Wine God's Sorcery: The Horse Lords

by Diana Drakulich

  “Zoltan! – I challenge your claim! You say Ah-Gin is `angry’ with Skythia? WHY?” Sava ground out. “Is it because of Sarpedon’s CURSE against You and Royal Skythia? For which we must all suffer?!”

  The crowd gasped. The False Prophet - Sarpedon - traitor, liar, deceiver, must never be spoken aloud. Not in this life, nor in all the lives to come. As though Sarpedon had never lived at all.

  King Idanthrysus went rigid. The war council was now in serious danger of falling apart. Long buried feuds and bitter emotions were causing the council to spin wildly out of control.

  By speaking the forbidden name - Sarpedon, the young upstart Sava had implicated King Idanthrysus in a wrongful death. In effect, Sava was blaming the king for the Persian invasion.

  With an outraged grunt and swish of robes, the Black Cloak ennarei, Koldun arose. On his headdress was a black raven, beak open, wings outstretched.

  The lower part of Koldun’s face was painted chalk white, across his eyes was blood red. His right hand brandished a staff capped by a black onyx serpent head with flaming red ruby eyes, identifying him as a devotee of the Black Serpent, Velesh.

  Koldun directed a fierce glare at Sava. “Don’t listen to him! This `Sava’ is nothing but a common thief. He robbed our kurgan! We chased him out of Melanchaenia…”

  Koldun’s voice trailed off as Brata silently rose and faced him. The priest’s eyes were caught by Brata’s dark glittering stare. A tremendous volatility burned through the warrior’s formidable regard.

  It was Koldun who cut Brata’s throat in the Dark House and poured his blood over the Sword in the Stone.

  Brata wore the traditional black robes edged in silver of his people. A black scarf was wrapped around his neck and face so that only his dark eyes and distinctive aquiline nose showed. A tense silence descended.

  Outside, a dog released a long, foreboding howl. It sounded to Sava like Toxaris’ dog, Silvan. An answering howl ululated, a lamentation of all those who had died in the Dark House, choking on their own blood.

  The howling carried on the wind, followed by a tremendous baying, as if a pack of wolves had run down their prey and were about to close, jaws snapping shut in vengeance. Wolf spirit ancestors. A potent omen.

  In the stillness, all eyes focused on Brata. He was surrounded by an invisible aura of luminescent power.

  Brata - Don’t do it! Toxaris willed him not to reveal himself.

  Brata slowly pulled off his scarf. There revealed was the thick, wine dark scar across his throat. And then it was as if he stood ten feet tall. His cloak was transformed into silvery black wings, unfurling from his shoulders to stretch out over all Skythia. Koldun went rigid.

  “Sargis?!” The Black Cloak ennarei squeaked, suddenly, shockingly, bereft of his god-given power over life and death.

  Seeing Sargis alive was akin to beheading a man, then watching the headless body rise and walk. The horror was so great, Koldun’s breath stopped. The sorcerer’s legs went out from under him and he collapsed.

  A great hush descended. Imbued with adamantine power, Brata pointed at the felled sorcerer. His voice emerged as a jagged avalanche of falling rocks, resounding across the great yurt:

  “I - Sargis – I have returned from the Dark House. I saw Ah-Gin. This `Sword in the Stone’ is a trick! A LIE! Ah-Gin is naught but a blood-sucking VAMPIR. A demon parasite feeding on us all!”

  Hnnnh! The crowd gasped, amazed. The unspoken question hanging in the air – Could it be true?

  Never in history had a victim returned alive from the Dark House. With great effort Koldun pulled himself together. The sorcerer rose, swaying on his feet.

  “You dare blaspheme Almighty Ah-Gin?!” Koldun screeched, his voice hollow, high-pitched. Scrabbling to regain the moral high ground, he shook his seed-filled staff, making the black serpent heads hiss. “Hah! You will learn the power of the Sword in the Stone!”

  His head crowned with a bronze helmet that bore thick curving bull horns, Black Cloak King Vartan rose. Pointing at Sava he bellowed –

  “You stole Sargis from our kurgan. He was chosen to accompany my son Kanxa to the Other World. The punishment for stealing from a kurgan is DEATH. This is the LAW. We demand justice!”

