Chapter 5 – Strength

“You know as well as we do that ‘right’, as the world goes, is only in question between equals in power; while the strong do what they can, the weak suffer what they must.”

– Arcadian ambassador to the City-State of Phylakopi, dramatized by the Historian Pyra in her work: ‘City of World’s Desire: Arcadia and the Rise of the Inner Sea Imperium’

 

Luna was deep in thought as she casually made her way back into town.

Maybe I shouldn’t have split the medicine? She argued with herself for what seemed the hundredth time. There was no doubt that both boys were in the advanced stages of typhoid fever and their malnourished bodies were extremely weak. Even with two full doses, she couldn’t be sure they’d survive.

But what else could I have done? Ask a mother to choose between her two sons?

How could any mother make that choice, knowing that the son who did not receive medication was almost certain to die? She would carry the burden of her decision for the rest of her life, never able to cast off the guilt that would always chain her to this tragic moment.

No. It would be better to let fate decide, Luna concluded once again as she stared up at the sky.

Yet, no matter how many times she tried to convince herself, her mind refused to lay down the question. Doubt continued to gnaw like an inflammation in her chest, forcing her to ruminate through her actions again and again.

Was it like this for you also, Mother? Her lips twisted into a light scowl as she turned around another corner. She could hear Konstantin’s magically-amplified voice and see him gesturing from atop their wagon, but all she could think was that he wouldn’t have struggled over a decision like this.

Luna shook her head to clear her mind. Her hand went down to press against her stomach as her cramps and nausea returned with the present. She pulled a small waterskin from behind her waist and took a drink. The rosemary-chamomile tea she always kept not only helped with her cramps, but also served to calm her from the stress of everyday life.

After a few sips she continued to make her way towards Konstantin’s voice. His speech was the purpose behind their trip down. She could focus on other matters later, but for the moment she needed to listen.

Her master’s tone was still soft as it carried across the road intersection that marked the town center:

“…No, I am not here to ask you to fight for a lord or prince. You are Polisians, first and foremost, and it is our realm that’s entering a time of need. Tell me, Father Mikhail, when you made your pilgrimage to the heart of the Imperium, how many towns did you journey through that readily welcomed outsiders with different gods and different ways?”

“No more than the fingers on my hand,” the Trinitian priest and master carpenter raised his calloused palm from just five steps away.

“To exchange our cultural and religious views is the founding value of Polisia. I myself have Northmen blood running through my veins and would happily swap the Stormlord’s tales for Hyperion’s parables,” Konstantin spoke before he caught sight of Luna. “And nowhere else would I have imagined seeing a Samaran orphan run into the arms of a Trinitian priest as though he were her own father.”

The crowd chuckled and a few heads turned. Luna felt her cheeks warm as her gaze inadvertently lowered towards her feet. She had forgotten how quickly word spread in a small town like this. It seemed like everyone already knew about her encounter with Father Misha and the misleading relationship that Konstantin proclaimed.

“And this is just one of many traditions unique to us, unlike places such as the Imperial capital where even bakers would cry ‘true Arcadian bread for true Arcadians!'”

Konstantin clenched a fist in reproduction before gesturing to Father Mikhail in a polite invite for confirmation. The priest nodded. It was impossible to miss the overbearing pride of the Imperials when they encountered outsiders from the ‘barbaric’ lands.

“Do you think these are values that an outsider would respect if they overran us?” The pretend-merchant then challenged.

“We invited the Northmen centuries ago to become our rulers didn’t we?” A voice called out from the crowd.

“That’s true. My Northmen ancestors were foreigners as well. However the key difference was that we were invited,” Konstantin stressed before cracking a grin, “and only after you defeated our incursions and kicked our sorry butts back to the North Sea!”

A few laughs came from the crowd.

“Yet through that contact, our ancestors came to realize that we shared more in common than our differences,” Konstantin calmly went on. “Our peoples both upheld similar values in exploring new ideas and new frontiers. We respected each others’ bravery and prowess even when we fought as adversaries. The Northmen did not force their beliefs upon your predecessors, nor you them. Instead, we proved that we could respect both the Polisian and the Hyperborean Gods, just like how I stand in awe of the Trinitian Holy Father myself,” he offered a gesture of respect towards Mikhail’s chapel home.

