Serpent Goddess: The Horse Lords Book 1

by Diana Drakulich

  “This is the border with Melanchaenia.” The Budini officer said. “Stay on this trail. The Black Cloaks will find you. God protect you Sava. “

  With that the Budini turned their horses and left him high and dry. As his horse stepped over the border a tremor shivered down the nomad’s back. He had a strange feeling that eyes were upon him.

  But the land was empty. He saw nothing and no one. Nothing but miles of rolling, waving grass.

  As the shadows grew long Sava stopped to camp by a clear running stream. After tying the horse to a small tree he cut a big mound of fresh green grass for the stallion.

  There would be no fire tonight. Nothing to eat but a strip of dried mutton to chew until his teeth and saliva softened it to a glutinous mass. As a precaution he took most of the gold out of the saddlebag and put it around his neck, arms and fingers.

  Darkness found the nomad lying with his head on the saddle, gazing up at the slow flowing conflagration of clouds, stars and moon above. Just as he was dozing off the distinct murmur of voices shocked his ears. Muttering, whispering voices. Black Cloaks!?

  Vaulting to his feet, he gripped his akinake in one hand, kontos in the other. Senses on keen alert, his head swiveled around, eyes and ears scanning. Searching.

  The whispering died away. Now he heard only desultory insect chirpings and leaves swishing in the breeze. The nomad hunkered down, muscles tense, ears cocked.

  Moments later the Voices began speaking again. Louder, more distinct now. Sava shot to his feet, eyes straining to pierce the darkness. The insidious Voices rose and fell, whispering and muttering. Foreboding fingers coiled around his heart and squeezed. Hard.

  Ghosts, strigoi, demons. Watching. Whispering. Why do these evil spirits plague me?

  The Voices went on, whispering, muttering. Rising and falling. Then silence. He listened, poised to leap into action.

  If I could just understand their words! Are the Voices warning me? Or stalking me?

  Tonight he would sleep little, waking every hour to check on his horse. The last thing he needed was for his horse to be stampeded by a predator. He could hobble Zlatna but he preferred not to. He would rather the stallion be able to break his tether and run away than to be rendered helpless against lions or wolves.

  Fighting exhaustion, Sava wrapped his fox fur-lined cloak around his body and stretched out his lithe body. Sword and dagger belted to his side, gorytus and spear within easy reach, he gazed up at the blazing firmament stretching across the velvet sky. His fingers touched the golden gryphon on his neck.

  Sarpedon - I invoke thee, let no harm come to me tonight…

  It seemed he had just dozed off when a blasting snort and a decisive stomp shot the nomad to instant awareness. He leapt to his feet, ears straining for the slightest sound.

  The stallion stood rigid, ears pricked, staring out into the darkness. The horse made another explosive snort and stomped. A warning of imminent threat. A trigger for action.

  Then he heard it - deep, grunting calls. Steppe lions. Grunting roars, getting louder. More than one. Closing fast. Probably on the scent of his horse.

  Steppe lions were the most feared predators of the plains and horses were their favored prey. He had no bonfire to keep the big cats at bay. It was too dark to use his bow and arrow.

  Zlatna blasted another huge snort and stomped again. The stallion’s eyes bulged, showing the whites, every muscle rigid, tensed to bolt. The horse was on the verge of blind panic.

  At any moment the horse’s survival instinct would kick in. Zlatna would break his tether and take off in a thunder of hooves, leaving Sava to face the lions alone.

  Throwing his gorytus over his shoulder, the nomad grabbed his kontos and ran to the horse. The stallion danced, snorting, pawing the ground. Impatient. Raring to go. Now.

  As the nomad came up to the horse’s shoulder, the stallion swung its head sharply. Its big bony skull struck Sava’s face. Hard. Blood burst from his lip and ran down his jaw. There was no more time and the stallion knew it.

  Sava slashed the tether with his dagger and vaulted onto the stallion’s back using the tether as a single rein. He was barely aboard when the horse took off like a bolt. The stallion vaulted over the stream just as a lion erupted out of the darkness. It leapt, slashing at the stallion’s flanks, inches from taking the horse down.

