Whitefire

by Fern Michaels

  Katerina flinched. No matter what she promised, she knew in her heart that she would find a way to get out of the bargain. There was no way he would get the offspring except over her dead body. She forced her face to blankness as she poked at the fire with iron tongs.

  Her amber eyes were sleepy, catlike, and the Khan felt uneasy, a strange feeling creeping in and around his stomach. By now she should have been married, with babies sucking at her breasts. Indulgent fathers! he snorted to himself.

  “Let us suppose that I agree to what you ask, and let us further agree that you are amenable to bestowing a colt and filly upon me for my generosity, what is your ultimate goal once you train my prisoners for whatever it is you have in mind?”

  “I thought it was already agreed upon.”

  “Ah, Katerina, one should never assume anything until it is a fact—will you never learn? Your father did you no favors by allowing you to be trained with his men. No, it’s not definite. Tell me, an old man who is in his failing years, what exactly are your plans? Spare me all the nonessentials. I’m also bearing in mind something Katlof once told me: a Cossack is born a Cossack, there is no in-between.”

  Katerina clenched her teeth, a bitter, cold look in her eyes. The light breeze that wafted through the tent opening caused the silken hangings to flutter and sway, creating slight rustling noises, a restful sound that was making her drowsy. “I need the men to get the Cosars back. I must have trained men who will serve under me and do as I command them. I’ll raid and plunder every village from here to Moscow to get back what is mine. This is the only way I can do it. You must help me, I beg you on my mother’s life! I can train the men. I’ll make Cossacks out of them or die trying. Believe me, Uncle, I will succeed. If what my father told me was true, your own armies could stand some training. When we rode into your camp it was a sorry sight that greeted me. How did your armies deteriorate so? How did you allow it to happen? Tell me, what’s gone wrong?”

  The Khan shrugged his ample shoulders as he settled himself more comfortably by the banked fire. “Men get tired of fighting and want to return to their families. They scatter and come back when they have no more use for their relatives. What you say is true. We’ve grown fat and complacent.” He laughed, patting his ample girth. “For now, there is nothing to fight. Only a foolish man leads men to war for the sake of war. I am not a foolish man. In the ways of women, perhaps,” he said, a roguish twinkle in his dark eyes. “Very well, I agree, but with one other condition. I’ll send fifty of my best and youngest men along with Prince Banyen. If you are so determined to train the prisoners, then you can give my men some training also. Upon their return in the spring, they will train others. Do you agree to this stipulation?”

  The amber eyes flashed warningly. “And this Prince Banyen, is he the man that brought me here?” The Khan nodded. “Tell me,” she asked softly, “who is to be in charge of these men of yours? If I agree, then it must be me. I’ll not take orders from that . . . that . . . insufferable, that arrogant . . . bastard. Those, Uncle, are my terms. Be sure that your prince understands this, for I have no liking for him and I would just as soon stick a knife through his ribs as look at him.”

  The Khan’s eyes were outraged at her words. “What did he do to you? Tell me and I’ll have him whipped. Did he . . . did he?”

  “No, Uncle, he didn’t. I have no liking for him, it’s as simple as that. Before the end of winter one of us will kill the other. I plan to be alive when the snows melt, so be warned. It’s my way or not at all. This is your golden opportunity, Uncle,” she said in a low, rich voice, hoping to sway him to her way of thinking. “My visit here and my request will serve a twofold purpose. You can rebuild your armies with my help, and you will be the only man in all of Russia that can boast he has foals from Whitefire. A colt that will grow to be a stallion, not a gelding. Think about it, Uncle, before you decide.”

  “Banyen will be like a devil if I agree to your terms. He has no love for women.” He shook his head and laughed. “It will do him good. Perhaps when the snow melts you will be enamored of each other.”

  “Don’t plan on it, Uncle. I’ve decided the man hasn’t been born yet that will be good enough for me, so put that thought from your mind.”

  “Strange that you should say that.” The Khan laughed wickedly. “That’s exactly what Banyen said. He said there wasn’t a woman in the world that was fitting to share his name.”

