Using his cracked shield Sava strove to fend off the raider’s crashing blows. A vicious sword strike sliced through the overlapping scales of his armored tunic, slicing his upper arm. A blistering down stroke cut his thigh. He bled but felt no pain.
A trained war and hunt horse, Zlatna stood still, trembling and pawing the earth, watching with huge glistening dark eyes. Striking back furiously, Sava was vaguely aware that he was screaming at the top of his lungs. Growling and grunting with every hack, thrust and block. Though a reluctant warrior, he had been trained by the best, his father - Voivode Skopasis.
Flailing under Sava’s renewed onslaught, the raider backed a few steps. Taking desperate advantage, Sava launched a savage assault forcing him back a few more steps until the raider backed into his horse. The man stumbled slightly, losing his rhythm. His shield drifted a hand’s breath.
In that moment Sava drove his sword diagonally through the overlapping scale armor of the raider’s scale armored tunic and pierced his breast. Stunned, the marauder looked down, his chest spurting blood, then dropped to his knees.
“Spawn of a Vukodlak! By the gods I curse you!” The warrior screamed, choking on his blood-filled lungs, then dropped face down in the mud.
“Sava! Over here!” Hahq’s bellow carried through the raining, screaming, thundering carnage.
Sheathing his sword, gorytos over his shoulder, Sava vaulted onto Zlatna’s back. Horse and rider were such a team, he did not even need reins. He had only to squeeze his thighs, lean and press with leg and hip and shift his weight to indicate the angle, speed and direction he wanted to go.
“Sava! Over here!”
The nomad charged through the driving rain and darkness in the direction of Hahq’s voice. As he did so another mounted raider raced toward him.
Hahq charged to intercept. Aiming his kontos at the marauder’s side, his bigger horse slammed broadside into the raider’s horse, knocking him off balance. Screaming and neighing, horse and rider crashed to bitter earth.
Galloping toward them, the golden stallion made a huge leap over the downed, flailing horse and rider to join Hahq. Sava maneuvered Zlatna so the two horses were side by side but facing in opposite directions.
They had broken out of the savage ring of death. Putting arrows to their lethal composite bows the two men began shooting at the swift circling shadows.
Four more mounted figures emerged out of the chaos.
“Come on! Over here!” Hahq bellowed, waving.
Voron, Tikhon, Kirill and Makar joined their defense. The others in their party were either dead, wounded, or locked in a desperate struggle for their lives.
The racketing thunder of many hooves pounded off into rain-slicked blackness. The marauders were making off with their booty - fine Sauromatian horses. The war band had what they wanted and could not afford more losses.
“They’re getting away with our horses!” Voron shouted.
“Let them go.” Hahq shook his head. “There are too many.”
High-pitched shrilling screams came from two wounded horses, all that remained of their original herd not mounted.
“How generous, the wolves have left us a mane and a tail.” Sava’s tone was sarcastic.
The men stared through the pouring rain, assessing the carnage. All their spare horses had been driven off or wounded. Hahq rode with an arrow in his thigh. The other four men were also pierced by arrows and bleeding from deep lance strikes. Two bodies lay still on the muddy ground.
Hahq’s shepherd dog limped over. Whining piteously the dog held up his right front leg, pierced by an arrow. Punishment for trying to prevent the herd from being stampeded.
Sava slid off his horse to check on the prostrate men. When his feet hit the rain-slicked earth he found himself on hands and knees, powerful shudders traversing his spine. A reaction to the stunning shock and exertion generated by the surprise attack.
Glancing over he saw that Hahq had dismounted and was leaning on his horse for support. The other survivors were also struggling with the harsh aftermath of wounds and shock of battle.
Rising, Sava walked on shaky legs toward the inert bodies of what had once been young, swaggering warriors, specially chosen for this mission.
Despite the blood oozing from the arrow in his thigh, Hahq helped him check the two inert bodies. Felt for pulse, heartbeat. Listened for the faintest breath. Nothing.
One of the dead was Gagik their Royal Skythian guide, a great loss. The other was Feliks. Even in death Felik’s pale rain-swept lips seemed to curve in a slight smile. Both men had been scalped for trophies.
