Scythian Trilogy Book 2: The Golden King

by Max Overton

  O, Mother Goddess, she prayed. Keep him safe. She refused to believe the Goddess would put him in her life without a purpose. That purpose must surely still be unfulfilled. Surely?

  Tomyra looked up as one of the guards pushed past her, causing her own scrawny mount to shy and slip on the narrow path. The man called softly to Dimurthes and she strained to hear what was said.

  "My Lord," the guard said. "We are followed still."

  Dimurthes turned and looked back down the mountainside, his eyes following the path downward as it zigzagged across the open slopes. He grunted and pulled his horse to a stop, his cloak flapping in the biting wind. The other riders slowed and stopped also, turning to look enquiringly at Dimurthes before staring back the way they had come.

  "Three riders," Dimurthes muttered. "They are not my men. They look like boys." He whipped round to confront Tomyra. "More of your confounded women playing at warrior?" He ground his teeth, staring at the young woman. "Well, they'll find the same reward for their play as the others." Dimurthes barked out a laugh and raised his voice to call to the other women waiting up the path ahead of him. "How far to this sanctuary of yours, holy mother?"

  "Not far," answered Atrullia crisply. "But we must be off this path by nightfall."

  Dimurthes glanced up at the heavy overcast and at the black shadows oozing across the mountains. He shrugged. "Let them follow then, for the moment." He urged his horse forward, waving the others on.

  The path ceased its upward course and followed the contours of the mountain, easing around the shoulder of a great ridge, bare with loose rock. In the lea of the ridge the wind dropped, the distant rushing of mountain streams now impinging on their senses. The path dropped into a steep-sided gully--the horses scrabbled for a foothold. At the top of the next rise, the path disappeared into the gloom of night. Tomyra glanced back across the gully and thought she could barely make out a movement on the ridge behind her.

  "There," said Atrullia. "And not a moment too soon." The old priestess pointed down into the next valley. A path wound down into a flat valley crowded with vegetation. After the bare slopes of the mountain all about them, the densely wooded valley looked unreal and distant. Too little light filtered down from the last shards of the day for Tomyra to make out any colours, but the valley looked warm and inviting after the cold ride across the rocky bones of the ranges.

  The horses whinnied and pushed forward, hurrying down the path as fast as they dared in the poor light. As they descended, Tomyra felt a warm humidity wash across her, unexpected in the cold aridity of the Scythian steppes.

  Atrullia looked back at Tomyra as if she had heard her unspoken thoughts. "Hot springs, child. The Mother blesses us here in Her valley."

  As the first scrubby beginnings of vegetation rose about them, willow and alder, Atrullia called a halt and turned to face Dimurthes. "We are about to cross into the sanctuary of the Great Goddess. None may enter here unless they are called." She glanced at Tomyra. "The Goddess bids you enter, child."

  The old priestess turned back to Dimurthes, her face hidden in the darkness, her voice flat and expressionless. "Dimurthes, lord of the Serratae. You are accused of raping a priestess of the Mother. You may enter to plead your case before the Goddess."

  Dimurthes ignored the sharp intake of breath from his men. "And if I choose not to?"

  "Then your guilt will be evident. The Mother will turn her face from you. No man or woman will aid you. You will exist out of law until death, and the Mother will not welcome you into the kingdoms of the dead. Choose."

  Dimurthes was silent for a space, his horse stamping and fidgeting beneath him. "I will enter and plead my case," he said quietly. "I have done only what any warrior would do to defend his people."

  "You enter willingly?" asked Atrullia.

  "I have said so, yes."

  "Then enter into the holy place of the Mother."

  Dimurthes kicked his horse into motion, passing close to the dark figures that were the three women. As his men moved forward after their chief, Atrullia's voice snapped out.

  "Hold! You are not invited."

  The men reined in their horses abruptly, milling on the narrow path. Dimurthes leaned forward, close to the old priestess. "My men accompany me," he said. "They are needed to guard me and the girl."

  "Are you afraid of the presence of women, my lord?" asked Atrullia, a hint of amusement in her voice.

  "No," grated Dimurthes. "But the girl may try to use this place to escape me. When I have proved myself before the Goddess she will want to escape her just punishment."

