There
were many untried soldiers like himself that had yet to come face to face with
a military trained army. Thoughts and
worries wrapped around his mind, clouding it until he made the visible effort
to shove such thoughts of doom away for the present. The darkness was beginning to lift, and he
realized that it was almost morning. He
hurried through the pitched tents of camel skin and back to where his battalion
was camped.
The call
to arms rang through the camp. Zarek
fell into step beside Eparan, who was chewing the morning’s dried rations. The older man’s eyes observed him and then
his hand stretched out to offer a portion to Zarek. Zarek shook his head, his stomach was twisted
into so many knots that he was unsure he would be able to keep anything down.
“Take it,”
Eparan said quietly. “The battle will
take your strength, and you will be famished before it is over.”
Zarek
accepted the portion with a silent nod.
His teeth grinded on the dried meat, tearing it up so that he could
swallow. The food when down in a cold,
compact ball that his stomach savagely attacked. Strangely, he felt the better for it.
He was
silent as he helped Eparan put on his armor, tightening the buckles and making
sure the metal plates overlapped properly.
When he had finished, Eparan helped him with his. Zarek waited patiently as the leather bands
were tightened around his chest. It felt
like his ribs were being squeezed together, and the morning heat made him feel
steamy and hot inside his metal, armored breastplate. When he shifted, the leather latches rubbed
at his cotton tunic.
He looked
out at their camp. The sun reflected off
the many armored bodies, making him squint against the glare. When Eparan was finished, they took their
place with the rest of the battalion.
Zarek’s stomach clenched as they marched into position to attack. Their point of vantage was a rocky bluff
looking down into the valley.
The whole
world seemed to holds its breath as the tension mounted. They stood stiffly as a unit, waiting in
nervous silence. Then, Captain Basiem rode
through their ranks, and the officers began shouting their orders.
Below
them, the assembled Babylonians looked to be as numerous as the sand of the
sea. Sun glinted off so many spears and
armored chests. Clouds of dust blotted
out those that stretched out in the distance.
This meant only that chariots and horses were just beyond, fringing the
army assembled.
Zarek
knew what their orders were. They were charged
with the task of defending the high ground, in this case, the bluff; under no
circumstances were they to retreat.
Chief General Saliba Abudemio had issued this order, and as the head of
army at this time in place of the absent King, his command would be obey.
It would
be important to flank the enemy as quickly as possible. The trumpet sounded and men from distant,
flanking battalions, poured down into the valley. Zarek’s battalion remained where they were,
defending the bluff. Zarek could see that
Captain Basiem was plainly unhappy with their orders; there was little chance
for glory, loot, and promotion in staying away from the fight. Like any veteran warrior, Basiem chaffed
angrily at the restriction.
Still,
they waited. Sweat began to run down Zarek’s
face. His helmet was weighty and made
his head uncomfortably warm. Insects bit
into his flesh and sand made his eyes gritty. His eyes were fastened ahead, where Captain
Basiem, riding back and forth, clearly showed his agitation.
At last,
Basiem pulled his stallion up and turn to address his men. “Prepare to attack.” His voice was hoarse
shout, probably from the excitement and danger that they would soon be heading
into.
One of the
other officers started forward in surprise.
“But our order was to defend the bluff, surely we would be disobeying.”
The
Captain gave the man a withering glare, “By attacking we will be protecting the
high ground, from the enemy. I am your
lead officer, do not question me.” The
man stepped back timidly and Basiem unsheathed his sword. Sun glinted off the blade, and Zarek tensed.
Then the
lighted blade, sliced through air in a striking motion. Basiem’s stallion reared and shrilled wildly. “Attack!”
Zarek ran
with the others. They streamed down the
sides of the bluff and raced toward the Babylonians. The downhill incline made Zarek go all the
faster as he ran. It was a near
effortless flight. The leather armor
slapped his thighs as he ran, flapping like wings in the wind. He shouted, and was drowned out by the shouts
of his comrades as they plunged full force into the enemy.
His
training had prepared him and he cut through the air again and again, falling
the enemy. The reality of battle seemed
far from him, much like it was another lifetime. He didn’t think, didn’t plan his
actions. He just acted, and reacted;
faster and faster, until it was a liquid motion. It was as if his whole body had become a
weapon, and he just killed and killed and killed.
Blood
shined on his sword and coated his armor as he pressed steadily onward. The surprise attack had caught the
Babylonians off guard, and their confusion only aided Zarek’s battalion as they
battled for the ground they stood on.
Suddenly,
the enemy seemed to have found footing.
To Zarek, it was as if they had hit a wall of no penetration. The Babylonians were fighting back with
renewed vigor, driving them backward.
