Kremlins Boxset

by K L Conger

  “General Vorotynsky!” Ghukov shouted. “The hero of Molodi!”

  Around him, the entire camp erupted in cheers.

  Vorotynsky wiped moisture from his eyes and allowed himself a small smile.

  INGA DUTIFULLY FOLLOWED the soldiers through the woods. A man called Kurlikov, who’d been rounding up surviving soldiers, found her tending to the wounded soldier. Sven, apparently. Two Russian soldiers now held Sven up between them, practically dragging him along through the camp because he couldn’t put weight on either leg. A dozen men surrounded them as they headed for their general’s camp.

  Fear rippled through Inga’s stomach. She kept a tight rein on it, refusing to let it rule her. She did wonder what would happen to her now, though. She’d come too far, done too much, to become a puddle of nerves now.

  Her bad shoulders ached, popping every time she rolled them. She’d pay with pain for this romp through the woods for days to come. At least the old pain in her shoulders was all she had to worry about. It could have been much worse.

  Inga walked past or stepped over dozens of corpses along their forest route. A mixture of Russian and Tatar bodies, many lay dismembered, decapitated, or eviscerated.

  As they walked deeper into the woods, away from the road, the din of voices grew louder. They eventually reached a spot housing a makeshift encampment. Injured soldiers lay in lines while the less injured—though often still bandaged—administered to them. Kurlikov passed Sven to one of the medics and motioned Inga to follow him. The others in their group also followed.

  Other, more able soldiers walked through the camp in every direction. Some shouted orders. Others took those orders and darted off. Preparations were made and instructions given. The camp swirled in a cacophony of activity.

  In the center of the gyre sat a man on a bolder. By his uniform, and the deference the other soldiers showed him, he must be the leader. Inga recognized him from past times he’d visited the palace. She’d been right when she heard his voice before. Mikail Vorotynsky. Ivan exiled him years before. He remained one of Ivan’s generals though, taking up a quiet position south of Moscow along the Oka River.

  Vorotynsky looked solid through the chest and shoulders. Even at his age, he retained his soldier’s physique. Fine lines around his eyes and grey streaks in his hair showed his age. His eyes held wisdom, confidence, and steadiness.

  He spoke with the soldiers clustered around him, glanced at parchments they held out—maps, Inga thought—and directed them to various places around the camp. Inga waited patiently with the soldiers who’d brought her.

  A younger man who immediately reminded Inga of Taras—blond hair, similar build and age—came to stand at Vorotynsky’s shoulder. When the general leaned toward him, the man whispered something in Vorotynsky’s ear. Vorotynsky nodded thoughtfully.

  After several more minutes, the general finally turned his eyes to their group.

  Vorotynsky’s eyes immediately shifted to Inga and his eyebrows rose in surprise. And no wonder. It must be odd for soldiers to find a woman in the midst of their battle.

  Vorotynsky motioned them forward. “And who is this, Kurlikov?”

  “We found her in the woods, sir,” Kurlikov answered, loudly enough for most of the camp to turn and stare.

  Inga felt her face heat.

  “She helped one of our soldiers fight the Tatars, and dressed his wounds. She claims to be a maid in the Kremlin, a servant of the Tsar himself. I do not know if she speaks the truth.”

  Vorotynsky studied Inga in a speculative way as Kurlikov spoke. He rose to his feet. “All of you, go find some rations and a place to slumber. We’ll be moving out again soon, so you won’t have long to rest. Leave the woman with me.”

  Inga’s stomach twisted at being so singled out. She told herself to be calm.

  Kurlikov and the other soldiers clapped a fist to their chests and moved to obey Vorotynsky’s instructions. They left Inga standing alone, the sole object of his hawk-like scrutiny.

  The general walked slowly toward Inga until he stood directly in front of her, looking down into her face. “A maid, you claim?” he asked, his face utterly serious.

  Inga swallowed, nodding. “Yes, sir. A maid in the Terem palace.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “It seems an unlikely story, my lady. And yet, I doubt any peasant or run-of-the-mill liar would dare claim such a thing. Or even be wily enough to invent it.” He paced a slow circle around her. “You are obviously no Tatar. Not with hair this color.” His index finger rose casually to point at her head.

