River God: The Horse Lords

by Diana Drakulich

  As dusk fell, Zlatna rose from the river. The horse splashed up onto the grassy bank and began grazing ravenously. Sava examined the horse’s wounds. The swelling appeared reduced. The nomad allowed himself a sense of optimism. The Man Eaters would not come to their burial grounds at night and perhaps not for days to come. If he was lucky.

  Which way to go in all this vastness, surrounded by enemies? His choices were limited. He was saddled with a mortally wounded victim and driving a stolen funeral cart. He dismissed the option of contacting the bloodthirsty Androphagi about the war council.

  Hahq will have to do that. I hope he has better luck with the Black Cloaks than I did.

  Before they parted, Mikon had given him another map. Now he unrolled the soft leather and traced the Boryesthens River with his finger. He had to get away from these kurgans before the cannibals discovered him.

  His best option was to follow the Boryesthenes south to the Greek port of Kherson on the Euxine Sea. Kherson was close to Taurica. The Tauri were one of the seven tribes he was to contact about the alliance.

  Before night fell Sava dragged the cart into tall reeds growing along the shore so that it was hidden from view. He dared not light a fire for fear of being spotted.

  Rummaging around in the cart he found a hunk of dried mutton and hippake, mare’s milk cheese. Cutting off a small chunk of the mutton he masticated it in his mouth until it was viscous.

  By squeezing the unconscious man’s cheeks, Sava forced his mouth open. He dripped the liquefied meat from his own mouth onto the Black Cloak’s tongue. One drop at a time. Over and Over.

  Finally after eating a little meat and cheese himself, Sava covered the victim with the fur-lined cloak and lay down in the wagon next to him. Gazing up at the infinite stars blazing in the night sky, he thanked Mata Drakaina for getting him this far. Then his eyelids slammed shut and he knew no more.

  A warning stomp and a loud, vibrating snort made Sava’s eyes pop open. He had slept too long. It was already daybreak. The stallion stood on the riverbank, head high, ears pricked, golden body rigid. Zlatna’s eyes were focused on something lurking in the high reeds, close to the wagon.

  Grabbing the gorytos holding his bow and arrows, the nomad jumped out of the wagon and crouched behind it. Peering over the side, he spied something big moving behind the reeds.

  Swiftly fitting an arrow to his bow, Sava drew the bowstring taut. His sharp eyes focused on suspicious patterns of sunlight and shadow in the waving green reeds. Gradually a menacing visage materialized.

  A bare-chested man in leggings stepped out leading a wiry pony. A string of vari-colored human scalps hung from around the man’s neck. A tiny shrunken human head dangled from each side of the pony’s bridle reins.

  Androphagi.

  The cannibal leered at Sava, exposing sharp teeth filed to fangs. He showed no fear as Sava tensed his bow, taking dead, unblinking aim on the man’s heart.

  The cannibal’s eyes swept over the wagon with the inert Black Cloak in it, then lingered on the golden horse.

  The Androphagi wore no armor and appeared to be alone. Sava guessed he was not part of a war band but had come to hunt or fish along the river.

  Dark eyes sparking in the early rays of the sun, the cannibal pointed to the stallion, then slapped his chest. His lips curved in a dagger-toothed leer. The meaning clear –

  Give me your horse.

  Muscles coiled for battle, Sava shook his head an emphatic - NAY. He was a dead man without his horse. One wrong move by the cannibal and Sava would strike a devastating blow.

  A long moment passed while the cannibal calculated his chances of killing Sava and taking it all. Quite a haul. Apparently he did not like the odds.

  With a sneer that said I will be back, the Androphagi jumped on his pony and galloped off.

  Though Sava had a clear shot at the man’s back, he stayed his hand. Once long ago an Androphagi could have killed him too. A life for a life.

  Now he had not a moment to lose before the Man Eater returned with a mob of bloodthirsty tribesmen. The cannibals would be howling with fury that he had invaded their sacred burial grounds.

  How soon the Androphagi came after him depended on how far away the main body was camped. Could be an hour or a day. But the cannibals would come.

