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Date Posted: 04:09:47 12/26/01 Wed
Author: Leigh
Subject: Re: Orignal Gemstone 11
In reply to: Leigh 's message, "Orignal Gemstone" on 03:53:05 12/24/01 Mon



Another troop was leaving.

Michael's frown deepened as he watched the warriors leave. Nikita had lied to him. He'd sensed it when she'd told him this was merely a military exercise but he had not wanted to believe she would do such a thing.

He'd waited all day, watching as troop after troop left, and instinct told him that this was no mere exercise. It was the real thing. The Vatians were at war. Cornering the servant who brought his supper, he asked, "Is there any word from the front?"

The boy had lowered his head and backed away. "I know nothing," he murmured.

"You are lying." Michael's voice was low but the look he gave the servant was full of intimidation. He stepped closer to the lad, his hand reaching out to grasp his neck.
The boy, a few years younger then Nikita, looked up at him with fear in his eyes, his hands trying vainly to pull Michael's powerful arm away.

"Please, the M’yrene will have me killed..." he stammered.

"I will kill you myself," Michael countered, tightening his hold on the boy's neck. He could feel the boy struggling to breathe, feel his throat constrict with the effort to swallow. "What did the M'yrene instruct you not to tell me?"

The boys eyes were beginning to bulge and, for a second, Michael was afraid he would not reveal the information. But the instinct to live soon overrode his obedience to the absent M'yrene and the lad gave up the information Michael wanted. "I don't know much," he gasped, straining for air.

Michael loosened his hold a little so that he could speak. "Go on," he ordered. "Tell me what you do know."

"They've located the army," he blurted, simultaneously gulping in large breaths of air. "Along the Thermodon valley..."

Michael's eyes narrowed. The Thermodon valley? That was along the path leading directly to Taranis. He released the boy's neck and grabbed a fistful of the boy's shirt instead. "What army" he demanded. "Who are the Vatians at war with?"

The boy seemed rattled, his eyes huge as he stared back at Michael. "Why.. with the Scythians, sir..." He watched as the blood drained from Michael's face.

"The Scythians?" Michael's hand fell away, a look of disbelief entering into his eyes. "Are you certain of that?"

"Yes, sir. The servants quarters is alive with talk of it." Now that Michael had stepped away from him the boy became loose tongued and almost excited to be able to depart with the gossip he'd heard. "I overheard some of the men say that the M'yrene will attack on the morrow."

"Men?" Michael stared at the boy. "There are men here? How many?" he asked.

"Servants?" the boy asked, looking confused.

"Men!" Michael nearly shouted, feeling more then a little exasperated. During his whole time her in Themiscya he'd only seen a few men, less then a dozen. And all of them were servants here in the castle.

The boy shrugged his shoulder, his expression thoughtful. "I’m not sure of the number, but there are many," he stated as Michael looked on with an expression of shocked horror.

"You are all servants?" he asked.

"Oh no," the boy answered quickly, almost smiling at the thought. "Most are the mates of former warriors. They come to the servants quarters to drink and catch up on the latest news since the law won't allow them to drink in the open."

Michael's brows began to pull together in anger. "And these men sit around drinking while the women go off to battle?"

The boy blinked. "It’s the way things are around here."

"Well I will have none of it," Michael stated, giving the boy a piercing look. "What is your name? Or is that forbidden by Vatian law also?"

"Of course not," the boy answered, venturing an amused smile at Michael's question. "I am Seymour."

Michael nodded his head once then grabbed hold of Seymour's shoulder and ushered him to the door. "The other men may sit around and wait for the women to return home, but I will do no such thing, Seymour."

"What do you plan to do?"

"What else?" Michael answered. "I will go where I belong, but first I need your help."

************

As the men had predicted, the morrow brought the beginning of the battle between the Vatians and the Scythians. At first light Nikita stood at the ready, flanked on either side by what seemed like an endless line of mounted warriors. Immediately to her right sat Aella, her dark hair hidden by her coifed helmet. Her eyes glittered fearlessly as she looked to Nikita and waited for her sister to give the signal.

Nikita closed her eyes briefly and inhaled deeply, desiring to capture the sweet scent of the morning air before death would fill it with its vile stench. In her eyes she saw a vision of Michael and a tremor trickled through her veins.
Forgive me, my love, she whispered silently in her mind. If there were any other way I would take it and spare your people. But there was no other way. And she could not defer her duty as M'yrene. With a sigh she turned and gave Aella the signal to begin.

The doyan smiled at her, as if she knew where Nikita's thoughts were, and longed to offer her sister support.
Then, lifting the horn she carried at her side to her mouth, Aella blew.

Immediately the air was filled with the wailing sound of the battlehorn. Nikita's eyes widened, filling with determination as she pushed all other thoughts, save those of the battle ahead of her, to the side. Her heart pounded and her breathing heightened as the warrior within her came to life.

A few yards ahead of them the archers drew back their bows and released their flaming arrows into the encampment below. The wail of the battlehorn faded and was replaced by the whistling of hundreds of arrows slicing through the air. In the camp below the Vatians watched as the Scythian army scurried for cover. Shouts rang out and were carried on the wind toward the hills as the Scythians looked up to behold the mass of female warriors awaiting their leaders signal.

"Death awaits you this day, Rhus," Nikita murmured, then raised her sword and with a mighty cry, charged her steed down the hill.

************

Michael rode furiously through the night, pushing the borrowed steed to its ultimate limit. He crouched low, placing his head close to the beast's braided mane, as he urged the stallion to go faster.

His heart raced within his chest, pumping blood through his veins at a fierce rate. The wind whipped at his hair and stung his eyes but he didn't relent. Seymour said that the talk in the servants quarters was that Nikita would attack at dawn. Glancing at the sky he could see that it was already beginning to turn from black to a smokey gray.

He recalled Nikita's question concerning the Scythians training habits. She'd known that morning that his uncles' armies were on the move. It was the reason why she offered him the opportunity to fight for his land back.

Damn her! Why didn't she just tell him the truth? Instead she had listened to him give his speech about refusing to fight against his people. And then she had withdrawn and prepared to go into battle on her own.

He swore again, vowing in his mind that if Nikita survived this battle, and he prayed to the gods that she did for he could not foresee living without her, he planned to punish her with his bare hands.

His spirits lifted as the edge of the forest came into sight. Just a few more miles and he would reach the area that Seymour had said the army was gathered. Together, he and Seymour had rummaged Nikita's chests until he'd located the black leather armor he recalled her wearing the night
she'd come to rescue him. He'd found it and quickly donned the suit. The pants were a little snug but he was surprised at how light the outfit was compared to the full suit of armor preferred by the Scythians. He'd forced Seymour to steal a horse from the stables while he broke into Nikita's weapon case and took out her extra sword. It was a little lighter then what he was accustomed to but the blade was strong, sharp as a razor, and bore no chips.

Now as he approached the edge of the forest he reached down to his side, checking to make sure the weapon was still there. Suddenly there was the sound of a horn in the distant --the Vatian battlehorn-- and terror gripped at his gut. The attack was starting. He cried out, venting his frustration as he urged his steed onward and prayed fervently to the Gods to keep her safe....

************

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