Scythian Trilogy Book 2: The Golden King

by Max Overton

  Parasades shook his arm free and glared at Tomyra. "These people are dogs of the Serratae," he hissed. "What other way is there?"

  "I speak for the Mother Goddess." Tomyra drew herself up and tossed back her hair. "Would you openly defy the Mother?" She waited a few moments for Parasades to reply then continued. "No, I thought not. These people also worship the Mother. If I bind them with an oath on the Great Goddess, will you let them live?"

  Parasades sighed and sheathed his dagger. "Do as you see fit, Tomyra." He turned away, shaking his head. "You will tie my hands once too often, woman."

  Tomyra smiled and turned to her women. "Bithyia, please fetch Millpa out from under those skins before she suffocates. Certes, bring Trorax over here...gently. We have an oath to administer."

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  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Eight riders splashed through the ford below the town of Zarmet in the darkness between moonset and dawn. Wind blew briskly from the north, carrying the stench of wood ash and smoke to their nostrils. A fine flurry of snow, whipped up by the wind from the drifts that blanketed the landscape stung the legs of their horses. Above, the last remnants of storm cloud shredded in the wind, revealing a blaze of stars strewn across the cold heavens.

  Silently, the lead rider pointed up-river, motioning for the others to precede him. He counted off the riders as they passed, the horses treading carefully over the water-worn stones in the shallows. Certes led, his young face eagerly searching the riverbanks ahead of him, his dark eyes glinting in the starlight. Close beside him rode Prithia, her eyes fixed on the young warrior. Next rode Tomyra and Sarmatia, abreast, and bundled against the cold. On their heels came Bithyia, torn between her duty to her mistress and her lover, Timon. The object of her passion followed, carefully leading the stallion Diomede, who appeared rider less, though burdened by two huge hide sacks, counterbalanced and secured by leather thongs. Agarus, the crippled Massegetae, rode beside the burdened stallion, his eyes never leaving the right-hand bundle, nor the pale face of Nikometros curled within it.

  Parasades nodded, watching the horses pick their way up the shingle banks and through the shallow water, keeping well clear of any snowdrifts. He glanced across at the low hill that rose from the river to the north. Hidden still by the night, the town of Zarmet revealed its presence by the fires still burning within it. A pall of smoke hid the top of the hill, lying close like cloud though the wind scattered rifts and rents of gray toward the river.

  Dawn spread a thin coating of crimson on the eastern horizon. Parasades removed a ripped and torn tunic from a bag across his horse's back and tossed it into the river, watching as it tumbled and sank, caught by the current flowing swiftly over the rocks. He turned his horse and splashed his way upstream.

  Agarus waited for him by a gravel bank. He looked at the Massegetae war chief suspiciously. "What was that you threw away?"

  Parasades grunted and moved his horse past. "Your lord's old tunic." He rode on, feeling the query in the other man's silence. "The Serratae will know we took the river route soon enough. If they find the Greek's tunic down river, with luck they'll think we went that way. It may buy us time."

  The river wound slowly west and north, curving around the bluff dominated by Zarmet. The riders pushed through the shallow water riffling over gravel banks and boulder beaches, wading through the deeper pools. Parasades turned and looked back toward the ford as the other members of his group rode around a bend in the river. Far back he glimpsed a large body of horsemen splashing through the river, heading south. He waited motionless until the last of the Serratae vanished from view before wheeling his horse and riding off upriver.

  The sun rose, sending coruscations of light dancing across the unbroken fields of white along the riverbanks. The landscape was deserted save for a handful of deer that broke for the woods, startled by the presence of humans and horses in the riverbed. Parasades drew in great breaths of the crystal-sharp air, blowing billows of white over his horse's neck. He grinned. "By all the gods," he muttered, "It is a great day to be alive." He kicked his horse into motion again, splashing through the river shallows as he caught up then passed, the other riders.

  "We must leave the river." Parasades pointed to the north, across the open plains of snow. "If we follow the river any further we only lengthen our journey."

