by Max Overton
"Indeed I am not," replied Parasades. "I am Marsae, from the north. I have lodgings with my companions." He turned a waved toward the now-empty street. "I must catch up with them or I will not be able to find my way."
"Portos? Of the Marsae?" A rough voice spoke from the doorway. Parasades turned and saw Sarrates, third deputy of the Black Division, leaning against the doorpost, with arms folded across his wide chest. "What are you doing here?"
"Ah, Sarrates," Parasades slowly replied, edging more into the shadows. "I found lodgings with men of the city and I have been out drinking with them. I was returning home but this fellow accosted me."
"I am glad you found lodging so easily, my friend. But I thought you said you had no money to eat, let alone to drink?"
Parasades snorted with laughter. "My hosts were generous."
Sarrates lifted an eyebrow. "Indeed? May I know their names? Such generosity is worth cultivating."
Parasades hesitated, searching for a Serratae name. "Sparses...Sparses was one, I think. I cannot remember the names of his companions."
"Sparses? Deputy to our chief?" Sarrates pushed himself away from the doorpost and stepped out into the snow. "He was here but a few moments ago with his men. He did not say he had been drinking."
Parasades shrugged, edging away from the Serratae warrior. "Perhaps it was another name or another man of the same name. Either way I must hurry after him or else I will lose my way."
"Why did he not wait for you?" Sarrates moved after Parasades. "Portos. Stand still. Something is not right here." He drew his sword with a rasp. "You." He turned to the other man standing nearby. "Tell my men in there," he jerked his thumb toward the open doorway, "to get out here immediately."
Parasades leapt at the bystander, his sword whispering from its sheath. The man uttered a brief startled cry before staggering back with blood pouring from his chest. Parasades spun back toward the doorway and barely managed to block a slash from Sarrates' sword. The force of the blow forced him down on one knee. He rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding another hack downward. He scrambled to his feet and readied himself, crouching.
Sarrates circled, his gaze probing into his opponent's face. "Get out here!" he yelled. "Tamates, Rortaxes, to me!"
The howl of the wind blew his words away into the night. The shaft of light from the tavern entrance remained unsullied by the figures of reinforcements. Parasades feinted, then again. Sarrates' blade weaved slowly in front of him, the warrior not reacting to Parasades' ploys. Parasades tried again and Sarrates moved forward fluidly, within his opponent's guard, his sword stabbing. The blade sliced cleanly through Parasades' tunic, barely missing the flesh. Parasades quickly stepped back, his free hand checking the damage.
Sarrates grinned and advanced. "Come, Portos of the Marsae. You said your people were fierce fighters. Show me." He lunged but his blade was deflected at the last moment. He continued to circle, his sword point weaving hypnotically in front of him.
Parasades parried the man's blow and flicked a glance down the dark street. He saw nobody and barely jerked his eyes back again in time to fling his body aside from another fluid rush. Parasades collided heavily with the wall of the building. A sword swept by his face and bit into the wood with a resounding crash, sending splinters flying. A shouted query came from inside the tavern and the sound of tables and chairs being pushed back carried to the fighters.
Sarrates grinned again. Parasades flung his sword at the other man. Sarrates lifted his own sword to block the missile, involuntarily ducking as he did so. Parasades leapt forward and rammed his head into the warrior's face.
Sarrates howled with agony and staggered back to fall in the snow. Parasades glanced at the shapes of men appearing in the doorway then swept up his fallen sword and took to his heels down the street.
Shouts rose behind him but Parasades did not look back. He ran until, rounding the corner at the end of the street, a blast of wind knocked him off his feet and into a drift of snow. He lay, his chest heaving, as icy air stabbed its way into his lungs. Groaning deeply, Parasades rolled over onto his knees. Hands grasped his arms and hauled him upright. He struggled weakly, trying to wrest himself from the clutches of his captors.
"For love of the Mother, Parasades," spoke a voice from the darkness. "We found the gate. Even now, Timon and Agarus are carrying their lord to safety. Come, we must hurry."
Certes began pulling him along. Parasades sheathed his sword and stumbled after him, trying to brush the caked ice and snow from his cloak. "You came back for me? Good man." Then, after a pause, he added, "You met with no opposition?"
