrived in the next few days, they had no other way to get news to Lady Trella. And that assumed his boat actually reached Sumer.

“I’ll visit the caravan camp outside the city,” En-hedu said. “Perhaps we’ll find one leaving soon.”

But she returned by late in the afternoon with only more evil tidings.

“The city is sealed. No one can leave, not even the local farmers who spent the night. All the caravans are guarded. Soldiers are riding and patrolling every road and trail, stopping anyone who tries to leave. They say it’s to protect them from raids by the Tanukhs and Salibs. They say a large force of barbarian horsemen is on the loose, raiding north of Sumer.”

Tammuz shook his head. “Most of the Salibs are dead or driven into the desert. The Tanukhs have been quiet for years, especially since King Shulgi broke the last resistance of the Salibs. Why would the Tanukhs raid here, close to Shulgi’s army. Why would . . . ?”

His voice trailed off, and En-hedu knew his thoughts. If it were the Tanukhs, then Sumer’s cavalry would be mustering to chase them down, not sit idly by in their camps outside the city, or patrolling the roads.

“The war has begun,” she said. “Whatever is going on between Sumer and Akkad is already happening.”

“But what can it be? Most of the army is here in Sumer, or camped nearby. Even Razrek’s cavalry.”

“Maybe the first attack on Akkad will come from Larsa, or one of the other cities.”

Not that En-hedu believed it. The other cities were reluctant allies, and not likely to be willing to strike the first blow against Akkad. They would join the fighting, but only after Sumer initiated it, and when victory seemed likely.

“It’s a good thing the messenger got out yesterday,” Tammuz said. “Otherwise he’d be trapped here like the rest of us.”

This time En-hedu shook her head. “No, husband. It’s bad that by chance he avoided the patrols. He will carry the news that open war has still not come to Sumer. At least if he were trapped here, those in Akkad might wonder why he didn’t return. I wish we had more ways of getting a message north.”

Tammuz and En-hedu knew they had become Akkad’s most important spies in Sumer, so important that only a few in either city knew of their presence.

“There must be some way to get word out,” Tammuz said. “There has to be something we can do. I can’t believe we failed to –”

“By the time we get word to Akkad, they will know the worst. The war will already be on them. Now we can only hope that Shulgi’s first blow isn’t fatal.”

He clasped her hand and held it tight. “Don’t worry. Akkad is strong.”

“Yes, I know.”

But in her heart, En-hedu worried. After more than two years of living in Sumer, she realized just how vast an army the city could raise. And an army that size might not be denied.

F
rom his balcony, Shulgi gazed out over the Compound. Beneath him, his commanders moved about, coming and going, or gathering in small groups. The orders to start the war had already been issued. Now the
men, animals and supplies needed to conquer Akkad would be brought together, to begin the long journey north.

Even from the balcony, Shulgi couldn’t see much of Sumer, but the hum of excitement from its inhabitants carried over the walls. By now even the dullest would have figured out that Sumer was going to war. The long awaited day had finally arrived, and Shulgi would depart the city at dawn to join his army, already on the move north.

“Any last thoughts, my brother?”

Kushanna moved to his side, her bare feet soundless on the wood floor. He put his arm around her shoulders.

“No, everything is well begun. The messengers departed two days ago to the other cities, ordering their armies to join me at Kanesh. By tomorrow, that outpost will have fallen. After that, the border lands will be swept clean and the crops destroyed. Then we’ll begin moving north.”

Shulgi intended not just to invade the Akkadian lands, but to build and fortify a half dozen posts along the way, occupying the countryside in stages. Eskkar would have to come out and fight and, when he did, he’d be attacking the entire Sumerian army, over twenty thousand strong.

“You will take care of yourself, my brother. Trella may send her assassins against you.”

“I’ll take precautions. But surrounded by my army, I’ll be safe from the witch queen.” He kissed the top of her head. “You just make sure the supplies flow steadily north. It will be thirty or forty days before we stand outside Akkad’s walls. And then who knows how long it will take to starve them into submission.”

“Eskkar will challenge you before you reach Akkad’s walls.”

“Then the north will be conquered even sooner. If he fights, he loses. If he remains behind his walls, then he starves.”

“Be wary of his tricks.”

“In the last two years, Razrek and I have thought of everything Eskkar can do. We’ll be ready.”

“Then I’ll await your return, my brother. Your victorious return.”

“Just keep my city under control, my sister. And keep the supplies flowing. Everything depends on that now.”

D
aro sat cross-legged near the bow of the boat, watching the land flow by. As he gazed at the green ribbon of trees and bushes lining the banks of the Tigris, a flock of small birds burst into flight, startled by an approaching hawk that wheeled back up into the sky once its prey took flight, too wise to chase after them. The birds darted across the water, to resume their hunt for food on the opposite shore, their latest brush with danger already forgotten. The river’s flowing water soothed every spirit, man or beast.

The sun descended closer to the horizon, and before long darkness would spread across the river. By then the vessel would be tied up alongside the jetty at Kanesh, and the grinning crew would be well into their first cups of ale inside the walled village. Once again Daro swore at the bad luck that had kept him riding ships up and down the rivers for the last two years.

