God Within Us

Morning rose over the God-Spine mountains with the fog, causing the ground and the sunless sky to seem as one endless expanse of gray. A storm of crows broke the silence of the lonely peaks as they took to the skies with a chorus of squawks and rough caws, flying before Kargasha's return. The warrior swung off his horse as he approached the campsite they had erected by the feet of the mountains. The others barely acknowledged his return, exhausted as they were from the last night which had seemed a violent, dark dream if not for their wounds.

Lavr murmured a tired greeting to his brother, a damp poultice pressed to his head where a hillman's axe grazed him. Tuyaara was busy tending to Bykov, who lay beneath a pile of blankets shivering and feverish from the festering wound near his groin. During the fight, a raider's spear had slipped under his maille and nearly bled the baghatur dry, though he slew six men before collapsing. Unable to sit a horse or even stand without a great bellow of pain, it fell to Yesugei and Tuyaara to drag the fat warrior from the corpse-strewn path to their camp at the foothills.

The only noises to fill the long silence of Kargasha's absence were the crackling of the meagre fire - more smoke than flames - and the gentle clinking of the black chain as it slipped through fingers of stone. The Apostle sat mute opposite Yesugei in the darkness, its starlit eyes seeming like two reflective pools against the night sky. The chain it threaded through its fingers was as long as Yesugei was tall, cast from a black, oily metal - but within each giant link there was a pale glittering light, a star plucked from the heavens.

No words passed between him and the Apostle, but what words were there to say? What words could even begin to bridge the vastness between them? In the darkness, Yesugei felt his own hatred of the stoneskin monster pressing on his stomach like a lump of cold iron, but try as he might he could not bring himself to rise against the abomination. As Tuyaara had whispered to him the Apostle had come down from the mountainside like a shadow, striking down hillmen left and right with great arcs from the starlit chain. The Apostle had offered him a hand in the darkness, pulling him back over the precipice - a life taken at the hands of one, but now a life saved by the hands of another.

He searched his mind for what to say all through the night, and settled on his first question to the monster by the time Kargasha returned from his scouting.

The Klyazmite warrior furrowed his brow in concern as he approached them to see Bykov lying abed. "How is he?"

A heaving groan from Bykov came in reply. Tuyaara shook her head, muttering bitterly, "He lives to his name - any other men would have died in an instant, but the ox holds on, for now. I need more supplies than I have - herbs, hot wine, clean bandages, sutures. I can only do so much with the few things I brought from the steppe!"

"What of Chernogorsk?" asked Lavr. "All of this is for naught if the hill tribes made it through the night."

"The hill tribes have turned away from the town," declared Kargasha proudly. "I tracked their path down to the Shadow Trail and the Ashenmark Road - they moved hastily, as if they were being harried, but I saw no bodies in their wake, neither kin nor Hillman."

"So someone else drew them off. If the gods are good, they will disperse once they reach the western foothills. They have lost too many trying to cut us off - how many of theirs did we fell? Some score?"

"Closer on to two dozen," grimaced Yesugei, who had counted the dead when he scoured the corpse-littered path for his arrows. "They are down by more than a tenth of their number, if my eyes served me well last night."

"Thanks to our..." Kargasha's voice trailed off with his sidelong glance to the Apostle, who remained silent. "Our...ah..."

"Savior," spoke Tuyaara firmly as she stood to her feet. She glanced to Yesugei, and said, "One spirit has dealt you wrong, but this one saved us when we could have been cut to pieces. It may serve us yet longer - you should speak to it, I feel it will only give you any reply, for it was you it aimed to save."

Yesugei suspected the shaman would say as much, but that did not make the prospect of speaking to the stoneskin monstrosity any more appealing. He felt his skin crawl as he took another look towards the Apostle, whose empty eyes carried no hint of understanding of what was being discussed. He cast a small stick into the campfire and blew on it gently, rubbing warmth into his hands and will into his heart. Then, with a sigh, he spoke to the Apostle as any other stranger.

"Who are you?"

The voice that rose from his throat was not his own, this he knew - the voice of the Star-Eater, if the Flame-Kissed wolf's talk could be believed. At his words, the Apostle's slender body shifted and straightened to sudden attention, and the chain ceased to dance between its fingers.

"At last," came the Apostle's own voice - a soft, rolling wave of song and sadness that made even Yesugei's heart shift for a beat. "It is as I saw in my dreams - you speak with our God's voice."