  “It is true. This `Sava’ is naught but a common tomb raider! We also caught him stealing from our kurgans!” The Androphagi king, Arkos announced in stentorian tones.

  The great yurt rang with outrage as the crowd reeled from these stunning revelations. Only moments ago Sava was a hero who had gone on alone across the Sea of Grass to bring the tribes together. Now he was a condemned tomb robber. A blasphemer who defied the gods and must be executed.

  Watching it all, Hahq shook his head in disbelief at how easily the council had been sidetracked into a heated argument over blood sacrifice. Skopasis will walk out if King Idanthrysus insists on executing Sava. The war council will collapse. After all our work….

  Blood sacrifice had been used to invoke the immortal gods for thousands of years and would continue far beyond his lifetime. Of this Hahq had no doubt. Horses were a man’s most treasured possessions and therefore the most worthy gifts to the gods. Still Hahq sympathized with Sava and with Brata, though he did not rise in their support. What if Zoltan demanded that I sacrifice my horse Zar to the Sword in the Stone?

  A low blow indeed, for he treasured Zar. But…it is useless to struggle against the will of the gods. Besides, a leader must be seen to uphold tradition. Especially if he wanted to be the next Great Voivode of Sauromatia.

  Frustrated at seeing his hopes for a strategic marriage between Sava and Sorsha disappear like sand down a rabbit hole, the Tauri King Yagya rose and spread his arms in an effort to restore calm.

  “Honored Ones - Executing the son of a powerful ally is no way to form an alliance! We should hear Sava’s side of the story. He must have a good reason for breaking our sacred law against stealing from a kurgan.”

  The seething turmoil of voices eased. The people waited to hear Sava’s explanation. Surely there must be some mistake. The voivode’s son would deny committing such a great crime, knowing that death is the penalty?

  Standing silent, Sava gathered his thoughts – Now I am well and truly caught. Trapped in this web of `divine law’. Priests, rulers, immortals and the herd – All have their hooks in me.

  I was warned, but I never expected Zoltan to strike so swiftly. Already I am locked in a death struggle with this cunning bloodsucker. Even so, I would do as I have done all over again.

  Somehow he had always known it would end like this. And the oracles had foretold it. Straightening his shoulders Sava stood tall. There was no fear. His glittering sea green eyes swept around the great yurt, taking them all in. Taking them all on.

  “AYE I did it!” Sava’s voice reverberated. ”All that the Black Cloaks claim is true!”

  The great yurt buzzed like a hive of angry bees. People could not believe their ears - This fool invites his own death? Why?

  “I took pity on this man - Sargis, whom I call Brata, my Brother. Even as his blood poured forth upon the altar, I took the Black Cloaks’ funeral cart and spirited him away from the Dark House. And for this `sin’ Brata has become my great friend. He has stayed by my side through every danger as I sought to bring the tribes together for this council!”

  “Why did you enter the kurgan? You know this is forbidden on pain of death.” Idanthrysus asked.

  “Lions attacked my camp at night and chased me to the top of the kurgan. The next morning at first light I saw a party of Black Cloaks coming. I feared they would take me for a tomb robber and kill me. Thinking they were a patrol and would pass by, I entered the kurgan to hide, not to steal! It was there I found Brata. In my heart I believe it was the Hidden Hand of God who guided my actions. I took the funeral cart to transport my friend in his near-death state, but I took no gold!”

  Sava gazed around, searching the people’s eyes. “I ask you to search your hearts - Would you defy the very gods to
save the life of your own true friend?”

  The tribesmen were stunned at his open admittance of sacrilege against the sacred kurgans of their ancestors. Yet their hearts were also struck with admiration. There was no higher virtue in Skythian society than loyalty to a friend. To the death.

  Sava had risked death and damnation to save this stranger who was to become his great friend. Surely some god must have had a hand in it?

  Pointing at the Black Cloak priest Koldun, Sava’s voice resonated – “You say I committed a mortal sin because I saved a man’s life. Know this - I would do it again! I committed no wrong. To sacrifice an innocent - That is a sin! That is murder!”

  The people gasped in stunned shock. To sacrifice a man to the gods is murder?! If that be so then we are vile murderers and have been for a thousand years! This unheard of idea swept through the great yurt and vibrated into the Great Beyond.

