Citadels of Fire

  ***

  The next morning, in the pre-dawn murkiness, the Russian army moved out. Soldiers on armor-clad horses siphoned out of camp in a mass exodus toward the city of Kazan. The soil of Kazan would be watered with the blood of Russians today. Taras fell to his knees to pray for strength before dressing and leaving his tent.

  He’d slept little. Inga stole into his tent a few hours before dawn and lay down beside him. She worked harder than he did these days. He turned to her in the darkness.

  “Are you afraid?” she asked, her voice soft.

  He considered her question. He knew she meant to ask if he was afraid of death. He had a deep foreboding about what would happen before this siege ended, but it did not translate into fear for his own life.

  “No.”

  “I am.” He reached across the small space between them to touch her face, his hand cupping her jaw and partially covering her neck. He rose up and moved to lie beside her, their bodies touching, and wrapped his arms around her. At first, she went rigid, and he thought she might protest. Gradually, she relaxed, and finally twined her arms through his, resting her head against his shoulder.

  He wanted to make love to her so badly, his chest hurt, but the time was not right. A new thought occurred to him: he hoped he would not die tomorrow, because it would mean he wouldn’t spend another night in her arms. After a while, Inga’s breathing became slow and steady. Taras’s never did. A few hours later, he rose to pray. Then he donned his armor.

  Only the upper classes could afford chain mail, but it was required of all cavalry. Being an officer, Taras’s wages had afforded him some. Over it he wore a deep blue kaftan coat that reached to his ankles. Lined with fur and divided from the waist down so he could straddle a horse, metal scales lined the coat. It weighed nearly as much as his chain mail. The two great flaps drape his thighs for protection. On his head, he wore the conical helmet of the Russians, tapering to a long, straight cross at the top.

  His weapons consisted of his sword—brought from England—a harquebus, and an ax, which he strapped across his back. He also wore a saber at his hip. Other men carried these in addition to spears and daggers, and even carbines. The long muskets were deadly, but Taras only took what he could handle easily from horseback. It would be difficult enough on the battlefield without trying to use unfamiliar weapons.

  When he was ready, Inga, wrapped in a blanket against the cold of the coming winter, saw him off. He put his hands on either side of her neck and kissed her before mounting Jasper.

  “Be careful,” she whispered.

  “I will be,” he whispered back, then left her in front of the tent.

  Taras turned his horse to fall in beside Nikolai, who must have seen the exchange.

  “You’ve grown closer to her.” Nikolai’s voice came so softly that at first Taras didn’t think Nikolai addressed him. When he realized, he glanced at Nikolai in surprise, unsure how to respond. It sounded like a question.

  “Yes,” was the only response he could muster.

  “You must be careful, Taras. That could be dangerous.”

  “Nikolai,” Taras pulled on the reigns to halt Jasper and turned in the saddle. The sky had begun to lighten, and he could see Nikolai’s face now. “We are literally going into battle, and you think a kitchen maid is what’s dangerous to me?”

  Nikolai smiled briefly, a rarity for him. “Very well. But Taras, you must understand that if you do well here . . .” He trailed off and looked around, as if worried someone might be listening. Soldiers mounted up, heading for the edge of camp. None stood close by.

  “If I do well here, what?”

  Nikolai sighed. “You will be in a position of much greater power than ever before. The tsar has already shown you favor. People have noticed. If you now distinguish yourself in battle, you will please him further.”

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  “No. But if you continue on the path you’re on, it will lead to great favor at court. Eventually, you will be expected to marry someone . . . suitable.”

  Taras didn’t answer. With the battle looming like a black cloud, he'd thought of little else for months. He still did not appreciate the conversation, though.

  “I know this is none of my concern, Taras. I’m warn you because I know what it’s like to—"

  “You’re right, Nikolai. This is none of your concern.” Taras urged his horse forward again. A moment later, Nikolai rode beside him. “We have a battle ahead. Best to keep our thoughts on that.”

  “Yes. You are right.” Nikolai said nothing else for the rest of the morning.