Dawn of War (Empires of Bronze #2) by Gordon Doherty

Author:Gordon Doherty
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: action adventure, military fiction, simon scarrow, historical fiction egypt, age of empires, ancient war heroes, beach reads 2020, epic fast paced desert voyage odyssey farflung, military fiction thrillers, prehistory fiction novels
Publisher: Gordon Doherty

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The soil of Amurru shuddered. Volca gripped the reins of his gelding as it slowed in fright at the wall of dust into which they had almost run. His throat dried of moisture as he gawped at the golden mass. ‘The Army of Ra,’ he croaked. In his six years in the Egyptian court, he still could not help but marvel at the sight. Ten thousand professional soldiers, reared on the banks of the River Iteru – the arterial waterway that ran the length of Egypt – sworn to fight and die for the Egyptian Sun God. Back to continue the much-talked of conquest of all Retenu… and then the Hittite lands, perhaps?

First came a wall of many thousands of Egyptian infantrymen, serried in Sa blocks. They were no mere nefru, these were menfyt: musclebound Egyptian veterans more scar than skin, their headdresses and standards – topped with striped feathers, rising suns, lion effigies and jackal heads – bobbing in time with their lockstep stride. Behind them was a wagon, upon which a lone figure stood. Pharaoh Seti stared northwards, chest wrapped in golden wings, sapphire helm ablaze with reflected sunlight. Before, behind and flanking Pharaoh’s wagon, the royal corps of the Strongarms marched, scales glittering like treasure, zebra-hide shields bright. Further back, a huge train of wagons rolled, heaped with five hundred disassembled war chariots. Screening the flanks of this arsenal marched thick bands of coal-skinned Medjay archers, Libyan bowmen and native Egyptian bowmen.

The flanking archers and infantry of the Army of Ra arced around Volca like pincers, Pharaoh’s famously withering gaze upon him. The army halted, the land fell silent, the dust sticking to Volca’s eyes and throat.

‘Mighty Pharaoh,’ Volca fell from his horse and knelt, averting his gaze from the King of Egypt as all good subjects should. ‘I was riding forth to greet you,’ he lied. ‘Amur was assaulted last night. A force of Hittites attempted to wrest the place from us.’

Seti’s lantern jaw worked, his eyes peering down at Volca as an elephant might regard a grub. ‘What are you trying to tell me, Sherden?’

‘That they were beaten,’ he said, daring to look up. The Hittites are right now trapped in the bowels of Amur. ‘Amidst them is none other than the odd-eyed prince, Hattu, brother of King Muwa.’ He waited for Pharaoh’s joyous reaction, but there was none.

‘The Hittites will be released. King Muwa will pay a ransom, and he will accede to my eternal possession of Amurru.’

‘My Pharaoh?’ Volca gasped. ‘Amurru is just the first step on a journey of a thousand strides, you said.’

‘There will be no war,’ Pharaoh said flatly.

Volca’s eyes darted, his mind racing. Hattu was to live? Pharaoh was to seek peace with the Hittite King? A terrible thought overcame him then: of King Muwa and Seti engaging in talks – long-neglected in the build-up of tensions. Of Muwa describing to Seti the nature of his father’s death – by a poisoner’s hand… by Volca’s hand. He had seen

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