  “As for the Androphagi claim that I stole from their kurgans, that is a lie and they know it.” Sava said. “I sought shelter behind their kurgans from the arrows of the Black Cloaks who pursued me. That is all. If you wish to fine me for trespassing, I will pay your fine King Arkos.”

  Eloquently spreading his arms, Sava turned to Royal Skythian King Idanthrysus –

  “Only the Black Cloaks who have any real claim against me. I will pay them a fine for taking their sacrifice and the funeral cart. I will pay well, for I have many fine horses. Only let my friend Brata live! Truly it must have been divine intervention that my friend lived at all after what they did to him!”

  “Don’t listen to this son of a strigoi! He is allied with demons who would lead us to defile our sacred kurgans! He has defied the will of the gods! We want no fine for this crime. These two must be punished according to the LAW!” King Vartan bellowed.

  “This fool Sargis is a craven coward! He failed in his duty as a warrior to die for his prince.” The Black Cloak sorcerer Koldun aimed his viper staff at Brata. “Ah-Gin will drink your blood again Sargis! You will be sacrificed with the horses! You are a DEAD man Sargis! And you will go back to the Dead!”

  “You cut my throat Koldun. Mark my words - Mine is the last throat you will ever cut!” Brata rasped out, his voice dripping menace.

  It seemed a great shadow passed over the yurt then. A stunned silence descended. The turmoil was rapidly escalating. Now the powerful ennarei of Skythia were being physically threatened by a sacrificial victim who had defied the will of the gods and miraculously returned from the Dark House.

  The council was rapidly devolving. This could not be tolerated. Brata’s continued existence was a threat to the elite of Skythia.

  The people reeled in confusion, thinking Brata must be under the protection of a mighty god to have survived such horrific blood loss in the Dark House. Such a rare confluence of events. Surely Brata had been saved by some mysterious god opposed to the war god.

  Chapter 35 – The Sword in the Stone

  All mens’ souls are immortal

  But the souls of the righteous

  Aare immortal and divine –

  Socrates, Greek philosopher c. 470 BC

  The atmosphere in the great yurt was volatile. Verging on violence.

  People were confused, angry, taking sides. The sacred hive of Skythian religion and tradition was in danger of being smashed. The bees were in a ferocious mood and swarming.

  “Silence!” Zoltan’s staff boomed. His left hand knifed the air. “Ah-Gin must be propitiated! Without the war god our warriors will flee in terror before the Persians as pigeons fly before swift-winged hawks!”

  “Fools. You propitiate PARASITES.” Toxaris’ voice rang out as she rose to her statuesque height. “Don’t you see? Vampir Demons are the real gods of Skythia! We have trembled and knelt before these demons for far too long. It is time we threw these parasites off our necks like the dirty, bloody rags they are! They have no real power.” She leveled an accusing finger at Zoltan. “They only prey on us, infecting our minds with FEAR through their agents!”

  A profoundly tense silence descended. Blood sacrifice was the bedrock, the unquestioned foundation of Skythian religion. The seven horses slated for sacrifice to the Sword in the Stone was a minor sacrifice. When a king of Royal Skythia died it was customary to sacrifice 50 young men and 50 of the best horses.

  “Toxaris – what a pathetic wretch you are. You have just devised your own destruction.” Zoltan’s voice was cold, deadly. “The God of War is not mocked. You will wear the garment of earth before this year is out.”

  “Pah. Another of your vain prophecies Zoltan? You blow here and there, hot and cold, idle as the wind.” Toxaris stood unbowed.

  “Lest you forget Zoltan, the penalty for false prophecies is death by burning. Remember the fate you devised for Sarpedon?” Sava’s voice resonated with deadly logic.

  Hssst! - The forbidden name of Sarpedon elicited a primitive hiss from the audience. Sava could almost hear Sarpedon whispering in his ear, `Say my name – Say it! Make them EAT their crimes.’

  As far as Sava was concerned the ban on Sarpedon’s name be damned. He was on fire. Nothing would stop him from saying what should have been said long ago, many times.

  Somehow he felt Sarpedon’s presence. Felt himself growing, radiating power. Now he would throw everything at these bloodsucking priests and rulers who sought to destroy him. He was determined to go down fighting.