  Hitting the ground on the other side of the stream the stallion launched into a tremendous gallop. Riding low over Zlatna’s neck, wind and darkness blurring his vision, Sava glanced back. Luminescent eyes were bounding close behind the horse.

  A pack of lionesses could be stationed around them, reinforcements waiting their turn for the big run. This lioness was keeping pace, saving her energy.

  The lions’ favorite tactic was to exhaust their fleet prey by making it run in a giant circle. As one lion tired, the next one was stationed to take up the chase. Who could say these lethal predators were not intelligent?

  Chapter 32 – The Chase

  These (Nisean) horses,

  Are worthy of the most powerful rulers.

  Strikingly beautiful in appearance

  They move lightly under the rider

  And lightly accept the bit.

  The head with its Roman nose is carried high

  Their golden manes flow majestically in the wind –

  Oppian, Roman historian, 200 BC

  Racing through darkness, Sava had no choice but to rely solely on the horse’s speed and superior night vision.

  Suddenly the lioness sped up. Running in tremendous graceful bounds she was almost abreast of the horse’s shoulder. She was trying to force the stallion to veer right, to push him into a giant circle.

  The stallion saw the lioness coming up fast. With a violent thunder of hooves the horse increased to all out speed. Sava was enveloped in the drumming hooves.

  OOOMPAH! OOOMPAH! He felt the great lungs gasping, the valiant heart beating between his legs.

  Mata Drakaina don’t let Zlatna trip or step in a hole in this darkness…

  With tremendous exertion the stallion was galloping just ahead of the lioness. Suddenly a wall of rocks tall as a man, veered up in front. The nomad felt the stallion’s body tensing, gathering his powers.

  The horse had made up his mind. He was going to jump.

  There was no time for anything else. If the stallion slowed to turn at the rocks, the lions would close on them in an instant. But to jump was a huge risk. If they fell on the rocks the lions would pounce, slashing and tearing.

  It was either jump or be trapped up against the rocks. The stallion’s breath huffed as he collected his hindquarters, tensing for a tremendous launch.

  Mata Drakaina!

  The nomad breathed the name of the goddess as the horse vaulted upwards into blackness, sailing over the rocks. Too late he saw the outline of another lion on the tallest rock, crouched to bring them crashing down.

  Zlatna saw the lion too and jerked his body sharply in mid air, veering left as Sava stabbed at the leaping cat with his kontos, hitting it a grazing blow.

  The other lion sailed through the air right behind the horse, an easy leap for the big hunting cats. The stallion hit the ground hard, off balance, nose first.

  Sava thought they were going to crash. In fact they were down. Somehow the powerful, surefooted stallion managed to scramble his legs under him, leaping away just as the two lions hit the ground next to them.

  The chase was on again. The golden horse raced on through darkness and shadows. One of the lions fell back, only to be replaced by another. This lioness came up in a tremendous rush, trying to turn the stallion.

  In the moonlight the nomad saw a massive dark shadow just ahead. Zlatna saw it too. With a valiant burst of speed he shot up the slope.

  Upon reaching the ridge top the nomad leapt off the stallion’s back, out of kicking range. In a blur of speed two lions charged out of the darkness, attacking simultaneously. One leapt at the horse’s haunches, the other cat s
truck at Zlatna’s shoulder, trying to leap onto his back.

  Rearing and kicking, the stallion transformed into a vicious, screaming, whirling demon. He kicked the lioness attacking his flanks full in the chest with both hind feet and sent the animal flying.

  The second lion dug its claws into the stallion’s right shoulder, fangs snapping at the horse’s neck just above the withers, powerful jaws trying to break his spinal chord. The stallion screamed and twisted, teeth snapping. Sava rushed in. Lunging with his kontos he thrust it into the lion’s shoulder.

  Shrieking with fury the lion drove both taloned paws at the lance. Its raking claws striking with furious speed. It took all Sava’s strength to hold the lance firm and keep the ferocious lion at bay. It was trying to wriggle out from behind the spear. Then spring on him, attacking with powerful raking claws and fangs.