"We met none, though we saw armed searchers twice," replied Certes. The sound of shouts and running feet induced them to shrink back into deep shadows, the weak flickering light and dancing shadows of handheld brands hiding more than they illuminated. They watched the men disappear down the street. "Truly the gods are with us tonight, my lord."
"More like the Goddess," reprimanded Prithia sharply.
"You could be right, girl, though it seems to me that She does not command the weather," Parasades gruffly responded. "Still, remind me to make proper sacrifices when we return home."
They met no further search parties inside Zarmet. The three fugitives slipped through the gate and into the wide expanse of empty land sloping down to the river. Ahead of them, they could just make out the footprints of the others, now rapidly disappearing in driving snow. They hurried down to the riverbank. The river itself, still ice free despite intense cold, stood out as a dark slash across the snowdrifts. In the dim light, reflected back off the ghostly white landscape, Parasades could just make out the dark clump of willow scrub where they earlier hid their horses.
Stumbling through deep snow, they reached the refuge. The wind dropped within the shelter of scrub brush where the horses stood in a tight group, their breath blowing white about them. Huddled close to the horses were Timon and Agarus, desperately trying to glean some warmth from the shivering animals.
Timon looked up as the others stumbled into the refuge. His dark eyes were screwed up in misery. "We must find shelter," he demanded. "Niko will die unless we can get him warm."
"There is a herder's hut an hour's ride from here," said Certes. "The others will meet us there." He gripped the old Macedonian's shoulder. "If the gods allow, we shall yet save his life."
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Chapter Twenty-Two
Bithyia dismounted and ran her hands over the heavy timbers of the gate. She pushed against the solid crossbeam holding the halves of the gate shut. It stirred, the wood creaking loudly as it did so.
"Help me, Sarmatia, quickly!" said Bithyia.
Sarmatia joined her sister Owl at the gate and heaved at the crossbeam. It shifted slightly then refused to move any further. "Something is stopping it." She peered into the darkness of the gate well then moved along the crossbeam, searching with her hands. "Ah!" she cried. "Here, a rope holds it."
Sarmatia struggled with the rope then stood aside to let Bithyia wrestle with the frozen knot around the beam. "It is too tight," complained Bithyia, her voice breaking with frustration. "We will never get it undone."
"So cut the rope and be done with it," said Tomyra impatiently.
"Of course. I should have thought of that, my lady." Bithyia drew her dagger and began to saw at the thick hemp rope.
Tomyra looked back toward the guardhouse, edging her mare deeper into the shadows by the gate. Beyond the subdued babble from the guards she heard another noise rising above the whine of the wind. She strained to hear and at last made out the sound of feet and hoarse angry shouts. Doors slammed further up the street and light flared, cutting through the storm.
"Hurry!" Tomyra called softly to Bithyia. "They are searching this street."
Sarmatia ran to Tomyra's side, holding the reins of the other horses and peered toward the guardhouse. The torches of the searchers grew brighter and the noise of their coming grew louder.
Tomyra and Sarmatia drew back into the shadows and drew their swords. Bithyia stopped sawing through the tough rope and joined them.
"Show them your priestess stick, my lady," whispered Sarmatia. "They will respect that and let us go."
"Unless they have discovered the two guards we killed," replied Bithyia dryly. "I do not imagine they will forgive murder easily."
"Hush. Wait and listen."
The three women strained to hear the shouted voices as they carried through the storm's noise. The hubbub from the guardhouse died away and figures appeared at the entrance, lifting aloft blazing brands to discover the reason for the outcry. Two men ran out of the night with weapons drawn and accosted the guards. Tomyra recognised one of the men as Sparses. She stepped forward, to the very edge of the shadow to listen.
"Ho, fellow! Why all the noise?" The guard suddenly realised who stood before him and gulped. "My...my lord Sparses. We did not expect you..."
"Has anyone passed this way tonight?"
"Th...this way, my lord?" stammered the guard. "Er, yes, my lord. We let in several farmers just before nightfall and..."
