The Horse Lords
Book 1
The Serpent Goddess
Diana Drakulich
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2017 Diana Drakulich
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means – electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise – without express written permission of the author.
Editor – Dennis Chekalov
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Cover Art – Gabrielle Bujdoso
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Graphic Design – NA Studio Design
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Table of Contents
Map of Ancient Skythia (Scythia) and Sauromatia, Euxine (Black) Sea Region
Prologue
Chapter 1 – Sea of Grass
Chapter 2 – Favored Son
Chapter 3 – The Mission
Chapter 4 – Iron-Eyed Feliks
Chapter 5 – The Earth in Motion
Chapter 6 – Gamayun
Chapter 7 – Black Serpent
Chapter 8 – White Wolf King
Chapter 9 – River God
Chapter 10 – Rakia
Chapter 11 – Drakons
Chapter 12 – Daughters of the War God
Chapter 13 – A New Beginning
Chapter 14 – Women Warriors
Chapter 15 – Honey From Your Lips
Chapter 16 – Gelonus
Chapter 17 – Bring Down the Spirit
Chapter 18 – In Love and War
Chapter 19 – Serpent of Healing
Chapter 20 – Oracle of the Dead
Chapter 21 - What is This Sleep?
Chapter 22 – River of Forgetfulness
Chapter 23 – Drakons of the Goddess
Chapter 24 – Arkhons
Chapter 25 – Hahq
Chapter 26 – The Budini
Chapter 27 – Cone Heads
Chapter 28 – Secret Places
Chapter 29 – Lords from Above
Chapter 30 – O Great Golden Eye
Chapter 31 – The Watchers
Chapter 32 – The Chase
Chapter 33 – The Dark House
Chapter 34 – Great Hall of Sacrifice
Chapter 35 – Black Serpent of the Under World
Chapter 36 – Dance of Origins
Chapter 37 – Queen Skythia
Chapter 38 - Life is the Greatest Gift
Chapter 39 – Dead Silence
Chapter 40 – Still an Eagle
Exerpt from The Brazen Race – Horse Nomads - Book 2
Glossary
Partial List of Sources
Hear me now O my children –
After the golden age of the Sons of Man,
Those forgotten giants of yore,
Mankind lost The Way and fell into a pit of snakes.
Hear now of the Age of the Fallen -
When Man was enslaved by Vampir Demons -
`Those Who Have Always Been’ -
Parasites appeased only with blood.
Hear now lest we forget the Age of the Fallen –
When brave warriors cowered before the Unseen
For these dark entities secretly thrive
And the great battle still rages, even unto today.
See Him now my children -
See with the eyes of an eagle as it soars
A nomad rides a golden stallion
Across the waving Sea of Grass…
Prologue
The Skythian (Scythian) drinks the blood
Of the first man he overthrows in battle -
Herodotus, The Histories c. 450 BC
521 BC -
“There he goes Sava - Get him!” Fellow horse guard Veer shouted, pointing at galloping shadows disappearing into the darkness.
Racing after stolen horses in the night, Sava gave the stallion his head. The golden horse poured on the speed, gaining inexorably. The rising, rhythmic thunder of pounding hooves shaking the earth, roaring in the boy’s ears. Wind and darkness blurring his vision. Hoof beats sounding an all-encompassing, ringing staccato across the grasslands.
Cracking a bull whip at the flanks of stolen horses, the night raider frantically urged the horses on - Faster, Faster. The thief had a head start but the golden stallion knew his job and was a tireless runner.
Next year the boy would ride this stallion in the famed 1,000 Mile Race against the top horses in Sauromatia and Royal Skythia. Tonight, no horse would escape him. As the dominant alpha, the stallion would overtake the lead horses, turn them and drive them back.
As the golden stallion began to close in on the raider’s lathered horse, Sava dropped the reins and grabbed his lethal double-curved bow from the gorytos tied to his saddle.
