Callsign: Queen (Zelda Baker) (Chess Team, #2)
Jeremy Robinson
Prologue
Kievan Rus’
(Present-day Ukraine)
1237
The full moon drifted across a stormy sea of clouds, its light casting an ethereal net onto the world below. Yaroslav moved with a sense of determined purpose, pushing aside the fears bred of superstitious nonsense that threatened to overwhelm his companion.
Beside him, Kurek clutched his sword’s hilt in a white-knuckled grip, every sound from the surrounding forest causing him to flinch.
“Calm yourself, Kurek.” Yaroslav tried to keep the annoyance from his voice. Kurek was a good and loyal man, if not a brave one. “I assure you, there is nothing in the night that is not alive in the day.”
“What about owls?” The dark-haired young man’s voice trembled. “Bats are not out in the day, either.”
“I said alive during the day. Sleeping in the daylight hours and hunting after dark does not make a creature an agent of evil.” Yaroslav cast his companion a sideways glance. “You have been known to sleep during the day and engage in unsavory nocturnal activities.”
The ghost of a grin played across Kurek’s face, but it vanished almost as soon as it had appeared. “I like this not one bit.” A rustling in the forest, far behind them, made him jump. “Do you see what I mean?” His sword was halfway out of its scabbard before Yaroslav put a reassuring hand on his arm.
“You must not let every little sound frighten you. There are plenty of creatures who have just as much right to travel at night as you do, and none of them intend us harm.”
“I am not frightened.” Kurek’s sullen expression and dull voice made him sound ten years younger. “I am merely cautious.” Reluctance evident on every inch of his face, he sheathed his sword. “I have heard stories about this place. The people who live here are…not right. They are inhospitable, never sharing a meal or offering a bed for the night. And the fishermen never venture far up the river, and never, ever travel it after dark.”
Yaroslav rolled his eyes.
“We should have stayed the night in that last village,” Kurek continued. “We could have eaten a hot meal and drank a cup of mead in front of a fire instead of walking through the cold and damp, being stalked by whatever is out there.”
“We are not being stalked,” Yaroslav said absently, his mind on the enticing picture Kurek’s words had painted. He could almost taste the thick, sweet mead on his tongue. A night’s rest would have been a welcome thing, but they had passed the last village at midday, and could not afford to waste daylight, not when the news he carried was so dire. Besides, they were almost out of coin, having wasted most of it on a mount that seemed hale, but proved to be a nag. Despite their best efforts to preserve her, she gave out two days later. They had sold her carcass to a farmer who wanted her for her meat and horsehide. He’d given them only a single coin and two shriveled apples in trade, but considering the man could have simply waited for them to go on their way and then butchered the nag at his leisure, Yaroslav considered himself fortunate to have gotten anything at all.
“Do you think it is true?” Kurek gazed up in trepidation at the moon as he spoke. “Do you believe the Mongols are coming again?”
“The Cumans certainly believe so.” Yaroslav was thankful for the change of subject. It might distract Kurek from his fears. “Those with whom I spoke seemed genuinely concerned, and they have no reason to lie.”
“Cumans!” Kurek cleared his throat and spat a wad of phlegm on the ground. The straw-haired nomads had once been known as fierce raiders, but the rise of the Mongols had led them to form peaceful relations with those they had once regarded as enemies. Many of the Rus, however, still regarded the Cumans as untrustworthy at best.
“Come now!” Yaroslav chided. “The Cumans have been peaceful for many years. They fear the Mongols as much as anyone.”
“Peace!” Kurek held up his hand. “Listen,” he whispered, his eyes growing wide. “Do you hear it?”
“I grow weary of this. If you are going to act like a frightened girl…”
“I am serious!” It was the intensity of Kurek’s gaze more than the content of his words that brought Yaroslav up short. “Someone is following us. Whoever he is, he has been behind us for some time, and is coming closer.” His eyes locked on Yaroslav’s. “I am not mistaken. Listen for yourself as we walk and see if you do not agree with me.”