Tyrant: Storm of Arrows (50 page)

Another blow against the scales of his corslet and then he was free in the swirling grit. His side hurt, but the daimon of combat was on him and he pinned his scabbard between his bridle arm and his side and ripped the sword free, almost losing his seat in the desperation of his efforts.

He was alone. He turned Thalassa’s head in the direction he thought was right and urged her forward.

Carlus emerged from the dust, his heavy spear dripping gore. ‘Hah!’ he grunted in greeting.

Behind him, Hama pressed forward. ‘This way, lord,’ Hama called.

The three of them rode into the veil of swirling sand.

A man with a cloth wound around his domed helmet crashed his horse into Thalassa, and Kineas was back in the mêlée. He cut and parried, ever more conscious of the pain in his side and the rising tide of sound. This was a stand-up fight, not a rout. The Sogdians were no longer giving ground.

The Olbians weren’t winning.
He could hear their calls and the growing shouts of the Sogdians.

He pushed Thalassa straight into his opponent’s horse and cut three times, sacrificing finesse for brute force and speed. One of his blows got through and the man reeled, his hands across his face as his horse twisted, all four legs plunging for balance. Kineas was past him.

‘Apollo!’ he shouted.

All around him in the battle haze, he heard the shout taken up, and ahead of him: ‘Apollo!’

He could see the horsehair crests on some of his men off to the right - just a glimpse as a fitful breeze whipped the flying dust. He bellowed ‘Apollo!’ again and pressed Thalassa with his knees. She responded with another surge of strength, bulling over another rider without Kineas landing a blow. Then a small man who seemed to be covered in gold landed a spear thrust straight into Kineas’s chest. The scales of his mail turned the thrust - the man had over-reached. Kineas cut at the shaft, failing to break it but swinging the head wide, so Kineas was in close. He grabbed the haft with his bridle hand and pounded the Medea head of his pommel into the man’s face and their horses engaged, so that the two men were pressed breast to breast as their mounts whirled like fighting dogs, biting and kicking. Kineas reached his bridle hand around the man’s back - he was heavily armoured. Kineas’s left hand closed on the man’s sword belt and he wrenched the blade of his own sword up from where it was pinned between their chests - up and up again with each heave of their mounts. Thalassa rose on her hindquarters, biting savagely at the other horse’s rump and striking with her front hooves, and Kineas turned his wrist so that the Egyptian blade came up under the other man’s jaw . . .

A spray of blood, and the gold man fell away, dead weight that almost carried him off Thalassa, and a blow against his helmet . . .

Carlus roaring like a mad bull at his side, propping him up.
Apollo!
Hama on his other side and Leon’s shield coming out of the suffocating haze. He sat up, pain ebbing, muttered unheard thanks to Carlus and Hama.

He’d lost the sword. He loved that sword - the sword Satrax had given him.

Stupid reason to die, though
. Antigonus was pressing through the haze.

‘Rally! Sound “rally”!’ Kineas said. His voice sounded odd. He’d lost his helmet.

He glanced down, hoping to see the glint of Medea’s face on the golden grass at his feet. Instead he saw the blood running over his thigh from somewhere under his corslet.

The world became a tunnel. At the far end, Antigonus -
or was it Niceas?
- was shouting ‘
Rally! Rally!
’

The skull spoke with the voice of Kam Baqca, as if they sat together in the sun-dappled contentment of Calchus’s paddock. ‘That would have been your fate - face down in the slime of a street brawl, the tool of vicious men. And you are
better.
’

It was dark. He was Kineas. The babes were crying and Srayanka’s hand was on his hand.

‘Oh, my love,’ she said in Sakje. She pressed his hand hard, so hard that the pain in his bones almost matched the pain in his left side.

‘I gather we won?’ Kineas asked.

She kissed him again. ‘I almost lost you,’ she said.

‘But we won the victory?’ he asked urgently.

‘Eumenes rallied the Olbians and came into the fight on your flank, breaking the last resistance. My Sakje harried the Macedonians for thirty stades. Some of my warriors are still riding.’

Well satisfied, Kineas slumped back into sleep - sleep free of skulls or any dreams.

And the next morning, so stiff that he could scarcely mount and needed Philokles to get on Thalassa, he rode to say goodbye to many friends as the two columns parted, and their women and children and many warriors turned east or west.

Even without his wounds, the partings would have been painful, and there were a few - Diodorus and Philokles - who tried to argue that he should go west with the column. But the wound in his side was mostly just cracked ribs - the new armour had held. He had cuts on his thigh and cuts on his arms, but so did every man who had been in the action.

And every muscle in his body hurt.

The same was true of every trooper. Kineas was not of a mind to turn west.

Rosy-fingered dawn brushed every gold trapping and made them kindle. Silver and steel were stained the delicate pink of new flowers and the grass itself wavered like new-forged bronze. The wagons of the Sakje were already rolling, their dust stained the same smoked pink as the sky and the farther clouds. Above and to the right, an eagle of good omen circled, searching for prey in the first light.