But the thief had already drawn his bow. His arrow was aimed at Sava’s breast, their horses only feet apart. For some reason the raider hesitated. Bending low over his horse, he swerved sharply right. Too late.
The golden stallion’s gallop was smooth and Sava’s aim was sure. In the heat of the chase there would be no mercy. His iron-tipped arrow zinged to its target, hissing of death. It struck the horse thief in the side, just under the heart, piercing through ribs, puncturing a lung and piercing an artery.
Knocked off his horse, the thief hit the ground with a hard oof and rolled to his side.
Lightly touching the reins, Sava sat back in the saddle. Before the stallion had come to a complete halt he flung himself off and rushed over to the writhing, groaning figure on the ground.
The wounded raider shuddered in a paroxysm of pain, his body doubled up in fetal position. Desperate to pull it out, his hands clutched at the arrow embedded in his side. Hot blood bubbled from his mouth in a choked scream.
Sava glanced into the raider’s agonized eyes and saw a boy like himself. The horse thief was no more than twelve or thirteen summers.
Why didn’t he shoot me when he had the chance?
Overcome, Sava dropped to his knees beside the dying boy.
What have I done?
Rapid hoof beats announced Veer’s arrival. He stared down from his horse at the mortally wounded youth.
“Well done Sava. Your first kill. Cut his throat and drink his blood. Then chop off his head. Hurry! Drink his life force while he yet lives!”
Drawing his long iron dagger Sava put it to the boy’s pulsing throat. But he was caught by brown eyes filled with misery. Eyes that begged for mercy. Veer jumped off his horse and shoved Sava’s shoulder.
“Go on, what are you waiting for?! He’s dying. Drink his blood, then cut off his head and bring it to the council. You will be offered the Cup of Brotherhood and given a place of honor to sit with the warriors.”
Eyes downcast, Sava shook his head.
“Are you mad? This is your chance to win respect. To be recognized as a warrior.”
“You do it. Kill him and take his head. Keep it a secret between us.”
Not one to waste an opportunity, Veer drew his dagger and crouched over the writhing boy. Sava turned away. A brief shriek of mortal agony cut the air, then a gurgle. Veer bent over, lapping the gushing blood like a hungry wolf.
There was a metallic schinngg as Veer drew his akinake. Holding it with both hands, he lifted the short iron sword overhead and brought it down with all his might. But the first chop was not enough. He had to chop again and again.
All the blood drained from Sava’s brain. He struggled not to vomit. Head
reeling, he managed to mount the stallion and round up the runaway horses, most of whom had already stopped to graze. He returned to see Veer grinning, mouth and face smeared with blood. He brandished the decapitated head with its agonized eyes by the hair.
“Damn Androphagi thief.” Veer muttered. “His stiff neck bent my sword.”
“Sava you fool! Do you want to be branded a craven weakling? Our women warriors put you to shame! We are a warrior class. There is no place for weaklings among the Sauromatae.” His father, Voivode Skopasis stood rigid, black-bearded jaw clenched, muscled arms across his broad, mailed chest.
That intense, piercing gaze Skopasis was known for penetrated to Sava’s very soul. There was no escape from his father’s perceptive glare. Only the truth would satisfy Skopasis. Veer had not been able to resist wagging his long tongue. Few secrets were kept from the Sauromatian war leader.
“Should I put a black robe on you and turn you over to the ennarei?” Skopasis threatened. “Is that what you want? So you can spend the rest of your days as half a man, slaughtering trussed animals and clawing out their entrails, begging the gods for an omen?”
A cold tremor swept down Sava’s spine. It was whispered that some boys taken into the priestly ennarei - `half-men’, were castrated.
“My son you must understand - without our swift horses we are helpless. Out on these open plains we are always open to attack. We have no high stone walls, no mountains to shield us. Hordes of raiders can sweep down on us at any moment. They must know that we Sauromatae are fierce. Relentless. Merciless.
