Whitefire

by Fern Michaels

  “A few days longer makes no difference. Another three days and you’ll be fit as Stepan’s fiddle,” Katerina said. “The Mongols left a week ago, and Halya yesterday. She waits for you in Moldavia. She made me promise that I would return you to her safely. I told you that many times, but you were feverish, and I want to be sure that you understand what I’m saying.”

  “Then our plan is still the same, nothing has changed?”

  Katerina grinned. “If you had asked me that a week ago, my answer might have surprised you. Nothing has changed—myself possibly, but that is all.”

  Kostya lay back exhausted, his mind wandering. Something teased at his mind, but he couldn’t grasp it. Did he forget something, was he supposed to do something? What was it Banyen had asked? He sighed. He needed sleep. Later he would remember whatever it was that nagged at him.

  Each day found Kostya’s strength returning twofold. He was like the stallions, champing at the bit to move, to get it over with so he could begin what he said was the rest of his life.

  Ten days from the time Kostya’s illness broke, the Cossacks assembled outside the great fortress known as the House of the Kat and waited for Katerina’s signal to move.

  Astride Whitefire, she leaned over to speak to Mikhailo. “Another week and you can see to the burial of Grandfather and Valerian. Say the same words over the Mongol that you say for my Zedda. After that, go to Volin with the others and see to the rebuilding. The process is slow with so few men. Leave this fortress unmanned. There is nothing for us here now. It’s possible that I may never return—you understand that, don’t you, Mikhailo?”

  Tears burned in the old Cossack’s eyes at her words. He knew what she meant. “You must let me know if the wildflowers have sprouted when you get to the Dnieper. If you don’t return, I’ll never know. Take your new Cossacks and go. I’ll wait for you in Volin.”

  Kostya mounted Darkfire, while Rokal leaped onto Snowfire’s sleek back. “We leave you Wildfire to ride to Volin,” Katerina said softly. “Take care of him.” With a jaunty salute, she dug her heels into Whitefire’s flanks, and the stallion burst from the enclosed compound, clumps of sod and bits of snow flying in his wake.

  Mikhailo shielded his eyes from the glare and thought he had never seen such a magnificent sight. They were Cossacks, and she had done the very thing she had promised she would do. There was not one among the lot of them who had betrayed her or tried to undo the bargain she made with them. This new breed of Cossack will serve her well, he thought smugly. He had known all along she could do it. Not once did he have a moment’s doubt. His conscience pricked him slightly at the thought. Perhaps a dozen or so times, he consoled himself, but no more than that. The only thing that mattered was that she was successful. He knew she would return. But when she did return, would the Mongol be with her or would she be alone?

  Chapter 21

  Banyen and his men made the journey to the Khanate with few utterances. Banyen trotted ahead of the others, his thoughts on Katerina and their time in the House of the Kat. On the long ride he alternated between fits of rage and melancholy at his circumstances. She’s just another woman, he told himself over and over. At night his empty arms proved the thought a lie. She was part of him, a part of him he needed to live. Without trust, what would happen to their love and the life he planned for them? He told himself that women were foolish in the ways of love and men were strong and forceful.

  Would he ever see her again? His recurring nightmare of her lying broken and battered in some raid swam before his tired eyes. All for those damnable horses. Why couldn’t she be like other women, who thought only of lovemaking and babies? He admitted to himself that if she were like that he wouldn’t want her. Katerina was like no other. She was his. When all his affairs were in order he would go back for her and to make her understand. Women liked men to say sweet words and hold them close. There were worse things in life, he told himself. But he wouldn’t beg; he would never beg.

  His mood lightened somewhat as he let his gaze take in his surroundings. An hour more and he would be at the Khanate. He would soon be home. Home meant Afstar and telling him he didn’t have the secret and that he had given back the stallions. No more lies or half truths.

  Banyen rode his mount fast and hard, and brought him to a skidding halt outside Afstar’s yurt.

