Orda POV

The fires in Džuketau were past the point where anyone could do anything about them. Orda could see that from the rise without riding closer. 𝕗𝚛𝚎𝚎𝐰𝗲𝗯𝗻𝚘𝚟𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝕞

The buildings on the eastern side of the main road had burned through completely, somewhat still standing but the walls eaten down to nothing, and the thatch on the market stalls was long since ash. The grain warehouse had collapsed in on itself an hour ago.

The smoke above the town was a single dark mass that had absorbed all the separate fires and was running on its own now, driven by the heat from below rather than by anything the riders were doing.

A relay rider came from the town’s north edge.

"Eastern district’s done," the rider said. "Kachu’s section hasn’t confirmed withdrawal yet."

Orda looked toward the town’s northeastern corner.

"Send him the withdrawal order directly. Don’t wait for his relay."

The rider went.

It needed only one correction, one contingent always had something left to finish, one relay that did not carry cleanly through to the end.

Orda turned back to the burn.

He gave the order through the relay to fire everything combustible that had not already caught. The riders in the streets carried torches from the existing fires to the buildings still standing. Within twenty minutes there was nothing in Džuketau that was not burning or already finished.

He watched it from the rise.

An orange glow ran across the underside of the smoke cloud as the new fires built up, and the crash of a roof going through a floor came across the open ground clearly in the still air. The smell reaching him was wood smoke and grain smoke together, the warm dense smell of a fire that had been burning long enough to take everything available to it.

The northern operation was done. Every settlement near the Kama river down to Džuketau had been burned or made to submit since the White Horde moved. The road from here to Bulgar was clear.

Orda gave the march order for dawn and turned his horse away from the burning.

Süke POV

Arsu was still talking about his hand when the fire had burned low enough that they needed to add another piece of wood to keep it going.

"It won’t stop bleeding through the cloth," Arsu said.

"Stop bitching," Yasa said. "Wrap it tighter."

Arsu looked down at his hand. "I’ve got it wrapped tight already."

"Then wrap it tighter than that."

There had been three men defending the workshop, one with a long-handled pole axe and two with knives, and the pole axe man had known how to use it. That was why Süke had a fresh tear across the left shoulder of his coat from the first swing, and why he’d gone low on the second and taken the man in the throat while the axe was still coming back.

The man made a wet, surprised sound when the blade went in and sat down against the workbench with both hands pressed to his neck, and did not get up from there. The other two ran for the back room, and you could hear them through the doorway trying to get the shutter open.

It was latched from outside.

Arsu went in after them, and what came back through the doorway were sounds that nobody outside commented on.

When Arsu came out he had the cut across his hand and said nothing about it until after they’d looked at what the room had.

The room had enough, a full strongbox, properly full and better than anything the office had given them, with coin stacked in real quantity. Three bolts of cloth rolled against the back wall, two good Bulgar wool and one Rus linen, the kind that had traveled a considerable distance before ending up in a workshop storeroom in Džuketau.

Süke spread the coin on the felt between the four of them and started dividing it into shares.

"The amber’s yours," Yasa said, watching Süke add the pieces from the office to his own pile.

Süke kept counting. "I know it’s mine, I’m adding it to my share."

Yasa gave a short nod. "I’m not arguing with you about it."

"Then stop pointing at it like you are."

Süke finished the count and looked at the four piles. The coin from the workshop made each of them respectable, and combined with the coat-pocket purse from the storage building, the day’s total was better than the office had promised.

Köge, a rider in the arban who said less than any of them and usually meant it when he did, looked at the cloth.

"Split it now."

He said. "One piece gets a better price, but you’ve got to carry it together and sell it together. Split it and each man sells his own share when he finds the right buyer."

"My hand’s not carrying anything," Arsu said.

Yasa glanced at the saddle beside him. "You’ve got a saddle, tie it on."

Süke cut the Rus linen into four sections with his knife and handed them around. He took one of the Bulgar wool bolts for himself and added it to his load.

"Bulgar’s going to make today look like nothing," Arsu said, turning his share of the coin over in his good hand.

"You say that every time," Yasa told him.

"Every time I’ve been right, haven’t I. Damn it, a market town gives you this little money. Bulgar’s the center of this whole territory. They’ve got a treasury somewhere in there."

"And a shit ton more riders also fighting for this treasury." Köge snorted.

"There’s enough silver for everyone, it’s a big city." Süke replied.

"But some want more than others," Köge shrugged away. "You know that Süke."

Süke put his share inside his coat and lay back against his saddle. The fire was coals now, just enough heat to keep the chill off.

Arsu was still turning his wrapped hand over and looking at the cloth around it, pressing at the cut through the bandage to feel how it answered.

"Get some sleep," Süke said. "We ride south at dawn."

Orda POV

The White Horde broke camp before the sky had any color in it. The horses came off the lines in the dark, equipment settling into place in the way of a formation that had done this often enough to move without direction.

Thousands of animals and riders organizing before dawn made a collective low sound that you felt through the ground before you heard it through the air, individual hoof strikes and voices running together into the general presence of a large body starting to move.

Orda was at the column’s head when the relay riders confirmed the mingans were dressed and in order. A second relay came from the rear about the supply horses, loaded with the goods taken from Džuketau, were not balanced yet. The rear riders were still sorting the pack strings.

"Close the distance when you’re ready," Orda said. "Don’t slow down the front for it."

The front moved. The combat horses went south at the march pace and the supply detachment would follow and close the distance before the first halt. Loaded animals always were slower to organize, the rear trailing longer than the rest. The instruction was given and the correction would work itself out by midmorning.

When the sky found its first gray, Orda looked back. The fire in Džuketau had been flickering all night and the fuel was mostly spent. Thin pale smoke rose from the building footprints where the timber had collapsed into coals. A town burned hard by midnight is an ember field by dawn.

He watched what was left of it the way he watched any piece of ground, simply as what had been there, what was there now, what the difference told him about the result. The Kama river was clear. The northern operation had succeed what it was meant to succeed. He turned back to the south road.

The tumen moved through the open spring steppe, the sky above it pale and enormous. Bulgar was ahead, and when the White Horde arrived from the north the last open side of the encirclement would close.