by Max Overton
"I cannot believe I am hearing this!" Tomyra stood, white-faced, and pushed between the arguing men. "Since when do any of the horse-people betray their friends?"
"And who in Hades are you, girl?" rasped Lugartes.
Tomyra took a deep breath and drew herself up straight. "I am Tomyra, daughter of Spargises and priestess of the Great Goddess. This man Nikomayros, known to all of you as Lion of Scythia, enjoys the favour of the Goddess. How dare you treat him..."
"Enjoys the favour of the priestess by all accounts," snickered one of the junior officers.
Timon leapt to his feet, crossed the tent in three huge strides and crashed his fist into the young man's face. The officer reeled backward and collapsed, blood spurting from his nose. Timon stood over him, red with rage, his fists clenched. The other officer drew his sword and held it at Timon's throat, the point wavering uncertainly.
Parasades uncoiled himself and stood up. He walked casually over and put his hand on Timon's shoulder. "Youth is ever quick to speak and slow to think, eh, my friend? You have taught him a lesson." He turned to the other officer and pushed the sword blade to one side. "Put that away, that's a good fellow. Get your friend cleaned up, eh?"
The officer looked at his chief then at the councilors. Sopartos nodded and the young man slipped his sword back into its scabbard and lifted the fallen man to his feet, helping him out of the tent.
"Come, friend." Parasades eased Timon back toward Nikometros. "Hot heads will get us nowhere. Let our hosts make up their minds through cool reasoning."
Lugartes looked appraisingly at the tall young woman in front of him. "This is true...er...my lady? You are truly daughter of Spargises and holy priestess of the Massegetae?"
Tomyra inclined her head. "The Mother has told me that this man, Nikomayros, is under her protection. If you hand him over to Areipithes you will feel the anger of the Goddess."
The councilors muttered among themselves, shuffling their feet. Lucos cleared his throat. "This puts a new perspective on the problem."
"Yes," agreed Teraxes. "Loyalty to friends is one thing but to disobey the Mother..."
Lugartes frowned. "I agree in principle, we must not anger the Mother, but..." his voice trailed off and he flushed, looking down at the ground. "Er, forgive me, lady, but perhaps there is some truth...I mean, we have all heard stories." He gulped and glanced up at Tomyra's impassive face in desperation. "Is it...is it the Mother who speaks, or is it her priestess?"
Timon got to his feet again with a growl of anger. Nikometros placed a hand on his arm in restraint and Tomyra held out her arm toward him.
"My lord," interjected Lucos anxiously. "Take care. If she speaks truth you slander the Goddess." He held his palm out flat to the ground in supplication to the Earth Mother. He looked at the other councilors for assistance. "Sopartos, you've been silent. Tell us what you think we should do."
Sopartos looked up from where he was apparently scrutinising the complex patterns on the flooring rug. "I have listened to you all, and to my heart. It is shameful to betray a friend though I can understand why one might be tempted. It is, however, folly to betray a friend if that same action will bring down the curse of the Great Goddess." He held up a hand as Lugartes made as if to speak. "Hear me out, my lord, I beg." Sopartos pursed his lips and thought for a moment. "If the Mother supports this man then no enemy can stand against him. If he opposes Areipithes then so should we. The Mother will be at our sides."
"Providing the Mother truly does support him," muttered Teraxes.
"How can we be sure?" asked Lucos. "Forgive me lady, but we have only your word for that..."
"The word of a priestess is enough for any man," hissed Bithyia.
"...And there is a suspicion...only a suspicion," Lucos went on hurriedly, "Of self-interest."
"Are you all bereft of your senses?" asked Sopartos impatiently. "We have the means to test her at hand."
Jaxes grinned and slapped a meaty fist into his other hand. "Lynna. Of course. We have our own priestess."
"Just so," nodded Sopartos. "Send for her. Let her pronounce whether the Lion has the protection of the Goddess."
Lugartes' face lit up. "Yes. That is what we must do. Send for Lynna at once."
Jaxes strode to the tent entrance and bellowed to the guards outside to carry a message to the priestess. He ducked outside. Lugartes beckoned to his other councilors and led them into a corner of the tent where he conferred with them in whispers, leaving the others alone by the trestle table.