At the edge of the last watercourse before the Polytimeros, Kineas stood by Thalassa, surrounded by his friends - Srayanka and Philokles on either side of him, supporting him: Diodorus with Sappho mounted at his side; Coenus and soft-handed Artemesia with Eumenes and Urvara resplendent in her gold gorytos and a necklace of gold and lapis; Antigonus and Andronicus standing silently, their gold torcs like bands of lava at their necks; Sitalkes in his Getae cloak, Ataelus and Samahe supporting him; and Parshtaevalt, resplendent in a captured Macedonian breastplate of muscled bronze; Leon quiet and still in an Olbian cloak; Nicanor weeping openly. Nihmu watched them with a stillness that belied her youth, as if her young eyes could record every moment like a scribe’s wax tablet. Temerix stood a little apart, braiding leather with his fingers even as he accepted the farewells of Sappho. The Sindi smith had been her ally in helping Philokles.

Only Darius was missing of all of Kineas’s closest companions, still out somewhere on the sea of grass, looking for Spitamenes.

One by one those who were going west kissed those who were riding east. Coenus would command. Eumenes would lead the Olbians and Urvara the Sakje, with a tithe of the best warriors. With them would go Nicanor and Sappho, and Artemesia and Andronicus would go as Eumenes’ hyperetes
.

Coenus embraced Srayanka. Then he came face to face with Kineas. ‘My heart tells me that I will not see you again,’ he said.

Kineas wiped hurriedly at his tears. ‘No, my friend. If what I have seen in the gates of horn is true, we will not hunt together this side of the Elysian Fields.’

Coenus was an aristocrat and a Megaran. He stood straight, his face unmarked by tears. He even managed a grin. He took both of Kineas’s hands.

‘I honour the gods, Kineas, but after them I honour you. May Moira see fit to leave the thread of your life uncut that we may hunt the valleys of the Tanais together. I will dedicate a temple to Artemis, and I will never cease to think of you. And if the thread of your life must be cut, let it be a worthy end.’

Diodorus spoke as though he was choking. ‘At times like this, I miss Agis the most,’ he said. To the others, who had not known the gentle Theban, he said, ‘Agis was our priest. He died at the River God’s Ford.’ He took one of Coenus’s hands. ‘We’ve ridden together for years,’ he said. ‘I find it hard to imagine a life without all of you.’

Philokles cleared his throat. ‘I lack the god-given touch of gentle Agis,’ he said, ‘but I will attempt his part.’

K
ineas’s ribs hurt too much for him to ride, so he travelled in a litter between two horses for three days as they raced north and east along the Polytimeros. Srayanka commanded. He never lost consciousness and there was no fever, but he passed the days in a haze of pain. By the fourth day he could ride, although the pain when his mount mis-stepped was remarkable - if brief.

‘Cracked ribs,’ Philokles said for the fourth time, pulling the bandages tight.

‘A bronze corslet would have turned that point without a bruise,’ Kineas said. ‘But the Sakje scale is easier to wear all day and covers better. Each people has its own ways.’

‘Thank you, Socrates.’ Philokles smiled.

As soon as Kineas was mounted, Srayanka called a ‘moving council’. All the leaders, Greek and tribal, rode to the head of the column.

Leon handed Kineas the Egyptian sword. ‘I thought you’d want this,’ he said. ‘We held the field.’

Diodorus slapped the Numidian on the back. ‘Leon sent one of Temerix’s men for me. I brought the rest of the Olbians and Parshtaevalt here.’ His smug smile shattered into a brilliant grin. ‘Your wife crossed into their flank. Eumenes rode in on the other side. We wrecked ’em.’

‘They didn’t even stand to fight Lot,’ Philokles said. ‘A very poor showing for Macedon.’

Kineas shook his head. ‘That wasn’t Macedon,’ he said. ‘That was a handful of Macedonian officers with a lot of local auxiliaries. Alexander must be stretched thin.’ He coughed and his ribs hurt.

Antigonus gave a very Niceas-like grunt. ‘And we took some spoil. Gold. Horses. And prisoners.’

Kineas looked around, unsure whether he was delighted at the victory or a little peevish that they’d won it without him. ‘How many prisoners?’ he asked.

‘A dozen,’ Philokles said. ‘Just troopers, except one officer. He’s not talkative.’ Philokles gave a wry grin. ‘I like him.’

Diodorus pushed his horse in close. ‘Macedonian bastard.’

All the officers were smiling at some private joke. Kineas ignored them and dismissed the issue of a prisoner until later. ‘I take it there were quite a few more of them than we thought,’ Kineas said.

‘No,’ Diodorus said. ‘Two squadrons - twice your numbers, if you toss in Ataelus’s scouts. You rode rings around them.’ He looked around at all the other officers. Parshtaevalt met his eye and both men gave crooked smiles, as if some new understanding had been reached while Kineas was wounded. ‘We just showed up and pounded the survivors flat.’