To the Rescue: aka a night to remember (for all the wrong reasons)
Summary: In which Ivan has yet another bad day mounts a rescue and is surrounded by idiots.
Ivan's having a bad day. Or, more accurately, another bad day in what's turning out to be a truly atrocious year. These days have become only too familiar for Ivan in the months since his unplanned – and very much resented - stint as a postman back in Kribirsk, and this bad day, like all the others, is because of The Girl. The one who leaves chaos in her wake. The one who is guaranteed to always be at the centre of any trouble. The Girl who is disruption theory personified.
The news arrives – as bad news usually does – in the middle of his night off.
It's rare for both him and Fedyor to be off duty at the same time, and with the General and the Sun Summoner off enjoying the hospitality if the Imperial Palace for the night, they'd planned to make the most of it. So far, he and his partner had enjoyed a lovely meal in one of the little cafés so popular in Os Alta, followed by a long romantic walk under the starlight, and then capped off by a luxurious bath together. Now back in their room, things are just starting to get interesting when the mood is thoroughly ruined by the unwelcome and poorly timed entry of a frantic Oprinichki, who had either forgotten – or decided not to bother – knocking on the door before he barged through it.
It's difficult to say afterwards who is more scarred by the incident: Ivan, who according to Fedyor has more issues with public nudity than a nun; or the Oprinichki, after his partner decides the best way of defusing what is already an awkward situation is to make a joke about the guard being there for a threesome.
Needless to say, Ivan is not impressed. Nor is the tomato red Oprinichki, who it turns out had not thoughtlessly charged into their bedroom in order to be propositioned, or because he fancied being the victim of Fedyor's peculiar sense of humour, but because he had a vitally important message to relay to them both.
"It's that girl, again," he mutters to his partner as they hastily pull on the clothes they had only just discarded, "I knew she wouldn't be able to stay out of trouble for one night!"
"Come now," Fedyor tries to cajole him, "we don't know that Alina is the reason for our midnight summons. She might be an entirely innocent party and something else has happened to get Kirigan in a snit."
"Bah," Ivan replies grumpily, "and there will be a squadron of the Tsarina's pugs flying over the palace tomorrow."
Fedyor stops pulling on his boots to frown at his partner, "I think you mean pigs."
Ivan shrugs and stares balefully at the other Heartrender, "pigs, pugs, what different does it make? Either are far more likely than that girl not being in some way to blame." It's definitely her fault. He knows it, can feel it in his bones: and not even Fedyor's well-reasoned and logically sound arguments would convince him otherwise.
"Well," Fedyor comments, as they leave their room to trot through the silence corridors of the Little Palace. "Quite a bit, I'd think. For a start, you'd need a much bigger hat if it was pigs."
Ivan's night continues to deteriorate at a truly spectacular rate, for upon arriving at the General's rooms he finds the man in question in the middle of destroying the precious new filing system Ivan has only just perfected, and the Heartrender's sanity along with it. Things only continue to spiral from there as it turns out that the Girl is indeed responsible for their ruined evening: she's been kidnapped from the social event of the year - which is an accomplishment in and of itself given the level of security and that there was no shortage of bigwigs or politically useful people there for the kidnappers to choose from.
As to who had made off with their Saint, the General doesn't know. Nor does he know when the kidnapping took place, or indeed where these marauders are intending to take her, or what they wanted the Sun Summoner for. All in all, it's a logistics officer's nightmare – Ravka is a big country, filled with forests, hills and caves in which canny travellers can hide. Searching for The Girl in these conditions would be like trying to find a needle in a haystack, only it's probably not a needle they were looking for and it's likely not in a bloody haystack.
It's enough to give a man a migraine, and Ivan's really starting to wish he and Fedyor had taken Genya's suggestion of staying in a hotel tonight; then this headache would be someone else's problem.
The following conversation with Kirigan is mostly a bewildering blur to Ivan: he agrees that they need to go after the kidnappers and rescue Alina - they can't very well let these people, whoever they are, get away with kidnapping a Grisha, let alone the Sun summoner. It would set a bad precedent, to start with; not to mention the havoc the girl might unleash while unsupervised.
No, it's not the principle he disagrees with, but the plan - if you can call this hastily cobbled together shambles that's mostly sticking plasters and prayers a plan. Most of all though, he disagrees with the timing.
Setting off alone in the dark on one of the coldest nights of the year is the height of folly, in his humble opinion. His General might be a formidable strategist and an insanely powerful Grisha (with emphasis on the insane), but as far as Ivan knows he doesn't have the gift of night vision, which is what he would need in order to track the kidnapping bastards through the pitch black Ravkan countryside. Given this, what the man hopes to accomplish by rushing off unprepared and lacking in vital supplies, the Heartrender has no idea.
