36. March

Chapter thirty-six

March

Han

T hree days on the road. My muscles ached, and not with the pleasant burn of exercise. The plodding pace set by an army redefined the word tired. I'd be glad to reach the capital, just to end the monotony of the journey.

And to be near Mila. We'd still had no word. What if the tsar was wrong? What if she had been arrested with the baron and baroness? What if something had happened since then? The crawl of information across the country grated on me. At least when we reached the capital, I'd be with her. I'd find a way into the palace and bring her out myself.

The late afternoon shadows cast an eerie look over the snow-covered landscape. Ahead of me, the train slowed, sleighs coming to an unscheduled stop on the road.

The hairs on the back of my neck prickled, and I scanned the trees and bushes bordering each side of the road. The stop could have been due to something as simple as a horse throwing a shoe or a sleigh going off the road, but something felt wrong. This was the perfect place for an ambush. Low hills all throughout this part of the country made it easy to hide the approach of a small group of attackers.

I wheeled my horse around and rode down the line, speaking to the men under my command. "On your guard," I said. Silence fell as we waited for whatever was coming. I hooked my iron hand around the hilt of my sword and drew it, listening for the sounds of approaching enemies.

Shouts rang out from the back of the train, further down the road. Moments later, I heard the clash of steel on steel. Battle had been joined.

"Steady," I called to my men. We couldn't abandon our position. Not until we knew if it was a targeted attack on the back of the line. "Hold." My eyes darted around. Every hint of movement could be one of Miroslav's men, and the trees were too dense to see clearly.

Soldiers darted from between the trees, charging toward us.

"For Borislav!" I bellowed, raising my sword. My men echoed the cry as the enemy reached us.

I swung my sword into the neck of one of the oncoming soldiers, turning just in time to see one of my men fall, then another. I wheeled around, searching for my next target. Further down the line, I could see moving shadows—the Drakra. Darkness swirled around each Drakra warrior, a cloud of black that left carnage in its wake.

I didn't have time to admire the battle prowess of our allies. Someone stepped directly under my horse's nose. The beast skittered to the side, and I was thrown to the ground. I scrambled to my feet, sword in hand, as the man charged me. Too slow. I couldn't get my sword up in time to block him.

Someone shouted, "Down!"

I hit the ground as Konstantin's ax slashed the air above my head.

Hot blood spurted down on me. Konstantin yanked the ax from the body and offered me a hand up.

The big man grinned. "Careful there, Captain. Almost went home a head shorter."

I opened my mouth to answer, but a spurt of hot metallic wetness choked me. Konstantin blinked down at the ax embedded in his chest.

I reacted without thinking. I drove my sword through the attacker's neck, kicking the man down as I took the sword back. Konstantin swayed on his feet, and I grabbed him before he could fall.

"I've got you. Healer!" I half-dragged him back to the sleighs, out of the fighting.

"Han?" His voice was weak.

"I'm here. I've got you," I said again. "Healer!" I roared.

"Don't—" He gasped for air. "Don't bother. I'm not—not going—"

"Don't even think like that." I eased him to the ground. "You're going to be fine."

Lada appeared at my side. Kneeling next to Konstantin, she examined the wound. With tight lips, she shook her head.

"You're going to be just fine," I choked out. "Have to get you home to that beautiful wife of yours, right?"

"Ulyana." His mouth curved in a smile. "Going to—going to have a baby. In the spring."

My eyes burned as I grasped his hand. "You'll have to invite me to the blessing."

"Tell him…" He gasped for breath, every word a struggle. "About me. My son."

"I will."

"Tell Ul—…thought—thought about her." He gasped again. "…love her."

"I'll tell her." I squeezed his hand, cold tears trickling down my face. "She knows, Kostya. She knows."

"I'm going to take the ax out of his chest," Lada said in a low voice. "It's keeping the blood in, prolonging his suffering."

Unable to speak past the lump in my throat, I nodded. Blood flowed slowly from the wound, so slowly, as I watched his final breaths, the chest rising and falling. One final, gurgling breath, and he was gone.

There wasn't time to grieve. I'd left the rest of my men alone long enough. I stood, swallowed hard, and walked back to them.

The enemy was gone, but the army was in chaos. I looked around at dying men and riderless horses. Further up the road, a gap in the line indicated at least one supply sled had been captured. How much had we lost in this one, brief attack?

***

"How did this happen?" The tsar's face was pale with anger.

We'd limped into camp late that night, once it was clear Miroslav's men wouldn't return, and the tsar had called a meeting as soon as we were settled.

"He knew we were coming," Borislav hissed. "Someone must have told him."

"I doubt that, your majesty." Radomir's voice was casual. I marveled that he could appear so at ease after the events of the evening. "Miroslav knows if he doesn't attack us, we'll take the fight to him. It's no secret we left Sevken, and there's only the one road between there and the capital large enough to easily transport an army. I'm sure he came to the conclusion without the help of traitors."

"Prince Radomir is right," I said. "Miroslav's no fool."

The tsar frowned, seeming unconvinced, but he let the matter rest for the moment. "How did they get past our scouts?"

