Sarwat Chadda - Dark Goddess

“There are only two people who use that term, Assassins and Templars,” said Koshchey. “Which are you, child?”

“My name is Billi SanGreal.”

Koshchey paused. He drew his beard into a point as he pondered. “Daughter of Arthur SanGreal?” He bowed. “We are honored.”

Billi began to laugh, but stifled it when she realized he was sincere. The other men didn’t follow suit, but she could feel their eyes on her.

Lance came charging down the slope, Gwaine and Elaine behind. Two of Koshchey’s men raised their guns, but Koshchey waved them through. He waited until all four were gathered together.

“Which of you is the Templar Master, Arthur?”

Gwaine shook his head. “The Master isn’t here. He sent us. My name is Gwaine, this is Lance, and her”-he jerked his thumb at the old woman puffing for breath beside him-“her name is Elaine.” He looked around the group, taking in the weapons, the men, the attitude. “You are the Bogatyrs.” It wasn’t a question, more a confirmation. He turned his attention to Koshchey. “Am I addressing Tsar Alexei Viktorovich Romanov?”

Ivan flinched, and there was a brief flash of pain as his mouth hardened into a thin line. The big man shook his head sadly. “I am Koshchey.”

Lance stepped forward. “I have heard of Koshchey the Undying.” He stood between Koshchey and the other Templars. The move was subtle but clear. Whatever Lance knew wasn’t all good.

Koshchey jutted out his chest proudly. “That is I. The Undying. The Afghans tried. The Chechens. So did the Bosnians. All tried and failed. This is Tsarevich Ivan Alexeivich Romanov.” He slapped Ivan on the back so hard he stumbled forward.

Ivan straightened his coat and gave a stiff nod. “At your service.” Gwaine turned his attention to Ivan. “And where is your father, Tsarevich Ivan?”

Ivan lifted his head, just enough for Billi to see the fury in his storm-gray eyes. “My father is dead.” With that he left abruptly to join one of the other Bogatyrs. Billi recognized him as the driver of Ivan’s Hummer. She’d been right: the older man had bodyguard written all over him. He spoke with Ivan quietly, his hands resting comfortably on the Heckler &Koch submachine gun strapped across his chest.

Tsar Alexei is dead. And now it seemed Koshchey was the new man in charge.

“What brings the Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Jesus Christ and the Temple of Solomon to Moscow?” asked Koshchey, swiftly breaking the silence that had followed Ivan’s pronouncement.

One of the Bogatyrs opened up a small silver bottle and poured its oily contents over the ghul . Puddles of blue flame erupted wherever the oil touched. In seconds the small clearing filled with sharp, sickly-sweet-smelling smoke.

“We’re hunting the Polenitsy,” said Gwaine. “We could do with your help, Koshchey.”

Koshchey thrust out his hand, completely covering Gwaine’s in his massive palm. “You have it, Sir Gwaine.”

Well, that was easy. If Billi had been of a paranoid nature, she would have thought it was too easy.

Koshchey summoned one of his men. “You will be my guests. I will have Nikolai collect your belongings. Where did you say you were staying?”

“We didn’t,” replied Lance, a mite aggressively. Koshchey stopped.

“You’re a long way from home, Templars, and Moscow is not London,” he said. “It is a bad place to be without friends.” The big Russian, his hand still gripping Gwaine’s, frowned. “We know much of the Polenitsy; who would know more? We Bogatyrs have fought them for centuries. Come, friend Gwaine. Let us help you.” He winked. “The Cold War is over, da ?”

“It makes sense,” Elaine whispered, barely moving her lips. “And we’re running out of time.” What did Lance know that made him so wary of Koshchey? Gwaine nodded, ignoring Lance’s glare. The Templars fell in together a few paces behind the Bogatyrs.

“Let’s just keep our mouths shut, and leave the talking to me,” said Gwaine. “And that means you, Lance.”

Lance peered at the back of the big Bogatyr. If looks could kill, then Koshchey would have been a corpse.

“What is it?” asked Billi. “What d’you know about him?”

“Ex-Spetsnaz colonel. Did some work for the KGB. Last thing I heard was that he’d joined the Russian mafia. Nothing about the Bogatyrs.” Lance’s voice sank into a whisper. “He is very dangerous.”

“Sounds like just the man we need,” replied Gwaine.

“Nothing about Vasilisa being an avatar, understand?” ordered Lance. Gwaine bristled-he didn’t like his authority questioned-but relented.

“Nothing about avatars.”

They plodded silently down the slope until they approached a line of cars. Ivan headed to his Hummer, doing his best to ignore them. He unholstered his pistol and put it on the dashboard. But just before he shut the door he looked back at Billi. He’d cleaned the worst of the blood off his face, but a single dark line smeared his cheek, underlining his startlingly pale eyes.

Beautiful and dangerous. Billi knew all about that sort of boy.

She needed to watch out for Ivan Alexeivich Romanov.

BILLI AND GWAINE RODE IN THE BACKSEAT OF the limousine with Koshchey, who sat opposite, silently watching her. Lance and Elaine were in the car behind.

She gazed out at Moscow as they sped along the wide lanes that ringed the city. Despite the cold, people were out. Wrapped in furs and fueled with vodka, they made their way across slush-swamped pavements to cafés, bars, and restaurants, which seem to glow with a magical, golden light. All around her shone bright skyscrapers, huge hotels, and vast apartment blocks, relics of the city’s Soviet past. Power cables crisscrossed the roads like the broken webs of giant spiders, and chunky trams rattled by on the old cobbled pathways that still ran through the city’s older districts.

“You have come a long way to hunt, Sir Gwaine,” said Koshchey. “While the Polenitsy are the enemy of the Bogatyrs, that doesn’t mean I’ll send my men to battle without a good reason.”

“The Polenitsy have taken someone from us. We wish to recover her,” replied Gwaine.

Koshchey smiled. “A Spring Child, is she? Who else would the werewolves be after?”

Gwaine’s eyelid twitched, then he nodded. “Yes. Her name is Vasilisa Bulgakov.” Despite Gwaine’s initial reaction, Billi could hear the caution in his answers. He wasn’t going to tell Koshchey any more than was absolutely necessary-certainly nothing about her being an avatar. Lance had put all of them on guard.

Koshchey nodded. “We cannot allow the werewolves to murder innocent children. I will put all my men on it.” He looked out the window. “If she is here, I will find her.”

“I thank you.”

“What’s Ivan’s story?” asked Billi. Not that she was interested in any way. But if they were going to work together, it would be useful to know a little more about him. That’s all.

Koshchey sighed. The leather of the seat creaked as he leaned into it. “It is sad. His father, the great Alexei, was killed by the Polenitsy six months ago. So you see, your enemies are ours.”

“Did you find the ones that did it?”

“Alas, no. We suspect it was their leader, Olga Khanova. She is a dangerous one.”

Olga. The dates matched up. They must have come to Britain via Moscow. Did that mean they’d returned by the same route? Could they be here right now?

“We are in a rush to find our kidnapped friend,” added Gwaine. “The Polenitsy will sacrifice her on the full moon, three days from tonight.”

“I will put all my men on it,” repeated Koshchey.

They crossed a bridge and came to an immense structure that dominated a whole block on the river. The building comprised three towers, the highest one bearing a shining red star on its spire. No light shone from any of the windows, and as they approached, Billi saw that the entire block was protected by a tall wire-mesh fence. For a building so extravagant, it bore an ominous ambience.