“However since then, we’ve also discovered that our values are not the norm.” The young man added as his tone grew foreboding. “Even our closest allies — the Inner Sea Imperium — does not share these customs. When they defeated a coalition of tribes from Rhin and Southern Lotharingie in the west, they enslaved half the populace and began a holocaust that decimated the region. Like most conquering empires, the Imperials saw the local languages as an inconvenience to their new rule. They viewed the region’s traditional beliefs, customs, and lifestyles, down to everyday clothing and foods, as not just strange, but ‘uncivilized’ and ‘barbaric’. Most of all, the local residents were seen as undisciplined and inferior by their new masters; the argument was that had those people been any good, then they wouldn’t have lost!”

Luna’s lips turned a slight scowl in disapproval, even though she almost nodded to acknowledge his words. She might not be versed in history, however she did know that the Inner Sea Imperium had always been culturally supremacist. Even her kind father, who believed in helping people through charity and kindness, routinely expressed in private how ‘backwards’ and ‘primitive’ he found other cultures when compared to the glory of the Imperium.

There was even a time when Luna had believed it… until the day an Imperial Legionnaire showed just how superior Arcadia’s culture was when he pinned her to the ground and tried to rape her. Only the intervention of a squad leader stopped the soldier. Though any sense of relief Luna might have felt vanished when the two began discussing — right in front of her — how much more she’d be worth ‘unspoiled’.

“…And now, this eastern ‘Great Khan’ claims we belong to him just because we also live on the plains?” Konstantin’s rising pitch snatched her attention back from a memory that she desperately wished to forget. “Folks, that is a sign of disrespect, of intolerance, of self-righteous moral superiority. A sign of rejecting that other people may have different, yet equal systems of values and beliefs.

“Tell me, is that what you want to see in your future?” The young man challenged. “Five years from now, do you want to be told by some Eastling horsemen riding past that your God is a worthless wimp compared to his? Or that if your ways were any good, you wouldn’t have been crushed like ants beneath the boot heel? How would you feel if you had to pay taxes after the next flood to this distant ‘Great Khan’ whose name your couldn’t even pronounce? His people doesn’t even farm and he’ll just blame your ‘soft and lazy agricultural lives’.

“And what about the coming year?” Konstantin’s tone grew even more foreboding. “What will you do if the worst happens, and the Eastlings march through these lands raping and looting as they went? They’d hardly be the first nomads to descend to atrocities! What will you do if their emissaries show up before the town to demand grain for their soldiers as countless other armies have, and when you have no food to give they torch your fields and cut down your families!?”

His calm composure from the beginning had all but vanished, replaced by a provocative tirade of ominous warnings. Though even as the atmosphere of open discussion evolved into zealotry, Luna recognized that his argument had made a great leap of logic.

Sure, Luna had experienced first hand when her life and family had been destroyed in the flames of war. But she also knew there was little proof that the Eastlings would act in the presumed manner. For Konstantin, the problem lay in that the war was still in its early phases. There were no circulating stories of victims to raise onto the pedestal of martyrdom. There was little evidence at all of how the Eastlings would even conduct themselves.

In other words, the bleak future Konstantin painted for the villagers was, for the moment, just fearmongering. But it was plausible, even probable. That possibility made it scary. It made his words effective.

So Luna kept her silence, not because she agreed with Konstantin, but because she understood how much he needed the villagers to believe him.

“No, we won’t like it,” several shouts emerged from the crowd, their rebellious sentiments roused by Konstantin’s warnings.

“This ‘Khan’ can go back to his steppes to pick horse dung!” A young man added.

“We’ve no need for some foreign horselord to tell us how to live!”

“Foreign is right,” the young master nodded before he gestured accusingly towards the north. “Your liege in that castle upstream might be a greedy, callous bastard who insist on taxation when there’s no harvest to give. But at least he speaks our language, celebrate our holidays, and respect our values. The Principality might not always take action to remedy our plight, but at least you can voice your troubles — just as any property-owning Polisian man could — by journeying to the city and shouting ‘yay’ or ‘nay’ at a vote in the Veche Assembly!”

“Better the ass we know than the ass we don’t,” another young man declared. “At least our ass looks familiar!”