"Then take it from the voice of your God - answer my question," Yesugei replied. From the cautious looks upon the faces of his companions, he knew they both spoke in the song of the stars, though he could not control his own speech. The flowing, song-like tongue came to him as a compulsion, as though he had spoken it his entire life, and for many lives before. "Do your kind have names? Do you speak the Common Tongue, as one of your kin was able?"

The Apostle brought one clawed hand up to its face, shifting a few strands of jet-black hair which floated aside as if suspended in water. The movement seemed more an imitation of some human action than anything else as the monster sat in deep deliberation for a while. Contemplating its own name, or is it thinking of one just now? Nameless, heartless, is this the nature of divinity?

"Unukalhai," replied the Apostle. "That is my name, or the closest I can recall. As for the Common Tongue, I have learnt a little from watching you."

"Learn faster," Yesugei snapped, his sharp reply causing the others to stir uncomfortably. He gave a small smile to Tuyaara and the others, which seemed to set them at ease. "I have seen two of your kind before - the first in the Devil Woods, who slew my friends and my brother, and the second at a river-town whose folk had disappeared without a trace. Your kind are of a hatred that will consume this world - so why save us? What purpose do we have in the design of your kind?"

"I saved you out of duty, the true duty of our people, we Apostles." spoke Unukalhai, rising to their full height. Where the Apostle of the Devil Woods was a towering, muscular pillar of cracked stone and blackened flesh, Unukalhai's form was more lithe and willowy, with a body like a dancer's. The cracks that ran across the Apostle's hardened skin seemed more deliberate, like the marks of an unknown ritual.

“The others have allowed their hatred of humanity to cloud their minds,” explained the Apostle, spreading their arms wide as if they meant to embrace the sunless sky above their heads. “They have watched your world - our world - for too long, and they have allowed themselves to forget why we were chosen to remain.”

“The Harvest,” said Yesugei, and with surprise he realized he had fallen into the Common Tongue. “The Vessel - there was an Yllahanan who spoke of it as if he knew what was coming.”

“Gandroth does not deceive his followers,” murmured the Apostle, their voice becoming even softer, almost entrancing as their speech suddenly gave way to the Common Tongue as well. He learns quickly. “The world as it is will come to an end - the Majesties will return, it is said, and with their return the Question of Humanity must be answered by the Vessel, who shall be both the messenger and the message. But there are two now, one false and one true. And my kin who were supposed to be judges high and fair now flock blindly to whichever Vessel will bring about the greatest slaughter, and satiate their long-simmering hatred of humanity before the reign of the Majesties returns.”

“Jirghadai.”

“Yes.” Nodded Unukalhai. “The Herald Eridu, bound to Gandroth, is his guide, and the children of the Mother Woods are their tools. Together, they have already called forth three of the Twelve, and the slaughter the khan will visit upon the world will surely rouse the others in time.” The starlit chain wrapped itself around Unukalhai’s arm, sliding on like a black bracer. A single clawed finger pointed at Yesugei chest, and the sides of the Apostle’s mouth twitched upwards into a small grin. “Of course, you have deprived them of one. I can still sense my sibling within you, though his spirit is bound.”

The Apostle’s words did not fully sink in until a moment of silence had passed. Yesugei’s eyes widened, and he clenched his blackened hand over his heart where Vasilisa's crystal thrummed with power. No, not just the crystal - the curse remained there as well, the baleful mark the Apostle of the Devil Woods had cursed him with in its final breath. “What do you mean? I killed your sibling in the Devil Woods - he turned to ash and was scattered by the four winds before my eyes-”

“But his spirit was not destroyed,” spoke Unukalhai. “Much like your own brothers, who were slain but whose souls lingered. The crystal you wielded against Alnayyir only broke the charm that held together his transient physical form, and in his desperation he sought to claim the skin of the only suitable vessel that remained - you. But he did not think that you would survive for as long as you did - and he did not count upon the mercy of the Vessel.

“Yes, I speak of her. Of the one you call Vasilisa - she is of a far greater lineage than you can imagine. She is of the blood of mortal kings and of the Herald Khariija, chosen by Chirlan, and the Star-Eater whispers in her ears and lends her their strength. It was only by her mercy and her love that Alnayyir was foiled - the Fifth-Called of Gandroth is trapped within your mortal form, Yesugei, son of Tsaagandai, and his strength is yours to draw upon. You have already claimed his hand when your own was destroyed.”