Aye, we Sauromatae, descendents of Herakles, of Mata Drakaina and the last Amazons - We are cruel. We are bloodthirsty. But there are reasons for this. By drinking an enemy’s blood, we take his life force. We make ourselves stronger than our enemies.”
“The power of the spirit lies in the head. For this reason we cut off the heads of our enemies and keep them near, so their spirits protect us. These heads send a message to our enemies.” Skopasis flicked a hand at the array of human heads mounted on spikes around the family kibitka, some still fresh and fly ridden. “This is how we make ourselves strong - by instilling fear in our enemies. Fear is how we survive on the Sea of Grass.”
“Now when the Cup of Brotherhood is passed around, you will not be offered a place of honor among the warriors. You, the son of the voivode, must remain seated with untried little boys. You are young yet my son, but if this goes on and you refuse to perform the rituals of manhood, you will bring shame upon your family.”
His father left the words unspoken – And shame upon ME – but Sava heard the accusation as loudly as if Skopasis had shouted it.
“But sire, we have so many horses, hundreds of horses. And he was only a boy, ragged and thin. His horse was poor and thin. He could have killed me. He drew his bow first. He only wanted to get away. When I close my eyes at night, I still see his eyes. I hear his cries. It hurts my soul.”
“Stop your whining!” Skopasis’ hand knifed the air. “Your excuses are the useless buzzing of flies over a dung hill. On the Sea of Grass there is no right. No wrong. There is only survival. Think you that raider was alone? That others were not hiding, watching? Waiting to see what you would do? You must prove to these thieves that you are Sauromatae, a true son of the Reptile People.”
“Sava your heart is too soft. Someday it may be the death of you. What if that raider shot you first?” Skopasis continued. He was Androphagi – Man Eater. Do you think he would shrink from drinking your blood? He would have bound you, flayed you alive and used your skin to make his gorytos. If we do not make these raiders fear us, our herds will soon be decimated because everyone wants Sauromatian horses. Without our swift horses we are defenseless against the next horde that comes storming across the Sea of Grass.”
The nomad youth raised his eyes and his father seemed to grow taller, filling with a dark formidable energy. In his son’s eyes, Skopasis was bigger than life, a demigod on earth. From the time he had come to know himself, the boy worshipped the ground his father walked on.
“Look at me Sava,” his father commanded.
The boy tried to steel his gaze to meet Skopasis’ piercing stare without flinching, but his eyes dropped. His mind cringed before eyes that projected such powerful dominance that even hardened warriors could not resist Skopasis’ relentless will. A voivode did not inherit his title. A war leader was made by his own hand.
Battle-hardened warriors pledged their sacred honor first to the voivode and then to King Raymaxos. Sava had no doubt that even when Skopasis had one foot in the grave, people would still turn to him in times of crisis.
Though he could be temperamental and subject to rages, when it came to facing an enemy, Skopasis was in his element. War leader was the role he was born for. In times of crisis he was invariably calm and able formulate cunning strategy. People were naturally drawn to him.
“Listen to me Sava. I know you. You are my son. You are no weak stick. But if you want to be respected as a man, you must follow our traditions. If you do not, your friends will fall away. You will have no blood brother because no man will pledge his life to a slinking cur. If not for yourself, will you do it to uphold the honor of your family?”
The nomad youth sank to his knees before Skopasis, his blue-green eyes luminous, filled with pain at the deeds he must do in order to win recognition as a man.
The dread words burst from his unwilling throat: “Sire, I would give my life to protect our family…but in this matter, I am unable to go against my heart.”
“Listen my son,” his father’s compelling dark eyes bored into Sava’s mind. “If you want respect, if you want to survive in this world, you must harden your heart. Next time you must drink your enemy’s blood and bring his head to the council. Just as a sword must have an edge, so a warrior must do his duty for his people.”