“But that doesn’t mean we’re willing to march with said ass,” an older villager, probably in his late forties, responded this time.

“Why should we send our boys out to risk their lives with a greedy, absentee lord who thinks only of himself?” A middle-aged mother added.

However, their counterarguments only made Konstantin’s emerald eyes light up, and Luna immediately recognized that he’d been waiting for this moment.

“And that’s exactly why I’ve come here!”

That silenced the villagers at once as they looked back, half-stunned and half-intrigued.

“War is a risky business,” Konstantin began anew with a calm, steady voice that shared the villagers’ wariness. “I won’t deny that. And I certainly won’t try to fool you into thinking that this campaign will be easy.

“But life has always been about risk-taking,” the young master sat down. His tone grew relaxed, almost casual, as he continued from on top of a sack of grain in the wagon bed. “I take a risk every time I load a wagon full of goods and drive it to another town to trade. Just as you take risks whenever you scatter sacks of grain into the ground for another year’s crop. Sometimes the harvest is bountiful and everyone celebrates, other times the weather is bad and the crop fails. But one thing is consistent: the more risks you take, the more opportunity you have to gain.”

A quiet moment followed as the villagers mulled over Konstantin’s words. Then Father Mikhail broke the silence with a phrase spoken in the Arcadian tongue.

Fortune favors the bold, Luna noted to herself even as the priest-carpenter translated the words out loud.

“I prefer our version of that proverb,” the druzhina Anton injected from besides the wagon. “Do nothing, fail nothing, succeed nothing.”

Konstantin nodded in agreement:

“It is a common wisdom, one that every culture has a saying for. But tell me, has any of you ever considered — why does the Boyar aristocracy always seem so eager to march for war? Why do they see it as not just an obligation, but an opportunity? Are they not also creatures of flesh and blood, prone to death and crippling injury? They have such long lives to live in comfort, so what is it that makes them so eager to gamble it all?”

“Because they have magic to protect them?” A girl in her teens blurted out.

“Yet, that magic also makes them a greater threat and bigger target,” Konstantin patiently answered. “Any veteran marksman can tell you — on the battlefield, you always aim to kill the Magic-Capable Officers first.”

This time, a minute passed with only hushed conversations before a young man in his twenties tentatively spoke up.

“B-because they gain all the glory that they win?”

“Precisely!” The young master grinned back. “Whenever the soldiers under their command score victory, it is the aristocrats who earn glory while the common man is paid only a pittance for their blood and sacrifice. So while the Boyars may risk their lives, they have just as much, if not more, to gain. A more glamorous life, a better future for their family — they can imagine it. Why can’t we?”

Standing back up, Konstantin placed one step on top of the wagon’s rails as he leaned forward to ask the crowd:

“Therefore ask yourself this: why do we need some incompetent, ungrateful noble to lead us? Why can we not organize ourselves, to fight under our own officers and gain all that we win? The Grand Prince is seeking to hire mercenaries to aid in the defense of Polisia. His offers are generous — more than enough silver to feed your families for years. And that doesn’t even include the prizes one could obtain through defeating a plundering horde!”

Konstantin didn’t specify exactly what that exactly ‘prizes’ meant. However the eager smiles of several dozen young men revealed that their imagination were fit for the task. Luna shivered as their glee sent a frightful chill down her spine. Had her master forgotten that she had been among the ‘plunder’ of the last war?

But what the young master missed, Father Mikhail did not. Luna caught a glance from the carpenter-priest — a soft gaze of concern and sympathy mixed with curiosity. The old family friend had clearly found out about what happened to her parents. Yet he was still missing a piece of the puzzle: he didn’t know how an adolescent girl had survived through the war that destroyed her family.

…And a part of her hoped that he would never find out.

“The Grand Prince would simply hire a band of backwater peasants like us?” A cynical father in his forties cast his doubts, and several men of older and less impetuous age nodded in agreement.

“Of course not,” Konstantin declared without pause. “However, I have word from reliable sources within the Polisian military that this war will be neither quick nor decisive, contrary to the official slogan. Winter is approaching, and that gives us time to train for a Spring campaign. That’s several months, more training than even the average Streltsy recruit.”