  Inga’s cheeks heated again. She’d wrapped her platok around Sven’s bleeding legs, leaving her hair uncovered and unbound. It cascaded over her shoulders in blond waves. She dropped her eyes, not sure if he expected an answer.

  “And what is a Russian maid doing in the center of a Tatar battle?” he asked, coming around to look down into her face once more.

  Fear gripped Inga’s insides. She kept her eyes on his boots. Her reason for coming—to save Anne and Ekaterina—still beat strongly in her chest. She’d do it again in an instant. Yet, she knew it would sound utterly foolish to a seasoned officer who’d been fighting the enemy with swords and arrows all day.

  Vorotynsky stepped closer and lifted her chin with one index finger, forcing her to look up into his hawkish, blue eyes. She saw kindness there. Perhaps even gentleness.

  “You need have no fear of me, woman. Speak freely. Tell me how you came to find yourself in the midst of such a bloody battle. I am genuinely curious. What business had you on the road today?”

  “Only trying to survive, my lord,” Inga said meekly.

  “As we all are, my dear. My soldiers have good reason to be in this place. You do not. How did you come to be here?”

  Inga sighed. She didn’t see the point of lying. Something told her this man housed too much intelligence to be lied to. He would see through her pretenses. “I...attempted to save my family, my lord.”

  Vorotynsky’s eyes widened with renewed curiosity. “Oh? How so?”

  “They were taken prisoner by the Tatars. Taken north and east. I thought perhaps I could catch up to them and sneak them back to the city. The battle overtook me on the road.”

  The younger man who looked like Taras clicked his tongue. “Foolishness. What did you think you could do against an armed horde of heathens?”

  “Please, my lord,” desperation tinged her voice as she addressed not the blond man, but Vorotynsky. “I am merely desperate to save two women I care deeply about. They are much like an aunt and a daughter to me.”

  Vorotynsky stood back, studying Inga thoughtfully for long minutes. Inga dropped her eyes to his boots again, waiting for him to make his judgement. Would she convince him she told the truth? He would be well within his authority to cast her into a dungeon if he thought she lied.

  Finally, the general stepped up close to her again. Figuring he would lift her chin again, she raised her eyes to look into his face. Vorotynsky dropped his voice low, almost to a whisper. Inga felt certain only she stood close enough to hear it.

  “I believe you, my lady. We all do the best we can with what God gives us. We all try to save the ones we love, though often we cannot. Life is a mystical and tragic thing. I will not be taking yours today, Maid of the Terem Palace.”

  He raised his voice and turned his head slightly without taking his eyes from Inga’s face. “Ghukov, pick out a few of your best men to escort this woman back to the palace. I’m sure the Tsar will be missing his maid.”

  “My lord—” Inga objected.

  “I cannot allow you to continue north, my lady,” Vorotynsky said firmly. “It would mean either your death or your capture, and that, I won’t allow. I will, however, be sure you make it back into the Tsar’s service safely.”

  Inga felt vague panic at her failure to reach Anne and Ekaterina. Perhaps the soldiers were right that she couldn’t have done anything. Still, she would have liked the chance to try. That chance, it see
med, would be taken from her.

  She looked toward the now-empty horizon, briefly entertaining thoughts of sneaking away, but too much time had passed. Even she had to admit the group she’d seen on the horizon could be anywhere by now. She didn’t possess the necessary skills to find them. Her heart fell in her chest.

  “Thank you, general,” Inga breathed softly.

  Vorotynsky merely nodded politely. A moment later, three men appeared, looking at the general expectantly.

  “These men will see you back to the palace,” he said. “Safe journey, my lady.”

  He turned toward the part of the camp where the injured lay. Inga knew she ought to keep her mouth shut, count her blessings, and go with her escort. Yet, she yearned to say more to the general. Balling her fist and gathering her courage, she shut her eyes and called out. “General Vorotynsky?”

