Whitefire

by Fern Michaels

  “That’s good news,” she went on, hoping he might mention a word from Banyen for her. When it didn’t come, she continued. “We haven’t found the Cosars yet, but we have one village left to raid. I saved it until last, until my Cossacks had proven themselves. I’m proud of them; they fight as if they were born to the saber. We have lost only two men in all our raids, and that was in one village where the people fought us. Most of the towns we pillaged were small, and the people harmless. We didn’t fight with them; in fact, in most of them we rode in and asked if they heard or saw anything of the Cosars. After a search convinced us the horses weren’t there, we left peacefully. The larger villages, where people resisted, we fought. We haven’t raided the smaller Don Cossack villages because I know they are our friends and wouldn’t steal from us. We have one place left to visit, and that is the Tereks, across the river on the Island of Khortitsa. The Cosars are there or have disappeared, I’m sure of it. Tomorrow before dawn will be our true test, when we commence our raid on the island. These Tereks are known to be the most savage of the Cossack tribes. They will work for anyone or do anything for gold. If we win a victory tomorrow, my men will truly be men of stature. They’ll be able to hold their heads high and proud, for they will have beaten their toughest enemy. Then they’ll be known as the Cossacks to be feared. If you wish to ride with us you may, but if you want to wait for us, do so. Tomorrow, after our visit with the Tereks, you will have my answer for my uncle. Will you join us?”

  The man shook his head. “No, Katerina, I can’t. I’m too weary. I’ve been traveling for days searching for you. I’ll wait in a safe place where I’ll be able to watch you and your men, and I’ll meet you afterward. In the meantime I’ll rest, for as soon as you give me your answer I must leave and return to Sibir.”

  “You’re right, you must stay alive to bring Uncle Afstar his answer. Let’s all get some sleep now, for in a few hours we’ll move toward the Tereks’ village.”

  In the tall grass on the east bank of the Dnieper River, after the guards were posted, Katerina and her men bedded down under the stars on the sweeping steppe.

  Across the river, on the west bank, was the island of Khortitsa, the outskirts of the Terek village. One by one, on foot, several of her men would cross the water and scatter, seeking out the guards and killing them. Quickly and without a sound, horses and men would then also cross and storm Khortitsa.

  Katerina was still awake, her mind not allowing her to sleep. The Cosars had to be there; they had searched everywhere else. She knew her men would find them. Her men—she liked the phrase. They were hers, for she no longer worried about them killing her in her sleep or deserting her. They were all one now: the Cossacks of Volin. Volin . . . By now Mikhailo and some of the elders from the fortress would be rebuilding the village. She had told Mikhailo that she at least wanted an enclosure put up, so that if they found the horses they would have a place to quarter them, if all was done before the winter came. Knowing Mikhailo, Katerina was sure he was busy chopping trees. Once more her mind insisted that the horses have to be in the Terek village. Secure in the knowledge that her plan would work, she closed her tired eyes and slept.

  She heard her name called, and she thought she was dreaming. Then she heard it again, and someone was shaking her shoulder. She opened her eyes to find Kostya kneeling beside her.

  “It’s time.”

  Katerina leaped to her feet and ordered the group of Cossacks to seek out the Terek guards. Within the hour, one man returned, announcing the sentries were no longer a problem.

  Katerina mounted Whitefire and signaled her men to cross the river quickly and quietly. When they reached the west bank they rode silently to the gateway of the village. With a forward motion of her arm, Katerina gave the signal to attack. The raid was on.

  Whitefire needed no second urging. He snorted loudly and galloped down the road, Darkfire and Snowfire in his wake. At the end of the settlement Katerina reined in the stallion and, with a quick look right and left, saw that the entire encampment was surrounded by her Cossacks. Her voice was shrill in the quiet night.

  “Send Gregory to me or every man in this village will die! On the count of three, bring him to me.”

  Silence met her ears as doors opened and a few old women walked out to the road and stood huddled together.

  “He was here at sundown, but I have not set eyes on him since then,” one woman said in a reedy voice.

  Rokal dismounted and dragged a protesting man to the middle of the road. “Count, Katerina.” He laughed loudly. “On three I’ll slice his ugly head from his neck!”

