
       
       


    




    0-312-85812-4
    
        $24.95
    ($34,95 CAN)
    
    Mercedes Lackey is one of today's best-
    loved and bestselling fantasy writers. Her
    series, from the Lost-Herald Mage
    to the Mage Storms trilogies, have
    redefined adventure fantasy for a new
    generation. Her stand-alone wr,,''
    The Fire Rose and Tor's c'.., oacred
    Ground, have further strengthened her
    reputation as a writer of entertaining fan-
    tasies that appeal to a wide readership.
      In Firebird, Lackey draws inspiration
    from the classic Russian fairy tale to pre-
    sent a marvelous coming-of-agf- I--+- - i
    with a most unusual setting. inedieval
    Russia before unification under the Tsars.
      Ilya is the son of a boyar, a Russian
    prince. In his father's rough-and-tumble
    household, Ilya is persecuted by his large,
    doltish older brothers, who delight in
    tormenting him and making him seem
    the fool. His only friends are three old
    people: a priest, a magician, and a
    woman who toils in the palace kitchens.
      From them Ilya learns faith, a smatter-
    ing of magic, and the power of love-all
    of which he will need desperately, for his
    life is about to be turned upside down.
      The boyar's magnificent cherry
    orchard is visited at midnight by the leg-
    endary Firebird-a gigantic, magnifi(~ent
    hawk whose wings seem to be made of
    flame, Ilya's father and brothers swear to
    capture the magical creature-but
    each fails. When Ilya disobeys his father
    and makes his own attempt to catch the
    Firebird, he is banished.
      The young man journeys through a
    fantastical Russia full of magical mazes,
    enchanted creatures, and untold dan-
    gers. Gifted with the ability to understand
    the speech of animals, Ilya saves the ,. -
    of a fox, who becomes his most steadfast
    companion.
      As happens in the best fairy tales, Ilya
    falls in love with an enchanted princess.

    




    FIREBIRD
    
    s
    
    a-

    





    




    TOR BOOKS BV MERCEDES LACKEV
    
                             THE HALFBLOOD CHRONICLE
                               (with Andre Norton)
                                  The Elvenbane
                                    Elvenblood
    
                           DIANA TREGARD INVESTIGATIONS
                                  Burning Water
                              Children of the Night
                                    Jinx High
    
    Firebird

    




    MERCEDES [ACKEY
    
    w
    TOR@
    
    EW YORK

    





    




    I
    
    This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this novel are
                    either fictitious or are used fictitiously.
    
    FIREBIRD
    
    Copyright 0 1996 by Mercedes Lackey
    
    All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof,
                                    in any form.
    
    This book is printed on acid-free paper.
    
                                     A Tor Book
                     Published by Tom Doherty Associates, Inc.
                                  175 Fifth Avenue
                                New York, N.Y 100 10
    
                          Tor Books on the World Wide Web:
                                http://"Tww.tor.com
    
    Tor" is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, Inc.
    
    Book Design by Brian Mulligan
    
    Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
    
       Lackey, Mercedes.
      Firebird / by Mercedes Lackey.
          P. cin.
         'A Tom Doherty Associates book."
         ISBN 0-312-85812-4
         1. Titic.
        PS3562A2461756 1996
        813'.54-dc2O -96-23841
                        CIP
    
    FIRST EDITION: December 1996
    
    Printed in the United States of America
    
    0 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 21

    




      To Natalia Marakova
    Always, for me, the Firebird
    
    I

    





    




    FIREBIRD

    





    




    ANOTHER SLIVER of silvery-pale wood Joined the tiny pile at
    Ilya Ivanovitch's feet, and the rough shape in his hand became a little
    more foxlike. The wood rasped against the sword calluses on his palm
    as Ilya narrowed his focus to the lumpy head, turning the carving this
    way and that, frowning at it, oblivious to everything else. Sun-rays baked
    through the linen tunic on his back with the fever-heat of high summer;
    the sharp, resinous scent of the block of wood in his hands tickled his
    nostrils. Under that scent lay others: the green musk of herbs crushed
    under his feet, the sweet and heady fragrance of wild roses somewhere
    nearby, the tannin-rich breath of the forest all around him, the all-too-
    earthy scent of horse-dung. Birds vied with insects to fill his ears, but
    could not overwhelm the gentle rustling of the leaves as a fitful breeze
    floated by. Last year's leaves crunched and rattled under the hooves of
    one of his father's horses as it nosed through the grass between the trees,
    looking for something more succulent than the tough strands of a full
    summer's growth.
     The horses had )ust been moved into the forest for fall grazing. They
    were fat and spoiled from a spring and summer of good clover and tasty
    grasses, but they might need that fat come the winter.
     He set the sharp edge of his smallest knife against the wood; this
    would be a tricky cut, for the ear was one of the hardest bits to carve. He
    wanted it thin, so that the light would glow through it if he held it up

    




    It   MERCEDES LACKEV
    
     Slowly, carefully, he shaved and shaped the nubbin of wood; wi
    every sliver, it took on more delicacy, more life. His brows furrowed
    he squinted, and he lost track of scent, sound, even the heat on his ba
    His world became the bit of wood and the blade that was sculpting
    From white wood, imperceptibly the blunted triangle transmuted t
    thin sliver of white flesh and fur. In a moment, he would finish wit
    and move on to the other car-
     "Hoy!"
     Out of nowhere, a hand descended to thump him on the back, h
    enough to knock the wind out of him. His arms jerked, and the blow s
    him flying off his seat toward the ground. Helplessly, he watched as
    knife soared off in one direction, the carving in another. Steel honed
    astonishing sharpness glinted in the sun as it turned, end over end, in
    ing with dreamlike slowness. Then time caught up with him again, a
    he landed on his knees in the grass, his chest tight as his lungs rcali
    there was no air in them.
     He struggled for a moment to catch his breath, his ribs aching, thr
    straining. Finally, after an eternity, a breath came, filling his lungs w
    welcome harshness. He took another; another-got himself under c
    trol. No point in getting angry, for that would only give his brother
    other excuse for boorish behavior.
     "Hello, Pietor," Ilya said with resignation as soon as he could spe
    He remained where he was and turned his head, but not with any ha
    to look up at his older brother.
     Pletor grinned whitely down at him, very pleased with himself,
    shook his blond hair out of his eyes. "So, little brother, I find you at
    crets. And what witchcraft were you up to, out here all alone in the
    cst? Consorting with the leshil'?"
     Ilya sighed. Every time he went off somewhere by himself, one or in
    of his brothers was convinced that Ilya was up to no good. Probably
    cause every time one of Ilya's brothers went off alone, he was up to
    good.
     "No witchcraft," Ilya replied. "You don't believe in the forest spi
    any more than Father does, I'm hardly alone with the horses all arou

    




    F I R E B I R D    13
    
    and it's not what I would call forest." Ilya rose slowly, dusted the grass
    off his knees, and looked for his knife and the carving where he thought
    he'd seen them land The former he found quickly enough, and he
    thanked his stars that it was undamaged. It had taken a lot of work to
    get the blade that shar and he had not been lookin forward to the
    hours he might have to spend smoothing a nick out of it. His luck
    couldn't hold however, and he already anticipated that the carvin
    would be ruined. He had a visceral memory of the blade biting savagel)
    
    into the wood before both knife and carving flew off.
    
     When Ilya picked the bit of wood up out of the grass, he saw with
    sinkin of spirit that his gloomy expectation was correct. The ear tha
    had taken him so long to shape had sheared off under his blade, leavin
    
    'Are vou contradicting me, little brother?" Pietor's grin turned mall-
    
    cious and the ominous tone of his voice warned of a drubbing to come
    Bufat this moment and lace II a wasn't terriblv worried about the im
    
     For one thing, Pietor was alone, and none of his brothers had been
    able to succeed in beating him alone, not for the last year or more.
    or more together, now, that was a different tale altogether, and Ilya would
    have to find a way to distract Pictor long enough so that he would for
    get the so-called "Insult" so that he didn't manage to gather allies.
     Pietor wa 't very bright, and he didn't have a terribly long attention
          sn             I
    span; however, it wouldn't take much to distract him. It always took
    
    Pietor a while to organize himself enough to collect a group to beat Ilya
    up, and during that time he was vulnerable to interference. With any
    luck, by the time Pietor got back to the palace to rouse one or more of
    the others, he would have forgotten why he had gone looking for them
    
     "What you wish, brother." Ilya shrugged and tossed the ruined carv-
    ing out into the forest, sheathing his knife so casually that not even Pictor
    could take it as an insult. A dun mare grazing nearby looked up at the
    motion as the bit of ruined wood sailed past her nose, snorted, and went
    back to single-minded munching. "You'll make up your own mind about

    




    14   MERCEDES LACKEV
    
    what I said no matter what I tell you. So it doesn't matter what I say now,
    does it?"
     Pietor's white-blond brows furrowed together and his vacant blue
    eyes grew even vaguer as he tried to puzzle through that. Finally he gave
    u"Y
    p. ou think you're clever, smarter than all of us, don't you?" he chal-
    lenged. "Too clever by half!"
     Enough of this nonsense. I'm not in the mood. "I don't have to think
    anything, I only have to listen to you and I know what the answer is,"
    Ilya replied, narrowing his own eyes and staring right at his brother with
    a challenge of his own. "What do you want, anyway? Why did you come
    sneaking out here, following me around like a thief or a gypsy? Do you
    covet my knife, or were you hoping I had somehow found a treasure you
    could steal?"
     The abrupt change of subject and the unexpected challenge left
    Pietor floundering for a moment. 1-ah-" The young man backed up
    a step as he attempted to handle two thoughts at the same time and
    failed utterly. He stared into Ilya's face, and Ilya had to choke down the
    urge to say anything more. Pietor was thoroughly confused and briefly
    intimidated. Best leave well enough alone.
     "Never mind." Ilya stalked off, startling two more horses into a brief
    canter before they settled again. He left Pietor standing dumbfounded
    in his wake, mouth hanging open stupidly.
     Not that it's an unusual expression for dear Pletor, he thought savagely.
    A whole afternoon's work ruined in a heartbeat by that oaf! Ilya'd hoped
    to have the carving finished by supper as a surprise for Mother Galina;
    he was glad now that he hadn't promised her anything, as he often did
    when he planned to carve her something. The worst of it is, I think he
    knew exactly what he was doing. He might not be bright, but he's cunning.
    He probably saw me out in the forest-pasture and realized how caught UP
    I was in what I was doing; saw his chance to sneak up and play me anothel~
    rotten trick. That was altogether like Pietor. He was never happier than
    when he got a chance to spoil something of Ilya's as well as add another
    to Ilya's ongoing collection of bruises.
     The day was still sunny and beautiful, but a dark cloud hung about
    Ilya's soul. He hated going back to Mother Galina empty-handed, even

    




    F I R E B I R D    is
    
    if he hadn't promised her anything; in his own heart, the promise had
    been made.
     But a splash of pink in a patch of sun caught his eye, promising help
    with his predicament, and he made a brief detour toward the tangle of
    thorny branches. Roses! Of course! A bouquet won't last as long as a carv-
    ing, but with any luck, it'll last long enough for me to carve her another
    little beast.
     With great care for the thorns and one ear cocked for Pictor's ap-
    proach, Ilya cut several branches bearing three or more of the flat-petaled
    pink blooms with their centers of molten gold. The soft petals trembled
    as he stripped blood-hued thorns from the fibrous green stems with the
    aid of his knife. It had always seemed appropriate to him, given the num-
    ber of times the sturdy barbs had bitten into his flesh, that the thorns
    of the wild rose looked as if they had already tasted blood. When be had
    what he considered to be a sufficiently large bouquet in light of his fail-
    ure to produce a carving, he resumed his journey back to the palace,
    home of his father the tsar and all of his brawling brothers.
     Tsar! He's only a boyar, but he has to call himself a tsar to prove he's
    stronger and more important than his neighbors. Then what do his neigh-
    bors do? They call themselves tsars! Tsar Ivan actually ruled a little more
    land than most of the other neighboring "tsars." Part of it he had ac-
    quired by marriage, part by warring with his neighbors, both of which
    had been successful pursuits. All three of his wives had gotten substan-
    tial marriagc-portions of land and beasts settled upon them by way of a
    dowry. Ilya's mother, the middle wife, had been the least successful in
    regard to land, having, brought with her more horses than hectares, and
    Tsar Ivan still coupled Ekaterina's name with a certain degree of failure.
    She had failed him in two ways: She had borne him only one son before
    dying, and had brought him only a fraction of her own father's holdings.
     Not that Father needed any more sons! Ilya thought sourly. He's quite
    surfeited with such blessings as it is!
     As Ilya neared the palace, the sounds of a normal afternoon among
    Tsar Ivan's offspring met him long before the palace itself was in sight.
    Shouts of pain and triumph shook the leaves-the birds had long since
    scattered-and the clangor of metal on wood, wood on wood, and metal

    




    16   MERCEDES LAC16EV
    
    on metal punctuated the din. Arms practice or outright quarreling-
    didn't much matter which was going on, they would sound the sa
    and none of Ilya's brothers ever held back in either.
     When the tsar's numerous offspring and probable by-blows weren
    battling one another, they were either preparing to battle a neighbor
    more rarely, drinking and carousing. Ivan encouraged them in all thr
    pursuits; battle with a neighbor would probably add more land to h
    kingdom, while brawling and drinking were both activities that were ha
    ardous in and of themselves. Tsar Ivan was in the peculiar position
    having had all of his sons survive infancy and childhood, including t
    ones whose mothers had not survived the births. Ilya and Sasha had bo
    survived the travail of their arrival and the scramble for a suitable we
    nurse afterward, even though both their mothers had been cooling
    their coffins before a nurse could be located among the serfs and se
    vants. While this strange circumstance of a plurality of male offspri
    was gratifying to Tsar Ivan's pride and implied certain things about
    virility, it also created a difficult situation. Obviously only one son cou
    inherit, but which should it be?
     In most families there would be no question but that it would be t
    oldest; however, Ivan was a law unto himself. His steadfast unbelief
    the spirits of forest, hearth, and field was no more than a reflection
    his contrary nature. He had thus far declined to make a pronounceme
    that would render his choice official, leaving all the sons in a perpet
    state of servile uncertainty.
     Ilya suspected that he knew why. Father doesn't trust us. Not any
    us. That fact was clear to anyone who had a reasonably acute mind. Ts
    Ivan never went anywhere without his bodyguards, not even to bed, a
    the way he eyed his numerous offspring left no doubt in Ilya's heart t
    Ivan anticipated attempts by his loving sons to murder him as a mat
    of course. He was not about to shorten his own lifespan by giving o
    of them a real and tangible reason t o want him out of the way.
     I don't know why. He didn't have to murder Grandfather to inherit. B
    maybe he sees us as a wolf pack. One wolf is not necessarily dangerous,
    even two-but a pack can kill your horse in its traces and have you be
    you've run more than a few steps.

