Chapter 7 — "Gathering Storms"
The moon hung low over the pines, silvering the forest floor. Bilgames moved ahead, every footfall muted in the soft carpet of pine needles. Enmebaragesi followed, her form lithe in the moonlight, cloak damp from dew and rain. Their horses, led by two loyal deserters, picked their way along a bramble-lined path that wound toward Uruk's outer precincts.
Mist curled between the trunks, and the distant call of an owl echoed through the gloom. Each breath they drew tasted of pine resin and the sharp tang of coming war. A patrol's shout rolled on the wind—two riders passing beyond the trees—reminding them of the peril that shadowed every step.
"We must bypass the eastern guardhouse," Ene whispered, slipping a hand to rest briefly on Bilgames' arm. "The river ford is less watched."
Bilgames nodded, his gaze catching hers in the half-light. "Your pathfinding is unmatched. How do you know these woods so well?"
A teasing smile flickered across her lips. "I was born in these hills. Even when I wore palace silks, I remembered this earth. It never forgot me."
His gaze lingered a heartbeat longer. "Neither did you forget me, did you?"
A flush crept up her cheeks. "Perhaps I did not wish to." The hush between them deepened, as though the ancient woods leaned closer.
They reached the shallow ford, where pale water rippled over smooth stones. Bilgames dismounted, waded in, and offered his hand to Enmebaragesi. She placed hers lightly in his, letting his strength guide her across. Their hearts pounded, though not from the current.
At the far bank, their horses nickered softly as Bilgames remounted. Enmebaragesi swung up behind him, her arms circling his waist in a fleeting embrace.
He leaned back with a grin. "Hold fast, my princess of the wild."
She laughed, low and bright. "Only if my knight rides true."
Their laughter faded into determined silence as the ruins of Uruk's outer walls rose ahead—cracked stone littered with vines, sentinel towers half-collapsed by time and neglect.
A half-moon's light revealed the ragged forms of deserters gathered round flickering fires in a clearing among great oaks. Bilgames and Enmebaragesi emerged from shadow—fifty men and women, clad in mismatched armor, swords rusted, eyes wary.
The largest—a grizzled man with a scar from cheek to jaw—stood and spat. "Bilgames of Uruk? We heard rumors, but ghosts don't wear flesh."
Bilgames stepped forward, the scarlet cloak pulled back to flash his birthmark and the spear-etched crest of Uruk's old line. He raised his voice so every ear could hear.
"I am he. And I offer you more than rumors. Freedom from Dumuzid's cruelty. A chance to reclaim your homes, your honor."
The man laughed bitterly. "We left home so Dumuzid wouldn't kill us for taxes. What makes you different?"
Enmebaragesi stepped beside Bilgames, voice firm. "This war is not Dumuzid's alone. The Uruk people suffer his rule. We fight to restore justice, not to crown a new tyrant."
A tall archer spat. "Why us? Why not the palace guard?"
Bilgames' gaze steeled. "Because the palace guard serves gold. You fought for honor once. I ask you to fight for honor again."
He drew his sword and sheathed it. "Let my blood speak: the old line still stands."
The archers exchanged glances. Then one by one, voices rose.
"Together."
"With Uruk's true sons and daughters."
A dozen stepped forward, placing battered shields before Bilgames. The scarred leader, Maleth, bowed his head. "We ride with you, general of Uruk."
Relief flooded Bilgames. "Welcome." He clasped Maleth's forearm. "We are stronger today."
Enmebaragesi brushed against Bilgames' side, her voice soft. "We grow."
By dawn, the market stalls in Uruk lay shuttered, but voices still drifted among the stone pillars of the temple. Priests in ivory robes watched from high steps as citizens whispered: "Is Bilgames alive?" "They say he rides again." "Pray to Innana for deliverance."
Within the palace, Dumuzid's council convened. Tables groaned under platters emptied in haste. Dumuzid sat at the head, face drawn.
"The Ur host approaches our borders," a general reported. "They outnumber us two to one at the crossroads."
Dumuzid slammed his fist. "We hold the city, not the fields! We fight there."
Another officer added quietly, "The city's loyalty frays. Half the legion speaks Bilgames' name. This does not bode well."
Dumuzid's gaze darkened. "Raise the levies. Arm the merchants. Secure the temples—deny fugitives sanctuary."
