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I reached for the gears on my new hand, intending to tighten my grip on the sword, but Yakovlevich knocked my hand away with his own blade. “Fiddling with that on the battlefield will get you killed.”
I gave a short nod and stepped back. Though my muscles were so sore I could hardly move each night as I fell into bed, I was surprised at how quickly I had progressed in the two weeks since Tsar Borislav had made me captain. I didn’t have as much dexterity as before, owing to the immobility of my new hand, but the basic movements still came naturally to me, the memories buried somewhere inside my muscles.
I’d even managed to survive my first field test with the new hand. We’d had news of a small group of Miroslav’s soldiers in the nearby countryside a week earlier, and I had taken some men to flush them out.
The rumored group had turned out to be a scouting party. The fight had been short and nearly bloodless, with only a single injury among Miroslav’s men before the scouting party retreated. Our army was on high alert now, with patrols around the camp at irregular—and thus unpredictable—intervals.
Yakovlevich cared little for the fact that I had succeeded with my new hand in battle, however small that battle may have been. He’d pointed out that my sword arm was lacking in muscle strength and had set me to work rebuilding the muscles through constant drills and physical activity. If I wasn’t in the sparring ring, I was transporting sacks of wheat or barrels of kvass across the camp. At least when I wasn’t in meetings with the tsar and the other commanders.
I’d been so busy, I hadn’t even had time to worry. According to the tsar, Mila had been instrumental in ensuring our capture of Sevken, but since then, we hadn’t had any word from her.
A voice cut through the bustle of camp. “Captains!”
Yakovlevich and I turned to the castle servant standing on the edge of the sparring ring.
“Scouts caught sight of an enemy unit approaching. The tsar wants all the commanders in the war room, immediately.”
*****
The full moon illuminated the snowy battlefield in yellow light. I walked up and down the line, nodding encouragement at my men, saying a few quiet words to the most agitated among them. Only a small portion of Miroslav’s army had been spotted; according to our sources, the bulk of it remained in the south. Nonetheless, the tsar had been reluctant to send our entire force to meet the enemy, in case it was a ruse to draw us away from the castle. Most of the units remained behind, while I and two other commanders had been chosen to meet the approaching enemy.
Borislav had ordered us not to allow the enemy time to make camp. We would take advantage of our opponents’ exhaustion, engaging them as soon as they arrived. I prayed the other army would arrive soon. My men were growing restless.
This was the worst part, the waiting. Every sound echoed over the snow, and my heart pounded out a staccato rhythm.
At last, the whistling wind gave way to the crunch of snow beneath boots. The enemy crept out of the woods toward us, dark against the white battlefield.
Cannon-fire erupted around me.
The first cannonballs broke apart the enemy lines in a blast of dirt, snow, and screaming men, but they reformed quickly and pressed on.
“Steady,” I called to my men. “Steady.”
Another round of cannon-fire split the air.
The smell of smoke filled my nose. The enemy marched forward, forward.
I could see the enemy’s faces. Grim. Determined. Frightened, even.
I raised my sword. Down the line, I could see the other commanders doing the same. “Charge!”
We ran forward. My arm jolted as my sword met an opponent’s. I kicked, knocking the man prone, and thrust my sword through his neck with a sickening squelch. I drew the sword free and turned to meet the next soldier.
They fought fiercely despite their exhaustion, but it didn’t take long for their commanders to call a retreat. I breathed a sigh of relief as the opposing army turned and fled. It was over. We’d won.
A cheer went up from our men, but the tsar’s voice, magically amplified, echoed over the field.
“Stop them.”
I shared a look of confusion with my fellow commanders before I echoed the tsar’s order and took off running after the enemy.
I led my men toward the army fleeing through the trees, but the delay had cost us. They were nearly out of sight. How far did Borislav expect us to pursue? He couldn’t expect us to overtake Miroslav’s men.
Something ahead rumbled, and I slowed, signaling for my men to stay back. It could be a trap. The noise grew, the ground beneath my feet trembling. The hairs on my neck rose as a metallic scent filled the air.
Ahead, the enemy had slowed as well. Part of the ruse?
No, the trees beyond our quarry were falling, one by one. The rumbling grew. My heart, already racing, leapt to my throat. What was happening?
