Citadels of Fire

by L.K. Hill

  Chapter 10

  Revenge closed in.

  Thirteen-year-old Ivan sat on his throne on the highest step of the dais, struggling to keep a smile off his inwardly sneering face. The time had almost arrived. In front of him, this week’s boyar council enjoyed a heavy meal. They’d been at it for hours, through a dozen courses already, and enough alcohol to make them tipsy.

  Ivan amused himself all afternoon throwing a litter of puppies from a slanting roof of the palace into the courtyard below. He aimed for the upward-pointing spears of the guards and hit them roughly half of the time.

  The human body mesmerized Ivan, especially when it lay dying. What was it that made it slow down, its functions become sluggish, and finally its energy expire? Why did living things fight so hard, even when they could see their fluids draining out before their eyes? They must understand they would not be saved. Why not accept it? Inevitably, in animals and humans, they fought to live, if for only a few seconds more. The process enthralled Ivan.

  Since his mother’s death five years before, Ivan had been treated appallingly. Oh, the servants made certain he was fed, and Ivan took care of Yuri, sheltering him from those who might harm them. Yet, more often than not, they sheltered in vacant rooms or dark closets. Ivan and his brother had been utterly helpless, relying on charity and luck to survive.

  During the day, the clerks made sure Ivan received plenty of tutors, chosen from among the clergy, to receive a good education. Ivan felt grateful for that. He believed it was God’s doing. Only with a decent education could he hope to be a good ruler.

  The night his mother died, Ivan swore a vow before God and his little brother. One day he would grow tall. One day he would no longer be helpless. He vowed to get recompense for the way he and Yuri were treated. He was his father’s son, and he would become the all-powerful ruler God always meant him to be, more powerful than any of the ancestors that ruled before him.

  Ivan remained two winters shy of his coming-of-age, and stood physically smaller than the men enjoying dinner in front of him, but he was fast becoming a man. He and his friends began pillaging nearby villages over the last few months. Ivan relished his exploits. They were the only things, other than his domination over small, helpless animals that made him feel in control. Powerful. Omnipotent.

  Ivan ran his eyes around the room. The time had come to exact his revenge. His heart beat faster. Failure was a prime possibility, but he'd run the logic over and over in his head, and could find no fault with it.

  Andrey Shuisky stood up, lifting a trembling goblet of mead, apparently having trouble keeping upright. He began his two hundredth toast of the night, extolling his own virtues and those of his council.

  Andrey served as the current Regent. After Elena died, many boyars jockeyed for power. Eventually the Shuisky clan won out, and now Andrey held the empowered position. Andrey was the latest member of the Shuisky clan to rule, after his cousin died—of a disease, supposedly, though men in positions of power tended to die young and under suspicious circumstances.

  Andrey was thick through the chest. His light brown beard fanned out, and his hair hung over his ears, making it stick straight out from his head.

  Ivan despised him. Drunken with his own power, Shuisky would only grow more so as the years progressed. Ivan had no intention of letting that happen.

  As the flattery continued and servants moved among the diners, refilling goblets, Ivan gathered his courage and tried to stand. He failed. He'd grown accustomed to giving orders. Sometimes they were obeyed, other times not. This was different. This order would change everything.

  Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, Ivan resolved to try again. He was his father’s son. Courage wasn't something he lacked.

  The toast ended, and the boyars before him settled back to their feast of roasted bear and borscht as Ivan stood. It got their attention. They usually paid attention to him, now, even if they didn’t always follow his orders.

  “My lords,” he intoned, allowing the natural ring of the stone chamber to amplify his voice, “I congratulate you on your many . . . accomplishments.” He'd been at a loss for words. He did not know what they celebrated tonight, other than themselves. Typical.

  His compliment heightened the mood. The council of men cheered, pounded the table, and raised their goblets in salute of the “young prince” for praising them. Ivan raised his hands, and they silenced to hear him. No doubt they waited eagerly for his next indulgent tribute.

  “My lords,” he continued, “as you know, I am a mere two years shy of my fifteenth birthday. On that day, I will be fit to rule Russia in deed, as well as in name.” Many of the men nodded thoughtfully. “I am still of tender years, and I am weak, but I believe the power of God—the rightful power to rule—is already with me.”

  Ivan passed his eyes over the group, gauging their reactions. A few looked surprised. Most smiled smugly, indulgently, as if to say, of course it is.

  “So,” Ivan thundered on, “I will begin to exercise my powers now.” With the final word, he raised his voice to a shout, letting the word echo off the stone walls. It had the desired effect. All the men stopped eating and stared at him in awe.

  Now that he'd begun, he couldn’t stop. He sped up as he spoke, afraid of being interrupted.

