“There is one,” Zhaleh interrupted. “Alunam, the devil, appears as a dragon that scorches the earth with his flames, and only Otlezd’s—”
Boz’s laughing tore across the room. The priestess fell silent, but her eyes were like daggers. “And who in Weles are you, girl?” Boz asked.
Zhaleh clenched her fists and stalked forward. “I am priestess Zhaleh of Clan Zurgow, second only to—”
“Adorable, the clans sent a zealous priestess and a boy to threaten me.” Boz turned back to see her in the middle of the room. “You are quite easily angered, Zhaleh. Is it not in Otlezd’s teachings to respect a man when he is speaking?”
Zhaleh growled, but before she could act, Bidaês grabbed her arm. “King Boz,” he said. “We come from our clans with a message—one that petty insults will not delay.”
“Speak, then, and make it good. My warriors are prepared to slit your throats should I not be entertained.”
Bidaês cast Andrij a raised brow before returning his gaze to the king. “Very well, I will be quick.” He told Boz the same story he’d told Andrij, adding a list of clans Andrij had never heard of that had been destroyed by the Horde.
When Bidaês finished, Boz’s face was red, and his lip twitched. He’s going to execute them, Andrij thought. And I’ll be next.
“You speak like you haven’t raided our villages for years,” Boz said as he sat on his throne. “Your horsemen would be ripe for slaughter attacking through the Narrow Pass, and I would enjoy watching each of them fall.”
“We have not done so,” Bidaês insisted. “I cannot claim the same for the Zurgowie.”
Zhaleh winced.
“Your clans are no different,” Boz sneered. “Raiders, filthy nomads. You would rather take our lands than defend your own. Come and meet our spears. I’ll impale your head on my own.”
Zhaleh tapped the center of her chest and then slid her finger down to her stomach. “In Otlezd’s name, you will suffer for this.”
“And Perun’s ax will strike you down like all others who dared cross the Narrow Pass!” Boz shouted, pointing to the doors. “Get out before I send my own messengers with nothing but your decapitated heads.”
“We will give you until the first day of the moon you call Kwiecień to reconsider,” Bidaês said. “Find us northeast of the Narrow Pass.” Then, he left with Zhaleh.
Andrij let out a breath. He’d been recruited for war, and ferocity in battle would bring him honor. Yet, he was afraid of facing the clans. If the stories were right, they could defeat an army of twice their number. He would fight to protect his tribe, to protect the family he’d been torn from, but as he watched the duo leave, he wondered if he would ever see home again.
Boz paced around the room, muttering as Andrij prayed to Perun, god of thunder and justice, to protect him. It was among the god’s mountains that his night had gone awry in the first place. Would Perun’s mighty ax protect him from Boz’s wrath?
It was a long time before the king sat on his throne and snapped his gaze to Andrij. “Come here,” he ordered.
Without a word, Andrij rose and shuffled to the king. Boz watched him the entire way, and Andrij’s skin crawled as he knelt before the throne.
“You are Death’s messenger,” Boz said, his voice sharp. “So, you will continue his work.”
Andrij shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
“Let me finish!” the king hissed. “Those nomads will return with their armies, and, together, they could be too much for our warriors. Ready a horse for you, Valentyn, and that buffoon Mykyta. You ride for Dwie Rzeki immediately.”
Dwie Rzeki? What does the Tribe of Krowik have to do with this?
“I see the question in your eye,” Boz continued. “Let’s just say High Chief Jacek owes me a favor after I saved him from the axes of Solga. Go to him and demand he bring his men to our defense, just as I have done for him.”
Andrij bowed his head as an ache gripped his chest. “Yes, my king, but Dwie Rzeki is a week’s ride if we push hard. It is likely we will reach them around the Drowning of Marzanna.”
Boz leaned forward, eyeing him. “I’m counting on you arriving during the equinox festival. Jacek’s chiefs will be gathered, and he will look weak if he rejects my call. He is an untrustworthy maggot, but he is my sister’s husband. Natasza can be quite persuasive.”
“I will ride, my king.” With no sleep.
“Good. Now go. If you return, then I will take it as a sign from the gods that you have repaid your father’s debt. If you don’t, well, then you will have suffered Perun’s punishment for your failure to remain at your post.”
