“Now!” screamed Konstantin, stamping his foot. “Lest her devils come for us all!” His glance went with horror from Morozko at Vasya’s shoulder, to the Bear at his own side, to the house-chyerti gathered in the yard, watching—

Not watching the drama in the dooryard. Watching the gate. Despite the rain, Vasya caught a whiff of rot. A little curl of triumph was playing about the Bear’s lips. There was no time. She must get Olya away…

A new voice fell into the tense silence. “Holy Father, what is this?”

Dmitrii Ivanovich strode into the dooryard. Attendants scurried, disregarded, at his back; his long yellow hair was dark with water, curling up under his cap. The guards parted to let the Grand Prince through. He halted in the center of the ring, looked directly at Vasya. In his face was wonder. But not, Vasya noted, surprise. She met Dmitrii’s eyes with sudden hope.

“See?” snapped Konstantin, not slacking his grip on Olga. He had regained some control of his voice; the word snapped out like a fist. “There is the witch that set fire to Moscow. She was, we thought, justly punished. But through black magic, here she stands.” This time the guards growled agreement. A dozen blades were pointed at Vasya’s breast.

“Hold them a few moments longer,” said the Bear to Konstantin. “And we will have victory.”

A spasm of rage crossed Konstantin’s face.

“Vasya, tell Dmitrii you must pull back,” said Morozko. “There is no time.”

“Dmitrii Ivanovich, we must get into the palace,” said Vasya. “Now.”

“A witch indeed,” said Dmitrii coldly to Vasya. “Back to the fire you will go, I will stake my reign on it. We do not suffer witches to live. Holy Father,” he said to Konstantin. “Please. Both these women will face the harshest justice. But it must be justice before all the people, not in the mud of the dooryard.”

Konstantin hesitated.

The Bear snarled suddenly. “Lies; he is lying. He knows. The monk told him.”

The gate shook. Screams sounded from the city. Thunder flashed in the streaming heavens. “Back!” snapped Morozko suddenly. This time the men heard him. Heads turned uneasily, wondering who had spoken. There was horror in his face. “Back now behind walls or you’ll all be dead by moonrise.”

There was a smell riding the wind that lifted every hair on her body. More screams came from the city. In a flash of lightning, the dvorovoi could be seen now with both hands against the shaking gate. “Batyushka, I beg you,” she said to Konstantin, and threw herself in supplication in the mud at his feet.

The priest’s eyes followed her down, just for a moment, but it was enough. Dmitrii leaped for Olga, dragged her away from the priest just as the gate flew open. Konstantin’s knife caught in Olga’s veil, tore it away from her chin on one side, but Olga was unwounded, and Vasya was on her feet once more and scrambling back.