  “One! Two! . . .”

  Rokal brought up his saber with a quick slicing motion, his hand steady, a grin on his face.

  “Three!” Katerina shouted.

  “In the barn, in the barn!” the Terek squealed in a high, thin voice.

  It was Kostya who sprinted to the building, just as the door opened and a giant of a man walked out. Two Cossacks pinned him by the arms, and Kostya dragged him to stand before Katerina as he fought his captors with all his strength.

  “Are you the one they call Gregory?” she asked him hatefully, recognizing him instantly. “You! You’re the buyer who came to Volin with Yuri Zhuk. Now I understand. You weren’t there to purchase horses. You came to spy on us and steal the Cosars, you bastard!”

  Gregory was belligerent, a sneer on his mouth. His eyes widened at the sight of the white stallions.

  Katerina noticed the surprised look and laughed. “A mare is a mare, right, Terek? Without the stallions a mare is just another horse.” She leaned over and whispered, so that Gregory had to strain to hear her words. “Where are they?”

  Gregory shrugged. “What are you talking about?” he blustered.

  Katerina remained silent atop Whitefire. The Cossacks closed in, forming a circle around the sweating Terek.

  “Since the beginning of spring I’ve been searching for the mares and haven’t found them anywhere. I know they’re not in any other Cossack village. Where are they? I won’t ask you again! For now, all I seek is the horses, but later you’ll pay for what you did to my father and the people of my village. You can’t escape me.”

  The hackles rose on Gregory’s neck, and his stomach turned over at what he knew she meant to do. His mind shrieked for him to lie. Lie to her and she’ll let you go. He had a long, rich life ahead of him, with more gold than he could ever spend. “They were stolen from me when the village was asleep.”

  “That’s very amusing. It’s almost as sad a tale as the night Volin was plundered. I don’t believe a word of it.” She laughed, the only sound in the quiet night, with the exception of the horses’ deep breathing. “Do I have to count again? How much were you paid for the Cosars? Who did you sell them to?”

  A sharp jab with Rokal’s saber and the man lurched closer to Katerina, who was leaning over, her position relaxed and nonchalant. “Whatever you were paid, you were cheated. I’ll kill you if you don’t answer me. I want those animals back in their rightful pens by the time the first winds of winter come. Either you tell me now or I’ll slice your tongue from your mouth. Then I’ll castrate you in front of everyone, and I’ll laugh while I’m doing it. The same thing will happen to every man in this village. Your death will be slow and painful, and the road will turn to a river of blood. Now where are my horses?”

  She was bluffing, she was a woman, she wouldn’t cut out his tongue or . . .

  Free of the imprisoning hands, Gregory backed off a step and licked at his dry lips. Faster than the blink of the eye, he had Rokal’s saber free of its sheath and in his hand. “Now tell me what you’re going to do if I don’t answer you,” he sneered. “Yes, I stole your horses and I raided your village. Yuri and I were under orders from Ivan. Crazy Czar Ivan is the buyer. But now I have a weapon, and it makes us evenly matched. I can take a woman in my stride seven days out of the week. I’ll fight you, but I want none of your men to interfere.”

  Katerina nod
ded and stepped closer to the sweating Gregory. “I find it strange that you should say what you just did. Every Cossack stands and fights alone. My soldiers will not interfere.”

  The men’s eyes were glued to Katerina as she advanced a step and then stopped before the fearful Terek. Before Gregory knew what she was about, she had brought up her saber and flexed her knees simultaneously. She slashed out at his weapon, jarring his arm, causing it to jolt backward with the force of her blow. Gregory, stunned for a second, retaliated quickly and thrust his saber at Katerina’s midsection. Nimbly, like a dancer, she sidestepped him as her weapon again struck out, this time whacking his shoulder. The sound of his shattering bone was loud in the quiet night.

  Katerina laughed at the look of pain on Gregory’s face. “With little effort I can do the same to your other shoulder. Tell me where the Cosars are! I can smell your fear from where I stand.”

  Gregory spat for an answer, bringing his weapon up clumsily to strike out at the woman in front of him.

