Descendants of the Scythians - Страница 69

He then put all the things he had taken out of the bags back into place, pocketing only the primers and fuse.

“Things turned out differently from what I wanted. Nothing’s to be done now but to try and teach ourselves to handle Scythian weapons, Dmitro Borisovich. It’s the only thing we can do at the moment. For example, do you like this thing here?”

Artem pulled out a sword from the pile of weapons which had been brought by Varkan and his men and dumped in the center of the glade. Tossing it from hand to hand, he said:

“It’s a little too heavy and will take a long time to get used to. And what about this one here?…”

Now he picked up a battle axe with a curved edge.

“Aha, this thing seems to be easier to handle, Dmitro Borisovich. Go ahead and choose something for yourself. We’ve found ourselves in a situation when we need to be able to use these weapons.”

Varkan and his friends, who watched Artem choose a weapon with some interest, could not help laughing when Dmitro Borisovich began doing the same. The younger outlander was not too dexterous in handling the weapons, but his movements were sure enough and his grip on the handles was firm. But the older man was a sight to behold!…

He dealt with the new task like serious work that required determined effort. He tried a sword, a spear and a battle axe, leaving bows and arrows alone. The latter, he judged, quite rightly, were beyond the scope of his martial abilities. At last, Dmitro Borisovich settled on a battle axe. His eyeglasses flashed menacingly as he brandished the axe, taking aim at an imaginary enemy, hacking at the air right and left, making terrible grunting sounds, putting the weapon down, spitting on his palms to get a firmer grip, picking up the axe again, hitting something in front of him, then quickly turning and parrying a sudden treacherous thrust from an imaginary enemy coming from behind… It was a spectacle worth seeing!

“That’s good, that’s right,” Artem said approvingly, stifling his laughter and wiping away the smile that appeared on his face against his will. “Yes, that’s the way to do it! I wouldn’t say that you had a very bellicose look up till now, Dmitro Borisovich, but with this axe in your hands you look a veritable warrior! You could frighten the most stalwart enemy!”

“Oh, the enemy will take fright all right! I’ll teach myself to handle this axe and become a soldier, I will,” the archeologist replied in earnest, never stopping his martial exercise. “You were right, Artem, it’s high time for me… to take part… in military operations… we’ll have to fight… to free Lida and… Ivan Semenovich, right?”

At last, he put the axe down and lowered himself beside it, wiping profuse perspiration from his brow. It was an arduous work, practicing with this axe, it was!

“So, Dmitro Borisovich, we’re going to fight with swords and axes, like real Scythians…” Artem stopped short when he glanced at Varkan: the Scythian was standing taut, his sword at the ready. The other Scythians also sprang to their feet, swords in hand, listening. Varkan raised his hand in a gesture of warning. What was going on?

Artem could not hear anything menacing except for rustling leaves and chirping birds: everything was peaceful, with no signs of danger at all. A branch snapped loudly under the foot of one of the Scythians and again everything was quiet.

“What…” Dmitro Borisovich began saying, but Artem stopped him by putting a finger to his lips. Varkan and the Scythians hid behind the trees, gesturing to Artem and Dmitro Borisovich to do the same.

It was growing dusky; it seemed to Artem that Varkan was gesturing to them to lie down on the ground. That could mean only one thing — danger. The glade was empty except for the horses at its fringe and a Scythian hiding near the horses.

Artem grabbed Dmitro Borisovich by the shoulder and pulled him down, whispering into his ear:

“Get down, quick!”

The archeologist complied; after he was stretched on the ground, Artem began crawling toward Varkan.

“Artem!” he heard Dmitro Borisovich whisper. He evidently wanted to stop Artem, but the young man just looked back and again put the finger to his lips. Artem saw that the Scythians were now also crawling forward, keeping behind the trees and bushes. Judging from their behavior, the danger was real and grave, but Artem neither heard nor saw anything suspicious.

Varkan stopped crawling when he heard Artem laboring behind, vainly — in spite of all his agility — trying to catch up with the Scythians whose swiftness in crawling was not to be matched. Varkan, after a very short hesitation, crawled on, gesturing to Artem to stay behind. Artem replied also with an energetic gesture which meant: never mind me, go ahead, move on, Til manage!

