At present, the Mongol army under Subutai had established its base along the banks of the Voronezh River. On the opposite shore, a coalition force led by the princes of Ryazan and Murom had set up camp. Part of the Mongol army was still engaged in fighting the Cumans, but they would eventually rejoin.

  According to scout reports, the coalition army included a contingent of heavily armed troops, but the majority consisted of infantry. They were deployed in a single line along the riverbank.

  Inside the tent erected at the base, Subutai surveyed the young faces of the princes from the various ruling houses, men who would shape the coming age and had joined this western campaign. All of them waited in tense silence for his words.

  “What would you do in a situation like this?” Subutai asked casually.

  Each prince offered his opinion in turn. After listening to them all, Subutai called for his deputy, Erbek, and issued his orders.

  “We are mounted. We exploit speed. Disrupt their formation, then surround and destroy them. Watch.”

  At his command, the princes filed out of the tent.

  Before their eyes, a Mongol cavalry detachment charged toward the right end of the enemy infantry line. The moment the movement was spotted, the right flank of the coalition army began to stir and thicken as troops shifted to respond. The cavalry loosed a few arrows, then withdrew without engaging.

  Immediately, another detachment surged toward the left flank. The line writhed again, this time thickening on the opposite side. The watching princes widened their eyes. No one spoke.

  As the cavalry units alternated their feints from left to right, increasing speed with each pass, the infantry line twisted and bent in response, growing increasingly disordered, control slipping away.

  Then another unit broke off and swept shallowly behind the formation. Pressed by the cavalry, the infantry stumbled onto the frozen river. Sections of ice cracked beneath their feet, plunging the formation into further chaos. By now, it seemed no one was listening to orders.

  Seeing this, Subutai gave the command.

  “Encircle them. Annihilate.”

  The princes relayed the order to their troops. With a thunderous roar of hooves, the Mongol forces surged toward the coalition army. There was no longer any chance of victory.

  Vsevolod Yuryevich, Prince of Novgorod, who had joined the battle at the request of the Prince of Kolomna, recognized instantly that there was no winning against the Mongols’ fluid movements. Maneuvering his horse skillfully through the collapsing ranks of the coalition and the advancing Mongol cavalry, he withdrew from the battlefield at once.

  Shaking off pursuing riders with desperate effort, he spurred his horse toward his home city of Vladimir. Glancing back, he realized only a handful of men still followed him. Events had unfolded too quickly for his mind to fully grasp. But one thing was unmistakable.

  They had lost.

  Norjin waited irritably for Zaya’s return, but it seemed she had spent the night at a monastery in Vladimir. In the morning, a merchant’s underling arrived at the tent with a letter from her.

  Wrapped in cloth, the birch bark inside listed the family structure of the ruling house of Vladimir.

  The eldest son, Vsevolod, had been sent to Novgorod in childhood and now ruled there as prince. The third son, Vladimir Yuryevich, had been granted the settlement of Moscow and currently governed it as Prince of Moscow.

  Royal families everywhere lived troublesome lives. The thought struck close to home.

  The information itself was unremarkable, but Norjin immediately understood what Zaya was thinking.

  “So you want me to kidnap the Prince of Moscow and force Prince Mstislav to give an answer.”

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  Yes. That was exactly what she would do.

  And the fact that she had entrusted this information to a messenger meant she had no intention of returning just yet. She was likely scouting troop strength, probing the weaknesses of the wooden fortifications.

  In other words, she was telling him to do it.

  Norjin groaned. Their roles had reversed.

  “What on earth is she thinking…” he muttered again.

  Even if he agreed, storming Moscow with his current force would be reckless. That meant negotiating with General Subutai for troops. Where was the Mongol army now? If he was going to act, he would need to depart immediately and intercept Subutai.

  The thought of facing Subutai made him nauseous. If, by some chance, the general realized who Norjin truly was… Still, they had already met once during the pre-campaign inspection, and Subutai hadn’t noticed then. Perhaps he wouldn’t notice this time either.

  There was no point in thinking further. Norjin began preparing for departure.

  After annihilating the coalition army at the Voronezh River, Subutai’s forces advanced on Ryazan.

  Though the city had already lost its ruler, it held out for several days longer than expected. But siege warfare was Subutai’s specialty. Battering rams and catapults were deployed. Once the wooden palisades were breached, Kipchak auxiliaries poured in as the vanguard.

  Looting and slaughter followed. The family of the Prince of Ryazan and the nobles who had taken refuge in a church were burned alive along with it.

  The flames of Ryazan warmed the body. None of the princes had died yet. Acceptable.

  Subutai then divided the army into three. One force advanced northeast along the Oka toward Murom. Another moved southeast along the Pronya River. The remaining force burned settlements along the lower Oka.

  Reinforcements bound for the capital, Vladimir, where Batu awaited, were now completely cut off. Securing the region would only be a matter of time.

  Several days after leaving the tents outside Vladimir’s gates, Norjin spotted a group of mounted knights ahead. At their center rode a man dressed like a high-ranking noble, the group glancing back repeatedly as they rode.

  They looked like a retinue shielding a defeated commander.

  As they passed, Norjin caught a glimpse of the man’s face. He looked terrified.

  Could it be the Prince of Moscow? No—he appeared older than Prince Mstislav.

  The straight road leading to Vladimir. A bad feeling made Norjin pull on the reins.

  If that group were remnants fleeing from Subutai’s forces, they were heading for Vladimir. If they arrived and reported to the prince acting as regent, the gates would be closed.

  He hoped Zaya wasn’t trapped inside.

  Turn back, or press on.

  Norjin realized, for the first time, that he had never considered the possibility of losing her.

  If he turned back, she would be furious. That was the kind of woman she was. And that was the woman he had fallen for.

  Could he endure her choosing not him? He could.

  Could he endure losing her where he could not see it happen?

  He would have to. This was the fate he had chosen when he chose her.

  Norjin turned his horse back toward Ryazan.

  Ten days after leaving the Voronezh River, Vsevolod—having ridden almost without rest—finally passed through the gates of Vladimir.

  A few moments later, as Zaya was turning back toward the tents outside the city, the gates slammed shut before her eyes with a heavy clang.

  Morning in Kiev began with the sound of bells. They signaled both prayer and the start of the market day.

  Vasily Ivanov rose before dawn as usual. After finishing a short prayer, he donned his cloak and left his residence. His duties as castellan were many, but walking through the city in the early hours was his daily routine.

  Merchants were already setting up tents in the market, arranging baskets of fish and unloading sacks of flour. Lines had formed in front of bakeries, people waiting for fresh bread. Along the river, boatmen shouted as they transferred cargo, the surface of the Dnieper glinting dully in the morning light.

  Everything was as it always was.

  He exchanged brief words with the gate guards, checked on monastery repairs, and listened to reports from tax officials. Problems existed. Funds were insufficient, troops were lacking, and the surrounding situation was unstable. And yet, the city functioned.

  That was Vasily’s work.

  Near midday, he returned to his office and reviewed documents. Distant rumors and anxious reports from merchants remained, for now, only rumors. He sorted them carefully, deciding which required urgency and which could be watched.

  Outside the window, bells rang again. People paused, crossed themselves, and moved on.

  Vasily set down his pen and looked out the window.

  Kiev was alive today.

  For now, that was enough.