Vladimir had fallen.
Beside its smoldering ruins, Mongol tents rose one after another. The army warmed themselves near the burning city, sorting prisoners, taking brief moments of rest.
Before Batu’s tent, the princes of the various houses and their commanders gathered. At Batu’s signal, one of the strategists stepped forward. Holding a map of the Rus’, he smoothed the earth with his whip and drew a long line.
“The Volga.”
From it he branched smaller lines.
“The Klyazma. The Oka. The rivers freeze and become roads.”
A small ridge of dirt.
“The Urals.”
A larger stone.
“Here, Vladimir.”
A smaller stone.
“Suzdal.”
Both stones were removed. Conquered. A new stone was placed along a thin line.
“Rostov. Torzhok.”
Another stone.
“Tver.”
Further south, a circle.
“The Don plain.”
When the strategist finished, Batu spoke.
“Güyük, M?ngke, Orda. You will advance north, then west. Burn Torzhok. Then turn south.”
They nodded.
“The rest will come with me to Tver. From there, we continue south. On the Don plain, Queen Boraqchin will join us. Distribution of spoils. Slaves. Resupply.”
The generals studied the map drawn in dirt and stone.
“We meet on the Don plain.”
The council dispersed. Zaya and Norjin had watched from behind Batu, and now they too turned toward their own tent.
“Norjin? I haven’t seen you in Karakorum for a while. And here you are.”
Norjin turned. Recognition warmed his expression.
“Sarnai. I thought you’d headed for the Southern Song.”
Sarnai glanced toward Güyük’s retreating figure.
“That was the plan. Then I ended up under Prince Güyük’s command. My luck, as always.”
Norjin gave a faint smile.
“You still say dangerous things. I told you to curb that habit.”
“I heard you. Many times. I understand. No—I don’t. You’re the same. You just can’t help yourself.”
“We are nothing alike. I don’t speak recklessly.”
“You don’t need to. You show it.”
They both smiled. The exchange sounded well rehearsed.
A distracted officer collided with Sarnai as he passed. She staggered. Norjin caught her at the waist.
“Oh! Honestly. Not even an apology?”
She muttered toward the man’s back, then briefly steadied herself with a hand against Norjin’s chest before stepping away.
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Zaya’s brow lifted. A subtle tension set into her jaw.
Sarnai’s gaze shifted to the woman standing behind him.
“Princess Zaya of the Jochi Ulus,” Norjin said evenly.
Sarnai immediately stepped back and knelt, hand to chest.
“My apologies. I am Sarnai of the Kereit, one of the Thousand Commanders of the Empire’s left wing.”
“Don’t be so formal,” Zaya replied. “I serve now only as his captain of guards. Treat me as such.”
Sarnai raised her face, smiling.
“Thank you. It’s rare to meet a woman I can look in the eye without tilting my head.”
She was tall, broad-shouldered, dark-skinned like many of the Kereit. Her long hair was tied back loosely instead of braided. Blue stone earrings brushed her neck. Her lips were clearly tinted. The burgundy deel beneath her armor was edged in pale rose. Even under steel, her physique showed disciplined strength.
“I must go. Norjin—you know where my tent is. I’m with Güyük’s forces. Come by. Zaya, you as well. Let’s talk like women.”
She turned and disappeared among Güyük’s retinue.
“A Thousand Commander?” Zaya asked.
“One of the best on the left wing,” Norjin replied. “She doesn’t rise further because she disobeys orders.”
Zaya blinked. That was permitted?
“She likes children,” Norjin added. “Enemy or ally. She hesitates.”
He gave a faint, almost fond sigh.
“I’ve written more pardons on her behalf than I can count.”
Zaya continued staring in the direction Sarnai had gone.
A chamberlain approached.
“You’re still here. The King calls for you.”
Batu appeared in good spirits.
Catching Zaya’s assessing look, he rotated his shoulder.
“A scratch. Nothing more.”
“Don’t overdo it.”
“I won’t.”
His tone softened when speaking to her.
“Norjin.”
Norjin stepped forward.
“You will go to Novgorod.”
“To receive their answer of submission?”
“No. You will return with their oath of submission.”
Zaya frowned.
“So the negotiations are finished?”
“I have heard nothing of the sort.”
Norjin understood.
After a few seconds, he bowed.
“As you command.”
Zaya glanced at him sharply.
“We will meet on the Don plain,” Batu added with a smile.
Norjin bowed again and left the tent. Zaya followed.
“What does that mean?” she demanded.
“It means His Majesty expects me to make Novgorod submit.”
“That’s not a messenger’s duty.”
“No,” Norjin agreed, faintly amused. “I’ve been promoted from errand boy. This time, perhaps you will wait obediently.”
“I will not.”
He stepped in front of her.
“Have you forgotten you’re wounded? I refuse to repeat yesterday.”
“I do not abandon what I accept,” she answered. “I decided to protect you. That gives you no choice.”
He studied her resolve and sighed. There was no arguing with her.
Batu, meanwhile, was privately astonished.
Norjin had provided, almost instantly, the answer Taghrai had failed to produce. Draw the invasion route across the map and designate every city along it as a target. Logical. Administrative. Efficient.
Even the question of which city should serve as an example—one Batu had intended to put to his strategists—he had asked Norjin instead.
Norjin’s answer had not been the one Batu desired emotionally. But as a bureaucratic solution, it was flawless.
He had survived Ryazan’s refusal. He had extracted an answer from Vladimir in an unforeseen way, directly before Batu’s eyes.
Not every central bureaucrat of the Empire was this capable. But Norjin was.
A fool would accept such a task on impulse and fail spectacularly. Norjin was no fool.
Batu could not suppress the faint smile that curved his lips.
How would he shape Novgorod?
The sermon of the Bishop of Saint Sophia had little effect on the common people. It did, however, move both the boyar council and the veche.
Vasily was summoned to explain the Tatar invasion of Volga Bulgaria. Debate split both assemblies—those urging immediate action and those favoring caution. In the end, precedent prevailed. The Tatars had not reached Kiev before.
They would wait.
Kiev’s governance rested upon three pillars: the boyar council, the free citizens’ assembly, and the Grand Prince. Yet the Grand Prince had become largely symbolic. He did not reside in Kiev. With no decisive sovereign present, the city’s future now rested on the shoulders of its steward.
On Vasily.