  One hand grasping the spear to hold the lion at bay, the nomad drew his akinake with the other. He darted in and struck the lioness a devastating blow on the head.

  That sword strike should have cleft its skull in two. But the lion’s skull was so thick and lined with muscle it cut a deep slice across the top of her head down to the bone. But that was enough.

  With an earsplitting scream the lioness slunk off. Sava knew that lionesses have cubs to feed. They always need to hunt tomorrow. But the lions would return, following the horse’s blood trail...

  He examined the stallion’s wounds as well as he could in the dark, walking him a few steps to see if any tendons were cut. The horse was not crippled but limped on his right front. It would be days before Zlatna could be ridden again, if the wounds did not turn septic.

  But there was little to be done until daylight. At dawn they would have to walk miles back to his campsite if he could find it. He needed his saddle and equipment, especially the saddlebag with the rest of the gold and the deerskin map.

  A chilly wind blew across the steppes. The nomad shivered with shock and exhaustion. Grasping the stallion’s lead, he pulled his cloak around him, lowered the hood and hunkered down to conserve body heat.

  Head down, the horse swayed, breathing hard and trembling. Sleep would not come again on this desolate night.

  How do I get myself into these things? I should have gone back with Hahq and organized another mission. NAY… I had to prove myself a hero and go on alone. Now I am lost, caught between men hungry for plunder and hungry lions.

  Why are my people even involved in this coming war with Persia? The Sauromatae took no part in the conquest of Medea. Nay it was all the doing of Royal Skythia in their greed and arrogance.

  But when he looked at his horse, the nomad knew in his heart that the Sauromatae had benefited from the conquest of Medea. Immensely.

  When the Royal Skythians left Medea they brought back with them the most valuable, most sought after war horse in the known world – the Nisean horse. Bigger, stronger, faster and more athletic, than any other breed.

  Because of their close alliance with Royal Skythia, the Sauromate had been able to obtain some of the best Nisean breeding stock. They had crossed their long distance runners with Nisean stallions to breed the biggest, fastest war horse in the world.

  Zlatna was descended from Nisean stock. Tall and fleet yet powerfully built to carry weight.

  But the loyalty between the two tribes went deeper than horses – the Sauromatae owed their very existence to Royal Skythia.

  Long ago we gave Royal Skythia our sacred vow of brotherhood. We cannot desert them now. Even if comes down to just our two tribes, back to back against the storm. Even if it means the end of the Sauromatae. So be it.

  Crouched on the exposed ridge crest, the nomad waited for the long, bone chilling night to end. The wind gusted and groaned, bemoaning his foolish decision to go on alone. Clenching his jaw, he fingered the gryphon amulet, grateful to have survived.

  Hunkered there, cold and alone but for his horse, Sava gazed up at the starry heavens. The inevitable question arose. The question which had plagued him all his life. The one for which there was no answer –

  I want to walk in my father’s footsteps, to capture the world and lay it at his feet. Why am I not like him?

  On a miserable lonely night like this, Sava could not help but wonder…Was the pythia right? Do I have TWO sires? Did Sarpedon sire my mind and Skopasis my body? How could such a thing be?

  Then he dismissed all self doubt – Curse their whispering tongues – My true sire was a horse!

  As dawn stretched her pale fingers across the horizon, the nomad looked around and was stunned at the sight. Frozen.

  What he had taken for a dead tree in the darkness was actually a tall pole with a crosspiece. The cross bar was draped with a long black cloak. Impaled on each of the three points was a human skull. A clear warning – Death to Trespassers.

  Sava expelled a shocked breath. The high `ridge’ upon which he stood was actually a huge earthen barrow, a burial kurgan. Two other massive kurgans rose nearby.

  The lions ran us onto the sacred burial grounds of the Black Cloaks.

  Anyone caught trespassing on a kurgan would be killed. On the spot. No questions asked. It was the same with his own people.

  Kurgans held vast golden treasure. The spirits of the dead must never be disturbed by grave robbers. He had been sent to contact the Black Cloaks, but not like this. Not caught like a fool trespassing on their sacred burial kurgan!