    




    F I R E B I R D    17
    
     So Tsar Ivan encouraged fighting among his sons for more reasons
    than one. He obviously wanted the kingdom to go to the hc1r that was
    the strongest; battling one another kept his offspring in outstanding
    physical shape for real warfare. And in addition, well, if one of them man-
    aged to kill one of his siblings, there would be one son less to make at-
    tempts to take the crown by force. Ivan had no intention of actually
    doing away with any of his dangerous offspring, for that would be
    MUTdcr-
     Ah, but if one of us happens to eliminate another, it's hardly his prob-
    lem, is it?
     Ilya took a circuitous route through the trees around in back of the
    palace, by way of the kitchen-garden and the nearby pigsties. There
    wasn't much left in the garden by this time of year and the ground lay
    fallow, waiting for the seeds for next year's planting; what remained
    green was mostly the tops of carrots, turnips, onions, and beets in neat
    rows, ready for harvest before the earth froze. The rest had already been
    harvested and eaten, put into storage, or preserved; the earth had been
    turned under after a liberal application of pig-manure.
     The pigs themselves were happily wallowing in mud in their sturdy
    sties, blissfully unaware that the date of their demise could not be far
    off. Once the nuts fell, they would be herded into the forest to gorge
    themselves and put on more weight, and that would be the end of their
    carefrce existence. The first hard freeze would signal butchering-time,
    and both porkers and cattle would become future meals, safely pre-
    served to provision the long winters. Ilya both anticipated and dreaded
    that freeze. Butchering the animals and feasting after would keep his
    brothers too busy to think of trouble, but the boredom of the long win-
    ters only gave them more time and opportunity to make his life miser-
    able.
     Ah well, worry about that when the snows lock us in. Maybe the wolves
    will eat Pietor this year when he goes out in his sled, and that will leave
    me one less idiot to contend with. Of course, they'd probably eat the horses
    first, unless Pietor was out with Alexi or Yuri, and one of them got thrown
    to the wolves so that the other could escape.
     He entertained this pleasant thought while he walked down the dusty

    




    is   RIERCEDES LACKEV
    
    path to the kitchen. The heavy wooden door leading into the kitchen
    stood wide open, and no wonder: Heat from the bread-ovens came blast-
    ing out to meet Ilya, and the servants working inside were half-naked,
    bodies, arms, and faces streaming sweat. Ilya stood in the doorway for a
    moment, taken aback by the sight; the only light came from the ovem
    themselves, a red glow that brought to mind the fires of the Infernal Pit
    It bathed the glistening faces and limbs of the laboring servants, ben]
    over their tasks at the three huge wooden tables like so many dwarfist
    spirits in bondage, or tormented souls paying the price of their sins. Fo
    a moment, the kitchen appeared as haunted and unchancy as the bath
    house, which had its own resident spirit, the bannik, a creature knowl
    to kill those who offended it.
     Quickly Ilya crossed himself to avert any inadvertent curses brough
    on by that thought, and backed hastily out of the doorway. Mothe
    Galina wouldn't be in there; the place was hot enough to make an o
    faint. So if she wasn't in the kitchen, she was probably in the dairy, ovel
    seeing the results of the afternoon milking.
     The dairy adjoined the kitchen and was as pleasant as the kitchen w.
    hellish. It was the best-built construction on the property, for one of Ilya
    ancestors bad a great fondness for butter and cheese and had given h
    dairy-lierd, both cows and goats, pride of place. It was the only buildir
    that was constructed entirely of stone, with a stone floor, and the wat(
    from the spring that served the entire palace was tamed to a trough rul
    ning right through the center of it. In winter, the great brick stove at tf
    end made it just warm enough to be bearable, but in the summer tl
    cool was delightful. Ilya had spent many long summer days here as
    child, watching the cheesemakers with fascination, helping to chul
    the butter, getting teased by the dairymaids. Later the teasing bad turn(
    to flirting, and the flirting to skirt-cbasing, which bad resulted in Moth
    Galina banishing him from the dairy unless he had reason to be tber,
     So I moved my hunting-grounds to the pastures, and no-one the wis
    A big belly or two bad probably resulted from his games in the grass, b
    he never found out about it officially. Ivan had an unwritten but iro
    clad rule about his sons' (or his own) bastards: Any serf-girl finding h(

    




    F I R E B I R D    19
    
    self in the family way by any of the men was to present herself quietly
    to the chief steward. Provided that she didn't make a fuss, she'd find her-
    self rewarded with a dowry, a husband of her station or above, and a new
    position on the palace staff. Ilya suspected that his father chose his own
    girls from among the ones so promoted, for certainly there were one or
    two of Ilya's own former milkmaids whom he had seen sporting silver-
    and-amber trinkets he had never given them and that none of the other
    sons could have afforded either. The best be or his brothers could man-
    age for a girl was a string of glass beads or a length of cloth filched from
    the stores.
     As he pushed the wooden door of the dairy ajar, the first person who
    caught his eye was not Mother Galina, but a newcomer, an unfamiliar,
    fresh-faced irtilkinaid, all pink cbeeks and blond braids. She stood at one
    of the smooth slate tables, kneading the last of the whey out of a cloth
    full of curds. The shapeless, coarse linen smock of the serfs was pulled
    in tightly around a tiny waist by a spotless apron embroidered with flow-
    ers and deer in tiny, careful stitches of black wool. Her smock was short
    enough that she displayed not only a pair of pretty little feet, but slen-
    der ankles and a hint of graceful calves. The string tying her smock at
    the neck had come undone, allowing one shoulder as smooth as cream
    and the very beginning of the swell of a shapely breast to show. The maid
    looked up and caught him staring; she gave him an impish smile and a
    slow, languorous wink of one limpid blue eye. He straightened, feeling
    suddenly much more cheerful.
     "Stop flirting with my girls, you shameless hulk!" He jumped and gave
    the expected yelp as the end of a cheesecloth hit his rear with a sharp
    snap. The girl giggled and turned her attcntion back to her work with-
    out the slightest sign of shame; he whirled around to catch Mother
    Calina in a bear-bug that left her breathless. The spry little woman was
    not quite as slender as one of his maidens, but she was hardly much
    heavier. Beneath her matronly blouse and skirt, she was surprisingly lim-
    ber for an old babushka.
     "Why would I flirt with a silly girl when the most beautiful woman
    here is you?" he cried, loud enough for everyone in the dairy to hear. More

    




    20   MERCEDES LAC16EV
    
    giggles followed that pronouncement, and Mother Galina extricated
    herself from his arms with a blush and a slap, which missed his cheek,
    as it was supposed to.
     "What mischief have you gotten yourself into that you come barging
    into my dairy like a clumsy ox?" she demanded, her bright black eyes
    twinkling under her busby eyebrows. "What is it that I must rescue
    vou from this time? Or is it one of my maidens that must be rescued
    fTom You?"
     Her brows and the little that could be seen of her hair under the scarf
    that all respectable women wore was black, as black as it had been the
    day she arrived at the palace. No one knew where she came from; she
    had simply appeared at the kitchen door, claiming to be an expert dairy-
    woman. That day had been particularly disastrous in the dairy: The
    butter wouldn't form in the churns, the cream had soured, and some of
    the cheeses had been discovered to be rancid rather than ripening. The
    chief cook, who never had liked dairy-work, had told her that if she
    could redeem the situation, she could have the dairy and the position
    of first undercook.
     He really hadn't expected her to be able to do anything, but he had
    been at his wits"end. He had never regretted his hasty promise. By night-
    fall, sweet pats of butter were stored in wooden butter-buckets in the
    spring, the cheeses had been saved, and the soured cream had provided
    an excellent sauce for dinner.
     Now, Galina's arrival and, more particularly, her success had not gone
    unremarked, far from it. There had been some muttering about Galina
    being a spirit-perhaps the domovoi's wife-but Ivan had put a stop to
    such mutterings quickly. "There is no bouse-spirit, so how can there be
    a wife?" be had shouted out one night at dinner. "The next person who
    blathers about the domovoi will get a pot thrown at his head, and it won't
    be by a spirit!" He then proved that he wasn't bluffing by knocking one
    poor serf senseless for hours, and topped himself by growling that~he'd
    do worse than that the next time.
     So ended the talk, especially as Galina produced nothing more su-
    pernatural than good butter. Eventually, most folk forgot she hadn't
    been born on Ivan's land, particularly since a great deal of Ivan's lan~

    




    d
    
    9
    s
    e
    d
    
    f
    e
    c
    
    c
    
    F I R E B I R D    21
    
    was "newly" acquired. Mother Galina had made herself the undisputed
    ruler of the dairy, as much a part of the household as those who had
    served Ivan's family for generations.
     Nor was that all she had done. Ilya had been about three then, and
    as wild as a little gypsy. His wet-nurse had long since gone on to other
    things, Ivan's current wife cared nothing for him, and he wasn't yet old
    enough to begin the proper training of a warrior. He could no longer re-
    call what had brought him to the dairy shortly after Galina was placed
    in charge, but thereafter, she became his unofficial nurse and substitute
    mother.
     "I brought you these," he said, holding out the bouquet of roses,
    just to prove the loyalty of my heart to you." Fortunately, be had not
    stood in the doorway of the kitchen long enough for the heat to wilt the
    delicate petals. As Mother Galina closed her hand about the stems, a
    wonderful perfume arose from the blossoms, filling the dairy and caus-
    ing more than one of the dairymaids to sigh over her churn. Galina
    buried her rosy face in the flowers, her own expression that of deepest
    pleasure.
     "You're a good boy, Ilya," she said at length and appropriated a milk-
    jug from among those that stood in rows on a shelf along one wall. Fill-
    ing it with water from the trough running the length of the room, she
    dropped the bouquet in and set it up on the shelf again, out of harm's
    way. She had to stand on tiptoe to do so, but Ilya did not offer to help,
    having learned the futility of any such offer long ago.
     "There. Now we can all enjoy them," she said with satisfaction, and,
    if possible, the heady aroma of roses grew even more intense. She turned
    once again to face Ilya, her plump hands resting on either hip. "Now-
    what really brings you here? Which of my girls are you bent on chasing
    t1ils tinic?"
     "I had no intention of chasing any of them when I walked in here,"
    he protested with absolute honesty. Of course not; it was only after I came
    in that I saw one I intend to pursue! "I just came to bring you a gift, that's
    all! Must everything I do have some ulterior motive?"
      "Not everything," she replied. "Just most things."
      He winced, for Galina had an uncanny ability to see right through

    




    MERCEDES LAC16EV
    
    even the most clever falsehoods. He had stopped trying to lie to her
    he was five, and now very strictly tailored only the truth when she as
    him an uncomfortable question. Even so, be often had the feeling t
    she could see into his very heart.
     "You sound like my father," he growled, "seeing plots in casual Co
    versations and an assassin behind every bush. He sent Pictor out in
    the pasture to spy on me this afternoon! Pietor accused me of sorce
    Only The Most High God knows what my father thinks I'm up to noM
     But Galina only chuckled and patted him on the arm. "Pietor se
    himself into the pasture this time," she assured him. 'And as for
    cery-thcre was a band of gypsies here selling trinkets earlier th
    noon, and he probably got the idea to look for witchcraft in ridieu
    places from one of them. I doubt that he would be able to come up
    anything so creative himself."           ~i
     He relaxed a little, only now becoming aware how tense he had
    in the first place. 'And maybe by the time he gets home, he'll have
    gotten the idea," be said hopefully. "Don't you think?"
     'At least by the time supper is over," she told him. "Your brothers h
    fewer wits than one of my cheeses. So, that brings us to supper; wou
    you rather that you found a basket of bread and cheese by the back
    tonight, or will you be a man, face them down, and have your s
    with the rest of your family?"
     That was no question and they both knew it, although there h
    been plenty of times when he had managed to construct an excuse JU
    tifying that basket by the door, and there probably would be again. H
    absence would be noted if he didn't go to dinner; he might as well fa
    them all, or someone would create a rumor. He would hope that Pie
    had forgotten his suspicions of sorcery, and be done with it.
     Too bad Father believes in sorcerers. You'd think he'd be as scornful
    magic as he is of spirits and demons, but that he believes in.
     Or maybe he just believed in the will of his sons to use any mea
    their power to get rid of him.
     "With luck, they'll all get too drunk to find their beds," he said
    way of reply. "Na, I'm a man grown, Little Mother, I can face my

    




    A4
    161u,
    
    F I R E B 1 2 D    23
    
    family over bread and soup. So long as I don't have to do so more than
    Once a day."
    ~ Neither of them paid any attention to the girls and the three young
    boys eavesdropping shamelessly on their conversation. The dairy-workers
    were only serfs, they weren't even freeborn servants; Ilya was alone in the
    family in treating them better than the dogs, but it didn't matter to him
    if they listened to what he said or not. Gossip in the huts didn't concern
    him, not even if the gossip did make him out as a sorcerer. He'd have to
    be a singularly incompetent sorcerer, anyway, to let his brothers beat him
    to a froth on a regular basis.
     "If Pietor casts black looks on you, you might suggest to one of the
    others that he was hoping to involve you in a conspiracy," she suggested.
    "Yuri-he could suspect a plot just by seeing two serfs visiting the privy
    at the same timc. You're clever enough to hint without actually saying
    anything. The rumor will get back to Ivan before the end of the meal,
    and it won't do Pietor any good; he'll believe a conspiracy before he'd
    ever believe in sorcery."
     "I'll think on it," he temporized, and kissed her brow as she flushed
    with pleasure. "That might do me more barm than good, though. You
    know that Father thinks I'm already engaged in plots against him; I
    don't need to add to that. It's easy enough to see where Yuri gets his sus-
    picious nature."
     She nodded solemnly. "Do what you think is best; you hardly need
    me to give you advice anymore."
     "Now that is surely the biggest lie you ever told me, babushka," he
    chided with a smile. "I shall always need you to give me advice!"
     'Ali, when the eagle is flying, he doesn't need his mother to count his
    wing-beats," she replied, once again cheerful. "Now off with you! I have
    butter to press before dinner."
     She turned back to her work and was soon engrossed; he paused at
    the doorway long enough to whisper to the attractive blonde. "Moon-
    rise. The north meadow?"
     She nodded, ever so slightly, and he left the dairy with a bounce in
    his walk. The north meadow, bordered by the spring that supplied the

    




    24   MERCEDES LACKEV
    
    palace and dairy with water, was a favorite mecting-place of his. There
    was a weeping willow on the banks of the stream whose branches formed
    a curtain even in the fall; the ground beneath it was soft with moss. Per-
    haps in any other household but Ivan's the serfs would fear to walk there
    after dark, afraid of the water-dwelling rusalka or the meadow-haunting
    polevol, but not here. Ivan would have thrown pots at anyone telling tales
    of spectral herdsmen all in white, or ethereal maidens waiting to pull the
    unsuspecting under to drown. The shelter of the willow's bough was a
    good pl~cc to sit and play the balalaika, and if a milkmaid happened to
    hear the music and was curious about who was playing there, well, that
    was no one's business but hers.
     And even if her courage failed her and she didn't appear, it was still a
    good place to sit and play the balalaika.
     He marched toward the palace with trepidation, but the sounds of
    combat no longer troubled the air, and he breathed a sigh of relief. After
    a good workout or a good quarrel, the rest of his brothers were usually
    too tired to want anything but their suppers. He always took his prac-
    tices in the morning; the others liked to lie abed as long as possible. If
    he showed up early, he had the courtyard and whichever warrior who
    wanted to practice with him all to himself. That was one reason why his
    brothers were no longer able to beat him singly; concentrated practice
    was much better than an uncoordinated brawl.
     However, those solitary practices were not doing much to alleviate his
    father's suspicions either.
     Father thinks I'm trying to train myself in treachery, in back-stabbing
    and ambush. Huh. If I killed him, I'd only have a hundred times the trou-
    ble I do now! All my brothers would be trying to murder me in turn, rather
    than just beat me up now and again.
     He crossed the yard and entered the wooden palace, easily the largest
    building for leagues and leagues around. He actually couldn't imagine
    anything bigger; his head swam if he tried, although old tales spoke of
    palaces with hundreds of rooms, with towers and domes that touched
    the sky. Such places were as nonsensical as stories of banniks in the bath-
    house-who would live in such a palace? How could they find their way

    




    i
    
    F I R E B I R D    25
    
    about? How could food come from the kitchen to the hall in any kind
    of edible state?
     This place was enough of a barn as it was. Dozens of peasant huts
    could fit inside; in the great hall, there were tables able to seat a total of
    fifty people at a time, and there was even a second story, where the tsar
    and his wife and guards lived with the tsar's own set of servants. This
    was the only dwelling Ilya had ever seen with wooden or stone floors in-
    stead of a dirt one-very grateful to the feet in winter.
     Outside, the shutters and parts of the wall were painted with brilliant
    decorations: swirls of leaf and bursts of blossoms, with joyful birds like
    nothing ever seen in the forest. The exposed beams were carved into fan-
    ciful shapes; animals and birds and fish piled atop one another in a bla-
    tant disregard for the fact that fish did not ride atop bears, nor foxes fly.
    Inside the building there were more carvings on every beam, painted this
    time, and on the floors lay the hides of sheep and bear, and even a carpet
    or two taken from Turks. Heated by tiled stoves, cooled in summer
    by the breezes coming in the open windows, it was a marvel to Ilya
    every time he looked at it. There were dozens of rooms, entire rooms
    devoted to spinning and weaving, to drying and preparing herbs, rooms
    just for storing things. Each of his brothers bad his own small room, there
    was a chapel for the priest, rooms where the servants slept, even a room
    made to catch all the thin winter sunlight so the tsarina and her ladies
    could sew in comfort in the coldest and bleakest of winters. He could
    hardly imagine how ordinary men had built the palace; it just seemed
    too big for human hands to have made. Small wonder that serf-girls
    longed for the sort of promotion that permitted them to work or even
    live inside it.
     The ball was the largest room in the palace, and served for every kind
    of gathering. It held carved wooden benches and tables enough for all
    the family, all of Ivan's warriors, and a few of the most important servants.
    Ilya paused just inside the door to see how the land lay before entering.
    The kitchen-staff was already spreading out the plates and bowls of food,
    although Ivan and most of his sons had not yet arrived. A little relieved,
    Ilya took a place on the bench beside Sasha, the brother nearest his own