  Certes watched from the riverbank as the other riders urged their mounts up the steep sides, floundering in the snowdrifts. He frowned at the great slashes their passage wrought on the pristine whiteness. "It will be obvious we left the river here," he commented.

  "We have to leave somewhere and wherever we do, we leave signs," replied Parasades calmly. "If the gods are with us...and those fornicating peasants have not betrayed us," he growled. "We may yet be far from here before they pick up our trail."

  Parasades forced his horse up the slope and into the lead. He led the small group over the plains to the north, slowly angling their route to the east as the day wore on. They stopped at noon in the cover of a small copse of leafless alder to rest the horses. They dismounted and stretched aching muscles.

  Tomyra immediately went to attend to Nikometros. With Timon and Agarus, she extricated the unconscious man from the leather bag and gently laid him on calfskin on the frozen ground. She bent over the wound in his shoulder, peeling back the poultice and probing gently with her fingers. "Still inflamed and hot," Tomyra murmured. Leaning close, she sniffed at the wound. "It does not putrefy at least. The herbs are working."

  Timon knelt beside them, his great body hunched and his face downcast. "Why has he not woken then? He barely clings to life." A slim hand pressed down on his shoulder and he looked up.

  "He will recover, my lord," said Bithyia softly, as Timon's hand found hers. "The Mother has a purpose for this man and will guard him from death."

  After resettling Nikometros in his great leather bag they resumed their journey, eating small quantities of coarse bread and baked roots as they rode. The sun dropped slowly through the afternoon sky, their shadows now lengthening before them as they turned to the eastern horizon.

  Parasades, who had been leading the file of riders along the low outcrops and ridges of the undulating plains, now led them down into the shallow valleys. Within minutes, their pace slowed as the horses stumbled and floundered their way through deeper snow.

  "This is pointless," grumbled Prithia. "We must go back to the tops again."

  "We are visible on the skyline," observed Parasades.

  "Then why have we been on them all day?" asked Certes. "Have we not always been visible?"

  Parasades reined in his horse and swiveled round to face the others. "Had there been any to see, yes. Think for a moment." He looked around the little group. "It appears you scared those peasants properly, my lady." He nodded at Tomyra. "However, by now the Serratae will know we didn't go downstream. They'll have found no trace of us. So they'll search upstream. How long before they find our trail?"

  Agarus glanced over his shoulder. "Then they follow us already?"

  Parasades nodded. "If they must follow our trail they move almost as slowly. If they caught sight of us..." He left his conclusion unanswered. Instead he turned and urged his horse onward.

  "But if they follow faster then shouldn't we make as good time as possible?" called out Timon.

  Parasades called back over his shoulder. "Maybe. On the other hand, if we can remain undiscovered till nightfall we may make the relative safety of the pine forests. They'll find it harder to track us through them."

  Timon grunted and shrugged. He kicked at his horse's side, forcing the unwilling animal to push into the deep snow. Slowly, the others followed, stumbling in the tracks forged by the lead horses.

  Fear of discovery grew as the sun sank. Agarus, at the tail of the little column, remained watchful, his head continually turning to scan the valley behind them and the valley rims on either side. His shoulders ached from the tension in his muscles,
braced against the momentary expectation of the killing arrow, or the shout of triumph from their pursuers. Not until the gloom of approaching night hid the horses in front of him, reducing them to no more than vague silhouettes, did he dare to relax.

  When the moon rose ahead of them, glowing on the eastern horizon and casting a pearly light over the frozen landscape, Parasades led the group out of the valley and onto the ridges again. The pace picked up as the horses made better going in the exposed grass where wind had scoured the surface of snow.

  By midnight the horses had slowed once more despite the easier going. Exhaustion, following on the tension of the past days made the riders reel, fighting to retain control over animals that sought only to stop and rest. Certes drummed his heels into the sides of his unwilling mount, forcing it to catch up with Parasades.

  "My lord, we must rest," he called out urgently.

  Parasades turned a bleary face toward the younger man, the harsh shadows of the moonlight hiding his expression. He reined in his horse and pointed back toward the southwest. "Look," he said softly.