Luna watched as the man who asked stood amazed. It was common to recruit farmers and fill the ranks with them. But to recruit peasants and then give them proper training? Such a thing was almost unheard of outside the Imperium.

“Is there a risk?” The young master voiced their concerns. “Yes, just as you risk starving over the winter should you stay here. However!” He raised a finger to stress. “If we win, the reward would ours alone. That means your family need not endure another winter of cold beds and hungry bellies for years to come! And since you all know each other, we can even set up funds — savings where we all pool a part of our earnings — to guarantee that those brothers who fall in battle will see their widows and orphans cared for, so that their families may live better lives even if they can only watch in peace from the afterlife!”

“And what’s in it for you?” A still-disgruntled man called out. “What’s to stop you from abandoning us when a battle turns for the worse?”

It probably took all of Konstantin’s willpower to suppress the contempt that, for a brief moment, glinted in his green eyes. He took a steadying breath before turning to face this final challenge.

“I may be a merchant, but I also take great pride in being Polisian. I have traveled far and wide to understand that our ways are not common. I will not stand by and watch as our realm falls into calamity and our way of life lay threatened. Therefore, as a Polisian, I have bet my entire livelihood upon our Federation winning against this invasion! So like you, I stand to lose everything should these Eastlings win.”

Luna watched as Konstantin stared in silence for a long moment, surveying the villagers as his words sunk in. The man who spoke out had clearly touched a nerve, and she knew for a fact that the response was no act. The word ‘coward’ had haunted Konstantin for years since the Streltsy Revolt. Without the mask of his wastrel persona, he had little defense against those who questioned his willingness to fight.

“And that, is what I’ve come here to offer you today,” Konstantin steadied his tone as he pitched the conclusion to his speech. “Not riches, not glory, and not duty, but a chance to fulfill all of the above. I offer you an opportunity to fight for your future, as brothers. Should we win, we will celebrate it, together. And should we lose, we will at least meet fate knowing that we have done everything we could — not just as husbands, as fathers, but also as Polisians!”

The young master did forget one detail, and even Anton’s grumbling cough did not make him remember.

It wasn’t until Father Mikhail asked before Konstantin finally remembered what he stood on top of.

“And you just happened to bring a cart full of grain with you into the village?”

A sheepish smile spread across Konstantin’s lips as he scratched his ears and replied:

“Of course not. We’re offering it to anyone who signs up. That way they can come train with us in peace, knowing that their families would be fed in the meantime. I…” his cheeks took on a faint blush. “I had grown too passionate and forgot about it in the middle of the speech.”

Luna smiled to herself as she watched the villagers exchange glances of astonishment in return. Konstantin might never understand that despite all his logic and emotional rhetoric, it was this moment that truly convinced the cynic-minded elders of his sincerity.

It was such a glaring mistake to make, one made only possible by the fact his speech wasn’t some pompous, prepared script. No, Konstantin had delivered it with eloquence and passion because he truly believed in it… so much so that he even forgot to offer his ‘bribe’ to the village.

The results were exceptional. By the mid-afternoon, every sack of grain they had brought had been parceled out. The villagers even showed their unity as many of the young men who joined shared their provisions with their neighbors — an act that Konstantin much approved.

“A unit that lives together as friends fights together as brothers,” he commented to Luna as Anton nodded in agreement.

In the end, Konstantin had secured the names of one hundred and thirty six able, fit men, even if some of them were a little malnourished. And this was just from the first village of recruitment.

 

—— * * * ——

 

The wagon rocked as its wheels creaked through the thin mud. The ground would take at least another day to dry, though Luna wasn’t complaining as it meant their ride wasn’t bouncing up and down across an uneven dirt road. The sun had dipped into the mountains in the west as the group made way back north. Except instead of carrying several dozen sacks of grain, four extra men from the village now rode on the wagon.

Father Mikhail sat in the front with Anton while three of his apprentices joined Luna on the wagon-bed’s planks. They were heading to the training camp first to help set up, although Mikhail also stated that he wanted to assess the provisions and bring word back to the village.

It was an offer that Konstantin seized upon without hesitation. He seemed confident of his preparations, and clearly saw this as an excellent opportunity to boost further recruitment.