Sentiment truly is the thief of rational thought. Or it is in the General's case, at any rate, he muses sourly.
It would be much more sensible to wait for first light before setting off. This would allow them time to properly plan, organise a suitably large and intimidating rescue party, and acquire the necessary provisions for the trip.
Explaining this common-sense approach to the keyed-up General goes as well as Ivan expects it to: which is to say, not well at all. For every sensible point Ivan makes, Kirigan has an impassioned response. The man is vehemently against any delay, and Ivan is left with the thought that while he can't understand the specific kind of craziness which has seemingly infected his beloved General, he can admire his total commitment to it.
They do have some success, however, in tempering their fearless leader's headlong dash into madness, as Ivan manages to coral the uncooperative General into something less conspicuous - and better suited - to long travel in inclement conditions than the white dress uniform he is currently sporting. Meanwhile, Fedyor, once again demonstrating the innate resourcefulness and the intelligence which drew Ivan to him all those years ago, manages to locate a set of saddle bags and sets about shoving useful items (such as food, toiletries and a towel) into the them with surprising efficiency.
That's as far as they get, though, before Kirigan leaves them in a swirl of sartorial elegance and panache that makes both Heartrenders swoon a little.
All that's left for them to do is to carry out the General's commands. The hastily cobbled together instructions are superficially simple: Ivan is to mobilise a crack team of combat experienced Grisha for a rescue, and sort out the provisioning for their mission; meanwhile, Fedyor is to liaise with the less useless Lantsov, Major Mertzov and General Molkovich about the involvement of the First Army. While Ivan would prefer to keep this in-house, he can – if he squints – see the sense in using the resources (and, hopefully, the budget) of the First Army, and applauds the General's canny strategy.
It quickly becomes clear that, as with anything involving The Girl, things are never that simple or straightforward.
Genya is the first spoke in the wheel. He and Fedyor are in the middle of strategizing with Major Mertzov, General Molkovich and a surprisingly capable Prince Nikolai, when Genya crashes into the room, pale faced and wide eyed.
"What's this about Alina being abducted?" She demands, poking an imperious finger into Ivan's chest, either unaware of the First Army Officers, or dismissing them as irrelevant, in her mission to find out what's happened to her friend.
This is one of those occasions where Ivan wishes he'd engaged brain before mouth, as what comes out only inflames the red-head further. "Where did you hear that?" He grunts, crossing his arms in displeasure at both the interruption and the unwelcome intelligence that the disappearance of the Sun Summoner appears to be public knowledge.
Genya mirrors him, crossing her own arms and levelling an expression at him that would have made a lesser man cower in fear. "The maids in the Imperial Palace," she states as if it should have been obvious. "It's literally all they – and I imagine all the guests – can talk about."
The Prince looks pained, or possibly constipated, at Genya's observation, but it's Major Mertzov who sums up what everyone in the rooms is thinking: "shit!" he exclaims, smacking his forehead with the palm of his gloved hand. "The news will be across Ravka within a few days, and with our enemies within the week. The Sun Summoner being taken from the Imperial Palace, the most secure residence in Ravka, will make us look weak and ripe from the picking."
"Fjerda and Shu Han will see this as the golden opportunity to attack," General Molkovich agrees, looking troubled for the first time since he entered the Little Palace.
"Then we'd better find her, hadn't we, gentlemen," Genya hisses with such understated malevolence that Ivan feels bizarrely proud of the normally subservient Tailor.
On this point, at least, the First and Second Army are in complete agreement: the Sun Summoner needs to be found, and pronto, if they want to avoid their enemies springing a new offensive on them in an attempt to capitalise on Ravka's misfortune and apparent weakness.
How they are going to do this, however, is not something they are on the same page about. The General, unsurprisingly, wants to take complete control of the operation – including of the Second Army, which will only happen over Ivan's dead and rotting body. Major Mertzov, who evidently has more sense than his General, clearly knows this won't happen, and merely looks resigned to the ensuing argument.
It's the Lantsov spawn who surprises Ivan the most. Still dressed in his ballroom finery, the pampered prince strikes a discordant note in the Heartrender's organised world, and Ivan assumes he will side with the power grabbing General, like his rotund father undoubtedly would.
He doesn't.
In a few short sentences, the prince makes it clear that the Second Army will remain under the direction of the Black General – and his absence, his Second-in-Command, Ivan. It's a set down that neither the Grisha present, nor General Molkovich, will forget anytime soon.
