by Max Overton
Timon reluctantly turned away and helped Nikometros to remount, being jostled himself by the surrounding fighters as he also mounted. "I've sent for Diomede. We never thought to see you alive, my lord."
"Where is Tomyra?"
"On the right wing," grinned Timon. "She fights as if she would single-handedly kill all her brother's men."
Nikometros smiled and clapped the other man on the shoulder. "You have the map, the battle plan?"
Timon passed over a scrap of parchment, creased and stained, and watched Nikometros as he perused the scratchings on it. Nikometros looked up at the line of struggling men then back down at the plan. He nodded. "The other commanders have copies? Good. The old Egyptian has done well. Let us hope Nemathres can follow this. It's a good plan and could work but it requires captains to follow orders without seeming reason."
"We have capable commanders, Niko. Jaxes leads the remnants of his Jartai too." Timon looked around as a small group of men galloped up. "Ah, here is Diomede."
Nikometros grinned and nodded again. He slid off his mount and vaulted onto his stallion's back. Diomede whickered a greeting to his master, pawing the soft earth and tossing his great golden head.
"Now, take me to Tomyra." Nikometros raised his voice and yelled out to Parasades, "I go to rally the right wing. Keep up the pressure here."
Parasades nodded and turned back to the fighting. The line surged and rallied as the Massegetae warriors slowly gave before the pressure. Nikometros and Timon pushed their way along the line toward the right wing. Their way was hampered by Dumae tribesmen hurrying to close with the enemy and by struggling knots of men vying for each other's lives. At length, bloodied and aching, they reached a dense body of riders, the press of horses and men so close that weapons thrust and cut impotently. Every few moments the mass heaved and moved a few paces forward or back and men fell dying or dead. Others hurried to fill their places and died in their turn.
At the front of the Dumae tribesmen, surrounded on three sides by slim, leather clad young warriors, fought Tomyra. Her pale face, framed by her raven hair and splashed with blood, was set and lined, her eyes red but dry as she stabbed and parried grimly. A man screamed and died beneath her blade and she urged her horse forward into the tiny gap, immediately encountering another man. Beside her fought Bithyia, her face taut with concern for her mistress.
A vibration rippled through the mass of fighters as Timon and Nikometros pushed their way forward. Bithyia looked round and her face creased in delight as she recognised Timon then in astonishment and excitement at Nikometros.
"My lady!" she screamed, pointing. Tomyra glanced around and froze. A warrior sensed his chance and drove at the young woman, his blade seeking her life. Bithyia yelled and launched herself at her mistress, the two of them disappearing into the maelstrom of horses together with the warrior.
Nikometros gave an incoherent yell of horror and forced his way through, hacking and slashing at any who refused to get out of his way, Timon at his heels. Diomede kicked and bit at the other horses, forcing them away. For long moments the battlefield remained empty of either woman then suddenly both were there, upright but staggering, covered in mud and blood. Nikometros reached down and plucked Tomyra up, setting her down on a rider-less horse. Timon helped Bithyia up behind him.
Tomyra, grinning with joy, threw her arms about Nikometros and kissed him. "My lord," she breathed, between kisses. "You have escaped!"
Timon, also grinning, leaned close, his blade flicking out to the side as he did so. A Massegetae warrior howled with pain and fell back. "Perhaps we might put this reunion off for the moment?" he inquired.
"Indeed," replied Nikometros. He gave Tomyra another quick kiss then released her. He raised himself high and lifted his arm, waving his bloodied sword as his great golden stallion reared. "To me!" he shouted. "Lions, to me!"
Heads turned. Recognition and hope flared within the Dumae army; recognition and apprehension skittered over Thoas' men. The men and women around Nikometros gathered and threw themselves at the enemy. Slowly the right wing forged ahead, swinging round behind Thoas' force. From the centre too, the sounds of battle strengthened as Parasades and his men, disciplined and eager, forced their way deep into the breast of the opposing army.