Warning flashed through his mind, they no longer held the high ground, and
their force was small. They were
outnumbered.
One hour
stretched before him as hundred years.
The sun refused to move from its position in the sky, it seemed as if
the whole world had stopped to see who would prevail in battle. He was surrounded by a sea of sword wielding strangers,
even Eparan, with whom he had been running, had been swallowed up by the crush
of moving bodies. He hacked away at the
enemy’s defense with his sword, blindly refusing to relinquish the ground they
had gained.
“Fall
back!”
The order pierced
his mind in a foggy haze, and then it was crystal clear. They were retreating. Zarek paused long enough to consider the way
back. Climbing the bluff again would
take more strength than they had, and then they would have the Babylonians
chasing after them. No good could come
from a retreat. Still, if they were retreating,
Zarek purposed that he wouldn’t be left behind.
He turned
and raced back up the rocky hillside, outstripping the others who had not been
born and bred on the shores of the rocky village of Issus. His limbs felt as if they were being crushed
by his armor, and his muscles jumped painfully against his skin from the
exertion of battle and dehydration. Zarek
gritted his teeth and pushed the thoughts of pain and exhaustion from his
mind. He did not stop for the cries of
the wounded, and nimbly jumped over or skirted the dead and dying.
“Zarek!”
The voice
brought him to halt as quickly as if the ground had suddenly crumpled before
him. He turned, scanning the
battleground. A hand raised in the
distance, but the figure was crumpled and otherwise, unmoving. Undoubtedly a friend, and Zarek clambered
over rocks toward the fallen man. Once
he reached him, he reeled back in surprise.
Arrod. Blood streamed from a
ragged cut across his father’s neck and shoulder.
A pool of
dark blood puddled under the battered form.
Zarek pulled back further when his father’s hand reached toward
him. “Help me.”
Zarek’s
heart thrummed against his chest wildly, fluttering until it hurt. He stared down at the man that he had hated
so many years and his jaw clenched. “I
can’t.”
“I am your
father,” Arrod snarled, demanding Zarek to comply. “You would be nothing without me. I made you what you are! Help me up.”
He shook
his head and his vision sharpened as he narrowed his eyes. “I won’t.”
“If you
leave me here, I’ll be tortured and killed by the enemy! Do you want that on your conscience?”
Zarek looked
down at the crippled man and he felt his mouth curl in derision. “You taught me never to show mercy, not even
on our own. You killed my mother. You deserve to die. I will finally be free, my hate will die with
you.”
A strange
sense of pleasure fluttered in his chest when he saw the look of betrayal and
terror on his father’s face. Glancing
back down the hill, he saw the enemy advancing and more of their own distraught
troops being cut down as they fled. He
looked back down at his father and then turned his back.
His father’s
plaintive cries turned to cursing but it soon faded as Zarek’s limbs carried
his far away. At last he reach the crest
and he turned to face the valley again.
Men were reaching him, their faces twisted in panic. With sinking heart, he realized they did not
mean to stop at the crest, but to flee completely. Instinctively, he knew this would mean many
more deaths to his battalion. Their
lines would be broken and the enemy would pursue, running them to the ground
and the hounds would a rabbit.
He drew his sword and pointed in the
direction of the approaching enemy.
“Hold the line!”
“We will
not. We will run and live,” one man
shouted.
He pointed
his sword at the defiant man, “No! You
will stand, and you will fight, and if need be, you will die in defense of this
bluff.”
“There is
only one of you, you cannot stop us all.”
“I stand
with him!”
Zarek
turned to see Eparan take a stand beside him.
Gabri and Malicu stood there too.
How they had remained together when all else had broken in confusion,
was beyond Zarek. Nonetheless, he was
grateful for their presence now.
Eparan
scowled at the man who had spoken. “We
are warriors and we will not turn and run like cowards. Now stand fast, and show the Babylonian dogs your
steel!” The men seemed to hesitate, and
then their faces hardened in determination and they joined the line of defense.
They
continued to hold the line and their ranks slowly increased as more of their
soldiers reached the top. But for the
ones who did make it, there were hundreds who didn’t. Zarek wouldn’t think of it now, he continued
to shout orders to the men, bolstering their courage. It seemed as if they had lost their officers,
and Eparan seemed inclined for Zarek to take the lead.
The battle
was sore, for every one soldier Zarek cut down, two more seemed to materialize and
take his place. At last, the clash of
steel ceased and so did the other sounds of war. The Babylonians had retreated. All around him, his men stood dazed and
tired. Zarek sank to his knees and with
shaky hands, pulled out his water pouch.