  “Is that what he said?” Katerina snapped.

  “As a matter of fact, those were my exact words,” Banyen said, entering the tent. “Would you like me to repeat them for your benefit?” His expression mocked her as she looked up at him.

  Katerina laughed, a rich, full laugh that seemed to circle the yurt and come to settle around him. The hackles on the back of his neck seemed to rise and then fall against his sun-darkened throat.

  “Sit down, Banyen, join us in a light repast. I’ve just committed you to a mission.”

  Katerina watched as the agate eyes turned the color of deep indigo at the Khan’s words. His muscular body stiffened, and the bronze hands were clenched into fists at his sides. His mouth was grim and tight as he waited expectantly for the words he knew would not be to his liking.

  “First, allow me to introduce you to my niece, Katerina Vaschenko. She’s come here to me for help, and I’ve agreed to do as she asks in return for two very small favors. You and fifty of our best and youngest men, along with prisoners of her choosing from the stockade, will accompany her back to the Carpathians, where you will all undergo extensive Cossack training. In the spring you will return here with our men, who will train the others. The prisoners will remain in the Carpathians with my niece, who will then . . . That isn’t important,” he said suddenly. “My niece will be in charge, is that understood?”

  “And if I refuse?” Banyen demanded curtly.

  “You won’t,” the Khan said calmly. “You’re too good a soldier to disobey an order. If you do, you know the consequences. It’s my command, Banyen, and one I won’t repeat. My dear,” he said, as an afterthought, “allow me to present Prince Banyen.”

  “Nobility and titles don’t impress me,” Katerina said aloofly. “It’s what’s inside a man that counts, and you, Prince Banyen, are sadly lacking. It will be interesting to see how you fare in the mountains. Very interesting indeed.” She laughed again as she watched his dark hand reach up to touch the scar on his cheek. His dark eyes were murderous as he stalked from the tent, his back straight and stiff.

  Katerina’s voice was calm, yet the Khan sensed a tone of danger in her softly spoken words. “Who is Prince Banyen? How is it he commands this ragamuffin parcel of men you call an army?”

  The Khan sighed wearily. “Kindness, Katerina. Please, kinder words when you speak of my army. We’ll rise again as we did before, for this is but a momentary relapse. I have placed all my faith in Banyen to rebuild my army and make them the noble fighters of yesteryear. Banyen’s father was the prince of a league, controlling many banners and baks. Czar Ivan, in one of his mad rages, sent his soldiers out, and the Khanate of Kazan was burned to the ground. As a boy, he wandered until he came to Astrakhan, where he stayed until the Khan surrendered, and then he ran away. For years he lived with whoever would have him, until one day my men found him wandering near the Urals, alone and dazed, near death. They brought him here, and to this day I still wonder how he survived. If Kazan flourished, one day Banyen would have been the next Khan, but his entire family was slaughtered and everything lost. He’ll do as I say, because he owes me his life, and he needs my help to avenge his people. A brilliant strategist, he’s not entirely without compassion. One day he may let you see that side of him. Now he’s bitter and angry and has little patience, but that will change. What I’m saying is not to push him too far or you may rue the day you did. In open combat he has no equal, and on horseback the animal and man are one.” He laughed. “And he devours women the way I consume food. Later, I don’t wish to hear you
say you weren’t warned. Enough of this, where is that infernal crone with our meal?” he complained loudly, just as the old servant entered the yurt. Carefully she placed the platters of roast lamb and the decanter of wine near the fire, and slowly backed away.

  Katerina drank deeply from the decanter and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She bit into a plump piece of lamb, and didn’t stop till every morsel of meat was gone from the bone.

  “Rest, little one. I have business outside the yurt. No one will bother you. Sleep,” he said fondly as he laid a gentle hand on her coppery hair.

  Katerina needed no further urging. She cradled her head on her arm and was asleep instantly on the sable carpet.

