Whitefire (11 page)
Authors: Fern Michaels
The amber eyes spewed fire as she was untied from the horse. Her knees gave out, and she slumped to the ground. She never knew where she got the strength, but she reached out a slender arm and jerked with all her strength till the tall figure lost his balance and sprawled on the ground. The knife from her trousers was in her hand as she crouched low, her teeth bared in a snarl. Her burnished hair was in wild disarray, tumbling down and around her shoulders. Her arms moved effortlessly as she flicked the air with the slender blade. “I'll grant you it's not much in the way of a weapon, but it can kill if the aim is true,” she panted. Banyen nodded, his dark eyes hooded as he got to his feet. “You first, Mongol,” Katerina said harshly, “and don't do anything but walk. If the blade doesn't find its mark, it will cripple you, which is just as well. Now move.”
Banyen's eyes narrowed till they were mere slits, but he moved. He knew he could take her if he wanted to. She was tired, and she looked hungry; she wouldn't be able to put up much of a battle. He told himself it amused him to do her bidding. He recalled another time when he also had felt amused, and he would carry the scar with him for the rest of his life. She might get one good swing at him and slice him where it counted most. For now he would do as she said. Let her think she had won . . . this time. There would be other times, and he would win then, as he always did.
Katerina squinted in the bright sunlight and was aware of her femininity for the first time since meeting the Mongol. She looked a mess; her clothing dirty and torn, her hair hanging down like a ruffian's. She knew her face was dirty, and for some reason that bothered her. She told herself she wanted to put her best effort forth for her uncle. It wasn't the Mongol; it couldn't be because of him. The other time he had ridiculed her and . . . What did he do, Katerina? she asked herself. “He raped me,” she muttered through clenched teeth. He left me to die on the steppe in the freezing cold. No, a small voice defended, he covered you with the sable caftan. She moved closer to the man in front of her and jabbed at his broad back with the tip of the knife. Bright-red droplets of blood seeped through the indigo shirt, turning into blackish streaks. “I told you to move; I didn't say crawl,” she said viciously as she jabbed again and then danced away from his muscular form when he turned, his arm outstretched, to grab at her. “Oh, no,” she spat. “It's my turn now. If I tell you to move again, I'll throw the knife, I won't just play with it. Now
walk.
”
walk.
”
Banyen's jaw tightened as he turned to do her bidding. Damnable woman, who did she think she was talking to? Maybe he should tell her who he was. He negated the idea, knowing she would snigger and certainly never would be impressed.
Banyen stopped and pointed with his arm. “The Khan's tent,” he said, bowing low with a flourish.
Katerina couldn't believe her eyes. Never before had she seen anything like this. This flat wasteland, fit only for the sheep and goats that grazed on it, was like the steppeâit went on endlessly. The yurts that stood upon flatland created an illusion of a fantasyland to Katerina. No matter in which direction she looked, there stood row upon row of ten-foot-tall tents. To Katerina they looked like a forest of trees that had been chopped off on top. The dwellings were covered with felt pieces of all descriptions and sizes, each home reflecting the tastes of its owner. The grandest of all, of course, were the three yurts that belonged to her uncle. They were covered with a high-quality felt, thicker and heavier than the rest. They also were highly decorated on the outside. She wasn't sure whether she had been here before or not when she was a child; she couldn't remember. She thought it strange for men to live out in the open like this. The Cossacks lived out in the open, too, but they had their sturdy huts to go into at night. The yurts looked so fragile, so vulnerable. She realized that on land as flat as this, as on the steppe, someone could easily be seen approaching the camp. At least, she thought, the steppe has flowers, trees, and grass on it. Other than the small tufts of grass that the livestock fed on, this camp was nothing but desert wasteland. The heat in the dead of summer must be unbearable.
She took in all the sights as she carefully watched Banyen out of the corner of her eye. He reached forward to open the closed flap of the yurt for her, but she didn't move.
