River God: The Horse Lords

by Diana Drakulich

  “But to eat people. Why do you do it?”

  “Wait – You drink the blood of men. Right?”

  Hahq dropped his blazing stare. “We only drink the blood of our first kill.”

  “So? We drink the blood and we eat the flesh of our enemies. The only difference is that we do not waste. We Androphagi live by one law – Survival. Our land is not rich and well-watered like yours. In high summer our pastures are dry and barren. Game is scarce. In winter we hunger. So don’t try to play holy on us. You want our strong right arms to wage war against Persia but in secret you sneer at us.” Arkos bit out.

  An Androphagi wearing a necklace of dried, blackened human ears interspersed with withered fingers moved to speak. His leggings were very white. Hahq knew they were made of human skin, the finest, whitest hide there is.

  “I am Voivode Dadagos. I say that greedy people should be punished. You Sauromatae - your land is lush with grass for your herds. But you will not share! You guard your lands fiercely. So we are left with this…” He made a dismissive wave.

  “So by roasting people alive - this is how you punish people for protecting their lands?”

  “It is how we instill fear.” Arkos licked thick red lips. “It is how we drive people away. In time we will empty the lands around ours so that we get the good pastures. Until then we will survive. We enjoy our man meat.” He pointedly eyed Hahq and Voron up and down.

  “Out of the Black Cloak fire and into the vipers’ nest.” Voron said under his breath, smiling and nodding as if in agreement with the Androphagi voivode.

  “And the vipers are swarming,” Hahq muttered.

  At dusk the butchers took the bodies off the fires. There came the hollow hack hack as axes cut through bone to chop off major body parts.Then the long knives cut off succulent chunks of red meat.

  The best steaks went to King Arkos, then to his nobles and down the line. The two blackened heads were cut off and set before the king as tribute. Later the flesh would be removed and the skulls used as drinking cups.

  Against his better instincts, Hahq decided to ask King Arkos about Sava. I promised Skopasis I would do my best to find him. I just hope he was not eaten by these cannibals.

  “Noble Arkos, I am looking for one of my kinsman. He was to bring you word of the war council but he has disappeared. This man is the son of our voivode, Skopasis. He rides a golden stallion. Did your people see him?”

  The king’s face turned into a dark, suspicious scowl. “We chased a man with a golden horse. It was hitched to a cart with a wounded man in it. We caught him lurking next to our kurgans and took him for a tomb raider. We almost caught him but he jumped his horse off the riverbank onto a raft pulled up to shore and so escaped. ”

  “Never have I seen a horse move like that golden stud. Swift, tireless. How he jumped onto the raft. Fearless.” Voivode Dadagos put in.

  The realization descended on Hahq - No wonder Arkos was so intent on getting some of our horses. Sava everywhere I go I am stepping in your shit.

  “This man with the golden horse - how long ago did you see him?”

  “Maybe nine – ten suns ago.”

  “Did he steal anything from your kurgan?”

  “Nay. But the cart he drove had the Black Cloak tamgas of the striking serpent on it. It was richly carved like a royal funeral cart. Most likely he stole it from the Black Cloaks.”

  Hahq shook his head. Everywhere I go I hear the same damn thing. Sava why are you turning the tribes against us?!

  Chapter 24 – Manly Pride

  O Sauromatians, at last I have found

  A people more unruly than you! -

  Ammianus Marcellinus, Roman officer

  The Sauromatae elected to sleep out in the open that night, next to their grazing horses. All the better to be away before sunrise. As they paced through the darkness toward the horses, Voron launched a flying tackle and knocked Hahq to the ground.

  UH! Hahq landed on his back with a hard thud, Voron on top, hands gripping his neck.

  “I AM going to kill you this time!” Voron struck Hahq’s face a hard slap, knocking his head to the right. That slap was followed by a sharp smack to the left.

  “Ah! Uh! It was either you or Dobrich.” Hahq grinned despite the pain, making no effort to defend himself.