Certes got up and picked over the platters of meat and bread, washing hunks of the food down with draughts of warm koumiss. He belched and looked apologetically at Prithia. "I am hungry. It does us no good to weaken ourselves." Prithia smiled and picked up a plate, offering it to Tomyra and Sarmatia. Bithyia squatted beside Timon and spoke to him softly.
"My lord, thank you."
Timon looked puzzled. "For what, my love?"
"For defending my mistress' honour."
Timon shook his head. "The man was a foul-mouthed whore-son." He jerked his head toward the tent entrance. "Will their priestess support our priestess?"
Bithyia gaped. "How not? It is the Mother's will, not any man's...or woman's."
Tomyra sat down again beside Nikometros. She pushed the plate at him. "Eat, Niko," she said. "You must build your strength."
Nikometros smiled weakly and wiped the sweat away from his face. He picked up a piece of cold meat and nibbled at it. After a few moments he dropped it and closed his eyes, leaning back against the table. "I am tired," he whispered.
Jaxes coughed from the tent entrance and stood aside to let a young girl, only barely past puberty, step inside. The young girl advanced toward the knot of Jartai elders and inclined her head. She looked round with a keen interest at the strange faces, frowned when she saw Nikometros and Parasades then turned back to Lugartes.
"You have need of me, lord?" Lynna asked in a clear voice.
"Yes, Lynna." Lugartes pointed at Nikometros. "You know this man?"
"Indeed, my lord. I administered the oath of brotherhood when you became chief." Lynna smiled. "This man is your brother in blood, the man we call the Lion."
Lugartes coughed and hurried on. "Yes, yes. Who he is, isn't in dispute. This woman here," he indicated Tomyra, "Claims to be a priestess and further, that the man enjoys the favour of the Goddess."
"And you want me to verify these claims?"
"Yes, Lynna. That's it exactly."
Lynna looked at Tomyra, running her eyes over the tall slim woman dressed in plain but well-fitting woollen robes. She noted the confidence and air of authority with which she carried herself. With a light, almost dancing step she circled Tomyra, humming softly to herself. After completely circling the woman, Lynna dipped into a pouch attached to her waistband and drew out a bundle of stripped willow sticks. She smiled and handed them to Tomyra.
"Please throw down the sticks, lady," murmured Lynna.
Tomyra weighed the sticks in her hand and stared into Lynna's cheerful but plain face. She nodded and bending over the richly patterned carpet, threw the sticks in a sweeping curve.
Lynna dropped to her knees, scrutinising the pattern of the willow sticks, picking up one here, shifting another to study the way the ones underneath lay. She grinned and turned to Lugartes. "She is who she says she is, my lord." Lynna swept up the scattered sticks and rose, turning back to Tomyra. "Welcome elder sister."
"And the man?" asked Lugartes. "What of him?"
Lynna danced over to where Nikometros sat with his eyes closed, panting in the close warmth of the room. Sweat stood out on his pallid face and a bloom of fresh blood stained his tunic. She dropped to her knees in front of him. "My lord Nik...Nikam...Lion." She laughed, a clear tinkling laugh, and handed Nikometros the willow sticks. "Please, my lord, throw the sticks on the ground."
Nikometros opened his eyes and blinked, his gaze wandering weakly over the face of the girl in front of him. He looked d
own blankly at her hand for a moment then accepted the sticks. Nikometros nodded and stretched his hand out to scatter the sticks but a tremor ran through his body and his hand shook as droplets of blood fell from his tunic. Some of the sticks fell, spattered with blood and then he gathered his strength and tossed the others down.
Tomyra gasped and her eyes widened but she kept silent, watching Lynna as the girl trod carefully between the widely scattered twigs, her face frozen in concentration, the tip of her tongue curling up over her top lip.
"Well?" rasped Lugartes.
Lynna closed her eyes and concentrated. Her breathing slowed and she swayed on her feet. Her breath puffed out, visible as a bloom of white in the suddenly frigid air.
"Three lives shall this man lose, one is past, one is now and one comes at life's end. Each is greater than the last yet shall he live long in the land of the Golden King. Death is all around him yet shall this man conquer. The Mother's hand is with him for he shall protect mother and daughter."
