"If anyone can do it, it's Hans," Andrew replied sharply. For the first time since leaving Suzdal he realized that some inner instinct had played out correctly again. Bringing up the brigade of foundry and mill workers for the campaign and leaving Hans and O'Donald behind was perhaps the only smart move he had made so far.
"Gentlemen, let's get to work. John, figure out your delegation of labor. Vincent, you start the training and help Marcus with organizing his labor forces. Ferguson, you start drawing up plans. The rest of you officers are at the disposal of Mina, or Ferguson. I want a survey run before nightfall of every soldier in the army for specialized skills in shipbuilding, gun casting, powder making, and carpentry, and send them over to John, who will work up the necessary teams. A quarter of the rail workers go to Kindred, the rest on getting track down to Roum. All foundry and steam engine workers should get down to the mill at once.
"Mr. Bullfinch, would you be interested in being admiral of the ironclad fleet?"
The boy looked at Andrew with open-eyed amazement.
"Nothing like a quick promotion to make your day, is there, John?" Andrew said with a smile.
"An honor, sir," Bullfinch said excitedly.
"You were closest to Cromwell, and you're the only naval officer from our old world," Andrew said. "Just remember, son, if you fail, we are all going to fail."
Bullfinch gulped nervously and said nothing.
"Any questions?"
"There'll be a million of them before morning," Ferguson said with a soft laugh, and the group, most of them shaking their heads, laughed in agreement.
Andrew looked over at Chuck and nodded a silent thanks for breaking the tension.
"Dismissed, then."
The group rose up, most of them rushing over to John and already shouting questions as he went out the door.
Andrew leaned back in his chair and looked over at Emil.
"Someday our luck is going to run out with these mad schemes."
"We've been running on luck since the day we got here," Andrew sighed. "By all rights old Ivor should have wiped us out the moment we arrived here. It's been borrowed time ever since."
"You never even mentioned the Merki," Emil whispered. "If they should march on us now, they could be in Suzdal before we even get there. It's been over a week now since we've heard any intelligence on them."
"Emil, if they turn north, there's precious little we can do. And absolutely nothing we can possibly do here at all. There's no sense in worrying the men about it. I prefer they just focus on Cromwell and we'll have to hope for the best."
"But you'll worry yourself sick about it," Emil said.
"Of course," Andrew replied softly. "If they hit us, Suzdal will fall, and it will be my fault for falling into this trap."
"You did the right thing based upon what we knew at the time."
"I should have thought of this. My thinking had never factored in their having control of the Inland Sea, and all that it implied. I'm an infantry officer from the Virginia campaigns; the combination of naval warfare never entered my mind. And goddammit I should have thought of it."
Emil extended a consoling hand, patting Andrew on the arm.
"You've always done your best and beyond."
"It might not be good enough."
Emil hesitated, and Andrew could see that Emil was barely holding his role of counseling father. He looked down for a moment and then spoke in a barely audible whisper.
"You really think this one will work?"
Andrew smiled and said nothing.
"By the way, Andrew, that Roman fleet they built. Marcus said his people came through with the second one. Whatever happened to the first?"
"It got wiped out."
Andrew stood up.
"Now if you'll excuse me, Emil, I've got a lot of work to attend to," and nodding a goodbye he slowly walked out of the room.
"I still like the forest march myself," Emil whispered as he reached into his pocket, pulled out the flask, and took a long slow drink.
The night was quiet. Breathing deeply, Kalencka leaned back on the parapet and looked out over the river. In the dim light of the twin moons he watched as the Neiper flowed quietly down to the sea.
How I loved this as a child, he thought with a wistful smile. It was before he had ever seen a Tugar, when he was still living in a world of innocence. His father would sit with him by the banks of the Neiper, spinning out the stories he told in the court. The adventures of Ilya Murometz, the lay of Igor's campaign, the revenge of Olga, the tale of Ivan Ivanovich, who rode about the entire world. Their fishing lines would be in the river and he'd imagine how he could climb down the line and see the world of fish below and swim away with them down to the inland sea and off to faraway adventures.
