Mood Riders

by Theresa Tomlinson

  “I could create chaos with that herd down there,” Myrina cried. “And maybe I could win our horses back as well.”

  Yildiz also leaped to her feet, quickly understanding what Myrina had in mind. “You and I, Snake Mother! With a ‘Yip! Yip! Yip!’ We can take the Mazagardi mares from under their noses.”

  Myrina stopped smiling at once and shook her head. “Not you, Little Star. Helping to cure a sick queen is one thing, but to ride down there, as you say, beneath the noses of those who killed your family—that is too much for one as young as you. I wouldn’t be a good mother if I allowed that. You must let me do this alone.”

  But Yildiz set her mouth in a determined line. “You need me, Snake Mother,” she said. “One must lead and the other follow behind, using the secret horse magic that we both know. Your Moon Rider friends are fine horsewomen and they know the everyday horse cries, but they aren’t trained Mazagardi as I am; they don’t know the secret of herd-leading. You cannot do it alone and if I get the chance to kill one of those Ant Men, I will not care that they kill me.”

  Myrina was alarmed at the thought and still shook her head, but she couldn’t deny that Yildiz was right. Of all her gang, only she and Yildiz knew the mystical horse cries that made it possible for just two riders skilled in Mazagardi ways to control a whole herd. None of the others had this secret knowledge, but the cries would come to Yildiz as easily as breathing, and on Silene’s back the horse moves would be as natural to her as the steps of a familiar dance.

  Myrina heaved a great sigh, thinking hard. “I would care very much if they killed you,” she said, “but . . . that would not be likely to happen if you took the lead. The guards are bound to be startled at first and if you went ahead that would be safer: I must be the one who follows behind.”

  Yildiz smiled, realizing that she was winning her argument. “Then we will do it together, Snake Mother. I will allow you to take the more dangerous role and ride at the back of the herd.”

  Reluctantly Myrina agreed.

  They returned to the camp in high spirits. Myrina had her plan—and confidence that it would work, dangerous though it might be.

  That night they sat around their campfire, talking it all through. “I will go ahead with Yildiz and we will make such madness and chaos around the Achaean horse guards that they will have no time to look up here and see a wagon train descending from the hills.”

  King Daris’s guards offered to ride down with Myrina when they heard the plan.

  “I should go with you,” Coronilla insisted. “I will go instead of Yildiz.”

  “No,” Bremusa butted in. “It should be me. I am the tallest, strongest woman among us.”

  But Myrina shook her head. “No, none of you will come. I do not want to risk Yildiz, but height and strength are not what’s needed. You don’t know the secret horse-leading ways that we Mazagardi learn as little children. You would bring more trouble with you. Believe me, only Mazagardi can do this, and though I am loath to take Yildiz with me, she has pointed out very clearly to me that I need her. Coronilla . . . Bremusa . . . you and the gang must lead the caravan of carts down to the hidden gate and get them safely inside. That is your job and it is important that I can depend on you.”

  “But just the two of you!” Alcibie protested still.

  Myrina laughed and touched her cheek. “Not just two of us—we have our Mazagardi horses to help us, Isatis and Silene: they will have their own important part to play. You must bring the wagons to the top of the hill and be ready to roll as soon as you see a disturbance start. Then, quick as you can, straight down to the hidden gate in the citadel wall.”

  “You can depend on us,” Bremusa agreed. “But will the Trojans let us in?”

  Myrina paused, thoughtful for a moment, but then she smiled, remembering her mirror-vision. “Yes. When they see our loads of grain and olives, I do not think they will hesitate long, but there is one inside the walls who will know well what we plan—that is my friend Cassandra.”

  “But how will she know?” Bremusa insisted. “Did she not give that precious obsidian mirror of hers to Iphigenia?”

  Myrina nodded. “Yes, she did, but Atisha always swore that Cassandra had no need of mirrors, and when we rode south so long ago to rescue Iphigenia, that proved to be true.”

  They all shuddered, remembering again how Agamemnon had been willing to sacrifice his own daughter in the hopes of bringing a good sailing wind for his fleet.