  Chapter 3 – Hahq Among the Black Cloaks

  The Black Cloaks (Melanchaeni)

  All wear black garments

  For which they get their name –

  Herodotus The Histories

  Days Later –

  After crossing the border into Melanchaenia, Hahq and his Sauromatian comrades were escorted by Black Cloak guards to the camp of King Vartan. The whole camp abuzz, on edge, watching as they passed.

  The tension was so acute, Hahq felt their stares like daggers in his back. There was more afoot here than the usual tensions of strangers from a rival tribe entering camp. He sensed some crisis of deep import.

  And we have blundered right into it. Could it have anything to do with Sava? Nay Sava would never do anything to anger these people.

  Watching the strangers pass by on their magnificent horses, Yeva cast her mental cloak of invisibility around her. She excelled at fading into the background. This was how she survived. Her long black cloak, embroidered at the edges with silver serpents, moons and stars, identified her as a priestess of Velesh, Blac Serpent of the Underworld.

  She pulled her hood low to hide her eyes. Eyes of light sea blue with amber centers radiating out from strange elongated pupils. Her curse. For this she had been labeled a witch able to cast the Kako Mati - Evil Eye.

  Yeva’s parents had given her up as a babe to be raised by the female ennerei. She would never be taken as a wife. If by some chance she became pregnant, the newborn babe would be taken away from her. And it was justified.

  For what husband could stand to look into my eyes, day in, day out? His family would always worry that I would put a curse any who displeased me. If some one fell ill and died their fingers would point at me first.

  Yeva’s appointed destiny was to serve as druggist, healer, spell caster, poisoner. Like the rest of her kind she was distrusted but needed. Someday Yeva would hold the same power as her aunt Gorya who was high priestess, but she would always be suspect.

  It was Gorya who had saved her from being sacrificed to Ah-Gin, God of Fire Sword and War in the Dark House. For this she owed Gorya a great debt. But sometimes Yeva thought it would have been better if she had died. Her faith in the gods and in man had ended that day.

  I should have gone with Sargis and Mattahn to the Other World...

  The strangers’ magnificent horses glittered and jingled as they trotted by. Their harness was inlaid with dangling gold embellishments that glimmered and tinkled. Sun rays caught gold glowing from sword sheaths, dagger handles and belts. Light sparkled from polished iron scale armor, shields and spear points. One of the strangers carried a red banner emblazoned with the image of the great Mother Drakon, Mata Drakaina.

  So they are Sauromatae.

  The well-armed strangers projected an alert yet calm readiness. An awareness that anything could happen.

  Though Yeva thought herself invisible as she watched spellbound, her hood had fallen back. Somehow their leader’s gaze felt her stare. His regal head, encased by a gleaming bronze helmet turned, searching the crowd.

  Piercing eyes under expressive black brows sought her out. Crashed into her soul. Mentally she reeled from the impact. He is a king in his own right.

  “Sauromatians.” Aunt Gorya sniffed. “See how they try to impress. So rich they can even adorn their horses with gold. They claim descendance from Royal Skythians and the last Amazons. That would explain their height and looks. If it be true. Swaggering braggarts. It will take more than gold to impress King Vartan. Much more.”

  Yeva heard the envy in Gorya’s voice. She felt it too. The strangers’ horses were taller, stronger and appeared very fleet. A Black Cloak war band had recently
returned with several spectacular Sauromatian horses they had taken in a night raid. Unfortunately Crown Prince Kanxa had been killed in that raid along with another warrior. A great loss. King Vartan was devastated over the death of his son.

  Do these Sauromatians know that our crown prince was killed by their kinsmen?

  “We will see what brings these arrogant Reptile People to Melanchaenia.” Gorya turned and walked toward the entrance of Vartan’s yurt. Yeva followed at her heels. She would not miss this for the world.

  While the rest of his men waited outside, Hahq and Voron were shown into King Vartan’s spacious yurt. The Melanchaeni nobles were lined up in a V formation with the king seated on a dais at the head.

  All wore black cloaks embroidered with designs in silver, black leggings and boots. Their red kurtas were embroidered with clan tamgas in black. Suspicious dark eyes glittered in the dim light of the yurt.