***
Thoas, guiding the battle from the rear, saw his left wing forced back. He recognised the danger and, to stave off a collapse, bled men from his centre and his right wing to shore up his crumbling flank. The whole battle lurched to one side. A look of worry fled across Thoas' craggy face. He sought for some way to establish his former supremacy, sending small bodies of men scurrying over the battlefield, strengthening first one place then another. Despite all his efforts, his army continued to retreat slowly before the relentless attack of the Dumae.
Then came the thunder of hooves from the rear. Almost afraid to see this new threat, Thoas forced himself to turn, his look of dread turning to muscle-sagging relief as Areipithes raced up with nearly four hundred men.
The tide of the battle turned again, the Massegetae retreat hesitating and reversing. The battle lines heaved and swayed again as men died, the fighting breaking up into struggling knots of riders and men on foot. Areipithes forced his way to Thoas' side.
"You fool," Areipithes snarled. "You outnumber this rabble. How is it you retreat before them?"
"My...my lord," stammered Thoas. "It's not just the Dumae. Your sister fights on our left and now Nikomayros the Lion has joined her. Parasades attacks our centre."
Areipithes slitted his eyes and stared into the dust of battle, shading his eyes against the glare. He surveyed the whole battle scene then pointed to the centre where the Massegetae had stopped the oncoming surge of Parasades, men. "Scolices, go with Thoas. Take my Wolverines and fold up their centre. I will deal with my sister and her barbarian." He drummed heels into his horse and pushed into the throng.
***
Tomyra saw her brother coming, saw the Massegetae tribesmen parting in front of him like sheep before the leopard then reforming behind him in his drive forward. She spurred her horse into his path, her face alive with excitement and loathing in her heart.
Father, Tomyra cried inside herself, I will avenge you now. She raised her sword and swept it down at his head. As her blow fell, her mount shuddered and stumbled beneath her, knocking her from her horse's back. She lay half-stunned on the ground, legs of horses and men trampling the ground around her. Running her hands over her limbs and body, she held her breath, expecting to find some dreadful wound. She rolled to avoid a flying hoof, sprawled over a bloody corpse and staggered to her feet. Tomyra stared through the melee at Areipithes who, apparently unaware of his sister's presence, had ridden her down in his hunger to get to grips with Nikometros.
***
Areipithes swung at Nikometros with a savage oath, missed and barely avoided the return stroke. He fought to control his mount, circling then driving forward again, hacking at a rider who came between them. His next stroke clanged on Nikometros' sword, rasping along its edge as the horses parted.
Nikometros circled, feeling the stiffness in his shoulder and the wave of fire coursing over his partially skinned left arm. He flexed his right arm and swung his blade back and forth, looking for an opening in the other's guard. Flicking a look to the area where Tomyra had disappeared beneath the horses, relief swept through him when he saw her face again. He snatched his eyes back just in time to avoid another frenzied attack. Nikometros parried and aimed a blow of his own.
"I will have you," panted Areipithes, droplets of saliva speckling his beard. "You escaped me last night because I wanted to hurt you. Now I'll just kill you, then my bitch-sister."
A knot of five battling horsemen burst in upon them, three onto two, hacking and stabbing, sweeping Areipithes and Nikometros apart. Areipithes pushed back into the fray, stabbed one of the three in the back then rode past as another man fell. He closed with Nikometros again, shaking his hair free of muddy sweat.
"Settle this with just me," called Nikometros. "Spare your men."
Areipithes slashed again, the jar of the swords connecting sending shivers up his arm. He parried a blow that put Nikometros off balance and smashed his fist into the other man's face. Nikometros reeled and slipped backward off Diomede. Areipithes yelled in triumph and spurred his horse forward, attempting to trample his enemy underfoot. Nikometros dodged and aimed a blow at Areipithes as he passed, the sword ripping a shallow wound in the king's thigh and a deeper one in the flank of his horse. The animal squealed in agony, sending a fine spray of blood over Nikometros then bolted.
Areipithes vainly tried to control his mount as the beast snorted and bucked, trying to rid itself of the stinging wound in its side. Other horsemen swept into the gaps around him, cutting him off from Nikometros. He forced his way back into the fray but could not locate his enemy. With a curse he turned away, searching for Thoas and Scolices in the seething centre of his army.
