by K L Conger
“What happens now, Nikolai?” Inga asked.
She turned to see Nikolai looking as grim as she felt. He watched Magnus being dragged away as well. “Now, we make war on Wendon. Ivan is angry they’re still flying Magnus’s standard. In the morning, we shell the city with canon.” He glanced from Yehvah to Inga. “You should both get some rest. It will be a long day.”
“For you, more than us,” Yehvah said. Inga thought she detected a quaver in the other woman’s voice. “Promise you’ll be careful tomorrow, Nikolai. It will be a dangerous campaign.”
Nikolai nodded gravely. “Yes, it will be.”
THE NEXT DAY, NIKOLAI sat his horse at the front of the Russian line. He still stood two versts back from the walls, mostly because Ivan planned to use cannon as a first line of attack. The forward scouts reported that most of the people inside Wendon hid in the old castle. Ivan planned to shell the walls long enough to get his troops inside. From there, they would need to take down the castle, which would be far harder to infiltrate than the outer walls.
The order rang out. The first boom of mortars deafened Nikolai. The cannon balls crashed first when they left the guns and second when they crashed into the walls. As Nikolai assumed, it didn’t take long to penetrate the outer barrier of the city.
By midafternoon, he led troops into the city through large holes in the walls.
He, in tandem with five other generals, led men up to the gates of the old castle. They simultaneously gave the order for the men to rush the gates.
Nikolai sat his horse while hordes of men parted around him, running toward them. Tiny explosions, much smaller than the cannons, came from the castle and dozens of Russian men fell simultaneously.
Nikolai's eyes widened in surprise. What caused that? Several minutes and several dozen small explosions later, Nikolai understood. The people of Wendon, hiding in the castle, fired harquebuses at the approaching Russians. They fired and fired and fired, taking down great masses of Russian soldiers. No one realized they possessed so much powder. This battle, it seemed, would not be as swift as Ivan hoped.
BY EVENING, NIKOLAI received a message saying the Tsar would venture inside the walls of Wendon. He’d been told the people of Wendon castle still held their own and wanted to conduct a display to crumble their morale.
Nikolai stood in the shadow of Wendon's walls as the Tsar ascended a small dais set up within clear view of the castle. Ivan sat down on the ornately gilded chair supplied for him. When he’d been comfortably seated, wrapped in thick skins, the streltsi marched a prisoner in to stand before him. George Wilke, the famous defender of Volar, was well known and much loved by the Livonian people.
Large, sharp stakes, taller than a man and as big around as both Nikolai's wrists together stood in front of the dais. This demonstration would be perfectly visible from the windows of the castle, which Ivan knew.
Ivan’s men hoisted Wilke up by his arms and slammed his chest down on the spikes, impaling him for all the people of Wendon to see. He would die slowly sometime in the next few days with all of them watching. Nikolai could not close his eyes without being labeled a traitor. He did not have the ability to shut his ears. He watched, glad he did not breakfast this morning, and telling his empty stomach to keep from heaving.
Once George Wilke hung groaning in agony, Ivan stood and raised his arms. "Aim the cannon at the castle walls!" He screamed. "Fire at close range until we get in."
AFTER THREE DAYS OF cannon fire, the castle walls had finally crumbled. Nikolai did not relish going inside. Ivan practically told his soldiers to rape and kill the survivors for their refusal to submit to his authority.
Popov, Nikolai’s first under-general, cantered up on his horse. "They're ready, General Petrov. The order will be given momentarily."
Nikolai raised a hand to the younger man in acknowledgment, and the man wheeled his horse around and galloped back to his place in line.
Sure enough, a moment later, the report of a gun from up the line sent the entire Russian army forward. Because they stood so close to the castle and so much debris stood in their way — the kind horses would trip on — they'd all dismounted and gone on foot. Horses would prove cumbersome within the walls anyway.
Leaping through holes in the walls, clambering over piles of loose brick and debris, the Russian army poured into the castle like a swarm of locusts, much as they had at Khazan. Nikolai climbed and leapt in a halfhearted fashion, letting his men outstrip him.
