Quest for Honour by Sam Barone

and sounded the alarm, Eskkar would have to call the whole plan off and return to Hathor and his horsemen. Then they would have no choice but to fight their way north. Alexar, Drakis, Grond, and the other commanders would have warned the men over and over about the need to keep silent, watch where they stepped, and keep the proper distance. Nevertheless, Eskkar kept glancing behind him. Finally, he realized that the more he fretted about his men, the more he stumbled himself. Swearing under his breath, he concentrated on the ground before him.
    That first part of the long night march moved with maddening slowness. Eskkar worried that the enemy had detected them, might even now be gathering strength to attack. Still, as the Akkadians moved farther away from the camp, their chances of being seen lessened. All that mattered now was maintaining his place behind Waradi, and keeping silent. In that way, step by step, the column crept through the darkness and, despite the occasional stumbles, no alarm was given.
    Waradi moved back beside Eskkar. “I think we’re safe enough. We’ve traveled at least a mile from the camp.”
    “No sign of Grond?”
    “No, not yet. He might be far ahead.”
    Eskkar, who tended to worry over every thing that might go wrong, had little concern for Grond’s safety. The man was made of bronze, and it would take more than a few men to subdue him. If Grond encountered any of the enemy, the noise would carry over a great distance in the still night air.
    “Speed up the pace, Waradi.”
    “Yes, Captain,” Waradi said, risking the familiarity usually reserved for Eskkar’s closest friends and commanders.
    Eskkar grunted. He turned to the man behind him. “Pass the word, we’re picking up the pace.”
    Each man whispered the order to the man behind him. Soon eighty-five men and the horse boys were stretching their legs at a fast walk, risking the occasional stumble over a rock or patch of high grass. A broken leg or even a sprained ankle would mean a man out of the fight, and Eskkar needed every archer he had. Thankfully the moon had risen, shedding a bit more light to mark both the hills around them as well as the ground beneath their feet.
    They kept moving, covering the dark ground as fast as they could. Only when Eskkar’s own legs protested did he halt for a brief rest. Every man sank to the ground, glad to be off his feet. Nevertheless, Eskkar paused only long enough to let the men catch their breath. The archers’ legs would just have to suffer.
    They resumed the grueling march. All too soon the moon rose to its highest point and began its descent. Eskkar estimated that they needed to cover at least fifteen or sixteen miles to reach the Sumerian camp. And, of course, that assumed that a Sumerian force existed, and that this unseen enemy had moved north to pursue the retreating Akkadians. If that held true, Eskkar was still gambling his enemy would camp at the most likely place, where the small stream would provide plenty of water. Still, for all Eskkar knew, they could have marched ten or twenty miles in the opposite direction, back toward Sumer.
    Walking through the blackness, Eskkar wondered if his march was anything more than a fool’s errand. The plan that had seemed so reasonable yesterday now seemed more like a dangerous gamble that would putthe Akkadians in harm’s way. If dawn arose without their encountering the enemy, he would have wasted more than just a long and dangerous night’s march. Hathor and the horsemen would be miles away, possibly in as much danger as Eskkar’s archers. And some of his men would gaze at him before looking away, wondering about their leader’s ability. The thought of looking foolish in their eyes always bothered him.
    “Look into the mind of your enemy,” Trella had often advised him, “and try to think as he does.” That single piece of advice from his beautiful wife had accounted for more of Eskkar’s good fortune in battle than anything