    




    26   MERCEDES LAC14EV
    
    age, and reached for a bowl of mashed turnips. Sasha ignored him, since
    he was only reaching for vegetables; Sasha became annoyed only when
    someone got at the meat before be had a chance to pick it over.
     Dropping a bit of butter on top of the turnips, Ilya intercepted the
    boy carrying the borscht and got a bowlful. Meals with the family were
    always like this: intercept or grab what you wanted, or do without. There
    had never been any polite passing of plates among Ivan's offspring; it was
    every man (and woman) for himself.
     More and more of the family and household drifted in; by this time,
    Ilya bad bread and soup, turnips and onions, and the meat was coming
    around in the form of stewed rabbit. There would probably be venison
    or boar in a bit; Ilya didn't care to wait for a heartier meat. He liked rabbit
    well enough, and Sasha didn't, so when the platter passed by he stabbed
    a hindquarter with his knife and carried it in triumph to his own plate.
    They all ate on plates now, though when Ilya had been very young, there
    had been plates only for Ivan and his tsarina. But the third wife, Ekate-
    rina's successor, had brought with her artisans as well as livestock, and
    one of them bad been a potter. There was a fine bank of clay on the prop-
    erty, hardly touched except to make tiles for stoves until the skilled pot-
    ter arrived, and now they all had plates to eat from and pottery goblets
    to drink from, with more to trade outside the kingdom. Ilya understood
    that there had been some grumbling in the kitchen about the extra
    work involved in cleaning the plates, but once Ivan threatened to take
    off the band of the chief troublemaker, there had been no more com-
    plaints. The tsar did not like to be considered backward and savage, and
    his new mother-in-law's audible sniffs at the sight of the few wooden
    implements he'd had until then had been enough for him to order the
    plates to be made and used at all meals.
     The hall was lit by torches and oil-lamps, and the flickering light
    made it difficult to judge expressions. Ilya ate warily, trying to ascertain
    if anyone was giving him a more suspicious glance than usual, but he
    couldn't tell if there was anything going on in anyone's mind except
    thoughts of what to intercept next as the servants went around. Ivan,
    who was backing his way through a thick slab of venison, seemed pre-
    occupied with his dinner. His third wife, still pretty in spite of the odd

    




    F I R E B I R D    27
    
    beating and her husband's neglect, leaned over to make sure Ivan got
    the greater share of a special dish of eels in broth, something he partic-
    ularly enjoyed, that had been served only to the important members of
    the family.
     By this time, Sasha was cramming venison into his enormous cavern
    of a mouth, and Ilya was just about full. He appropriated another piece
    of bread and spooned honey over it, leaning back to enjoy his treat and
    his goblet of wine.
     "How'd practice go?" he asked his brother. Sasba. shrugged.
     "Mischa broke that new guard's arm; there'll be hell to pay when Fa-
    tber finds out. Alexi cracked a rib and Boris sprained his ankle. Pietor
    showed up late, so Mischa addled his wits for him. About the same as
    usual."
     'Ali." He took a bite of the honeyed bread, followed it with a gulp of
    sour wine. "Pretty new laundress," he offered, knowing that Sasha pre-
    ferred to find his girls among the wasberwomen.
     Each of the brothers had his own "territory" for skirt-chasing. As the
    eldest, Mischa tended to tread the dangerous path of chasing the house-
    servants; dangerous, because that was where their father also found his
    frolics. Gregori and Boris kept to the kitchen-girls; Pietor, Yuri, and Alexi
    favored the goat- and sheep-herders, or went out among the farms and
    fields to see what human crop bad matured.
     Sasha grinned ferally at the mention of the laundress. "Mine," he
    stated, with an edge to his voice. 'And don't forget it."
     "I wouldn't think of it!" Ilya replied fervently, for Sasba had a beavi-
    er hand than any of the brothers but Mischa. Ilya never had figured out
    why he had the dairy as a hunting-ground all to himself. Maybe it was
    Mother Galina's presence; the others all seemed unaccountably afraid
    of her.
     Too bad for them; the milkmaids were some of the prettiest girls in
    the palace, and they were always clean and sweet-smelling, for Galina
    would not permit dirt in her dairy. Of course, the laundresses were al-
    ways clean and sweet-smelling too, but they had coarse, rough hands that
    were not to Ilya's taste. The milkmaids' hands were soft from working
    with the butter and cheese.

    




    28   MERCEDES LAC14EV
    
     Content, Sasha turned his attention back to his food; Ilya contem-
    plated the rest of his loving family.
     There was not the slightest shadow of a doubt who their father was
    they were all variations on the theme of Ivan. Tsar Ivan, at the center ol
    the bead table, though going slightly to fat, still boasted enough mus.
    cle to daunt even Mischa, his eldest son. All of the men of the famill
    were tall, blond, blue-eyed, squarejawed. Ivan's hair was going to silvel
    and his harsh features softening a bit with the fat of good living, MIS
    cha was actually shorter than his father, a bit stockier, a bit broader. Thi
    next, Gregori, was probably the closest copy of the way Ivan had looke(
    as a youth; he had everything but the bard muscles of a serious warrio
    that Ivan had boasted, and that was because he was lazy. Pictor, tallc
    than either, with hair so light it was nearly white rather than blond, an,
    rough, blunt features, looked as stupid as he was. Sasha was darker tha
    Ivan; his hair was more golden-brown than straw-colored, and his fe-,
    tures more arrogantly aquiline, but another streak of laziness kept hir
    from living up to that implication of arrogance.
     Then comes me. There were no mirrors in the palace except for thr(
    tiny hand-mirrors of polished metal that were the proudest possessiot
    of the tsarina and her two chief ladies, but Ilya had seen himself in tf
    reflections of a quiet pond often enough to know that the tsar could ba,
    no fault to find with his parentage. His hair was more gold-colored th,
    straw, his features a little leaner than his brothers', but he had all of tI
    family stamps: broad shoulders, square jaw, bright blue eyes, strong mu
    cles. The traits that set him apart were subtle, probably too subtle f
    Ivan to notice-intelligence in the eyes, a hint of good humor about t]
    mouth, and a stubborn set to his law.
     Then came the younger brothers, Alexi, Boris, and Yuri. They look
    alike enough to be triplets, and only if you paid close attention cov
    you see that there was a year separating each of them from his siblil
    They looked like slightly bri hter, slightly less muscular copies of Piet
                    g    -
     Strong like bull, dumb like ox, hitch to plow when horse dies. That's i
    family.
     You could easily see Ivan's by-blows among the servants, too-

    




    I
    
    F I R E B 1 2 D    29
    
    sons'bastards weren't old enough yet to take any serious tasks, but Ivan's
    own wood's-colts served their legitimate brothers with no sign of envy.
    Square-built, coarse-featured blonds abounded among the servants cur-
    renth- waiting on the tables, though most of them seemed, if possible,
    to be even duller of wit than the legitimate offspring. It was as if the
    mothers of all these children contributed nothing to their looks, a fact
    that Ivan took great pride in.
     They didn't contribute anything in the way of wits either, as far as I can
    tell. Then again, Father's taste runs to girls as stupid as sheep.
     The only woman at the head table was Feodora, Ivan's third wife; all
    the rest of the women, including Fcodora's two cousins who acted as her
    ladies, sat at the lower tables. All of them were in positions lower than
    men of the same rank. Ivan had fixed ideas about the appropriate sta-
    tus of women in his household. He considered them slightly more im-
    portant than his cattle and goats, but less so than his best breeding
    stallions.
     Mother Galina had spoken some choice words to Ilya on that subject
    over the years, although she had been very careful to keep her opinions
    just between the two of them.
     The hall was a noisy place at supper, with men shouting at one an-
    other in order to be heard up and down the lengths of the tables, and it
    didn't get any quieter as the evening progressed. As soon as most of the
    food was cleared away and there was nothing left but fruit, strong drink,
    and pastry, dice cups and counters came out and the gaming began.
    Someone set two of the dogs to fighting, and a betting-contest broke out
    over the outcome. Yuri, Gregori, and Pietor leapt over the table to join
    the fun; Sasha slouched forward onto the table with a belch.
     Ilya tried not to squirm with impatience as he watched for a chance
    to leave. How long until moonrise? It couldn't be too long, but he had
    to wait until all his brothers and his father were sufficiently distracted
    before he tried to make an escape.
     Out in the dark, smoky hall, more men gathered around the strug-
    gling dogs, shouting and waving their fists in the air to encourage their
    chosen hound. The growling and yelping dogs had everyone's attention

    




    30   RIERCEDES LACKEV
    
    now, despite Feodora's expression of distaste. She would probably be
    leaving the table soon, permitting her ladies to follow her, but it would
    be noted if any of the men left this early.
     A moment later, the tsarina rose and all but fled the room, her two
    women and her servants scuttling after her. That was the signal for every
    other wife and daughter to leave as well. Now, except for serf-girls with
    pitchers of drink, there were only men in the hall. The dogfight was an
    even one, and had gone on longer than Ilya had expected; it might prove
    to be just the distraction he'd been hoping for. Now Mischa and Alexi
    had left their seats, and even Ivan leaned over the table, intent on the
    outcome. Only Sasha yawned lazily and ignored the affray,
     I won't get a better opportunity than this one. Ilya decided to take his
    chances and slipped out of his chair. At just the moment that he stood
    up, Sasha stabbed him with a swift glance.
     Ilya took another chance, and leaned over to whisper in his brother's
    ear. If it had been anyone other than Sasha, he wouldn't have dared, but
    be and Sasba shared a weakness for women that occasionally made them
    allies.
     "I've got a girl waiting," he said hoarsely.
     Sasha seized his wrist in a crushing grip. "Not the laundress," he
    rcplicd challengingly.
     Ilya shook his head-minimally, so as to avoid catching Ivan's notice.
    "Dairymaid," he mouthed. "New one."
     "Must be the season for new girls." Sasha let him go with a sly wink
     "I've got to piss or I'll burst!" his brother said loudly, and lurched tc
    his feet, waving to Ilya to follow.
     Ilya did so, grateful that Sasha's weakness for girls was so powerful
    he was willing to forget any quarrel. Once they were out in the ballwa3
    and the noise of the dogfight faded, Sasha let out a burst of laughter an(
    slapped him on the back hard enough to make him stagger if he hadn'l
    been ready for it. "I was waiting for you to start watching the damri fighl
    so I could sneak away!" he chortled, ve ry pleased with himself. "You knov
    if the old man saw us trying to sneak out, he'd want a piece for himselff
     "Laundress at moonrise?" Ilya asked. "In the laundry?" The laundr,
    made a very convenient place for Sasha to meet his girls, and the con

    




    vemence was matched by the comfort of tumbling on the piles of soiled
    linens and clothing.
     Sasha shook his head. "One of Feodora's maids, in the wool-shed."
     Ilya whistled. "That's coming pretty near to Mischa's ground, isn't it?"
    he asked, amazed that Sasha dared even think about "poaching."
     "Well, Mischa can get used to it," the other replied with bravado-
    and Ilya had the feeling that it wasn't all bluff. So Sasha is going to chal-
    lenge the heir-apparent. Well, better him than me.
     'As for me, I'm taking advantage of the fact that it is still pleasant at
    night," he said, soothingly. "It won't be long before I have to get into the
    cow-barn with them and bundle in the hayloft under whatever blankets
    and old furs I can find."
     "The more fool you for not keeping your girls on the string when they
    come into the palace," said Sasha smugly, and slapped Ilya on the shoul-
    der so that he staggered a little. "Well, good hunting among the cows!
    I'm off to my little bundle of fleece."
     They parted ways. Ilya did not go directly to the door leading to the
    1-Itclicii-court and thence to the meadow Instead, he slipped into the
    servants' area, to the tiny, windowless, chill little closet beside the di-
    lapidated chapel, the cramped cell of a room allotted to Father Mikail.
    As he expected, the priest was taking his dinner with the servants now
    that the family and the important folk of the palace had eaten their fill.
    With him would be Ruslan the Shaman, giving mutual protection and
    bolstering the frayed dignity of each other. Of all the freeborn and (the-
    ofetically) highborn folk in the palace, they were the lowest in rank, and
    no more than nominally above the servants, and in reality treated with
    
    F I R E R I R D    31
    
    less respect than anyone other than a drudge.
    
     There wasn't room for anything in this room but a small chest and a
    bed, so Ilya didn't need to be able to see to get what he wanted. He knelt
    down in the darkness, reached under the bed, and felt among the wool
    slippers, winter boots, and odds and ends that needed mending until he
    felt the neck of his balalaika. He kept it in Mikail's room to prevent his
    brothers from cutting the strings-they wouldn't actually break it, be-
    cause they might want him to play at some point. But they knew that he
    usually played it when he was'trying to attract a girl, and if he found it

    




    32   MERCEDES LAC16EV
    
    I
    
    with the strings cut he'd either have to spend precious time restring
    and tuning it, or do without and risk losing the girl.
     It was easier just to hide it with Mikail. With his instrument in ho
    he made his way out to his meeting with the pretty dairymaid.
     Once he got into the kitchen garden, he relaxed. It was just dusk,
    enough to see where he was going, and at this point only one of his bri
    ers would be likely to stop him. He came to the fence, crossed the ~
    into the meadow, and made his way slowly through the waist-high g]
    The dairy cattle wouldn't be put here until first frost, so he didn't r
    to worry about being interrupted by a curious cowherd or stepping
    heap of dung. The soft, cool evening air, scented with the flowers
    grew thickly underfoot, brushed his skin gently. Crickets sang amon~
    grass-stems, and somewhere nearby a nightingale poured out her E
    to the stars that were slowly appearing in the east.
     Ilya planned his campaign as he walked, instrument slung ove
    back, hands swinging at his sides. She seemed agreeable, but I doubt 5
    let me get too far tonight. He never forced his women, taking his cue I
    Sasha, who felt the same way. As far as Ilya could tell, given that the
    would not protest anything to a member of the family, the brothers
    about evenly divided on their initial techniques when it came to I
    bling girl-flesh. Pietor, Ale xi, Yuri, and Gregori had a certain reput~
    for ordering a girl to come to them and taking what they wished
    her. He, Sasha, Mischa, and Boris preferred girls who came will:
    Ivan-who knew? None of Ivan's wenches ever talked.
     Well, no one would ever deny Father anything, so even the unwillink
    probably pretend to be willing.
     So, tonight would be the start of a new campaign. There wou
    lots of kissing and caressing, and maybe the girl would let him g,
    ther than that-but unless she already bad a position inside the F
    in mind, it would take another two nights at least before he stormc
    ramparts and the gates opened for him. Still, the conquest inelf h
    rewards, because once the girl yielded to him, it was only a matter ol
    before she looked elsewhere than him for a lover-not because b
    a bad lover, but because there wasn't much to be gained, in the v
    presents or position, by being his lover. He'd know his time was over

    




    F I R E B I R D    33
    
    she wheedled him for a position on the palace staff, or when she just
    showed up there by herself. The latter, of course, could be accomplished
    by going to the steward and claiming to be with Ilya's child, whether she
    was or not. The steward would ask Ilya if he had taken the girl, Ilya would
    naturally admit the fact, and she would have a better job than she had
    before, one with all sorts of advantages attached. For a girl used to spend-
    ing the winter in a peasant hut, huddled at night in a box of straw under
    a single blanket, the prospect of a winter in the palace was often incen-
    tive enough to make her eager for Ilya's embraces.
     It really didn't matter to the steward if a girl lied about being with
    child. If no baby appeared in eight months, well, things happened. Ac-
    cording to the steward, the serfs were only slightly more intelligent than
    the cattle, and just about as reliable. The steward's answer to the lack
    of a baby was simple: Girls miscarried all the time, or sometimes girls
    just didn't count properly and thought they were pregnant when they
    weren't. His contempt for the intelligence of the serfs was rivaled only
    by his contempt for the intelligence of the female serfs, although he
    should have known better, considering the sly tricks that were often
    played on him. To him, the girls were not only untutored serfs, they were
    female, and couldn't be expected to calculate anything as complicated
    as the number of days from one moon-pbase to the next.
     Ah, with this little rosebud, Father will probably set a claim on her him-
    self as soon as he sees her. He sighed, for it was a vexing thing constantly
    to lose lovers to his father. Still, it couldn't be helped. He would enjoy
    this one as long as he had her, and hopefully when she was ready to move
    up in the world she'd be honest about it to him.
    
