The Winter of the Witch (Winternight Trilogy 3)
Their eyes locked, a silent battle of wills. Midnight was the first to lower hers. “I swear then,” she said.
“What do you swear?”
“To serve you and to heed you, and never to betray you again.”
Vasya, with a snap, freed Polunochnitsa of the golden rope. “I swear to sustain you as I can,” she said. “With blood and with memory. We can no longer afford to fight amongst ourselves.”
The Bear said lightly, from behind, “I think I am going to enjoy this.”
30.
The Enemy of My Enemy
SASHA WAS ONLY VAGUELY AWARE of what happened, after he threw Chelubey from the saddle. He hadn’t been thinking clearly when he did it. Merely that there was a sword, and his sister’s vulnerable throat, and he hated the Tatar as he’d never hated anyone in his life. Hated his impersonal cruelties, his clever mind, his soft questions.
So, when the Tatar drew up alongside them, Sasha saw an opening and didn’t hesitate. But he was wounded, and Chelubey strong. A blow to his jaw shot sparks across his sight, and then Chelubey shouted over Sasha’s head, urging other men on. Sasha dragged himself to his knees, saw his sister, still mounted, wheeling her horse to come back for him.
Vasya, he tried to shout. Run.
Then the world went dark. When he came to, he was still lying on the ground. Chelubey stood over him. “She’s gone,” Sasha heard a voice say. “Disappeared.” He let out a breath of relief, just as Chelubey drew back and kicked him in the ribs. The bone cracked; Sasha doubled up, lacking the breath to scream.
“I think,” said Chelubey, “that after the night’s excitement, the general will have no further objections to you dying while I torture you. Get him on his feet.”
But the men weren’t looking down at Sasha anymore. They were backing up, with expressions of horror.
* * *
THE ROAD BACK THROUGH Midnight was short. Vasya’s blood cried out for her brother; and Pozhar had no objection to galloping through the forest at reckless speed. Voron raced alongside them. The black stallion was far swifter than any mortal horse, but still he labored to match the golden mare’s pace.
Vasya mourned in silence even as she savored the strength of the mare beneath her. The firebird was not, and never would be, her other self, and Pozhar’s grace reminded Vasya of her loss all over again.
The Bear paced the horses in silence. He had let go the shape of a man; he ran as a great shadow-beast, nourished by her blood. As they went, he sniffed at the sky, barely containing a bared-teeth eagerness.
“Hoping for killing?” said Vasya.
“No,” said the Bear. “I care naught for the dead. Mine are the suffering living.”
“Our task is to save my brother,” Vasya said sharply. “Not to make people suffer. Are you so quickly forsworn, Medved?”
The two pieces of golden rope shimmered eerily on her wrists. He shot them a dark look and said, a growl just entering his voice, “I have promised.”
“Ahead,” said Midnight. Vasya squinted into the darkness. Fires broke up the night in front of them; the wind brought them the smell of men and horses.
Vasya sat back and Pozhar slowed, grudgingly. Her nostrils flared, disliking the smell of men. “I left my brother on the north side of the camp, not far from a stream,” said Vasya to Polunochnitsa. “Is he still there?”
In answer, Midnight slid down from her horse, put a light hand on the stallion’s neck, whispered. Voron reared up against the sky, mane flying lightly as feathers, and then a raven flew into the night.
“Solovey never did that,” Vasya said, watching the black horse change and fly.
“Take his other form? He was too young,” said Midnight. “A colt still. The young ones only change with difficulty. He’d have learned to control his own nature if—”
“He’d had time,” Vasya finished flatly. The Bear glanced at her, half-smiling, as though he could taste the hurt.
“We must follow Voron,” said Midnight.
“Get up behind me then,” said Vasya. “Unless—Pozhar, do you mind?”
The mare looked as though she were considering saying no, just to remind them that she could. Very well, she said irritably, switching her tail.
Vasya put an arm down; the chyert seemed to weigh nothing at all. Riding double on the mare, they surged forward, the Bear at Pozhar’s flank. Ahead, the trees thinned, and a single raven croaked from the darkness.
* * *
THE TATARS WERE STILL where she’d left them. Some were still mounted; others stood in a ragged circle. Two reached down, heaving, and Vasya glimpsed the dim shape of her brother being dragged to his feet. He was limp, his head hung down.
“Can you frighten them off?” said Vasya to the Bear, hearing her voice shake, quite beyond her control.
“Perhaps, mistress,” said Medved, and grinned his vast dog-grin at her. “Do keep panicking. It helps me.”
She just stared at him, stone-faced, and he relented. “Do something else useful then. See that tree there? Set it afire.”
A flicker of remembered fire, and the tree burst into flames. It was disturbing, how easy it had become. Being near the Bear fanned the chaos in her own heart. His eye found hers. “It would do you good to go mad,” he murmured. “It would make it easier. You could do any magic you pleased—if you were mad. Storms and lightning and noonday darkness.”
“Be silent!” she said. The fire on the tree grew bigger, sending out a sweep of golden light. Reality wavered; she dug her nails into her palms, and whispered her own name, to make it stop. She forced her voice to calm. “Are you going to frighten them off or not?”
Still smiling, the Bear turned wordless toward the huddle of men and began to creep closer. Their horses backed up, nostrils flared. Wide-eyed, the men faced the night, swords in their hands.
Within the firelight, a shadow grew. A strange, crawling, mutable shadow, slinking toward men and horses. The shadow of an unseen beast.
The Bear’s soft voice seemed to come from the shadow itself. “Interfere with my servant?” he whispered. “Lay hands on what is mine? You’ll die for it. You’ll die screaming.”
His voice got into the men’s ears, got into their minds. His shadow crawled nearer, sending twisted shapes dancing across the fire-beaten ground. The men were trembling. A soft, unearthly snarl filled the night. The shadows seemed to spring. At the same moment, a flicker of memory from Vasya made the flames leap in the burning tree.