With a swift bow, Andrij fled the room and rushed back into the sunlight. He took a deep breath, enjoying its warmth on his face as fatigue swept across his body. No rest until sundown. Perun give me strength, so that I may see Mother again, so that I may be free. That hope was enough to push him on.
Ostap huffed at the sight of him. “Huh. Guess the king is in a good mood today.”
“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Andrij mumbled, wandering toward Boz’s pastures just beyond the village center.
How was he to ride across nearly all of Astiwie and Krowikie lands in a week? There were few trails, and snow still covered the ground. Andrij had never left his tribe’s lands, but Valentyn would know the way. The old warrior had fought both among the mountains of Perun’s Crown and the swamps around the Krowik River. If there was anyone Andrij wanted on the journey, it was him.
The caw of a stray crow floated through the air. Each flap of its wings hammered Andrij’s mind as he dreaded the rough, uncomfortable journey ahead. It was an unspoken truth that demons lurked in the forests at night. Around Kynnytsia, the gods’ chosen sorceresses known as szeptuchy kept them at bay, but beyond the scattered villages of the twin tribes, attacks were common. His mother had always said those who wander alone into the woods after dusk rarely returned. At least I won’t be alone.
The horses scattered as Andrij opened the pasture gate. Most did every time, choosing to stay near the hay and water trough instead of letting him rein them in for training. That didn’t offend Andrij. He didn’t need to be the stallions’ friend, just their master, but he had broken that rule with one.
A dark bay horse with a patch of white along its front right shoulder trotted to him with a snort. Andrij smiled and rubbed Oleh’s soft, droopy nose. Though he was awkward to ride and far too curious for his own good, Oleh had become a safe place. The stallion was gentle but stubborn at times, and, in a way, Andrij was thankful that he’d been forced to break him.
Learning to fight on horseback had been one of the more difficult periods in Andrij’s training, but Oleh had gone through it with him. Valentyn believed them to be an odd pair. Andrij was just happy to have a trustworthy friend.
After slipping the bridle on Oleh’s head, Andrij tied him to a post near the gate and went for the other horses. Valentyn would want Viktor, a massive black horse that had claimed alpha status in the pasture a long time ago. Viktor also hated Andrij, and when he approached the stallion, it huffed and bolted away.
Andrij sighed. And this will be the easiest part of the trek.
For half-an-hour, he scrambled around the pasture, out of breath when he finally wrangled both Viktor and Kazymyr, Mykyta’s runt of a horse. He brought both of them to the fence as a deep laugh came from the trail ahead.
“Old Vitya give ya trouble?” Valentyn asked, leaning his stout frame against the wooden fence.
The blue cloak of an Astiwie veteran draped down Valentyn’s shoulders with its hood covering his brown hair and beard. Take away the beard and he would have looked like an older, shorter version of Andrij—round cheeks, strong chin, and uncomfortably thick eyebrows. When Valentyn had taken Andrij under his wing a year before, he’d claimed to see himself in his apprentice. Now, Andrij wondered how literal that sentiment was.
Andrij grinned against his will as he tied up the horses. “No more than you do.”<
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“Oh, I wouldn’t do that to ya,” Valentyn replied. “Especially not after Boz gave you the old knuckles to the cheek.”
“You heard?”
“ ‘bout us going west? Half the village knows already.” Valentyn pulled open the gate and grabbed hold of Viktor’s reins. “For your face… Well, it ain’t just red from the cold.”
Andrij held his hand to his numb cheek as the smell of smoke overwhelmed him. He’s been smoking that stuff again. Valentyn had complained about his back pain for as long as Andrij had known him. Then, a szeptucha of Weles—the god of the lowlands and underworld—had given him a plant with instructions to light it on fire and inhale the vapors. With Boz’s hatred of the god’s followers, Valentyn had kept it a secret from all except Andrij, but he hadn’t moaned about the aches since. Still, he never seemed completely present when the smoke hung over him.
Valentyn slapped his back. “You’ll be fine, kid. Boz ain’t the softest, but things were worse before ‘im. Trust me.”