In a few seconds, Artem heard some voices. Now he could even make out that they were speaking in Scythian, and that those to whom the voices belonged, were moving. Hardly a minute passed before Artem saw a group of several dozen armed Scythians carefully making their way toward the glade where Dmitro Borisovich, the horses and weapons had been left. The armed Scythians moved slowly, holding their weapons at the ready, occasionally exchanging a word or two. Were they a reconnaissance party?

Varkan stopped dead behind the bushes: not a sound or the slightest movement any more. Artem hid behind a bush too, pressing close to the ground.

Are they headed for the glade? Artem thought with a shudder, his heart beating wildly. Looks like Dorbatay has not given up his attempts to have us seized!

The situation was desperate — once again they were against great odds: Artem, Varkan and a few of his friends facing a rather formidable group of armed Scythians. Then another group, also several dozen strong, appeared some distance away. It was a punitive force! Artem saw Varkan look back and shake his head; evidently he did not have much hope of success in a confrontation with such a force.

It was clear now that the fugitives’ hiding place had somehow been discovered and a surprise attack was being prepared. The enemy’s approach had been discovered in time, but any effective resistance seemed unthinkable: a mere handful against scores of armed men! Should Varkan’s men be noticed by the enemy, a rain of arrows and spears would fall on them, and it would hardly be possible to avoid being hit, even hiding behind trees and bushes. There seemed no alternative but retreat. But retreat to where? Back to the glade? But again, such a retreat could hardly pass unnoticed, and the moment the enemy saw them, that would be the end of them.

And the enemy was moving forward meanwhile. They looked very sure of where they were going; it was reminiscent of a hunt when hunters are surrounding the lair of a beast that has been tracked down.

Artem saw Varkan and his men begin crawling away, trying to stay behind the bushes all the time. But they were moving away from the glade where Dmitro Borisovich was waiting, not even aware of the impending disaster! Varkan and his warriors were trying to get out of the enemy way, because they realized that it would be suicidal to fight.

All right, come what may, Artem thought in desperation. Something must be done at once!

Artem could do only one thing in an attempt to stop the enemy, and he knew he ran a great risk of failure. If the enemy noticed him just as he was about to pull his trick, they would surely perforate him with hundreds of arrows and spears before he made his final move. Artem still remembered the hare impaled on the spear… But there was no other way, so he had to go ahead and do it.

“Yes, come what may!” he whispered. And, as it always happens when a person reaches a decision to do something he is in two minds about, Artem felt a sort of relief, and he could act, concentrating on what he had to do, disregarding the danger.

Without getting to his feet, he prepared everything for his stunt, clumsily pulling the things he needed out of his pockets. Next, staying behind his bush he found good purchase for his hands and feet on the ground to hoist himself up and leap when the time was right. He saw that Varkan had noticed his strange activity and signalled to him to stop it.

Ah, my good friend, you may signal, but there is no other way out, so I will go ahead with what I am planning to do. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, Artem thought, turning away from Varkan to avoid being distracted any more. But if it works, then… Now, if the match does not fail me…

Every second counted. A detached observer would have thought that Artem had gone out of his mind: he sprang to his feet and began lighting a cigarette — an insane act at this moment of mortal danger, when death at the hand of implacable enemies seemed imminent, when the instinct of self-preservation should have kept him in hiding! The little flame of the burning match, that seemed so bright in the gathering dusk, lit up the face of the young man and the cigarette sticking out of his mouth for one brief moment then died. Now only a tiny spot of red light remained at the tip of the cigarette which grew brighter when Artem puffed at it. His eyes were riveted on the enemies who had stopped dead when they had seen the silhouette of the young magician with a spot of fire in his head. The outlander who had so miraculously materialized in their way, did not try to run away, nor did he do anything to prevent himself from being hit. He just stood there, a dot of fire at his mouth. Now all of the advancing Scythians froze, overcome by consternation, staring at him in dismay. But their initial fright would soon wear off and then they would fall on him with all their weapons and hack him to pieces…