“That’s all?”
“That’s all.”
“How did he know you speak his tongue?”
“Lucky guess,” Kin said.
The way his shoulders caved in just slightly, and the way he looked at the sword, and the way his voice sped up when he said it . . .
Anya knew he was lying.
He knew Sigurd, somehow.
She decided to move on. Instead, she asked, “Are you from Kievan Rus’?”
“No,” he said.
“What brought you to Zmeyreka?”
He swallowed hard. “A . . . friend. I needed somewhere to go, and she brought me here.”
“She?”
“Listen, little girl—”
“My name is Anya.”
“Fine. Anya.” He bunched his shoulders. “It doesn’t matter. She’s gone now.” He motioned to the front door. “And you can go too. Try minding yer own business for once.”
Anya dragged her feet on the way out, and Kin pushed the door shut against her backside as she exited. Sigurd and his horse were gone, so Anya hurried through the golden morning light to the boarding house.
Chapter Sixteen
The great house was still and dark, even though it was already an hour past sunrise. Anya knocked on the front door; when there was no answer, she opened it and peered inside.
There was a pile of Ivans sleeping in front of the fireplace as there had been the other morning, resting on one another at various angles. Anya tiptoed past them and up the stairs. One stair creaked under her foot, and she froze as the Ivans stirred. She watched them with wide eyes, frightened they’d awaken, but then they all settled back into sleep.
Anya hurried as quietly as she could up the stairs. She wasn’t sure which room was Ivan’s, so she started easing doors open and peeking in. She found him in the second room, along with two of his brothers, all piled on the bed with feet and heads sticking out at odd places. Ivan’s head hung off the foot of the bed, and he drooled in his sleep.
With hushed shuffling, Anya crept close to Ivan and poked his face. “Ivan,” she whispered.
He didn’t stir, but one of his brothers did. Anya ducked to the floor, not wanting to be seen, and stayed there until the bed stopped creaking.
She stayed low to the floor and poked Ivan again. She didn’t whisper that time, just rammed her finger into his cheek. When that accomplished nothing, she grabbed a few strands of his hair and yanked.
“Ow!” Ivan groaned, and Anya put her hand over his mouth as his eyes opened.
“Be quiet,” Anya whispered. “Don’t wake them up.”
From under her hand, Ivan said, “Anya? What are you doing here?”
“I saw it.”
He yawned under her hand. “Saw what?”
“The dragon.”
Ivan’s sleepy eyes widened. He slid off the bed, thumping unceremoniously to the floor with a tremendous whump!
“Ivan!” Anya hissed between her teeth. “They’re going to hear you!”
He stood and brushed his pajamas off. “You saw the dragon?” He practically shouted it.
“You’re going to wake everyone up!” Anya whispered.
He looked at his closest brother. “No, I won’t. Watch.” He turned back to the bed, and before Anya could stop him, he tugged on the foot closest to him. “Dvoyka. Dvoyka! Wake up!”
The foot Ivan tugged on kicked out at him and then withdrew. A sleepy grumble issued from near the head of the bed: “Go away, Vosya.”
Ivan turned to Anya, eyebrows raised, and shrugged. “See?”
Anya was partly impressed with his brothers’ dedication to staying in bed. She stepped out of the room to give Ivan a chance to get dressed, and then they ran down the stairs. She was still wary of waking his brothers, but the rest of them were just as asleep as the ones upstairs were.
Outside, Ivan tugged on her sleeve as they walked toward the road. “So you saw the dragon?”
Anya nodded. She reached into her pocket and, after a furtive glance around, pulled the scale out for Ivan to see.
Ivan’s mouth dropped open. He reached for the scale, then pulled his hand back. “Can I touch it?”
“Sure.” Anya proffered it to him, and he took it with trembling fingers.
The scale flashed in the sunlight, catching the sunshine and staining it crimson. It reflected red bursts onto the packed road. Ivan marveled over it and whispered, “It’s beautiful.”
“Don’t let anyone see it,” Anya said, searching their surroundings for one of Ivan’s brothers. Ivan cupped the scale in his hands, also checking for intruders. When he determined no one was around, he peeked at the scale again.
