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The strelet at Ashan’s door opened it for Nikandr as he approached. Ashan was already near the door, a look of worry on his face.

“Bring him,” Nikandr said to the strelet.

The three of them raced down the hall. The moment they entered Nasim’s room, Nikandr lost his footing. He felt Ashan fall on top of him as piercing cracks rent the air like a series of musket shots going off in tight sequence. The floor shook. It felt as if the walls were about to buckle.

Nikandr stared in horror, wondering how this could be.

A great wedge of stone crashed into the corner bookcase, sending splintered wood and books about the room. The ground shook for a moment more, and then, blessedly, all was still except for a fine sifting of dust that was pattering to the floor near the corner.

Nikandr made it to his feet, surveying the damage. On the far side of the room, a gap wider than his fist ran from floor to ceiling. He and Ashan moved to Nasim, who was unconscious.

Nikandr heard footsteps coming from down the hall.

“Lord Khalakovo!” It was the strelet’s voice.

There was a pause, then a scuffle.

“Halt!”

Gunfire erupted. Two men cried out. There was silence for a moment, and then Nikandr heard a man draw in several wet, halting breaths. One final shot filled the air, and then the footsteps of many men approached.

“Who comes?” Nikandr said, getting to his feet. He hadn’t so much as a knife to defend himself, so he stood there, waiting, but all he heard were the sounds of men reloading their guns.

Then a man stepped into the open doorway, and for a moment Nikandr couldn’t believe his eyes.

It was Borund.

And he was aiming a pistol at Nikandr’s chest.

CHAPTER 34

Borund wore a thick cherkesska, the type one would wear on a long journey, and his cheeks were flushed as if he’d been in the elements.

Nikandr stared at the pistol, realizing he had come for Nasim. “Never did I think to see this day.”

“Then you’re as blind as your father.” He pointed to Nasim with his pistol. “You should have given him to us the day you found him.”

“You would have done the same in our place.”

Borund paused. “You are right. We all have our pride. But I think, all things being equal, we would not have placed the life of two Motherless so high that it would cloud our vision.”

“There is more to him than meets the eye,” Nikandr said.

“We will be the judge of that—not you, not your father, and certainly not that Motherless qiram. Now come.” Borund waved his pistol, indicating that Nikandr should step into the hall. “I would rather this trigger go unpulled.”

Nikandr complied. A dozen Vostroman streltsi stood at the ready in heavy winter coats. In the other direction were two dead guardsmen.

Three of Borund’s men moved into the room—one of them hoisting Nasim over his shoulders, the other two pointing their pistols at Ashan.

Ashan looked completely helpless. He held his hands before him in a gesture of peace. “Please don’t hurt him.”

Their only response was to shove him into the hall. They all left en masse, seven soldiers to the fore, then Nikandr, Ashan and Nasim, and finally Borund and the remaining men. The gaoler had also been shot. He lay behind his desk, a sea of blood pooled beneath him.

As they took to the stairwell leading up, it was clear Borund’s mission had not gone unnoticed. A smattering of gunfire could be heard above, and by the time they reached the ground floor, the clash of swords rang through the halls of Radiskoye.

Nearly two dozen Vostroman streltsi had set up a host of tables and statues as barricades, but the Khalakovan soldiers had broken through, and there was now a violent skirmish being waged not twenty paces down the hall. The polkovnik of the royal guard was among them, and when he saw Nikandr he shouted for his men to push, and the fighting intensified.

Borund pressed his pistol into Nikandr’s back. “Come, quickly, and you’ll live to see another day.”

Nikandr allowed himself to be taken. They moved southward, toward the eyrie, and Nikandr wondered