For Luna, this all made sense. But right now, as she sat in close proximity to five other men in a small wagon, she rather wished he didn’t. Two of the apprentices were still in their late teens, and they couldn’t seem to take their eyes off her. The youngest, pimple-faced boy at least had the courtesy to offer a sheepish smile whenever Luna met his gaze — he might not have left her comfortable, but his gesture at least showed that he was not dangerous.

Meanwhile, The other young man ogled her as though she was sprawled naked before his gaze.

The Samaran girl pressed herself against the wagon-bed’s corner as her lips trembled. Her eyes closed as she endured discomforts from both outside and within her body, only to see images of her past return to haunt her — those days when she was caged and helpless in the slave market, naked for all to see.

“Father Mikhail. I’m going to take offense if your boys don’t stop staring at my girl like that.”

It was Konstantin’s disapproving voice that pulled her back to the present. He had clearly noticed something was wrong with her as he pulled his horse back alongside the wagon.

The carpenter-priest, who sat right in front of Luna, turned to assess his apprentice before giving him a scolding:

“Vanya, show some respect. You look like a wild mongrel in heat.”

The young man in question wasn’t even listening. It took an elbow from the other boy besides him before he finally noticed.

“Father Misha, I… I was…”

“Yes, what were you doing?” The priest sounded as though he couldn’t be more disappointed in the young apprentice.

“B-but I didn’t do anything!” The boy named Vanya stammered. “Y-yes, I had some… impure thoughts. But they were only thoughts!”

“But I say to you, that whoever looks at a woman to lust for her has already committed adultery with her in his heart.” Konstantin recited aloud, his words instantly drawing Father Mikhail’s astonishment.

“The First Gospel — you’ve studied the Trinitian Holy Scriptures?”

“I’ve read the chapters on Hyperion’s life,” Konstantin shrugged. “And I have a good memory.”

The druzhina Anton gave a faint snort from the driver’s seat, as though that was an understatement if he had ever heard one.

“I was thinking of the exact same verse,” Mikhail returned a curt nod of appreciation. “Though in the future I would appreciate it if you allowed me to teach my apprentices.”

“Sorry,” it was Konstantin’s turn to look sheepish.

In the meantime, Father Mikhail spun back to the young man:

“Vanya, it is understandable if you simply saw her and felt the devil’s temptation. But you did not just see. You looked upon her with lust, a conscience decision on your part.”

“B-but she… she was looking…” Vanya spoke defensively.

“Let me stop you before you say something you’ll regret,” Mikhail interjected. “Luna is a proper young woman. Furthermore, she, is a Samaran.”

The young man looked back as though demanding ‘so?’.

“Samarans don’t flirt,” Konstantin added, somewhat irritably. “Let alone a maiden at that.”

He finished with an apologetic tilt of his head towards Father Mikhail. However this time, the priest showed no signs of being bothered by it. Instead, Mikhail nodded firmly in agreement.

Meanwhile the druzhina Anton, who had maintained a nonchalant disinterest towards the conversation until now, spun his gaze towards Konstantin in surprise. He didn’t actually say anything, but his demeanor made it clear to Luna that her master had just revealed something to him.

“The first step to acknowledging your mistakes is to take responsibility for them,” Mikhail’s attention returned to Vanya as his tone lightened. “I do not fault you for having temptations. But you must remember — to sin in your heart is the first step to committing sin in life. You must try to control your urges, not to surrender to them.”

“Y-yes, Father,” the young man looked down in shame of himself.

“Now Vanya, what do you have to say to Luna?”

“I-I’m sorry,” Vanya muttered. “I’ve just never met a girl as pretty as you before.”

The young man was clearly displeased at being forced to embarrass himself in front of the girl. Nevertheless, Luna had no doubts that his words were sincere and he truly repented for his actions. It didn’t remove the anxiety and fear that Luna had felt though. Instead, his apology only obliged her to offer an uneasy nod in reply.

“It’s alright.”

She wasn’t just a girl but also a Samaran. It was expected of her to offer forgiveness in response.

In hindsight, Luna couldn’t help but notice that Konstantin established his protection by declaring her as his, just as he had done ever since he bought her at the slave market that day. As a young girl, she had attended traditional Hyperborean weddings where a symbolic sword was used to transfer the power of protection from the father to the husband. She would never have envisioned back then that her defender would be the man who owned her instead.