A light breeze rippled across the water, and the moonbeams flickered with a golden-red light. Turning about, he looked up at the Great Wheel, dropping down now back into the southern sky. So where did we all come from? he wondered. Emil had made a telescope and he had looked into the night sky with it, to see that the wandering star Alexandra was like a tiny moon, waxing and waning, that Saint Stanislav had other even smaller saints circling about him. And at the heart of the wheel, the stars were so thick they were like snowflakes floating in a blizzard.
Did the tunnel of light leap to those distant places? Muzta had said as much to Vincent, claiming that the tunnel was a Tugar thing. But how did they make it? Why did it snatch away humans only at certain places, and why did hundreds of years sometimes pass before yet more came, as the Yankees did?
It is a pleasure to dream of such things, he thought wistfully. Perhaps one day when I am no longer a president I can build a tower and sit in it at night, and look through the telescope thing and ponder.
Reaching out, he put his arm around Tanya, who snuggled up close to him.
"Do you think they're still alive?"
The spell of the moment drifted away. He could only console himself in silence. Andrew, the only one he could now whisper his fears to, was gone. He was truly alone now.
"I'm certain of it, dear."
"How can you be certain?" she asked, her voice almost childlike.
"Kesus and Perm will watch over them and us. They would not have allowed us to build this new life, only to take it away from us."
"But I've heard terrible things."
Inwardly he cursed. Mikhail had a fair part of the city in an uproar. Kal had explained both in the Senate and out in the Great Square how the telegram must be a lie, sent by Cromwell to confuse and demoralize them. But the silence from the east was now five days old. The only word was that the enemy were working up the tracks, destroying them as they came. Hans had finally ordered a precious regiment to force-march east, along with several thousand militia, to contain them. Yet from Andrew there was nothing, nor from Vincent either. He looked down the length of wall. At his approach the workers had drawn back to a respectful distance to give him this moment of peace. But farther away they were hard at work, throwing up dirt on either side of the log barrier, reinforcing gun emplacements, dragging barrels of water up onto roofs to stop fires.
Yesterday, at his order, all but essential personel were requested to leave the city, and more than ten thousand had started out to Novrod or friends in the countryside to weather out the storm. Reports were already coming back of a growing panic throughout the republic, and Mikhail's words were only adding to it.
"Mikhail's lies are just that, Tanya, nothing more than lies."
"Yet they are working," Tanya said. "People look at me as if my husband were already dead."
Kal found himself wishing that the constitution had been written differently, that senators could be arrested. Yet Mikhail had walked the line closely, never uttering outright treason, only crying that they were doomed, that the army was no more, and it was the fault of the president alone for stripping them of their defenses.
"We'll just have to pray a bit harder," Kal said, kissing his daughter o
n the forehead.
"Praying won't solve what's happening now."
"Daughter, sometimes prayer is the only thing we can do. I have no way of knowing what Andrew is doing, but I'm certain he is planning something."
If he is indeed alive, Kal thought to himself.
"Mr. President?"
"Over here," he said wearily.
A shadowy form stepped forward past the guards who were now his constant companions.
It was Hans, and he felt his stomach knot up. It could only be one thing if he was being sought out like this at three in the morning.
"They're here," Kal whispered.
Hans nodded, and leaning over the wall he shot a stream of tobacco juice down into the darkness of the river.
"Telegram just came in from our outpost at old Fort Lincoln. Enemy ships sighted at the mouth of the Neiper."
"Then it's begun," Kal said, trying to make his voice sound forceful.
"They'll start up the river at dawn, sir, and be here by midmorning."
Kal leaned against the wall and looked up at the heavens. With a deliberate effort he put his hat on and then turned to face Hans.
"Hans, it's going to be a very interesting day," Kal said, and putting his arm around Tanya he turned and slowly walked away.
