Volodimir Vladko - Descendants of the Scythians

Saying this, the archeologist grabbed his battle axe and began his descent. The ungainly archeologist had a hard time keeping his balance on the way down; it was especially difficult as his eyes were still riveted on the burial scene.

But duty was above everything for him! His friends needed help, and he must do whatever he could to help them.

The desperate cry of a woman reached them from the distance, making them shiver and halt on their way: it was the last cry of Skolot’s dying widow.

Artem and Dmitro Borisovich resumed their descent. Varkan’s men had already reached the grove. Artem knew that in response to the signal, Varkan’s men had to rush to the grove and wait there until the slaves engaged the enemy. This would give them a chance to get close to the enemy without being observed. Otherwise, they would be met by a hail of arrows and spears and the main attack would lose the advantage of surprise. To prevent this from happening, Ronis and his men had to engage the enemy and sustain battle for some time.

The grove, being much closer to the grave, allowed them to observe the Scythian crowd in much greater detail, but at the same time, being at ground level made it impossible for them to see what was going on by the grave. They could hear much better though. The monotonous, melancholy praying did not cease. Drowning all other sounds, it was occasionally pierced by the terrible heart-rending, high- pitched crying of a woman. It gave Artem the shivers to think that one of those cries could have come from Lida.

Varkan’s men were lying on the ground, hiding behind the trees of the grove, waiting patiently. One careless move could reveal their presence, and the consequences would be serious.

The absolute silence in the grove contrasted sharply with the monotonous song and piercing cries of the women. Artem’s heart was pounding wildly in his chest, threatening to burst. He kept telling himself that he must keep a cool head and relax, for the time of the decisive attack was near. But that was easier said than done!

The grove was still, filled with an extremely tense silence. No movement. Why wasn’t Ronis signalling for the attack to begin?

Artem heard the heavy breathing of Dmitro Borisovich at his side. The archeologist’s hands were tightly clasped around the handle of the axe. Then Dmitro Borisovich said in a barely audible whisper right into Artem’s ear:

“Where’s your weapon, Artem? Are you ready?”

Without saying anything, Artem indicated his sword with his eyes. The archeologist nodded his head to show that he thought it was not enough. Then the young man patted one of his pockets as if to say: don’t worry, everything’s all right; I have something else here, too . His most important weapon was ready for use at any moment the situation called for it to be employed.

Loud shouts made Artem and Dmitro Borisovich hold their breath. Had the slaves launched their attack?

The shouting increased in volume and turned into a general din. The song stopped, drowned in a powerful wave of shouts, frantic and fierce. The slaves had started the uprising!

“Forward! Forward!” Artem shouted at the top of his voice.

“Forward!” Dmitro Borisovich joined him in the shout.

Getting to their feet at the same moment, they started running toward the grave. No matter how fast they tried to run, Varkan’s men were faster, surging ahead of them. Artem could see only their backs appearing and disappearing among the trees. He kept racing after them, brandishing his sword and shouting:

“Forward! Forward!”

Dmitro Borisovich followed as fast as he could; he had completely forgotten that for the sake of archeology it would have been best to remain an impartial observer. In a moment, he turned with his usual impetuosity into an intrepid soldier. He also shouted something but Artem’s mind did not register what it was.

In a few moments they were out of the grove, running full speed across the field. Then they slowed down somewhat as it took considerable effort to wade through the tall pink grass that seemed to be growing everywhere. Artem saw Varkan’s men in front of him and heard the sounds of clashing weapons and shouts coming from somewhere very near. The gaping hole of the grave was just a short distance away. Would they be lucky enough to meet the enemy and get to the captives without having an arrow shot or spear hurled at them? Had Ronis and his men managed to engage the forces of the chiefs and priests so intensely they weren’t paying any attention to anything else around?

Women and children, badly frightened by the sudden eruption of fighting, scattered in panic in all directions. As no one tried to attack them, they made way for Varkan’s men who kept running at full speed. Every moment they were getting closer and closer to the grave. The closer the attackers got to it, the bigger their chances were of taking Dorbatay by surprise and preventing him from rallying his forces for resistance.

A moment later, Artem saw the attackers reach the enemy lines in front of the grave. The battle had begun. Amidst the clanging of swords, the enemy bellowed a terrible war- cry, trying to raise their own courage for a stiff resistance. The priests, armed with swords and daggers, began pouring out of the grave pit. Urged on by sharp commands from Dorbatay, they threw themselves into battle and checked the advance of the attackers. Swords were brought into play with added fierceness. Both sides were fighting on foot, with no horse soldiers to help. The greatest danger for the attackers had passed: the enemy had not had time to use their bows and meet the sudden thrust from the grove with a deadly hail of well-aimed arrows. It was from the very start hand- to-hand fighting in which the victory goes to the one who is stronger, quicker, more experienced; it was a battle fought with swords and axes, a battle at close quarters. Varkan’s soldiers made their way to the grave without losing a single man!

Diana made her presence known to Artem by growling at his side. Diana! How could he have forgotten about her! Without even turning his head to her, he shouted:

“Forward, forrr-ward, Diana! To our friends! To Lida!”

The battle raged on. But where was Varkan? Aha, over there. He was fighting against three enemies who tried to overcome him by sheer number. He needed help!

But before Artem had time to rush to Varkan’s aid, the foes, besetting him, were attacked by his bold warriors. Two of them were brought down, and the third was killed by Varkan’s sword.

On all sides there was clanging of weapons, groaning of the wounded, and shouting of the combatants. Varkan’s men kept pressing the enemy who were lacking in courage and intrepidity. Besides, the forest insurgents had a clear and noble goal; they knew perfectly well what they were fighting for and what they wanted to achieve. Hartak’s soldiers and the priests felt very differently, taken by surprise, dumb founded by the sudden attack. And they began to retreat in spite of the frenzied incitements from the furious Dorbatay.

But where were Lida and Ivan Semenovich?

The main fighting now began moving sideways from the grave. The enemy, hard pressed and slowly falling back, opened the way to the grave on one of its flanks. It made Artem wonder: weren’t the priests giving way much too easily? Did they have a reliable rearguard to fall back on? Had something gone wrong with the attack? Artem knew the slaves, burning with hatred, must be attacking, the enemy from the other side, from the rear. Had something stopped or delayed them? But it was impossible to make out anything in the turmoil of battle, in the terrible din of voices and weapons. If only he knew where to look for Lida and Ivan Semenovich! Moments before the attack had begun, he had seen them standing close to the grave. Had they been dragged away by the retreating priests?