“Could you?” the Bear asked calmly. “Perhaps. But I enjoyed the screaming. And you told me not to wake you.”

She turned away from him and vomited. When she had done, she rose and got water from the stream. She washed the blood from the dead woman’s body and composed her limbs. Then Vasya went back to the stream and scrubbed herself, by the light of the dying fires, heedless of the chill. She scraped at her skin with handfuls of sand until she was shuddering with cold. Then she cleaned the blood from her clothes, and put them wet on her body.

When she had done, she turned around to find the Bear and Ded Grib both watching her. Neither said a word. Ded Grib looked solemn. The Bear’s face was free for once of mockery; he looked puzzled instead.

Vasya shook the water from her hair and addressed Ded Grib first.

“Do you mean to come to the battle, my friend?”

Ded Grib shook his head slowly. “I am only a mushroom,” he whispered. “I do not like the fear and the fire, and I am tired of these fighting-men; they have no care for growing things.”

“I have liked it,” said Vasya, determined not to spare herself. “The fear and the fire of these last nights. It made me feel free, and strong, to make others afraid. Others paid the price for my pleasure. Ded Grib, I will see you at the lake, God willing.”

Ded Grib nodded, and vanished between the trees. The sun was just rising. Vasya took a deep breath. “Let us go to Dmitrii Ivanovich, and make an end.”

“The first sensible thing you’ve said since you woke up,” said the Bear.

32.

Kulikovo

THE RUSSIANS RODE DOWN TO Kulikovo at the close of the third day, and made camp. Even Dmitrii was silent, except to give the necessary orders, settling the men for the night, deploying his forces for the dawn. He’d had reports, of course, of the numbers. But reports were different than seeing something with his own eyes.

Mamai had finished bringing up his main host. They spread out in a single line across the field, as far as the eye could reach.

“The men are afraid,” said Sasha to Dmitrii and Vladimir, as they rode down to the mouth of the Nepryadva, a tributary of the Don, to reconnoiter the ground. “Praying will not make them less so. We may tell them all the day that God is on our side but the men can see the numbers across the field. Dmitrii Ivanovich, they have more than twice our force, and more are coming up.”

“I can see the numbers across the field,” put in Vladimir. “I am not happy myself.”

Dmitrii’s and Vladimir’s attendants were riding out of earshot, but even they looked at the opposing host and whispered, sallow-faced.

“There is nothing to do now,” said Dmitrii. “Besides praying, feeding the men well this night, and getting them into battle tomorrow before they have time to think too much.”

“There is one other thing we could do,” said Sasha.

Both his cousins turned to look at him.

“What?” said Vladimir. He’d been suspicious of Sasha ever since their reunion, wary of his unholy allies and of the existence of Vasya, his sister-in-law with her strange powers.

“Challenge them to single combat,” said Sasha.

A silence fell among the three of them. Single combat was a kind of augury. It wouldn’t halt the battle, but the winner would have God’s favor, and everyone in both armies would know it.

“It would put heart in the men,” said Sasha. “It would make all the difference.”

“If our champion won,” said Vladimir.

“If our champion won,” acknowledged Sasha, but his eyes were on Dmitrii.

Dmitrii did not speak. His eyes were on the mud and water of the open field, and beyond, to where the Tatars waited, their horses numberless as autumn leaves in the westering light. Beyond them, the Don river lay like a bar of silver. For three days, it had rained, heavy and cold. Now the sky had darkened and seemed to promise early snow.

Slowly Dmitrii said, “Do you think they’d agree to such a thing?”

“Yes,” said Sasha. “I do. Are they to seem afraid to send a champion out?”

“If I ask and they agree, then whom should I name to fight for us?”

said Dmitrii. But he spoke in the tone of a man who knows the answer.

“Me,” said Sasha.

Dmitrii said, “I have a hundred men who could do it. Why you?”

“I am the best fighter,” said Sasha. He wasn’t boasting, but stating a fact. “I am a monk, a servant of God. I am your best chance.”

Dmitrii said, “I need you at my side, Sasha, not—”

“Cousin,” said Sasha fiercely. “I broke my father’s heart, leaving home as a boy. I have not been true to my vows, for I could never

stay quiet at the monastery. But never have I betrayed the soil that bore me; I have kept faith with it and defended it. I will defend it now, before both our hosts.”

Vladimir said, “He is right. It might make all the difference.

Frightened men are beaten men, you know it as well as I.”

Grudgingly he added, “And he fights well.”

Dmitrii still looked unwilling. But he looked again at the host opposing them, half-obscured now by the dying light. “I will not deny you,” said Dmitrii. “You are the best of us. The men know it.” He paused again. “Tomorrow morning then,” he said heavily. “If the Tatars are willing. I will send a messenger. But you are not to get yourself killed, Sasha.”

“Never,” said Sasha, and smiled. “My sisters would be angry.”

IT WAS ALMOST FULL DARK when Sasha left the princes for the night.

Dmitrii’s messenger had not yet returned, but he needed to sleep, against whatever the day brought.

He had no ger, just a fire of his own, a patch of dry earth, and his horse hobbled near. When he got closer, he saw the golden mare standing next to his own Tuman.

Vasya had built up his fire and seated herself beside it. She looked weary and sad. The fey, mad creature of the night at Kolomna was gone.

“Vasya,” he said. “Where have you been?”

“Harrying an army, in the company of the most ill-natured of devils,” said Vasya. “Learning yet again the limits of what I can do.”

Her voice cracked.

“I think,” said Sasha gently, “that you’ve done too much.”