  He had expected Voron to come after him, burning with injured pride. Best to let his friend work it out even if it meant he had to endure the punishment. Voron’s hands were lethal.

  “Then why didn’t you volunteer Dobrich’s services to Arkos’ woman?”

  “You know why. Dobrich is bigger than both of us. After I pissed on Arkos’ boots, war was about to break out. Besides once they got a look at Dobrich they would have taken him as their king. You rank at the bottom, so I chose you.” Hahq hissed with repressed laughter.

  “For that, here comes a hard slap to the ass of your ear!” Voron was irate.

  Smack! Ah!

  “Hey Dobrich!” Hahq called out, “How would you like to be crowned King of the Cannibals? Have your pick of cannibal women every night?!”

  This brought a grin to Dobrich’s broad face. “You crazy fool – You pissed on Arkos’ white boots when you should have kissed them! Your damn pride nearly got us killed. And I had to give up my best horse because you wouldn’t trade Zar. Give him a good hard slap for me Voron!”

  “And I gave up Hadeon and what did I get for it, huh? Huh!? Just a public humiliation!”

  Slap! Smack!

  The men gathered around to enjoy the spectacle of Hahq getting a royal beat down from his blood brother, Voron being the only one who could do it.

  Men are so prideful. Disgusting the things they fight over. Yeva walked away holding the little girl’s hand.

  “Are you cold?” She asked as she pulled the girl down beside her at their sleeping place.

  She opened her fur-lined cloak in invitation. The child did not answer. Just sat stiffly next to her, shoulders rigid. Yeva drew her close and wrapped her robe around the girl.

  “Ah, your skin is so cold. You are shaking. Don’t worry little one. I am here for you. You are safe with me. Always.”

  Yeva hugged the child close and took a deep shaky breath. A feeling deep and wonderfully abiding rose within her, trembling her core.

  Always she had felt so alone. Now at last, someone who needed her. Desperately. Someone she could nurture and bring back to blooming life. After a time the child’s shaking lessened.

  “I am called Yeva. What is your name?”

  No response. Only a muted unintelligible mumbling. The girl was trying to speak but could not get the words out.

  “Hmmm. Don’t worry little one. I will call you Anahit. Do you hear?” Rocking her, Yeva stroked the child’s forehead and filthy matted hair with a warm hand. “Until you can tell me your real name, you will be my little Anahit.”

  “I want four of Zar’s foals for the public insult I suffered today. In fact I demand Zar’s entire foal crop!” Voron’s hands gripped Hahq’s neck, thumping his head on the ground.

  “It’s yours. All yours. Just calm down! Can’t you take a joke Voron?”

  “I hate it when people say that – Can’t you take a joke?” Voron mimicked a high falsetto voice. “Liar. That was no joke. That was an insult!”

  In fact Voron didn’t care what the cannibals thought of his dick. What he did care about was what Yeva thought. The sneaky bastard! Hahq saw his chance to make a fool of me in front of Yeva and he took it.

  “Come on, don’t tell me you weren’t celebrating when that cannibal woman rejected you. Eh?! Can you imagine those fangs shutting down around your poor abused little prick?”

  Slap! Smack!

  Ah!

  “Come on Voron, we know you are not tha-at small.” Hahq just could not resist twisting the knife.

  Slap! Smack!

  “Hey – we understand, your little man was scared of those wolf teeth.” Hahq spoke through swelling lips and a bloody nose. “
Your boy didn’t want to come out and play with his new wifey. I saw how you played along to make those Eaters think your dick is small. But we all know that’s not true. So what are you worried about?”

  A grin ghosted across Voron’s lips. The fire of his fury ebbing. Somewhat.

  “Did Yeva see me?” He spoke low in Hahq’s ear.

  “Nay. She had her head down so the cannibals couldn’t see her eyes.”

  “Why did you claim her as your wife? I see how Yeva looks at you. You are giving her false hopes.”

  “I know.”

  “You sly wolf - you still want her, don’t you? You plan to take her again when it suits you. Even though you cast her aside! Disloyal user. You deserve another good slap for humiliating Yeva!”