    IT was past midnight by the moon when he left his little Ludmilla
    drowsily content beneath the willow and picked his way back across the
    meadow to the palace. To his surprise and gratitude, the city had capit-
    ulated with only token resistance, and the gates had been thrown wide
    open to the conqueror. As it turned out, she was already conquered, for
    Yuri had broken the gates and pillaged the city ahead of him, which ac-
    counted for her pliancy-
     Not that it matters to me. The difference between us has made her so

    




    34   MERCEDES LACKEV
    
    very sweet, yielding, and grateful I hardly needed to be more than usuc
    charming!
     And unlike real cities, girls could be pillaged many times over w
    the same level of satisfaction. He did wonder, though, why she bad
    gone to the steward rather than showing up at the dairy. Perhaps the.
    sition in the dairy was her reward, and she bad singled him out with
    eye to rising higher. Well, good for her; she was a toothsome little tbi
    and she bad given him as much satisfaction as be bad given her.
     Actually, with far more satisfaction on her part, given that it's me
    stead of Yuri. Not only is his siege-engine rather pathetic, but he has
    idea of how to use it. He smiled smugly to himself, for be bad played
    like his balalaika and wrung the sweetest music out of her before be t
    his own full pleasure. She'd seemed pleased enough with the strin~
    red glass beads he'd gifted her with afterward. No, she had nothin~
    complain about from him ... and he wasn't going to suffer the twir
    of guilt he often suffered if a girl turned out to be a virgin.
     All that crying and carrying on-even if more than half of it is an
    it still makes me feel as if I've stolen something. He knew why they di
    The guiltier they made him feel, the better the presents they could
    out of him. That still didn't keep him from feeling guilty.
     So a girl like Ludmilla, already "spoiled" and now perfectly hapF
    give up any pretense of reluctance, was nothing short of perfect.
     He was so wrapped up in satisfaction that he wasn't paying mucl
    tention to his surroundings as he sauntered past the chapel to reF
    his balalaika in Mikail's room. The servants were all in their beds by:
    except for the girl his brother was with, and it was in her interest n(
    attract his attention. And as for his brothers-well, Sasha was like
    full of contentment as Ilya was and unlikely to pick a quarrel, anc'
    rest were full of drink and snoring. The night was his-
     Or it was until a hand shot out of the darkness and seized his w
     For one moment, Ruslan's wild tales of the vengeful and dangc
    domovol raced through his mind, and he bit back a yell as he grabbe
    the hand holding him. In the next moment, he recognized the fe
    the shabby vestments and the skinny arm, and he plucked the ch
    ing hand off his wrist with a feeling of annoyance.

    




    t
    
    n
    
    0
    
   er
    k
    of
    to
    es
    
   ct,
    it:
    ax
    to
    
    at-
    ace
    
    OW7
    
    t to
    y as
    the
    
    ist.
    rous
    d for
    el of
    tch-
    
    F I R E B I R D    35
    
     "What are you doing here?" he asked Father Mikail crossly "It's late.
    If you're going to be up, shouldn't you be praying or something?"
     "I have been praying, knowing what you were probably doing," the old
    priest said reproachfully "Ilya, Ilya, you aren't even pretending repentance
    for despoiling another poor girl!"
     "She was already nicely despoiled before I got to her," he retorted,
    stung. What was wrong with the old man? Jealousy?
     That might be the case, since it sounded as if Mikail was not going
    to give in tonight.
     'And that makes it better?" Mikail's voice took on a querulous tone,
    which only irritated Ilya more. "It is no less a sin, and worse because you
    are unrepentant!"
     He throttled his irritation; he was not going to let the old crow ruin
    a perfectly fine evening. "Look, I'm not going to quarrel with you," he
    replied abruptly in a low whisper. "It's too late, and I'm not going to at-
    tract a horde of servants by having an argument out here in the open
    where we can wake them up. You can call me to task in the morning if
    you're still of the same mind."
     With that, he thrust the instrument into the priest's hands and stalked
    away, and his irritation melted. For all intents and purposes, the argu-
    ment was over before it began. Father Mikail was too timid to pursue him
    tonight, and too diffident to confront him by daylight, especially as he
    must know that Ruslan would not agree with him on this subject. He must
    have seen me going out, and he's been praying for my soul ever since, be
    thought, amusement returning to him. Poor old man. He must never have
    been young; all he can think about is sin and damnation, and he's so des-
    perate to keep his soul clean that he never enjoys anything for fear it's sin-
    ful. That's not the life for me! Plenty of time to repent before I die-right
    now I want to make sure I have lots of things to repent of when I'm old!
     There was not even a whisper in the darkness behind him; Father
    Mikail had faded into the shadows, obediently carrying the balalaika
    with him.
     Ilya sighed. Poor Mikall. Only the priest and the shaman were held in
    greater.contempt by Ivan and his sons than the despised Ilya. It was hard
    to believe that anyone could be lower in the palace hierarchy than Ilya,

    




    36   MERCEDES LACKEV
    
    but the very things that the two men represented were the things t
    Ivan despised the most.
     But if Mikail was despised, the shaman was actually in worse case.
    didn't even have quarters in the palace; he was relegated to a hut U
    to the bathhouse.
     Poor old Ruslan. Bad enough that he is a shaman; it is worse that 1,
    an inheritance from Grandfather.
     Ivan's father, Vasily, who had not styled himself a tsar but a boyar,
    been a thorough-going pagan. He had believed, fervently and wh
    heartedly, in every sort of spirit ever imagined, from bannik to rusa
    from leshil to vodianoi.
     On his orders, every means of propitiating those spirits had been
    lized. He ordered the cooks to leave pots of unsalted porridge in the -
    for the domovoi and parmikins of sweet cream in the meadow for
    polevoi.
     Ilya sighed as he thought of his grandfather, who he knew of only f
    the stories of others, and it occurred to him, as he stealthily opened
    door to the tiny room he called his own, that Ivan's steadfast refu&
    believe in anything supernatural, Christian or pagan, might have I
    because of Vasily's unshakable belief. Ivan often pointed out that no 1
    ter how much porridge was left in the attic, the usual household mis'
    continued to occur-and that the cattle strayed from the meadow v
    the fence came down, not when someone forgot to put out the cri
    Vasily had spent a great deal of the family treasure on propitiatin~
    spirits, and Ivan loudly pointed out that no great good had ever c
    of that-nor had any great harm ever come from his insistence o
    noring the spirits.
     It was Ivan the unbeliever who had improved the family fortune,
    had raised himself to the rank of tsar, who had increased the far
    landholdings by manyfold. Granted, he was just one minor tsar ar
    hundreds beneath the Great Tsar of Rus, but still-that was bbtter
    a boyar. It was more than Vasily bad done.
     If you think that life is all about getting more land, more cattle,
    power-I don't know; what's all that without happiness? Or, at leas
    / . oyment?

    




    n
    
    e
    e
    
    9-
    
                                        9
                                        n
    
    re
    n-
    
    F I R E R I R D    37
    
     Ilya closed the door and opened the shutters and moonlight poured
    into his room; it wasn't a very big room, but it was larger than a servant's,
    and it was furnished befitting a son of the tsar, if a despised one. He had
    a chest-carved by his own hands, but of good wood-in which his
    clothing was carefully folded. His bedstead held a goose-feather bed, one
    of Ivan's cast-offs, covered with coarse linen sheets, mended blankets,
    and the furs of two bears and a wolf be had killed himself. On a table
    beside his bed was a lamp, unlit, and a pitcher of water. By the brilliant
    moonlight he made certain that none of his brothers bad sabotaged his
    bed. He had not once omitted to check, not since he was six-not even
    when he was drunk, injured, or otherwise operating at a disadvantage.
    His brothers seldom resorted to such childish torments anymore, but he
    had learned the value of taking precautions.
     While he was at it, and while the moonlight was still pouring in the
    open window, he checked the rest of the room. He found nothing, but
    it never hurt to be certain. There'd been vipers left in his room before,
    and less dangerous but equally unpleasant "surprises."
     The moon crept down below the treetops, sending his room into
    darkness as he finished his checks. Only when the room was completely
    dark and he was certain that his sleep would be undisturbed did he
    throw the bolt on the door, close and lock the shutters, and strip him-
    self down to the skin for bed. He was already clean, and be yawned
    hugely, quite ready for sleep. He'd bathed in the river with Ludmilla, both
    before and after his amorous exertions-not only was he fastidious, but
    he'd often found a little water-play to be very erotic, provided the girl
    wasn't afraid of the water.
     It would be too cold for that before very much longer. There bad been
    a bite to the water that had been pleasant, given the heated condition
    of their bodies, but it was a chill which presaged the ice of winter.
      And soon comes the end to all dalliance under the willow. Ali, well.
     He envied Sasha the "possession" of the wool-room; the rolled fleeces
    would be far more pleasant for tumbling a maiden than the prickly straw
    of the cow-barn.
     It could be worse. I could be freezing my privates off in a woodshed or
     something, which makes it difficult to remain in the proper mood. I could

    




    MERCEDES LACIKEV
    
    be picking up fleas in a serf's hut. I could be taking my chances in the bc
    house. I could be doing without altogether!
     There was one small stumbling-block to overcome in gaining the!
    use of the barn now and again. He wondered what the chief herdsr
    would want for a bribe this year; last year it had cost Ilya an old cl
    and a beautifully carved bone whistle for "special favors."
     Without those favors, though ... well, the amount of discomfort
    hazard involved in a winter seduction would probably guarantec
    chastity until spring.
     I can't blame the man for wanting his little reward. In his place I'd I
    a little extra for all that extra work.
     The man made certain that Ilya got warning and a way out of the
    if any of his brothers showed up looking for him. He'd also built a
    little hay-cave up in the loft, a place where Ilya could leave a cour
    old blankets, and he'd seen to it that the cave wasn't disturbed
    spring, no matter how much hay was thrown down for the stoc'
    course, he probably used it himself for trysts with girls other than his
    I know I would have. All he had to bring was a brick or a stone, hot
    sitting in the stove and wrapped in an old piece of fur. With the
    tion of that heated stone, such a cave made a fine trysting-place.
     Ruslan approved of Ilya's trysts almost as much as Father Mika
    approved, though that approval was voiced only to Ilya himself. I
    Father Mikall flung himself into one of his lectures about sin ar
    consequences for Ilya's soul, Ruslan only pulled his beard and n,
    wisely. The shaman would never have disagreed with the priest on,,
    so fundamental to Mikail's beliefs in front of Ilya. The two took ver
    care never to contradict each other in public so as to present a
    front.
     But in private-well, Ruslan took great proprietary glee in Ilya
    quests, as if he felt Ilya's success was a reflection of his own virilli
    was both amused and embarrassed by his interest.
     Ilya folded his clothing neatly, then climbed into bed and pul
    covers over his head with a sigh of relative contentment. He wa:
    sated, and more or less unbruised. For the moment, life was goc
     I could wish for Father Mikail to agree with Ruslan about my gj

    




    F I R E B I R D    39
    
    ath-
    
    safe
    
    man
    cloak
    
    t and
    e his
    
    want
    
    barn
    
    cozy
   pie of
    until
    k. Of
   S wife.
    fron-1
    addi-
    
  11 dis-
      en
      d the
   odded
    topic
    
     good
    united
    
    ~s con-
    ty. Ilya
    
   led the
    clean,
    
    other than that, I haven't anything to complain about tonight. For a mo-
    ment be felt the sadness of isolation, of a loneliness be tried not to think
    about too often. The priest and the shaman were his only two real friends
    besides Mother Galina, and they were hardly the kind of friends a young
    man craved.
     On the other hand, they're better than nothing.
     Perhaps Mother Galina had known he needed men to guide him, for
    she had sent him to both Mikail and Ruslan the winter she arrived.
     The memories intruded on sleep, as vivid as a memory of a few days
    ago. He had been with her in the dairy as the first snow of the season
    fell; when the last of the dalrymaids left, she had looked out at the fat
    flakes as if she was trying to make up her mind about something. She
    stood in the doorway, and he stood beside her, watching the ground
    whiten as the light faded into blue dusk. He didn't remember being cold,
    for some reason, but he vividly recalled licking his finger clean of cream
    filched behind Galina's back. Finally she spoke; that is where his mem-
    ory failed. He didn't remember now what she had told him; he only re-
    membered crossing the snow-frosted yard and entering the palace,
    remembered walking toward the chapel, looking for two old men. He had
    found them both in the chapel itself, sitting on a pair of stools with a
    small table between them, with the faded, painted eyes of the icon of
    Jesus watching them from above the altar, and he did remember quite
    clearly what they had been engaged in.
    
                A game of chess. And if Father Mikail had ever considered that it
                might be a trifle irreverent to play a game of chess in the house of God,
                he had obviously put that thought aside. It was, after all, the only place
                where he and Ruslan could be guaranteed not to be harassed with scorn
                for such an effeminate pursuit.
                The two of them had set up a board between them, and the state of
                the set showed how little anyone else cared about this particular pur-

    




                suit; they didn't have all of the pieces and had substituted stones for the
                missing pawns and a pinecone for a missing rook. The rest of the set was
                as battered as might have been expected; two of the knights were head-
                ss, and the remaining pawns were hardly more than man-shaped lumps
    Is, but     died with toothmarks and clearly rescued from dogs and teething ba-

    




    40
    
    MERCEDES LACKEV
    
    bies. He also remembered what he told them when they looked up in
    startlcment.
     "Mother Galina says you are to teach me.
     Teach him what? they had asked him.
     "Everything," he had told them soberly, then stuck his finger in his
    mouth. The two men bad immediately forgotten their game and con-
    centrated on him.
     From that time on he'd had two refuges instead of one: the dairy and
    the chapel.
     For some reason, even to this day, Ilya's brothers were unlikely to even
    venture into the chapel, much less bother him there, and he was quick
    to take advantage of that. Perhaps it was a lingering vestige of the piety
    their mothers attempted to instill in them, a respect for the place if not
    for the priest. Perhaps it was just the haunting eyes of the icon above
    the altar, eyes that remained remarkably penetrating despite the faded
    condition of the icon itself. Whatever the reason, as often as it was pos-
    sible to escape from the incessant practices designed to make him a fight-
    ing machine, or from the torments devised by his brothers, he would
    head for the chapel. At any time of the day, he would find one or both
    of the old men there, ready to continue with his lessons. Ruslan taught
    him all of the lore of spirits and magic-never mind that the old shaman
    couldn't actually work any magic himself, which certainly contributed
    to the reasons he was held in contempt-and dozens of songs and heroic
    tales. He'd also given Ilya his first knife, and showed him the bare rudi-
    ments of carving.
     And the only reason Father allows him to stay is because of a deathbed
    promise to Grandfather that he would never turn Ruslan out. Poor old man;
    it must be very hard to remain where you are so despised because you have
    nowhere else to go.
     Father Mikail was a newer arrival, brought in the household of Ivan's
    first wife. Ivan permitted him to stay only so long as he didn't interfere
    in anything important-which essentially meant that he was p~
    to teach Christian doctrine to the family, serfs, and servants only so long
    as those lessons didn't interfere in their duties. And he was permitted
    to bold holy services whenever he liked-so long as family, serfs, and ser-

    




    I
    
    ed
    n;
    ve
    
                                        s
                                        re
                                        cd
                                        ng
                                        ed
                                        cr-
    
    F I R E R I R D    41
    
    vants didn't escape tasks in order to attend services. Perhaps when he
    had first arrived, he had been appalled by the presence of a pagan shaman
    in Ivan's household, but it couldn't have been long before Mikall real-
    ized that he and Ruslan were better off as allies than antagonists. And
    eventually these two oddest of bedfellows had become friends.
     Mikail taught Ilya how to read and write, as much of chess as he could
    absorb without squirming with boredom, and despaired of making a good
    Christian soul out of him-not because of Ruslan's interference, but be-
    cause of Ilya's own nature.
     He never will make a good Christian out of me; I'm too fond of my plea-
    sures. But he is a good teacher, he'd have to be, to teach a brat like me how
    to read without resorting to violence!
     In return for all these favors, the first major carving pro)ect Ilya ever
    embarked on was a new chess set for the two of them.
     You can follow my progress as a carver in the set itself, be thought with
    drowsy amusement. From the first pawn to the last tsar. That first pawn
    is almost as clumsy as the ones the dogs chewed on, but they won't let me
    replace it. On the other hand, the White Tsar is not bad, even compared
    to what I'm carving now...
     But even as he thought about his chess set, his carving, he began to
    relax, and as he relaxed, he started to fall asleep. He tried to keep a grasp
    on his thoughts, but they began to slip away from him in a confused jum-
    ble of clumsily carved pawns that gave way to a carved fox that laughed
    at him with sparkling eyes and turned into Ludmilla.
    
