THE MESSENGER HAD RETURNED, and the Tatars had accepted Dmitrii’s challenge. They had also brought the name of Mamai’s champion. Sasha and Dmitrii heard it with the same cold thrill of rage.

“I have dozens of men who would take your place,” said Dmitrii. “But—”

“Not with this champion,” said Sasha. “If he is not to be yours, then he is mine, brother.”

Dmitrii did not disagree. They stood together in his tent, while attendants ran in and out. All about them was the neighing and the ringing of steel and the shouts of the waking army. The Grand Prince offered his cousin bread, and Sasha forced a little of it down.

“Besides,” Sasha added, keeping the anger from his voice. “Another man would take the glory for his own city: for Tver or Vladimir or Suzdal. It must be for Rus’ and for God, brother, for on this field we are one people.”

“One people,” said Dmitrii thoughtfully. “Did your sister return? With her—followers?”

“Yes,” said Sasha, and gave his cousin a dark look. “She is tempered like steel now and so very young, and I blame you for pulling her into this.”

Dmitrii did not look repentant. “She knows the stakes as well as I.”

Sasha said, “She says let men beware of the river. And also to trust that the trees will conceal them, and to fear neither storm nor fire.”

“I can’t decide if that is welcome or ominous,” said Dmitrii.

“Perhaps both,” said Sasha. “Nothing about my sister is simple. Brother, if I—”

Dmitrii shook his head sharply. “Do not say it. But yes—she will be as a sister to me too; she need fear nothing from my hand.”

Sasha bowed his head and said not a word.

“Come then,” said Dmitrii. “I will arm you.”

Mail shirt and cuirass, a shield, a leaf-shaped spear, red at the haft. Good boots, cuisses for his thighs. A pointed helm. It was soon done. Sasha’s fingertips felt cold. “Where is your armor?” he asked Dmitrii. The Grand Prince was dressed as a minor boyar, one of hundreds.

Dmitrii looked cheerful, like a boy caught in mischief. His attendants, the ones Sasha could see, looked simultaneously anxious and exasperated. “I had one of my boyars change places with me,” he said. “Do you think I want to sit on a hill clad in scarlet? No. I will fight properly, and I will not give the Tatar bowmen a better target than I can help.”

“Your cause is defeated if you are slain,” said Sasha.

“My cause is defeated if I am not the leader of this host,” said Dmitrii. “For Rus’ will fracture, if I am not lord. They will be as leaves in defeat, scattering in a strong wind, or they will be overproud in victory, each trying to claim a greater share than the others. No, I will play for the great prize. What else is there?”

“What indeed?” said Sasha. “I have served you as well as God, cousin,” he said. “And been proud to do it. For all I’ve done—or not done—forgive me.”