  “That man is camped just down there.” Alcibie shivered. “That man who would have had his own child killed.”

  Bremusa came in quickly: “All the more reason to trick his guards and get this food into Troy. We will feed new strength into the Trojans and trust that your princess still has her powers and will help us.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  What Mazagardi Steeds Can Do

  THAT NIGHT MYRINA slept soundly, though all through the next day she was restless. She saw Isatis well fed, watered and groomed. Her stomach churned and she was eager to make her move, now that the idea had come to her, but she knew that there would be a much better chance of making it work if she waited till dusk. She rested her cheek against Isatis’s shoulders and gained strength and patience from the familiar warm scent of healthy horseflesh. Yildiz too spent the day grooming Silene, whispering her excitement and anger into the flicking ears.

  By late noon they had drawn the wagons close to the brow of the hill. Moon Riders, guards, and drivers alike were strained as tense as bowstrings.

  Myrina watched and waited until at last the moment came when the sun began to disappear into the dark landmass of Thrace, across the narrow strip of water that was the passageway to the Black Sea. Then she made a silent signal and she and Yildiz started out, down the hillside toward Troy.

  They set off at a steady pace, their cloaks wrapped closely to hide curved bows and full quivers, braided hair flapping freely behind them. They rode close to the hidden Eastern Gate, where a small group of Ant Men camped, but made no attempt to head toward it. As they passed they looked up at the gate towers and saw two guards and a slender figure with long dark hair, braided just like their own, her hand raised to her brow in salute.

  Myrina briefly returned the gesture, then rode on to the south, toward the plain.

  “Is that her?” Yildiz whispered.

  “Oh yes.” Myrina rode on, smiling. “Cassandra has not lost her gift.”

  They passed a huge patch of burnt earth that smelled foul and smoked a little. As Myrina looked closely, wrinkling her nose, she saw that the earth was strewn with the charred bones of both men and beasts. Many a funeral pyre had been built on this spot, until the very earth was hollowed and charred with the burnings. They looked away from the dreadful sight and approached the huge horse corral at the same moderate pace. A few of the Achaean guards looked over toward them with curiosity, but none of them seemed alarmed at the sight of a young woman and a girl riding around the ramparts of the ruined lower town. It was an unusual enough sight for them to stare, but they saw no threat.

  One or two of the guards grinned at each other and made crude signs as the pair came closer. If they could find the energy, this might be an opportunity to have a little vulgar fun at the women’s expense. The Mazagardi horses peacefully cropped the marsh-watered grass of the plain. Achaean war chariots lined the northern edge, but they looked rusty and unused.

  “Fools!” Myrina hissed. “You won’t get our steeds between the yokes of your chariots! Our beasts will accept none but those skilled in true horse knowledge.” She wanted to laugh at the thought of them trying to set thoroughbreds to pull a chariot, but then the threatened laughter fled as Gul’s bloody wounds came into her mind, making her veins seethe with bitter fury. “We will show them,” she muttered through gritted teeth. “We will show them what Mazagardi can do.”

  She turned to nod at Yildiz; the last rays of the sun were fading and it would soon be dark.

  Myrina began circling the wooden
fence of the corral, while Yildiz slowed Silene up and went on at a leisurely pace, close to where the guards were camped, as though she were admiring the corraled horses. A few of the men shouted crude remarks at her, but they still lolled lazily in front of their tents, eating and drinking.

  Myrina rode on at the same steady, ambling pace, but as she circled the fence she began a low whistling, which made many of the horses prick their ears and stop cropping grass; they raised their heads, listening and alert. As she moved on, her whistle changed to the quiet gathering call that came from deep in her throat: “Yoh, yoh, yoh!” At once all the other horses lifted their heads, standing still and attentive. They did not turn or move, just tossed their manes back and forth, a little restive.

  The guards looked up from their food to watch uncertainly. “Mad bitches!” one cried. “Are they interfering with the beasts?”

  “By Poseidon, I swear there’s something amiss!”

  “Is yonder witch charming the beasts?”