  “So you pay no heed to my words. Then you shall suffer, and if you die, then it will be your own fault.” She laughed as she feinted to the left, the saber finding its mark across the man’s other shoulder.

  The crack of the splintering bone brought shouts of approval from the Cossacks. Before Gregory could recover, Katerina danced out of the way and then crouched low in a sprint, lashing out at the Terek’s leg. Blood splattered in the dusty road. Gregory looked with disbelieving eyes at his injured leg. The saber dropped from his numb hand.

  “Now tell me, where are my Cosars? If you don’t speak, then your tongue will lie in the dirt with your blood.”

  Gregory reeled uncontrollably, falling in a puddle of his own blood. He fell face down, the blood and dust settling over his face, making a hideous mask.

  Kostya stretched out his foot and forced the Terek to roll over. “Answer the lady when she speaks to you.”

  “In Moscow. The Czar has the Cosars,” Gregory gasped. “You’re too late. By now they’re scattered all over Russia. You’ll never get them back,” he said shrilly.

  “I’ll get them back, no thanks to you. If I could find you, I’ll find the Cosars. Where is the gold you were paid for the animals? Make fast work of your answer.”

  “He can’t hear you,” Kostya said. “He’s out of his mind with pain. Ask one of these other . . . puppets.”

  Katerina lifted her saber and looked around. She waited, saying nothing.

  “In the barn,” came a babble of voices. “In the chests beneath the saddles.”

  “Take it all,” Katerina ordered Rokal. “It’s yours to divide among the men. When we get to Moscow you can thank Ivan for his generosity personally.”

  “What do we do with these . . . this scum?” Kostya questioned.

  “Put them in their own stockade. Shackle them together and move the poles in the way the Mongols do.”

  “They’ll die,” Kostya said softly. “Is that what you want? Do you want men’s deaths on your conscience for horses? If so, you’ll have to find someone else to obey this particular order. The stockade, yes, but no shackles, and the poles stay where they are.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. For a moment I was blinded by my own hatred. Place them in the stockade, and when the men are finished in the barn we ride out.”

  Katerina and a patrol of five men made camp for the night in Kharkov on the outskirts of Smolensk. Patiently she waited for the rest of her force, traveling in small groups so as not to draw attention to themselves. She was exhausted, more so than she ever remembered being, and now she was faced with a week’s wait until it was time for her rendezvous with the Tatars and her uncle, Afstar.

  As the men trickled in she was not surprised that those whose loyalty she had once doubted were now steadfast and committed to her cause. She wondered if the loot from Gregory’s barn had anything to do with their decision to stay with her. All were now as determined as she to regain the Cosars.

  Never one to remain idle, Katerina found the endless days a living torture. As always when she had nothing to do, thoughts of Banyen filtered through her mind. Where was he; what was he doing? Did he think of her? Would he forgive her? When the amber eyes filled with tears, she would get up and have the men practice. When she tired of watching their expertise with their weapons, she had them brush and groom the animals. At sundown they ate their evening meal and sat around the fire, their voices pitched low in serious conversation.

  Shortly before sunrise on the sixth day the Khan cantered into her camp. Briskly he ordered his men to dismount and set up tents. Katerina’s eyes widened at the sight of the thousands of men who rode with him. All seemed fit and hearty. Banyen did well, she thought.

  “You look well, my child,” the Khan said, dismounting. “Tell me, have you any news for me?”

  “Everything is well, Uncle, but this waiting is beginning to play on my nerves. How many more days?” Unable to contain herself, she blurted, “Where is Banyen?”

  “In Moscow,” Afstar said, watching Katerina carefully.

  “Moscow! Why? But I thought . . . I expected . . .”

  “He arrives tomorrow,” Afstar said, sparing her the need to ask further questions. “He’s been in Moscow for a week. The Tatars are also due to arrive tomorrow, sometime after dusk. Our plan is to camp for one day and go over our plans. However, in order to do that we must wait for Banyen and the information he is bringing us. Our plan is to attack at night, and it was left to Banyen to arrange our entry for us. Does that answer all your questions? The one-day delay is necessary, but any longer would only harm us. By now the peoples of the steppe are no doubt wondering where this massive army is heading. There is bound to be one among them that has sent word to Ivan by now.”

