Bright We Burn (The Conqueror's Saga #3)(35)

Fatima spoke for them both. “But we want to join you in Wallachia.”

“You would not want to if you had ever been before.”

“We will come and discover how much we would rather not have come, then. Will your sister … will she stay there, in Tirgoviste, when you are done?” Fatima asked. Nazira went stiff at the mention of Lada. Radu hated that his place in Nazira’s life had also introduced Lada into it, and all the accompanying loss and bloodshed. He loved his sister, but …

But did he? Knowing that she had finally become the worst of what she had always had the potential to be?

“No,” Radu said. “They will bring her back here. She will never be free again.” It was the cruelest fate for Lada. He knew she would rather die fighting. But she would not be allowed to. Radu felt something sharp and mean inside hardening as he anticipated how it would destroy his sister to be powerless and captive once more.

Good. Let it.





17





The Danube, Ottoman Territory


LADA LAY ON her stomach, peering over the cover of rocks at the wide expanse of the Danube. She could make out a flurry of activity on the other side, though she was too far to see specifics. But she was close enough. Close enough to know they were there. Close enough to know he was there.

Mehmed.

And probably Radu as well.

Lada scooted back, standing when she reached the trees that hid Stefan, Bogdan, and the men she had handpicked to lead her soldiers. “They are out in the open. Which means they do not expect trouble until they are within the borders of Wallachia. If they cannot cross the Danube, all the men in the world will not be enough for them to invade.”

“Eventually they will make it across.” Doru scratched the side of his nose with one blunt, dirty finger. He was smart and brutal and good at leading men, but every time Lada looked at him, she saw who was not there: Nicolae. She tried not to hate Doru for it. She did not always succeed.

“Not if it costs them too much. Mehmed values stability over all else. He will not risk upsetting that just to punish us. If we hit them hard enough here, he will retreat.”

Doru squinted doubtfully. “How do you know—”

“Do not question her.” Bogdan’s tone was flat. His eyes, however, were dangerous. Doru bowed his head contritely.

“We will set up a line along this bank.” Lada had four hundred men here. The rest of her forces were deeper in the country, forming line after line of defense. But four hundred men well used on a river crossing could hold back thirty thousand men on the other side.

“Alert the archers to be ready to pick them off as they try to float across. And keep hidden at all costs. We would not want to ruin the surprise.” Lada smiled in the direction of the Danube. It was the first of any number of surprises she had planned, but, if it worked, it would be the only one she needed.



That night, even though Lada was well hidden among the reeds on the bank, a man slipped in and got down next to her.

“How did you find me?” she asked.

Stefan shrugged.

“Well?” She waited for his report. He had crossed the river several leagues down to scout the enemy camp. Lada had not expected him back this soon.

“Sixty thousand.”

Lada choked on her breath, muffling her cough with the dark-green hooded cloak she wore to blend in with the shadows. “Sixty thousand? How many fighting men?” Mehmed normally traveled with one person in support of every man actually fighting. So that meant thirty thousand. She had expected fewer than that, but—

“Sixty thousand fighting men.”

“God’s wounds,” she exhaled, letting the number wash over her like the waves lapping at the shore in front of her. “Sixty thousand? Are you certain?”

“Another twenty thousand in support, but judging from the supply trains, they do not expect this to be a long campaign.”

“Sixty thousand.” Lada lowered her head. And then she started laughing. It was snorts and exhalations, her shoulders shaking with the effort of keeping silent.

“Are you … well?”

Lada shook her head. Sixty thousand! No one could have guessed Mehmed would bring that many. Not even she had guessed. She knew it was wrong, but something warm and pleasant licked to life deep inside her. It really was a tremendous show of respect on his part.

And a deeply inconvenient one. This was a fine time for someone to take her seriously at last.

“Well, sixty thousand or six hundred thousand, if he cannot ferry them across the water, he will either have to tack weeks onto the plans to find another passage or give up. And given how much he loves frugality for everything other than his wardrobe and personal tent, I am counting on the latter option.”

Stefan nodded. “Where do you want me?”

“Back near the capital. When we know the outcome here, we will be able to determine our next best move. I want you out of harm’s way, and as close to Hungary as possible.”

Without another word, Stefan slipped into the darkness where he was most at home.

“Sixty thousand,” Lada whispered to herself, giggling. Mehmed might as well have sent her another love letter.



It was two nights until the Ottoman crossing was attempted.

A broad, flat skiff launched, maneuvered with poles across the narrowest part of the river. A thick rope trailed behind it. Lada and her men watched as the skiff hit their side of the river. They waited as the Janissaries disembarked, then trudged through the mud and reeds up to the point directly across from where they had launched. The Ottomans had built a dock on their side, and several much larger skiffs were waiting to ferry men and wagons across.