  Hahq sensed the unspoken anger, the barely restrained violence.

  Anything, the wrong word or look could set these people off. We are completely outnumbered. There is no way we could fight our way out of here.

  Yeva watched from the sidelines as Hahq and Voron strode up the aisle, moving with lithe grace. With all this fierce tension in the air, the aisle seemed more like a gauntlet. But the Sauromatian leader bore himself with nobility.

  Tiny gold medallions dangling from the side seams of his tall boots jingled softly with each step. Yet her healer’s eyes noted an almost imperceptible unevenness in his stride.

  He tries not to show it but he favors his right leg. Is it a recent injury? Could he have been in the Sauromatian party that Prince Kanxa’s war band attacked?

  If King Vartan gets even a sniff, a hint of that, these strangers will be in dire straits. The king is mad for vengeance.

  Halting at the proscribed distance, the two Sauromatae removed their helmets and went down on the knee, fists over heart. Now Yeva had a closer look at their leader. A mane of shoulder length black hair framed expressive brows over piercing hazel eyes. His silky black mustache outlined sculpted lips and merged with a short black beard.

  “Rise.” Lips pressed in a thin line, the king waved them up.

  “Greetings Honored King Vartan, I am Hahq, son of Kahkki. I bring word from King Raymaxos of Sauromatia. As a token of our king’s good will I bring you this.”

  So saying he took from his neck an exquisite gold torque of gryphons battling lions. A noble stepped forward and the Sauromatian gave him the torque with both hands, head bowed in deference to the king.

  “We thank you. Your craftsmen excel at gold work. Speak your business.” Vartan nodded.

  “I bring word that Persia has invaded Thrakia. King Darius plans to build a bridge of boats over the River Ister and then to conquer Skythia. In two moons a council of war will be held in Royal Skythia. King Raymaxos invites the Melanchaeni to attend.”

  Eyes widened at this stunning news. The yurt was enveloped in a beehive of voices as the king’s nobles crowded in to give their opinions. From the Black Cloaks’ surprised reaction Hahq surmised that Sava had not made it to Melanchaenia. What happened to him?

  When Vartan turned back to him, Hahq could not miss the smirk on the king’s face along with the smug looks of his nobles.

  “We thank you for your invitation to this `war council’. But the Melanchaeni are not fooled. You come at the behest of King Idanthrysus. Royal Skythia did not see fit to consult us before their ill advised invasion of Medea. And now they seek our help to resist Persian vengeance? Pah.” Vartan spit out. “Aye, the Melanchaeni will come to your little council. We will enjoy watching Royal Skythia grovel for allies against the greatest empire on earth.“

  Hahq released a deep breath. They will come. At least we have accomplished that much. Now all we have to do is ride out of here in one piece.

  “Very good your majesty.” Hahq bowed his head. “We look forward to seeing the Melanchaeni at the council. Your warriors are famed throughout Skythia. We hope that when you hear the strength of our cause you will join the alliance.”

  “So it is settled then,” the king responded. “Where will you go from here?”

  “To Androphagia.”

  The king’s wry smile flashed louder than words – Good luck with that.

  “As for tonight, you will enjoy feasing with us. Your men can stay in my yurts. Perhaps you may even catch hold of some of our women. Eh?”

  Yeva smiled at the king’s hint. Black Cloak men were notoriously jealous and possessive. The king and his men are seething for a fight. Any pretext will do. Vartan wants revenge, even if these Sauromatae had no part in Prince Kanxa’s death.

  “We thank you for your generous hospitality King Vartan.”

  To refuse would have been an insult. Hahq bowed and turned to leave, then paused.

  “One of my kinsman, Sava, son of Voivode Skopasis was to contact you about the war council. He rides a golden stallion. His family fears he may have been lost. Has anyone heard tell of him?”

  As soon as the words left his mouth, Hahq knew he had made a grave error. An incredulous scowl flickered across King Vartan’s face. His eyes narrowed to dark glittering slits.

  “A golden horse?”

  “Aye.”

  “Big and very fast with great endurance?”

  “Aye that stallion is the pride of Sauromatia”.

