Something happened to Voran’s body. It seemed to grow, to become firmer. His face aged before her. His eyes sharpened. They were the eyes of a full-grown warrior on the eve of war.
“Highness, I will do as you command. If it is your desire that I abandon my place at the seminary, I will do so. If you wish me to leave Vasyllia, I will do so. Only I ask one thing. Not for myself. For the memory of the man whom you loved as a brother.”
Tears gathered in Sabíana’s eyes. She batted her eyes, and the tears fell. She sniffed. Her hands shook.
Dar Antomír wept openly. He nodded. “Ask, Voran.”
“Lebía. Make her your ward. I will leave your sight then, and my shame will not reflect on your brightness.”
“Scribe!” Dar Antomír cried, and his voice echoed. “Let it be carved in stone.”
Voran assumed the military stance.
“From this moment, Vohin Voran and his sister Lebía are declared wards of the Dar. Vohin Voran is relieved from his studies. But he is not to abandon them. Elder Pahomy of the warrior seminary will study with him personally. He will graduate with his cohort in time. Let Dumar confirm the words of the Dar.”
In a softer voice, he had said to Voran, “Go, my son. Take whatever time you need to comfort your sister and to arrange your affairs. Our treasuries are at your disposal…”
“No, I must not think of him,” she whispered now to the darkness, its cold bringing her back to the present. “Voran must accomplish his quest, or he will never be complete. I do not want half a man as my husband.”
A gust of wind blew through the underground passage. The torches flickered and went out, leaving her in complete darkness. Throbbing like a heart, a white light appeared from the depths ahead of her. Strangely drawn by it, Sabíana walked forward. The white light flared, then faded. The torches came back to life.
Her heart pounded with dread.
A bundle lay just ahead of her. Was it her imagination, or did it move?
Terror engulfed her. With shaking hands, she reached down to touch the bundle. It was warm. With a sickening lurch, her heart stopped, then raced with redoubled fury. A body.
She ran back to the dungeons, where Rogdai still paced back and forth, overseeing the questioning of the traitors.
“Rogdai, come with me.”
When they reached the bundle, she found it difficult to look at it. She pointed, and watched Rogdai’s face, gauging his reaction. Every time she tried to look down at the body, terror crushed her, and she had to close her eyes.
“The face. Uncover it,” she said.
He did as he was told. His eyes went round, and he gasped softly. But not with fear. Sabíana forced herself to look down.
A man. So familiar, yet so strange. A face she had never thought to see again. A face so entangled with recent regret, worry, and loss that it was nearly as well known to her as Voran’s. But he had changed so much. He was drawn, starved, ashen, his face overgrown with a matted beard, no longer black, but not yet grey. Arms once bristling with the strength of ten men were little more than brown twigs cracked by winter. At her feet lay the erstwhile Voyevoda of Vasyllia, Otchigen. Voran’s father.
“Highness,” whispered Rogdai. “This is not possible. We are under siege. How does he just wander into the palace? There is something very wrong here.”
She nodded. “Take him to my chambers, but tell no one. I must think on this.”
“Highness, what is there to think about? He must have been sent by the enemy.”
Thoughts of pity and vengeance tore at her in turn. There was also something else: a sickening unease in the deepest pit of her stomach. She agreed with Rogdai. It was no accident that Otchigen appeared now, of all possible times. So why was she taking him? She had no firm answer herself.
Rogdai laid him in Sabíana’s own bed, and she wrapped him in her costliest furs. His breathing, so ragged and rushed, softened. From sickening green, his face took on the pied hue of the hearth-fire. She washed his hands, arms, and feet, marveling at their brittleness. With rose and lavender water, she gently teased out the brambles in his hair and beard. She undressed him and threw the rags into the hearth. She put a royal robe on him. Soon, a vestige of the former nobility began to reveal itself in subtle shades.
“Highness,” said Rogdai. “What do you intend to do with him?”
She bristled at the informality, but their shared confidence softened her. “Double the guard at the door, and be there yourself at all times. If this is some ploy by the enemy, we must be ready. But Otchigen was always a well of information. Now, perhaps, more than ever. I know the risk. But I will get it out of him by any means necessary.”
He stood straight and gave her the warrior’s salute. In his eyes, she saw something exhilarating. I am their Black Sun, she thought. Rogdai is my man, heart and soul.
Two dancing fire-lights resolved into three, then five, then seven. Seven torches, carried by seven burly Gumiren. The biggest made directly for Yadovír, showing no surprise at meeting him there. The other six surrounded them. Yadovír’s heart dropped to his ankles. The leader turned around and indicated that they should follow. Soon, they entered a bustling war camp.
Yadovír was so surprised by what he saw that he nearly forgot to be afraid for a few moments. Campfires surrounded them, some with no people around them, which Yadovír found strange. From all sides, he heard the sound of pounding hammers and harsh words. Logs were dragged back and forth, and he noticed a good number of the Gumiren constructing siege towers fitted with rough, wooden wheels. Yadovír was surprised that the Gumiren were intent on storming the city in winter.
Everywhere, he smelled horseflesh and feces and sour milk. Goats and sheep roamed freely among the men. He was momentarily distracted by the loud braying of a bull, and he turned to look. Immediately, he wished he had not, though he found himself fascinated in spite of himself. Five of the Gumiren lay a bull on its back and held it down as it thrashed. One of them slashed its chest and belly open so quickly, even the bull was surprised. Yadovír expected a spray of blood, but saw nothing. They held the bull until it stopped shuddering. Then they turned it over, and all the blood was collected in wooden basins lying in wait underneath.
“For sausages,” said one of the torch-bearers in a surprisingly friendly tone.
“Blood sausages?” Yadovír tried not to sound as revolted as he felt.
“Yes, very good!” said the Gumir.
Several men milked horses. Yadovír was disgusted, but then he realized that by bringing mares, the Gumiren had a nearly limitless supply of milk and cheese on the war path. Grudgingly, he admired their intelligence. He continued to look around, trying to understand these strange enemies better. There were few quarrels, to his surprise. Other than the constant barking out of orders, the predominant noise was laughter. Many sat by campfires joking in their rat-a-tat tongue. Some wrestled goodheartedly with each other as the others cheered. They did not seem like the killing force that had razed Nebesta to the ground.
Then he saw the Vasylli prisoners—all of them men. Hundreds of them, mostly tied back to back and thrown in heaps on the edge of the camp, just far enough from the fires not to freeze to death. It chilled him even as it confused him. What was the use of keeping all these prisoners? The possibilities were frightening, and ruefully he admitted that this was no common enemy. These were experts at total war. Several large mounds of earth lay beyond the prisoners, probably burial mounds for the dead Gumiren who fell when the Vasylli took back Dubían’s body. It reminded Yadovír that the Gumiren were still human, for all their prowess in war, and the thought gave him strength.
The leader stopped by the prisoners and said something to the six torchbearers. Two of them seized Yadovír and Kalún and tied them up back to back, pushing them down next to the other prisoners.
“What are you doing?” said Yadovír, heart and mind racing. “We have an arrangement!”
The leader laughed and said something in his tongue. The rest of them laughed and one kicked Yadovír. He fell over and his head landed on a rock.