  “Are you telling me that Banyen is spying in Moscow?” Katerina asked, her eyes reflecting fright. “It can’t be safe, and his life could be in danger.”

  “He is the only man who has allies there, and that is why the decision to send him was made. He agreed,” Afstar said gruffly. “No harm will come to Prince Banyen. I’m tired, my young niece, and I wish to bed down for the night,” he said, walking over to join his men, leaving Katerina staring at his retreating back.

  As the sky darkened, the multitude of bonfires glowed like fireflies on the edge of the grasslands. Guards were posted as the Mongols and Cossacks ate and then bedded down for the night.

  Settling herself beneath the stars, Katerina anxiously waited for sleep to overcome her. Please, she prayed, let nothing happen to him, keep him safe.

  Chapter 23

  With a sharp tug on the reins, Banyen brought his black Arabian to a halt. Moscow stood before him, a little less than a mile off. Never having been in this metropolis before, he wanted to observe it from a distance. Prior to this visit, all his dealings with the boyars had been on a prearranged no-man’s-land or by messenger. Now he needed to know the city and its secrets. A week in Moscow, shown around by the boyars, and he should be able to lead the attack through it without any problems. He knew he had to be careful, because as much as the boyars hated Ivan and constantly undermined him, they were a lot not to be trusted by anyone. What was it the boyar had said? Banyen ran it through his mind again: “Take the main road into Moscow, through the Wooden City, then travel the White City, which will bring you into Kitai Gorod. You will know Kitai Gorod from the other cities by the fence built around it. Once in Kitai Gorod you’ll see an inn, a large log building, and you’ll recognize it by the wine pitcher which hangs over the entrance. We’ll meet at the inn after dark, but before you enter Moscow you must dress yourself in the clothes of a rich merchant.”

  Banyen, dressed in the appropriate attire, spurred the horse in the flanks and headed for the way into Moscow.

  He rode his stallion slowly through the Wooden City, choked with log houses and a maze of streets lined with poor artisans and laborers. Weavers, gardeners, sheep skinners, and coach drivers were busy working at th
eir trades. He trotted on into the White City, where he noticed a difference in the buildings, many made of ivory-colored stone. The filth and wooden buildings in the Wooden City were here, too, but here also stood ornate stone churches and palatial homes. Pungent markets along the main roadway, selling foodstuffs and objects of all descriptions, dotted the sides of the street. He was amazed at the unfamiliar sights and the number of people who milled and thronged the crowded, narrow roads. He knew that the masses of people would pose no problem when it came to the actual attack. To his discerning eye, the streets revealed only women, children, and merchants. Seeing no sentries to alarm him, he rode on, his eyes constantly on the alert.

  Momentarily wrapped up in his thoughts, he almost lost sight of the wall that stood before him as the sun, blotted out by the cover of the archway he passed under, awakened him to the fact that he was now in Kitai Gorod, or Basket Town. As his agate eyes raked the city he knew the boyar had spoken the truth, for in front of him were the kitais filled with earth, piled one on top of the other, reaching as high as the top of the wall. Banyen smiled to himself. The dirt-filled baskets would not deter the attack, only add fuel to the fire when the time came to burn the city. His eyes darkened and were sharp and alert for anything that looked the least suspicious as he continued toward the meeting place.

  Noticing a busy crossroads ahead, he approached, seeing a log building to his right. As his Arabian minced his way closer, he saw the wine pitcher hanging in front of the building. Nudging his horse to the side of the inn, he dismounted. Unsure as to what he should do with the animal, he tied it to a projecting log near the back of the building. Once he had spoken with the boyars and knew his way around, he would stable the animal.

  Entering the inn, Banyen was amazed to see the interior was large and bare. Except for the massive wooden tables and benches scattered about, a counter where the food and drinks were served, and a huge fireplace, nothing else was in the room. The starkness took Banyen by surprise, for Mongols always had drapings, rugs, pillows, and clutter around them. He walked to a simple table and sat down. He leaned back on his rickety chair and knew that he would draw no attention in his gray caftan.