Scythian Trilogy Book 2: The Golden King

by Max Overton

  Tomyra swallowed painfully. "Then test me. Bring your own priestess, she will attest to the power of the Goddess in me."

  The point of Sparses' dagger bit deeper and a trickle of crimson blood streaked Tomyra's throat. One of the men holding a sword on the other women coughed nervously. "My lord, she may...she may be telling the truth. We should test..." His voice trailed off as Sparses glared at him.

  "We risk the anger of the Mother, my lord," added another man. "Send for Rhynna."

  Sparses uttered a cry of frustration and slammed Tomyra's head forward onto the table. He whirled and barked out an order to a guard standing by the entrance. "Go to the priestess' tent. Tell her...no, ask her to attend on me immediately. Escort her here." He turned back to the men around the table. "Stand back from them but keep your weapons ready." Sparses strode back to his seat at the table. He picked up a slab of beef and began worrying at it with his teeth, the meat juices running down into his beard.

  Several minutes passed. Tomyra gave Bithyia and Sarmatia a covert sign to keep calm and silent then straightened her clothing and used a crust of bread to stem the blood still oozing from the nick in her throat. She tossed it to the floor where a hound snapped it up and retreated back under the table.

  A rush of cold air and a flurry of snow signaled the arrival of the priestess. A short, plump, middle-aged woman dressed in voluminous robes and a thick woollen cloak bustled into the hut. She brushed the snow from her cloak and threw back her hood then hurried over to the nearest brazier, rubbing her hands.

  "Well, Sparses," she said over her shoulder. "What was it you wanted that could not wait?"

  "I need your ability to find the Goddess if She is present," said Sparses, getting to his feet. "This woman claims to be a priestess but I know her only as an enemy and the daughter of an enemy. Examine her Rhynna. Tell me if I can kill her."

  Rhynna looked at the three women seated at the table with interest. "A priestess, you say? Which one...no, do not tell me, let me see if I can find her." She walked slowly over to the table, a smile on her lips and her dark eyes twinkling. "Hmm, two dressed as warrior maidens." She touched Sarmatia gently on the shoulder then Bithyia. "No, no powers here save those of bravery and loyalty." Rhynna continued round the table to Tomyra. She reached out and fingered her brown robes. "She is dressed as befits a priestess of Mount Mora. Look at me, woman."

  Tomyra raised her head and stared at the rather plain features of the woman standing beside her. She lifted her hand toward Rhynna, smiling as the other woman touched her.

  Rhynna's eyes widened and she dropped Tomyra's hand as if bitten. "Holy Mother!" she whispered. She turned on her heel and stared at Sparses. "I have seldom felt such power flow from one of the Mother's chosen," she gasped. "This is indeed a priestess of the Great Goddess. Treat her with courtesy, my lord."

  Sparses ground his teeth and slammed his fist on the table, sending a plate of meat toppling to the floor. At once a savage dogfight erupted as the hounds hurled themselves on the unexpected bounty, snarling and yelping. With loud cries and blows the men restored order, sending the dogs whimpering into the shadows.

  "You are certain of this?" grated Sparses. "She could not fool you?"

  "Of course not!" snapped Rhynna. "A woman...any woman, could fool a man, but no woman can deceive the power of the Goddess. She is who she says she is."

  Colour bloomed in Sparses' face as he rose to his feet and stalked around the table to Tomyra. "My apologies, lady," he snarled. "It seems I was mistaken."

  "No matter," said Tomyra, with a dismissive gesture. "Perhaps you could arrange suitable accommodations for my maidens and myself while we await the return of your chief?"

  "Very well." Sparses nodded and snapped out an order to one of the men. "Arrange it." He cleared his throat and hesitated a moment before continuing. "I am still curious to know why a priestess of the Massegetae travels into Serratae lands to converse with our chief. Do you not know our peoples are at war?"

  "I know only too well," replied Tomyra in an expressionless voice. "I seek news of one called Nikomayros, sometimes known as the Lion of Scythia."

  A hiss of hatred echoed through the room. Sparses bared his teeth in a snarl. "You ask after that one? Why?"

  "The word is you have him here in Zarmet."