The water was warm and stagnant, but he drank it all. He watched as the men began to shift through
the bodies for loot.
“Come,
there is bound to be silver and gold coins,” Eparan said, tugging his arm.
“No, you
go on ahead.”
Eparan gave him a strange look, but shrugged
and went his own way.
Zarek
stood to his feet and stumbled away from the scene of battle. Night was settling, and news trickled
in. There would be no battle on the
morrow. It was over. Their own troops had far surpassed the
Babylonians. They were victorious.
In the
following days, they fell into step with other battalions, marching back to Nineveh
with a long lines of captives. He briefly
saw Captain Basiem from a distance, but the man appeared to have suffered a
severe injury, for he lay in a cart used to transport the more grievously
wounded.
Out of
the 1,000 men in their battalion only 274 had survived climb back up the bluff. Little was said of it. Zarek wasn’t sure if the reason was because
they were trying to cover up the ill performed deed, or if they didn’t know
what to say.
When they
at last arrived back in Nineveh, Zarek collapsed heavily on his cot in the barracks. Exhaustion overcame him. He didn’t even try to remove his armor, but
fell asleep with it on.
He awoke,
but didn’t know why. Judging by the
amount of light filtering in through the window, it was a new day. He sat up and winced at the soreness that
accompanied the movement. Eparan
suddenly appeared in the doorway of the barrack, out of breath. “The Chief General is asking about you.”
Zarek
stared in dull incomprehension. Then, he
felt the color drain from his face as his mind processed Eparan’s forthcoming announcement. “What?”
Eparan
looked overcome with excitement or panic, Zarek wasn’t sure which. The older warrior gestured violently. “He was on his way here.”
Zarek
sprang to his feet just as he saw Eparan turn with wide eyes. Too late.
The broad shouldered General appeared in the entry. Zarek saluted, “Sir.”
“You are
Zarek ben Nadin?”
“Yes sir.”
“And under
the command of Captain Basiem, the battalion who disobeyed direct orders to
stay to the bluff?”
He felt
his heart clench. Were they to be
punished? Executed for failing to follow
their superior’s command? He swallowed,
and thought carefully over his next words.
“I and my fellow soldiers obeyed, as commanded by Captain Basiem, who
felt that attacking the flank of the Babylonians was in defense of the bluff.”
The
General’s beard twitched. “I heard that
among the casualties, were all the officers of your battalion, including your
father.”
Zarek’s
jaw tightened at the recollection. “Yes
sir.”
“I hear he
was a fine man. I am sorry for your
loss.”
Zarek
stiffened. “Praising the dead, is much
easier than praising the living, sir.
For my part, it is not one of my regrets.”
The
General’s eyes glittered with interest.
“I see.”
Self-conscious
of his bloody and dirt stained uniform, Zarek shifted uncomfortably under the
General’s scrutiny.
“Did you obtain your part of the loot? I half expected to find you spending the
spoil of the enemy.”
Zarek
frowned. “Loot does not interest me.”
“Indeed? Then the things I have
heard about you have been true. Men
speak highly of you and your bravery.”
There was pause and the General seemed to be thinking over something,
abruptly his eyes refocused on Zarek. “I
am promoting you to Captain. You will
have your own quarters and oversee the training and responsibilities of 500
men.”
Zarek bowed
his head, his thoughts whirling like the wind in a sandstorm. “Sir, wouldn’t another be more worthy?”
General Saliba shifted. “What interests me is a man who can take
orders, a man who will obey his superiors.
Captain Basiem failed in both, but I shall maintain him. I have little choice; few have the experience
and attitude to command men. Now, will
you accept the responsibility?”
Zarek
lifted his eyes and locked gazes with the older man. A new sense of purpose filled him. “I will sir, and I thank you for the
opportunity to prove myself in an even greater service to the King.”
A smile
tugged the corner of the General’s lips.
“Very well then, accompany me and I will take you to where you will be lodging.”
Zarek
looked around; he needed to get his things.
His personal effects were still in a leather satchel at the foot of his
bed, but what about his bedding?
Blankets, his spare gear…
The General
seemed to read his mind. “Leave your
extra gear. Your quarters have already
been furnished, and you will have a new uniform.”
Zarek nodded
mutely before following the General and his escort out the door, past a slack
jawed Eparan. He wasn’t sure what his
future held, but it appeared as if the gods were smiling on him at last, if
indeed he believed the gods had anything to do with it.
Perhaps credit would better be given to Ashur,
god of war because it was through the war that he had finally been avenged of
his father and that he had received this promotion. Zarek intended to make the most of it.
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