  Khan Afstar stood with his hands posed on his ample hips, waiting for Banyen to walk toward him. He didn’t like the arrogant gait nor the murderous look in the young prince’s eyes. He schooled his own face to impassiveness as he looked around the camp at the multitude of tents that dotted the landscape. Far to the right of the giant compound, his entire army was garrisoned. Even from where he stood, shading his eyes from the brilliant sun, he could see that the yurts were sadly in need of repair. Men roamed about as if they had no destination in mind. Men should be busy or they grew fat and soft. What was Banyen thinking of to let them behave in so aimless a fashion? “What’s the meaning of this?” he demanded, pointing toward the garrison.

  “The men are tired. I gave them a few hours of respite to do as they wished. Not everything can be done in a matter of a few days. It was you yourself who told me this. I can’t make staunch fighting men overnight from derelicts who have grown sodden with wine and rich, spicy food. If they drill too long, they collapse. All things in good time. When the time comes to storm Moscow, they’ll be ready—you have my word.”

  “I see by the harsh look on your face you have no liking for my orders. I have my reasons, Banyen. This may be my one and only chance to ferret out the Whitefire secret. I want you to go with Katerina under the guise of commander of my men. What I want you to do is gain the secret. I don’t care how you do it, just do it. I have the utmost faith in your abilities. Make yourself available to my niece. Woo her if necessary, but don’t come back without the answer.”

  The scar on Banyen’s cheek began to throb with the hard set of his jaw. “And that means another delay. Very well, I always repay my debts, and this is one that will be paid first. I am well aware that I owe you my life. For that I’ll do your bidding . . . this time. But when I return from the Carpathians I’ll take matters in my own hands. Perhaps you forget how you promised me the aid of your men if I took over the training of your armies. A twofold arrangement, you said. I’ll never forget why I’m a paid soldier in this sorry excuse for an army. It would be simpler to just buy your army.”

  The Khan shook his head. “When will you young people learn that all things are gained by patience and timing? Revenge will be yours, but when I deem the moment is right, and that will be when we lead every Mongol in Sibir and surrounding territories through the streets of Moscow. Vengeance will be that much sweeter, take my word for it.”

  “If it’s the last thing I do before I die, I swear to you my sword will taste Ivan’s blood.”

  The Khan motioned to Banyen to sit beside him on a tufted sheepskin pillow. “Sit with me, here under this canopy, so we can talk. The sun will go down soon, and the day will get cooler. It’s a pleasant hour of the day to talk and have some wine. Besides, my young prince, I want to know more about your reasons for wanting Ivan’s blood. When you first came to my camp you told me your family was slaughtered and all your father’s territories taken away. I heard of the attack, but the details have never been told to me. Do you wish to speak about it now? I never urged you before because, as I just told you, I’m a man who selects his moments wisely, Banyen. You will see how it serves you and how much sweeter the fruits of victory. Now, angry one, tell me what happened to your people,” the Khan urged Banyen.

  “Why should you be interested?” Banyen questioned sarcastically. “You got my hide tied to a bargain, and I’m without a piece of gold. At one time I could have bought anything, including your so-called army. I don’t understand your interest, since my story can be of no value to you.”

  “Allow me to be the judge. I’m interested for many reasons. I always make a point of being informed of all battles and attacks, it teaches me the ways of the enemy. As for my second reason, if you haven’t realized it by now, then you shall. All Mongols are brothers, and when one Mongol gets killed it is a brother that is killed. I wish to retaliate for that injustice. Banyen, if you can put your anger aside for a moment, I’m interested in the attack on Kazan. I would imagine you were quite young when it happened—can you remember?”

  Before Afstar could say another word, Banyen raged, “Can I remember? A stupid question! If you saw your mother and father slaughtered, would you forget it? Would you, even though you were only six years old? Spared because some distant Russian forefather let you be born with a different color of eyes than the others,” he roared at the Khan.

  “No, I wouldn’t. Calm yourself, Banyen, tell me how it happened. Perhaps if you talk about it, it will ease the pain a bit. I’m not saying you should forget, or that you could. I’m only suggesting that if you talk about it, it might help.”

  “It won’t help, as I have no wish to discuss it now. End it, Afstar.”