  Sparses stared into Tomyra's eyes. "My men hold him in custody. He cannot escape and he will die tomorrow."

  Tomyra paled slightly but held Sparses' eyes unwaveringly. "It matters not to me. He fled the Massegetae with a sacred object and I wish its return."

  Sparses raised his eyebrows. "I had heard that you and he were enamored of each other."

  Tomyra shrugged. "The power of the Goddess would not be in me if that were true. However, he used his position to get close to me then stole something from the tribe."

  "What?"

  "A scroll, with sacred writings."

  Sparses shook his head. "I saw nothing like that. He had only weapons and a small amount of food when captured."

  "Perhaps he might have hidden it when you attacked. I would question your men."

  "All of them? That will take time."

  "I can ask them all at once, my lord. If you would take me to them I can deal with this matter immediately." Tomyra hesitated then smiled. "I can also question your prisoner."

  Sparses shook his head. "No, by the gods! No one questions him until he dies tomorrow. Maybe then, lady, if your question is still unanswered." He thought for a moment. "Many of my men have dispersed through the town but others are guarding my prisoner. You will not go to the guardhouse. I will not allow anyone close to my prisoner. The men can come here. I will send for them."

  "However you see fit to arrange it my lord." Tomyra smoothed her robes and seated herself at the table again. "Bithyia, pour me some wine while we wait."

  Sparses rapped out a series of orders and bowed as the priestess Rhynna was ushered out. He spoke quietly to some of the other men, who put down the food they were still eating and wiped their greasy hands on their trousers before leaving.

  The sound of many feet outside the house signaled the arrival of Sparses' patrol. A great deal of cold air entered as the men slowly trooped in and stood in a semi-circle around the table. They eyed the three women curiously, looking toward Sparses for enlightenment.

  Sparses nodded toward them. "Lorcus," he asked. "Are the prisoners secure?"

  Lorcus bowed. "Yes, my lord. The captain of the watch is with them."

  "Very well." Sparses turned to Tomyra. "My lady, you may ask your question."

  "Thank you, my lord." Tomyra arose and walked toward the men, slowly passing along the front rank, looking into their faces. "You men captured the man known as the Lion of Scythia?" she asked.

  The men looked at each other in silence.

  "You may answer singly or all at once," encouraged Tomyra with a smile.

  "Answer the priestess, you fools," snarled Sparses.

  "Er, yes, lady," muttered one of them.

  Tomyra turned to the one who had spoken. "When you first saw him, did he have a scroll with him?"

  "A scroll, lady?"

  "A roll of parchment, with writing on it."

  The man shrugged, looking around him perplexedly.

  Sparses sighed. "The fool does not know what writing is." He strode over to a chest by the wall and threw open the lid. He rummaged inside it and drew out a battered scroll. "Here, Tyrax," he exclaimed, holding it out. "This is a scroll. See the markings on it? That is writing."

  "So, Tyrax," asked Tomyra again. "Did the man have a scroll with him when you caught him?"

  Tyrax grinned, showing a mouthful of bad teeth. "No, lady. How could he? It was in that chest over there." Several of the men laughed.

  Tomyra smiled and waited for the laughter to die down. "Not that scroll, Tyrax, another one." She looked round at the other men. "Anyone else? Did anyone see him with a scroll like that one?"

  "No, lady," said one man. "No," said anoth
er. A few others shook their heads.

  "Could he have hidden it between you attacking and capturing him? Buried perhaps, or under a log?"

  Lorcus laughed shortly. "With an arrow in him he was not about to go hiding things."

  Tomyra sucked in her breath then forced herself to calmness. "He was wounded?"

  Lorcus flashed a look at his leader then nodded. "If he is lucky he will survive until we kill him tomorrow." He laughed as the other men grinned in appreciation.

  "What of the others with him? Could they have the scroll?"

  "Lady," interposed Sparses impatiently. "My men have denied seeing the scroll. They have their duties to attend to, so if you have finished..."

  "A moment more, my lord. What of the others with this man? Could one of them have the scroll?"

  "If they did, they have it no longer," rasped Sparses. "The woman is dead and no doubt in the bellies of crows by now, together with anything she may have carried. The men were searched. They carried only weapons." He nodded to Lorcus. "Take your men and return to your duties."