Lynna's voice died away into a whisper. The air gradually warmed again and the watching men and women coughed and shuffled their feet, unconsciously drawing back from the young girl.
"Mother and daughter?" muttered Timon. "What mother and daughter?"
"There we have it," rumbled Jaxes in satisfaction. "Could it be plainer, my lord? The Great Goddess protects the Lion. We must stand by him and oppose Areipithes."
Teraxes nodded and Lucos muttered his agreement. Sopartos turned to Lugartes with a questioning look. "My lord? Surely you have no further doubts?"
Lugartes bit his lip and shook his head. "No," he muttered. "No. The Goddess has spoken, so shall it be." He forced a smile to his face and opened his arms wide in welcome. "Welcome, indeed, my friends. The hospitality of the tribe is open to you."
Parasades shook his head, a wry smile on his face as he stepped forward to embrace the Jartai chief. "I thank you for your generosity, brother, on behalf of my companions," he intoned formally. "May the Mother give you long life and large herds."
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Chapter Twenty-Seven
The hut buzzed with muted conversation, the drone rising and falling as if a cloud of unseasonable flies had invaded the warm room. Outside, snow lay once more over the village of the Jartai and the surrounding countryside. Inside the hut was warmth and life, men moving from trestle tables loaded with smoking meats, freshly baked bread and roasted roots, and flagons of koumiss, back to the central table and their cliques. The odours of cooking mingled with the herbal scents of the Scythian body perfumes. The murmur of conversation covered topics as diverse as the coming war, the hunting along the Oxus River, a newly acquired piece of jewelry, a young wife, a new horse and an old wound.
The men filling the hut kept themselves in two groups, talking in slightly different dialects, with scarcely any communion between the groups. One, the larger and older group, appeared to be typical Scythian tribesmen, heavyset, with long locks and abundant facial hair. Their dark brown eyes wandered to the others in the hut, eyeing them with a certain amount of suspicion. Lugartes, chief of the Jartai, stood in one corner, locked in conversation with his councilors Lucos, Teraxes and a handful of minor officials, discussing the general day-to-day affairs of the tribe. Jaxes and Sopartos stood apart, hovering near the central table, bending over a large scroll of parchment laid upon it. They shook their heads and argued. A small number of other Jartai tribesmen lounged near the food trestles, laughing and joking, directing coarse comments at the second group of men in the hut.
This group was younger, and while still obviously Scythian in their dress and mannerisms, their faces were clean-shaven for the most part, though a few still sported luxuriant moustaches. They gathered in an amorphous knot to one side of the hut and spoke softly to one another, though occasionally darting suspicious glances around them. Holding a central position in the group was a young man called Tirses. A Massegetae, the others in the group deferred to him, recognising his authority. A gold ornament in the shape of a woman, whose lower body flowed into the coils of a snake, circled his arm. All the men in the group knew that ornament, with the bright slash of iron showing through the gold overlay. The antique circlet belonged to Nikometros, the famed Lion of Scythia, their leader. Nikometros had bestowed it on Tirses as a token of authority before he pursued the priestess Tomyra into the lands of the Serratae.
Heads turned and the conversation died away as two men pushed through the hide curtain over the doorway. Nikometros entered, thin and wan after his long illness, but the fire of life blazed in his eyes once more. At his side strode Timon, his hand, as ever, firmly set on the hilt of his sword. His eyes darted from man to man, warily weighing the dangers before moving on. A man moved suddenly, recovering his fallen cup, and Timon subtly interposed his bulk, protecting his lord from possible danger.
Lugartes silenced his still muttering councilors and walked across the carpet to Nikometros, forcing a welcoming smile to his lips.
"Welcome, Nikomayros. May I offer you some refreshment before we get down to business?" Lugartes waved in the general direction of the provisions.
"Thank you, Lugartes, old friend," murmured Nikometros. "Maybe later." He looked around the room at the other men. He nodded and smiled at Jaxes and Sopartos, nodded politely to the other Jartai then turned his attention to the young Massegetae warriors. A big grin creased Nikometros' face and he strode forward to embrace Tirses.