The two men killed or wounded by Sava and Hahq were nowhere in sight. Most likely picked up by their comrades and tied over the backs of their horses.
Sava dreaded the reaction of Felik’s relatives when they saw his body. The Sauromatae were all interrelated to varying degrees. Loss of life was taken hard, and included self-mutilation by the bereaved. He knew Hahq would blame himself. Guilt was probably right now gnawing at the man’s gut.
“Hahq it’s not your fault. You set out a watch but it was dark and raining. They came from out of nowhere. What else could you have done?”
The warrior only gazed at him through the sheeting rain, jaw clenched, eyes miserable. He had failed in his sacred duty as war leader. The attack happened so fast in the darkness they had no chance to identify the marauders.
Gasping, the other wounded men slid off their horses and staggered to ground. As the most lightly injured, Sava tended to the others, extracting arrows and binding stab wounds. Hahq could not repress a deep groan when Sava finally dragged out the arrow embedded in his left thigh.
“Hmm, Trefoil point - Black Cloak.” Sava dressed the wound with a powdered healing herb from his saddlebag.
“Goddess grant these arrows are not poisoned with viper venom.” Hahq studied the arrow with pain-glazed eyes.
“What evil luck. The Black Cloaks are one of the tribes we have to contact for the war council. I hope none of them recognize us.” Sava’s expression was wry. “Black Cloaks have long memories.”
“Aye. We should have been more diplomatic with them,” Voron said.
“Why didn’t you tell us to lay down our arms so the Black Cloaks could kill us? Then we would still be on good relations with them.” Hahq flashed Sava a sardonic smile.
After binding up the wounded men and his own injuries, Sava went to work on the horses and the dog. The arrow in Zorik’s shoulder had struck at an angle. It was a shallow strike. The horse would make it home.
As he worked the question bedeviled him - They will have to turn back. Should I go with them or go on alone? After mulling it over Sava made his decision.
“Hahq you and the rest of the men are in no condition for a long journey across Skythia. They can barely stand. Tie Feliks and Gagik on the two wounded horses and go back to King Raymaxos’ camp. I will go on ahead. You can catch up with me in Gelonus.”
“Nay Sava. Out there you will be as vulnerable as a rabbit without a hole. How will I ever find you again in all this?” Hahq waved at the boundless plains. “I am bound to help you bring the seven tribes to the war council.”
“Hahq listen to reason – Gelonus is another six days ride, at least. The men can barely stay on their horses. They can’t make it that far. You are in bad shape yourself. Home is only a two day ride from here. Don’t worry about me. Zlatna can outrun anything on the steppes. I will make it to Gelonus.” Goddess willing.
“Not if some roving war band catches you by surprise. Like tonight.”
“Time is vital to our cause. If I turn back now we lose two weeks. Go back with the men. If you don’t catch up with me in Gelonus, look for me among the Budini.”
And so Sava had gone on alone toward fabled Gelonus, the only city in nomadic Skythia and Sauromatia. As he rode the Voices in his head said:
How do I get myself into these things?
By playing the Hero. That Other Voice piped up. It seems I a
m always destined to be alone.
Stop it. Sava mentally slapped himself. Focus and stay alive.
Chapter 2 – Favored Son
Nearly all the Alani (Sauromatian tribe)
Are men of great stature and beauty
Their hair is somewhat yellow
Their eyes are terribly fierce -
Ammanius Marcellinus, Roman officer - Res Getae (Things Done)
The day Sava received his mission had started like most days. He was on the outskirts of camp working Zorik, a promising five year old by Zlatna. At the rhythmic beat of approaching hooves, he pulled the colt up, listening. These were not the relaxed hoofbeats of someone returning from a long day hunting or herding. These were the speedy, frenetic hoofbeats of someone on a vital mission.
A lathered horse galloped by. Sava’s eye followed him into the distance until the rider pulled up near King Raymaxos’ kibitka. People paused in their daily routines, watching with observant eyes as the rider vaulted off, presented himself to the guards and was escorted into the king’s wagon.
Whatever it is, I will hear about it soon enough.