  Myrina knew that she was running out of time, but by now she was at the far end of the corral from Yildiz. The time had come; she raised her fist and took a deep breath, yelling, “Eeey yip! Yip! Yip!”

  The horses responded immediately by starting to trot round the field in an orderly manner, all in the same direction. They gathered speed and broke into a canter, quickly forming themselves into the shape of a great turning wheel.

  The guards leaped to their feet, swords drawn, the food they’d been eating falling to the ground. “Get them,” they cried. “Get the bitches! By Poseidon—to your bows!”

  But Yildiz was ready for them. She sent her arrow whizzing through the air to bury its head deep in the neck of the nearest guard. “That’s for my mother,” she cried. Then she wheeled Silene about and rode away fast toward the higher land to the east, yelling, “Yip, yip, yip-yip, yaar!”

  Before the men could get their arrows notched the thudding sound of galloping horses made them glance over their shoulders in terror. The herd moved as one toward the edge of the corral where Yildiz and Silene had been, heads lowered, nostrils flaring wide. Dust rose all about them as they charged toward the fence. Seeing that they were in the pathway, the men dropped their bows and ran.

  The first horses leaped the wooden corral with ease, but as the great mass approached, the fences fell under their trampling hooves, snapping like sticks before the wave of tossing manes and rearing heads. The whole herd moved off to the east in a thundering cloud of dust, following in Silene’s wake.

  Myrina galloped behind on Isatis, echoing the “Yip, yip, yar!,” her bow notched and ready.

  This was the dangerous bit, for she must try to head off any straggling youngsters who might not yet be fully trained in the Mazagardi ways, and at the same time the guards were recovering from their shock, as she knew they would. The men who’d been camped outside the hidden gate ran down through the lower town to give aid to the horse-guards. One ran at her with a spear, but with the quick twist of the waist that the Moon Riders were famous for she swung right around and let fly an arrow that struck his chest. The man staggered to the side, his spear flying uselessly to the ground. Another spear-thrower came up beside him, but Myrina twisted again, letting another arrow fly, while sure-footed Isatis carried her away into the dust and the darkness, following in the path of the Mazagardi stampede.

  In the distance three war chariots appeared from the long trailing spread of the main Achaean camp, but Myrina rode on, smiling fiercely; there was no way that those rumbling chariots could catch up with Mazagardi thoroughbreds galloping at full speed.

  Meanwhile in the citadel Cassandra had given the order for the hidden gates to be opened. While under cover of darkness, the caravan of carts piled high with food and wine rumbled safely down the steep hillside and in beside the curtain wall. Soon the sound of cheering filled the streets as people came out of their houses and rushed up onto the walls, waving and singing and dancing about in welcome.

  Yildiz rode on through the night, a small brave figure at the head of the great herd; it was only when they were well away from the plain that she slowed down a little, crying, “Low, low-low!”

  The horses slackened their pace obediently, but Myrina urged Isatis on to catch up with Yildiz and lead the herd in the direction of Mount Ida, following the guidance of the stars. Myrina’s face was filthy and caked with dust, but she dared not stop to find water. They rode on all through the moonlit night, Myrina closing her eyelids from time to time, gratefully trusting Isatis to carry her safely onward. There was no danger of falling asleep, for though she was tired, her heart was racing with delight at the small victory they’d achieved.

  They slowed their pace again as the first light of dawn lifted the darkness and they saw in the distance ahead of them the dark shapes of riders on horseback. They cheered as they heard the ululating joy-cry of the Moon Riders. Penthesilea had ridden out with her gang from the Place of Flowing Waters to give them a wild welcome of waving spears. She pulled Fleetwind up beside Isatis and leaned across to hug Myrina, laughing at the filth that covered her comrade and now smudged her own face. “I saw you in my mirror, Snake Lady,” she bellowed. “I watched until the darkness made my eyes ache. Well done! Well done! Now our allies will have matchless steeds and plenty to spare!”

  Despite the long ride through the night, Yildiz, too, was filled with wild energy and excitement. “I killed a man,” she cried, waving her bow at Penthesilea, her eyes gleaming. “And now I shall go back for more.”