Xhela na Zanik cleared her throat. "They took a southern road and attacked us from behind. It seems like it was a small unit, no more than a hundred, split into even smaller groups to make targeted attacks and cause as much chaos as possible."

The tsar looked around the tent, face tight with anger. "Losses?"

"First estimates indicate upward of two hundred men lost, possibly as many as three," Fyodor Yakovlevich answered, looking grim. "We also lost two cannons and three supply sleighs."

So many men in such a short time. I gritted my teeth. The loss of supplies could be devastating, if we didn't defeat Miroslav soon.

"Witness, Steward, and Prophet," the tsar swore. Radomir gave him a sharp look at the blasphemy but seemed inclined to agree with the sentiment. "Three hundred men, three sleighs, and two cannons lost to a hundred men?"

"We can't take another hit like that," one of the commanders said. "We need to end this."

"What do you think I'm trying to do?" Borislav snapped. He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Your man is right," Yixa na Chekke said. "We must make it to the capital before they wear us down."

Borislav stood and turned away from us with his hands clasped behind his back. "We will. Tomorrow morning, we split our forces. The units with the fewest casualties will make a forced march and take my brother by surprise. The other units can join as soon as possible. Once we reach the capital, we give the citizens three days to surrender Miroslav." He turned back to us. "Or we destroy the city."

Silence fell in the tent. I stared at the tsar, mouth slack. I would have expected something like this from Miroslav, but not from Borislav. Not from my tsar.

The Drakra priestess was the first to speak. "You would destroy your own capital?"

Radomir shook his head. "Even if we had the manpower to raze it, what would be the purpose?"

"The purpose," the tsar said through clenched teeth, "would be to set an example. Those who refuse to follow the Heir will suffer the consequences."

"And what of the innocents?" I demanded. Why would Borislav, of all people, propose destroying his own people? "You'd have us kill everyone in the city?"

His response was cool, emotionless. "They will have three days to leave. We won't stop anyone from leaving the city. My brother is too proud to flee in secret."

I couldn't be the only one thinking this was madness. No, I saw, looking around. Even the Drakra stared wide-eyed at the tsar.

"It could take weeks to break Idesk's walls, even with all our cannons," Yakovlevich said. "We don't have enough cannonballs. We don't have enough powder. We don't have enough men. Your majesty, I understand you're frustrated, but—"

The tsar cut him off. "We have all the men we need." He looked pointedly at Radomir.

I frowned in confusion. Glancing around, I saw similar expressions in the faces of others at the table. The prince must have understood, though, because he said vehemently, "No."

"This isn't a request, cousin."

"You would turn the Blood Gifts on the unSanctioned. No." The prince stood, facing the tsar with blazing fury in his eyes. "That has been an abomination since the Gifts first appeared. They are not to be wielded against the unSanctioned."

Comprehension dawned. The tsar wanted to destroy the city by magic. Dread settled in my stomach, low and heavy. This couldn't happen.

"The people will turn on my brother." Borislav sounded so confident, his face fixed in determination. I wanted to believe him. "There will be no need to destroy the city. I'm sure of it."

"And if they don't?" Radomir's fists were clenched, his knuckles white.

"We destroy it, and we take my brother out by force." The tsar's face softened. "It won't come to that, though."

Looking around at the others in the tent, I knew I wasn't the only one who doubted the tsar's assurance.

"Enough of this discussion," Borislav said. "I've made up my mind. In the morning, we leave for Idesk, and by the week's end, this Disinheritance will be complete, one way or another."

***

In the morning, the tsar left, taking half the army to march on the capital. I stood with Prince Radomir and the remaining commanders, watching them leave.

When the tsar was out of sight, Radomir turned away. "I would speak with you privately, Han Antonovich."

I followed the prince back to his tent. He took a seat, gesturing for me to do the same. His small eyes scanned my face. "You are a man of honor, are you not, Han Antonovich?"

What was this about? "I strive to be, your highness."

"You hold your vows highly?"

"Yes."

"And if you made a vow in error? What would you do about it?"

I swallowed hard. The same question I'd been pondering for weeks. "That would depend on the error in question."

The prince steepled his fingers. "Suppose you gave an oath of loyalty, only to discover the subject of your oath was undeserving."

My heart raced. This was a dangerous conversation. I'd already been labeled a traitor by one tsar; was I willing to risk betraying another? "Undeserving how?"

Radomir narrowed his eyes. "Cruel. Dangerous. Caring more for his victory than for those he has sworn to protect."

"I…" I fiddled with the gears on my hand. "I suppose that a vow made to an unworthy leader could be broken, your highness, without betraying one's honor."

The prince nodded. "My thoughts precisely. And what would make you consider a leader unworthy?"

I considered. The tsar hadn't done anything directly against his people—yet. "I believe," I said slowly, "that words spoken in anger shouldn't be held against a man. But when he goes beyond words, acting against what is right, that's when he becomes unworthy."

"I believe you're right." Radomir stood. "Thank you for your wisdom. I'm glad we can count on your assistance in this Disinheritance."

I knew he wasn't referring to Miroslav's Disinheritance.