Scythian Trilogy Book 2: The Golden King

by Max Overton

  A horn sounded, far off, seemingly unconnected to the events of the past minutes. One or two of the Lions looked around, curiosity rather than anxiety molding their features. A distant storm rumble, now comfortingly familiar in the early spring rains, grew and swelled as the thundering became more than just a noise. A vibration shook the ground, the puddles on the water soaked valley floor shivered. Men ceased their killing and looked up, looked round.

  Down the far side of the valley poured a flood of horsemen. Massegetae horsemen, bred to the horse's back, clinging with muscular legs leaving arms free to wield lethal hunting bows, raced toward the disorganised throng of Jartai tribesmen. In the lead, at the front of a disciplined wedge of warriors, rode Areipithes. His bulky body leaned forward into the charge, the wind of his passage whipping his long black hair and beard free from his exultant face. He roared a challenge as he came, a formless paean of hate and triumph.

  The Massegetae horde, over three thousand strong, swept through the milling Jartai, brushing them aside and trampling them underfoot, reddening the mud with their life. Many, on the outskirts of the flood, hammered at their horses' sides, desperate, panic stricken, forcing their way from the valley floor. Arrows, released in sky-darkening swarms, cut down those who fled. Lugartes, his weapons discarded, fleeing for his life, fell impaled.

  Nikometros, off to one side of the initial battle, sized up the situation with a glance as the first of Areipithes' army tore into his own army. He swore, loudly and colourfully then signaled his Lions to wheel about and flee the field. Riding fast, he led his men down the valley, racing westward toward the main river.

  Parasades, following far behind Nikometros' charge, wheeled his command at the first sight of the enemy and galloped back over the valley rim, turning westward parallel to the flight of the other survivors.

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  Chapter Thirty

  Areipithes, at the head of his triumphant army, rode into the Jartai village at the confluence of the Spagus and Purul rivers in the light of the late afternoon sun, three days after the battle at Ubul-tagarn. His first order was the massacre of any male inhabitant capable of bearing arms. The bodies, mostly those of children and old men, were thrown down the steep banks of the rivers to carry a message of despair far downstream.

  The conqueror of Ubul-tagarn regarded the huddled mass of women and young children now gathered into the village square by armed soldiers. A smile quirked his lips as his eyes slipped over the faces, tear-streaked, and bodies, begrimed, of the younger women. He nodded and rasped out commands to his officers.

  "Let the men choose whom they will," he said. Raising his voice, Areipithes called out to the squads near him. "Breed good Massegetae sons off them, men." To the officer nearest him he added in a low voice. "See to the disposal of the rest, Scolices. Then join me in..." Areipithes looked around the square, his eyes settling on the largest, most imposing structure. "...In there. Bring Thoas and Arxes. I will hear your reports." He turned and walked his horse over to the house, dismounting and handing the reins to one of his men.

  Behind him, the soldiers moved in, laughing and joking coarsely, lust rising like a miasma over the village. In the wake of lust followed death; squads pushing the older women and infants toward the rivers, swords silencing the wailing and screaming that ripped the dying day.

  Areipithes sighed and stripped his cloak from his shoulders, running his fingers through his lustrous hair. He looked around the room, noting the rich fabrics and well-made furniture. He walked over to a table and rummaged through the pots and flasks on it, eventually finding a flask of wine. Pouring himself a drink he wandered over to the low fire and sat down, sipping his wine as he stared into the embers.

  A sharp knock at the door preceded the arrival of three men. Scolices, thin but well-muscled, moved fluidly into the room. He took up a position near his king and nodded at the other two men.

  "My lord," said Scolices softly. "Thoas and Arxes have prepared their reports for you."

  Areipithes grunted and turned from his contemplation of the dying fire. "So, Thoas, you first. What of the army? How are we placed?"

  A thickset man, slow of body and mind though an efficient soldier, Thoas thought for a moment before replying. "Men are still deserting, my lord, but nowhere near as many as before. The battle gave them confidence in their ability to face the Greek."

  "Yes, we shall get to him in a moment. Continue, Thoas."