Yesugei flexed his blackened fingers. Since the fight upon the road, his hand had become more bestial, more like that of the Apostle Unukalhai, with each fingertip ending in a sharp, black claw. He shivered. How much further will it spread? When will Yesugei cease to be, and only the Apostle remains?

And what of Vasilisa - the girl whom he had chanced upon in the Devil Woods, and whose trail he walked even now? The girl of the White City, the land where the Harvest was said to have begun - the many lines and skeins that had dogged him since Tseren first spoke of the coming doom settled into a vague answer, the first since madness took the world. Her own Voice was that of the Star-Eater’s as well, yet her power was not that of a spirit, but that of a god. His head hurt with the implication, and he saw much the same in the looks of his companions, who had not uttered a word since their exchange.

“The She-Bear of Belnopyl?” wondered Tuyaara. “The daughter of Khariija? She disappeared-”

“Centuries ago, yes,” said Unukalhai. “But what is five centuries to an immortal such as she, whose charge was to seek the Vessel? The Grand Design has spanned many thousands of years - though her…intervention puzzles my kin even to this day. But that is a story that must be told later - and in the company of her flesh-and-blood daughter. Her fate is the concern of us all - and especially the concern of those who are our common enemies.

“When my kin were still young, the Majesty of the Stars granted their followers a powerful Sight, far greater than that of our kin. In my dreams and my Sight, I have seen three armies descending upon the White City - one for greed, one for wrath, and one for love, though their markings and the faces of their leaders came to me as blurs, tearing through time and memory. I do not know whether these are things that have passed, or have yet to pass, but I know that we must fly for the city, else it will be consumed by the savagery of men, and any answers you might seek will be lost ere the end of days.”

“Were it that men could grow wings,” muttered Kargasha bitterly. “But, we cannot. We cannot even get off this damned mountain, much less make it to Chernogorsk as ragged a band as we are.”

“It need not be so,” said Lavr with a sigh and a grimace. “With Bykov, we cannot move, yet it would be cruelty to leave him to die when he might yet live.”

The boyar drew his beaten longsword, and pointed the dulled tip to the sky as he turned the blade in his hand to admire the dance of light on steel. “I will stay here, to watch over him. Kargasha will take the rest of you to Chernogorsk in my stead - rally the militia there, and tell the magister to bring help to us along the Stonesnake Trail. If the hillmen have turned towards the Ashenmark Road, that path only leads to one destination.”

Belnopyl.

Kargasha rushed to his brother’s side, his thin face twisted indignantly. “No! You are the boyar - it is your duty to deal with such matters! I will stay. Bykov was my shield-brother first, and you are in greater need of aid than me.”

“That is why you must go,” coughed Lavr. The boyar swayed dizzily in his seat on the rock, and he braced himself with his longsword to right his posture before continuing, “The Khormchaks need a guide, and the path beyond the Stonesnake Trail is ever treacherous. I can hardly navigate as I am - I’m like to lead them all over the edge of a cliff in this damned fog.”

Kargasha gritted his teeth. “I am your elder brother.”

“And I am your boyar,” shot back Lavr. “You forsook your title when you left to wander. Now go - your lord of the Blackhand Gate commands it.”

***

Guided by Kargasha, their company struck a good path as they descended back onto the Stonesnake Trail. The Klyazmite walked slightly ahead of their band with a long stick to probe his way through the dense fog, while behind him went Unukalhai. The Apostle’s vast stride was equal to three of Yesugei’s, though they moved with such grace that in the fog they seemed to be floating. The red banner wielded by the hillmen was wrapped about the Apostle’s neck as a scarf, and the long flapping tail served as a guide to Yesugei and Tuyaara who trailed slightly behind, Yesugei on foot and the shaman ahorse.

The sunless sky grew heavy on them as it seemed to bear down lower and lower upon the world. Soon the tilt of the fuzzy mountain shadows marked the passage of the morning into noon, yet still they walked on for a long while with no end in sight. No living thing was visible over the horizon, and no birds soared in the skies; Yesugei wondered whether it was the Apostle’s doing, for the Devil Woods too had been empty of all creatures save the feasting crows.

Animals seemed to sense the coming of the stone-skinned monsters like an approaching storm - though this time the storm walked alongside them, and came in eerie silence.