    IN the morning, he woke with the first crowing of the roosters, feeling
    (as always after a night of dalliance) quite self-satisfied and pleased with
    the world. The first rays of the morning sun sent fingers of light through
    the cracks in his shutters, and the rooster. crowed again. Dust-motes
    danced in the golden light, and there had been a time when he was a
    child that he could have gazed dreamily at that dance for hours.
     He made a mental note of the cracks; as always, the weathering of the
    wood opened places for winter wind to come through, and no servant
    would bother to repair the shutters in his room. Cracks in the shutters
    were tolerable in the summer when all that might come in was a bit of

    




    42   MERCEDES LACKEV
    
    rain, but when winter descended in earnest, there would be snoA
    ing in through those cracks, and that would not make for pleasant
    ing of a morning. Get some moss and a little tar; stuff the cracks, th(
    them over. That should hold until spring; then it won't matter anyrr,
     Anything done to his room, other than sabotage, he did for hit
    more often than not. While the outside-servants seemed to thin]
    enough of him to accept his bribes and remain bought, the h
    servants knew they could get by with neglecting him. They never
    dared descend to outright insolence, but they were quite well awai
    they could get away with simply not performing their assigned
    where he was concerned. By now he was so used to this state of
    that it was easier just to take care of things himself.
     First thing to do after I eat. I think I might be able to safely skip,
    practice this morning. Considering what Sasha had said last night
    the damage done to the tsar's fighters by his sons, sparring p,
    might be thin on the ground this morning.
     He stretched and yawned hugely, clambered out of bed, and c
    himself in shirt, breeches, boots, and sash, carefully tidying his to,
    fore leaving it. There was very little chance that he would avoid
    ther this morning, but given the way that his brothers had been s
    down honey-wine last night, he might be able to elude most of tb
    fore they appeared at breakfast with aching heads.
     But as he approached the great hall, he heard his father to,
    someone, clearly in a temper. Although the words did not carry ti
    he stood, hesitating, the tone certainly did.
     Tsar Ivan is very unhappy this morning, and it doesn't sound t
    if his unhappiness is due to a bad head from drinking last night.
    thing in the world he wanted to do was to encounter Ivan in a
    so he made a hasty detour to the nearest exit. I'd better find out,
    roaring before I take my chances around him.
     It wasn't the first time he'd retraced his steps of a morning a
    himself out into the yard. At least the weather was good; a bit c
    sunny and clear. He wouldn't have to plow his way through a sn(
    to get to a place of refuge or to get a bite to eat.
     He stopped long enough in the kitchen to filch a basket and fi

    




    F I R E B I R D    43
    
  bread. The head cook glared at him but didn't dare actually rebuke
      e was, after all, a son of the tsar, if the most despised son of the
      tsar. If he wanted to filch bread, then that was his right.
     There was one place to go where he would get sure news of what had
    his father in a froth, and that was the dairy. If he went to the dairy for
    shelter as well as news, he really ought to arrive bearing gifts. And if he
     Ily wanted to hear gossip, the gift had better be food. When the girls
     re distracted, they tended to chatter, and chatter was precisely what
    he wanted.
     Mother Galina and her workers seldom ever got hot, fresh bread since
    their work kept them away from the kitchen and the servants' table until
    after everyone else was finished cating. The maidens greeted him and his
    
    basket with cries of pleasure, and even Galina smiled and condescended
    to allow a brief rest while they all ate chunks of hot bread dripping with
    sweet, melting butter and drank pannikins of milk still warm from the
    
    COWS.
    
      1Y
     h a kept quiet; if there was anything of note about the tsar's anger,
    he'd bear about it sooner if he didn't say anything directly. Once they
    "forgot" he was there, they'd start to gossip freely, giving him no more
    regard than one of the cowherds.
     There's some advantage to being the despised one, he thought to him-
    self, sitting on a stool in the corner beside Mother Galina and licking
    butter from his fingers. People forget to guard their tongues around you.
     His charming Ludmilla, his companion of the previous night, was
    nowbere to be seen, but he hadn't really expected her to be here this
    morning. The dairymaids took turns at milking; those who milked the
    cattleinthe i-norningworked in the dairy in the afternoon, and vice versa.
    just at the moment, he really didn't want to see her; if it so happened
    that he was the one who had incurred Ivan's wrath, he didn't want the
    complication of Ludmilla to deal with. She'd either try to dissociate her-
    
    J
    
    self completely from him-the likeliest outcome-or feel she had to de-
    fend him. In either case, he had long ago determined that he personally
    would come out a loser. Either Ludmilla would quickly find another lover
    among his brothers, or she'd incur even more wrath on his head by being
    outspoken in his defense.

    




    44   RIERCEDES LACIKEV
    
     As the bread disappeared, the chatter began. At first it was entireb
    inconsequential nonsense, but finally one of the youngest girls said, inN
    a conversational lull, "Did you hear the tsar this morning? He was bel
    lowing like a bull with a cow in view!"
     "I heard him," one of the older women said, "but I didn't get a chanc
    to find out why he was so angry. Does anyone know? Is it going to giv
    us anN troublC"
     just what I'd like to know!
     "Not us," another older woman said smugly. "But there may be mol
    than pots flung before the day is over. My husband's brother's secon
    son heard that it's the orchard-workers who are in trouble."
     "Tell, tell!" exclaimed two or three of the girls at once, for there w,
    ongoing rivalry among the "outside" serfs and servants for relative if
    portance to the household. At this time of year the orchard workers we
    I . n ascendancv, and serfs working elsewhere were always eager to hear
    any trouble coming to them.
     "Oh, it is quite serious!" the woman said with unconcealed gl(
    "Someone was robbing the tsar's cherry trees last night!"
     There were gasps all around the dairy, and Ilya's own eyes wideno
    No wonder Father's in a temper! I wouldn't be one of the orchard-guai
    right now for a brand-new sable coat and fur-lined boots to match!
     One of Tsar Ivan's most treasured possessions was a tiny orchard c
    dozen special late-bearing cherry trees. Of all the things in the woi
    Ivan's two favorite dishes were eels in broth and cherries in cream.
    had specially planted these trees so that he could have cherries long al
    the native trees had been picked bare.
     And he guarded the fruits of those trees like a jealous sultan guan
    his harem. He had bird-nets strung over them, and set small childrei
    frighten away pests by day, older gardeners to do the same by night.
    of ten went out personally as the cherries ripened to see just how in
    of a harvest he could expect, and the servants claimed he counted
    cherries on the tree and demanded an accounting for each one.
     So, after all those precautions, to have his trees robbed of their I
    in the night-
     Ilya shook his head slightly, not only over the news but over bV

    




    fruit
    
    rded
    en to
    t. Ile
    uch
    d the
    
    F I R E R I R D    45
    
    credible good luck to have been with a girl during the night hours. If Ivan
    took it into his head that one of his sons might have robbed him of his
    precious cherries-Oh, I am glad I was with Ludmilla last night! If Fa-
    ther's suspicions fall on me, I'll have an alibi, and so will Sasha!
     But a moment later, Ilya jumped to his feet. Now that he knew he was
    in no danger, he had to hear about all of this firsthand! And to do that,
    he had only to stroll into breakfast as he had begun to.
     He dropped a kiss on Mother Galina's head. She smiled at him, mak-
    ing no move to leave her own stool. "Don't say anything to anger him
    further, dear," she cautioned. "But bring me back the rest of the gossip
    when you can."
     "I shall, babushka," he promised fondly, for somehow he had the feel-
    ing that this was no simple case of a thieving serf or a hungry animal.
    No, this was something special, and promised enough excitement to take
    the attention of everyone off him for a while!
     And who knows? Perhaps this might lead to a way that I can leave this
    place, he thought as he hurried toward the palace again. For that, I would
    almost sell my soul itself
    
    M

    




    IVAN WAS still bellowing when Ilya strolled casually into the
    hall. The tsar paid no attention to him whatsoever, which was a
    sign, a sign that he, at least, was not under suspicion. He gather(
    cold meat, warm bread, and something to drink and took a seat a
    of the lower tables where he had a good view of the proceedings.
     On his knees in front of the tsar was the chief gardener, and fro
    man's posture, he was )ust about to go down on his face and groN
    fore his master. Ivan's face, flushed scarlet, held a curiously fix,
    pression, one that his family and those who served him knew meai
    his anger had mounted to the point that anything could happen.
    entirely possible that if the gardener did not satisfy him with enou
    vility, Ivan would kill him on the spot. The tsars, little and grea
    the power of life and death over their people, and Ivan had nev4
    tated to exercise that power in the past.
     The gardener, though personally unfamiliar with the danger!
    Ivan's rages, must have sensed that, for he abruptly fell on his f.-
    before Ivan drew his sword. Ilya still could not make out his wor(
    fled as they were by the fact that the man had his face pressed
    floor, but his tone betrayed panic.
     That, at last, placated the tsar. Ivan took a deep breath, slarr
    blade back into the sheath, and his high color faded a little. "fi
    ture," he said in a tight voice, "you will never, never say to me,
    
    46

    




    F I R E B I R D    47
    
    my fault.'The gardens are your responsibility, and what happens in them
    
    is your fault. You would do well to remember that."
     Ilya feigned that he was ignoring the entire scene, but his father's
    words clarified the situation. Ah. I thought that there was more to this
    than Just the theft of cherries-there's no reason to become that angry over
    a simple theft. But Father can't stand not having someone to blame when
    things go wrong. And once his temper's up, don't stand in his path, don't
    contradict him, and don't try to push the blame off on someone else. Even
    I know better than that.
     The gardener glanced up, then whimpered, evidently just now real-
    izing how close he had come to death. His abject fear had satisfied
    Ivan's blood-lust-, the tsar's face returned to normal, and he spat to one
    side of the man's head. "Get out of here," Ivan snarled, turning on his
    heel and flinging himself down into his chair. "Send me someone who
    can tell me exactly what happened. I'll deal with you later."
     That "someone" turned out to be the chief of Ivan's guards, a stiff-
    necked, haughty man that Ivan had recently raised to the rank of boyar
    by investing him with land and a substantial house of his own. Sidor was
    under no illusions; Ivan had made him, Ivan could break him, and would
    do just that if he wasn't pleased. He went to one knee with his head
    bowed as soon as he came into Ivan's presence, and he waited to speak
    until Ivan gave him leave.
     "Well?" Ivan growled, sitting back in his chair and toying with his
    sword-hilt. "What have you to say for yourself?"
     "It is my failure, ob, Tsar," Sidor replied promptly. "If I had been
    properly strict, my men would have been properly vigilant, and-"
     The tsar waved his band in a dismissive motion. "Yes, yes, that's ob-
    vious, isn't it?" Ivan interrupted impatiently. "Whip the sluggards who
    fell asleep until they can't stand." He leaned forward over his knees, his
    blue eyes blazing. "Now tell me what happened and why."
     Sidor nodded his head stiffly and did not lose one whit of his sub-
    servience. "There is not much to tell, oh, Tsar. The first watch had re-
    tired just before moonset, and the second watch had come on. The trees
    were untouched as they made their first inspection. They took their

    




    48
    
    MERCEDES LAC16EV
    
    places, and that is all that they can recall, until they woke up wi,
    men of the third watch shaking them." A sneer crept into his hi
    cold, unemotional voice. "They claim they must have been ove
    by sorcery, that a witch or spirit must have attacked them."
     Ivan, who had observed the men of the garden-watch drinkin,
    fill of potent honey-wine the night before, snorted, but made n(
    ment of his own. Ilya hid his face behind his cup in case his
    should look up and see the satisfaction in his eyes. The time of tb
    
    was right so far as Ilya was concerned; he had a perfect alibi if he i
    to produce one. But the hapless soldiers could not have concocte
    more calculated to incur Ivan's scorn and anger if they had tried
     Sidor continued the story, reflecting his tsar's contempt for
    who would be so foolish as to try to deceive the tsar with a tale
    its. "When the men of the third watch inspected the trees, all of I
    fruit had been stolen, and some fruit that was not quite ripe h,
    discarded on the ground. The bird-nets had been pulled back fi
    branches. There was no sign that any of the gardeners' ladders h~
    used to climb the trees, but that doesn't mean it didn't happen th
    Sidor shrugged. "It was very strange that those men fell asleep
    long; even if they had been very drunk, I will say that much in th(
    There must have been noise, a great deal of it, when the thief,
    the trees, but they slept through it somehow. None of us could,
    sign of how the thief got into the garden or left it."
     Ivan grunted, his brows furrowing. 'A clever thief could ha
    them a bottle of mead laced with something to make them sl,
    if they shared it around-well, right there would be your explaii
    why they didn't wake up. You can be sure none of them would
    such a thing, either." He brooded, slumped in his chair for a i
    his face sullen with knitted brows and his lips twisted in an ang
    "Well, after the men see what happened to the sluggards, th(
    be any more of that. Do as I said; beat them. And while you're,
    the head gardener." He looked up again, and there was an avid
    eyes that made Ilya shudder. "Beat them bloody; make an ex
    them. Bring them before me when you are ready to punish th,

    




    11V
    
    en
    nd
    or
    to
    nt
    
    F I R E B I R D    49
    
     "Shall I set extra guards tonight, oh, Tsar?" Sidor asked carefully.
     "What, on fruit trees?" Ivan exclaimed with a snort. Ilya smothered
    a grin of amusement at his father's expense. "There's enough snicker-
    ing about my cherry trees as it is. No, the regular guard will do; whoever
    the prankster is, he'll get a rude surprise if he makes another attempt."
    
    His expression turned crafty and cruel. "Then he'll be caught, and a theft
    of cherries is a theft all the same. A in who'll steal cherries will steal
    anything else, and there is only one punishment for thieves in my land."
     Ilya's amusement turned to a shiver of revulsion. Ivan's punishment
    for thieves was considered extreme even by his allies. Ilya's father had
    taken a leaf from the book of the Turk and the Tartar who were cruelty
    incarnate, but had gone one step farther than even those demonic bar-
    barians. Instead of cutting off only one hand, Ivan cut both hands off a
    thief. Then, with the stumps seared with a hot iron, the poor wretch
    
    would be carried out to the edge of the forest and left there.
    
     There was little doubt that the bears and wolves would make short
    work of a weak, helpless man with no hands. Ivan would, once again,
    
    b,,--,r home a lesson to his familv- servants and serfs.
    
     It was a lesson that Ilya had learned long since-but his brothers
    might not have realized that Ivan could and would apply his laws and
    his will to them. Could this have been a prank by one of my brothers? he
    wondcred. If it was, I hope he realizes how angry Father is, and has the
    sense to keep his mouth shut about what he did. I'm not sure Father would
    spare even one of his own children in the mood he's in now It isn't a mat-
    ter of a few cherries anymore, it's a matter of control, pride, and power.
     Ilya knew better than any of Ivan's sons that it was the rankest folly
    
    to challenge Ivan's hold on any of the three.
     "Did you make any inquiries around
    wasn't in his bed last night?" Ivan continued.
    
