Ok, this is my first literary contribution to the Mead Hall, previous visits have been mainly to read other's stories/poems and review them. Ok, I hope you enjoy it, feel free to give me some feedback on how to improve the story or my writing style.
The Master Horseman
The time had come; it was time for Palacus to join his father on the battlefields. A war had commenced with the Germanic tribes and Palacus would be the reinforcements needed to push them back to where they came from. The Germans, a vicious tribe seeking out new land, seeking the wealth of the Scythians, had advanced into the Scythian plains burning villages as they smashed through. His brother Partatua, the heir to the throne, was fending off an attack in the east from the Persians. Partatua commanded the largest Scythian army there ever was and he had to command well, if the Persians broke through, the Scythians would be surrounded. Palacus set out from Campus Scythii, capital of the Scythians, and began to march northwards accompanied by a force of riders and horse archers.
It was early evening when Palacus arrived. “Has it really been six years, son?” asked Zipoetes, Palacus’ father. It had been almost a year since he had left Campus Scythii. His father had set out campaigning in the north when Palacus was twelve years old. Now into his early fifties, Zipoetes had barely aged at all. He was the man who had made Scythia a dominant tribe in the barbarian regions north of the Black Sea; he was a popular warlord among the people. “When these Germans are crushed, we will head north, eventually towards the Amazons, Themiskyra will be Scythian once again!” And that’s when it happened…
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