Worse than people starving because of the king’s unwillingness to handle the ovinniks? Andrij gritted his teeth. There had been reports of whole villages abandoning their lands to find food. Only a few roosters would’ve tamed the demons…
As Andrij opened his mouth to reply, Mykyta strolled down the trail, swinging his arms more than necessary and beaming from ear to ear. “Heya Valentyn!” he exclaimed.
“Mykyta,” Valentyn mumbled back.
“Thanks for getting Kazymyr for me!” Mykyta said as he hopped the fence, drawing another groan from the old warrior.
Andrij crossed his arms and held up his chin. “Actually, I caught all three of them.”
Pausing, Mykyta examined him before patting his horse’s neck. “I don’t believe you. You’re slower than Babay without his cane.”
Andrij shuddered at the thought of the dark spirit. Most thought Babay, a crooked old man who haunted the forest, was just a tale to scare children, but those stories had never left his mind.
“And you’re stupider than a Simukie rider without his horse,” Valentyn snapped back. “Now shut yer mouth and let me get ready in peace.” He pulled Viktor through the open gate and down the trail toward the guard quarters.
Andrij chuckled watching him go. Valentyn would always be a grouch, but his frustration had a tender layer beneath it. It took work to reach that part of him, and jokes and eccentric behavior were not helpful—something Mykyta had yet to figure out after two years in Kynnytsia. Andrij doubted he ever would.
As Andrij led Oleh down the trail behind Valentyn, Mykyta rambled about the gossip of the village. On a normal day, Andrij may have bothered to listen, but between his exhaustion and the journey they faced, who was kissing who was the least of his concerns.
They tied off their horses outside the guard quarters and wandered into the cramped room.
Twenty beds, bunked to maximize usage of the space, lined the walls. A musty smell wafted through the air as Andrij grabbed his gear. It wasn’t much—his spear and shield, a canteen, wash kit, iron pot, hatchet, and his furs—but it would be the difference between life and death in the wilds. Boz had sent him on journeys to nearby villages before. This, though, was far further, and he did not want Valentyn mocking him for forgetting the essentials.
As they finished, Mykyta tossed him a hunk of bread. “Doubt you’ve eaten, so you can take some of mine. Can’t have you collapsing on us, can we?”
Andrij devoured it in seconds, yet his hunger wasn’t satisfied. Though Valentyn was retrieving the food for the trip, he knew meals on the trail would be even lighter than the measly rations Boz let the guards have. Most warriors had farms of their own around the city, but all twenty of the king’s guard had been taken from other villages. They were at his mercy.
“Ready?” Mykyta asked, throwing his bag over his shoulder and smiling boyishly.
Andrij swallowed but nodded. “This isn’t how I thought today would go, but I guess we don’t have much of a choice?”
Mykyta chuckled. “Do we ever? C’mon. We can’t let Valentyn eat all the food before we get there!”
He ran out of the quarters, but Andrij lagged, taking in one last look of the place that had been his home for five years. It was stupid to miss it after Boz had forced him to join the guard. He knew that. Still, a longing gripped his heart—a longing for home, both this one and the one that he’d left so long ago. Soon…
But he’d waited long enough. So, after running his fingers across his bed and whispering a prayer to Perun and Jaryło, he stepped into the winter day.
Chapter 3
GODS, SPRING CANNOT COME SOON ENOUGH.
Andrij winced as he swiped at his frozen brow. Gusts of snow blurred his vision as he rode behind Valentyn, barely able to see his mentor mere strides ahead. The blizzard had caught them by surprise on the second day of their journey. They were nearing the Wyzra River and had intended to cross it before nightfall, but the storm had slowed their trot to a slow walk.
“How far until the Wyzra?” Andrij shouted into the winds.
Valentyn glanced over his shoulder, his beard more white than brown. “You’ll know when ya start sinkin’!”
That’s reassuring.
Andrij’s teeth chattered as his fingers froze against the reins. In his life on the farm, he had spent plenty of nights outside in the frigid winter, but this storm had him in a shock. Neither his furs nor his woolen cloak fended off the gales. Even blinking hurt his face. Still, Oleh pushed on.
“Good boy,” Andrij mumbled, leaning into his neck. Blizzard or not, Oleh felt like a furnace beneath the thin pad between him and the horse. That warmth was the only thing keeping his consciousness from slipping away.