“So the dragon is really here,” Ivan said.
Anya nodded. “It was in my barn, chasing the chickens! And when it ran away, it went straight through the wall.” She was a valuable member of this dragon-hunting team now. She could probably ask for more rubles. “I have to patch the hole in the barn.”
“I’ll help,” Ivan said. “Wait until my papa finds out.”
“Where is he, anyway?”
Ivan shrugged. “Probably checking for the best places for a dragon to hide.”
The front door of the house opened, and Anya snatched the scale from Ivan. She returned it to the safety of her pocket just as Marina came out, a mixing bowl full of some kind of batter under one arm.
“Vosya!” Marina called. “Oh, hello, Anya! Breakfast is almost ready, if you’re hungry.”
Anya was, but she didn’t want to waste time eating. She wanted to go patch the hole in her barn and do some chores quickly so that by the time Ivan’s papa came back, she’d be free for the day.
“Thank you, Gospozha,” Anya said. “But I have chores to do.”
“Oh dear.” Marina’s lovely face creased with disappointment, but it brightened a moment later. “Well, get something to go, then! And have Vosya help you with your chores.”
Ivan grimaced. Anya said, “Thank you!”
* * *
At Anya’s barn, Ivan measured the hole with his hands. He said “Hmm” a lot. Anya sat on the pile of hay behind him and watched his assessment of the hole.
Finally, he turned back and said, “How big was this dragon?”
Anya stood. She took two long strides, turned back, judged the distance, and took half a step forward. “This long.”
“How big around?”
She made a loop with her arms, fingertips barely touching. “Not terribly huge. Kind of like a giant snake, but with legs.”
“How many legs?”
“Two,” Anya said. “At the very front.”
“No wings?”
Anya shook her head.
Ivan turned back to the hole. “Hmm.”
“What does that mean?” Anya asked.
“It’s a lindwurm,” Ivan said.
Anya blinked. “A what?”
“A lindwurm,” Ivan repeated. “They look like giant snakes with two legs.”
“Do they have horns?”
Ivan shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess they could.”
Anya motioned toward the door. “Come on. I’ll show you the spot on the river where I saw the dragon.”
They started through the field of tall grass. The sun was bright in the sky, and little birds clung to tall grass stems and chirped at Anya and Ivan’s passing. The willow tree’s branches shifted in the soft breeze coming off the river.
Someone stood beneath the tree: a huge man wearing a winged helmet.
Anya grabbed Ivan’s arm and pulled him to a stop as Sigurd turned. His icy eyes seemed to glow from the willow’s shadow. He pointed a giant fist at Anya, and his voice rolled like thunder across the field:
“You. Come here. Now.”
The Russian out of his mouth was thick with an accent, but it was still intelligible. He hadn’t spoken any Russian when he’d tried to kill Father Drozdov and Anya in the square the other day.
Anya took a step back. There was no
way she was going to approach him. Ivan retreated with her, hand trembling as he gripped her forearm.
A bird hanging on a grass stem released a happy trill, and Sigurd whipped around completely, bear cloak flapping behind him, as he strode toward them.
“Run!” Anya yelled, and she took off across the field. Ivan was a step behind her, and then abreast, and then ahead, long legs pushing him faster.
The dense crashes of Sigurd’s enormous boots in the field grew closer behind her, getting louder, and she pumped her arms and legs faster.
Ivan rounded the corner of the barn, gone from view.
The kerchief on her head was gone. Sigurd had grabbed it. She put everything she had into one last burst of speed. If she could escape around the side of the barn, if she could hide somewhere, then maybe Sigurd would go—
Anya’s dress tightened as she reached the barn. She slowed, stopped, and skidded backwards.
Sigurd had caught her.
Chapter Seventeen
Anya couldn’t even scream. She just made a small choking sound as Sigurd yanked her to him. She tried to grasp at the barn wall, but her fingers only grazed against it. Then she was spun around roughly, and her shoulders were enveloped in enormous, hard fists, and Sigurd was squatting before her, glaring.
“Tell me where it went,” he rumbled. “Where did it go?”