Nikometros rubbed his jaw and looked about him. He dodged a spear thrust from a Massegetae and parried a blow from a yelling Dumae, ducking under a wounded horse to escape. Diomede whickered and pressed forward, nudging Nikometros forcefully from behind. He swung up onto its back and set off in the direction he last saw Tomyra.
***
Tomyra ran through the jostling crowd of animal and human bodies toward Nikometros and Areipithes. She clutched the broken haft of a spear, her sword lost in her fall. She pushed past two men fighting on foot, just as one ran the other through with a sword. The victor turned on her with a gap-toothed roar, his eyes staring wildly and the upper half of his body covered in a drizzle of blood. He slashed down, just missing Tomyra who leapt back, swinging her spear haft ineffectually. The man followed through with a wild sideways slash, almost overbalancing. Tomyra cracked him behind one knee and he fell, holding himself up on one hand. She hit him again with the ashen spear, splitting his scalp open. He roared with rage and staggered to his feet, swinging blindly. Tomyra dodged, backpedaling, jabbing the broken end of the wood in the man's face.
The fighting pressed close about Tomyra and she looked around desperately for a weapon. The man grinned and stepped closer, forcing her between two dead horses. She stumbled backward then stood still, her weapon trailing in the dirt and her shoulders slumped. The man sensed victory and strode forward eagerly. As he came close, Tomyra pushed forward with the spear haft, gripped it in both hands and swung viciously up, catching the man hard between the legs. The man's scrotum split from the force of the blow, sending a pulse of blood into his trousers and fiery agony through his whole body. His face turned a congested purple as his eyes bulged and he dropped to his knees, breath escaping from his throat in a tortured whistle and clutching the wreckage of his crushed testicles.
Tomyra whipped the haft round and rammed the splintered end deep into the man's throat, leaning on the end of it and twisting. The sword dropped from his fingers and his hands scrabbled briefly at his throat. He collapsed backward, his heels kicking up a spray of mud as they drummed on the churned up earth. Tomyra scooped up the man's sword and set off again, dodging between the horses.
***
Areipithes fought his horse to a standstill then withdrew from the fighting. He sat on a small hillock, a wall of dead bodies providing a measure of protection, and looked out over the seething battlefield. A tremor ran through his army. He watched, a stony expression on his face, as his left wing collapsed, men streaming back in disarray. The centre still held though and his own right wing advanced slowly against the enemy. The battle teetered in the balance and Areipithes knew the next minutes would hold his future. He felt torn between a desire for personal vengeance and a need to strengthen his hold on his kingship.
Ride back and I can find the Greek, he mused. I can kill the bastard but unless I help Thoas, the centre will collapse and I lose the battle. Then I lose all.
With a sigh, Areipithes made his decision. He rode down from the hillock and, rallying a squadron of horsemen retreating before the Dumae tribesmen, led them back into battle, searching for Thoas.
He found him, on foot, hard-pressed and bloodied, breathing hard and holding a wound in his side. Thoas looked up at his king and grimaced.
"The battle is lost, my lord," he panted. "Unless you can think up a plan."
"How in Hades did you let it get this far?" rasped Areipithes. "You outnumbered them and had more disciplined men."
Thoas shook his head and coughed. "I don't know, lord. Their army units showed incredible coordination. No orders passed between them, I swear, yet each knew exactly what the others were going to do before they did it."
"What are they? Mind readers?"
"I don't know." Thoas passed a bloody hand over his brow. "Unless you can come up with a good plan soon, we're all dead."
Areipithes swore, thinking hard. He looked back at his disintegrating left wing then at the centre, now slowly giving way before a renewed offensive. He abruptly spurred his horse and hurled it forward into the ranks of the Dumae.
"Parasades!" he screamed. "Parasades! Answer me!" He galloped into the small space between the two armies, his own pulling back slightly faster than the Dumae advanced. Arrows leapt out at Areipithes as he passed, tugging at his clothes.
"I hear you," came an answering call. The Dumae line parted and Parasades, with Nemathres and Jaxes close behind, rode out into the area littered with bodies, some still moving, and others lying motionless. Men on both sides ceased fighting, pulling back and resting on their weapons, watching their leaders.