  “My ears are delicate, Banyen. A little respect, please,” Afstar said smoothly, his eyes taking in Banyen’s appearance and dark look. He didn’t fail to see the deep scar pulsating and twitching. Something was wrong. “Come, I’ve missed you. Join me in some wine and some real food. I’m most anxious to hear all about the winter. And tell me, did you beat the snows?” he questioned affably, holding the flap of the yurt aside for Banyen to enter.

  His hand to his cheek, Banyen strode through the yurt, remembering another time he had entered it, when a burnishedhaired girl sat on a pile of cushions inside it. “No, I didn’t beat the snows, and yes, we had problems, your detestable wagons for one. That girl is smarter than both of us put together. The long months worked their magic, and I fell in love with her. I’m returning to you without the breeding secret, and I rejected her offer of the four white stallions. We had a misunderstanding, rather your niece misunderstood something she saw, and I left with hatred between us. One day I’ll go back for her and explain fully, if that’s possible. That, Afstar, is the beginning and the end of it,” he said, bringing the wine to his lips and drinking greedily. “Your men are as good as any Cossack. They’ll serve you well. There will be no complaints.”

  The Khan was outraged. “Is this how you repay my generosity? I send you on a mission and you return and dare to tell me you had the stallions in your grasp and gave them up for love of my niece! I never expected Katerina to keep her promise, but I did expect more of you.

  “You failed me, but you won’t a second time. I have another mission for you, Banyen. You will go to Moscow and seek out those who can aid us when we attack. All the necessary preparations must be made. I will not and cannot tolerate failure this time.”

  The Khan’s anger cooled. “You failed, and that is the end of the matter. Tell me, did my niece say she was withdrawing her offer of the filly and the colt?”

  “Not withdrawing it,” Banyen said, coldly, “not fulfilling it. We both know she had no intention of ever giving you the animals. She would lie through her teeth for those animals, and that’s exactly what she did. They’re hers and no one else’s. They belong to her, not you and not me,” he said, bringing the goatskin to his mouth a second time.

  The Khan sighed. “I hoped,” he said pathetically. “It wasn’t too much to ask, one little colt and one little filly.”

  “It was too much. If you had asked her for her life, she would have given it to you. She’ll never part with those horses.”

  “And I thought you were the man that could turn the trick,” Afstar said sourly. He shook his head and leaned back in his comfortable nest of cushions. “Is there more?”

  “No,” Banyen said curtly. “Arrange for a bath and a woman in my yurt. Any woman will do as long as she has two arms and two legs,” he said, emptying the wineskin and reaching for another.

  “I never thought of it in quite those terms.” Afstar grinned. “I myself require a few other . . . It makes no mind. Go, you’re smelling up my yurt with your unclean body. Your request will be taken care of. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  Banyen staggered from the tentlike dwelling and entered his own, his head reeling from alcohol. So what if he was drunk? Who was there to care, and what difference did it make? He would live each day as it came. What more could he do?

  Banyen stripped off his clothing, muttering to himself as he drank yet more wine. Even in this condition, he had seen the new men at the end of the camp. Things looked different. Afstar must be rebuilding slowly. Well, the hell with him.

  The moment the sun rose in the east, a resplendent Tatar chief rode into the Khanate, his men trailing respectfully behind.r />
  Khan Afstar stood outside his yurt, his dark eyes speculative and wary. He motioned with his pudgy hand for the chief to dismount, and stood aside for him to enter his yurt. They seated themselves on the colorful cushions and watched the brazier as the coals flicked to life, neither of them saying a word. It was understood that they waited for one other confidant, Prince Banyen.

  The Tatar chief looked around the dwelling and nodded his round head appreciatively. He pursed his mouth as he caressed the sable carpet that rested at his feet. While he preferred bear rugs himself, he acknowledged that each man had his own tastes. The slanted eyes moved slightly as the flap parted and a tall man stood outlined in the bright sun. Now it would be business.