As Nikolai moved into the castle structure, a deafening roar filled his ears. Heat and noise and pain exploded all around him. An unseen force picked him up off his feet and flung him through the air. His shoulder blades slammed into something hard and unforgiving. Sharp pain began at the base of his spine and radiated outward as heat and fire filled his senses. Then, he saw nothing.
INGA MADE HER WAY CAREFULLY over the lumpy terrain. Dead bodies, wounded soldiers, and rubble from the explosion spread in equal parts across the ground.
She and Yehvah, going through their daily routines in the war camp, received news that, just as the Russian army entered the city, an explosion rocked its walls.
It took a great deal of time for anyone to figure out what happened. The second part of the army—too far back to be affected by the explosion, forced their way into the castle and sent news of what they’d found.
The survivors in the castle decided to blow themselves up at the last moment. They realized the castle would fall to the Russians, so they filled the cellars with powder, took communion, and knelt in rows, by families. One of Magnus’s men, a man called Boismann, waited until the Russian army burst through the breach in the walls before throwing a flaming torch into the cellars.
Unfortunately, not all the survivors in the castle died in the explosion. The more violent members of Ivan’s army now meted out vengeance against them through rape, torture, and eventual murder.
Inga and Yehvah waited all day for news from Nikolai. It never came. Yehvah told Inga as night fell that she meant to go look for Nikolai with the first light of morning. Inga could hardly allow Yehvah to undertake such a dangerous task alone, so of course she’d come.
They’d tiptoed from the camp in the pre-dawn light, heading for the city, specifically for the ancient castle at its heart, where the explosion originated.
Inga and Yehvah made it inside Wendon’s walls, but Inga didn’t wish to go any closer to the castle, where the army busily exploited the survivors. With Ivan’s blessing, of course. He practically encouraged his men to excesses.
If they didn’t find Nikolai in the rubble out here, they’d be making ever closer circles toward the castle. Yehvah wouldn’t give up until they found him.
“What do you see, Inga?” Yehvah called from atop a pile of rubble twenty arshins away.
The two of them split up to cover more ground, agreeing to stay within the other’s line of sight. The open space around the castle walls however, proved quite spacious. The two women could put a lot of ground between the two of them while remaining in sight.
Yehvah called to Inga every ten to twenty minutes since they’d begun their search. Inga knew Yehvah did it to keep the two of them in communication, as well as because she harbored the hope that perhaps Inga found something, even if she hadn’t. As if Inga wouldn’t call her the instant she noticed anything resembling Nikolai.
Inga understood, of course. She wished Yehvah wouldn’t yell so loudly, though. The battlefield held few threats right now, but she feared capturing attention of the wrong sort by calling out so brazenly.
“Nothing,” Inga raised her voice loudly enough for Yehvah to hear. “You?”
Yehvah didn’t answer but shook her head sadly in the distance before going back to her search.
Of course, the battlefield didn’t exactly sound silent. While plenty of corpses littered it, an equal number of soldiers were injured, yet hadn’t succumbed to their wounds. They lay groaning and delirious among the dead. Inga’s heart ached for th
em, and she wanted to help, but she’d brought nothing to tend them. Not even water. Few held any chance of survival. Even if someone dragged them back to the camp to see the physicians, their injuries were too catastrophic to recover from.
That’s what worried Inga most. They’d waited all day yesterday for Nikolai to return after news of the explosion reached the camp. Granted, many of the soldiers hadn’t returned to camp, instead spending their time on exploits in the castle. Nikolai was not the kind of man to participate in such things.
Even from a military standpoint, Nikolai should have been one of the first soldiers back to the camp. As one of the Tsar’s highest generals, he should have returned to make a report. Yet, they’d heard nothing from him.
Yehvah would keep searching no matter what. She would not be convinced of Nikolai’s health unless Inga could prove it. Inga would have to be the more logical of the two women in this situation.
And yet...as soon as Inga heard about the explosion, something in her stomach clenched down hard. Logical or not, she feared for Nikolai. She couldn’t get past the fact that they hadn’t received any messages from him. If the Tsar sent him on some errand or other mission, he’d have sent word. His silence felt more foreboding than anything else.