"Tirses. Thanks be to all the gods. You are alive!" Nikometros looked at the other young men. "And you have brought me men."
The others crowded round, pressing their hands against their leader, smiling and chattering. Timon hovered anxiously. Voices rose in a babble of query and comment all about him.
"Remember me, lord? Pallos."
"We are here for you..."
"...to kill the usurper..."
"Gods, he looks thin!"
"Paraxes, lord. Welcome!"
Tirses nodded solemnly and stepping back, saluted gravely. "More than you see here, my lord. Every single one of your Lions awaits your command, and many others besides. Two hundred men are camped outside the town." Pride burst from the young man.
"You've done well, Tirses." Nikometros said, keeping his face impassive though the news tempted him to delight. "I can see I was right to make you my senior officer. You are confirmed in that position."
Tirses grinned delightedly then slipped off the gold armband. "Here, my lord. Take back your token."
Nikometros held up a hand. "Keep it safe for me for now, Tirses. It is a symbol of your authority to act for me."
Behind him, Lugartes coughed. "My lord Nikomayros. If we might start this meeting?"
"Of course, my friend." Nikometros walked slowly up to the table and leaned on it. Timon watched him carefully, moving up alongside his commander, steadying him.
Lugartes straightened his tunic nervously and coughed again. "Friends and...er..." He flushed beneath his beard and started again. "Friends. We are gathered here to decide on actions that could spell victory or utter ruin. I enjoin you all, in the Mother's name, to consider what you say carefully. Don't be led astray by the bravado of young men..."
"Nor the fear of old women," muttered Jaxes softly.
"...into throwing away everything we've gained in recent months," went on Lugartes. "The council of elders of the Jartai people has voted to oppose our neighbour to the south, King Areipithes of the Massegetae. As you all know, Areipithes assumed power through the murder of his father, a god-cursed action if ever there was one. We can rely, thus, on the favour of the gods. Let us pray that we can resolve this matter speedily and with a minimum of bloodshed."
There was a long silence following the chief's words then a subdued murmuring broke out as pairs and groups started discussions. After a few moments Jaxes called for quiet and addressed the room.
"The decision of the council was war," said Jaxes bluntly. "You cannot make war without spilling b
lood, nor will our foe hesitate to spill ours, so let us not delude ourselves. Either we are determined to win this war or we may as well give in to the usurper now."
"Agreed." Sopartos nodded vehemently. "Let no man hang back on this venture."
Lucos had a pained expression on his face. "You are talking as if some of us are afraid to fight. That is offensive."
"No offence was intended, Lucos," replied Sopartos. "I wished merely to point out that war calls for resolve. If any have misgivings, let them air them now." He looked around at his audience. "Do any here have doubts?"
Lugartes smiled ingratiatingly. "Spoken like a true Jartai warrior, Sopartos. Let no man doubt that the Jartai will fight valiantly to overcome all odds."
Someone in the Massegetae throng snickered and Lugartes wheeled round, his face working in anger. Seeing no one to accuse, he gestured toward the clean-shaven young men. "Come," he sneered. "We have heard nothing from our young Massegetae allies. What say you? Will you fight against your brothers or will you hang back from war?"
"We are Massegetae and we are loyal to our oaths," stated Tirses coldly. "Our loyalty lies with our dead chief Spargises and his legitimate successors, his daughter Tomyra and our elected war-leader Nikomayros. We will never recognise the usurper and parricide, Areipithes." A growl of assent rose from the throats of the other Massegetae.
"I thank you, Tirses, and all of you loyal men," said Nikometros softly. "I also thank Lugartes and his loyal Jartai for their stand. However, to successfully oppose Areipithes we must be united. Decide who is to lead our armies."
"There is only one choice," growled Timon. "I nominate Nikometros, Lion of Scythia, as war-leader of our combined armies."
"Aye!" shouted a dozen throats, all Massegetae.
The Jartai nobles stood silently then Jaxes stirred. "Are there any other nominations?" he asked.
"The Jartai chief has always led our army," protested Lucos. "And this will be a Jartai army will it not? How many Massegetae will stand alongside us?" He shrugged. "Two hundred will not prevail."