But why, she thought to herself, reflecting upon not just her own lacking but also that of other girls she knew.

Why was it that I… that we were never taught to protect ourselves?

…

The journey continued with sporadic discussions for the next hour. Mikhail, Anton, and Konstantin were in the middle of planning housing construction when the Druzhina Captain suddenly hushed them all with a forceful “shhh!”.

The sun was barely over the horizon. Its distant light dyed the autumn woods in a blanket of warm glow. Yet despite the temperate weather of this afternoon, the chill of the air felt biting and the trees stood eerily silent.

It was quiet, too quiet. Even the chirping of birds in the forest sounded distant.

Then, as Konstantin abruptly stopped his thoroughbred steed — who neighed loudly as it lifted its body and stood on hind legs — two crossbow bolts shot out of the foliage and pierced straight into the beast’s neck.

Luna’s eyes ballooned as time seemed to slow. It was sheer coincidence that neither steel spike had drilled into Konstantin’s chest.

Her master vanished in a burst of smoke, while Anton dropped his reins without hesitation and spun around to face the wagon. Luna never saw him draw the flattened stone shaped like an oversized coin from his pocket. It flipped in the air twice before his gloved fist punched it against the front wagon seat.

Her body shook as a blast of pure noise tore the wagon in half. The runic spell had split the wooden vehicle squarely down its spine. The fissure erupted no more than a finger’s length from her feet. Her legs went stiff as the shockwave left her bones trembling.

Luna stifled her urge to scream as she fell from the broken, still-moving halves of the wagon. Only the Captain made a landing on his feet while the rest of them fell flatly onto the muddy road. The two pieces of the wagon came apart and collapsed against the earth in a rough ‘V’. The horses cried as they were shot dead next, and only then did Luna realized that Anton’s quick response had created chest-high cover against both sides of the forested road ahead.

Half crouched, Anton drew his recurve bow from a belt pouch that looked far too shallow to hold the weapon. He pulled an arrow from the enchanted pouch before nocking it. His body spun as he took aim into the trees ahead in the same graceful action. The swift, fluid movements seemed totally unfitting of his gruff, stocky appearance.

The Captain scanned the woods but did not shoot. His armored boot then gave a sharp kick against the broken wagon and shattered a plank.

“Weapons in the holding compartment,” he spoke in a low voice. “Arm yourselves. We have an ambush.”

“Why would they ambush us?” Vanya the apprentice asked.

“Would you like to march out there and ask?” Anton snorted.

Meanwhile, Father Mikhail did not need to be told twice as he pulled away the broken planks to reveal the stocks of several crossbows. He handed two to his apprentices along with a bag of bolts, took a third for himself, then passed the fourth and last into Luna’s shaking hands.

“I-I don’t know how to use one of these!” Luna stammered out at the same time as the youngest apprentice, who couldn’t have been more than fifteen years of age.

“Watch and learn!” Mikhail demanded with a stern gaze, then added extra emphasis with his brown eyes as they focused on Luna. “You can’t always rely on others to stand up for you!”

Clearly, events from earlier had left words unspoken in his thoughts.

With her hands shaking, Luna accepted the crossbow and tried to pull against its stock. Somehow, despite having never seen one used, she seemed to know how the weapon worked. Nevertheless, her feeble strength was nowhere enough to pull back the tensioned arms. Her thin fingers hurt as they strained against the tight drawstring, but she wasn’t even close.

“Let me,” Vanya interceded as he snatched the weapon from her before laying it against his leg. With a shoe through the cocking stirrup, he followed his master’s lead and strained both arms to pull back the drawstring. A click came as it latched onto a hook near the stock’s rear. He then inserted a bolt into the firing groove before handing the weapon back to her.

Luna looked back, bewildered. “Why can’t you…”

“I only see blurs in the distance,” the young man gestured to his eyes before turning to aid his fellow apprentice.

Luna’s next thought was interrupted when the twang of a bowstring came from Anton’s bow. His arrow soared into the trees before he cursed under his breath.

“Damn Camouflage. Can’t get a clear mark on their position,” he noted before nocking two more arrows. “Follow my lead. Shoot where I do and pray you get lucky.”

