19. Gathering an Army

Chapter nineteen

Gathering an Army

Han

T hings moved quickly once Prince Radomir joined our cause. The tsar sent messengers around the country, calling men to meet us at the prince's fortified castle, a day's ride from his dacha. We moved into the castle before the first snow, and the recruits began arriving just as a thin sheet of white spread over the ground.

Upon their arrival, Tsar Borislav and the prince locked themselves in a room and began drawing up campaign plans, leaving me with the overwhelming task of organizing the men into units.

I sat in a small room inside the front gate. Outside the door, an endless line of men stretched down the road. My chest swelled with pride. So many. So many had come.

"Full name and town of origin," I said to the next arrival, a slight man with a crooked nose.

"Nikolai Igorovich of Sobralen, your highness."

I fought back a laugh. "I'm not the prince, sir. I'm Han Antonovich. Soldier. Former soldier," I corrected, seeing the man's eyes snag on my arm. "Any combat experience?"

"No, sir."

"Not a problem. We'll train you." The prince's clerk was assisting me. I pointed to a spot on his paper. "Put him here. Nikolai Igorovich, you'll be reporting to Captain Matvey Il'ich. Last I saw him, he was in the smithy. He'll get you settled in."

The next few hours passed similarly, men stating names and locations until their faces all began to bleed together. I rubbed my hand over my face as another recruit opened the door.

"Name?" I asked, not opening my eyes.

"Yakov Aleksandrovich of Selyik."

"Yakov!" I looked into the grinning face of my friend. "I didn't expect you so soon." Behind him was a crowd of men from Selyik, my tenants Pyotr and Yegor at the front.

"Think I'd miss the fight? Soon as we got word where to meet, we left."

"Thank you," I said earnestly. "All of you." I raised a brow at Yegor Miloshovich. The older man had always made his opinion of Tsar Borislav clear. He believed Miroslav was the rightful ruler by birth, and any rebellion was indefensible.

Yegor shrugged in response to my unasked question. "Birthright or no, any tsar that can't keep his army under control is no tsar of mine. If you're looking for justice for Marya Ivanovna and your wife, I'll follow you."

Pyotr took off his ushanka, holding the fur hat to his chest. "I hope you know how sorry we are, Han, to hear about Mila Dmitrievna's illness. I pray she'll recover quickly."

I swallowed a lump in my throat. It grated on me, lying to my men, and I still hadn't forgiven Mila for leaving. How dare she put herself in danger like that? It was my responsibility to protect her, not the other way around. She should be safe at home, not in the middle of Miroslav's court, risking her life.

I tamped down my emotions. "Thank you, friends." To the clerk, I said, "Yakov Aleksandrovich served with me at Barbezht. He'll be quartered with me until the tsar decides what to do with him."

Thirty men had come from Selyik, all men I knew in some way or another. I spread them out as much as possible. If a unit took a large number of casualties, I wanted to be sure the losses didn't disproportionately affect any town or region.

Once the men from Selyik were assigned, there was a lull in the arrivals. I clapped the clerk on the back. "Take a break, but don't go far. I want to see my men settled. If anyone else comes while I'm gone, send someone for me."

I directed the men to their assigned places. I'd placed both Pyotr and Yegor under Captain Fyodor Yakovlevich, and I wanted to personally introduce them.

Fyodor Yakovlevich was the young commander of the prince's guard, a light-skinned man with a stern face and a short, dark beard. We found him in the stables, talking to a young woman. The captain looked up at our approach.

"Han Antonovich. Bringing me new recruits?"

"Yegor Miloshovich and Pyotr Vasilievich, captain. They were my father's tenants before me, and you won't find more loyal men anywhere."

He studied them for a moment. "Combat experience?"

"Spider Wars, sir. All three. We served together driving the Drakra east," Yegor said.

"Good. You can help me turn these boys into soldiers. I'll show you to your barracks." He nodded at me, Yakov, and the young woman. "Afternoon."

As they left, the woman looked me up and down with deep-set eyes. "You must be the man who talked my father into a rebellion. He doesn't often change his mind. I imagine you're quite persuasive."

I bowed. "My apologies, princess. I didn't realize his highness had family in the castle."

She laughed heartily, her long black braid swaying as she tipped her head back. "I'm no princess, sir. Blood Bastard Lada Radomirovna."

I'd never met a Blood Bastard, a magic-wielding illegitimate child of the Sanctioned. This woman didn't look dangerous, but appearances meant little when it came to magic. I'd seen the power of the Blood already. I bowed again, wary of offending her.

She turned to Yakov, a smile playing on her full lips. "But you haven't introduced your friend."