“You first, Mongol, and no tricks. I am who I say I am, remember that,” Katerina said, brandishing the thin blade in his general direction.
Banyen grinned. “Do you want me to announce you or would you rather go in unannounced and have your head sliced from your shoulders? If I'm to announce you, then I should know your name. We strive for formality here in camp,” he said, bowing low again.
“You missed your calling, whatever it was. You make an excellent buffoon,” Katerina snapped. “Tell my uncle Katerina Vaschenko is here to see him.”
Banyen entered the tent and strode over to the Khan, who reclined against a pile of elaborately embroidered cushions. “While riding patrol I came across a female bent on traveling here to the camp to see you. She's weak from hunger, and not too steady on her feet. But that doesn't seem to interfere with her tongue; it's like a viper. She already left me a memento,” he said, turning for the Khan's inspection. “She says her name is Katerina Vaschenko.”
The Khan rose awkwardly from his comfortable position in his nest of cushions. “Katerina!” His voice was full of shock. “And you say she is alone. Fetch her to me immediately, Banyen! Why did you make her stand outside like a beggar? Fetch her this moment,” he said imperiously. Banyen's mouth tightened, but he lifted the flap from the tent and motioned to Katerina to enter.
At the sight of her uncle's dear face Katerina felt tears sting her eyes. She ran to him as she had when she was a child. When he gathered her close, the tears coursed down her cheeks. The Khan, embarrassed at her display of affection in front of Banyen, motioned to him to leave his tent.
“Tell me, child, what is it? What brings you here to my camp? Come, sit here with me and tell me what is troubling you.”
Gulping back her sobs, Katerina wiped at her tear-filled eyes. “They're dead. They're all dead. Grandfather himself waits to go to his Maker. Only Mikhailo, Grandfather, and a few of the others are left in the mountains. All of the horses are gone. All of them.”
“But I don't understand. Are you telling me all the Cossacks from the village are gone, dead?” he asked in an outraged voice.
Katerina nodded tremulously. “A raiding party. It happened the night before we were to leave for the mountains. I was away from the camp when it happened. When I got back they had all been killed and the horses were gone. I didn't know what to do. Mikhailo came down from the mountains when we didn't arrive on schedule and helped me bury the dead. I came here because I didn't know what else to do. Will you help me?”
“What can I do for you?” he asked quietly as the enormity of what she had said dawned on him. “You have only to ask, but I don't know what assistance I can offer. Do you want a patrol of my soldiers to help you find the marauders?”
“More than a patrol, Uncle, much more. Before I came here I discussed the matter with Mikhailo. In all truth, he was against my plan, but I managed to convince him it would work. I told him my uncle, the Khan, would help me. You must help me,” she pleaded. “I have nowhere else to turn.” Before she could lose her courage, Katerina continued, “I want the men from your stockades, all of them. I want to take them back to the mountains with me and train them to be Cossacks. Please, Uncle, don't look at me as if I'd lost my mind. It will work, I know it will. Give me the men that have no hope, the men who are destined for death. Those are the men I want. The more vicious, the more bloodthirsty, the better. I have to get the horses back. I can't do it alone. I'll work with them through the long winter, and in the spring we'll leave the mountains and we'll find the Cosars. It's the only way.”
The Khan narrowed his oblique eyes as he listened to his niece plead with him. He loved her and would help in any way he could so long as he benefited in some way, he told himself. It had been a long time since he had seen hate such as hers. He asked himself where he had seen such a look. Of courseâin Banyen's eyes the day he was brought to the camp. He rubbed his hands through his coarse black hair, making it stand out in tufts about his round head, as he continued to listen to her plead her cause. The coal-black eyes were shrewd, watchful, and ever speculative. Short, stubby fingers stroked an undefined chin as he interjected a word from time to time.
“It will work, Uncle, I know it will,” Katerina said vehemently.