     Sidor nodded, and his posture wasn't nearly as servile as before. He
    must have guessed that Ivan wasn't going to punish him by now; his con-
    fidence had returned, and with it, all of his arrogance. The servants
    a't talking                        I
    ren , of course. Peasants; they'll all stick together aga nst their
    
    masters." He SDokc with the contempt of one only recently elevated to

    




    so   MERCEDES LAC14EV
    
    the position of master. "Still," he continued, "if it is one of the serva
    you'll catch him at his tricks and then he'll serve as a good exampl
    the rest."
     Ilya had had enough, both of breakfast and of his father. Quietl
    as not to draw attention to himself, he stood up and left the room.
    haps it might not be a bad idea to go find someone to spar with afte
    This was not the time to draw attention to himself by acting differc
    from his brothers.
     He took himself outside as quickly as his feet could carry him V
    out running. The best thing he could do right now would be to look I
    but as if be were completely unaware of the theft in the garden. Nc
    had noticed him at breakfast; the further removed from the situatic
    was the better.
     The warriors practiced in a yard formed by two wings of the hous(
    the stable, with a shed where the arms were kept making a partial fc
    side. The buildings kept most of the wind off and gave partial sh
    from snow and rain, but the vard still turned into a muddy mess any
    there was any significant amount of rainfall, It was better than pr.,
    Ing in the open, and that was all Ilya could say for it. The yard itsel
    not much different than the stableyard. There were a couple of c
    benches along one side, seats that had been made by propping half
    on legs pounded into the earth, and there was a figbting-dummy at
    end of the yard, but other than that it was bare.
     There wasn't anyone in the yard or the shed when Ilya got there, V
    was a little odd but not unheard of, Perhaps word had already spre
    the punishments to be meted out to the hapless garden-guards, an
    curious or callous were gathering to watch, That didn't matter. S
    one would come along to spar with sooner or later. In the meantim(
    picked up a blunt old practice-sword and a scarred wooden shiell
    began methodically working against the practice-dummy.
     It was hard work, since both the sword and the shield were h(
    than the ones he'd be using in actual fighting. He flailed away at b
    gets, ducking the return blows as the dummy swung around an
    weighted mace it "carried" hissed through the air above his head.
    hardly worth bouting against the dummy except for exercise these

    




    y
    
    c
    c
    
    d
    th
    er
    e
    ic-
    as
    de
    og
    ch
    
    ich
     of
    the
     c-
    Ilya
    and
    
    was
    
    ays;
    
    F I R E R I R D    51
    
    he had the timing of the dummy worked into his nerves, instinct, and
    muscles after so many years of practice against it. If all opponents were
    as predictable as the dummy, he wouldn't ever worry about going to war.
     He got himself into the rhythm of-strike, strike, duck, block-and it
    lulled him into a trance. He didn't even notice that he wasn't alone in
    the yard anymore until a hand lashed out from behind and grabbed his
    wrist in a grip like a wolf-trap and spun him around.
     He found himself looking, startled, into the cold, blue eyes of his old-
    est brother. Beside him were Pietor and Gregori.
     "What have you been up to, sorcerer?" Mischa snarled. "Stealing, and
    leaving others to take your punishment?"
     They gave him no chance to reply before Mischa's other fist drove into
    Ilya's stomach.
    
    THE candle-flames illuminating the chapel were doubled and tripled
    in Ilya's vision, and he clutched the side of the door while the walls spun
    around him. Someone moaned, and after a moment, he recognized the
    voice as his own.
     The two men, bent over their chess-game beneath the painted
    icon of Christ, started and looked up straight at him. "Holy Mother!"
    Father Mikall exclaimed, knocking over his stool in his haste to stand.
    "Ruslan-"
     "I see, damn them, they've been at him again!" the shaman snapped,
    shoving the chessboard and table aside roughly, so that the pieces scat-
    tered across the floor. "You think I'm blind as well as stupid? Let's get
    him down before he falls down!"
     Ilya clung to the doorframe with the last of his strength, just inside
    the chapel, barely able to see his mentors through eyes swollen until they
    were mere slits in his face. In fact, there seemed to be several of them.
    He blinked, trying to make the many condense back into two. When he
    looked again, Ruslan and the priest were already at his side, though he
    hadn't sccn them move toward him. When he realized they had reached
    him, he let go of the doorframe and fell into their arms. They each
    draped one of his arms across their shoulders and half-carried him into
    the chapel.

    




    52   MERCEDES LAC14EV
    
     Pain overwhelmed every other sensation, confusing everythin
    yet he felt as if he was separated from it, rising above it, floating
    where lust over his body. He wasn't certain just what was brok(
    time: a couple of ribs, by the stab every time he took a breath. T
    of his injuries were all to softer things than bones-Ludmilla
    going to admire his face for a while, which might be lust as well
    sidering what Mischa had done to Ilya's privates, he wasn't goin
    using them for some time, so it wouldn't matter what Ludmilla tl-
     They're getting better at this, my dear brothers. More pain in le~
    He'd have giggled if it hadn't hurt so much. How efficient ...
     Ruslan and Mikail helped him over to a pallet in one of the tv
    chambers at the rear of the chapel, a pallet that was kept there
    nently, lust for him. This refuge had been in place since Ilya's I
    had begun beating him on a fairly regular basis. They lowered hii
    onto the pallet, but his head was still spinning so much that beir
    didn't make much difference-he still seemed to be floating a]
    body.
     Then, abruptly, he snapped back into himself, though he still
    tached from the pain, almost as if he was too numb now, his n
    battered to feel anything. He heard whimpering and knew it was
    voice, but felt separated from that as well. Still, be knew that 11
    he would lose that detachment and begin to feel his hurts ag
    then he would be very grateful that he was lying down.
     Mikail knelt down beside him as he lay on the pad, while Rus
    off after his herbs, returning in moments with all of the usual t
    needed to tend to Ilya's injuries. The priest bathed the cuts an
    with a soft cloth dipped in cool water, while Ruslan dealt with t
    Unfortunately, this was all very routine for them and for Ilya a
     "What was it this time, boy?" Ruslan asked as he measure
    herbs into a wooden cup and accepted the stoup of wine t
    handed him. "What excuse did they have this time?"
     It was difficult to talk around his split and swollen lip, and wi
    ning head, but Ilya had plenty of practice in speaking under st
    icaps. " 'ietor," be said thickly. "Tol"i'lia an'Gregori I wa'a'orc

    




    F I R E B I R D    53
    
    ITagicked 'way 'ather's cherries. V guards tried tha' one wi' 'ather, an'
    he ha''em whi'ed, so Tha didn' dare take it t' 'ather."
     "Pietor was the instigator. He managed to persuade Mischa and
    Cregori that Ilya is a magician, that he was the one who stole the tsar's
    cherries by magic. But the tsar was already in a rage because the orchard-
    guards tried to use sorcery as an excuse for their failure," Mikail trans-
    lated at Ruslan's blank look. "So the brothers knew if they went to the
    tsar witb another tale of sorcery, it would look as if they were trying to
    shift the blame from their friends among the guards to Ilya. Everyone
    knows that guarding the cherry orchard is such soft duty it only goes to
    Mischa's and Gregorl's friends. This is one time when trying to blame
    liva would only have gotten the others in trouble. And what probably
    made them angry enough to come after Ilya in a group was that Pictor
    convinced them that Ilya really is a sorcerer and is using his magic to
    cause trouble for them and their friends. They knew the tsar wouldn't
    listen, so they decided to mete out their own justice."
    
    went
    gs he
    uises
    erbs.
    ell.
    ound
    priest
    
     spin-
    hand-
    
                "Idiots," Ruslan muttercd. "Doesn't it occur to them that if Ilya was
    t de-      a powerful enough sorcerer to steal cherries, he'd be stealing gold in-
               stead? That he'd be wealthier than anyone we've ever heard of, that he'd
    too
    own        be the tsar? Or that he would be in the palace of the Great Tsar, and not
    
    hile
    and
    
    here at all? Pah!" He spat.
     Ilya's head swam as Ruslan raised him up enough to drink down the
    bitter potion. The two men exchanged angry asides concerning Ilya's
    brothers while Ilya closed his eyes and waited for the pain to subside.
     The voices buzzed above his head in a meaningless drone, and dizzi-
    ness caused by Ruslan's drugs Joined the disorientation caused by Mis-
    clia's hamlike fists. The voices came and went, and the only change was
    one he was already prepared for, since this was hardly a new experience.
    His pain eventually disappeared under the wave of nausea and intoxi-
    cation that surged outward from someplace inside him. The nausea he
    could fight; he didn't bothcr fighting the intoxication.
     He drifted; it wasn't sleep, exactly, but it certainly wasn't waking. He
    couldn't hold to a thought for very long, but he really didn't care.
    ". Once, in a moment of silence, he cracked his eyes open to find him-

    




    34   MERCEDES LACREV
    
    self alone. The icon of the Virgin gazed down on him, the flicken
    candle-flames giving her a spurious illusion of life, her eyes large a
    blank as those of a deer surprised by a hunter, too stunned and frig
    ened to move.
     What was she afraid of? Not him, surely. Maybe Mischa. If Misc
    was angry enough, he'd tear down the icon of the Virgin without ev
    thinking twice. Afterward, maybe, he might be afraid of curses or Go
    anger, but not at the time.
     Ilya closed his eyes again; his imagination was running loose aga
    The icon was only paint and wood, but her servant, at least, had t
    power to help him. Father Mikall would once again see to it that no o
    molested him while he recovered. As long as he was out of sight in t
    chapel, this was the safest place for him until this current situati
    passed. What he endured now was the worst he'd suffer-by tomorr
    he would be better. In a few days, if nothing was broken, his bruises wou
    be fading into yellow and green. Ruslan would poultice the worst of the
    with wormwood and wine, which would ease the pain as well as ma
    them heal faster.
     It wasn't so bad. There were plenty of people who endured more; mo
    fighters, for instance, who risked death every time their employer we
    to war. If only I could get away. Far, far away. Ah, but he might as
    wish for a fortune in gold, one of the Mare of the Night Wind's flyl
    foals, and the hand of a beautiful tsarina with her own lands, while
    was at it. There was no real escape from here, not without more dan
    than he faced from his brothers. Once again, he reminded himself of t
    hazards of leaving. If he left on foot, he'd be limited in what he cou
    take with him. He'd have to pass through leagues and leagues of w
    forest, full of wolves and bears, if not rusalka, vodianoi, and leshii. lfe
    made it through the forest without being eaten, he'd then have to st
    for supplies, and to get supplies he'd have to sell his services since
    didn't have much in the way of valuables to sell. That brought up in
    problems, since all of the neighboring tsars and boyars were either
    lated to Tsar Ivan by marriage or bloodlines or were enemies. He couldn
    sell his services to relations, obviously; they wouldn't dare shelter hi
    they'd definitely recognize him, tell Ivan. They might even impris

    




    F I R E B I R D    55
    
    ering
    and
    ight-
    
    ischa
      n
      s
    
    am *
    the
    one
    in the
   ag
    d
    
    0
    
    ation
    orrow
    would
    f them
    s make
    
    e; most
     went
     s well
    s flying
     ile he
    danger
    Ifofthc
    e could
    of wild
    ii. if he
     to stop
    since he
    up more
    ither re-
    couldn't
    Iter him,
    imprison
    
    him, then send him under guard back to his father. The only services that
    Ivan's enemies would be interested in would be Ilya's fighting skills.
     Which would mean that sooner or later I would be fighting my own fam-
    ily. Not a good idea; the moment one of them recognized me, I'd be dead.
    I'd be worse than dead, if they captured me.
     If he took a horse, Ivan would have him tracked to the ends of the
    earth as a thief, and once Ivan caught him, Ilya would suffer the same
    fate as any thief. Ivan had made that perfectly clear over the matter of
    the cherries, and he wouldn't hesitate a heartbeat if Ilya took a horse.
     Oh, I don't care for that idea. Die eaten by beasts, die by torture, starve
    to death, or die by torture. Not a very wide choice of fates.
     The best thing he could hope to do, quite honestly, was to outlive Ivan.
    Then, in the confusion following the tsar's death, he might be able to
    get a horse and a mule, load them up, and slip away while his brothers
    were fighting over the throne. In the chaos and conflict following, they
    might not miss what he took, and they certainly wouldn't miss him until
    he was long gone.
     So strange. They all seem to think of me as their enemy, when I'm the
    brother who's the least likely to cause any trouble. I don't want to be tsar.
    I don't even want to be a boyar. I would be very contented to sit at any of
    my brothers'right hand, agree with everything he said, and chase the girls.
    That would make a perfectly fine, full life as far as I'm concerned.
     It didn't make any more sense than Ivan's continued suspicions. Only
    someone like Father would be so certain that the son who makes no overt
    grasps for his power and position is the one that's the most dangerous.
     And it never seemed to occur to any of them that, as Ruslan had
    pointed out, if he were half as skillful as they thought he was, he wouldn't

    




    be here.
     If I was an expert poisoner, they'd all be dead-one dose of poison in
    the mead one night after the women have retired, and it would all be over.
    If I was a real sorcerer, I'd be in the court of the Great Tsar, dripping gold
    and Jewels with every step, with a hundred Turkish slave girls at my beck
    and call.
     That particular image caught his fancy, and his drug-fogged mind
    played with it for some time in a most entertaining fashion.

    




    56   MERCEDES LAC14EV
    
     What a fine life that would be! Nothing to ib but please the Great'
    now and again and amuse myself! It wasn't WIVU to conjure up the pr(
    picture from all the books and tales he'd -M Wed over the years. He
    tured himself arrayed in a splendid ;,airl M-11 1",roidered floor-length
    of scarlet silk-velvet, black silk breeches, and a - Id-embroidered silk!
                               .10
    
    of deeper scarlet. Around his neck was a We
                     I         ,c necklace made of
    plaques set with rubles, and his shirt was Melted with a sash ma~
    cloth-of-gold. His boots were of the finest Mick bullhide, polished
    high gloss by one of the throng of A_MqMned, dark-haired beal
    who swarmed about him, half-f ainting in the -anticipation that he N
    notice one of them. He would live in a Pr.M made of white marl
    place that rose from among its gardens like ti fantasy of cut snow.
    furnish it with thick Turkish rugs to soften every footstep, and
    porcelain stoves in every room keeping the winter chill so far at ba)
    roses would bloom in the rooms at,41TIAT M11. Hewouldhavehun
    of servants-most of them pretty girls, of course-and every d~
    would choose from all the delicacies of the vorld to eat. Smoked
    geon, roast pork, great slabs of beef; things ke'd never tasted bul
    read of, like pomegranates, peacock, -,u~*.UMed cakes as tall as a n
    all these things would grace his table, and ell girls would feed hin
    their soft little hands. He'd conjure wondrous feats of magic for the
    tsar, but only when he chose to, making it vory clear that he was
    the tsar a favor by doing so. And at night, 11s girls would press (
    about him, begging him with their eyes, *vch of them-Take n
    mighty lord, oh, great master, take me-
     Acute pain woke him out of his eFICIM as the imagined vi
    luscious woman-flesh caused his wounded t~ivates to stir-or at
    to. The attempt didn't last long, but the imaiing agony was moi
    enough to make him lose all interest in SWing that particular
    for now.
     He opened his eyes again. Father Mikail i-t beside him, Yeadi
    the moment he tried to sit up, the priest Uut his book down
    strained him with a firm hand planted in 11T middle of his ches
    was easily enough done, since Ilya didn't opilly want to move ar

    




    F I R E B I R D    ST
    
     "It's after dinner," the priest said, anticipating what he'd want to
    know after many repetitions of this same scene. "Long past. Mother
    Calina brought some food for you; are you in any mood to eat it?"
     He wasn't, not really, but he knew from past experience that Ruslan's
    vile brews required the leavening of food or they wouldn't stay down. And
    if there was a state worse than the aftermath of one of his brothers' beat-
    ings, it was the aftermath of one of his brothers' beatings combined with
    retching his guts up.
     He nodded, and Mikail helped him sit up enough so that he could,
    with a little help, spoon the warm concoction of cream, porridge, and a
    little honey into his mouth. He sighed, thinking of his daydream of
    mounds of pastries, roast ducklings, vats of blood-sausage-crearn-
    porridge was a sad contrast, and Father Mikail was no substitute for a
    dusky-sweet Turkish slave-maiden.
     As he had expected, the moment he finished the porridge, the priest
    had another potion for him to drink. The bitter taste made him shud-
    der down to his toenails, but Mikall was not a cruel man, and gave him
    a good cup of honey-mead to wash the taste out of his mouth.
     "I have a new Natural History here," Mikail said, after he'd helped Ilya
    back to his prone position. "Father Vlas sent it over a few days ago.
    Would you like me to read to you?"
     I don't remember him mentioning that book, Ilya thought dizzily. I'll
    bet he was waiting until after he'd finished it to say anything. He'll prob-
    ably combine it with copying lessons so we can make our own copy.
     Very few of the neighboring tsars and boyars held Ivan's views on re-
    ligion; Mikall's plight was viewed with sincere pity by most of the other
    household priests round about, and most of them were quite prepared
    to loan Father Mikall precious books since there was little else they
    could do to softcu his lot In life. No one else would have been willing to
    replace him, and the Patriarch was not going to permit this household
    to go without a priest after fighting so long to get one admitted.
      "Please," Ilya managed, although he didn't think that Ruslan's potion
     would permit him to enjoy much of the new book. Still, it would give
     him something to think about besides himself.
    