"Has anyone left Zarmet, you fool? I am not interested in farmers entering."
"Left Zarmet, my lord? Who would want to leave tonight?" He smiled weakly and drew his cloak about him.
"The so-called priestess and her murdering bitches. You let them in, Myres. Have you let them out?"
Myres paled and stepped back, shaking his head vigorously. "No. No, my lord. No one has passed this way. The gate is barred and secure. See for yourself my lord."
Tomyra hissed softly and drew back as far as she could, holding the muzzle of her mare to keep it calm and quiet. "Great Goddess, protect us," she whispered.
Sparses glanced toward the gate hidden in the shadows of the gate well. He grunted. "Leave two men here and bring the rest of your squad. I will search the whole of Zarmet if I must. The Greek prisoner has escaped and that Massegetae whore posing as a priestess helped him do so, somehow." He turned on his heel and strode back to his men who were noisily searching houses further up the street, their shouts mingling with the loud objections of the house owners.
Myres told two men to watch the gate and led the rest of his guard squad up the street at a run. Gradually the sound of the search died as the men worked their way into the next street. The two guards stood at the doorway of the guardhouse with drawn weapons and looked alertly about them.
Tomyra and her two warrior maidens watched silently from the shadows by the gate, their spirits sinking. Time dragged on, the women shifting uncomfortably and the horses becoming increasingly restless.
"We must do something," whispered Bithyia. "Sarmatia and I could rush them."
"Across open ground?" Tomyra shook her head. "You would die without accomplishing anything." She pointed to the far side of the gate. "See, the shadows run along the wall and to those buildings. One of us could hide within those shadows and create a diversion."
Sarmatia tapped Tomyra's wrist. "Forgive me, my lady, but we would have to cross the open space in front of the gate to reach it. And what about the horses? The shadows will not hide them."
"What sort of diversion?" asked Bithyia. "They will not hear any noise we could make, and if they did, would just think it was the searchers returning."
Tomyra thought. "Fire. It will have to be fire."
Bithyia nodded. "I have iron and flint, my lady. I will find something to light."
"Go with the Goddess, Bithyia." Tomyra bent and scrabbled in the snow at her feet for a few moments then held out a rock to Sarmatia. "Your arm is good. Throw this past the guards at that building."
Sarmatia took the rock and hefted it, her teeth glinting in the faint light. "Be ready, Bithyia." She threw, the stone thumping against wood. The guard's heads turned and one stepped out of the doorway and moved a few paces down the street. Bithyia flitted forward, across the lighted open snow and into the deep shadow along the outer wall.
"We must prepare," said Tomyra softly. She took her dagger out and felt her way to the gate crossbeam and the half-severed rope. "Watch, and tell me if they hear me." She started sawing at the frozen hemp fibers.
Sarmatia peered out of the darkness at the two guards leaning against the doorposts of the guardhouse, talking quietly to each other. The sound of the sawing behind her was loud but the noise of the storm effectively drowned it. At last the sawing stopped and Sarmatia crept back to see why.
"It is cut," whispered Tomyra. She tested the weight of the beam, pushing upward with both hands. "Two of us should be able to remove it." She restrained Sarmatia as the young woman pressed forward. "Not yet. It will make a noise when it falls and besides, the force of the wind is likely to throw the gate wide. We must wait for Bithyia."
Time passed again. The guards stamped their feet and slapped their arms together as the chill bit through their leathers. Gradually they eased back inside the comparative warmth of the guardhouse, though always one of them remained staring out toward the gate.
"What is keeping her?" whispered Sarmatia. "Perhaps something has gone wrong."
"We cannot leave without her. One of us must go and find her."
Sarmatia nodded and dropped to her knees, searching for another rock. "I will go, my lady." She rose and hefted the rock in her hand, choosing her target.
A faint glimmer of light tickled Tomyra's eyes. She blinked and stared into the night. "Wait." Tomyra put out a restraining hand just as Sarmatia drew her arm back to throw.
"What is it?"
"Over there, to the right. Do you see it?"
"No, my lady. What do you see?"
"I thought I saw...yes, there!" Tomyra's voice rose excitedly and she stepped back hurriedly. "See, a light," she went on in a loud whisper. "Flames. I am sure of it."