“These men from the stockade are the dregs of the earth. The first chance they get, they'll kill you. What chance will you, a woman, have against them?”
“I'm a Cossack, or did you forget, Uncle? If there's any killing to be done, it will be me who does it, not your prisoners. If you believe nothing else, believe that.”
“Listen to me, little one, these men, these prisoners, are due to go to their death shortly. An offer such as you make will mean that they will leave no stone unturned to gain their freedom. Once you set out with them, that will be their only objective. Why do you think they will go with you and train through the long, cold winter and then fight for your cause? This is foolish woman-talk. It will never work.”
“I'm telling you it will work. I'll take them, shackled in irons, through the Urals, across the steppe, and up to the mountains. The snows are due soon. Where could they go? There's nothing for them on the outside. They have a chance to regain their dignity and fight for something worthwhile. I'll even agree to pay them so afterward they can begin a new life. As you know, Uncle, the Cosars have bequeathed my family a fortune in gold. If I lived a thousand years I could never hope to spend the fortune that rests in the House of the Kat. I'll pay anything, do anything, to succeed. They have a choiceâa new life with me or death at the hands of your men. Which do you think they'll accept?”
Katerina felt a lump settle in the pit of her stomach. She wasn't convincing him. “Very well, Uncle, what is it you wish to bargain for in return for your help?” she asked shrewdly.
The Khan laughed. “You know me well, little one. There is one small request you can grant me. A colt and a filly from Whitefire,” he said slyly.
“You know it's forbidden, Uncle. However, I see you will accept nothing less. You drive a hard bargain, but one I'll accept, only because I'm desperate.”
“Forbidden by whom? You just told me Volin was wiped out. You're the leader now, the decision is yours alone. Let's be sure we both understand the bargain we're making,” the Khan said, standing up, his scarlet shirt and shiny black trousers bright against the dimness of the yurt.
“I understand the bargain,” Katerina said coolly. “You also have my word: when the first wildflower sprouts on the frozen banks of the Duleper in the spring, a new breed of Cossack will be born,” she said grimly, her amber eyes flashing.
The Khan looked deeply into her eyes and believed her implicitly. If anyone could do it, she could.
“Sit down, Katerina, we'll have some food and drink. There is much we must discuss.” He clapped his pudgy hands, and an old serving woman entered the tent. His tone was husky and guttural when he gave his orders. The old hag looked at Katerina with suspicion as she scurried away to do the Khan's bidding.
Katerina settled herself on the pile of fox and mink furs. “I see that you surround yourself with all the trappings of wealth,” she said, looking around at the brightly colored silken hangings. “And a wooden floor,” she said snidely. “Not to mention a blanket of sable that stretches from one end of the yurt to the other.” She noted that a small fire glowed in the center of the yurt, banked and ready to flare with a shovel of sheep dung.
The old Khan waved his pudgy arms around his yurt and smiled. “It befits my simple station in life. True, a little lavish compared to the other yurts, but . . . comfortable. The season has been excellent for trading the hides and wool from the sheep.”
“Your treasury is . . . ample, is that what you're saying?”
“Very much so. I have no complaints. Now tell me, what does an old man like myself need with wealth? I like this simple life and the few little luxuries I allow myself. I'm content. Since you have just agreed to the filly and colt from Whitefire, my happiness is unsurpassed.”
Katerina flinched. No matter what she promised, she knew in her heart that she would find a way to get out of the bargain. There was no way he would get the offspring except over her dead body. She forced her face to blankness as she poked at the fire with iron tongs.
Her amber eyes were sleepy, catlike, and the Khan felt uneasy, a strange feeling creeping in and around his stomach. By now she should have been married, with babies sucking at her breasts. Indulgent fathers! he snorted to himself.
“Let us suppose that I agree to what you ask, and let us further agree that you are amenable to bestowing a colt and filly upon me for my generosity, what is your ultimate goal once you train my prisoners for whatever it is you have in mind?”
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