  "We are well provisioned," continued Thoas. "The march north has been rapid but the men's morale is high." He flashed a quick grin. "Now their appetites are being satiated, they will welcome further opportunities for conquest."

  Areipithes nodded. "Good. They shall have it. Scolices, make sure the Jartai cattle and horses are divided fairly. Keep only a twentieth part for my herd."

  Scolices raised his eyebrows. "A twentieth, my lord? The chief's share is more commonly a fifth."

  Areipithes waved his hand in casual dismissal. "The men will fight harder if they have more at stake." He turned back to the army officer. "How many casualties?"

  "Less than fifty, my lord." Thoas shrugged. "Except for the bait. They were wiped out."

  "A small loss," grinned Areipithes. "I doubted their loyalty anyway and they thought, right up to the end, that they would earn their freedom by fighting for me."

  "The army currently numbers thirty-two hundred, my lord. They are well armed and have sufficient horses. I doubt there is another army within a month's travel that can match us."

  "And what of the Jartai?" asked Areipithes. "Do they still represent a threat? Arxes?"

  Arxes turned startlingly pale eyes on his chief. Despite his swarthy skin and stocky build, the Massegetae spymaster's features betrayed the Caucasian origins of his mother. An aura of cruelty hung about the man as he slid forward into his chief's sight.

  "They do not," he whispered hoarsely. "The Jartai have effectively ceased to exist as a tribe. Perhaps a hundred or so still live but they are scattered. Their chief, Lugartes, died as he fled the battle, as did several of his advisors."

  "And the Greek?" grated Areipithes.

  "He fled early but he kept his force intact," went on Arxes. "The Macedonian is dangerous but with a mere two hundred men he is no real threat."

  "Good. Now Scolices, your mission was obviously a success. Tell me..."

  "I haven't finished," interrupted Arxes. The man's eyes flashed with anger. "There's still one real threat to your safety."

  Areipithes' face flushed at the interruption. He turned back to face his spymaster, making an effort to control his temper. "And what threat is that?"

  "Parasades. He is Massegetae and commands a small but disciplined force of men loyal to him and your father."

  Areipithes frowned. "I didn't see Parasades at the battle."

  "He never committed himself," commented Thoas. "He hung back and rode away with his men when he saw what was happening."

  "Interesting," mused Areipithes. "What are your thoughts, Arxes?"

  The spymaster's pale eyes hooded over. "Parasades is no coward. Nor is he overly cautious. I believe he's not fully committed to their cause, though whether because he supports you or because he wishes the power for himself, I cannot say."

  "Find out." Areipithes flashed a questioning look at Arxes. "Can you?"

  "I have a man who can gain access to him," conceded Arxes in a sibilant whisper. "He might need persuasion though. What can I offer as incentive?"

  "Anything you have to, short of sole power." Areipithes laughed harshly. "I can always change my mind." He nodded at the spymaster. "See to it, as quickly as you can." Dismissing the man with a gesture, Areipithes turned to Scolices, waiting patiently by the fire. "Back to your mission then. Tell me about it."

  Scolices stretched and cracked his knuckles. He gestured toward the table inquiringly. When Areipithes nodded, he walked over and poured himself a cup of wine, ignoring the hopeful expression on Thoas' face
. He drained the cup, belched and set it down on the table.

  "It was easy." Scolices grinned broadly. "The trusting fools were only too willing to believe anyone who said they fled from your tyrannical rule." He noticed the thunderous expression on his chief's face and hurried on. "My apologies, lord, but I had to blacken your name to gain their trust."

  "Naturally. Go on," growled Areipithes.

  "They believed everything I said. They fell over themselves in their hurry to meet you before you could meet up with your ally Nemathres of the Dumae."

  Areipithes laughed and slapped his thigh. "They believed that?" He frowned and nodded, thinking to himself. "I must attend to that one later," he muttered. "So, what other disinformation did you sow?"

  "I said the Dahai were your allies, that men were deserting your army and that the Serratae raided your lands continually."

  "The Dahai are too cautious," spat Areipithes. "The best I could get them to agree to was not to interfere. Still, they have served their purpose."

  "There are fewer desertions now, my lord," repeated Thoas. "The bulk of your army is loyal."