  “Your trouble lies within you. You are too full of hate and vengeance to think clearly. After a winter in the mountains with the girl, your mind might clear enough for you to realize that emotions must be put aside, for one to think and plan attacks with care,” the Khan instructed the wrath-filled prince.

  “Speaking of the mountains and my niece, have you mulled over which of the young men you’ll take with you? I suggest you choose healthy young men, if there are any, for the winter is harsh in the Carpathians. If the snow starts while you’re on your way, half the journey will be made through knee-deep snow.”

  “When do we leave?” Banyen asked coldly.

  The Khan shrugged. “A day or two, perhaps three. My niece needs to regain her strength before she starts out on that arduous trek through the Urals. Patience, Banyen.”

  Soft gray twilight cast the high-domed yurts into an endless expanse of bubbles. To Banyen’s narrowed eyes, it was home, the only home he had known since the loss of his family and estates. He hated the squalor, the undisciplined men in their slovenly clothing, and their rough, crude manners. How was he to make a marching army from such degradation? Perhaps if morale were higher, or some sort of incentive offered, he might have a better chance of succeeding. His chest constricted at what he imagined would happen with his first charge into battle. The men would drop like flies or run with fear. They weren’t soldiers, they were inexperienced youngsters. He had to try—what else could he do? He needed the Khan and the Khan’s men. He shrugged; there was no point in torturing himself with thoughts such as these. His eyes traveled to the Khan’s yurt and the sleeping girl. He frowned. She reminded him of someone. While he might agree to the Khan’s terms, that was all he’d agree to. Once in the mountains, he would do as he damn well pleased. Never would he take orders from a woman, even a beautiful woman. He would conquer her first.

  A vision of her crouched low, her teeth bared, the knife thrust in front of her, made him draw in his breath. A formidable enemy, no doubt about that, but he was a man and she a mere woman. He allowed his mind to drift, envisioning her in a silk gown, her hair loose upon her bare shoulders. Of course, he smirked, her eyes would be filled with desire and her mouth would tremble for the feel of his lips. Perhaps this time the Khan was right, and patience was what was needed. He could be as patient as the next man, but when his patience was at an end, it would end.

  Chapter 7

  The dreary fall season took its toll on the Czar’s patience as he grew bored with the endless array of dinners and affairs. Nothing pleased him, not even his personally selected harem of beauties, who t
ried to bewitch and tantalize him. “I need something different to entertain me, I grow weary with dinners and women,” he wailed. “Does anyone have a new idea for their Czar, something to excite me?” he questioned his gathered nobles.

  The room was silent. Suddenly a quivering voice at the rear of the room was heard: “My Czar, the Oprichniks have taken many traitors as prisoners. Perhaps we could have them entertain you, under your supervision, of course.”

  “Yes, a splendid idea. I will have them perform for me and my subjects. Who is it that speaks? I order him to step forward.”

  A young nobleman slowly made his way through the crowd toward Ivan. Trying to control his trembling limbs, he bowed graciously before the Czar. “I am the person you seek, Czar Ivan. I pray I have not offended you with my outburst,” he said meekly.

  “On the contrary, young man, stand before me and let me look at you. You’re close to the age of my eldest son, and I would have been proud of him had he made such a joyful suggestion.” Ivan beamed. “On Saturday next we will have a mass execution at the Place of the Skulls in Red Square. I personally appoint you to announce this news to the people of Moscow. I want Red Square filled to capacity with my subjects. It is my wish that every citizen attend; if they refuse, they will join the traitors at the chopping block. Be off with you and prepare your announcements, for you have but a week. If the square is filled to my satisfaction, when we return to the palace I will have you dubbed a lord.”

  “Thank you, my Czar,” the young man mumbled, making a low, sweeping bow. “I will not fail you, you have my word.”

  The days following the Czar’s announcement were busy ones in the Kremlin. Ivan was everywhere, joyfully directing the workmen who labored day and night erecting intricate instruments of torture and execution: large pans for frying the victims, huge caldrons of water suspended over faggots, ropes that would cut a body in two when tightened, bear cages, iron claws, pincers, and the gallows.