Suddenly Kargasha called back to them. Yesugei tilted his head up to see the warrior was standing on a rocky knoll just off the path and was pointing to the left of the road. When they were by his side Yesugei could see the Stonesnake Trail split again into a fork - one path rising higher and one lower along the mountainside - and below them there ran a deep and narrow channel that was surging with frothing waters. On the near side of the channel, the lower path of the fork ran parallel to the stream, and further on it wound its way among standing stones into a wide valley.

“There, at last!” exclaimed Kargasha. “This is the Silverlode Stream, as we used to call it. It runs down from the highest peaks and through Chernogorsk, where they have a dam. Why it runs so strongly this time of year, I do not know - in the summertime, it is usually but a trickle. But we must hurry, we are close now.”

Footsore and tired were the three mortals of the band, but they trudged on doggedly along the winding road. At their backs the mountain peaks soon disappeared behind the hanging fog, and splashes of green valley grass appeared along their path, slick with moisture from the splashing stream. They took a moment to refill their waterskins with the crystal-clear water before going on, and soon the reason for the flooding of the channel was made clear.

The dam of Chernogorsk was breached, and beyond the emptied basin there were signs of battle all across the mountain town which lay ahead of them. Dark figures lay scattered all about the approach towards the town, which was built hugged against the steep mountain on one side of the valley across the Silverlode Stream. Arrows littered the grounds beyond the walls, and dozens of splintered shields and broken spears lay by the wayside alongside their fallen wielders who were now only sport for the crows. A handful of buildings behind the walls of the town that once bore thatched roofs were burnt and reduced to open, smoking sores. The bridge that once spanned the stream was ruined as well, destroyed by the onrushing tide that must have swept it aside in an instant the moment the dam was cracked.

Destruction all around - yet Yesugei breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the banners that hung from the walls. A black mountain and a white bear adorned the palisade, defiantly bright against the gloom.

“Belnopyl - the bear of Belnopyl!” exclaimed Kargasha with a laugh. “That is Prince Igor’s device - gods, but when did they arrive?”

“Do not count your blessings yet,” counseled Yesugei. “There is treachery in the noble houses, and in these times men become starving wolves while wearing the skins of griffons and bears. We should make our approach carefully…there!”

He pointed further down the stream, where the channel was wider and the churning waters less violent. Several flat rocks rose just barely above the surface of the stream, forming a series of small footholds where they might force a crossing. As they prepared to make their way down to the ford, Yesugei sensed a shift in the air - a low noise, a distant rolling echo, sounded above the roaring of the channel. He crouched low to the ground, and gingerly placed his unburnt hand to the rocky earth, closing his eyes.

There it was - a distant beating rhythm, the stomping of ironshod hooves against rough terrain.

“Riders, coming down from the north!” he called to the others, springing to his feet. He realized Tuyaara was already on alert as he rose up, and at his call Kargasha drew his sword.

When Yesugei turned to look at the Apostle, he saw Unukalhai standing stock-still, their hair swaying in the breeze. The twinkling stars of the Apostle’s eyes swirled within the dark pits of their mask-like face, and then they spoke with a whisper, “Yes - I see fifty-four riders. Bright are their lances, and stout is their maille. They are three miles off, past the eastern peaks, and they are riding fast.”

“They may be Vetrovniaks - Storm-Callers,” spoke Kargasha. “Out of the hill tribes, only they command cavalry. Be they friendly or not, I don’t care to find out.”

“Three miles or one,” muttered Tuyaara. “We cannot hope to outrun them.”

Yesugei nodded. “Make for the ford! Let us see how well their horses swim!”

They hurried doubly to the ford, and at a nearer glance Yesugei saw the rocks that rose above the churning waters were a great deal smaller than he would have liked, and slick with moisture. Still, he much preferred their chances across the stream rather than a heroic stand against armored lancers. Kargasha - the surest of foot between the three of them - went first across the stones, swaying perilously as he crossed.

The distant beat of hooves could be heard clearly now, and with it the rough voices of their riders. They were riding like the wind, bearing down hard.

Tuyaara was the next to leap across. The shaman nearly fell flat on her face as she took the final jump onto dry land, and behind her went Yesugei. The flowing stream about his feet felt as though it was buffeting him ever closer towards cold, wet oblivion - every secure step felt like a lie of the waters, daring him to trust his whole weight upon slippery nothingness. The final leap towards the opposite end of the stream sent him falling roughly on his side, and when he looked back he saw Unukalhai sail over his head in a great leap. The Apostle’s feet touched silently down onto the grassy embankment with nary a sound, and then there came the riders.