  Lorcus saluted and turned toward the entrance, as the hangings were swept aside. A guard stumbled into the room, sword in hand.

  "My lord Sparses," the man stammered. "The prisoners! They are escaping!"

  Sparses moved fluidly across the intervening space and gripped the guard's tunic in a powerful hand. "What? What do you mean, escaping?"

  "My lord," choked the guard. "The captain of the guard sent out for more wine. When we returned with it..."

  Sparses shoved the man from him, sending him reeling through the doorway into the storm. "Out!" he screamed at his men. "Out! Find them!" He whirled and grasped the shoulders of two men as they shoved past him. "You two stay here. Guard the priestess closely until I return." He flashed a vicious look at Tomyra then whirled and ran out into the night.

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  Chapter Nineteen

  It was easier than they thought to gain entrance to Zarmet. Parasades, Certes and Prithia approached one of the smaller gates at much the same time as Tomyra was being challenged at the main gate. The ferocity of the storm and the biting wind had driven the token guards into shelters just inside the palisade. Swirling snow and darkness hid the trio as they slipped through the entrance on foot and into the town beyond.

  "Where to?" yelled Certes, struggling to make himself heard above the howling wind.

  Parasades shrugged. "How in Hades should I know? We will have to ask somebody I suppose." He looked around the deserted streets then put his head down and started pushing himself toward the centre of the town. His cloak cracked and tugged at him, ice rapidly forming on his beard and eyebrows. Certes and Prithia clasped hands to help each other and staggered after him.

  They worked their way steadily into the town, searching for some sign of life. The tents along the edges of the streets were securely fastened and the doors of the houses bolted. Glints of light showed through chinks and cracks, reminding them of the warmth that lay so close at hand. At length, they turned down a narrow street and saw an open door. A heavy hide flapped across the entrance, letting shafts of light flash intermittently across the drifts of snow in the street. Raucous laughter and the sound of singing rose and fell on the wind.

  Parasades pushed through the entrance with the others close on his heels. The laughter and talk died away as they entered, some twenty pairs of eyes turning to regard the strangers standing by the door. Parasades casually brushed the snow from his cloak and swaggered to a nearby table. Certes followed, guiding Prithia ahead of him. The girl kept her hood over her long hair, hiding her hairless face.

  A boy scampered up and set a hide flask on the table, together with three rather dirty wooden cups. The sour smell of koumiss rose from the flask, mingling with the stronger odours of wood smoke and sweat. Parasades tossed the boy a coin that he caught adroitly before trotting back to his station.

  Certes unstoppered the flask and poured a generous amount of the milky brown liquid into each cup. He sipped and smacked his lips appreciatively, savouring the sour, slightly nutty taste of the fermented milk. He grinned around at the other drinkers in the room, who turned away and slowly resumed their talking. Prithia took a cup in her slim hand and sipped, keeping her head down and the hood of her cloak tipped forward.

  Parasades drank, his eyes drifting over the men around them. He settled on a pair of men in a corner throwing dice. He got up and wandered over, cup in hand. One of the men, a bald overweight man, looked up as Parasades approached. He gave him a cursory examination then turned back to his game. He threw his dice onto the table and cursed. Parasades watched as the other man claimed a few coins.

  "Any chance of a few throws myself?"

  The fat man turned with a scowl. "And who might you be?" He leaned back against the wall and stared at Parasades. "I have not seen you here before."

  "I am from the north, friend. I have just arrived in Zarmet."

  "You are not Serratae," stated the other man quietly. "Where in the north?"

  "No, indeed, though I hope for a welcome," said Parasades. "My tribe is the Marsae, a small one but with fierce fighters. I heard there was a war brewing in the east and hoped for some sport."

  The man shook his head. "Never heard of them." He gave Parasades a considering look. "A warrior, you say? We might have some work for you. I am Sarrates, third deputy of the Black Division. Sit down and talk." He turned back to the fat man. "Make yourself scarce Phallax. Come back when you have some more money to lose."

  Phallax flushed and heaved himself to his feet. He flashed Parasades a vicious look and waddled off, shouting for the serving boy. Sarrates gestured to the vacated chair.

