Volodimir Vladko - Descendants of the Scythians

Varkan’s men, who until now had kept their defensive positions along the crest, began to show signs of restlessness. They glanced at the motionless body of their leader, talking in low voices. Then, they picked up their weapons and began to run, stooping low, toward the place where the horses, before they had been besieged by the enemy, had been tethered. One of the Scythians stopped, turned to the out- landers, and beckoned for them to follow.

Artem looked after the retreating Scythians undecided:

wouldn’t it be better to try to escape while there still was some chance of succeeding? But Ivan Semenovich put his hand reassuringly on Artem’s shoulder.

“I don’t think there’s any point in it,” he said, having guessed what the younger man was thinking about. “Suppose even, that we manage to escape from here — which is extremely unlikely — and don’t forget that the horses must have been seized by the priests. What then? The moment we leave, this place will be captured by the enemy. It will be almost an impregnable stronghold against the insurgents. Do we have a moral right to let that happen?”

“Of course not! It would be treachery on our part!” Artem said hotly. “Besides if we do somehow manage to escape, what really we would do next? Hide in the forest? Varkan is no longer with us…”

“So,” Ivan Semenovich continued, “we must hold this position for some time more, thus giving the insurgents time to crush the enemy. It’s our moral duty before… our courageous dead friend.”

“Yes, you are right, Ivan Semenovich,” Artem replied with conviction.

“The insurgents have already chased the enemy almost to the foot of the cliff. The time has come for us to help our friends who made it possible for us to escape from the hands of Dorbatay and Hartak. Besides, by helping them, we’ll help ourselves regain complete freedom.”

The geologist observed the situation on the battlefield with his keen eyes:

“I believe the final assault is going to begin any minute now. The enemy does not seem to have any options,” Ivan Semenovich said emphatically, picking up the bag. “There are only two points from which they can launch their attack, here and here,” he added pointing down at the two places where ascent was possible. “I’ll take care of this spot, and you take the other one. Good. Now, my dear friend, let’s have a smoke in these last quiet moments. But make sure you have at least one cigarette left! The time has come to use our only weapon!”

The priests storm the ledge and the explorers use their only weapon; Dorbatay dies but the explorers’s weapon is turned against them; a chance explosion opens up the mountain and the explorers find themselves in a cave; Ivan Semenovich supplies explanations and a Scythian face is found carved on the wall; the treasure of Pronis is discovered .

The ledge on which the explorers were hiding was about fifteen meters in length. The explorers moved to one end of the ledge which was isolated from the rest of it by huge rocks, forming a sort of pocket, separated from the outside by the crest with an unscalable crag at the back of it. At the foot of declivity behind the crest swarmed the enemy.

By now the only possible way of escape — the one Artem had been tempted to use — had been cut off by the enemy who had also captured the horses on which Varkan’s group had arrived at their place of ambush. The priests must have seized those men from Varkan’s party who had tried to escape by that route, too. But as they were nowhere to be seen, there was no way of knowing for sure.

The priests still held back their attack, probably screwing up courage or regrouping their forces. Whatever the reason for the delay, it played into the explorers’ hands. They watched anxiously, hidden among the rocks, the changes of fortune in the battle, hoping that the enemy’s resistance would at last be broken. But what they saw did not exactly comply with their wishes.

The battle was far from entering its final stage. Earlier, it had seemed that the main forces of the enemy had been on the verge of a crushing defeat. But the situation had changed! The soldiers of Varkan’s group, in the heat of battle, must have moved further than they had been expected to, letting a considerable enemy force slip out from the encirclement. When Varkan’s soldiers realized what had happened and begun to rearrange their battle formation, the latter had taken heart, regrouped their own forces, and retreated, in an orderly manner, first to Skolot’s grave, then to the grove, and then further towards the crags. The suddenness of the attack, in which Ronis had invested so much hope, had not brought the expected results!

It was easy to see from the ledge how fiercely the enemy were defending themselves. They were putting all their strength into the struggle as they had evidently realized they would not be spared if they lost. In spite of this, they were still giving ground before the great fury of the insurgents who stopped fighting only when they died or when their hands and arms were so covered with wounds they could move them no longer. It was a terrible, life or death encounter. It was only natural in such a situation for Dorbatay and Hartak and their entourage to keep away from the thick of the battle and stay at a relatively safe distance by the crags with about a hundred priests and soldiers, waiting and hoping for the successful outcome of the battle. But their hopes were diminishing by the minute as the insurgents never slackened their pressure, making the enemy fall back and retreat toward the crags.

“It looks as though, in spite of their indecisiveness, the priests will storm the ledge,” Ivan Semenovich said, his voice full of apprehension. “The old soothsayer and his henchmen must consider us a lesser menace at the moment than the insurgents who will cut their throats as soon as they lay their hands on them. All right, get ready, Artem! Diana, quiet! Lie down!”

The dog was lying still, her head resting on her front legs, even without being told to do so. She occasionally looked inquisitively at her master. Her eyes were in perpetual motion as she listened to the disquieting sounds of the battle coming from afar and to the nearer sounds of the priests’ voices coming from the foot of the slope. Every so often, a shudder passed through her body: her muscles were tensed to launch her to the defense of her masters!

“When they get to the top of the crest, they won’t see us here,” Artem said. “We’ll be safe for a couple of minutes behind these rocks. So, maybe we should let them get as near as possible. What do you say, Ivan Semenovich? Then we can wreak real havoc upon them…”

“Hush,” the geologist interrupted him. “Shhh!”

He was looking at the rocks toward which Artem had just pointed. There was the top of a Scythian helmet, slowly emerging from behind a rock. It looked as though someone wanted to peek in but couldn’t make up his mind.

Dmitro Borisovich grabbed his battle-axe. But Ivan Semenovich stopped him.

“First of all, it’s just a helmet. It seems there’s no head in it. Too much trouble striking an empty helmet. Second, you’ll be unnecessarily exposing yourself to arrows and reveal our position besides. Ah, yes, it is for sure a ruse, a trick that has been used throughout the ages — a helmet or hat, supported on a stick, raised for the enemy to see. They just want to find out whether we’re on guard. All right, let them think we haven’t seen anything, because Artem is right — we should let them come nearer. Artem, my friend, are you ready?”

Artem, pointing to the dynamite charges laid out in front of him with short pieces of safety fuse attached to them, said: “Everything’s ready, Ivan Semenovich!”