Even now, the sun began to set. Darkness dropped its cloak slowly over the night. Inga didn’t know if the moon planned to show itself tonight. If they searched only by starlight, they would have no hope of identifying Nikolai on the field. They wouldn’t be able to tell rubble from bodies, much less differentiate individual features.
They didn’t bring a torch or lantern or anything to build a fire with—since they’d left in the morning, they hadn’t needed one—and Inga wouldn’t want to anyway. A fire in the middle of a dark battlefield would serve as a beacon to anyone who saw it. When night fell, they’d have to find some place to stop and continue their search with the dawn.
“Inga! Here!”
Inga turned and peered into the falling darkness. Yehvah stood atop a tall pile of debris, looking down at something. As Inga watched, she disappeared down the other side.
Inga ran—stumbled truly—as quickly as the debris allowed her to. She reached the mound and climbed, ignoring her popping shoulders. When she made it to the pinnacle, she balanced on unsteady footing, looking down at the scene below, her stomach growing sicker with each breath. The cold would swallow her whole this day, despite the warmth of the season.
Nikolai lay on the ground on his back. A wagon-sized chunk of debris from the castle wall covered him from the waist down. Inga noticed a small pool of blood beneath his back, extending up toward his shoulder blades. The small size of the blood pool did not fool her, though. Most of the blood, most of his injuries, were most likely concealed beneath the boulder. It may have even held the blood inside his body. Inga had seen it before. Even if they moved the boulder—doubtful, as Inga and Yehvah couldn’t hope to shift so much weight on their own, and she doubted anyone from the army would agree to help—moving it would probably make him bleed out more quickly. She doubted he’d survive such a thing, much less transportation back to Moscow.
Yehvah knelt beside Nikolai, taking his head and shoulders in her arms. She curled her body down over him and gently brushed her forehead with his.
Inga didn’t think he could possibly still be alive. Yet, as she made her way carefully down the mound of rubble toward them, she saw his lips move. As she drew closer, she heard his deep voice. Leaping the last few feet to the ground, his words became clearer.
“Is Inga with you?”
“Yes, Nikolai,” Inga said breathlessly, sliding down onto her knees beside him, opposite Yehvah, and taking his hand. “We’ve been searching for you.”
A small smile ghosted across Nikolai’s face. “I’m glad you found me.”
Yehvah sobbed softly. She opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it again, overcome by emotion.
Nikolai reached up and put a hand on Yehvah’s cheek. “Don’t cry. I know the two of you can’t exactly strike out on your own. Try to find an excuse to return to Moscow. Once there, don’t leave again. If Ivan goes on another campaign, find a reason to stay behind. The war trail is no place for either of you. Taras is no longer here to protect you. Soon, I will not be either.”
Yehvah cried harder, drops of water sliding down her cheeks and freefalling from her chin onto Nikolai’s face. “Don’t say such things, Nikolai. You’ll be fine. We’ll get you back to camp and the physicians will see to you.”
Tears filled Inga’s eyes. A parade of denial, this was. Nikolai’s admonishment to stay off the war trail sounded ignorant, even for him. Yehvah remained the palace’s Head Maid. Inga, her trusted right hand. If the Tsar commanded they go on the war trail, then go they would.
And despite Yehvah’s protests that Nikolai would live, the tears pouring down her cheeks said she knew better.
Nikolai peered up into Yehvah’s face, his eyes looked both present and faraway at the same time. “I’m sorry to leave you, Yehvah. I’m sorry I left you alone all those years ago. I didn’t possess the strength or courage to stand up to my father, or others like him. We could have enjoyed so much more happiness than we did.”
Yehvah shook her head. “I’ve experienced a lifetime of happiness with you this past decade, Nikolai. Perhaps it was late in coming, but it came.”
Nikolai nodded and another sad smile flitted across his face.
Inga’s heart broke a little.
Nikolai’s gaze shifted to Inga. “Inga, you should go find Taras.”
