Dawn broke, and the army stirred into life as the first copper hues stained the far horizon. All knew that battle was upon them that day and so they made ready for it, going over their weapons and armour, checking for any defects that may have slipped through previous examinations, eating and drinking, preparing their bodies just as they did their equipment. The mood was silent, reflective, with sombre contemplations and silent prayers, each man in his own thoughts as to what lay ahead.
Ishkinil had brought together those that ran the army, the commanders of the units, the aides and advisors.
“What news from the scouts?” she asked. All through the night outriders had kept an eye on the approaches, both to the north and to the northwest, making sure that there were no more surprises to be had.
“There is nothing to be seen,” Sha-kalal told her. “The enemy that you clashed with yesterday has not put in an appearance again.”
“Hopefully they have retired to rejoin Uthash’s army,” Anubarak said.
“It is to be hoped, but we can not risk simply hoping it so. We still need to keep the waterhole secure and if they were to turn back, to come in behind us then it could well spell disaster.” She shook her head. “No, that will not do. We will leave a small rear-guard behind here, to secure the watering hole against any attempts by the enemy cavalry and to tend to the wounded who can not join us. Sha-kalal, I went fifty of our mounted archers and four hundred infantry left here to guard against any danger.”
The big man’s eyes narrowed. “That is a lot to be left behind given how many we face, but we have little choice in the matter.”
“No, we don’t. Once they are detached, we are to depart. No drums, no songs, no trumpets. We march hard and silent. We must make the old river before Ash-Negasu does.”
Soon the army was uncoiling, a great column of men and mounts snaking out of the watering hole, to rejoin the road that headed north. Those allotted to remain behind watched on with mixed feelings; in part glad that they were to avoid the hard fighting to come but also that feeling of regret and guilt that came from not being there when their comrades and brothers fought and died.
On through the morning they marched, all but silent but for the pounding of feet and hooves and the clanking of gear. Few voices raised any utterance for they were intent on the march, across the rocky wastes that skirted along the edge of the badlands to their west, striated rocky formations that rose up from the earth, hills and buttes funnelling any passage through them into a narrow maze of canyons and ravines that twisted about with no sense of purpose or direction. In those sheltered ravines, the odd tree or bush could be seen growing, clumps of hardy grasses and hardier shrubs that clung on, but there was none else to be seen beyond them.
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From the break of dawn until mid morning they pressed on as the sun rose ever higher and the heat of the day scorched down around them, the horizons shimmering in the heat. Riders rode on ahead of them, Vanas’ light cavalry and the nomadic horse archers, scouting out for Ash-Negasu’s army. To and fro they came, relaying information to Ishkinil and her commanders at the head of the column, but of what word they brought none filtered down to the marching soldiers.
It had still not reached the midday hour when the march came to an end, for they had come to a ridge-line that ran from the badlands to the west across to a low sting of hills to the east, the ground sloping down away before them. An old river had once run along the base of the ridge, though long had it been since water ran through it. Now it sat forlorn, rock strewn and dust choked. Where the road ran down to meet it and continue on across the other side, an old bridge still stood, solid stone columns supporting its great arches, a monument to the skills of those who had built it long ago. Still it saw use, as traders and their caravans braved the wastes to seek profits in distant cities.
It was an ideal location to defend, for the enemy had to cross the old river and come up the slope to those who waited for them, constrained by the badlands to the west and hills to the east.
Ishkinil surveyed the land before her from the heights of the ridge. Distant dust clouds marked the approaching army, yet to reach the ridge-line yet. It would, she judged, be mid-afternoon before the enemy arrived and attempted to cross. They had little choice but to press battle, for to wait out in the deserts, so far from sources of supplies, was not a viable option.
“Mounted archers are to cross the bridge and harass the approaching enemy,” she ordered, “But they are not to engage in melee. “From what Vanas has told us, Ash-Negasu is short on cavalry, more so since Vanas and his men defected, so their cavalry screen will be light. I want them back across the bridge well before the enemy arrives. Spearmen are to be positioned just below the ridge-line on the north side, ready to meet the enemy as they cross. Archers to be behind and above them. When the mounted archers return, they shall join the asshuri and light cavalry out on our eastern flank, behind the hills. Should Ash-Negasu try to send men around the hills, they shall be poised to deal with it. Otherwise they are to be held back, ready for when the enemy wavers in their assault on our lines, to be unleashed upon them. Here we shall meet them and here we shall destroy their army.”