  Batu, the Tatar, motioned for Banyen to sit and join the discussion. Crossing his arms over his massive chest, he looked at Afstar and Banyen, then spoke carefully, his voice deep and guttural. “Word reached me at the beginning of the new year that you search for, and are in the process of buying, an army. I have such a force, and my warriors number two hundred thousand. I know that it has been your dearest wish for many years to avenge Kazan and Astrakhan. With my soldiers and the army you’re building we can accomplish that which you desire. You’ll help me and I’ll help you,” he said matter-of-factly.

  Banyen regarded Afstar and Batu with amusement. You pat my back and I’ll pat yours, he thought.

  “My plan is to attack Moscow at the onset of winter, if you feel that your fighters will be ready. By my figures your army should number one hundred thousand. With this amount of men we can’t fail.”

  “What is it that you want?” Banyen asked coolly. “I haven’t heard why you seek out this Khanate. The Khan and I know why we’re preparing to go into battle. I wish to hear your reasons.”

  Batu twirled the ends of his long, drooping mustache as he stared at Banyen. “I need women for my slave trade.”

  Afstar, seeing the look of stunned surprise on Banyen’s face, quickly spoke. “Your business is your own, but I want it understood that I do not approve. In no way will we help you in this endeavor. My army will join strength with yours, but it will be every man for himself. Let us understand each other, Batu.”

  The chief nodded his bulbous head slowly. “It is understood. We will rendezvous on the outskirts of Smolensk. Agreed?”

  Afstar nodded and stood up. The meeting was ended.

  Banyen followed the Tatar chief outside. With one long, steady look in Afstar’s direction, he headed for the military compound, where his men waited for him. Now it would be drill and prepare, prepare and drill, until a messenger arrived from Batu.

  Chapter 22

  Katerina rode the Cossacks fast and hard down the mountainous terrain. Whitefire was in his element, racing across and pounding the earth as though the devils of hell rode his heels. The other horses, trained to perfection, followed quickly behind.

  They stopped once to feed the animals and for a quick meal themselves, then remounted, the earth spewing behind them like a giant swell of water from the sea.

  When they arrived at Volin, Katerina dismounted and looked around the village that had been her home for so many years. She sought out several of the elder Cossacks who were already busy rebuilding the village. Rapidly she told them that Mikhailo and the rest of the men from the fortress would arrive within days to help with the new construction.

  “We camp here for the night and then we ride north. A light meal and a good night’s sleep, and we’ll depart at dawn.”

  Katerina and her followers left with the first sun and began their trek across the steppe in their search of the Cosars. No village went unnoticed. As was their plan, Kostya rode ahead with a two-man patrol. Each settlement was inspected, and long, lengthy discussions with the Cossacks who inhabited the towns ensued.

  One month followed the other, the Cossacks unsuccessful in their attempts to learn the whereabouts of the famed horse herd. One evening, weary to the point of exhaustion, Katerina sat near the campfire and complained bitterly to Rokal and Kostya. “One would think by now that somebody, somewhere, would have seen or heard something. Especially the Don Cossacks, my own people.”

  “Is it possible that your people are lying to you?” Kostya asked cautiously. “You told me they branded you a traitor, and that you are in disgrace.”

  “I, too, thought that in the beginning, but no, I don’t think that now. These are my people. They understand what I’m doing, and for that reason they wouldn’t lie. What belongs to a Cossack belongs to a Cossack. We kill to regain what belongs to us. I am no different from any other Don.”

  “Another month and summer will be at an end,” Rokal said, stirring the fire with a long stick.

  “Yes, I know. And we still have a two-week ride till we reach the Terek territory. It’ll be another month before we can cover all their camps on the grasslands. By that time the snows will have started and God alone will be able to help us. I can tell you now that the Terek is a bloodthirsty Cossack. They kill for sport. A life to them means nothing. When we ride into their camps they will tell us nothing. One Terek will lie and another will swear that he speaks the truth. We have to be prepared to search, and we must have eyes in the back of our heads. I want you to add more men to your patrol, Kostya. My gut tells me that our search is almost at an end. I can think of no one who would have the manpower to have raided Volin, save them. The Don would never steal from their own. But a long time ago I learned that you don’t trust your instincts one hundred percent, and that is why we rode through every Don village. I’m tired and I need to think. Give me the map of the steppe, Kostya, I want to look it over one more time before we leave tomorrow.”