  "Just as none may enter save with Her permission, none may leave without the Goddess' consent. Besides, there is but one path, my lord. If your men wait here, she would have to pass by them."

  Dimurthes swore under his breath. "Very well." He snapped out an order to his men. "Wait here and guard the path. Remember, too, we are followed." His teeth flashed in the dark as he grinned. "Three women follow. Amuse yourselves until I return."

  Atrullia urged her horse forward into the path of the warriors. "Do not enter the forest, do not cut wood. Only burn that which has fallen." She leaned forward and whispered in a low voice. "The Mother gives and sustains life, but she can also kill. Death comes silently from the dark. Remember that and be respectful." She turned her horse and kicked it into a walk. As she passed Tomyra she smiled. "Come, child. The Mother awaits."

  The four riders moved on into the inky blackness beneath the trees. The horses of the old priestess and her companion moved slowly but steadily along the nearly invisible path, the sound of their hooves dulled by drifting windrows of fallen leaves. The other horses followed closely, stumbling and shying at shadows, at the furtive scrabbling of unseen creatures. Dimurthes wrapped his cloak tightly about him, his body tense and expectant.

  Tomyra felt herself relaxing for the first time in days. Even the presence of the hateful Serratae chieftain failed to impinge on the lassitude that drifted over her. The silence of their travel, the gentle susurration of wind and fallen foliage, the monotonous movement of her horse as it grew used to the darkness, lulled her. She drifted in and out of sleep, remembering childhood travels in her father's wagon, rumbling across the open steppes. The smell of the horses in the cold night air brought memories of riding with her father, balanced astride his horse, held firmly by his strong arms. Tomyra felt the warmth of her mother's love in the hut at night and heard her voice whispering to her in the darkness. Tomyra, I was captured yet found love in a distant land. Trust in me, your destiny lies elsewhere. I will not abandon you. The voice of her mother became fainter and merged into the sigh of the wind.

  "Mother!" Tomyra cried out, jerking awake. She looked around her and found that the horses had stopped beside a small stream. The water gurgled and riffled through moss-covered boulders, wisps of steam rising into a low, surging layer of mist. Starlight lit the opening in the forest with a dim light. The old priestess was looking curiously at Tomyra.

  "We have arrived, child." She stared at Tomyra for a moment longer then shook her head and turned to Dimurthes. The chief shifted uneasily, staring around him at the silent forest and deepening mist. He looked up at the now cloudless sky, ablaze with cold stars, with an expression of awe.

  "Arrived where?" he muttered. His hand moved unconsciously in a placating gesture, palm downward.

  "At the sanctuary of the Great Goddess, of course," said Atrullia. "We walk from here." She slid to the ground and handed the reins of her horse to the already dismounted Solma.

  "Why must we walk?" asked Dimurthes, not moving from his horse.

  "It is holy ground. Only Her chosen and invited may enter." Atrullia shook out her cloak and caught Tomyra's hand as the young woman joined her on the ground. "The horses will be cared for here. You will leave your weapons here too," she added.

  Dimurthes leapt from his horses back, his bow in his left hand and his right hand on the hilt of his sword. "My arms do not leave me," he grated.

/>   "You must do as the priestess bids you," interjected Solma, taking the reins of his horse.

  Dimurthes scowled and set his shoulders squarely. "I will not be disarmed," he stated flatly.

  Atrullia sighed. "There are no weapons in the sanctuary, not even a knife for eating. Since none can harm you, what need have you of weapons? Further, if the Mother set Herself against you, could mortal arms defeat the Goddess?"

  Dimurthes stood silently then handed his bow and sword to Solma. The old woman took the weapons gingerly and slid them into a hide sack.

  "You have a dagger for eating?" asked Atrullia.

  "Yes."

  Atrullia stood patiently. Dimurthes shrugged and tossed it at the feet of the old priestess.

  "Any other weapons?"

  "No," replied Dimurthes quickly, his hand jerking slightly.

  "It is folly to try to deceive the Mother," observed the priestess quietly. "She is everywhere within Her sanctuary...see! Even now she comes." Atrullia pointed into the shadows across the stream.

  The mist swirled, rising and falling in the direction of her outstretched finger. Dimly within the vapour a figure moved, silently and smoothly, flitting between the trees, moving ever closer.