  Areipithes nodded and looked around the room. He walked over to a clutter of boxes in one corner and started rummaging through them. "You have done well, Scolices. You too, Thoas," he added. Finding a parchment he scanned the writing on it then ripped off a corner. Further search revealed a sharpened feather and a container of rather lumpy ink. He scratched a few words on the fragment of parchment and handed it to Scolices.

  "Take this to the herd-master. Select a hundred cattle and twenty horses each."

  Scolices bowed obsequiously and smiled. "You are generous, my lord."

  Thoas saluted, pleasure suffusing his swarthy face. "Thank you, lord." Together the two men backed out of the room.

  Areipithes carried the damaged parchment back to the fire and, pulling up a stool, sat down. He tilted the parchment to the light and struggled to make sense of the writing. His lips moved silently as his finger traced the lines.

  "Poetry!" snorted Areipithes. Abruptly he threw the scroll into the fire, watching as flames flared up around the blackening parchment. "Useless words," he muttered. "The sort of thing my bitch sister would enjoy." He fell silent and stared at the ashes of the poetry.

  My sister still lives, he thought. And as long as she lives, she and her Greek lover will be a danger, no matter what that fool Arxes says. Areipithes bent and threw a few pieces of wood, lying next to the fireplace, onto the glowing ashes. He stirred them with a stick until flames flickered and caught. Why do men follow him? Why have so many otherwise sensible Massegetae gone over to his side?

  Lifting the stick from the flames Areipithes waved it through the air. The flames died, leaving smoke as their legacy. The excitement of the exotic, he decided. Young men cannot be trusted to stick with the old ways, the ways that served our ancestors well. He poked the stick back into the flames, watching the wood leap into life again. So, do I send out patrols hoping to find the Greek and my sister, or do I let them try to raise another army?

  Areipithes stretched and got up, wandering back to the table for another cup of wine. From outside, the screams of the female Jartai survivors faded into muted sobs and wails as his army turned from killing to the more pleasurable pursuits--for men--of victorious armies everywhere.

  That bitch Tomyra, he reflected. Without her and her subversion of the true worship of the Mother, none of this would have happened. Like mother, like daughter...Areipithes swore and hurled the cup from him, spattering his arm with the dregs of the wine. Just as her whore mother turned the love of my father from me, so did Tomyra turn his respect by whoring after the Greek barbarian. Bitch! He wiped the wine from his sleeve and picked up another cup, filling it with more wine. He sipped. That fool Dimurthes let her escape...Areipithes snorted derisively. And got himself killed! No wonder the Serratae are upset. He walked back to the fire and kicked another log into the flames, feeling the welcome heat wash out into the room. So why do they attack me? She is as much my enemy as theirs.

  Areipithes raised his voice and called out to the guards he knew waited outside the house. When they entered he ordered food and koumiss then dismissed them. Within minutes, servants carried in a rich beef stew, bubbling in an iron pot, and freshly baked bread. Koumiss sloshed in a skin flask, the sour, nutty smell filling the room as the servant unstoppered it and poured out a generous serving.

  Replete and feeling truly warm for the first time since setting out on this campaign, Areipithes eventually pushed his bowl away and sipped at his koumiss, the tartness cleansing the fatty stew from his palate. He called out again and a guard put his head around the doorjamb.

  "Ah, Tyros," he said. "Come in." He beckoned him in and sat smiling encouragingly at the man. "You have eaten?"

  "Yes, lord," said Tyros, fidgeting nervously in the presence of his king.

  "And sampled the delights of this poxed village, no doubt?"

  "Er, yes lord."

  "Find a young one for me, Tyros. I feel like being entertained."

  "A...young one, my lord?"

  "A woman, Tyros. Better still a girl. Find me a pretty one."

  Tyros saluted and ducked out of the room. A few minutes later he pushed open the door, dragging an apathetic young girl behind him. The soldier pushed her forward roughly, grinning as she collapsed on the ground by the fire. "Here, lord. Best I could find at short notice." He shrugged. "There're a couple of others but they're being used at the moment. This one's untouched, so far."

  "She will do," drawled Areipithes. He waved Tyros away. "Leave us." He waited until the door closed behind the man then nudged the girl with the toe of his boot. "Get up."