  Smack.

  Uh!

  Crouching over him, Voron bent close to Hahq’s ear. He spoke in low intense tones – “There are Others who see Yeva’s true value. You plan to marry another, so why block Yeva’s chance for happiness?”

  Taken aback, Hahq stared into his friend’s simmering blue eyes. “You are right my friend. I have caused Yeva pain. I will make sure she understands, there can be no future for us.”

  Before sleep that night Sauromatae gathered to discuss their next move. Dobrich spread out the leather map Skopasis had given them and they perused it under firelight.

  “Since Sava went down the Boryesthenes by boat, days ago he is most likely in Taurica by now.” Dobrich ran a thick callused finger down the great river to Kherson near the Euxine Sea.

  “Aye, let us not waste time traveling to lands that Sava has been to. I tire of fighting off his enemies.” Voron released a pained sigh.

  “If Sava is still in Taurica he will soon be on his way north to Neuria. West of Neuria lies Agathyrsia. I suggest we get the jump on him and head for Agathyrsia. We can meet up with him there.” Dobrich pointed out their route on the map.

  “If he still lives. With all the trouble Sava has gotten into I have my doubts.” Voron commented.

  “What are the Agathyrsi like?” Hahq mumbled through a swollen, split lip and puffy cheeks.

  “Ah, the `Blue People’,” Dobrich’s eyes held a far away look. “The Agathrysi are the oldest and richest of all Skythian tribes. They are ruled by a king and queen; but I hear there is a grievous split in the royal court. The queen is a devout follower of the wine god, Dionysos, while the king follows the old horse god of the nomads, Sabazios.”

  “What do you know of this split, how serious is it?” Hahq asked.

  “From what I hear the priests of Dionysos seek to overthrow the old religion. They are black sorcerers who will murder or drive to madness any who resist. The situation is very tense. We must closely guard our words among the Agathyrsi.

  “What if Sava doesn’t make it to Agathyrsia?” Voron asked.

  Hahq shrugged. “Then we turn back east and ride to Neuria. Maybe we can catch him there. If not we can still summon the Neuri to the council. Our first duty is to summon the tribes. We don’t have time to chase all over Skythia looking for Sava.” After the havoc Sava created in Melanchaenia, I hate to think of what he might stir up in Agathyrsia with the royal house split and hanging by a thread.

  Chapter 25 – Horse Race in Taurica

  Since the horse to be purchased

  Is intended for war,

  We must include everything war can bring -

  Leaping ditches and walls,

  Scaling up and springing off high banks.

  We must test his paces by galloping up and down

  Steep pitches, sharp inclines and along a slant.

  All of these will serve to gauge

  The endurance of his spirit

  And the soundness of his body.

  Xenophon, Greek general, On Horsemanship 430 BC

  Unbeknownst to Sava, Brata had mounted up before dawn and gone to check the course as far as possible and still return in time. He later found Sava saddling Zlatna, checking each detail, making sure the girth was just tight enough. Carefully balancing the saddle not to impede the stallion’s shoulder or rub his withers nor seat the rider too far forward or back.

  The Black Cloak went down on his haunches and proceeded to map the race course in the dirt. Most of it. He piled up small sticks in some places, rocks in others indicating obstacles. In another place Brata dug a ditch with a stick. At the end of the course he drew a meandering line indicating the river.

  But there was a gap between the ditch and the river. Here Brata shrugged his shoulders – I don’t know. So between the ditch and the river was unknown territory.

  “Yagya, that old fox. He told me there would be just a few, `easy’ obstacles.” Sava gestured at the map. “Goddess, I pray we don’t end up face down in the dirt with our necks broken.”

  From boyhood, Sava and his friends and rivals had raced their horses for miles and miles across the open grassland. There was no limit to their wild wind-driven gallops but the time it would take to return home by dark and sometimes not until well after.

  As the years went on he had won many races on Zlatna, big races, including the 1,000 Mile Race of Champions. The nomad knew well what his horse could do. But this race worried him. He was among strangers and the risks were high.