Chapter 1 – Sea of Grass
I think that if I become a horseman
I shall be a man on wings –
Xenophon, Greek general, On Horsemanship 430 BC
Eight years later, 513 BC –
Effortlessly balanced astride the stallion’s easy rocking canter, Sava’s ears caught a wild keening call. Glancing up he spied a golden eagle wheeling overhead, scanning the rolling earth below with razor sharp vision. Ever vigilant.
An eagle, or a sorcerer watching me through alien eyes? An omen sent by the gods? A warning, or a curse?
His alert sea green eyes surrounded by a rim of dark blue, constantly surveyed the surging, billowing sea of grass surrounding him. Like the eagle to be vigilant was to remain alive.
The nomad’s shoulder length chestnut hair, sun shot with gold, was tied back. A black horse tail flowed from the crest of his conical, ermine-lined bronze helmet. Slung over his back was a shield emblazoned with the image of the serpent goddess, Mata Drakaina.
There had been eight in his party before the attack. Now he rode alone. The events leading up to this moment played through the nomad’s mind. Back to the crashing thunder storm of last night.
Denizens of the open plains, the Sauromatae were nomads whose lives were played out under the vast, changing panorama of sky and weather. Of brilliant sun, stars, rain and wind. Always the wind.
Camped on Sauromatian territory, they had not suspected disaster was poised to strike. Aided by a herding dog, two men were mounted and guarding the herd of some 20 loose, grazing horses while two others stood watch.
Wrapped in their fur-lined cloaks, Sava and the rest of the men crouched under dripping shields. There would be no fire tonight. After masticating a piece of beef jerky, he had fallen into a light doze, confident that like all storms this too would pass.
Then, from out of nowhere, a merciless hail of iron-pointed arrows struck, visciously piercing living flesh. Chaos erupted - Screams, curses, howls from the dog, the panicked neighing of horses.
Slinging his gorytos over his shoulder, Sava grabbed his twelve foot kontos and leapt to his feet. Behind
the ominous ground-shaking roar of thunder and crack of lightning hooves were racketing around the campsite. Half-blinded by darkness and sheeting rain he saw black shadows circling, flashing by, outlined by stunning cracks of lightning.
On foot he was an easy mark. On horseback he had a fighting chance. Sava raced to catch one of his horses. An arrow hissed by, inches from his face. His horse Zorik screamed and reared.
A piercing crack of lightning revealed an arrow protruding from the big bay’s shoulder. The horse spun in agony, big white teeth snapping at the arrow. But he had no time to help the wounded animal.
Sava grasped the halter of his champion race horse, Zlatna, still unhurt. Wars were fought over such superior horses. They were prized booty. Just then a mounted figure swinging a spiked iron mace materialized out of the sheeting rain and charged straight at him.
“I will drink your blood!” The raider screamed, violently swinging the heavy mace at Sava’s head.
Instinctively the Sauromatian lifted his iron-plated shield. Whizzing in a powerful arc the heavy mace struck, cracking the shield down the middle.
The marauder galloped by on his horse, then leaned in to whip around for another strike. Hefting his kontos Sava slung it with all his might at the raider.
The heavy lance struck his assailant’s side, knocking him off balance. With a piercing scream he fell off his horse. Protected from the kontos’ point by scale armor, the raider seemed to bounce off the earth and landed on his feet, still gripping his mount’s reins in one hand.
Dropping the reins, the marauder whipped out his akinake and rushed at Sava, attacking with such speed and ferocity that the Sauromatian was forced to fall back. With the rain blurring his vision, Sava was barely able to block the raider’s slashing cuts and thrusts with his own sword and splintered shield.
Grunting and screaming they struggled back and forth in the blinding rain, feet slipping in muddy earth churned up by frightened horses and desperate men. Earth-shaking thunder and ear-splitting lightning ignited battle cries to Ah-Gin, Lord of Fire, Sword and War.
Serpent Goddess: The Horse Lords Book 1 Page 1