  “Stay here with us and train for the big fight,” Penthesilea suggested. “The Trojans have their food now and they will hear of our plans from Coronilla and Bremusa. You two could stay here with us and prepare for battle, then you will have your chance to send your darts into the hearts of many Ant Men.”

  Myrina was tempted for a moment but then she shook her head. “I saw Cassandra from the distance, and I knew that seeing her in my mirror is not enough; I need to be at her side.”

  “What about our fierce Little Star?” Penthesilea asked.

  Myrina turned to Yildiz. “You must make your own choice—you have earned the right to do that.”

  “I follow my Snake Mother wherever she goes!”

  Myrina smiled at Penthesilea, remembering Atisha’s advice. “There are many different ways of joining battle,” she said. “We have found our way, me and my Little Star, and I think I will always feel safer with Yildiz at my side.”

  Penthesilea shrugged her shoulders and laughed. “Every army needs its secret agents,” she said. “It’s true enough that two crafty spies may achieve more than a whole gang of armed raiders.” A shadow of deep sadness crossed her face. “It is just that such a way is not for me. Take care of our brave young fire star—I swear she will spit flames at those Ant Men.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  The Streets of Troy

  THEY STAYED TOGETHER that night, feasting around the campfire and performing dances to honor the horses, imitating their delicate stepping movements and their powerful warlike gallop to end the night. The slow, sleepy moon-dance sent them to their sleeping cushions, and in the morning Penthesilea and her gang set off for the Place of Flowing Waters, leading the Mazagardi herd, while Myrina and Yildiz turned their horses back to Troy, braids bound up in scarves like traveling tribeswomen, their bows and arrows hidden once again.

  They kept to the high ground, well away from the Achaean camping sites, even though it was a much longer way around. Myrina was cautious, knowing that they’d be killed at once should they be recognized as the women who’d led the horses away. Twice they saw Achaean raiding gangs in the distance, and dismounted to hide among scrub and rocks until the men were well past.

  Again they waited till dusk before they attempted to go down toward the hidden Eastern Gate, but they were cheered to see that an armed party of Thracian allies, with their distinctive topknots, were now camped outside the walls in the lower town. Good smells of cooking food and the sound of a
blacksmith’s hammer were bringing the half-ruined shacks back to life. The hidden doors behind the curtain wall stood open once again and it seemed that the food and the sight of the Mazagardi horses’ breakout had truly put new strength and determination into the Trojan cause.

  Cassandra was up there on the tower with the lookouts. She came running down to greet them as soon as she saw them leading their horses through the smoky pathways of the Thracian camp.

  Myrina and Cassandra hugged each other tightly, while Yildiz hung back a little awkwardly. When at last they pulled away from each other, Cassandra turned to the young girl. “Welcome, Little Star,” she said, holding out both her hands to her. “You were a very little star when I last clapped eyes on you; now you shine as bright as the moon.”

  Yildiz smiled, but could not help but stare at the princess. Though she was used to the body pictures of the Moon Riders that some found strange enough, she hadn’t remembered from her early childhood that Cassandra had one green eye and one deep blue, just like the Aegean Sea that edged the plain of Troy.

  “You are too thin,” Myrina butted in, putting her hands out to circle Cassandra’s tiny waist. “You must start eating the food we brought. Remember what Atisha taught us: ‘Strength comes from a good appetite.’”

  Cassandra laughed. “We’ve all done nothing but eat since your caravan of carts arrived,” she told her. “But before that we were close to starvation.” Her voice shook a little and the smile fled. “You will see others just as thin as me. Troy is a very different place from the city you remember. We managed quite well so long as we had allies camped outside and we could keep the top gates open for supplies, but after Hector died . . . Well, all our hopes died, too.”

  “It must have been hard,” Myrina sympathized.

  Cassandra nodded. “Particularly for my mother . . . you will see. Of late the Achaeans have set up a guard to stop food getting through to us. I think they meant to starve us out, but never mind that now—you have come to our rescue and my father wishes to see you. I cannot tell you how grateful we are. Come up to the palace and we’ll find somewhere for your horses; we have so few left—the stables are crammed with other beasts.”