  Black brows winged together in rage and frustration Voivode Skopasis could take no more. Not only had the damn priests managed to completely sidetrack the war council, now his son’s life was at stake. Arms across his broad chest, Skopasis’ dark, piercing eyes shot daggers at Zoltan and then at Sava for his failure to tell the truth about Brata.

  Sava met his father’s scorching glare with a sinking heart. The bitter realization dawned on him - with the revelation about Brata, his family had lost the high ground in the battle to save the golden stallion. He was now a self-confessed tomb robber. Not only would Zlatna be sacrificed, but Skopasis would have to deplete the family coffers to save his son.

  Sava’s theft from a kurgan demanded retribution. The death of the golden stallion was assured. He and Brata’s fate hung in the balance.

  Skopasis shifted the lethal intensity in his dark eyes to the high sorcerer of Royal Skythia.

  “Zoltan at bottom this is your dirty work. Always scheming. Always seeking to enhance your power. After all his companions were killed or wounded, my son went on alone to find our brother tribes and summon them to this council. Sava risked his life to bring Skythia together. Now you dare to demand the sacrifice of our prize stallion AND my son?”

  An uproar of chaotic voices broke out: “It is the Law! DEATH to anyone who steals from a kurgan! Just because Sava is your son - He is not above the law!”

  “Hah!” Zoltan spit out a scornful laugh. “You blame me because your precious `son’ stole from the Black Cloak kurgan? Tell us Skopasis, exactly how did I plan that?”

  A muscle in Skopasis’ jaw ticked. The priests had manipulated the war council into a personal attack on his family and a furor over blood sacrifice. This at a time when a great catastrophe was bearing down on all Skythia. The gods and all their `divine laws’ be damned!

  Consumed by frustration, King Idanthyrsus put his head in his hands. We have not even gotten to discuss the alliance yet! Truly it is said – Put two Skythians together and get three opinions set in stone. Now these mad Neuri wolf men demand we stop sacrificing to the God of War? They may as well try to abolish the sun from rising in the sky.

  A violent riot was about to erupt. Idanthrysus knew that if he joined in the call for Sava’s execution, that would be the tipping point at which the Sauromatae would walk out.

  Zoltan should have informed me of his intention to sacrifice the best stallion in Sauromatia. And now they call for the head of Skopasis’ son?!

  It was Sauromatia’s renowned war leader, Voivode Skopasis, not King Raymaxos, who held the primary allegiance of
35,000 mounted warriors. Royal Skythia could not afford to lose their most powerful ally and the most cunning in war. Without them, the alliance would collapse. None of the other tribes would dare confront Persia without the Sauromatae.

  Now Dragana rose with her husband. In her right hand she held aloft a black onyx mirror, one side covered in shimmering silver - symbol of the oracle. Catching the sun’s rays coming from the kurgan entrance she flashed the light beams into Zoltan’s eyes. Pointing at the sorcerer with her left hand she spoke, controlled rage evident in her voice:

  “See how this bloodthirsty wolf has become arrogant? Now he has bitten off more than he can chew! The gods do not favor such vicious schemers. You plotted Sarpedon’s death Zoltan! Now you seek to destroy my son too?! Is that your plan - to ruin us step by step? Beware Zoltan - We will not allow it!”

  Again the forbidden name – Sarpedon. Long buried grievances were surfacing, for many among the Sauromatae had quietly lamented the execution of Sarpedon.

  King Idanthrysus feared that at this rate the council would explode into a violent riot. How can I make an exception to our law of death to tomb robbers? Especially since Sava openly admits his crime? Nay, he boasts on it!

  Skopasis may be able to buy his son out of a death sentence. But if I deny Zoltan’s demand to sacrifice the golden stallion it will turn the entire priesthood against me, along with the Black Cloaks, the Androphagi and all Skythians who revere the Sword in the Stone. Meanwhile my plans are falling to dust. I must delay the decision about Sava and his friend Brata until after the tribes vote for the alliance.

  Idanthrysus rose and lifted his hands, signaling for calm –

  “Honored Ones, our situation is dire. As we sit here arguing over sacrifices to the Sword in the Stone, Darius is rapidly approaching Skythia. Even now his Greek engineers are building a great bridge of boats over the Ister. We have at most two or three moons until the Persians cross over into Agathrysia. Voivode Skopasis – What do your scouts say?”