Jubadi Qar Qarth closed the flap of his tent and looked over at the shield-bearer of his son.
"Why were you sent as the messenger? Why are you not at the side of my son?" he asked nervously. "What has happened?"
"Your son is well, my Qarth," Tamuka replied, bowing low. "But I no longer serve him. He has sent me away. Hulagar felt it best that I therefore come back as messenger to you."
"There is much to tell in your simple statement, shield-bearer. If Hulagar entrusted you as messenger, then your honor stands high with him. Therefore my son has lacked sufficient reason to dismiss you."
"It is not important," Tamuka said. "The report of the campaign is."
"You are a diplomat," Jubadi said, reading all he needed to know in Tamuka's reluctance to bear an ill report of the Zan Qarth to his father. "Now tell me what has occurred."
Tamuka spoke quickly, reviewing the action, and making it a point not to speak directly of the debacle his son had created in the final hours.
"I have lost two of my sons," Jubadi whispered.
Tamuka nodded.
"How did they die?"
"As warriors, slaying dozens," Tamuka lied. How could he ever tell him the truth? Kan, the one who had held so much promise, had been dragged down and beaten to death. Young Akham had been dragged away still alive, a Merki taken prisoner by cattle, a fate that would cause him eternal humiliation in the everlasting sky, where all would taunt him for such an end without a shred of honor.
"They will ride the night winds, their heads high with honor," Tamuka said forcefully. "May I ride beside them with such glory when Bugglaah reaches down to grasp my soul away."
Jubadi looked into his eyes, sensing that all was not told, yet he knew he would never ask more.
"It is done well enough," Jubadi said sharply, turning away for a moment. "You are to go back," he said.
"My Qarth?"
"I want you back there. I want no more sons lost to these cattle. You are shield-bearer—your father served my father as such."
"But Vuka," Tamuka said evenly.
"The hell with Vuka's words," Jubadi growled. "There is still Mantu."
"Yet only as he lives may he be the Zan Qarth, the heir to your rights."
"Only as he lives," Jubadi shouted. "Do you think I don't know what happened up there? Did I not have read to me Hulagar's dispatch before I spoke to you?
"You are loyal, Tamuka, but your loyalty now comes to me, and through me to the horde of the Merki. And I ask you, if I should die today, if it should be my heart that Bugglaah touches next, would Vuka be fitting as Qar Qarth?"
Tamuka was silent.
"Answer me!"
"No, my Qarth," Tamuka whispered.
"Then you know what to do."
Horrified, Tamuka looked at Jubadi. He could see the cold anguish in his Qarth's eyes. Feeling ill, Tamuka turned away. Such a thing had been done before by a shield-bearer—it was placed so upon them to protect the blood of the Horde, for a Qar Qarth that did not serve well could be death for all. Yet such a Qar Qarth, even one who had proved his worthlessness, could turn to his bearer when needed and thus would still rule, though another would speak into his ear with guidance. Vuka had turned his bearer away, denying all blame for what he had done. If he had acknowledged his mistake and learned from it, this would not now happen. Thus had the forty clans of the Merki created peace, preventing the bitter wars that had torn them asunder when clan chieftains had felt themselves oppressed by one not fit to lead. The Qar Qarth was either a true Qar Qarth or he was dead, and another of the Golden Blood ruled instead.
"You are asking me to kill him," Tamuka said, trying to control the trembling in his voice.
Jubadi, his back still turned, was silent. The minutes slowly slipped past.
"If he atones and proves himself different, perhaps not," he finally whispered, and then his words fell away.
"Mantu will rule instead," he said, his voice edged with a sense of finality.
"Mantu is with him even now," Tamuka replied.
"Then you know who is to be saved, shield-bearer."
"He will suspect," Tamuka said.
"Of course he will. If he has honor, he will know it is time to die."
Jubadi paused and with voice choking turned to look back at Tamuka.
"Give him that chance, to die with honor so that his soul may ride in contentment."
Jubadi paused for a moment.