  The girl stirred and, her eyes hooded, face averted, struggled to her feet. She stood, head down and swaying slightly, in front of the Massegetae king. Areipithes ran his eyes over the girl, noting with satisfaction the clear unblemished skin showing through rents in her dress and the swelling curves of her body. Fifteen, he judged. Young enough to be a virgin, old enough to know what to do. Lust stirred in his groin.

  "Come here," he breathed.

  The girl raised her head and looked at him for the first time. She shivered but stepped closer. Areipithes smiled, his eyes alight with a savage delight and, putting his hands at the neck of her dress, ripped it apart. The girl reacted instantly, her right hand swinging up and across, fingers extended and nails reaching for the man's eyes.

  Areipithes jerked his head back, the nails scoring his cheek. He bellowed with rage and backhanded the girl, knocking her across the room. She collapsed into a moaning heap near the table, her dress in tatters round her waist. Areipithes looked at her, one hand raised to the bloody scratches on his face. He licked his lips, staring at her ripe breasts. "You shall pay for that," he muttered.

  Striding over to the supine girl, Areipithes dug his fingers into her hair and pulled her upright. The girl moaned, her hands gripping his, desperately trying to relieve the agony in her scalp. He reached down and stripped the dress from her body, grinning at her nakedness. Pulling her after him, Areipithes walked over to a soft rug in a corner, loosening his trouser cords with his free hand. The girl stumbled against him, almost falling, and he let go of her hair, supporting her. She moved sideways and slammed her knee upward, aiming for his groin. Her knee connected with his thigh and Areipithes grunted from the pain then reached across and slapped her, hard. Before she could recover he hurled her to the floor and collapsed on top of her, forcing her legs apart.

  The girl screamed, piercingly, her nails once more seeking his eyes. Areipithes grunted again, grappling with her and gripped her wrists, forcing them over her head.

  "Enough, bitch!" he rasped.

  A frantic hammering on the door pulled his attention from the girl. He looked up then back down at the struggling girl. "Go away!" he bellowed. The hammering came again, more insistent, followed by muffled shouting. With a roar of anger, Areipithes rose to his feet, the girl frantical
ly scrabbling away into a corner, covering herself with her hands. He looked at the girl; half moved after her then with a curse strode to the door, his hands clutching his loose trousers.

  Areipithes slammed the door open. "You had better have a very good reason for disturbing me," he snarled.

  Thoas stared wide-eyed at his king; his eyes flicking to the sobbing girl in the corner then back to Areipithes' angry face. "My...my apologies, lord. A courier from Urul...I thought you should hear..." Thoas gulped. "Er, I can go away..."

  Areipithes stared at his army commander then with an effort controlled his anger. "A courier?" Abruptly, he wheeled and strode back to the fire, doing up his disheveled clothing. "Send him in. I will hear his news." He looked back over his shoulder. "Thoas," he said softly. "This had better be important."

  The courier stumbled in and saluted. His exhaustion was evident and he swayed on his feet, his eyes hollow and staring in a sallow face. His clothing was sodden and caked with mud. "My lord," he whispered. "News from Urul."

  Areipithes signaled Thoas to fetch the man a cup of koumiss. He nodded at the stool and waited while the courier drank and collected his thoughts. At length the man looked up.

  "My lord, the Serratae has crossed the river in force. They move inland, toward Urul, burning and killing." The courier faltered at his king's stony expression. "My lord," he continued. "When I left Urul they were but three day's from the city."

  "Then they'll have burned the city and moved on by now," grated Areipithes. "Who knows where they will be."

  "No, my lord. They won't be there yet. There is still time..."

  "When did you leave Urul?" snapped Areipithes.

  "At daybreak, yesterday, my lord. The city defences marched out to meet them. With luck they will delay them long enough for you...er, should you wish..." The courier's voice trailed off uncertainly.

  "You traveled fast." Areipithes turned and paced, thinking. He looked up at Thoas, who snapped his attention back from his interested contemplation of the naked girl. "Find this man a hot meal and a soft bed. Then send your officers out into the town. Gather your men together. We march south at daybreak."