    I
    
    4ji,-~
     V r~

    




    58   MERCEDES LAC16EV
    
      'In the country of Africa are many strange Beasts,' Mikail b(
    going to the front of the book and starting over again. 'From Gre
     Small, there are none like unto them in these northern Climes   1
     Ilya drifted off again under the influence of Ruslan's potion,
    filled with Father Mikail's pleasant voice, mind filling with strang,
    ages-the Phoenix, the Lyon, the Monocerous, the Parrot.
     The beasts came to life in his dreams, alternately playful and tf
    ening, at one moment as sweet-tempered as a lap-dog, and in the
    tormenting him without mercy. Then, finally, they all turned on I-
     A pack of Lyons, yellow as cured hay, with huge tufted tails and I
    as big as bushel-baskets, followed by a hunting-party of the strang
    mans called Monopods, who had only one foot and moved about b)
    ping, chased him up a tree. The tree itself was quite bizarre, covere(
    huge purple fruits, like grapes, but smelling of roses. He poked his
    above the top branches, into the sunlight, and as he searched the gi
    for a way to evade the Lyons circling the base of the tree, a huge st
    passed over him, blotting out the sun.
     He looked up, too late to duck. All be saw was a pair of enormou
    each as large as a man, and he screamed as a Roe plucked him t
    way a falcon would seize a mouse, carrying him off. The pain
    talons piercing his shoulders was terrible, and as he struggled in thi
    ture's grasp, afraid that at any moment it would lean down and b
    head off, a flash of fire darting up from below made the Roe bell,
     It was a Phoenix, which flew at the Roe, battering its bead wi
    fiery wings, and the Roe dropped him. He hung in the air for a
    moment, long enough for him to realize what had happened and c
    an instant of terror before plummeting out of the sky to his dea
    screamed as the ground rushed up to meet him, flailing helples,,
    vain attempt to stop his fall.
     He woke with a start before that final impact, sweating, and wit]
    bruise aching fiercely. This time it was Ruslan waiting beside the
    with another potion, to be followed by a cup of milk-and-honey
    than mead. Ilya would have preferred the mead, but he knew bettl
    to ask for it. Ruslan would only tell him he drank too much alre,
     "There's something strange out there tonight," the old shama

    




    F I R E B I R D    so
    
    as soon as Ilva had drunk both cuns down "Ivan can scoff all he wants
    
    to, but there's something magical, some spirit loose in the air tonight,
    and if I had anything to bet with I would bet that be loses more cher-
    
    ries before dawn."
    
     Ilya reached up with one hand and felt his J'aw before be tried to an-
    swer. Ruslan, never one to pretend to powers be didn't have, very rarely
    made such bald statements about spirits. Oh, he would warn Ilya against
    the rusalka, tell him what the signs were that he was in the presence of
    a forest spirit, but he seldom claimed that there was a spirit about un-
    
    less he truly, sincerely believed that there was.
    
    "What-what makes you think that?" Ilya asked carefully. His lips
    
    weren't quite so swollen; he could actually form real words again.
    
     "There's a feeling out under the moon; the stars are nearer and
    brighter than usual, and the beasts of the fields are quiet, too quiet,"
    Ruslan said irritably, rubbing his beard with one hand. "I saw a light in
    the forest near the orchard, and I beard singing, but it wasn't a bird or
    a woman's voice, but was something between the two. I saw the bannik
    in the woodpile near the bathhouse; tonight there is something about
    that makes spirits bold." He shook his head at Ilya's look of incompre-
    hension. "I can't explain it to you, you don't half believe it yourself.
    Something's out there, that's all I can tell you. Go to sleep; sleep -will
    
    heal you faster."
    
     Ilya was not about to press for further explanation, not in his current
    situation. Even if Ruslan gave it, he might not understand it. And even
    if he understood it-well, Ruslan was right, he might not believe it. Obe-
    diently, he closed his eyes, and this time, if he dreamed he didn't re-
    
    member the drea s
    
    RUSLAN remained in a state of irritation for the next several days as
    Ilya recovered. Ilya knew why, but unfortunately there wasn't much he
    could do about it: Ruslan was angry because Ilya was hurt-again-and
    Ruslan was left to patch up the result. It wasn't that he begrudged the
    use of his skills and herbs on Ilva, it was lust that he had to do so with
    
    such regularity. 'Fhat was what made him angry and irritable.
     Ilya's reaction was the opposite: The more he recovered, the lighter

    




    Go   MERCEDES LACKEV
    
    his spirits became. He really wasn't that badly off; things could be
    worse. All he had to do was stay out of sigbt of his brothers; really, i
    his own fault that he'd gotten beaten. If he'd just keep his mouth
    and not get in their way, they'd leave him alone.
     Ruslan, however, was obviously not of that opinion.
     "It's getting worse instead of better," be grumbled one day to
    Mikail, when they both thought Ilya was asleep. 'And the boy do
    do anything to provoke them, I've watched him. He generally goe
    of his way to avoid them. Oh, once in a while be talks back to the
    they're so dim they usually don't realize what he's saying. At this
    they're going to kill him before long, and we can't do a damned t
    about it!"
     "I could write the Patriarch again," Father Mikail said tentat
    "This could be considered to be a provenance of the Church,
    holds kin-slaying to be a double sin, even as when Cain slew Abel
     'And the Patriarch will just do what he did the last time: tel
    to pray for Christ's peace to enter their hearts and send a lett
    Ivan that the tsar will use for starting a fire!" Ruslan snorted. "Ch
    Peace, my-
     "Don't blaspheme!" Mikail interrupted sharply.
     That was a silly thing to say. Ruslan's a pagan-
     "It isn't blasphemy if I don't believe in your Christ, now, is it?"
    ]an countered, bristling. But at Mikail's stricken and hurt look, h
    maced and apologized for his rudeness.
     "No matter-you were forgiven before you asked it," the priest
    as Ilya knew lie would.
     "Well, I haven't had any better luck than you," Ruslan said gr
    'And maybe that is why I keep losing my temper. I've left offering
    the polevol, for the khozialn, but the spirits of the fields are silent
    Ivan chased away the house-spirit a long time ago. I've prayed to
    to Rod, to Simargl, and they are as silent as your Christ." He si
    "We're old men; all we can do is pray. I can't think of any means t
    the boy out of barm's way."
     "When I last wrote the Patriarch, I explained how much the boy I

    




    F I R E 8 1 R D    61
    
    learning, and he suggested the priesthood," Mikail said, shaking his
    head. "Ilya! A priest! We'd see Ivan turn beggar first."
     Ruslan snorted. "If I thought for a moment that he'd agree, I'd even
    join you in trying to persuade our young blockhead to join one of your
    holv orders-at least if he wanted to become a monk, the Patriarch
    would stir his fat bum to protect the boy." He laughed cruelly. 'After all,
    there would always be the chance that when Ivan dies, Ilya's brothers
    will kill each other, leaving Ilya the heir, and the land would go to the
    Church."
     Mikail bowed his head and said nothing. He really couldn't deny what
    Ruslan had said; the Patriarch's greed for land was a byword even among
    Mikail's fellow priests.
     But Ilya's thoughts were captured for a moment by the idea. To be-
    come a monk! That was a possibility that he hadn't thought of. He'd be
    able to study in a monastery library, read and write as much as he wanted
    to. More than that, it would get him out from under Ivan's thumb-he
    could even leave openly, and no one would stop him. After all, he
    wouldn't be running away, and he wouldn't be going to one of Ivan's en-
    emies; there would be no reason to stop him.
     Well-maybe. Ivan was peculiar that way. Even if he didn't want a
    thing, be it a spavined horse, a mildewed turnip, or an unwanted son,
    the moment anyone else expressed an interest in that thing, it suddenly
    became his most important possession. If Ilya told the tsar that he
    wanted to become a monk and that the Church had accepted him, it
    might be harder than ever to escape.
     The more he thought about it, the more certain he became. He'd never
    let me go, especially not to the Church. The bare thought of one of his sons
    becoming a priest or a monk would drive him wild. The idea of the Church
    getting anything that belonged to him, especially his own flesh-it would
    be worse than the rage over the stolen cherries.
     Besides, be didn't think he could live like Father Mikail. No fine food,
    no fine clothing, no pretty milkmaids waiting in cozy bowers-ob, that
    last would be the thing he missed the worst.
      Could priests marry? He couldn't remember. But even if they could,

    




    62   MERCEDES LACKEV
    
    they weren't supposed to chase girl after girl. If they were allowe
    marry, it would have to be some dull, virtuous, housewifely creature;
    wedded, there would be no straying from her bed, either, and where
    the fun in that?
     Was he really in that much danger? My dear brothers never have
    worse than crack a bone or two. They didn't want to kill him, they
    wanted to hurt him. Hurting him made them feel important.
    needed him-if they killed him, they wouldn't have anyone else
    could feel superior to.
     Ruslan and Mikall are just overreacting, be told himself. I can't b
    them; I must have looked awful. Nobody's going to kill me-unless it'
    ther, and I'll just be careful never to make him angry or give him a re
    to think I've done something against him. I know one thing: I won't i
    Pietor anymore! He holds a grudge a lot longer than I thought he c
    I'll just be very meek and quiet when I get around him. Father is the
    real problern.
     He regained confidence as he regained strength, and the news
    Mikail and Ruslan brought gave him more reasons not to worry too in
    at least about the tsar. just as Ruslan had predicted, the ripe cherries
    ished from the trees every night, leaving only the unripe ones. And s
    no one could accuse Ilya of practicing sorcery while he was too ba
    even to stand, Pietor was going to be in big trouble with Mischa,
    wasn't already. Mischa didn't like being tricked into doing anythin
    if it was something he didn't mind doing under normal circumsta
    He would consider what Pietor had said to be an attempt at tricke
     So in spite of his mentors' conviction that his brothers were goi
    kill him, Ilya was quite certain he would be able to avoid anything w
    than a beating for however long it took for Ivan to die. He'd mad
    his mind, though, after this last beating, that he was going to do his
    to stay out of sight until that day arrived. Then he would be free, an
    could make his escape. It couldn't be that much longer; Ivaq cou
    survive too many more exhibitions of choler like the one Ilya ha&
    nessed. He'd have a fit of apoplexy and choke to death.
     But Ilya did wonder who was stealing the fruit. By now, Ivan
    so enraged that every little thing would set off a display of temper.

    




    F I R E B I R D    63
    
    was
    
    la me
    s Fa_
    ason
    nsult
    ould.
     only
    
    that
    iuch,
    s van-
    since
    ttered
    if he
      ven
    
    ances.
    
    C'~`
    
    (irig to
    g worse
    ade up
    his I-)Cst
    and lic
    ouldn't
    ad wit-
    
    niust be
    
    per.
    
     "Ivan is worse than angry," Ruslan told him when he asked about the
    state of things and whether it was safe for him to reappear. Interesting
    that everyone knew he went somewhere after a beating to heal, but no
    one seemed to know where he went, or to care. Maybe they all thought
    Mother Calina was looking after him.
     By now, his head no longer threatened to split whenever he sat up,
    and Ruslan thought he might reappear for meals in the next day or so.
    Ludmilla still would not be enjoying his own particular skills for a few
    more days, but he could put her off.
     If she was still interested. She might not be, after all the gossip about
    this latest beating. It would be only too clear that he was not the favored
    son in Tsar Ivan's brood. By now, she might have taken up with one of
    the others, even, and he'd have to find a new girl. It wouldn't be the first
    time, sad to say, and it wasn't going to be the last.
     "No, Ivan is much worse than angry," Ruslan repeated, breaking into
    his reverie. "I haven't seen him like this in years; he's gone quite cold,
    calculating. The tsar has pledged himself to catch whoever or whatever
    is stealing from him. He's positive now that it must be one of his cne-
    mics, determined to torment him. I don't know, but if I was one of his
    enemles, I might do just that, on the chance that he'll fall dead in a fit
    ot Tage."
     "What do you think7" Ilya asked curiously.
     "Well, it isn't a serf, a peasant, or a servant," Ruslan told him, "be-
    cause Ivan locked the palace up the night you were beaten, so that
    mcans no servants got out that night, and he put a heavy guard outside
    the orchard walls the next night, and no serf or peasant could have got-
    ten past that many guards. Believe it or not, this has convinced Ivan that
    someone is working some kind of witchery or sorcery against him, be-
    cause no matter how dire the punishments are, men left inside the or-
    chard to guard the trees are found asleep by their replacements."
     Ilya blinked. "I suppose that a really clever thief might be able to slip
    them something to make them sleep and get in anyway. You're right,
    though, it couldn't be a servant or a serf; those cherries aren't worth that
    much to one of them."
     Ruslan nodded. "Ivan thinks it's magic some enemy of his is working.

    





    




    64   RIERCEDES LACKEV
    
    I'm not so certain. I've been all around those fields, and I haven't fol
    anything there. No buried spells, no spells tied to the trees, no sign
    man's magic at all, and if there were signs to find, I would be able to
    ,them."
     "So what do you think?" Ilya asked, although he was fairly certain N
    Ruslan's answer would be.
     Ruslan coughed. "I think it's a spirit. Maybe a polevoi; that woul
    the most logical. I think they've finally gotten tired of him and his bi
    ing, and a spirit is teaching him a lesson."
     Ilya shook his head. "Why would a spirit steal the ripe cherrie.,
    leave the rest for another night? Why wouldn't a spirit take everyi
    all at once?"
     "Why does a spirit do anything?" Ruslan countered. "If we coull
    derstand them, we wouldn't need to be so very careful around them
    would we? We'd know what pleased them and what angered their
    we'd always be able to stay on their good sides." And that, for hirr
    the end of the argument.
     It might have been the end of it for Ilya too, except that now b
    riosity had been aroused. He could think of any number of ways
    very clever thief could get in and out of the orchard without being
    Through the treetops themselves, for one-the wall around the i
    trees wasn't more than eight feet tall, and the trees easily overhun
    mingle their boughs with their more ordinary sister-trees whose
    were already harvested. A very clever thief would climb into the t
    a distance and work his way into the orchard without ever settir
    on the ground.
     Ivan had made plenty of enemies. This might be part of sonic
    scheme. Perhaps, once the fruit was all gone, the thief would fin(
    to let Ivan know who he was and why he had stolen the tsar's ti
    providing a bushel or so of fruit, or a vat of preserved cherries by
    proof. The next step might be a threat-"See bow easily I stole yoi
    think how easily I could take whatever else I want. Think how
    could do things beside steal." He might offer to return the fruit fo
    price. Perhaps he would pass himself off as a real sorcerer and I
    known that Ivan could hire his services. Ivan might even be per!

    




    F I R E 8 1 R D    65
    
    e
    d
    9
    n-
    )w
    lid
    as
    cu-
    t a
    en.
    erry
    it to
    ults
    cs at
    foot
    arger
    a way                                              The clothing he'd last worn was a dreadful mess: torn at the seams
    ats-       and at the knees and elbows, and stained with his own blood and Rus-
    vaN of     ]an's poultices. Neither Ruslan nor the priest ever seemed to think of
    fruity   bringing him new clothing whenever he wound up in their bands-or
             maybe they didn't want to risk giving away the fact that they were shel-
    a high   tering him by rummaging through his things for fresh clothing. He'd
    t it be  have to give his current outfit to Mother Galina and beg her to clean
    aded,    and mend it for him. He certainly could not appear at supper like this.
    
    given that his hot anger had given way to cold. If such a thief was that
    clever, he could arrange it all without putting himself in any danger until
    
    he knew Ivan's mind.
    
     But if this was all by the hand of a clever thief, the man had only had
    to deal with Ivan and his men so far, and they didn't have any more imag-
    ination than a herd of cows. Ilya wondered if he should get involved.
     He spent the rest of that last afternoon debatin2 the notion. If he did
    
    catch the thief, or even got a good enough look at him to identi him,
    Ilya might earn some real and tangible evidence of Ivan's gratitude. And
    if he was suddenly the favored son, the others wouldn't be able to beat
    him up without getting Ivan angry. Or at least, they wouldn't be able to
    come at him in a gang; Ivan would insist that any fighting be one-on-
    one. That in itself would be an improvement. He might not be able to
    beat Mischa alone, but he could keep Mischa from hurting him; he
    knew he could hold his own against any one of his brothers, so long as
    
    the fight was fair.
    
    On the other hand what if the thief was one of the brothers? Ilva
    
    would be in a worse situation than he was now, for none ot the brothers
    would risk the chance that Ilya would tell the tsar the identity of the thief.
     Even if it was a stranger, it still might be too risky to try to catch him.
    There would be nothing to stop a stranger from trying to kill the one who
    caught him.
     And it would be a great deal of work; probably far more work than it
    was worth. On the whole, maybe it would be better to just watch and
    
    wait and see what haDDened.
    
    So, very near supper-time, Ilya decided it was time to go back, face
    
    his familv. and see what more had haDDened during his recoverv.