"Unlike my other two sons," he whispered.
Tamuka did not reply.
"They are tormented now because of their brother," Jubadi snarled. "Kan, who was the light of my joy, will be humiliated forever because of him."
Jubadi slammed his fist into his side, his eyes bright with tears.
"Do not do it by your hand if you can avoid it."
Tamuka nodded in agreement. Vuka could not strike him because of the blood debt; to do so would curse him into the darkness forever. Thus he could not defend himself either if Tamuka were to strike him.
"My Qarth, let someone else go in my place."
"Don't you see?" Jubadi said. "He must suspect now that he has had time to think. If another shield-bearer came he would fight him. I will not order him to die, for never should a Zan be forced. Your mere presence will tell him what his only path will be to seek death with honor, or to somehow so redeem himself in the judgment of you and Hulagar that he may still live.
"But if he refuses, if he does not redeem himself and yet will not seek death in battle?"
"Then you will kill him," Jubadi said coldly.
"Can he not atone without this?" Tamuka argued. Though Vuka had failed, still Tamuka could remember him with fondness, as they rode together against the Bantag, his courage a shining torch.
"I doubt that now. He is not that cunning," Jubadi whispered. "I will say no more on this."
Jubadi walked back over to the entrance to his tent and beckoned for Tamuka to follow.
Coming back out into the bright sunlight of midday, Tamuka followed respectfully behind the Qar Qarth.
"Walk beside me. I must tell you the messages to take back to Hulagar."
Jubadi spoke with a clear voice, as if the conversation of but a moment before had never occurred.
"You will leave today. You must tell him that it will be yet some weeks before the two umens can ride north."
Tamuka looked over at Jubadi with surprise. This was part of the plan he had never known, and he felt it best to admit it.
Jubadi chuckled softly.
"Only Hulagar knew of this. I did not want our loyal cattle to know. I promised him rule over the Rus if he took that realm for us. Would he actually be so foolish as to believe I would let him stay there, owning
all the secrets of the Yankees? Once the city of the Rus fell, our umens were to sweep up and occupy them. Those who could would work in their machine places making us weapons; the rest would go to the slaughter pits."
"But the promise of injunction with the Carthas and to the Rus if Cromwell subdued them?"
"Promises but to cattle. The Carthas we will keep awhile longer. The Rus can feed us for this winter season."
"Cromwell has served us well," Tamuka said, keeping his voice neutral.
"He is only cattle nevertheless."
"Yes, of course," Tamuka replied.
"Tell this only to Hulagar. The four umens we had first talked about will not move. We were defeated at the place of the broken hills by the Bantag twelve days ago. We lost half an umen of warriors."
Tamuka was stunned.
"It cannot go on much longer like this," Jubadi said darkly. "Already they are crossing the Inland Sea at the narrows, pushing to cut ahead of us. As yet they know nothing of our Yankee weapons. I am saving them for when the time is right. But I need my warriors here, to cover our southern flank, forty days' ride to our south and west, protecting our people as they come forward. So tell Hulagar there will still be two umens but they will be late."
"As you command, my Qarth."
The two continued down the streets of Cartha, the guards of the Vushka deployed around them. Tamuka saw that the ship he had arrived in but hours ago was waiting for him. His stomach rebelled at the thought. The Merki were never intended to ride upon the waters, it must be so, for Yesha, the goddess of torment, seized him the moment the ship would move, and his own pahk, guardian of his body and soul, was rendered powerless to protect him.
"I want to show you one other thing before you leave. The Tugar Muzta spoke of such a thing, and the cattle Cromwell told us how it could be made. Yet another, the one named Hinsen it was, gave us the final idea."
Turning, Jubadi pointed to a large high-roofed shed. Walking up to the side of the building, Jubadi entered it, motioning for Tamuka to follow.
Tamuka stepped into the darkness, and it took several long seconds for his gaze to finally pierce the shadows.
Uncomprehending, he looked up, and then ever so slowly the monster started to move.
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