The dragon. Somehow he knew it had been there.
“I—I—I don’t kn-now,” Anya stammered. She hoped Ivan stayed away. Maybe he’d get Yedsha. The fool had gotten rid of Sigurd last time.
“Don’t lie to me!” Sigurd bellowed, and he slammed his fist against the side of the barn. The wood splintered. “Tell me!”
Anya shook, unable to stop herself. She wondered if Sigurd recognized her as the same child who had thrown the horseshoe at his face. She hoped not.
Sigurd’s frown grew even deeper, if that was possible. “Maybe a swim in the river will refresh your memory.” He stood, grabbing her by the back of her dress as he did.
“I don’t know!” Anya screamed. “Let go of me!”
Sigurd turned and dragged her away from the barn. He crashed through the tall grass. Anya dangled from his fist. Her dress tightened around her neck. Her heels gouged ditches in the soil as she struggled to stand, to push up, to run away.
She reached up and grabbed his wrist with her hands. Metal bracers covered his skin, leaving no vulnerable spots. She moved her fingers up and down, searching for the end of the bracers, and finally found where they stopped and left his fingers exposed.
Anya grabbed one of his fingers with both of her hands and tried yanking it back. It didn’t move. His grip was stone.
Sigurd dragged her under the shade of the willow tree and said, “Hope the dragon’s hungry.”
She yelped as he grabbed her under one arm, then moved his other hand to her knee. Sigurd picked her up and, with a grunt, threw her into the river.
Anya put her hands out and squeezed her eyes shut, holding her breath in preparation. She knew how to swim, and she was a strong enough swimmer to make it to the other side of the river. The Sogozha had undercurrents in places, though. The village wasn’t unaccustomed to deaths by drowning.
Arms stretched out before her, eyes shut, breath held, Anya was wholly unprepared for what she hit when she landed.
She slammed hard into dry sandy dirt, coming down on arms that hadn’t been braced hard enough for connection with solid earth. Her face hit the dirt; she was lucky her eyes were shut.
Anya shoved up, gasping in surprise. Had he thrown her all the way across the river?
When she opened her eyes, she saw that no, he had not. She stared at a wall of water that shimmered and lapped at the air before her. Above her, the water wall extended to twice her height. She spun and saw a path back to shore, lined on both sides with water, like a canyon lined with rock.
Movement to her left drew her eye. A large fish swam by on the other side of the water wall. It watched her with one eye, then flipped its tail to dart away. The water from the fish’s tail flip splashed on her and startled her out of her daze.
This was magic, and she needed to get out of the river before the magic ran out.
Sigurd stood at the entrance of the water ravine, his back to her. Beyond him stood another giant man who rivaled Sigurd in sheer mass. His face was obscured almost entirely by a huge beard and mustache, and a domed helmet with a point on top came down to his eyebrows. His armor looked like hundreds of small metal rectangles attached to somehow make them flexible; every time he moved, his armor flowed and clicked.
He had a sheathed sword on his belt that caught the sunlight and shone. His hands were in the air, artfully manipulating strings. Watching him really was like watching a gusli player. He made motions like tying strings into bundles, then tacked them to the firmament above him in the same way garlands were hung at the festivals in Mologa.
He brought his gauntleted hands down, and Anya prepared herself for the walls of water to crash down on her. But they stayed up, just as solid as when he had held the strings himself. He put his hand on his sword’s pommel but didn’t draw it.
Sigurd had no sword to draw, but he did have a pair of hand axes on either side of his belt. He pulled them off and balanced one in each hand. “This is none of your business,” Sigurd said to the man.
“I disagree.” The man took a step forward. “I am Dobrynya Nikitich, a bogatyr of the empire, and I have sworn to protect the citizens of this land. Now . . . you will leave this village.”
Anya’s eyes widened. Dobrynya Nikitich? Hadn’t Ivan told her Dobrynya was his favorite bogatyr because the hero defeated foes with his intelligence? Ivan hadn’t mentioned Dobrynya having water magic.
A chuckle dripped out of Sigurd’s snarly mouth. “Are you going to fight me?”
