Volodimir Vladko - Descendants of the Scythians

“Good! But be carefull with that cigarette of yours now! Make sure it doesn’t go out and let us down.”

“Yes, sir!”

The helmet that had been swaying strangely, suddenly disappeared behind the rocks, never to appear again.

“Our guess was correct,” Ivan Semenovich said with a chuckle. “Now Dorbatay is convinced that we are not attentive enough, and in all likelihood that place will be chosen for storming. Excellent!”

“I wish the insurgents would advance faster!” Artem said with a sigh.

“I don’t think it would improve our situation any. I think it would make it even more hazardous, because then we would have to face the soldiers from the enemy’s main force, hot from battle, angry at their defeat, and much more experienced in fighting than the priests.”

“Well, you have a point,” Artem admitted reluctantly.

The hubbub at the foot of the slope suddenly died down. Instead, came an ominous, menacing silence which made it possible to hear the sounds of the battle raging in the distance; the clanging of metal and shouts of the combatants. The geologist’s eyes were riveted to the spot at which the helmet had been pushed into view several minutes ago. His brows puckered with tension from waiting; he watched.

“They’ve fallen silent down there,” he said pensively. “So, I believe, the attack is about to be launched. Attention, Artem! But don’t light the fuse before I give the command!” Artem was patiently waiting, keeping his eyes riveted to the crest. Any minute they could expect a new shower of whistling or barbed arrows, or spears to fall on them. Artem glanced back at the motionless body of his blood brother, the faithful Varkan. A barbed arrow, and then a spear… Artem heaved a sigh. But he had to keep his attention focused on the places where the enemy was likely to appear from. He realized that his timing had to be absolutely perfect: not a minute too soon or a minute too late… The priests would be well prepared for the assault… Neither Dorbatay nor Hartak relished the possibility of finding themselves in the thick of the battle that was inexorably approaching the crags… So the only way of escape for them was upward, to the ledge, which had yet to be captured from its defenders… Did the enemy know that there were only four of them, the four strangers with none of Varkan’s men to help? In any case, Dorbatay and his priests were surely prepared to push themselves to the limit in their attempt to capture the ledge, killing whoever dared to resist. Suddenly Ivan Semenovich made a warning gesture: “Attention! Here they are! But act on command, Artem!” Several helmets appeared simultaneously from behind the rocks. A moment later, the fierce bearded faces of the priests came into view. The priests cautiously looked around, their strong hands firmly gripping the stones. The priests were ready either to jump in and attack the defenders, or, in case of grave danger, to hide behind the rocks.

Diana began growling, but the geologist’s strong hand pressed her head to the ground, and she was silenced; only her intelligent eyes were moving, watching the enemy.

The priests carefully scanned the ledge and were in no hurry to jump in. There was no one in sight except for the body of Varkan. The explorers were well hidden from view behind the rocks in their corner of the ledge.

Then one of the priests, having probably decided there was no immediate danger, turned back and said something to the rest of his party. A dozen helmeted priests hoisted themselves up onto the rocks. In addition to their usual short swords and wide daggers, they were also equipped with bows and quivers full of arrows. They stood at the very edge of the slope, not yet daring to go any further.

Suddenly, Dorbatay’s creaking, imperative voice could be heard from below. From the tone of his voice it could be surmised that he was inquiring about something. The priest who had signalled his comrades to come up a minute earlier, replied. His voice sounded reassuring and brought quite unexpected results.

In a few seconds the head of Dorbatay himself emerged slowly from behind rocks. As he was helped onto a flat rock, Dorbatay carefully scanned the ledge the way the priests had done before him. His cold and cruel eyes seemed to touch every stone, rock or prominence.

Artem grew absolutely still, afraid even to breathe. It seemed to him that Dorbatay’s searching gaze lingered over their hiding place for much too long before it moved further. But he could not see through the stone, he absolutely could not! And the crack in the rock Artem was peeking through was much too narrow to reveal their presence. And yet, Artem could not get rid of the impression that Dorbatay had somehow seen him and his friends… It felt like just the right time to throw a charge at him!

“I’m itching to do away with him right now,” Artem moved his lips in an almost soundless whisper, turning to Ivan Semenovich. “I haven’t had time to tell you… that Varkan gave an oath of vengeance… to kill Dorbatay…”

“Shhh!” the geologist stopped him sharply.

Dorbatay was still examining the rocks, especially the ones behind which the explorers were hiding. Suddenly his face puckered in a grimace of wicked triumph. He seemed to have come to a decision. Artem, hardly believing his eyes, saw the old soothsayer point with his sinewy hand in their direction. It was an extremely unexpected gesture as it was quite impossible to see the strangers from the spot where the soothsayer was standing! And yet he was pointing to their hiding place as though he had in fact seen through the stone!

Whatever made the soothsayer point in that direction, the priests, obedient to his commands, began moving toward the explorers’ corner of the ledge, their swords drawn and arrows taut on the bows. Artem had the odd feeling of being able to see his own body go stiff with tension, only his chest heaving as he breathed. Now, now! How was his cigarette? Good, still burning!

But why wasn’t Ivan Semenovich giving the signal? The priests were no more than five or six meters away!

“Go ahead, Artem!”

It took him only a moment to put the cigarette to the fuse. It immediately started burning, hising and dropping sparks. Artem hurled the charge over the barrier of rocks.

When it was still in the air, he saw that he had thrown it with too much force. The charge sailed over the priests’ heads and fell somewhere behind them over the ledge.

“Another one!”

One more dynamite charge flew into the air, traling smoke. This time it came down right in front of the three nearest priests. They froze, staring in fear at this smoking object, vomiting forth sparks. Its hissing reminded them of a small angry animal.

“Hit the deck, Artem!” Ivan Semenovich bellowed when he saw his friends hoisting themselves from the rocks to see better. “Down, can’t you understand!”

Dorbatay cried out something in alarm: he must have recognized the hissing sound that brought to mind the memory of his comeuppance at the sacred altar. Artem saw him jump backward, tripping as he did so on his long robe. But it was too late. The terrible explosion shook the rocks, sending up a cloud of black smoke. One of the priests was flung high into the air by the blast, flailing his arms wildly. A huge boulder crushed into the ledge, exploding into small lethal pieces. A hail of stones knocked the priests down. A moment later another explosion shook the ground: it was the first charge thrown by Artem; it went off a little later than the second one, probably because its fuse was longer.

A second cloud of smoke began slowly rising above the ledge of rocks. Artem had a glimpse of a human figure who seemed to be riding spreadeagle on top of the black smoky mushroom. The figure in the scarlet cloak turned upside down. There was something painfully familiar in this figure. The sight made Artem shudder. Was it?.. Yes, it was Dorbatay. The old soothsayer did not have time to escape, and the second blast hurled his corpse back toward the ledge.