  True to her word, the next weeks found the Tereks hostile and closemouthed. Katerina knew instinctively that each and every village they rode through was bringing them closer and closer to the Cosars.

  It was Kostya’s idea to free the horses from their pens in each town they rode through. “We need no advance warning of our coming,” he said shortly to Katerina as a herd of horses galloped across the plains. “It will take the men weeks to gather them together. We have the advantage now, and I want to keep it that way. Every day becomes more important to us.

  “In the last village before Khortitsa a mealy-mouthed Terek said he knew where the white horses were being kept. Then he laughed and said it was a joke, the Cosars have been in Moscow for many months. He boasted that it was his brother Gregory Bohacky who was responsible. His brother is now a hero and a saint to his people. A rich hero and saint,” he amended. “No amount of persuading could make him change his story.”

  Katerina nodded to Kostya and watched as the horses ran free.

  Gregory Bohacky! Could it be the same Gregory who came to Volin with Yuri? Was it possible that that was what Yuri was trying to tell her? It was the Tereks who killed him, and not the Dons! If that was true, then it was they who raided the village. Her mind raced. Bohacky, he’s the man responsible for my father’s death!

  The days were never-ending so far as Banyen was concerned. Spring passed into summer as he drilled and trained the new men who came in droves to the Khanate. Day after weary day passed with him doing nothing more than working out with the latest arrivals, eating, and sleeping. Summer was fast ending when the Khan called him into his yurt and told Banyen it was time for them to make their move. The agate eyes narrowed and Banyen nodded curtly when the Khan informed him that a messenger would ride at dusk with a message for Katerina, advising her of his plans.

  The Mongol courier had been riding for days, following the trail of Katerina and her Cossacks. Finally his perseverance was rewarded as he caught sight of the band leaving a village on the outskirts of Azov. Carefully he followed them and watched until they camped for the night. As the skies blackened he approached the campsite, making as much noise as possible. Immediately he was stopped by a Cossack guard posted in the tall grass a hundred feet from the main camp. The Mongol identified himself to the guard as one of the men who had
trained in the Carpathians with the Kat, and spoke of Prince Banyen and the Khan of Sibir. Reassured, the guard felt it was safe to deliver the messenger to Katerina. When her tired amber eyes looked upon the face of the young man, Katerina recognized him immediately as one of Banyen’s soldiers.

  “Come, Igor, sit by the fire and tell me what brings you this far from Sibir. Join us in a drink and a bite to eat.”

  He took a long swallow of vodka, chewed on a piece of bread, and said, “Your uncle sent me to find you and tell you that he and the Crimean Tatars have joined forces. Their plan is to attack Moscow.”

  “Why are they doing this?” she asked Igor before he could go on.

  “You know your uncle and Banyen wish to avenge Ivan’s raids on the Khanates of Kazan and Astrakhan, where family and friends were killed. When Afstar heard that the Crimean Tatars numbered two hundred thousand strong and were making plans to attack Moscow, he and Banyen set out to meet with them. The Tatars are seeking women for their thriving slave business. Certainly the Tatars don’t need your uncle’s men, but after listening to your uncle’s story of avenging his people, along with Prince Banyen’s tale, the Tatars agreed to unite. Khan Afstar’s army has grown somewhat larger since your visit. Many men have come, and his riches have brought him many more horses. He feels confident now that Moscow can be taken. The Mongols and Tatars stand thousands strong. Now he awaits word from you if you wish to join him. He also asked me to find out if you have found the Cosars.”

  “And what of Prince Banyen?” she asked coolly. “Has he whipped the Khan’s men into a fighting unit with the help of the boys I shaped?”

  “The prince is still very hard at work with the newer men. He puts them through a rough training, similar to yours. When he is finished, they can compete with any man and be proud of how they handle themselves.”