    




    66   MERCEDES LACKEV
    
     There was other suitable clothing in the chest in his room, t
    goodness-although it was mended and still bore the faint stains
    previous beating. The few servants he encountered pretended that
    was nothing wrong with his appearance-or pretended not to see
    at all. He discovered when he entered the room that Mischa h
    taken his need for revenge into destroying Ilya's room and its cont
    as he'd done once when they were all much younger. His roo
    pretty much as he had left it, except for the dust that lay over everyt
    He flung open the chest, seized the clean clothing on the top
    changed into it quickly, intending to be in his place before any
    brothers were.
     He managed that, moving into the great hall before anyone had b
    serving, walking straight to his usual seat at the end of the high t
    and simply sitting down nonchalantly.
     It isn't as if I haven't done this before.
     Although the smug looks and snickers his brothers aimed at h
    they entered the great hall (probably in response to his bruised an
    tered condition) were uncomfortable, at least he was sitting dow
    eating as his brothers took their own seats. He could pretend to
    interested in his food that he didn't notice. He would not have bee
    to make such a pretense if he'd been edging his way past them
    bench-and they'd have had plenty of opportunity to trip him, p
    him in his bandaged ribs, or grab a wrist to twist it, knowing he wo
    be able to move out of their way quickly enough to escape.
     Every bite of this meal was wonderful after so many days of wha
    Ruslan or Mikail could filch, all of it cold by the tin-.c it reached
    Galina had always sent over breakfast, but her idea of a convale
    meal was porridge, porridge, and more porridge.
     Someone had killed a young wild boar, and the odor of roast
    made his mouth water and his stomach grow]. He had no besitat
    reaching for the platter bearing chunks of smoking meat and h
    himself hugely. There was plenty of pork to go around, for once; th
    down at the lower tables didn't seem to have much appetite tonigh
    haps that was due to Ivan's glowering expression of smoldering ra
    glared down at his fighters and guards as if he would much ratbe

    




    F I R E B I R D    67
    
 had them on rations of bread and water in the stableyard than feasting
     his table. Ilya knew from experience that having Ivan watch every bite
     you took wearing that expression was enough to put the most hardened
     warrior off his food.
     There were no such looks levied in Ilya's direction, and be heaped his
    plate and ate with a good appetite, if with a somewhat sore jaw. In fact,
    aside from one glance at his least favorite son, Ivan had ignored Ilya com-
    pletely. It occurred again to Ilya that Mischa bad inadvertently done him
    a good turn by beating him up and laying him out for all this time. There
    could be no thought that Ilya was responsible in any way for the thefts.
    Which was just as well, for Ivan was obviously taking this personally; very
    personally.
     Finally, when the meal ended, the women left the ball, the pitchers
    of mead came around and cups were filled sparingly and well-watered
    under Ivan's glare, the tsar stood up. Silence fell immediately across the
    hall; not even the dogs under the table whimpered or barked.
     There had been a half-bowl of cherries in cream on the high table,
    which Ivan had devoured with a look that should have curdled the cream.
    Evidently someone had been gathering what could be gleaned when the
    thief was done, and the scant harvest ate at Ivan's heart like a canker.
    There couldn't be much left on the trees by now.
     Ivan glared once around the hall. "You have failed to prevent the
    thief from his work," he said abruptly. "I will try rewards; perhaps that
    will give enough reason to succeed. Whoever catches the thief will be
    my heir." There were startled looks all around the tables at that, for Ivan
    had never made-Aby attempt to designate an heir before. "Tonight it will
    be Mischa's chance to try, and his brothers will follow in order of age.
    And after thcm, as long as there are cherries left, anyone can try."
     He sat down heavily, looking at no one. Mischa shoved his cup of mead
    aside, stood up, and bowed to the tsar.
     "So long as I do not encounter sorcery, I will not fall you, Father," he
    said stiffly "But I am only a man; I cannot prevail against a sorcerer."
     "Then you will not be my heir, will you?" Ivan countered testily. "Suc-
    ceed, and you will have the prize-fail, and your brothers will have the
    chance to succeed where you failed."
    
    as
    t-
    d
    so
    le
    his
    cb
    n't
    
    ver
    im.
    ent
    
    ork
    n in
    
    ping
    men
    Per-
    e; lie
    have
    
    I

    




    68   MERCEDES LAC14EV
    
     Mischa said nothing more; he only bowed again and left, presu
    to go straight to the orchard. Ilya stared after him, and found h
    seized in the grip of a strange and unaccountable impulse to follo
    Strange-because he really had no reason to follow his brother.
    tainly didn't want to catch the thief; the last thing he wanted wa.
    named Ivan's heir. Success would not make him more beloved, ei
    his father or his brothers. His father would be certain that the o
    son he had caught the thief would be because of collusion be
    them. And as for his brotbers-lealousy would give them a reaso
    hadn't had before to consider cold-blooded fratricide. He could o
    himself into more difficulty if he succeeded.
     No, there was no reason for him even to try to catch the thie
    ertheless, his unquenchable curiosity made following after Misc
    sistible, and it was all he could do to remain seated at the table. H
    could resist a mystery to be unraveled. Ruslan and Mikail alt
    praised and chided him for his avid curiosity, swearing it was g
    lead him into trouble one day, but also telling him it drove him t
    as quickly as a born scholar. He waited a decent interval and th
    to his feet, trying to look exhausted, limping as if his injuries paine
    No one paid him any attention at all; those who were to be o
    tonight were- gambling or playing games of chance, but quietly an
    out drinking their usual amount of wine. Those who were not o
    were drinking as if to make up for their fellows' abstinence.
     Ilya slipped out the nearest door and followed silently in M
    wake. Tonight, there was no moon, and it was only his own fa
    with the area around the palace, learned by treading the paths of
    tate by night in his endless assignations, which enabled him t
    without betraying his presence to his brother. Mischa had no suc
    tice. Up ahead, he stumbled and swore grimly; twice he fell, whi
    certainly not going to do his temper any good.
     Interesting. I do believe that this plan was as much a surprise to
    Mischa as it was to me.
     At the entrance to the orchard, two guards stood under a
    torches; Ilya shied away from the area of light and took to cover
    got into the deeper darkness under the orchard wall.

    




    F I R E 8 1 2 D    69
    
     In the back of his mind, he was a bit bemused by how quickly he man-
    aged to blend in with the night. As insects and a bird or two mingled
    their songs with the rustling of the trees in the breeze, he drifted along
    in the shadows beside the wall like a windblown leaf. This could have
    been a dream, or one of Ruslan's stories, for surely nothing short of
    magic could make a man so at one with the world around him. He
    moved so quietly, so easily-he had never moved so well in his life. It
    was so strange, yet so easy; so entirely wonderful.
     He experienced an intoxication that he couldn't define, and yet he
    had never been so entirely sober. He didn't make a single misstep; it was
    as if he had eyes in his feet. He knew where every stone, every branch
    ~valtlng to trip him up lay, and he knew it without knowing how he
    knew. He bad never felt quite so alive, and every breath filled him with
    more energy. He avoided the two guards he spotted patrolling the walls
    outside the orchard as if he were invisible.
     As he paced carefully beside the wall, he came to the first free over-
    hanging it: a plum tree, long past harvest time. Ivan should have ordered
    the trees to be trimmed back, especially given the thefts, but the tsar's
    greed had obviously overcome his good sense.
     l1va climbed the tree easily, in spite of his aebing ribs. In fact, he didn't
    even notice more than a little discomfort. All he was really conscious of
    was the wind in his hair, the rough bark under his hands, the sway of the
    branches under him. He'd been climbing trees since he could toddle, and
    these orchard trees, with low-hanging branches, were intended to be easy
    to climb so that they were easy to harvest.
     Not surprising that our thief has been so successful. He has probably
     taken this very road into the cherry-orchard. I wonder if I'm likely to run
     right into him?
     He edged along the branch, belly pressed to the surface of the limb,
    until he sensed another branch reaching toward the one he was on from
    the cherry tree on the other side of the wall. It was hardly more than a
    darker shadow and a whisper of leaves, but he recognized it for what it
    was immediately.
      He put out his right hand and touched it, smoother bark than the tree-
     trunk beneath him; he grasped it, pulled himself across to it. It sagged
    
     r
    ly
    to
    rn
    se
    
    ty
    h-
    ty
    
    ~i S
    
    ity
    cs-
    
    Vc
    
                                        ac
                                        as
                                       her
    
    r of
    I lie

    




    To   MERCEDES LAC14EV
    
    under his weight but held, supported as it was by the top of the wa
    self. It was but the work of a moment, then he was across and down,
    his feet touched the soil of Tsar Ivan's private preserve.
     The first thing that struck him was that the bird-nets had bee
    moved frorn'the trees, probably because they were totally ineffecti
    stopping the thief. He peered through the columns of tree-trunks
    saw by the flickering lights in the middle distance that Mischa ha
    inconvenienced himself too much in this duty; he'd set himself up
    near the orchard gate and probably wasn't going to stir himself fur
    Ilya slipped from shadow to shadow among the trees, working bi
    nearer and nearer to where Mischa had made his outpost, and finally
    to the branches again, swarming up the trunk of the tree like a cat
     From here he found he had an excellent view of the area besid
    gate where Mischa had set up a kind of camp. The tsar's orders had
    ified only that Mischa was to watch, not what he was to do while h
    so, and Mischa took full advantage of that neglect to specify himself
    he should and should not do. Even as Ilya watched, servants brou
    stool, torches, a basket of food, and set them all up with an obviou
    to creating a comfortable situation for his passing the hours of the
     It wasn't long before Mischa and the two guards, who were obvi
    friends of his, were arranged in a circle, tossing knuckle-bones an
    ting various personal objects on their outcome. They were paying
    tention whatsoever to the trees, but then, so far as Ilya could mak
    the cherry-thief had never appeared this early in the evening, so pe
    Mischa wasn't being as cavalier about his duty as he seemed.
     Ilya assumed a comfortable position in the cleft of the trunk, pr
    up yet out of sight, where he could see Mischa and at the same tim
    a good view of the rest of the orchard. He kept his left eye closed
    he watched his brother and the rest, so that when he looked away
    the circle of torches, he did not have to wait for his eyes to adjust
    darkness. This was an old trick he had learned a long time ago wh
    began meeting girls in the fields by night. He wondered if Mischa
    it. Certainly after being under all those torches, he wouldn't be
    see anything at all even if he heard the thief, but it didn't appea
    Mischa was very worried about that particular problem.

    




     a
    ye
    
    at-  a
    ut,
    ps
    ed
    ave
    ben
    om
    the
    1_1 he
    ncw
    le to
    that
    
    F I R E B I R D    71
    
     As for Ilya, he was actually getting comfortable, even feeling a mea-
    sure of smugness at his own cleverness. This was a good idea; whatever
    was going on here, if the thief did not know that Ilya was up in the tree,
    Ilya might be able to catch him at work even if Mischa didn't. And once
    Ilya knew who the thief was, he might be able to use that information.
    If he could actually, physically catch the thief-well, there were all kinds
    of possibilities. It was lust possible that, in order to keep from being taken
    before Ivan, Ilya could persuade the thief to help him get away from Ivan.
     I could help him steal horses, maybe even some of Father's valuables,
    then we could create the signs of a struggle and my own death! Father would
    hardly go looking for me if he thought I was dead.... His imagination ran
    wild with schemes for getting away. Of course, they all depended on the
    thief being both clever and cooperative. Granted, that was an unlikely
    outcome, but it was worth considering.
      Ile was doing just that when-
    
    "Hoyl Wake up, you lot! Gawd, the tsar is going to have your ballocks
    in a vise!
     Ilya woke up with a start at the shouting just beneath his perch; he
    lost his balance and grabbed for the tree-trunk beneath him as be tried
    to remember exactly where he was and why he was here at all. -
     Underneath his perch, three guards were shaking Mischa and his two
    friends awake, cursing and berating them. The torches they bad set
    1~out tbeir post were about two-thirds burned down-and Ilya could tell
    just by looking at the branches around his perch that the ripe cherries
    were gone, leaving behind only the green.
     So, the thief had found a way to make them all sleep-and without
    knowing that Ilya was up in the branches of the tree! In fact, the thief
    had to have been within touching-distance of Ilya while he slept and still
    lwhad not awakened!
    ~~'Ranling the saints who watched over fools that it was still black
    n0t, be slipped down to the ground under the cover of all the noise
    and sprinted to the orchard wall. He dared not be found here, lest MIS-
    cha decide to declare that he was the thief. It was the work of a moment
    to get up a tree and over the wall, but his earlier feeling of extraordinary

    




    MERCEDES LAC14EV
    
    well-being was gone. His ribs ached as he pulled himself up into the
    and across to the matching tree on the other side of the wall; his
    hurt, and be was conscious of a dozen places where he had scraped
    self on the rough bark. He was excruciatingly careful about getting
    to the palace, freezing in the shadows and listening and looking:
    directions before moving to another bit of cover. This was not the
    to get caught outside his own chamber!
     In fact, perhaps I'd better take an alternative route inside, just ir
    Father has guards watching the halls.
     He didn't often need to get into his room via the window, sillcc
    a tight squeeze for anyone with shoulders as broad as his, but toni
    was probably worth a little skin to take that route. There was pie]
    cover between himself and the palace, and he used every bit of it
    into the shadows shrouding the building itself. He crept up alor
    palace wall on his hands and knees until he was just below his owi
    dow, and felt for a sliver of wood he kept stuck in a crack und,
    window-frame; he pulled it loose and used it to slip the catch on t
    side of the shutters. Putting the sliver back, and straining eyes an
    against the night to be certain that be was alone and unobserved, h
    heaved himself up onto the sill. With a grunt of pain as he wrigg
    sideways and the window'-frame compressed his broken ribs, he h
    himself inside and dropped down to the floor.
     Safe. He rcfastened the shutters, stripped off his shirt and bre
    and quickly slipped into his bed where he was supposed to be.
     But of course, at this point it was impossible to sleep. He stare
    the darkness for what seemed like a very long time, listening for I
    turn of Mischa and the two guards. He had a notion that Ivan mi
    doing the same, and that their reception by the tsar was going to 1:
    thing but silent.
     just as he was about ready to give up and drift off into sleep, h(
    a distant commotion. Heavy footsteps thudded up the staiTcase
    tsar's special chambers; they sounded, at least to him, as if tho~
    climbed the stairs were reluctant to make that journey. He hearl
    off murmur of voices, then his father roaring something. Wi
    much distance and so many walls between his room and the tsar's

    




     c
    se
    
    as
    it
    of
    ct
    he
    ii-i-
    thc
    
    ii-1-
    
                                       ars
                                        en
                                       d in
                                       red
    
    bes"
    
    into
    
    c re-
    t be
    any-
    
   heard
    o the
     who
     a far-
    h this
    chain-
    
    F I R E B I R D    73
    
    bers, it was impossible to understand the shouted words, but the tone
    was clear enough.
     Well. I don't think Mischa is going to have much opportunity to worry
    about me for a while. It was hard to keep a certain amount of self-
    satisfaction out of his thoughts, for this certainly was one of the brighter
    moments of his life. Mischa, of all people, was in trouble with their fa-
    ther! And he was not going to live down the tsar's disappointment in
    him for quite some time. Still. How was it that I fell asleep? I wasn't tired,
    I hadn't been drinking -in fact, the last thing I remember is settling in for
    a long watch. Is the thief somehow putting something into the food? But
    why would it affect only the guards in the orchard?
     As Ivan's voice, muffled by layers of wood and stone, continued to roar
    ilicoherently on, Ilya worried at that problem until he lost it entirely in
    the labyrinth of sleep.
    
    THE next day, as they sat together on a bench in the sun, he interro-
    gated Ruslan a nd Father Mikail carefully, for he had decided to keep his
    own presence in the orchard a secret even from them. He told his two
    mentors everything that he knew without betraying that he had been the
    one who witnessed it all. Then he asked their opinions.
     Father Mikail was very certain who-or what-was stealing the cher-
    ries. As the sunlight poured down over them like warm honey and the
    birds singing nearby seemed to mock all the shadowed thoughts of the
    night, the priest's generous mouth took on a grim cast.
     "It's a demon," be said darkly. "Sent to punish the tsar for his blas-
    phem\ and unbelief. This is only the beginning. It begins by taking
    cherries, and it will end by taking his soul."
       a moment the words cast an eerie chill to the warm air. Could it
    bZa                     I I
    e? s that the answer? It was the one possibility that had not occurred
    to him.
     But Ruslan snorted with contempt. "Don't be absurd!" he countered
    bluntly, as his fingers played among the small bones, carvings, and tal-
    ismanswoven into the fringes of his belt. "If it was a demon sent to pun-
    1sh Ivan, why hasn't it announced itself? I thought your demons always

    




    made a point of telling their victims just what was in store for them-
    