“Where’s His Lordship?” Luna blurted out without thinking. She didn’t even notice the surprise on Mikhail’s face as he immediately recognized what it implied.

“Hiding somewhere!” Anton replied with clear disapproval in his voice. “He’s their target. At least that means they’re too busy looking to shoot…”

He didn’t even finish saying ‘us’ before an incoming bolt forced him to duck. The steel spike struck the upper edge of their cover and penetrated three layers of planks until its gleaming tip protruded from the sitting board.

“Fuck. That shot curved,” Anton cursed as he surveyed the bolt. “Arbalest with Seeker enchant.”

“Monkshood poison,” Luna whispered as she stared wide-eyed at the hint of lavender on the steel tip. Her arms and legs suddenly felt like they were made from bread pudding.

“Overkill,” Anton remarked as he half-snorted to himself. His lips then took on a wolfish grin: “On the bright side — if you get shot, you won’t live long enough to regret your mistakes.”

He then peeped over the wagon’s cover. “On my mark: three, two, one…”

Anton stood up and released his double-shot into a set of shrubs at no more than sixty paces. One of the arrows was a tracer that drew a line of magic as it flew through the air. The other simply soared into a tree near the target and burst in a cacophony of noise. The sound blast shattered the tree trunk and sent a shower of wooden splinters in every direction, just as Father Mikhail and his oldest apprentice both raised their crossbows and pressed the release.

Luna could only stare at the poisoned steel tip as her whole body lay trembling. Monkshood extract was one of the most toxic substances available. Carried on the tip of a piercing bolt, it would enter straight into the body’s bloodstream and begin to shut down organs. The poison was so fast and deadly it had the potential to kill even Samarans with their innate toxin resistance.

With her mind and body paralyzed by fear, Luna barely even registered the faint sound of flowing water. It came from between the legs of the youngest apprentice, who whimpered and cried as he sat across from her.

“Come on you two,” Anton cried as he crouched back down behind cover. “Fight or die!”

A thud came from behind Anton as a second bolt embedded itself into the wooden planks. Its gleaming, poisoned tip emerged just a few hairs from his head. Anton looked upon it with a laugh as though he found it humorous. He drew two more arrows before standing back up with a grin beneath his perpetually angry frown. Luna watched in awe as he leveled his bow horizontal and released both shots at a low angle.

It didn’t make sense. She couldn’t comprehend it. The druzhina had almost lost his life just now… how could the man be enjoying himself?

Cyno cyno! Enemy fleet bridging in!

It’s an effing trap!

Hold formation. HOLD formation! We can win this! Focus all weapons on that supercarrier!

The voices were not that of the veteran soldier or the carpenter-priest, but that of several young men that seemed to come from within. They didn’t make any sense to Luna yet she felt the adrenaline of excitement flow over her terrified mind, one that prompted her to move her legs and try to stand.

“Get down!”

A sharp tug on her shoulders forced her back behind the cover. Anton had yanked her cloak down just before a blast of searing heat passed overhead. The eruption was close, too close this time. Luna reached up and felt the frazzled hairs that were singed.

“What just–”

“Fire Blast bolt. Figured they’d use something to destroy our cover.” Anton smirked at Mikhail’s questioning face. “I shot two runes into the ground for a ward to disrupt incoming spells. These assassins may be professional, but they’ve got a lesson or two to learn about the flow of combat!”

“Ready?” the Druzhina Captain drew two more arrows before glancing at the men who had finished reloading. “Three, two, one…”

Luna wasn’t ready. She wasn’t ready at all. Her fingers were trembling with her crossbow still in hand. But she also didn’t want to just sit there and await the results.

Death was simple. A Samaran did not fear a restart of life in cycle. What Luna feared above all was to see those around her cut down again, to find herself alone and helpless, captured and enslaved, again.

I can’t always rely on someone else to protect me. Her thoughts mirrored Father Mikhail’s earlier shout.

“Now!” Anton stood up and released another double-shot. This time Luna joined in as she raised her crossbow over the collapsed wagon half and pressed the trigger to release its bolt. One of Anton’s arrows glowed in midair as strands of magic reached out to two other projectiles, drawing a net of blue light between them that crackled with sparks like a web of lightning.