They swept up with a noise like thunder, moving down the same winding valley path the company had taken. The horses were of great stature - giant, muscled destriers of the west, with long, shining tails that floated in the wind, and with their manes braided upon their proud necks. The warriors that rode them seemed just as resplendent from afar: Klyazmites all, wearing helmets with horsetail plumes that fell about their shoulders as they rode. In every man’s hand was a long cavalry lance and a large kite shield emblazoned with house symbols of which there were a dozen different designs, with the white bear of Belnopyl among them. Every rider was heavily armored, far more than any hill tribesman, with maille or lamellar armor that went down to their knees.

A cry came up from the lead rider as he pointed out the figures on the opposite side of the stream, and in an instant the column turned to face them. The many painted shields went up to ward against arrows, and some of the horsemen set aside their lances to bring their own warbows around to bear. Yesugei fitted an arrow to the string of his own bow, but kept the string loose in his grip.

One of the riders came forward to the edge of the rushing stream, his helmet and maille obscuring all save for a pair of long, drooping whiskers that came down to the man’s stomach. He was tall, much taller than the rest of his warband, and seemed tremendously round and fat. Yet as he swung down from his horse Yesugei saw the warrior carried his weight with a certain ease that spoke to his roundness being more of muscle than fat - and the head of the iron mace that hung from his belt was as large as Yesugei’s own.

“Who are you, and why have you come to this land?” spoke the warrior in the booming voice of a man used to command.

“We are travelers, and messengers besides,” answered Yesugei. “I am Yesugei - I have come far from the east, and I seek aid.”

His reply seemed to take the warrior aback, as though he had not expected a reply to come from the nomad princeling. Yesugei felt the man’s eyes survey him and the rest of their band keenly, and with some new wonder before he spoke again.

“I have not known the slaves of these abominations to speak of their own will,” the warrior said. “But I see such is not the case - are you with the silver-masked ones then, or travel with one of these monsters?”

“No,” insisted Tuyaara angrily. “The masked ones are kin only to myself, but we are of different callings. We seek to stop the heresies my people inflict upon your land, not further it.”

“I have known the abominations you count among your company to be weavers of lies and doom,” replied the warrior. “If it is so, perhaps you yourselves are merely spinning lies. How do I know you are true, then?” He turned a sudden glance towards Unukalhai, and called, “Why do you not speak, dreadful thing?”

The Apostle stood forth, and the stars dwelling within the chain wrapped about their arm began to glow with renewed brightness. “I intend no evil upon the land of your ancestors, Ilya of Belnopyl, son of Danya. Whether I am a weaver of lies or truth is yours to decide, but will you not first hear the story of my companions before you strike?”

Murmurs of concern went up among the ranks of the battle-ready riders, and Yesugei saw the rotund warrior take a cautious step back - already wary of sorcery at play. Still, the order to loose arrows did not come - and after a moment’s hesitation the warrior named Ilya barked back, “I shall - but first give me your right names, all of those in your company.”

“I am Tuyaara,” called the shaman. “Kin to the Modkhai of the Mother Woods, but not bound to their heretical path.”

Kargasha gave his own name reluctantly, and added haughtily, “I am a wanderer, granted, but I am also a protector of these lands. Chernogorsk was my home, and my brother its boyar.” For a moment Yesugei feared he would speak of his brother's predicament, but his name and hailing was all the Klyazmite warrior cared to give.

“And I am Unukalhai,” spoke the Apostle last. “The Neck of the Serpent, sworn to destiny just as you are to duty.”

“Who do you serve?” asked Yesugei. “I see the marks upon your shields, but such things matter little in treacherous times such as these.”

“I serve only Belnopyl, and the bloodline of Raegnald,” answered Ilya contemptuously. “I serve no other master, nor any other prince, though not all the boyars of my land have kept their oaths as I have. I am in the business of rooting out these treacherous dogs, and shepherding kindly and honest folk to safety against the darkness and fire that besieges our land from all sides. But if you are not under the command of that thing, then whom do you serve?”