  "So, what is your name?" asked Sarrates.

  "Portos," replied Parasades. He leaned closer to the man. "Is there really a war coming?"

  Sarrates nodded. "In the spring. The Massegetae have overthrown their old chief and are ripe for the taking." He held out the dice. "You wanted a few throws? If you have money."

  Parasades grinned and pulled out a small purse. He slid a coin into the middle of the table. "Throw then." The man threw, the dice clattering across the uneven wooden surface. "The Massegetae, eh? They have rich lands." Parasades picked up the dice himself. "But I have heard tales they have a new war-leader, a foreigner by all accounts." He threw the dice, shrugged and passed the coin over to Sarrates.

  Sarrates smiled and picked up the dice again. "Another throw?" He waited until Parasades produced another coin then tossed the dice down. "Ha, beat that, fellow!" He watched as Parasades shook the dice. "The Greek, you mean? No worry there, he lies captive right here in Zarmet."

  Parasades threw. "Mine, I think." He accepted a coin from the other man and slipped it into his purse. "Here, in Zarmet? I would like to see him. A great bear of a man, I am told."

  Sarrates snorted. "Not so fierce now. He is tall, but thin, no meat on his bones." He laughed and slapped his belly. "Nice horse, too. A great golden stallion. Naturally he is being kept for Dimurthes." Sarrates grinned and shook his head. "Spoils of war. Anyway, the Greek will die tomorrow even if he survives the night. Again?" Sarrates pushed another coin forward.

  Parasades threw and gave a cry of disgust. His opponent cast and pocketed the coins then threw again. "He is wounded? Well, no matter. One barbarian less to kill." Parasades threw and passed over another coin. "I would still like to say I had seen him though."

  "Not likely. You might see his stallion or the men captured with him."

  "What do I care about his men? Or his horse for that matter. No, I want to see this fearsome Greek."

  "Pity. The horse is easy to see. It is on display to the people in the great square. The Greek himself, though? Hmm, well, perhaps you will be lucky. He is to be sacrificed to the Great Goddess at noon tomorrow. As a foreigner yourself you will not be allowed to witness his death, but there may be another way." Sarrates threw the dice again. One fell to the floor and the man bent t
o pick it up. As he did so, Parasades reached across and quickly changed the low score on one of them to 'star'. Sarrates straightened and threw the single die again then raised his eyebrows. "Star and cup?" he exclaimed. "I thought I had two cups. And another star now!" He laughed and slapped his thigh. "You will have trouble beating that."

  Parasades smiled ruefully and scattered the dice. He shook his head and passed over another coin, peering into his purse. "Running short," he commented. "But I can play another. You say there might be a way I can see the barbarian?"

  "Be there when he is brought out of his cell. You will at least be able to tell people you saw him. Yes! Stars again!"

  "Hardly worth throwing, my friend. So, where is this cell?" Parasades tossed the dice down and sighed. "Not my night it seems."

  "Up this street then right and right again. Then cross the great square. You cannot miss it, it is the only stone building in Zarmet."

  "I will be there tomorrow. I thank you, Sarrates, though not for taking my money." Parasades laughed. "I will not be eating as well tonight as I thought." He pushed his stool back and stood up.

  Sarrates leaned back and nodded in farewell. "Come and see me when you have found lodgings, Portos of the Marsae. I can always use a handy fighter. Ask anyone for directions, the Black Division is renowned."

  Parasades nodded and walked away. He tapped Certes on the shoulder. "Come, time is short." The others stood and started for the exit. As they pushed through the throng of men, one grabbed at Prithia's cloak, exclaiming as her hood fell back.

  "A pretty one!" the man leered. "Such soft skin, almost like a girl's." He roared with laughter, displaying a mouthful of rotting teeth. "Come, give us a kiss, my pretty." He clutched at Prithia, pulling her close.

  Certes rounded on the man, his hand on his sword hilt. Parasades pushed him aside and tapped the leering man on the arm. "I would advise you to let my son alone," he said softly.

  "Son?" laughed the man. "Daughter, more like."

  "Son," repeated Parasades coolly. "And he has killed more men than you, I am sure. I taught him well."