He turned to Draco, now in bronze and crimson. "General, lead the defense. Crush any who flee."
Draco bowed, his face sharp with triumph. "As you command, Majesty."
A hush fell as a messenger entered, bearing Olulu's seal. Dumuzid broke it open.
"Ur demands surrender in three days at the Caravan Crossroads," he read aloud, rage in his eyes. "They have seized the trade routes."
He crushed the scroll. "Then we bleed them."
Back among the oaks, Bilgames and Enmebaragesi rode toward their new ally's camp—Naram's hillside stronghold. Rocky spurs jutted into the morning mist, tents of faded purple fluttering. Banners of Lugalbanda's stags and stars snapped in wind.
Naram, his hair white as frost, stepped from his tent. His frame stooped but his gaze sharp.
"Bilgames," he greeted. "You've come far."
"And we need you," Bilgames answered. "Your men betrayed Dumuzid alongside us."
Naram studied him. "I have fifty loyal blades. But strike too soon and Ur's host will swallow you. Wait, and the crossroads is key."
Enmebaragesi spoke. "We saw Malek's men—half captured, half escaped. They wait on your flank."
Naram's gaze softened at Ene. "You're Lugalbanda's kin. The old blood lingers yet."
Enmebaragesi dipped her head. "I fight for him. Not for crowns."
Naram clapped Bilgames' shoulder. "Then we prepare. Two days more."
By midday, their makeshift host gathered: fifteen deserters, thirty veterans, fifty from Malek's band. Banners of the stag flew beside battered Uruk standards.
"Draco is the new general of Uruk," Malek said, fury etched in every word.
Bilgames' jaw tightened. "I knew he was a traitor."
"We could have been a hundred, but our men fell from Dax's doing. He's joined Draco against us."
Malek spat into the grass in anger.
Bilgames studied him and said, "I'll reclaim my rank. And those two—and every coward who betrayed us—will pay."
"Those who were arrested will be thrown into the arena as slaves," Malek said darkly. "We must rescue them before they die for sport."
Bilgames turned to address the men. "Friends and warriors," he called. "Three days from now, this war will inscribe our names into legend."
Cheers rose. Swords rang on shields. Enmebaragesi caught Bilgames' eye and grinned.
Bilgames moved through the ranks, clasping arms, murmuring courage. A young archer quivered.
He knelt beside her. "You will shoot true. You fight for home."
She nodded, tears brimming. He rose, heart heavy but resolute.
That evening, Bilgames stood by a fire's glow. Ene approached, wrapped in wool.
"Do you still doubt?" he asked softly.
She smiled. "You've given them hope."
He stared into the flames. "And risked their lives."
She laid a hand on his chest. "War is never clean. But I trust you."
His gaze met hers. "You always did what I could not."
"Someone had to."
He drew her into a warm, fierce embrace. Their foreheads touched. No words, no hurried passion—only a shared breath, a fragile peace amid storm.
She whispered, "I trust in us."
He held her close. "And I in you."
They sat like that long into the night.
Two nights later, their host marched at dusk. Torches bobbed and drums beat a defiant rhythm. Bilgames led on his stallion. Enmebaragesi beside him, her cloak a banner.
They crested a rise. The crossroads lay ahead, empty but waiting. Beyond, Ur's host glinted with torchlight.
Bilgames reined in his mount. "There they wait. Tomorrow, the war begins."
Naram dismounted. "The army of Ur outnumbers them two to one. My scouts have sent word."
Bilgames raised his sword. "Then we'll make it two for two."
"Innana's blessing," Ene whispered.
The wind carried their words across the fields—an oath of steel and heart.
At dawn's first light, Draco's army assembled at Uruk's eastern gate. Spears bristled as he rode the lines, his face cold.
"By evening," he declared, "Ur's legions will kneel or die upon our walls."
The drums began their war roll—the clash to shake the earth.
And unseen, Bilgames' force moved westward—not to claim Uruk, but to strike at Ur when fate allowed.
That night by the fire, Naram joined Bilgames alone.
"You ride with fire, boy," Naram said quietly. "And you don't yet know all its shape."
Bilgames raised an eyebrow. "Meaning?"
"I heard a thing, long ago. The night you were born, it was said you were promised to a girl child of royal line—Enmebaragesi."
Bilgames stiffened, his gaze flashing to the sleeping form of Enmebaragesi nearby.