  A black curtain resonating grief and fury descended over the king’s eyes.

  “Aye we saw someone with a golden horse – a common tomb raider. He stole my son’s funeral cart. This thief also stole our sacrifice, a noble warrior who was to accompany Prince Kanxa into the Other World. My men chased your thieving kinsman all the way to the kurgans of the Man Eaters where he escaped.”

  Hahq cleared his throat. “Nay that could not be him. Sava is no grave thief. He had a saddlebag full of gold for gifts. Why would he raid your kurgan at great personal risk? It makes no sense. Did he steal any gold?”

  “Nay. He took no gold. Only the cart and the victim.”

  The exploits of this bold tomb raider had been the talk of Melanchaenia for days now. With the thunk of an ax blade the realization hit Yeva –

  To take such risk would only make sense if the victim was not dead. The Gods willing - Sargis yet lives!

  This ‘Sava’ must have come after we left the Dark House. He saw that Sargis was still alive and pitied him. Sargis was an eagle. He and Mattahn fought many battles to protect us. They were noble warriors and did not deserve such a cruel fate. The `will of the gods’ be damned!

  Chapter 4 – Unfathomable Darkness

  Sauromatians cover vast spaces

  In their movements

  Whether in pursuit or in retreat -

  Ammanius Marcellinus, Roman officer, Res Gestae (Things Done)

  Trying not to reveal his anxiety, Sava approached the grazing stallion. The horse would not like being pulled off the grass he so desperately needed. But there was no more time. The lone cannibal would soon return with a screaming horde of tribesmen.

  Fortunately Zlatna did not shy away from Sava’s rope. With glad eyes the nomad saw that the gashes in the stallion’s shoulder from the lion attack were closing over.

  Horned River God you did your magic. You took away the poison.

  Clearly the golden horse was not in shape for another wild chase dragging a wagon over endless miles of steppe. They had to find cover and forage for the horse before nightfall.

  Gazing southward, the nomad scanned the massive blue river as it flowed toward the horizon. Far in the distance, the river snaked through a range of forested green hills.

  Maybe we can find a place up in those hills to hole up for the night, then move on again before daybreak.

  The sun’s rays were growing long by the time Zlatna’s ground-eating trot carried the cart up into the forested hills along the Boryesthenes. Head low, the horse trotted with a distinct limp in his right front. They needed to find a hideout. Soon.

&
nbsp; Dark clouds were blowing in. The air grew chilly. High pitched squeaks accompanied by the rustling of many wings suddenly pierced the air. Sava looked up to see a large flock of bats burst from a grove of trees. He tied the horse and went to investigate.

  Inside the grove was a grassy glade where his horse could graze. On the other side of the glade was a cave, big enough to drive the cart into. Hail Goddess.

  Striding on cautious feet he padded into the cave. The short passage opened into a large space. Despite a damp, rank scent the cave appeared to be empty. From the entrance he had a long distance view of any riders approaching from the north along the river, giving him a sizeable head start.

  Investigating further he saw a ring of blackened firestones. Near the fire ring was a large pile of broken splintered bones including fragments of human skulls. His skin crawled a little, the hairs on his neck and forearm standing on end. He turned away.

  Caves like this have given refuge to men from Time. By the looks of it, no one has been here in years. It’s nearly dark. What other choice do I have?

  His footsteps echoed. He heard himself breathing, every sound amplified.

  He sensed a kind of dark consciousness. As if the cave itself was aware of his intrusion.

  After watering the stallion at the river, Sava led the horse and wagon up into the cave. He unhitched the horse and led him to the grassy glade. There he tethered him to a tree.

  Using his akinake, he cut a mound of grass high as the horse’s belly and placed it under Zlatna’s nose. The half-starved animal thrust his muzzle into the grass with alacrity.

  With a leafy branch, Sava swept away the wagon tracks back to where they had left the trail and beyond. With luck they could stay the night in the cave and be on their way before dawn.

  Upon his return, Sava climbed into the wagon. Waterskin in hand he propped the Black Cloak’s big round head up on one knee.

  “Hey my friend, how are you doing?” He stroked the wounded man’s cold damp forehead with a warm dry palm.