  Dimurthes blanched and a cry gurgled in his throat. His hand rose in a warding gesture then dropped to his boot and extracted a long thin blade, flinging it to the turf. "Great Goddess forgive me," he muttered. He fell to his knees and bowed his head, tearing his eyes away from the approaching terror.

  Silence fell over the group, Tomyra staring open-mouthed at the swirling mist and the figure within it. The cowled and cloaked figure of a woman in a long richly embroidered dress stepped from the mist onto the stream bank and bobbed in a curtsey to Atrullia.

  "Ah, Tallia. We have guests," the old priestess said. "You have brought a torch?"

  "Yes, lady." The figure brought out an earthenware pot from under her cloak and thrust a brand into it. The torch flared within the pot and, on taking it out, cast a ruddy, blood red glow over the figures by the stream.

  Dimurthes opened his eyes and looked about fearfully. "Where...?" he whispered.

  "As I said, She is everywhere. Tallia has come to greet us in the Mother's Name. Come now, cross the stream."

  Atrullia lifted her skirts and hopped spryly across the stream, steadied by the woman Tallia. Tomyra followed, and then Dimurthes stepped across, his eyes still darting around the clearing. Solma pulled on the reins of the horses and led them downstream.

  Tallia held the torch high, sending an orange glow through the pearly mist. She moved off between the trees followed by Atrullia and Tomyra. Dimurthes spun on his heel, surveying the clearing, his hand dropping to clutch vainly for his relinquished sword. He swore beneath his breath and hurried after the figures of the women.

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  Chapter Twelve

  Nikometros scowled up at the overcast sky with the last remnants of a scarlet sunset fading from the lowering clouds. He slid from the back of his stallion, Diomede, and stared at the dusty road in the fading light. A narrow but well-used path broke from the road and soared toward the mountaintops.

  "Which way did they go?" he asked.

  Parasades glanced up from where he squatted in the road, one finger tracing in the dirt. "Oh, both ways I think. See," he pointed to hoof prints, "They split up." He rose to his feet and dusted his hands off on the sides of his leggings. "For one who was brought up among horses, Nikomayros, you know little about tracking them."

  Nikometros gave the other man a black look before grating out, "Which way did Tomyra go?"

  "To Zarmet, my friend," replied Parasades equably. "A group of some half dozen broke off up that mountain path, but her horse continues toward Zarmet. No doubt the priestess is returning to her holy place with an escort provided by the redoubtable Dimurthes."

  "And can you tell how long ago they passed by here?"

  Parasades shrugged. "They left the village a few hours ahead of us and traveled slowly, whereas we made good time. The tracks are fresh and undisturbed by wind or rain. I would guess perhaps an hour, maybe less."

  "Then we must hurry." Nikometros grabbed the reins of his horse and swung it around to face down the road to Zarmet.

  "It is dark already," said Parasades quietly. "We should at least wait for the moon's light."

  Agarus nodded. "My lord Parasades is right, my lord. We cannot track them at night."

  Nikometros glared up at his servant. "I do not ask you to come. I will go by myself if no other will follow." He vaulted onto his stallion's back.

  "I will follow you, Niko," said Timon softly.

  "And I, my lord." Diratha edged her horse alongside the stallion. "It is why I came."

  Agarus flushed beneath his beard. "Of course I will come. You are my lord. I only meant..." His voice trailed off and he shrugged and kicked his horse into motion.

  Parasades smiled gently and stroked his beard and moustache contemplatively. "Well, it appears that Certes and I must bow to the inevitable." He gave a short laugh and spurred his horse, making it leap forward. Within moments the others joined him, strung out in a line as they galloped down the Zarmet road to the plains.

  By the time the party reached the flat roads at the start of the plains, full night had fallen. They slowed their progress as the darkness all but obscured the road. Timon glanced across at the shadowy outline of his friend Nikometros. His features remained in shadow but the slow grind of his jaw told of his anger and frustration.

  The pace of the horses dropped to a walk. Timon coughed gently and leaned closer to Nikometros. "Niko, this is madness. We could walk right past and not see them." His friend remained silent. Timon sighed and tried again. "We need only stop until moonrise. Even the waning moon will give us light."

