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“Probably poisoned the wells and ponds for good measure.”
“But what about his people? What will they do when the siege is over?”
Lazar shrugged. “Not our concern.” He rode back toward the main body of the soldiers to report on their findings. Radu guided his horse forward at a slow walk, taking in the ravaged countryside. It would certainly make their work more difficult. They had accounted for taking livestock and supplies to supplement their stores. This would make things tighter and more difficult, splintering their men to guard the now-crucial supply trains. It also raised the cost of the siege to even more astronomical heights.
But it was the image of a stone foundation, charred wood walls drawing the crude blackened outlines of what had once been a home, that stayed with Radu for the remainder of his travels. Their forces would not have burned civilians’ homes down. And, after they took the city, they would have allowed everyone in Skanderberg’s domain to continue to live as they had before, to worship as they had before, giving them security and prosperity.
Radu wondered how much Skanderberg was willing to sacrifice and destroy in the name of protecting his people.
By the time they reached the walls of Kruje, Radu was already saddle- and soul-weary. Setting up and organizing camp took nearly a week. They were within sight of the city but out of cannon’s reach. Radu’s men pitched tent on the outer circle of Murad’s vast pavilion, which was tucked into the center of the camp, buffered by tens of thousands of people around it. The Ottomans now had a larger population than any city within several days’ march, including Kruje.
Radu commanded a frontier force. Their role was to harass and harry lines, not set up for siege. He helped direct where he could, stayed out of the way where he could not, and watched with a mixture of pride and dread as their superior force settled in to besiege the traitor Skanderberg.
And, five times a day, Radu set out his mat and prayed, sending extra hope toward God that the siege would be over quickly.
Radu walked the perimeters of the camp. It had been three weeks since they arrived, with little to show for it. They had sent scouting parties to find the city’s water source and cut it off, to no avail. They had tried to bribe the commander of the city and been rebuffed. The walls loomed, constant and mocking.
“It is a siege,” Lazar would say, shrugging his shoulders. “The game is waiting.”
Radu did not care for the game. His men had been used lightly so far, only escorting one supply train and doing guard duty two nights every seven. He had been frightened to be part of a siege, but now he was bored. All the waiting was liable to make a man mad.
He sighed, walking far enough from the camp that the fires did not impede his ability to see in the dark. He could have stayed in his tent, but if his men were out here, he would be, too. It was only fair.
Nearby, Yazid, a young Janissary, whispered as he walked. “What hangs at a man’s thigh and wants to poke the hole that it has often poked before?”
Someone groaned in annoyance. Lazar hissed for Yazid to shut up. Radu blushed, grateful for being unseen. He already had a reputation for being too delicate about these matters, and wondered what the men said behind his back.
An odd clicking noise drew his attention. He squinted through the darkness.
“Get down!” Lazar slammed into him, bearing him to the ground. Something passed over them, more the rumor of a sound than anything.
Radu crawled out from under Lazar, dazed and in shock. If it had not been for Lazar, he would be dead. His impulse, strongest and first, was to run. He was not made for this. If Lada were here, she would have…
No. He was in charge. He would lead his men.
“To me!” he shouted. “Crossbows! Shields up, form a line!”
He held his shield in front of him, tense and cringing as he waited for a bolt to claim him. Lazar stood next to him, his shield pressed to Radu’s. With a speed that made him proud, Radu’s men joined them. As one, they moved forward, steady and sure, toward where their unseen assailants still fired at them.
They met no one.
Skanderberg’s men had already disappeared into the darkness, whatever purpose they had been after thwarted. Radu’s forces warily broke their line, ears and eyes on high alert.
“A key,” Yazid muttered as he broke a crossbow bolt off from where it had lodged in his shield. “The answer was a key. Though I suppose a bolt would have been a good line, too.”
Lazar stayed next to Radu, but he drew no comfort. Everyone else seemed so calm, resigned to the familiar reality of battle. Radu was cold from the sweat that had instantly drenched him, his racing heart still frantic. He had always known they would be attacked, but it had been theoretical. He had not known it as he did now.
He walked, newly aware of every part of his body as though he were naked. He felt himself once again too small, too weak, like the boy terrified of Mircea’s unpredictable bursts of violence. Only now he had no castle to hide in, no curtains to stand behind.
And he was responsible for so many more lives than his own.
THREE MONTHS AFTER THE rest of the Janissaries left, Lada’s men finally had something to look forward to. They were expecting a shipment of gunpowder. Normally they would have had nothing to do with it. But with all the other Janissaries on the siege at Kruje, it was up to them to decide how to use it. The responsible decision would be to put it in storage and wait for the return of Ilyas. He would, no doubt, have specific people in mind to train on gunpowder uses and strategies.
But Ilyas was not here.
And with Radu far away excelling at politics and not a single letter from Mehmed, Lada wanted to burn things.
She was waiting at the gate to the keep when the wagon rolled to a stop in front of her. A woman climbed down, brows hunched low and matching her posture. “Where is the commander?”
