The Winds of Khalakovo - Bradley P. Beaulieu [193]
The traitor Dukes had landed Polkovnik Andreya Antonov, the head of Vostroma’s military, as well as two thousand streltsi. They had positioned themselves on the shallow plain that lay between Volgorod and Palotza Radiskoye, securing footholds close to each of the prized locations.
Ranos Khalakovo, as Boyar of the Island of Uyadensk and sitting Posadnik of the City, had responded in kind, organizing his not-inconsiderable number of troops to the edges of the city, ready to respond should Andreya issue the order to attack.
Rehada had no idea how she was going to reach Radiskoye. Attempting to take a windship, even a skiff, would be foolish to say the least. Her passage would be sensed and a ship would cut off her approach well before she reached the palotza. Travel by water would not work either, as the palotza—even though it was near the water’s edge—rested atop tall, unscalable cliffs. Travel by land, given the position of Andreya’s forces, had also been taken from her.
And so she found herself making a decision that at first seemed foolish, but felt wiser in increments in light of the fact that her eventual goal was to reach the Duke of Khalakovo.
The noon hour passed, and she grew worried that this was taking too long. Soroush had said that they would move tomorrow, meaning she had little enough time in which to find Iaros, to convince him of her earnestness, and to give them time to prevent what was about to happen. What could be done at this point she wasn’t sure—Zhabyn Vostroma had a stranglehold on the island—but she was certain she didn’t stand a chance by herself. Only Iaros had the wherewithal to negotiate a cessation of hostilities or organize an outright attack to buy them time to deal with Soroush.
When the sotnik stepped out of the mansion and began walking over the expanse of stone leading to the gates, he was accompanied by Nikandr’s sister, Victania. She wore a blue dress, extravagant for a peasant woman but clearly plain for the Princess. Two braids wrapped around her head and tied her long brown hair back like an Aramahn circlet. Her face was grim as she came closer and finally stopped several paces away.
“I was told you wish to speak to my brother.”
“I do.”
“That you have some knowledge of the Maharraht? A threat?”
Rehada nodded.
Victania’s serious eyes thinned. “You are Nikandr’s lover, are you not?”
Rehada nearly shook her head, ready to deny it in order to reach Ranos, but Victania knew too much. Rehada had been with Nikandr for years, and she had attended several high-profile dinners hosted by various Landed families in Volgorod, and even one in Radiskoye when the Duke had been away. It was too likely that Victania knew a lot more about Rehada than she would have originally guessed, and so she nodded.
“Do you have news of him?” Victania asked. Her voice had softened. Rehada knew how close the two of them were.
“I’m sorry, but I haven’t.”
At this, Victania’s face hardened. “My brother is away. I’m afraid he is not able to see you.”
“But I have come from Iramanshah, from—”
“Da, from Fahroz herself, but let me tell you, Rehada, if Fahroz has something she wishes to tell us, she can come herself so we can weigh her words properly.”Victania turned and began striding back toward the mansion, but she stopped momentarily and turned her head halfway around. “Run back, won’t you? And tell her not to send a woman of the sheets to do her talking for her.”
She resumed her walk, but stopped at the growing sound of ponies clomping along the cobbled street. A handful of military men dressed in black cherkesskas were riding toward the mansion. At their head were two men: an imposing but graying polkovnik...
And Ranos.
His thin mustache and beard were still in place, but stubble was growing in around his cheeks and neck, making him look haggard and wild.
The nearby sotnik clapped his heels together and saluted the incoming men who had no doubt come from surveying the preparations