"May I introduce Yakov Aleksandrovich, another survivor of Barbezht?" Yakov was staring at her, transfixed. I elbowed him.

He flinched. "A pleasure to meet you, Lada Radomirovna."

They stared at each other. After a moment, I cleared my throat. "If you'll excuse us, Lada Radomirovna, I need to see Yakov settled in." I bowed once more and grabbed Yakov's arm, pulling him away.

As we stepped out into the frozen courtyard, I let go of him. "Your tongue almost hit the floor, your mouth was so wide."

He glanced back over his shoulder. "Fuck. I've never seen anyone so…" He shook his head, at a loss for words.

I rolled my eyes. She was beautiful, with full curves, red-brown skin, and a braid that reached her waist. And he was out of his depth with her. "You should keep your distance. Her father's a prince. Even if she's not legitimate, I doubt he'd let just anyone court her."

"I was just looking." He glowered at me.

"Anyway, she's a Blood Bastard. If her father doesn't kill you for the impertinence, she could." Not that she'd been opposed to the attention. In fact, she'd seemed inclined to encourage him.

He waggled his eyebrows. "I'd die happy."

We'd reached my quarters. I pushed open the door. "I need to get back to the gate. I'll leave you to get settled in. And stay away from the Blood Bastard, durachok," I teased.

"No promises."

***

I wound through the castle grounds, dodging men as they moved from tent to tent. The sharp tang of snow mingled with the smoky smell of cooking fires. My stomach rumbled, but supper would have to wait until the meeting with the tsar was over. I pulled open one of the enormous castle doors and cast a longing glance back at the men on their way to supper. Hopefully the meeting wouldn't take long.

Yakov caught up to me as I strode down the hall. "What's going on?"

"I know as much as you." I brushed snow from my sleeves and nodded a greeting at Fyodor Yakovlevich, who reached the war room as we did. "Any idea what this is about, captain?"

"Not an inkling. The scouts have been quiet, as far as I know." He opened the door to let us pass.

We were the last to arrive, save for the tsar and the prince. The other men waited around a table covered with maps. As I took my seat, the opposite door opened, and the tsar entered, followed closely by Prince Radomir. Everyone stood.

"Be seated, friends." The tsar sat and waited for the scraping chairs to fall silent. "I've received word from the capital. My brother is aware that I'm in the country and raising an army. He's been informed of our location and will be bringing not just the army, but the entire court with him for battle."

My heart leapt to my throat. Was Mila the source of this news? Was she in danger? I shook myself. Surely I would have been told if something happened to her.

He looked around the table, meeting the eyes of each man. "We must prepare for an attack. Radomir and I have been deliberating, but we look to you for counsel."

"With the time until Miroslav arrives," Radomir said, "We can choose where to make our stand and fortify it."

Matvey Il'ich spoke. "Respectfully, your highness, the castle already makes a strong defense. Wouldn't it be better to use the time to prepare the men, instead of taking them from their training to fortify a second position?"

The prince gave him a withering look. "The tsar and I can fortify the battlefield without taking the soldiers from their training. We must have a place to retreat if the battle goes against us."

"That was my mistake—one of them—at Barbezht," Borislav said. "We had nowhere to retreat when the tide of battle turned."

Fyodor Yakovlevich pointed to a spot on one of the maps. "These hills would be defensible. If we camped here, we'd have the sun to our backs in the morning."

"Why wait for morning to attack?" asked a commander whose name I couldn't remember. "We can attack as soon as they arrive, take advantage of their exhaustion from the march."

"No!" the tsar said sharply. The room fell silent. "No, I will not host a surprise attack, not when he brings my court with him. I have allies at court whose safety I will not risk. We will wage open battle, honorably, on a field of our choosing."

The prince folded his hands on the table. "As the Prophet tells us, ‘He who wages war on the innocent has no place in Otets' inheritance.'"

"But we are agreed?" Borislav asked. "We leave the castle before my brother arrives?"

A murmur of assent went through the room.

"Good." The tsar leaned forward. "Yakovlevich, I'd like your men to take the vanguard, and I can lead the next wave. Then—"

Prince Radomir cleared his throat. "Your majesty, with all due respect, you will not be leading anyone on the field."

"I beg your pardon?" Only the tightening of the tsar's eyes betrayed any emotion. His voice was deathly calm. "You do not lead this army, cousin. Sanctioned you may be, but you are not the Heir."

"Nor are you, Borislav," the prince said, unperturbed. My breath caught at his audacity. "Not yet. And if you lose your life on the battlefield, our Disinheritance ends where it began. Your place is in the camp. ‘Let the Heir not abandon his brothers in foolish enterprise,' as the Prophet wrote."