  He stopped and turned back, looking vaguely surprised. Probably because he’d never given her his name.

  “I recognize what you did here. What you’ve done for Mother Russia. You single handedly turned back an invading horde much larger than your own force. I hope the Tsar recognizes what you’ve done. And rewards you aptly for it.”

  The general’s face softened, looking sad. “I do not seek reward, my dear. Those who do fled long ago. I seek only the freedom of my country, and the chance to prove my loyalty.”

  He stepped toward her once again, and she thought she saw a twinkle in his eyes.

  “You are a good woman. A strong woman. If these ruffians—” he nodded toward his men, “—give you any trouble, if you need anything else at all, come straight back to me.” He gave her a wink before turning and striding away.

  Thinking Vorotynsky had surely proven his loyalty today, Inga turned and followed her escort out of the camp.

  Chapter 17

  Nikolai reached the outer wall of the city, feeling anxious. He left the palace at first light, ostensibly to help other members of the army smoke out any Tatar stragglers who might have gone to ground in unburnt portions of the city. They favored jumping out at the unprepared in surprise attacks, taking as many lives as possible before being killed themselves.

  In truth, Nikolai strove to keep a promise to Yehvah: to find Inga. He hadn’t seen any sign of her, yet.

  Looking out toward the Eastern horizon, toward Siberia, Nikolai made out a small group of people heading toward the city. The Tatars might not have looted the city, but they certainly didn’t leave empty-handed.

  Nikolai’s superiors estimated the number of prisoners taken at over one hundred thousand. When an army took so many prisoners, some were bound to slip away unnoticed. Small groups of them had trickled in all morning. Perhaps a few dozen in total, in groups of three or four. If Nikolai counted correctly, this one contained five.

  A lone rider also appeared in the distance. It struck him as strange. None of the returning prisoners had horses, and Nikolai vaguely wondered at the identity of the lone rider.

  The rider approached the returning group of five and leaned down from his mount to speak with them. Perhaps a traveler with the misfortune to arrive at Moscow today, without knowing the state of it. The returning prisoners could give the traveler news. Nikolai put it from his mind.

  He decided to ride outside the walls a bit, to observe if the outer wall of the city sustained any damage. He didn’t plan to ride far. He certainly wouldn’t circle the city. He only felt curious to see if any breaches existed here, closest to where the battle took place.

  For the next twenty minutes, he rode along the outer perimeter. He didn’t see any damage at all beyond mild scratches and gashes, which were probably present before the battle took place. He wheeled his horse around and rode back, planning to return to the city and resume his search for Inga.

  As he approached the city gates, Nikolai noticed the same group of approaching people he saw earlier. They would reach the city gates not long after he did. He paused to wait, wanting to question them. The group contained three men and two women, all covered in grime.

  While waiting, he glanced beyond them to see the rider they’d spoken to still sitting atop his horse in the distance, staring toward the city. Trying to decide whether to enter, no doubt, given the state of Moscow after the fire. Nikolai didn’t begrudge the man his hesitation. Most men would probably turn away, deciding to return in a year or two when it had been rebuilt.

  When the small group finally reached him, they simultaneously took a knee.

  “From where do you hail, my good people?” Nikolai asked.

  One of the men in front answered him. “If it please you, my lord, we are Muscovites. The heathens dragged us away two days ago. By God’s good graces, we escaped. We hid and waited for the heathens to pass. Now we’re simply hoping to return to our homes.”

  Nikolai nodded. He’d expected as much. Most of the returning prisoners told similar stories. Nikolai registered the sound of horse hooves behind him. More of Vorotynsky’s soldiers heading for the city, no doubt.

  “Please,” Nikolai said to the group, motioning toward the city. “Carry on.”

  They bowed before rising and hurrying toward the gates. These people embodied Nikolai’s greatest worry. Inga walked out in the city during the fire, looking for Anne and Ekaterina. She might well be dead. If she still lived, she could have been taken prisoner by the Tatars. For someone still as young and lovely as Inga, it would be a fate worse than death. Nikolai prayed she still lived and remained in the city somewhere. Yehvah wouldn’t rest until she found her and brought her safely back to the palace.