  "It is hours to moonrise, Timon," Nikometros growled. "I have delayed enough. I intend to find my Tomyra tonight."

  "And I, my Bithyia," agreed Timon. "But see, even now the moon rises." He pointed off to their left at a faint yellow glow.

  Everyone stopped and stared at the faint light limning a grassy ridge in the inky blackness off the road.

  "If that is the moon then we are traveling south," said Nikometros slowly.

  "It is not the moon," stated Parasades. "It will rise behind us and not for some time. That is a fire." He turned to Nikometros, his features hidden by the darkness. "It seems we have found our quarry. What will you do now?"

  Nikometros sat silent for several moments. "First, let us be certain." He dismounted, signaling to the others to do so too. Together, they walked off the road into the long prairie grasses. "Agarus, Diratha, wait here with the horses."

  "My lord," Diratha said. "I came to fight not tend horses. Let the cripple do so and let me kill men."

  "You will have your chance to avenge your sisters. For now, hold the horses and keep them quiet while we reconnoitre."

  Without waiting for a reply, Nikometros started off at a fast walk toward the low swell of the grassy ridge, followed by Parasades, Timon and Certes. As they approached, the light of the campfire grew stronger and the sound of raucous voices reached them on the gusting breeze. Crouching on hands and knees, the four men eased themselves to the edge of the ridge and peered over.

  A large fire burned at the bottom of a shallow gully. The remains of an old pine tree, from whence the fuel for the fire came, leaned precariously from the near side of the depression, partly blocking their view. Sparks showered upward in the gusts of wind, sputtering into extinction in the damp grass or drifting skyward into oblivion. Smoke clouded the air, urged first this way then that by fitful eddies. Several men lay or sat around the fire, drinking from skin bottles or munching on hard unleavened bread. To the left of the watchers milled the horses, legs hobbled and halters joined, huddling against the cold in the shadows on the edge of the firelight.

  Parasades squeezed Nikometros' arm and pointed off to his left, near the horses, and he
ld up two fingers.

  Nikometros stared into the darkness, shielding his face from the glare of the fire. After a long moment he nodded and whispered, "Two guards only?"

  Certes pointed to the right at another figure leaning on a spear, staring with bored fixity into the darkness beyond the fire.

  Nikometros continued to scrutinise the surroundings and at length was rewarded by a small movement some twenty paces below them in the shadow of the old pine. He pointed, eliciting a nod from the others.

  "I do not see the lady Tomyra," breathed Timon.

  "Nor I," said Parasades. "Yet her mare is here."

  Tomyra's fine roan mare, one of her favourite mounts, and the one with the distinctive hoof print, indeed lay beneath them, milling with the other horses.

  "She may be beneath us, near the dead tree," said Nikometros. "I do not see any man who looks like a war chief either."

  Parasades gestured a withdrawal and the four eased themselves back from the edge of the hollow. Withdrawing several yards into the darkness, they discussed their plans.

  "I counted eleven men," whispered Parasades. "Four on guard, seven around the fire."

  Certes nodded his agreement then added, "Count in the chief Dimurthes and we are outnumbered three to one."

  Timon grunted. "Long odds in battle but not where surprise and fear aid us."

  "Exactly," agreed Nikometros. "I say we remove the four guards first, by stealth, also reducing the odds considerably. Then we can take our time, get close, and be among them before they know we are there."

  "I suggest we allow the girl Diratha to help us," said Parasades. "She can employ her bow to good effect in the initial attack."

  "Very well then. Certes, fetch the girl. We will wait."

  Certes disappeared into the blackness, reappearing a few minutes later with Diratha. Nikometros hurriedly explained the plan to her then motioned for them all to return to the grassy lip. He pointed out the four guards. "Parasades, Certes. Take the horse guards. Timon, the one by the tree. I will silence the other." He turned to look at the young girl, searching her face for signs of fear or doubt. Satisfied, he went on. "When I wave my sword, fire into the men. Be sure your first arrow kills, but thereafter shoot as fast as you can. Fear will be our ally. Only be sure of your man, all of you. Remember the lady Tomyra is down there somewhere." He looked around at the shadowy figures. "Any who harms her will answer to me."