The sun beat down upon them but still they pressed on, while around them swirled small bands of mounted archers, to their left and right and off ahead. Ishkinil stared ahead as she rode, towards where a smudge on the horizon could be seen, the watering hole where the two northern roads met and headed south towards Samsanu Idusar. Almost it seemed as if there was dust in the air around and near it.
It was a small force that she had with her, just one thousand horsemen strong, leaving behind the bulk of her army, the eight thousand foot. Near thirty thousand enemy lay ahead, marching ever on, seeking to join together. If she had misjudged, if the reports of the scouts were faulty, she could be leading her cavalry into danger that few might escape from.
Yet always was the feeling in the depths of her being that she was right to go on ahead, to scout the way. Just a feeling, no more, and on that she was risking it all.
She glanced back at the column of asshuri riding behind her, two abreast, shields and armour gleaming, pennons fluttering from the tips of lances. Hard men, and committed to, for they had renounced all allegiances and positions to follow her. They would fight, and fight hard. A surge of pride coursed through her, and responsibility too. They had placed their lives in her hands, despite her known links and allegiances to the Bringer of Ends.
The thunder of hooves brought her attention back to the rode ahead, as two scouts came riding back hard, horses lathered and breathing hard. The two nomads reigned in their horses as they arrived.
“Riders ahead,” the reported. “A band has arrived at the watering hole.”
“How many?” Ishkinil asked.
“Three hundred, maybe. Light cavalry from the east.”
“Who do they follow?”
“They bore no devices, but they came from the north.”
Ishkinil nodded slowly. “Ash-Negasu’s men most like,” she said. “It is as I had thought.” She raised her hand and the column came to a halt. “there are enemy at the watering hole,” she told her men. “Not enough to stop us but we must clear them out and prevent them from reporting our presence. The asshuri will follow me straight in to engage while the archers will sweep in from the flanks to cut off the retreat.”
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The two scouts peeled off to ride out to the mounted archers, to relay the orders while the heavy asshuri formed up. Leather creaked and gear clattered as straps were tightened and lances readied. The captain of the asshuri, Shurasur, a grizzled man with grey in his dark beard and a long scar across his cheek, walked his horse up alongside Ishkinil’s, dark eyes narrowed as he looked ahead.
“They will not stand and fight,” he observed. “Light cavalry can not stand against asshuri, and they are too fast to chase down.”
“That is so,” Ishkinil agreed. “It will drive them out into the open though, away from the watering hole, and the nomads will have the numbers to chase them down.”
The man nodded. “Some will still get away.”
“It can not be helped,” Ishkinil replied. She motioned with her hand and kicked her horse forward. Behind, the column of asshuri began their slow ride. “We do what we can.”
The approach of the force towards the waterhole could not be masked. There were too many of them, and too much dust to disguise where they were headed. She did not know what orders the enemy cavalry had been given, for if they broke and ran too early all would escape. She motioned with her hand to the two groups of mounted archers to their flanks and the nomads swept forward, out across the barren plains that the road ran across, seeking to envelop the watering hole from either side.
Closer it came, and ahead they could see the oasis they aimed for, where a thick stand of trees grew around the only waters for long hours, greenery standing out stark against the desolation of rocky deserts and the badlands beyond. Already she could make out figures in and around the trees, men on horseback. If they had seen the approaching force they made little reaction to it, not preparing for battle or preparing to leave.
Closer still they came and Ishkinil could taste the exhilaration rising in her mouth, the expectation, fear and hope both. The light cavalry were gathering up at last, men on wiry horses bearing wicker shields and spears. Few had more than simple helmets on their heads and none bore armour of the kind that the asshuri had, nor did their spears have the reach of the heavy cavalry’s lances.
As she prepared to order the asshuri to charge forward, from among the cavalry waiting at the watering hole a lone figure came riding out, carrying no weapons, one hand raised and open.
Ishkinil slowed her horse down and the asshuri did likewise. “It seems,” said Ishkinil to Shurasur, “That they wish to talk and not fight.”