  “Nikolai!”

  He recognized the voice immediately, as if in answer to his thoughts. Relief flooded into his chest. He wheeled his horse around to see three stallions, each with a battered-looking Russian soldier atop it, cantering toward him.

  He couldn’t understand where Inga’s voice came from until she leaned out from behind the lead man. She rode double behind him.

  The three horses stopped in front of Nikolai and Inga, unbidden, jumped from the soldier’s horse. The man’s eyebrows rose in mild surprise. Probably wasn’t used to a woman who didn’t wait on his help or instructions. Nikolai learned long ago that palace maids weren’t ones to wait around for things to be done for them.

  Nikolai dismounted as well. Ashes covered Inga from head to hem. He noted the absence of her headscarf. Her hair hung loose about her shoulders. Otherwise, she appeared unharmed.

  Nikolai nearly hugged her before realizing the three soldiers still watched them and how inappropriate the action looked.

  Inga seemed to realize the same thing at the last minute, and they merely clasped one another by both arms.

  “Thank the Almighty!” Nikolai burst out. He couldn’t help himself. “You’re safe. Yehvah will be so relieved.”

  Inga gave him a sad smile. “I’m glad you’re safe as well, Nikolai, but I can’t return yet. I haven’t found Anne or Ekaterina.”

  Nikolai’s relief drained away like water. He didn’t count on being the one to have to give Inga this news. “Ekaterina is back at the palace, Inga. She hid in a church cupboard until the Tatars left the city and returned early this morning. You won’t find Anne. The Tatars took her away with their other prisoners.”

  Inga’s face became still. She dropped her eyes, looking more devastated by the second.

  “Inga,” Nikolai stepped toward her and lifted her chin with a forefinger. “We can’t expect to win them all in a situation like this. Yehvah and Ekaterina are alive at the palace and they need you. Let me take you to them.”

  Tears slid down Inga’s cheeks. After a moment, she wiped them away. Her expression turned determined, and she nodded. She was so like Yehvah, and Nikolai marveled at the strength of palace maids.

  He looked up at the soldiers, who’d averted their eyes from Nikolai and Inga, looking distinctly uncomfortable. The lead soldier caught Nikolai’s gaze and cleared his throat. “General Vorotynsky tasked us with making sure she returns safely to
the Kremlin, Lord Nikolai.”

  Nikolai raised an eyebrow at Inga. “General Vorotynsky?” he asked quietly.

  She looked self-conscious. “I might have ended up in the middle of the battle,” she mumbled.

  Nikolai fought to keep from rolling his eyes. Of course she did. “Let’s keep that little detail from Yehvah, shall we?”

  Inga nodded, grimly.

  “I’ll make sure she gets to the palace, soldier. I’m heading there anyway to make my report to the Tsar. You may return to the general. Be sure to give him my congratulations.”

  The three soldiers clapped fists to chest and wheeled their horses around to head back toward where the army of Vorotynsky still camped.

  Nikolai mounted once again and helped Inga up behind him. Together, they headed for the palace.

  TARAS, SITTING ATOP his horse far from the city walls, stared at them for a long time after the two figures he’d immediately recognized reentered it. Moscow had become a city of ashes, but not for the first time, and probably not the last. Plenty of people survived. Taras saw the domes of the Kremlin in the distance and, more importantly, the two people he cared for most in the world, still lived.

  He wanted to go to them but doing so would put him in danger and cause heartache. He refused to try and convince Inga to come with him. She needed to do it on her own. She had a city to help rebuild now, which meant her mind and hands would be greatly taken up with the task. Taras would return to Anechka and the baby. He could wait a little longer.

  INGA AND NIKOLAI RODE into the courtyard of the Kremlin. She vaguely wondered when they’d reopened the gates. They stood wide now.

  Nikolai steered his horse toward the entrance to the kitchens. Inga didn’t have to ask why. One of Bogdan’s kitchen boys noticed them coming and swiftly disappeared. Inga assumed he would go to spread news of their return.