“I am bound to the same liege as you are,” called back Yesugei. “You serve the bloodline of Raegnald? I am bound by an oath of blood to Vasilisa - your princess! If you know anything of Khormchak blood-bonds, then you know that I am bound to protect her much like yourself. If you will aid me, have your men lower your arms. If you will thwart me, then you will thwart an ally of your own liege’s daughter, and much that Vasilisa must know will be lost!”

As his words left his lips, Yesugei sensed an undertone of a song to his words - the voice of the Star-Eater subtly blended into his own, and it gave his voice a power beyond mortal will. Ilya stepped back, and a look of awe was on his face. “These are strange days,” he said. “For kinsmen to become enemies, and for Khormchak to be allies.

“Tell me then,” he continued. “You said you have come in search of aid. I shall lend it as best I may for any friend of Vasilisa's, but first, I must know: if you come from the east in recent days, then you have come in the wake of the ashen storms, and worse things. What doom arises from the east, Khormchak?”

“A threat both familiar and foreign,” said Yesugei. “The Quanli rule the Great Horde now, or what remains of it. But their Khan is mad, and in his council, the new Great Khan counts dreadful monsters and Apostles such as Unukalhai - and they whisper him into ever greater madness, I fear. Vasilisa and I were fleeing seek answers and refuge in Belnopyl, but we were separated - though our destination remains the same. And the aid I seek…we left behind some wounded on the Stonesnake Trail, with one man grievously injured beyond our healing.”

Kargasha's suspicious eyes flicked to Yesugei in a sidelong glance, and the nomad placated him with a raise of his hand. He seems true enough, this Ilya. If he meant us ill, he would have feathered us thrice over by now.

Ilya nodded. “Chernogorsk answers to my authority. Let me and my men cross, and I shall have bearers and healers sent to bring your wounded behind the safety of our walls. The hillmen are routed into the foothills for now, but some deserters will surely come crawling back to their hovels in the east.”

The crossing of the column of armored men and horses went slowly and deliberately - unable to risk a nimble passage over the rocks, the warriors were forced to strip off their armor and wade through the ice-cold water with their gear bundled onto their horses' saddles. From Yesugei's side their company tied off a rope to better aid the wading file of troops, but still the going was a wet and unpleasant affair, made all the more difficult by the stubbornness of the destiers who were unused to swimming under such heavy loads. When Ilya's men had shaken themselves dry and re-armored themselves, their leader approached them with an appreciative look upon his face.

“Now we have both given trust to one another, Yesugei of the Qarakesek, as I suspect to be your tribal origin," he spoke. “This is good - if it is Belnopyl you seek, then my own path lies there as well. War is coming to the White City, and with Chernogorsk I will have all the strength that can be mustered in short time.”

“Who marches against Belnopyl?” asked Yesugei.

“Who isn't?” muttered Ilya bitterly. “Turncloak lords eager to serve the city to Prince Svetopolk, Varyazi raiders eager for plunder, and low dogs of all stripes and colors who wish to crown themselves kings and princes. They all sense weakness in the bear, and they are not mistaken. When I left the city to seek aid, it was left a blasted ruin and with hardly a tenth of its strength left to man the walls.”

“What doom came upon Belnopyl?” asked Yesugei. “The lords of the south have spoken of a Khormchak raid, but I know that is not the case.”

“Demons,” said Ilya. His face twisted into a thoughtful, disturbed look, as if dredging up the very memory was a poison to his mind. “Demons of a kind not even the oldest of stories can recall. Three came upon the city - and with them they brought fire, earth, and stars crashing down upon our land. It was a terrible, waking nightmare from which none of those in the Great Hall were able to break free. I saw Prince Igor fall, and Lady Cirina as well - I saw the city shattered by magic and forces I could only have imagined in my dreams. Indeed, since that time I wonder whether we now walk upon the earth, or some legend.”

“Men can walk in both,” replied Yesugei. “Legends are coming back to life everywhere I go, and the shadows and stars have eyes as they have not had for thousands of years. But if we wish for there to be a time when legends may be spoken of us, then we must ride for Belnopyl, and quickly!”

Ilya straightened his helm upon his head, and gave a narrow-eyed glare at Yesugei, then at the rest of his company, lingering especially long upon Unukalhai.

“Then we have an alliance, for now,” the warrior said at length. “Once your wounded are cared for, and the folk of this land rallied, we shall come down from the God-Spine as one fist. Woe be to the traitors and the usurpers with our coming.”

Vasilisa - I will return!