Luna wasn’t actually sure what she had shot at. All she knew was that the tracer arrow had led to a patch of shrubs and leaves. A cry of pain returned as their web had clearly caught a target. She then felt another yank as Anton had pulled her behind cover again.

“Don’t stare like an idiot!” He was already crouched behind the wagon’s wreck again. “Don’t make yourself a target!” His other hand drew two more arrows as he raised his head just over the wagon for a peek, then immediately ducked back down as another bolt pierced the carriage.

“They’re focused on us now. I reckon three more shooters based on that reload,” Anton snarled. “Only time before they flank our position. Where the hell is your master?”

Luna looked towards her left. The shroud of smoke where Konstantin last rode had been blown away by the blast. Only the carcass of a dead horse remained; the young nobleman was nowhere to be seen.

Where is Konstantin? She asked herself as Vanya snatched her crossbow again to reload. He couldn’t have run away again could he?

How many times had he promised himself that he wouldn’t repeat his actions during the Streltsy Revolt?

She knew perfectly well, that if he abandoned this fight, he would forfeit any chance of fixing his life.

“Konstantin!” Luna leaned in the direction of where he’d last been seen and cried into the trees.

“Don’t run away again!”

 

…

 

Konstantin was breathing hard as he leaned against thick tree trunk. He had seen his life flash before his eyes when his horse collapsed under him. His mind had been running on its own as it triggered a Escape rune, which released a cloud of noxious smoke while jaunting him twenty paces backwards. After that… even he could not remember what had happened.

“Kostya!”

The voices were screaming again inside his head. But it was not the yell of the young Samaran girl who served him. Instead the familiar cry came from an older girl, a young lady who had watched over him throughout his years as a boy.

“Kostya!”

He watched as Elizaveta — his dear older sister Liza — was once again beset by a half-dozen of rebel streltsy troops. She parried an oncoming spear with her sword and cut down the soldier who lunged at her. Two House Apraksin guards rushed to her side, fighting desperately to protect her flanks. But one of them was soon stabbed below the waist, and his hand lost the grip on his weapon.

The man’s sword flew through the air before skidding across the marble floor. It came to a halt just a few paces from Konstantin’s reach.

“Kostya!” Liza cried his name again as steel clashed and sparks flew. Her voice was desperate as it begged for his aid. She was outnumbered and two soldiers were trying to circle around her exposed right flank. There were no more guards in the area to come to her aid.

Konstantin shook. He looked upon the bloodstained sword and trembled in fear. He was only twelve years of age back then! He might have sparred with his tutor and his sister and his father, but he wasn’t ready for actual combat!

“Don’t run away again!” He heard Liza cry out, words that his sister could never have said.

Again…? He thought. Again!? He repeated to himself.

He looked upon the bloodied sword on the floor once more, remembering that he had done the same before his heels turned and fled.

How many times had he dreamed of this very moment, waking up in the middle of the night in tears and a cold sweat? How many times had he wished and prayed that he could take it all back, to step into these same shoes and receive a second chance?

Tears fell from his eyes as he gritted his teeth and bit down on his lower lip. His tongue tasted the iron of blood as he cried and swore to himself:

I am NOT abandoning my family AGAIN!

Memories of the past faded as he stepped forward to reach for the sword. His eyes reopened to the present as his gloved fingers grasped the handle of a blade still sheathed at his waist. He looked towards his right and saw Luna’s thin figure in the distance. She and the others were pinned behind the wagon’s wreckage by unseen shooters up ahead.

“If they’re shooting at her…” He thought to himself. His hand reached into a pocket to draw a runestone before activating it.

Konstantin shivered as the Camouflage spell’s application felt like he’d been drenched by a downpour of freezing water. The illusory veil would turn him into a man-sized blur of his background. Nobody knew where he was — not even the girl who cried out his name. He could swing around the flank of their attackers before anyone even noticed him.

With his hand still grasping his sheathed arming sword, Konstantin stood at a half-crouch and began his advance.

He was still terrified. He still felt the pounding of his heart and the trembling of his fingers. It was his first real battle after all. But his mind was clear and in control this time as he repeated two words to himself:

Never again.

 

 

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Author’s Notes

• But I say to you, that whoever looks at a woman to lust for her has already committed adultery with her in his heart.: The Gospel of Matthew, verse 5:28, New Testament.

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