Their eyes locked for a moment, the room thick with tension. The tsar sighed. "You are right." He looked around the table. "I would not ask you to fight for a cause that I myself would not willingly die for, but if I fall, this was all for naught. I must trust you to fight for me."

The talk turned back to organization of the battle lines, and my mind wandered to Mila. Had she been the one to discover Miroslav's plans? If she had, how? I pictured her crouching in a shadowy corner, hidden behind a curtain, listening as Miroslav plotted with a room full of faceless advisors. The corner of my mouth twitched upward at the thought. No, the reality was likely much more mundane, if no less dangerous. Perhaps she'd made a friend at court who worked directly for Miroslav, or maybe she'd overheard something while working for the tsarina.

However she'd heard the news, if she was the tsar's informant, she'd undoubtedly risked her life to pass it along to us. I clenched my fist, focusing on the feel of my nails digging into my palm. I shouldn't be thinking about it. She would be fine. Even considering otherwise felt like ill-wishing.

I forced my attention back to the tsar, who was speaking. "Tomorrow morning, Radomir and I will begin preparations on the battlefield. Matvey, could you prepare a sufficient guard to accompany us? Han and Fyodor, I'd appreciate your insight on the field, if you would join us as well."

***

I shivered, wrapping my warm shuba tighter around me. Why the tsar thought we needed to be out so early, I didn't know. Not that I had difficulty waking, but a hot breakfast would have been nice.

But if we'd waited, we would have missed seeing the sun rise over our chosen battlefield. Yakovlevich had been right; we would have the sun at our backs, putting Miroslav's army with the disadvantage of fighting with the sun in their eyes. I scanned the region. The hills wouldn't be the most convenient place to camp, steep as they were, but the field they overlooked would be ideal for battle.

The tsar, sitting atop his horse, came up next to me. "What are your thoughts, Han?"

"It will serve, your majesty." I frowned. "Though I wish it wasn't quite so open."

Fyodor Yakovlevich, on my other side, nodded. "A wall to the south, or at least another hill or two, would keep us from being flanked without leaving us trapped."

"I agree." Borislav looked to his cousin. "Radomir?"

The prince dismounted and handed his horse's reins to a guard. From inside his fur coat, he took his wand. "Stone or ice?"

"Ice, I think. No need to upset the local geography more than we have to." The tsar dismounted as well, long white staff in hand.

The tsar raised his staff. "You might want to stay back."

Radomir raised his wand. The hairs on my arms stood on end as I heard a faint crackling sound, like tiny icicles breaking. I looked over at Fyodor, but he was unperturbed. The tsar and the prince stared intently at a point on the field below us, and I followed their gaze as the crackling grew.

A wall of ice rose out of the snow. Thin at the foot of the hills, it thickened as it stretched along the edge of the field. As it grew, so did the sound of cracking ice. The wall was nearly ten feet tall before the tsar shouted over the now-thunderous cracking, "That's enough!"

Silence fell. My ears ringing, I stared at the tsar as he surveyed their handiwork.

I'd known the Sanctioned were descended from Otets, but they were human. Like me, I'd always thought. Even the small healing spell I'd seen Prince Radomir do to his horse had been nothing compared to this. But the powers the two Sanctioned had just shown—those were godlike. Beyond anything I'd ever expected.

"That should be sufficient, don't you think?" Borislav asked his cousin. The prince had already walked away with Fyodor Yakovlevich, gazing down at the field in contemplation. The tsar turned to me instead. "I believe that should suit what you had in mind."

I blinked, staring open-mouthed at the newly formed wall of ice. "Yes. I—Yes. Your majesty, I had no idea you were capable of this."

The tsar smiled slightly. "Yes, I suppose it can be a little overwhelming if you've never seen it done."

I looked at our companions, all men from Radomir's personal guard. They scanned the horizon for threats, no sign of shock or awe at the scene they'd witnessed. Even my horse, borrowed from the prince's stables, hadn't spooked at the sound. Perhaps such wonders were commonplace when one worked for a Sanctioned. "It's unbelievable, your majesty. Truly, with the two of you, I don't see how we can lose."

His smile disappeared. "That might be true, were we able to use our Gifts in battle. As it is, we can only prepare the field."

"As it should be." Radomir turned from his observation to join the discussion. "The Prophet's mandates were clear. The Gifts of the Blood should never be used against the unSanctioned, even in battle."

"Even so," I said, "this is incredible. With the nature of the terrain and your Gifts to enhance it, we have a strong advantage." I wasn't foolish enough to assume that meant we'd win, but with two of Inzhria's most powerful Sanctioned on our side, I had hope.

The tsar nodded, looking out over the field again. "I hope so, Han. I hope so."