The princeling's intervention works though, and the General subsides, settling instead for casting the occasional disparaging look in Ivan and Genya's direction when he thinks no one is looking.
With that sorted, they can finally turn their attention to the elephant in the room: how to find and then rescue the Sun Summoner. In a country as large as Ravka, this is no small ask at the best of times, let alone in the middle of winter, where heavy snow falls are a near daily occurrence, the days are unhelpfully short and the temperature never rises above -2.
To have any hope of catching up with the kidnappers they will need to move swiftly and decisively: two things the First Army is not renowned for.
There is also the question of where to start the search. By now the snow that's been falling steadily for the last two hours will have obscured many of the tracks made by the kidnappers. Without signs to follow how will they know which direction to take.
It's Genya who points out the obvious – while there are many routes the kidnappers could take, there are a much smaller number of destinations they could be heading for. From there the planning is much quicker – their forces will divide into three main groups: one section (lead by Major Mertzov) will head towards the most likely border crossing point with Fjerda; General Molkovich meanwhile would take his troops and head for Caryeva and the mostly likely route to Shu Han territory. This just leaves Kribirsk for Ivan and the prettier princeling.
With that decided, Molkovich and Mertzov finally set off for the Imperial Barracks to start their own preparations, leaving Ivan, Fedyor, Genya and the less useless Lantsov to brainstorm their next steps.
They're just solidifying their plans, when to add the cherry on the top of the shit sundae this day has become, the Apparat arrives in a flurry of robes, ranting about Sankta Alina and some super-secret club called the Soldat Sol, which somehow means it's his sacred duty to join them on their "quest".
The man is clearly a raving lunatic. But to Ivan's dismay, it soon becomes clear that he's a committed lunatic.
Totally committed – and probably committable, come to that. The man is completely barmy. Barking mad. Off his nut. Fallen out of the crazy tree. There's no other explanation for the garbled nonsense coming out of his mouth about children of the gods, Merzost appointed duties and protecting the Queen of Day and the King of Night.
Botkin, ever a master of making an entrance chooses this moment to make his; neatly cutting of Ivan's verbal evisceration of the hapless priest just as he's getting into his flow and starting to enjoy himself.
Five minutes later, and it's been agreed by everyone bar him that Botkin and the Apparat will both be joining the rescue party. It's yet another bewildering turn of events and the only thing that helps him keep his temper is Genya pressing a cup of his special blend into his trembling hands.
The tea is a prescient precaution on the Tailor's part, as shortly after he's taken his first fortifying sip the She-Demon of the Little Palace appears, kitted out for travel and wielding not one but two lethal looking walking sticks.
"No, just no!" He growls, eyeing the old lady with blatant aggravation. "You're not coming. I don't care if you're the high priestess of the crazies – you're too old, you'll slow us down."
Baghra, annoyingly unreadable as usual, just blinks at him; then, quick as flash one of her walking sticks lashes out and his shin feels the brunt of her ire. "Don't you take that tone with me, boy!" she growls back, her black eyes full of restrained malice and swirling shadows. "I'm not senile, nor am I an invalid. You should worry about keeping up with me." She twirls both sticks, noting with pleasure how everyone takes several cautious steps back from her.
Even Lantsov - who has never met her before - is showing the old woman the caution and deference normally shown to enraged wild animals.
Ivan's scowl ratchets up the scale to 'truly intimidating' as he wrestles with his omni-present desire to strangle his obstreperous former teacher. "I am the Second in Command of the Second Army," he announces through gritted teeth. "General Kirigan tasked me with leading this mission, and as its leader I am telling you that you will stay here. At the Little Palace," he quickly adds, just to make sure the wily old woman has no way to slip around his command by following after them. Little though he likes Baghra, he quakes at the thought of being somehow complicit or responsible for her death should she try to sneak out on her own into the harsh Ravkan winter.
Unfortunately, neither the forbidding expression on the Heartrender's face, nor his icy words, appear to have any impact whatsoever on this latest intruder.
Instead of being intimidated into respecting his authority, the old bat grins, sharp and wicked. "Only a moron with cabbage for brains would think I'm just going to wait here while my idiot boy and my future-daughter-in-law get themselves into trouble," she retorts, stepping forward, her smirk widening as her audience, except for Ivan who's trapped in her seething gaze, skuttles away. "I've invested far too much time and energy over the last fifteen years to let it all be ruined by pox ridden kidnappers." She takes another step forward until she is nearly head to chest with the much taller Heartrender.