Any news of importance would be buzzing through camp before sunset. Gossip? News? Such was the heartbeat of tribal life.
He put the colt back to work: walk, trot, canter. Circle right. Halt. Back up. Walk, trot, canter. Halt. Back up. Round and round the dusty track. But Zorik was getting frustrated and impatient. The colt began to balk, jumping and shying at the slightest noise or shadow.
Sava sensed a pitched battle coming. A ferocious temper tantrum was about to burst through the spirited colt’s thin veneer of training. The horse kept stopping and neighing loudly towards his herd mates grazing just out of sight on the other side of a low rise.
The colt hated and feared being away from his herd, but Zorik would have to learn to ride out alone and unafraid. To trust in his master.
As he worked the rambunctious young stallion, Sava’s curious mind kept drifting to the messenger on the lathered horse. What is going on?
He was relieved to see Hahq’s tall lean frame in the distance, striding toward him. This could only mean a summons. A good excuse to quit before Zorik went into a bucking fit. I don’t feel like eating dirt today.
By the time Hahq reached him, Sava had already dismounted and removed the saddle and bridle. He gave Zorik’s rump a resounding smack.
“Go on git!”
The stallion needed no further encouragement. With a loud neigh he trotted a few steps then dropped his head and kicked out with both hind feet, narrowly missing Sava’s head. The big bay threw him a triumphant glance before galloping away, bucking and kicking in celebration.
Hah. Now the arrogant oaf thinks he has won.
Saddle and bridle slung over his forearm, Sava turned to study Hahq as he approached. The thought swept his mind for the hundredth time –
Are you my brother? No one is saying.
Hahq was a younger, leaner version of Sava’s father, Skopasis. He was black haired with the same blade of a nose topped by dominant expressive dark brows. Unlike Skopasis’ piercing dark eyes, Hahq’s eyes were hazel with golden flecks. Taciturn and aloof, Hahq exuded an aura of ruthless but restrained strength.
Hahq’s true father was a mystery, as he was born before his mother was married. But it seemed to Sava that from childhood, Skopasis had always found ways to keep Hahq near.
Hahq is the son Father never had in me.
Though only a few summers older than Sava, Hahq had already taken many heads and won a place of honor at the Council of Warriors. As such he had emerged as the voivode’s favored young subaltern.
In the eyes of his people, Sava was a failure. He refused to raid for plunder or to bring the king any heads. Thus he was forced to sit with the young boys at the council. Nor was he given to drink from the Cup of Brotherhood. It was the greatest humiliation a Sauromatian could know. Not only for Sava but for Voivode Skopasis.
In desperation Sava’s parents had asked King Raymaxos to mentor their son. For the last five years, the king and his nobles had worked with Sava, training him to act as an emissary, mediator and spy for the Sauromatae.
To inspire brotherly trust and relationships, Sava was trained as raconteur, singer and musician, at which he excelled. The rest of his time he spent breeding and training his horses. And flirting with women.
But Sava did have one triumph on which to call himself a man. At the age of 15 he had raced his golden stallion Zlatna in the 1,000 Mile Race against the best horses in Sauromatia and Royal Skythia. The stallion had raced 100 miles a day for 10 days and he won.
In the following six years Sava had focused on building his wealth not by plunder but by careful breeding of his stallion to select mares. As a result he was breeding one of the finest herds in all Sauromatia.
“King Raymaxos sent for you.” Hahq barely glanced at Sava, seeing through him. As if he were unworthy.
“Is Skopasis there?”
Hahq nodded, the gold flecks in his eyes glinting in the late afternoon sun. His attitude speaking louder than words. You are nothing but a disappointment Sava. A failure. You could have been the next voivode. Instead you threw it all away. But, so much the better for me...
From childhood Hahq had adored Skopasis. Skopasis was noble. Admired. A legend in his own time. Hahq’s own `father’ was adequate but uninspiring.
Growing up the eldest of 12 children, it seemed there was never enough food at home. But Hahq could always wander over to Skopasis’ wagon when the voivode was there, sure of a welcoming smile, a warm arm around his shoulder and a bowl of meat stew. If only Skopasis had chosen to marry Hahq’s mother…instead of her.