  “From the time I was a small boy, I have been treated by you—the Regents and their counsels—with contempt. My brother and I have endured the utmost disrespect, rude behavior, and impudence by all who inhabit these palaces. We bore hunger, thirst, fatigue, and other ill treatment.” Ivan paced back and forth on the dais as he spoke, glaring down each of the boyars in turn. To his delight, many turned away.

  “This is a mortal sin on your parts. I am the true heir to the throne, and I will accept such treatment no longer. I am the hand of God. If I choose, I can strike each of you down for these past evils, and it will be God’s will, through me.”

  The men looked awestruck. Some even looked alarmed, but no one stopped him; no one put him in his place.

  Ivan adopted what he hoped was a magnanimous smile. “Do not fear, my dear boyars. All is not lost. I am willing to forgive your past misdeeds, on two conditions. The first is that you each swear your devoted loyalty to me, as ruler of Russia.”

  Still no one said anything, but they exchanged glances around the table, sensing change afoot.

  Andrey Shuisky rose slowly from his position at the head of the heaping table. Ivan smiled. Shuisky must have sensed this was no longer the whimsical chattering of a child; that the power of Russia slipped precariously through his fingers.

  “The second is not so much a condition as a demand,” Ivan went on, “I demand the death of the despicable Andrey Shuisky, who has ruled dishonorably for too long. Guards! I command the arrest of this man. Take him to the dungeons.”

  This pivotal moment would decide Ivan’s future. If his authority prevailed upon them, Ivan would henceforth rule Russia. If not, he would likely die before the sun rose.

  The last command came out in such a rush that no one knew how to react, including Ivan. He stood, holding his breath, pointing his finger at Shuisky and looking every inch the king he wanted to be. Silence filled the chamber like water rolling into an empty vessel. The men around the table below him exchanged glances. Some regarded him with alarm, others with approval.

  The two guards standing by the door crossed the room. They stopped beside the table, looking from Ivan to Shuisky and back again. Even they didn't seem to know who they would obey.

  “Take that boy out of here, you imbeciles. He needs a good whipping.”

  The guards continued to look back and forth, undecided. Ivan did not speak again. He'd said his piece. It would have to stand on its own.

  The two guards locked eyes. Then they went to Shuisky and each took one of his arms. Ivan smiled, looking up through his eyelashes at the doomed Regent.

  It felt like coming up from under water: the room exploded in noise and movement. Shuisky thrashed and
shouted and swore, but the guards held him tightly.

  “You can’t do this. Unhand me at once. He is a child. He is not yet fifteen—he has no authority—”

  The other boyars talked and shouted at one another, but none moved to help Shuisky. Rather, they moved out of the guards’ way. Some of them eyed Ivan with a new respect that he very much enjoyed.

  The guards wrestled Shuisky half-way to the door before Ivan stopped them, deciding to implement the second part of his plan. He could not have done it before knowing how they would react, but this had been easier than he could have hoped.

  “Wait, bring him back.” The guards obeyed, forcing Shuisky into a kneeling position in front of Ivan’s dais. “Those who are arrested are usually sent to the dungeons. I have a special punishment in mind for you.”

  Shuisky continued to struggle against the guards as Ivan spoke, and the rest of the boyars leaned forward to hear Ivan's next words. He basked in his new power.

  “You must suffer the punishment for all the evils that have been done to me and my brother.” He leaned forward so his face hovered inches from Shuisky’s and dropped his voice to a whisper. “And they were great.”

  Shuisky licked his lips, looking nervously from side to side. He broke free of the guards’ clutches and prostrated himself on the ground before Ivan.

  “Your Highness, I have only ever tried to rule honorably in your name. I have never—”

  “Honorably?” Ivan thundered. “Very recently you fell upon my favorite, Vorontov, and beat him mercilessly. You did this because you knew he was my favorite. You were jealous that I loved him because I hate your family for all they have done to me. That day I vowed before God the same vow I now make before all of Russia—that it would be the last indignity I would suffer. That it would be the last indignity you, Shuisky, would inflict upon the world.”

  Ivan raised his gaze. “Throw him to the dogs.”

  The guards dragged Shuisky out of the hall screaming for mercy. When the screams faded, Ivan demanded fealty from every person present.

  They gave it without question.

  Ivan achieved everything he wanted. Leaving the boyars, he went out to watch the execution.

  The dog boys in the yard clubbed Shuisky until he was too weak to get up. Then they unleashed the dogs.

  The lusty hounds tore Shuisky limb from limb. His screams filled the courtyard. Ivan watched with fascination as the ground soaked up the blood, and the hounds chewed sinew and bone with equal heartiness.

  He leaned against the cold stones of the palace wall and let a gloating smile form on his lips. He could feel the power in the palms of his hands.

  And it had all been so easy.