  The incentive to pull dirty tricks fueled by tribal pride and big bets was always present. They could try to box him in, or worse, run another horse into Zlatna’s side at full gallop to throw him off his gait, even fall.

  In the final analysis Sava decided not to follow Yagya’s advice to `stay with the pack’. During the initial mad crush galloping all out with his nose up against another horse’s rear, Zlatna might not be able to see an obstacles coming until it was too late. Whereas the Tauri trained on the course regularly and knew what to expect.

  Either Zlatna would have to stay up with the front runners or lag behind. Even running last had its perils, they could try to box him in.

  He read the question on Brata’s face: What will you do?

  “I will try to keep Zlatna up front with the early leaders.”

  He finished tacking up the stallion, double checking bridle, breast strap, crupper and girth. As they paced toward the starting line, nervous tension raced through Sava’s innards.

  Word had spread like wild fire – a great champion was here from Sauromatia and would race against the fastest horses in Taurica. The whole camp was already gathered for the race and more tribesmen were streaming in from outlying camps.

  A buzz went up in the crowd as Sava and Brata arrived with the tall golden horse. He heard the clink of gold changing hands. The bets were on.

  Ten horses were already lined up, prancing and dancing. They were in magnificent condition, coal blacks, copper bays, fiery chestnuts and silver grays. King Yagya’s mare was among them. These horses would run fast and far. They would not give up.

  Arching swanlike necks, heads held high, great dark eyes fired with excitement the horses knew a race was imminent. They stomped and pawed the ground, neighing and rearing. Every muscle tensed to launch in a less than a heart beat.

  But Zlatna walked calmly up to the starting line with a long neck, unimpressed. He stood placidly while Sava mounted.

  The stallion waited quietly as the Tauri horses pitched and reared, straining to fly off. Their grooms gripping bridles with white fingers, struggling to hold the spirited animals to earth.

  “Hey Sauromatian - where do you think you are going with that donkey?” Some wag called out. There was a ripple of laughter.

  The Sauromatae did not keep donkeys so Sava had never seen one but he got the distinct impression it was not a compliment. Compressing his lips in a thin smile he ignored the jibe.

  He positioned the stallion in the middle of the lineup as pre-race chaos reigned. The Tauri horses rearing, bucking, kicking, spinning and emitting ear splitting screams. But Zlatna just stood in place like an old cart horse.

  The Tauri were visibly disappointed. They expected the big stallion to put on a s
pirited show. They had never seen a race horse with that kind of mind before. The Tauri saw the excitement of the horse, the way he acted up as an indication of his speed, of his winning spirit.

  But the Sauromatae did not breed just for size, speed, strength and endurance. All that speed was useless if a horse would not stand still to be mounted during an attack. The Sauromatae bred their horses to have it all. Their ideal horse had the Mind to remain calm, trusting and obedient in times of emergency.

  The golden stallion was not working himself into a lathered frenzy, wasting his edge or that of his rider by rearing and making false starts.

  Leaning slightly forward, Sava took a good hold on the stallion’s mane with one hand so as not to be jerked back when the big horse launched. The starter raised the black falcon banner of the Tauri high in the air.

  Tension increased. Horses screaming, pawing the ground, raring to go. It was only at the last moment, just before the flag dropped - Sava tightened his thighs and the big horse crouched, powerful sloping quarters well under his body.

  The flag dropped. GO!

  To resounding screams and cheers, the horses bolted like arrows down the track. When the dust cleared, Zlatna was exactly where Sava wanted him, pacing himself with the early leaders.

  This was the thrill of racing the nomad loved. The thundering staccato enveloping his consciousness – the all encompassing, roaring vibration, like being immersed in the vortex of an earthquake. A tornado of pure power. The stallion running under him, so smooth, so balanced.

  At full gallop Sava could ride with his hands over his head, the big horse was that smooth. Zlatna was pushing off his long deep quarters, moving in great bounds, the natural elasticity of his gaits allowing him to easily keep up with the front runners.