Dobrynya advanced another step. “I hope I don’t have to.” He looked past Sigurd, and his eyes met Anya’s. “Little girl, are you hurt?”
She shook her head and said nothing, afraid a loud sound would rupture the magic.
“Your friend is out on the road,” Dobrynya said. “Come out and join him when you can.” His voice was like thunder, but the warm rolling of a welcomed summer storm. Sigurd’s was the rumble of a winter squall.
Dobrynya turned his attention back to Sigurd. “We were discussing your evacuation from this village.”
“Never,” Sigurd said. “Not without the dragon.”
“Tsar Kazimir has an outstanding bounty for any dragon brought to him alive,” Dobrynya said. “If you’d like the entire reward, we could—”
“Ha!” Sigurd spat out a laugh like it tasted foul. “I don’t want your tsar’s reward, and I leave no dragon alive.”
Dobrynya frowned. “I cannot allow you to take this dragon. It is my sacred duty.”
“I don’t care.” Sigurd tilted his head to the side, and his neck popped. “Fight me, and I’ll show you what dragon blood can do.”
Sigurd spun and descended into the magical dry spot in the river, coming at Anya. He put each of his axes up and dragged them along the water walls, cutting long gouges that poured water in.
Anya backed up until she had nowhere to go. She judged the space on either side of Sigurd, ready to time a run at escape, when a column of water blasted sideways from the wall and hammered Sigurd in the face.
Sigurd slammed to the side, and Anya took her opportunity. She ran, feet slipping on the now-wet river bottom. Sigurd swung his axe at the water column, cleaving a piece off, and he grabbed at Anya as she scrambled by.
His fingers grazed her muddy leg, but she slipped away.
She waded as fast as she could out of the river. Dobrynya walked toward the shore, sword in one hand and the other pulling threads.
Before Anya could clear Dobrynya, one of Sigurd’s axes whooshed past her, somersaulting toward the bogatyr. Dobrynya artfully yanked a magic thread with only his thumb, and a ball of water intercepted the axe, knocking it off its pat
h. It went wide, sinking into the trunk of the willow tree with a thump and a splash.
Sigurd tore out of the river as Dobrynya pulled his handful of water threads and the canyon collapsed. The water crashed as it came together, and a moment later, Sigurd’s remaining axe crashed against Dobrynya’s sword.
Anya hid behind the willow tree and watched the two giants hack and swing at each other. She was mesmerized but terrified. What if Sigurd won?
Dobrynya fought with practiced movements and the ease of a man who spent years learning his art. Sigurd’s attacks were wilder, though still practiced. Dobrynya fought like a man. Sigurd fought like a beast.
I’ll show you what dragon blood can do.
Anya shuddered. He didn’t actually mean he drank dragon’s blood, did he?
Sigurd turned and ran at the tree. Anya ducked behind it, terrified he was coming for her again.
Water tore out of the river in balls, splashing as they slammed into Sigurd on the other side of the tree. Some of the water sprinkled Anya’s arms.
Sigurd grunted, and then his axe came out of the tree’s trunk with a wet rip. Metal clanged against metal, and a battle between the two warriors erupted around the tree. An axe swing missed Anya’s head by a finger’s width.
Anya threw herself away from the fight and turned to run when the willow tree moaned. The branches above her shuddered and whipped from side to side, as though the tree were angry for the damage that had been done to it.
Sigurd and Dobrynya realized at the same time that the tree was moving. They each hesitated, looking up, and then Sigurd swung his axe at Dobrynya.
Before the axe could make contact, a whiplike willow branch smacked the weapon out of Sigurd’s hand.
“Augh!” he grunted, and swung his remaining axe at the nearest branch. That one dodged his blow, then wrapped around his wrist and shook the axe loose while four other branches wrapped around his ankles, other wrist, and waist.
Dobrynya was suffering a similar fate. The willow pulled his sword from him and knocked him back, picking him up by his ankles a moment later and hanging him upside down. Both warriors struggled in the air, but the willow reinforced their leafy bonds as they squirmed. Sigurd was almost entirely wrapped in branches.
Anya and the Dragon Page 10