Clouds of dust billowed up into the air in the wake of the march, kicked up by feet and hooves and wagon wheels. The long column marched along the dusty road, beneath the glare of the crimson sun. All about was heat and dust and stone, bare earth baked hard. Only here and there could gnarled old bushes and trees be made out, standing stark against the wilds. The air shimmered along the horizons from the heat, the land spreading out flat and vast off to their sides, while the land ahead showed rugged rises stained deep blue, the start of the badlands through which the enemy armies marched.
They had left the green and more pleasant lands behind, the brief oasis of life that surrounded Samsanu Idusar, heading out into the heat and wastes, marching hard. First went the mounted archers, bands of them scouting out ahead. Then came the long columns of footmen, the spearmen and archers, and with them came many wagons of supplies, with vast barrels of water that was a necessity for a travelling army to take with them, for sources of water were rare and precious beyond the cities. They had to be protected at all cost, for if they were lost then the army would die. Bringing up the rear of the column were the asshuri, the heavy horsemen of the army. Beyond that, none followed. The usual array of camp followers, the wives and traders and others that in ore normal times would accompany the army had been left behind at Samsanu Idusar, for they could not keep up the pace that Ishkinil had set. They were gambling on speed, and any that would impede them had not been allowed.
Ishkinil rode at the head of the column, shadow-cloaked, sitting tall upon her horse, staring ahead. Though her face remained set and determined, still doubt there was, hidden from view. Too much could go wrong, yet to none could she share it, for this was her cause, and if she showed signs of doubt then the will of those following her could crumble.
There had been no choice though, not since Inumzur the Cerulean had been cast down. While the tyrants warred upon each other, and slew each other when they could, her triumph had could not go unchallenged, for it represented a threat to them all. And so the first of them, Ash-Negasu and Uthash Firebringer were on their way. More would follow, the world set in arms against her. There could be no doubt, only steely determination.
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A jangle of harness beside her marked the arrival of Sha-kalal, face red from heat and the embrace of his armour. “We are making good time,” he announced. “The scouts have marked a spot where we can rest to feed and water the troops.”
Ishkinil nodded. Much as she wished that they could keep going, she knew that the men were suffering from the hard march and the heat, and without rests to recover they would be in no fit condition for the battles to come.
The road wound on, the army marched on, until they came to the place that the scouts had marked out, where an old creek had once run alongside the road. There trees still grew, great gnarled things with grey bark and grey-green leaves. Beneath the shade they provided, the army came to a halt, and the men clustered around the wagon assigned to their units. Food was handed out, and water too, and the men refreshed themselves and rested beneath the shade the trees provided.
Ishkinil remained on her horse, staring off to the north, to where they marched. She sipped some water and chewed on the sweetened hard bread the men ate. Sha-kalal joined her in her silent study of the lands ahead.
“Tell me,” said she, “If you were the enemy, what would you be doing?”
“Where the road joins is the key,” Sha-kalal replied. “Should the way be barred, they can not join up. I would be sending fast units ahead to the fork in the road, there to contest it in case an enemy moved up.”
“Precisely,” Ishkinil replied. “I will take the cavalry ahead and ride to watering hole there to secure it against any possible enemy movement. You bring the rest of the army up as fast as you can. We shall camp there tonight and tomorrow move to engage Ash-Nigasu's army.
“Let me go,” Shal-kalal protested, “For if you are lost then our cause is lost.”
Ishkinil shook her head. “Nay, this I must do. Let all see that I do not hide from battle as the tyrants do.”
“As you command,” Shal-kalal replied, inclining his head, clenched fist to his heart. He turned and rode away and soon a flurry of activity began among the resting men, as warriors took to their horses.
Soon the cavalry were assembled, the heavy asshuri on their big horses and the wiry nomads on their swift mounts.
“We ride,” Ishkinl told them and wheeled her horse and began north along the road, the horsemen following in her wake, pennons fluttering from spears.
A cheer went up from the assembled men as Ishkinil rode off to face the enemy, and the cry went up 'Uthar Athan Arach!'