It had all started even earlier than that, when Yavtar sailed to Sumer and needed an armed guard to protect both himself and his precious cargo of lapis lazuli. A few days earlier, Daro had made the mistake of telling his commander that he knew something about boats. As a boy, he’d worked a few seasons helping his father row up and down the Tigris. When Yavtar requested an escort who knew something about the river, Daro happened to be in Akkad, and found himself volunteered for the duty.

That trip had gone well, and Daro thought that would be the last time he sailed up and down the great river. Instead, once safe and secure back in Akkad, Yavtar had requested Daro be put in charge of another cargo.
After a few more such voyages, Daro grew bored with the task. Riding the water gave him little time to practice his archery, so he asked for a return to duty with his fellow bowmen.

The next day Alexar, recently promoted to commander of Akkad’s archers, summoned Daro to his quarters. When he arrived, to his surprise Daro found Yavtar there as well. Daro knew the boatmaster and Alexar remained good friends. Both had fought together against Korthac’s forces.

“Yavtar heard you want to leave the river,” Alexar began. “He wants you to stay.”

Before Daro could protest, Alexar held up his hand. “It’s already been decided. Much as I could use your help, Yavtar needs to build a force of archers to defend the trading ships and their cargoes. He also has some wild idea about building fighting ships – ships that can carry archers and provide a platform for them to fight from. In a few years, there may be a hundred bowmen guarding and fighting from Yavtar’s new fleet of boats. You’ve more river experience than any of my archers. And if you do well, you might end up commanding all these men. You could soon find yourself a leader of one hundred.”

Fighting boats? River archers? Before Daro had time to ask a question or utter a protest, Yavtar spoke. “Well then, that’s settled.” The river-master placed his arm around Daro’s shoulder. “Come with me, lad. I’ve got a lot to tell you.”

Later Daro learned that Yavtar had asked Eskkar for Daro’s services. After Eskkar’s approval, no further discussion seemed necessary, at least to Yavtar. The shipmaster obviously had no qualms about using his position in Eskkar’s inner circle of advisors to obtain what he wanted.

Even then, Akkad’s boatmaster didn’t tell Daro everything, but Yavtar revealed enough to make Daro’s eyes widen at the prospect of war with Sumeria.

Two years had passed since then, the war approached, and by now Daro had made countless trips up and down the rivers. Months ago he’d earned the title of commander of one hundred, and his force of river archers continued to grow. With the threat of war looming ever closer, Daro decided to make every third trip down to Kanesh, to inspect those of his men stationed there.

The trading outpost would be the first target for Sumer’s army, and Eskkar had stationed a strong garrison there. As the tension between Akkad and Sumer increased, Daro wanted to ensure that his archers had
prepared themselves and their boats. That inspection would take most of tomorrow, but tonight he would sip some ale with his men, relax in their company, and try not to think about what the future might bring.

Once again he let his gaze sweep over the riverbank and the farmland stretching beyond. Despite the peaceful setting, something felt out of place. Still, Daro saw nothing unusual.

“A fine evening, commander.”

Daro turned to see Scria, the ship’s master, standing beside him. Scria’s face reminded Daro of a rat, thin and pointed, with yellow teeth that protruded from his lips. The lank, greasy hair added to the resemblance. But despite his appearance, the man knew the river and could sail his boat well enough. Yavtar apparently thought as much.

“Yes. I’ll be glad when we dock.”

“An empty river makes for a fast voyage,” Scria said, looking out over the prow and scratching his chest.

When Daro didn’t reply, Scria turned away and began weaving his way back to the stern.

“Wait! Come back!”

Now Scria’s rat face held a frown. He didn’t like to be ordered about by some soldier, even a commander.

“You said the river was empty.” Daro rose to his feet, bracing himself against the boat’s motion and stretching upwards to see downriver. “How long has it been . . . we haven’t passed a boat coming upstream.”

Since they started out early this morning, they’d waved greetings to at least a dozen ships headed north. But as the morning turned into afternoon, the sightings of ships bound for Akkad and other cities upriver had ceased.

“Mmm . . . has been a long time. This late in the day, we should have seen a few, unless they decided to stop in Kanesh.” Scria scratched his chest again, this time in a different place. “Maybe they pulled ashore to rest.”

A stupid answer, Daro knew. No boat captain worth his salt would sit idly on the riverbank while the sun remained in the sky. Especially with a way station not that far upstream. There should be boats. Something was wrong. He glanced at the river, then up into the sky. He saw no birds, heard no sounds other than their own soft passage through the water.

“You men! On your feet. String your bows.”

Daro had brought only two archers with him, more than enough to
drive off any casual bandits or pirates. Suddenly, he wished he’d brought a dozen, though that many would have overloaded Scria’s boat. As his men scrambled to their feet, Daro turned to the boat captain.

“Get the boat in the middle of the river, away from the bank.”

The man at the steering oar followed the current, and at this point in the river, that brought them closer to the left bank, scarcely fifty paces away. “Why . . . what’s the problem?”

Daro gripped Scria’s shoulder and squeezed. “Just do it. Now!” He pushed the man away and reached down to grasp his own bow. With the ease of years of practice, he strung the weapon, then slung the quiver over his shoulder, letting it hang down to his waist on his left side.

The boat had already turned into a curve of the river. Scria’s shouts to his steersman brought the bow around, and the vessel moved sluggishly toward midstream, struggling against the current. Daro rested his foot on the prow, to get a better look.