Ivan's first inclination at being confronted by Baghra in full steam is to stutter, bow and back off to a safe distance. He's fought in more battles than he can remember, seen death close enough to steal its scythe, faced off against unimaginable odds and survived, but it's this little old lady that makes his knees tremble.
He's Second in Command of the Second Army, gods damn-it, he should not be scared (terrified) of old ladies, no matter how belligerent or violent they are.
He steels his shaken nerves, looks the she-demon in the eye, and shakes his head. "No."
Baghra's black eyes darken further, her brows pulling together in displeasure. "Are you a vegetable brained idiot?" she glares at him. "Because morons with broccoli for brains have no place organising a stationary cupboard, let alone a high risk rescue mission."
Ivan glowers back, the desire to put the meddlesome old lady into a Heartsleep almost overwhelming in its intensity. He's starting to see where the Girl gets her more irritating qualities.
Taking his silence for capitulation, Baghra gives him a shark like grin. "Good, then we're agreed: you're not an idiot and I'm joining you. Now that that's sorted, let's get down to business: where are we going, and how are we going to get there."
It's never easy to argue with Baghra, not least because she's a master at never letting anyone have the last word. As she has once again demonstrated.
Ivan – despite what crazy old women might think – is a clever man and a reasonably good strategist. He can see a lost battle when it smacks him in the face. With a grunt, he turns his attention back to the map spread out over the war table, determined to ignore the diminutive menace.
"Right," he says to the group gathered around the map, "where were we?"
This was meant to be an elite task force under his control, yet somehow - and he has no idea how – it's become a command committee made up of Fedyor, Botkin, Genya, the Apparat, and Baghra, of which he's only nominally the head.
The next issue to raise its ugly head is that of practicality. They need to move fast, which means they need horses and to travel light. There are thirty suitable and rested horses available in the stables of the Little Palace at this moment in time. That's just enough for the team he has assembled. The prince has no such advantage. He has a horse, but the men under his command are infantry, who will only slow the Grisha down.
The best plan is for the Second Army team to set off as soon as possible with the aim of hot footing it to Kribirsk while Lantsov follows behind with his men to rendezvous with them at the army camp.
The Prince is visibly reluctant, but he is also a semi-competent military commander and knows when to set aside private desires. With a jerky nod he agrees to the plan.
It's clear to Ivan that the princeling hopes to play the knight to their Sun Summoner's damsel in distress. He snorts. Alina is many things, but a gothic maiden to be rescued isn't one of them. If he knows the girl at all, she's likely already giving her kidnappers hell for taking her.
That the otkazat'sya cares for their missing Sun Summoner is clear even to Ivan. What is not so clear is whether Lantsov fancies himself in love with her. He's seen the pair walking together sometimes in the gardens between the two palaces, but thought it nothing more than coincidence. Now, though, he's starting to wonder whether he should have paid more attention.
In another world, such a match would likely be a good thing for the Grisha. To have one of their own in the Royal family would be a coup, and could be the vehicle for change that their people desperately need. However, this is not that world. In this world, the Sun Summoner is involved with the Black General. The prince's interest can only end in tears; probably his own.
Glancing around the room, Ivan notes the industrious activity with which everyone is involved. On one side, Genya, Fedyor and the Prince are debating something about routes, while on the other Botkin and the Apparat are deep in a whispered conversation that absolutely does not alarm Ivan in any way shape or form. It's Baghra though who captures his attention. Standing away from the others, the old woman is watching the brunet with a curious expression; half intense dislike and half something which might, in someone else, be described as compassion.
If he'd thought planning the operation was bad, actually setting off is worse.
Everyone in the rescue party is on time, which is nothing short of a miracle given the short notice for this mission, but there the good news ends. The supplies are late, the horses not even remotely ready, and already the tension in the group is so thick you could cut it with a knife.
The Grisha are worried. More than that, they're scared. The Sun Summoner is the living representation of hope for many of them. Hope for a better future. Hope for acceptance. Hope for safety and the chance of a life outside the Little Palace. Without her, all their hopes and dreams are lost.
The knowledge sits heavily on his shoulders, the pressure weighing on him with every breath he takes. This is on him: the success or failure of this mission rests with him. One mistake, one miscalculation, and they could lose all they have gained with Sun Summoner's discovery.
The journey to Kribirsk is hard, even for seasoned officers. With the fresh snow fall, there's no chance of trying to follow the kidnappers, so they revert to plan B and head for the Vy in the hope that it will be quicker and offer a more direct route. In this the weather is against them. The ground is frozen solid with icy sheets making it perilous to travel at speed. Just to add to their joy, the snow is so deep in places that they need to dig their way through using shovels, picks and Inferni fire.