Inwardly Sava shook his head. Why are you always so cold to me Hahq?
Sava had always wanted an older brother. A true brother who would understand the tremendous moral struggle he faced. Who would help him win respect and find his place in the world. Though he never said it outloud, Hahq’s attitude clearly conveyed his resentment.
So the two men walked toward King Raymaxos’ kibitka encased in a stiff, mute silence. Sava wanted to break through the invisible wall separating them; but did not know how.
Already a small crowd had gathered by the king’s massive wagon, everyone feigning casual disinterest but dying to know what was going on. Held by a guard, the messenger’s horse stood nearby. Sava noted the golden lion emblem of Royal Skythia on the horse’s black felt saddle pad.
At that moment heavy clouds flowed over, darkening the face of the sun. There came a low ominous rumble. An earthquake or thunder? Sava was not sure if it came from above or below. Then the earth moved, rolling away into the horizon like the waves of the sea. But no one else seemed to notice. A thrill shot up Sava’s spine as the realization hit –
From this moment my life is going to change. Forever.
Upon entering the king’s wagon, Sava and Hahq each sketched a bow, fist over heart. Sava was surprised when Skopasis waved them over to sit in the inner circle. They sat down cross-legged in the tight ring.
“Ah here they are, come to save the day - the craven son and the ever hopeful reject.” Narek exchanged a knowing smirk with his father Razmik.
“You know what Narek?” – A low menacing voice growled.
The smirk flitted from Narek’s face as he was pinned by Hahq’s piercing black-browed glare.
“You have a very long tongue. And I don’t like it.” Hahq’s voice dripped venom.
Razmik and Narek bristled, slitted eyes flicking daggers.
“Heh. Talk about long tongues. Sava is the one. He fights best with his tongue. Don’t you Sava? Pretty boy,” Narek taunted in an attempt to humiliate the weaker target.
“Your fangs are showing Narek. Don’t spit, then try to lick,” Sava retorted.
In the momentary silence that followed Sava thought he heard a muffled snort from Hahq. Over the years Sava had learned to shrug off petty insults like Narek’s. From childhood he had learned to see behin
d the mask. Now he searched the eyes and expressions of those around him.
His gaze fell upon his mother silently asking – What is going on?
Dragana’s blue eyes held a pained concern but Sava also saw excitement lurking there. Giving him a brief smile she nodded her head as if to say – I have faith in you. You can do this.
Do what?
Skopasis’ dark eyes challenged him, yet held a rare pride. As if a momentuous decision had been made.
King Raymaxos has made a decision involving me. Why else would I be here? Sava realized.
The king’s seer, Xobash was also present thus completing the tripartite level of Sauromatian rulership: Ruler, be it king or queen, War Leader and High Priest or Priestess.
Other members of King Raymaxos’ inner council included his wife, Queen Gula and Sava’s mother Dragana, a ranking priestess with the Alani clan. Also present were Skopasis’ blood brother, Boreas and Razmik, brother to King Raymaxos and Razmik’s son, Narek.
King Raymaxos’ perceptive gray-blue eyes took in the obvious rivalry between the younger men. Someday they would lead these inner council meetings. If they survived the constant battles for survival.
No crown prince sat next to Raymaxos. He had not sired any sons. Thus his brother’s son, Narek would probably inherit. But Narek did not handle power well. He was too sly. Raymaxos exchanged a commiserating glance with Skopasis. It was not wise to alienate the sons of the Great Voivode.
So far Skopasis’s lips remained fixed in a grim line. He had no need for words. Everyone watched the expression in his glittering dark eyes. The man exuded a remarkable charisma. People were inexorably drawn to him.
The mantle of power clung to Skopasis’ broad shoulders and he wore it well. The voivode was their wall against the many raiders that stormed down out of the steppes. As such the war leader was the real decision maker in the group.
The king’s high seer, Xobash sat shrouded in back robes embellished with golden stars, suns and moons. One hand grasped a bunch of willow wands used for telling the will of the gods. The sorcerer fastened beady eyes on Sava as if he had some cunning plan in mind.
Serpent Goddess: The Horse Lords Book 1 Page 2