  Certes turned and scrutinised the pale landscape, the hillocks and valleys disappearing into the silvery distance like a roiling ocean. "What am I looking for?"

  "To the right a bit, at the horizon. Do you see it?"

  "A star?" said Certes doubtfully. "A reddish star...or a torch."

  The other horses trudged up and stopped around Certes and Parasades. Their heads drooped and their breath came noisily in great white clouds. Timon swiveled round to stare back in the direction the other men looked. After a moment he stiffened and leaned closer to Bithyia, his arm outstretched.

  "So they come at last," he breathed.

  "How far away are they, Timon?" asked Bithyia.

  Timon shrugged. "Two hours, maybe three. See, another torch. They are close enough that we can detect their motion." He swung round on Parasades. "How far to these pine forests of yours?"

  Parasades bared his teeth in a grimace. "Two hours, maybe three." He chuckled grimly. "It will be a close run thing. We have made better time than I dared hope but they have been faster than I feared." He spurred his horse into reluctant motion again, the others falling into a straggling line behind him.

  Tomyra stared back at the far-off brands, twinkling in the icy air. Sarmatia plucked at her mistress' cloak, urging her onward. Tomyra sighed and turned away. "They will not take me again," she whispered. "Neither I nor my lord shall be at their mercy." She fingered her dagger beneath her cloak.

  The first fingers of the pine forest crept toward them as the moon set behind the moving points of light to the southwest. Black shadows sprawled out from the stygian blackness ahead of them, starkly contrasted with the white glimmer from the snowfields. Parasades turned off the ridge toward a finger of trees.

  The light reflected off the snow faltered and died beneath the first of the trees, the dense, overhanging branches laden with ice but the ground beneath bare except for a covering of pine needles. The horse's hooves crunched softly in the needles as they passed from the lit stage of the plains into the shadowed depths of the forest. Behind them the torches of their Serratae pursuers burned brightly, flickering and moving in their relentless pursuit.

  Less than an hour passed before the first of the warriors rode into the fringes of the forest. Light glinted redly off drawn weapons as the riders spread out, searching the ground for a sign of their quarry's passing. Anger flared and men shouted; their rage boiling over into frustrated blows before the leader reasserted his control. The men spread out into a line, hundreds of feet across. They moved slowly into the forest, scanning the ground, alert for the presence of their enemies.

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  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The Oxus River flowed swiftly over its bed of boulders, the waters swollen by the unseasonably warm rains of the past few days. The snowstorms and cold clear interludes passed with a southerly turn in the winds, the white covering of the plains and forests disappearing almost overnight. The frozen earth turned muddy, making the footing treacherous in the approaches to the river valley. Winter would no doubt reassert itself, but for now the warmth in the air spoke of the turning of the seasons.

  Parasades led his small troupe of riders down from the forests on the western bank just before sunset. He agonised over this decision, weighing the advantages. Cross in daylight and any enemy nearby would see them: cross at night and risk losing people in the dark and swollen waters. In the end he compromised, hurrying them down to the water's edge with the last of the day. Though they had not seen any clear sign of their pursuers since the previous day, Parasades felt their proximity and feared discovery while they were most vulnerable.

  Positioning himself at the rear of the group, Parasades watched as Certes coaxed his horse into the boisterous current. The animal was reluctant, shying at the swirling and foaming turbulence. With a firm hand, the young man eased his horse forward until the water broke over its withers. At his urging, the horse plunged forward and began swimming, angling across the flow. Behind him, her hands gripping the reins of her horse tightly, rode Prithia. Sarmatia and Bithyia rode in close attendance of their mistress Tomyra, followed by Agarus and Timon. Timon led Diomede with the great hide bag containing the unconscious body of Nikometros.

  Timon coaxed his horse into the shallows, the icy water leaping around its legs. Diomede followed reluctantly.

  "Will somebody let me out of this bag?" quavered a weak voice.

  Timon drew rein and turned so abruptly he slipped from his horse's back. He splashed through the water until he reached the hide bag, now moving feebly in the weak light. Ripping open the restraining cords, Timon grinned incredulously.