Somewhere behind, Kazymyr huffed and whined, but Andrij lacked the energy to look. Mykyta could handle him. He may have been obnoxious, but Mykyta was among the best riders in the guard.
Then someone screamed.
Andrij spun Oleh, sliding his spear from his back as he stared into the sea of snow. “Mykyta?” he asked. “Mykyta!”
No answer came.
Valentyn pulled alongside him with a sigh. “He can’t even deal with a bit o’ snow?”
Without a reply, Andrij pushed Oleh toward the sound. He couldn’t feel his spear’s wooden shaft in his numb hand, but he had to be ready to fight. Mykyta rarely went down, and he never fell quiet.
The woods revealed nothing. Between the snow and setting sun, the ground was barely visible, let alone the wide area Mykyta could have traveled through the trees. Only hoofprints and the occasional paw marked the snow, and even the places they’d traversed minutes before were covered in a fresh layer of white.
“Where did he go?” Andrij asked himself before shouting for Mykyta again. His voice was just drowned by the storm. There was no sign of either rider or mount anywhere, and when he turned to find Valentyn again, his mentor was gone.
Not good…
Pushing Oleh into a trot, he rushed back toward where he’d seen Valentyn last. The old warrior and Viktor were slower, especially with the snow, but Andrij found only their tracks when he returned. He followed them west, toward the setting sun, and down a slope that forced Oleh to slow. Each step was unsteady, threatening to send them both into the snow—a death sentence in the winter darkness.
“Valentyn!” he called. “Mykyta!”
A gust sent a shiver down Andrij’s spine, and he groaned as he wrapped his furs tighter. It was no use. They needed to make camp. They needed to rest, eat, and find warmth around a fire. Instead, they were wandering without direction, looking for a foolish guard who was probably playing a cruel joke.
Then, as the ground leveled and Dadźbóg’s light dipped beneath the horizon, another cry pierced the air.
“Go!” Andrij ordered Oleh, pushing him into a canter. His heart hammered his chest, but he focused only on the source of the noise ahead.
Three figures appeared. One writhed on the ground as the others clashed amid a gro
wing pool of blood.
“Valentyn!” Andrij shouted as his mentor reeled back with ax and shield ready, staring down a dark creature. Black liquid spewed from the holes where its eyes should have been, and its entire human-like body was covered in decaying flesh.
Demon…
“Flank it!” Valentyn ordered.
Andrij glanced at Mykyta, who whimpered in a patch of red snow. “What about Mykyta?”
“Survive first!”
The demon hissed and attacked. It was faster than anything Andrij had seen, and before Valentyn could shout again, it crashed into his shield, slashing his arms with its claws. That spurred Andrij on. He swept around to the demon’s right and readied his spear. Here goes nothing.
“Now, Andrij!”
He charged as the demon slammed Valentyn down and bit at his neck, only held back by Valentyn’s large shield. It snarled, but Andrij’s mentor was strong. With a mighty shout, he threw the beast off him—right into Oleh’s path.
Andrij grinned as he drove his spear through its chest at full gallop. The demon shrieked but did not fall, and horror swept through Andrij as it rushed after him. He swore under his breath. Despite Oleh’s speed, it followed close behind. The only weapons he had left were a hatchet and hunting knife.
It’s nothing more than a beast, he told himself. You’ve hunted wolf and bear. A demon is no threat.
Sending Oleh on, he leaped to the ground and crouched behind his shield. Valentyn had struggled against the demon, but if he could hold it long enough for his mentor to join him, it would be two against one. He liked those odds.
The demon lunged as Andrij slid his hunting blade free. A crack tore through the air and his arm ached, but he held against its weight. All his training rushed through his mind as they fought. When the demon spun and struck, he dodged and kept his shield between them. His knife was too short to reach the beast’s head, but it was enough to damage its forearms, making it screech each time it dared to get close.
Come on Valentyn!
Backing down another slope, Andrij gulped down every breath. He’d skirmished against bandits and animals, but this demon was unlike any of them. It never slowed, even with a spear sticking through its sternum. His only chance was to stab it in the head. But how?
The Rider in the Night Page 2