Inga gasped. Taras? What brought this on? “He left so long ago now, Nikolai,” she said quietly. “Surely you don’t think he still waits for me in Siberia?”
“I honestly don’t know.” Nikolai dissolved into a fit of coughs and a small amount of blood spewed out, landing on his lips. “Perhaps he does,” he continued when he got the coughing under control. “Perhaps he doesn’t. You owe it to yourself and him to find out. Nothing remains here for you, or in Moscow. Despite this victory, Ivan’s hopes for expansion slip away day by day. The world is moving on from him. It won’t accept a dictator of his kind anymore. We are left with only a mad and angry Tsar, now. Take Yehvah with you. Leave the Kremlin for good. At least you’d both be out from under Ivan’s influence and other boyars like him.”
“And faced with a whole new set of dangers outside the walls,” Yehvah protested softly, without conviction.
Nikolai’s eyes shifted back to her. “Very true. Only you can decide the perils you wish to face.” He reached up with his other hand and put it on Yehvah’s other cheek, cupping her face between his palms.
The movement drew Inga’s attention to blood sliding down his arms. She didn’t see any cuts on his hands or forearms, so it must have come from lower down on his body and leaked onto his extremities.
The night grew darker by the minute, showing more stars above. In another few minutes, Inga wouldn’t be able to see the blood on Nikolai’s arms at all.
“Will you kiss a boyar under the stars tonight, Yehvah? Will you walk with him by the river? Will you run away and marry him to spite his father?”
Inga had only a vague idea of the events Nikolai spoke of, yet it wasn’t hard to guess. He and Yehvah were lovers when they were young. Court politics and outside influences tore them apart. He must be speaking of things that happened between them. Private things from before Inga came to the Kremlin.
Yehvah nodded vigorously in the darkness. “Always.”
Nikolai’s eyes fluttered closed and both his hands dropped heavily from Yehvah’s face.
“Nikolai?” Yehvah whispered.
He didn’t answer and Inga shut her eyes, releasing tears down her cheeks.
“Nikolai!” Yehvah screamed. She leaned her body over his, clutching him to her chest, wracked with sobs.
Inga’s walls crumbled further.
Chapter 27
January 1565, Siberia
Taras slopped some more stew in
to the bowl and handed it to Nikolai. The boy grew close to puberty now and ate more than Taras did most days. Strange to see such a reversal in life.
Nikolai eagerly accepted the stew and dug in as though he hadn’t eaten in days. Taras allowed himself a small smile before turning to his own supper.
The wind howled ferociously around the cabin, no doubt blowing in a blizzard. That’s why the two of them locked themselves inside so early today. The weather would soon become deadly. Taras penned Jasper securely in his stall in the barn. Every so often, the wind brought the sound of his frightened whinnying. Chances were, the horse simply feared the wind. He always became jumpy during storms.
Taras had secured him in a small stall, using ropes to secure his bridle and each of his legs so he couldn’t rear back in fear and harm himself.
This winter had proven harsh. Perhaps the harshest since Taras came to live in Siberia more than ten years before. More predators came into the valley, looking for food, than he’d seen in past years, so Taras kept Jasper penned up constantly. He and Nikolai stayed on their toes more than usual. Not much to be done, though. Both would be thinner come spring.
“Tell me a story, Papa,” Nikolai said, mouth full of meat. “The day is too silent.”
Taras smiled again. Nikolai said this quite often. As he aged, Taras became more introspective, but it wasn’t as though entire days passed with no speech between them. Nikolai made sure of it. If it came right down to it, Taras would as well. He mostly didn’t have to, though, because Nikolai talked a great deal.
In truth, it hadn’t been a silent day. They simply hadn’t said much for the past hour or so.
“Which story do you want to hear, Nikolai?”
Nikolai considered a moment while chewing loudly. “Tell me about my namesake, Papa. And the conquest of Khazan.”
Taras nodded, smiling. Nikolai could probably recite the story himself at this point. Taras recounted it for him at least once a week. He opened his mouth to begin when an earsplitting crack cut through the howling wind.