  Chapter 33 – The Dark House

  Around the body of the (Skythian) king

  They bury one of his concubines

  First killing her by strangling

  Also his cup-bearer, his cook, his groom,

  His lackey, his messenger, some of his horses

  And firstlings of all his other possessions

  And some golden cups;

  For they use neither silver nor brass.

  After this they set to work

  And raise a vast mound above the grave

  All of them vying with each other

  And seeking to make it as tall as possible –

  Herodotus, The Histories

  Surveying the boundless landscape with keen eyes, the nomad searched for landmarks to indicate the way back to his campsite. But all was featureless rolling grass land. They had run so fast, so far in the night, he could not even see the boulders Zlatna had leapt over.

  It was imperative to get off this kurgan and out of the area. Immediately. But which way to go? Last night’s blind run from the lions had completely turned him around.

  Then from the corner of his eye he caught a flash. Turning, he scanned the horizon. The flash flickered again, reflected in the dawning light.

  More flashes. Metallic glints on the horizon. Coming up from the south. And he knew what it was, the flashes of spear points.

  Black Cloaks - coming this way.

  Sava’s mind spun. The Black Cloaks would take him for a tomb raider, the gold jewelry on his arms and neck as proof of his theft. He would be killed. His horse taken as a prize or even sacrificed, since golden horses were favored by the gods.

  In the stallion’s wounded, exhausted condition it was useless to run. They would spot him on this barren terrain and be overjoyed to give chase. He had only one choice – hide. He had to find a place behind or even inside the kurgan and pray that this was just a patrol or a hunting party passing by.

  Leading the stallion, he ran down the side of the massive earthen barrow and skirted around the edge. On the west side, the direction of departing souls, he spotted two balbal, ancestor menhirs. The balbal flanked massive wooden doors, each hung with the golden plaque of a fanged, grinning death mask. A sorceress with hair of writhing serpents. Ancient of Days.

  The great doors were not blocked, yet. However this could be a bad sign. If he hid inside and the Black Cloaks were coming for a funeral rite he would be trapped in there. After it was over they would pile stones and dirt in front of the doors, making it impossible for him to get out.

  But he had no oth
er option. The kurgan was huge with numerous rooms to hide in. It might even have another exit. It’s my only chance.

  Grasping a thick iron ring hanging from one of the doors he pulled. Hard. Nothing. Not an inch.

  Desperate, Sava pulled harder, using all his considerable muscle. The heavy door grated, then growled slowly open. Loath to reveal its secrets.

  A wave of stench crashed into the nomad’s nostrils. The dank reek of rotting corpses. This place smells worse than the Black Serpent’s ass.

  Eyes bulging, the powerful stallion snorted. Shaking his head Zlatna backed up, muscles rigid.

  “Shhhh. Easy son. Come on. Come.”

  Time was of the essence but he could not reveal his anxiety to the stallion. Zlatna was a trained war and hunt horse, taught always to obey and he did. Most of the time.

  But he was also a sensitive creature of spirit and instinct. Hesitant, unwilling, the horse stepped forward into the thick murk.

  As the nomad’s eyes adjusted, the light from the open door revealed a huge oval room. The floor was lined with flat stones. On the walls, rows of shields bore the proud tamgas of the clan members buried here: drakons, lions, eagles, stags, wolves, bear, boar, horses, gryphons, hawks and others.

  The vast silence of the huge grave was unnerving. Overwhelming. Like sinking to the bottom of a deep well.

  Spirits of the dead be merciful to a lost soul. I come not to steal your treasure.

  At the end of the hall was a huge flat altar stone. A massive iron sword was embedded in the stone. In front of the altar a few embers still glowed in a large fire hearth.

  The approaching spear points, the unblocked doors, the still burning hearth - all pointed to one thing – this was no passing patrol. The Black Cloaks were returning for a funeral ceremony.

  The nomad seized one of the unlit torches lining the walls and held it to the smoldering fire. Blowing gently, he prayed the torch would catch. Just then, Zlatna pricked his ears at the open door, signaling the rumble of approaching hooves.