  "Niko! By the gods, you've awoken!"

  Nikometros struggled to focus his bleary eyes, fighting his way out of the constricting bag. "Timon? Where are we? What's happened?" He peered out at the rushing river and the circle of grinning riders. "Gods, I feel as weak as a newborn pup," he muttered.

  A look of concern flitted across Timon's face. "Perhaps you should rest some more, Niko."

  Nikometros shook his head gingerly. "No, I need to be up." He stared at the river for a long moment. "We're crossing it?" he asked. "Then I should be on my horse, not slung over one. Help me out, Timon."

  For the river crossing, Nikometros sat swaying on the back of Timon's horse, tightly gripping the old soldier's tunic. Diomede, allowing no other person on his back, followed Timon's horse closely, nuzzling his master's leg.

  Parasades plunged into the river at the rear. He half expected at least one of the groups to be swept away by the current and steeled himself for the necessary rescue. The river was wide at this point, deep and slow moving on the surface, though terrifying in its power. The horses battled to prevent themselves being swept downriver, the icy water, augmented by snow melt, sapping their strength.

  The first of the riders stumbled into the shallows on the eastern bank. Certes looked back in the twilight to wave the others onward when a tree trunk, waterlogged and heavy, nudged Agarus' horse. The animal screamed and plunged away, upsetting its rider who disappeared into the frigid water. Timon looked around, hesitated then made a vague movement to follow the unfortunate man. He felt Nikometros clutching at him as his horse changed course and Timon recollected his primary duty, reluctantly leaving Agarus to his fate.

  The crippled Massegetae rose to the surface, sputtering and coughing, only to sink again. The current swept him away from the horses, toward the swifter motion of the rapids. Parasades dug his heels into his horse's sides and pulled the animal's head downriver.

  Agarus broke the surface again as the water burst over a submerged shingle bank, erupting over large boulders in a flurry of spray. Parasades' horse stumbled after him, surging through the water toward the drowning man. Parasades bent low and swept his arm through the water, his fingers gripping and pulling. His fingers hooked in the man's long black hair, Parasades urged his h
orse toward the bank, pulling Agarus behind him. Within minutes, the two reached a low gravel bank, the horse standing shivering as Parasades dropped the limp man and stretched, flexing his cramped fingers.

  Upstream, the others in the group came splashing through the river's edge toward him.

  "By the gods, my lord," laughed Certes, "I thought we had lost the cripple." He looked down at the sodden supine form on the gravel with some concern. "Is he alive?" he asked.

  Parasades slipped off his horse and with a grunt, turned Agarus over with the toe of his boot. The man coughed and groaned, making weak pawing motions at the air. "He'll live," snorted Parasades. He turned away and surveyed the dark rim of the eastern valley wall. "We must find shelter."

  Sarmatia and Prithia dismounted and helped Agarus to his feet. The man coughed and sneezed then blew his nose loudly on his sleeve. "Those fornicating river demons had me," he muttered. "I could feel them dragging me down."

  "Well, you're safe from them now," said Prithia primly. "And you have my lord Parasades to thank for saving you."

  Agarus felt his scalp gingerly, smoothing his soaked hair. "Pity he couldn't do it without tearing my hair off." He spat to one side and cleared his throat. "My thanks, lord," he called.

  Parasades waved a hand dismissively as he consulted with Certes and Timon. Nikometros slid to the ground and, with considerable effort, hauled himself up onto Diomede again. Parasades pointed a way up the steep slopes. Remounting, he moved away from the river, his horse slipping on the slick ground. With difficulty, they emerged onto the plains above the river.

  Parasades grunted with satisfaction and pointed at a low hill standing black against the night sky. "Wolf's Rock." He grinned and turned to Timon and Tomyra. "Six days across trackless enemy territory, pursued and harried, and I still lead you exactly where I intended."

  "And just where is that?" asked Timon sourly.

  "The southern border of the Jartai, my friend. Now I have a decision to make but I will hear your counsel first."