The glow grew stronger, building in strength and size until flames could be seen ascending in a column through the falling snow. The sound of crackling and spitting timbers could be heard over the wind and billows of smoke poured over the town.
"Why do they not see it?" hissed Sarmatia. "Are they blind? And deaf?"
"Throw the rock, Sarmatia. Bring them out."
Sarmatia threw, the stone cracking against the guardhouse. The man in the doorway swore, ducking back reflexively before jumping out, his weapon lifted. He swept his eyes round and saw the conflagration. For a moment he stood paralyzed, his sword drooping. Then he gave a great shout and pointed as his fellow guard ran out to join him. They raced off down the street, shouting at the tops of their voices, hammering on doors. Lights appeared as the inhabitants of the surrounding streets woke to their peril. People poured out into the streets.
Tomyra turned back to the gate. "Quickly. Help me lift the beam."
The two women struggled to raise the thick piece of timber barring the gate. It moved sideways, slipping through the angled supports then, just as it seemed as if it would fall free, it jammed. Sarmatia swore colourfully and pounded her fist on the beam.
Tomyra gave a small cry of anguish and slumped against the gate. Snow crunched behind her and she turned in alarm. Bithyia ran across the open space and collapsed against the timbers. She grinned at the other women, wiping her soot-grimed face with a blackened hand.
"By the Mother, that fire spread fast," she panted. "I didn't think I was going to get out of there."
Tomyra looked round at the scene in the town. The fire was rapidly spreading, jumping from one house to another, sending a ruddy glow over the whole area. Already the shadows around the gate were vanishing, leaving the three women exposed to the gaze of any who might look in their direction. "Speaking of which, dear friend," smiled Tomyra. "That fire will also bring people upon us. We must leave immediately."
"Then let us do so." Bithyia looked up at the gate and the jammed crossbeam. "Ah!" She studied it for a moment then nodded. "My lady, if you and Sarmatia would pull down on the beam at this end, I will try to free it here."
Tomyra took a grip on the rou
gh wood and put her weight on it, swinging her legs off the ground. Beside her Sarmatia pulled and heaved downward, grunting with exertion. Bithyia walked to the other end and drew her sword. She swung it experimentally; measuring the distance then set her feet firmly, grinding them through the snow. Her sword arced in an underhand blow, biting deep into the underside of the beam. Splinters of wood showered the ground as she wrestled the blade free. She swung again, the chunk of her blow echoing around the gate well. Again, and the beam shivered and moved upward a finger width.
Bithyia stepped back and caught her breath. "Once more, I think." She nodded at the others. "All your weight now." She swept her sword up again and the beam shook then with a squeal of wood, lifted from the bracket and toppled. Sarmatia fell clear but Tomyra landed awkwardly, feeling a flare of pain in her ankle. She limped to the side and was promptly knocked off her feet as the wind caught the gate and slammed it open.
The horses, standing calmly to one side throughout, their reins tied to a stanchion, bucked and shied as the gate flew open. Bithyia sheathed her sword and hurried over, calming the nervous animals. Sarmatia bent over and lifted Tomyra to her feet, supporting her as the priestess gave a small cry of pain.
"You are hurt, my lady?"
"My ankle. It will pass. Help me onto my horse, Sarmatia. We must go."
Tomyra scrambled onto her mare with a helping push. She swung the horse's head around and looked back down the street toward the blazing conflagration as her companions mounted. The three women on their horses were in full view. A shout rose from the men milling around in the street and faces turned toward the gate.
"Time to leave," said Tomyra grimly. She wheeled her horse and urged it through the gate, followed by Bithyia and Sarmatia. They increased their speed as they moved out onto the drifted road, angling down to the river. Their flickering shadows sped ahead of them. Something hit Bithyia gently on the back then another fell into the snow alongside her. She looked down in surprise at the arrow sticking out of the snow then back at the town. Men crowded round the open gate, backlit by the mounting flames of burning Zarmet. A number had armed themselves with bows. Several archers shot arrows at them while she watched but the arrows fell short. She grinned and moved on.
