by L.K. Hill
Chapter 32
Hours later, the army moved into position. Taras and Nikolai were part of the main army, but had been put in different areas, and Taras long since lost sight of his friend. Each of the nine divisions moved into place, flanking the city on all sides. The main army marched along the south side of the city. They had to cross the Bulak River—no more than a muddy stream this late in the year—and then crest a small ridge in order to reach the plain of Arsk on the eastern side of Kazan.
They halted briefly so an advance party of seven thousand scouts could be sent over the ridge to secure the area before the rest of the army followed.
The city still seemed abandoned. No one could be seen on the walls or overlooking the bastions. No noise of people or animals came from the city. The gates, of course, stood closed. Many of the men around Taras speculated that the city had been abandoned.
Taras turned in his saddle, rotated his ankles as best as he could in his stiff leather boots, did the same with his wrists and neck, trying to loosen up joints stiff from riding all morning. As he turned to one side, he noticed Artem riding not far from him.
“How are you doing, soldier?” Taras asked. “Nervous?”
Artem shrugged, his face reddening. “Yes, sir. A bit. Excited, too,” he added hastily. “Truthfully, sir, I’ll be disappointed if I don’t see battle.”
“Why would you think you wouldn’t see battle?”
“The men are saying the Tatars have run away at seeing our sheer numbers—maybe killed themselves. They’re saying we can simply walk in and take the city. It’s not that I want death or anything, you understand, sir. I simply want to prove myself in battle.”
Taras smiled at Artem. He was very young.
“You have nothing to worry about there, soldier. There will be plenty of battles in your lifetime—too many. Soon you will wonder why you ever wished for glory on the battlefield. For now, remember it’s a mistake to underestimate the Tatars. They are intelligent and ferocious. They want to put us at ease so we are easier to best. Don’t ever let your guard down, Artem. The day you do will be your last on this earth.”
Artem’s face turned deathly still at Taras’s serious tone. He nodded solemnly when Taras finished, and Taras smiled at Artem to lighten the words. He smiled back, then looked down and fingered his sword with a gentleness that belied the weapon’s purpose.
“Do you have a woman waiting for you, Artem?”
The young soldier smiled sheepishly. “Yes, sir. We are to be married when we return to Moscow.”
“She is here with you?”
“Yes sir.”
“Then fight well, and keep yourself alive, for her.”
“Yes, sir.”
A ripple traveled through the army. Shouts of, “Arm yourselves,” and “prepare to ride,” came from up ahead. Everyone asked what was happening, but no one this far back could see beyond the ridge. The story came back through the line from person to person. As the scouts crested the ridge, they were ambushed. Thousands of Tatar cavalrymen poured out the Nogay Gate. The vanguard moved in to rescue the scouts, and the main army would serve as backup.
A palpable excitement ran through the men as they prepared to ride. Taras noticed Artem’s eager smile beside him, and shook his head with a soft laugh.
