As the four left the settlement of children and the kind Avars behind them, they had, with their help, managed to build a small reserve of supplies for their travels. And still they carried some of the original bundles of Tsudos' weavings for trade. Their single horse had been well-cared for in the village, and it seemed to walk with additional energy as they set out with the morning sun to their backs.

Zaria and Branka frequently spoke of the landscape becoming familiar as they passed through a deep mountain pass into fertile valleys with rivers and lakes shimmering in the distance. At times they pointed out distant smoke rising from where other settlements were within the realm of the early Slavic tribes.

Following a day's march through flower infested fields at the base of verdant thick forests, they decided to stop before evening and prepare for a cooler night. Though it was still late summer and several moons before autumn, the nights in these mountain valleys would bring a chill and possible rain to the land that warranted a tent. It was a commodity which, as of yet, they had not procured in their wanderings. Moshtok suggested they take a chance with the next village they encountered to trade some of their beautiful wares for a thick leather shelter which could be assembled and carried by their horse.

This was their plan the next morning after suffering through a chilly, damp night huddled together beneath their communal blankets. After enjoying a fresh but cold bath in the shallows of a small pond nearby at midday, the travelers felt revived. They were compelled by their freshness and relaxed temperament to celebrate their clean bodies by paring off into the woods as couples. This they each needed, both to revive their energies, and to confirm their deep love they still had for each other as committed lovers. It was one of Nature's true gifts to make unrestrained love under an open sky and especially in this pristine and new world which now enveloped them. Meeting back at the pond's edge, the four prepared to enter the next settlement they could find by evening in order to carry out their plans.

That came to pass as they followed the direction of rising smoke within the same long valley. The sound of sheep, not goats, was what met their ears as they passed calmly into the settlements view. Two men on horseback rode out to intercept them and assess their threat level. The men brandished long polished swords and were dressed in animal skins. They sported thick vests of sheep's wool and similar boots, while their arms remained bare and muscular. They both had long blondish hair which flowed freely about their shoulders with no ties to hold it back from their faces. And those faces were clean shaven and richly tanned.

"Where do you go . . . and where are you from?" loudly asked the more robust of the two men, his horse snorting at their pack horse. The man's hand was ever-ready on his sword. And his was a language which came like music to the ears of Zaria and Branka. For it was the clearest of Slavic dialects and closest to their own they had heard in years.

"We are escaping from the East, she told them. From the Pazyryk tribe of Scythians."

"Yes. We can see that," the second horseman said, looking with scorn at Moshtok and Tsudros.

"These men are our mates," Zaria said fearlessly, proudly. "They are good men . . . and they helped us escape the brutality of their king."

"We return now to our homeland," Branka added. We hope only several mountains further to the west."

"What is the village called," asked the larger horseman.

"It was destroyed when we were taken in an attack . . . two years before," Zaria replied.

"But it was called Wahesh," Branka offered.

"Yes," said the slighter man, smiling. "We know it. It still exists. About six days on foot."

"We remember that attack," the first added. "Many were killed. But your village came back."

Branka put her hand to her mouth to subdue her excitement.

"Oh Zaria. . . it means there will . . . still be friends there! And people who knew out parents!"

"Yes." Zaria responded reservedly. "It must be so."

Both girls then began to softly cry with joy.

Moshtok and Tsudros silently nodded to the men on horses, revealing their understanding and empathy toward their mates.

"Come with us," the stronger man said to the girls. If you are truly leaving the home of the Pazyryk people . . . and your men are from there, you will want to speak to our special guests.

The four weary trekkers were puzzled by the man's comment, but agreed to follow their guides into the village. The settlement had no walls around it, though there were fenced areas where sheep were numerous. Beyond these enclosures were other fenced areas where tall grass was being irrigated though earthen works to provide food for their livestock. Several men were working in these fields tending to the water ditches.

A distance beyond these outer patches of green a worn trail led into a grouping of log and thatched roof structures, soundly built, each on poles above the ground. Zaria and Branka recognized this forest village architecture as the dwellings they had been raised in until their seventeenth year and the time of their abduction.

Entering into the main square of the settlement they saw women carrying water into homes and several were hand in hand with young children. All the citizenry who saw them enter the town stopped and took notice of their odd combination of fair complexioned females and darker complexioned males. It was obviously an anomaly to their society, and still a percieved taboo which Branka and Zaria had long expected.

Before stopping at the square, the men leading them motioned that they would take a separate trail up to where several other, smaller structures close to the ground stood apart from the village proper. As they neared them, they could see these crude cabins were extra-heavily built with no windows and a large crossbeam securing the doors. Standing at the entry of one of them, their pack horse held by the smaller man, they waited as the more muscular man lifted the heavy wooden bar which prevented the door being opened from the inside.

Once the door was free to access, their guide pulled it open with some difficulty. As the group peered inside, they could see three men sitting on the cool dirt floor, their hands bound, their dark hair and beards revealing they were prisoners from the Eurasian steppes. As the Slavic man motioned for them to come out into the light, all four voyagers recognized the incarcerated men standing now in the doorway to be Scythian soldiers by their nomadic attire. They were obviously from the Pazyryk clan.

Immediately Moshtok spoke to them in his Pazyryk dialect and the men looked up with their weary and emaciated faces.

"Who are you," the tallest of them asked weakly.

"We are Pazyryk. . . like you. We have left the kingdom of Sharvur."

"Where will you go?" he asked further.

"Silence!"  the Slavic man shouted at them in his own tongue. "These men were captured as they returned from a warring party on one of our neighboring villages," he explained with ire in his voice. "We are keeping them as hostages to get back those their fellow soldiers took from our people. So far the dogs have not returned for them."

Moshtok and Tsudros felt great sympathy for their countrymen and in their hearts wanted to comfort them. The Slavic men's hands rested lightly on the handles of their long swords as a precaution against any such attempt.

"These men must have water and food," Zaria exclaimed. They were only acting upon orders. I know the brutality of their leaders. You must treat them fairly."

"Yes, Branka weighed in. "We were two years slaves to their own beast of a king . . . Sharvur!"

One of the Pazyryk men standing in the doorway spoke up in his Scythian tongue. "Sharvur rules again," he told them, with resignation in his voice.

"But . . . he . . . was imprisoned for life." Tsudros interjected.

"Yes. But those who supported him overthrew Lothran the younger king . . . and before him . . . even Ursrah, the older and wiser."

"Following their deaths . . . our people live in fear again. Of Sharvur," the first man said. "He is completely mad. Mad with anger . . . and his blood thirst rules our land again . . . like a curse!"

"Silence!  The golden bearded Slav shouted once more, not comprehending the conversation.

Zaria and Branka were horrified at the unexpected revelation. They could not conceive that Sharvur, their own tormentor for two years could still be alive, let alone elevated to king once more!

"Tell me," Zaria asked, with great urgency in her voice. "Do you know of this heroic general, Murka? And his Slavic woman Svetlana? Of their small child?"

One of the other captives spoke up in a hoarse voice.

"This woman you call Svetlana . . . she is now in Sharvur's royal palace. He stole her and her new child from the general, Murka . . . a former ally of his. She is now his personal slave. The general must stay away from the palace under the threat of death to his woman and young daughter."

Both Branka and Zaria cried out in shock at hearing of their sister's cruel fate. For both knew too well in a dismal and carnal way, what Svetlana's duties would be in Sharvur's stone citadel, and especially in his familiar sleeping chamber. If only they could have convinced her to escape with them to the western territories, Svetlana's fate would not be as dire and uncertain as is it now apparently was.

* * *