"What do you want, Areipithes?" asked Parasades coolly.
Areipithes turned his horse back and trotted up to Parasades. "I want to stop this bloodshed."
Jaxes laughed and Parasades raised an eyebrow. "Since when have you cared about men's lives?"
Areipithes shrugged. "Meet me in battle, single combat."
Parasades considered the offer, hand stroking his moustaches. "And if I win?"
"Then my army is yours. If I win I will send the Dumae and the Jartai back to their own lands."
"Let me kill him," grated Jaxes. "The blood of my slaughtered tribe calls for his life."
Areipithes spat. "You don't lead an army, merely a rabble. I disdain to fight you."
"You arrogant bastard. Do not think to leave this field alive."
Areipithes shrugged and turned back to Parasades. "Well?"
"If you win I'll fight you myself," growled Nemathres. "Enough of my men have died this day."
"And I," snarled Jaxes.
Areipithes waved a dismissive hand. "If you wish."
"General amnesty for all?" asked Parasades. "On both sides?"
"If you wish it."
"You swear? On the gods?"
"Of course," said Areipithes smoothly. "By any or all of them."
"The ease with which you swear doesn't fill me with confidence," replied Parasades sourly. "Still, I'll agree. Have your heralds sound a truce."
Presently the mournful sounds of long horns resounded over the battlefield. Fighting slowly died away, the clash of swords replaced by moaning and the laboured bubbling breathing of mortally wounded men. A space opened up between the two armies, spreading into a wide circle. Men jostled and pushed, eager to be in the front row, Dumae and Massegetae, quarrels forgotten in the excitement of the moment.
Nikometros and Timon arrived, with Tomyra and her Owl maidens close behind. They moved around the circle to where Jaxes, Nemathres and Parasades stood, preparing for battle.
"I should be the one to fight him," declared Nikometros. "It is I he hates."
Tomyra looked troubled, caught between her desire to see her brother dead and her concern for the safety of her Niko. "Let the Mother decide," she said. "If Parasades doesn't succeed then my lord should fight him."
"He'll have to wait in line," growled Nemathres. "Too many of my men have died today for me to hang back and let others fight my battles. If Parasades falls, I'll kill hi
m."
"Or I," snarled Jaxes. "Whatever that piece of dung says, I will fight him."
"I'm delighted by your confidence in me," Parasades scowled. "I would like to point out that I'm a true-born Massegetae and it's my right to fight Areipithes."
Timon frowned. "What do you mean it's your right?"
"He formally challenges the chief to combat," explained Tomyra hesitantly. "If he wins he will ask for challenges from all comers. If none come forth, he'll be acclaimed chief of the Massegetae."
Nikometros chewed his lip in silence, casting a speculative look at Parasades as he stripped off his worn and slashed tunic and donned a new one. Timon looked at his commander quizzically. "Will you?" he whispered. "If he wins?" Nikometros did not reply.
Across the circle, now cleared of bodies, stood Areipithes. As he changed into new clothing and selected his weapons, he engaged his companions Thoas and Scolices in earnest conversation.
"Be prepared. If I win..."
"You will, my lord," interrupted Scolices.
"If I win," repeated Areipithes, "You are to lead an immediate attack on the rebels, before they can recover. I want the Greek, my sister and Nemathres the Dumae dead immediately. Jaxes too."
"But my lord," protested Thoas. "We're under truce. We dare not break..."
"You will do as I say."
Thoas and Scolices nodded glumly. "Of course, my lord," murmured Scolices. "Er, what if...I mean if just by chance..."
"If I fall?" Areipithes grimaced. "It's possible. Should it happen, I want you, Thoas, to challenge him. I do not want that traitor Parasades to become chief after me."
Thoas nodded, a grim expression on his face. Scolices looked put out. "What about me?" he said indignantly.
Areipithes gave a bark of laughter that made heads turn. "Single combat isn't your style, Scolices. No, you take advantage of their honour and escape to the south. If Thoas fails in his task I want you to kill the Greek for me later."
"I thought your Persian friend the Scorpion was going to do that?"