It's exhausting and demoralising. More than that though is the stress that mounts every hour they are delayed. To make matters even worse, they still have no idea whether they are heading in the right direction. For all they know, the kidnappers could have gone north, or east. They might not even be planning to leave Ravka. The gods know that there are enough crazies already within Ravka who either worship the Sun Summoner as a god, or else think she is evil incarnate and must be destroyed.
What they need is a sign.
It's pure luck that they find the stupid tracker while he's blundering about the edge of the forest, and Ivan's day is not improved to discover that the reason the idiot otkazat'sya is alone is because his normally clever boss has taken indefinite leave of senses and allowed himself to be captured.
How this helps the rescue party is beyond Ivan. Even Fedyor – who is an eternal optimist and can normally spin any situation to find romance – is at a loss on this one.
"Was this part of the General's plan?" his partner can't help but ask, looking as bewildered as Ivan feels.
The Tracker pulls a face and shrugs in a decidedly unhelpful way. "Dunno," he says, scratching his ear. "He'd sent me to find you by that point, and I was far enough away that it was kinda hard to see what happened but it kinda looked like he just sort of walked into an ambush." The boy shrugs again, "Shame, really, Alina was doing really well, as well. Most of the soldiers were looking really scared."
Wonderful. Just… wonderful, Ivan thinks sourly. Fricking fantastic. This is literally all they need. They'd set out on a mission to save the Sun Summoner, not add to Zlatan's collection of collectable Grisha. The only good news is that they now know the identity of the kidnappers and have a reasonable idea of where they are going.
He growls. The only reason he and Fedyor had allowed the General to leave that night was on the understanding that he was to be clever, careful and not get caught. The man was meant to be locating and then observing the Sun Summoner so he could stop her getting herself into even more hot water – he wasn't bloody well meant to jump in and join her. Honestly!
There's nothing they can do after such news but continue as fast as they can onto Kribirsk. In this part of the forest there is no chance they will be able to catch up with Zlatan's party before they reach wherever it is they have moored their skiff. The only option left it to get to the one place where they will be able to requisition their own transport, in the hope – probably a forlorn one – that they will be able to catch up with them before they enter the Fold.
Their arrival in Kribirsk just after day break is met with little fanfare and surprisingly little interest from either the First or Second Army officers stationed there. They're more interested in the Fold, which seems to be acting oddly.
It's a familiar strangeness to Ivan, who remembers the last time is behaved unusually only too vividly. Bloody, buggering, fuck! They're too late, he realises, as the horror of the situation sinks in. There is only one thing he knows that affects the Fold in this way – the Black General – which means the traitor Zlatan has made it to the Fold. The only bright side is that for the Fold to be acting this way then the General must still be alive.
Alive they can work with. Alive means there is there is still the possibility of rescue. Alive means there is still hope.
What is also clear to Ivan though, is that the General's survival hangs on the edge of a precipice. The strange behaviour of the Unsea will not have escaped Zlatan, nor anyone else aboard who is used to the Fold, and it won't take much for them to realise the cause of it is Kirigan. That he is still alive at all is likely because of The Girl. Trouble with a capital T she may be, but he knows how much she loves their General, and Zlatan is most likely using that as a way to corral her into providing protection.
Protection which might be keeping them safe but is unlikely to stop crew from panicking. And panic, in Ivan's experience, usually has dire consequences. They must catch up to them before they reach Novokribirsk, there is no other option, and they must hurry, because the odds are worsening with every second they stand around like lemmings staring at the bloody Fold.
It takes a frustrating half an hour before he can locate the First Army Officer allegedly in charge of the camp so that he can commandeer a skiff. His mission isn't helped by the fact that virtually all the senior ranking officers are back at the Imperial Palace having decided to bugger off to enjoy the winter ball.
Kribirsk, as the largest army encampment and staging point for the war, usually boasts at least one First Army General, Six Commanders (one for each of the divisions stationed in the camp), and more Colonels than you could shake a stick at. Normally, Ivan can't move in Kribirsk for falling over smelly minor otkazat'sya aristocrats playing at being soldiers and now when he actually needs one, can he find them? No, he bloody well can't.
As if the stress of their missing saint and the back-breaking march they've endured in order to get to Kribirsk isn't bad enough, now he has to deal with a ridiculous game of find the otkazat'sya as well.
Finally, the Tracker comes through in a rare demonstration of initiative and points him in the direction of the Major who has been, notionally at least, left in charge of Kribirsk during the winter festival season. Major Danel Ptotemkin is a large man with more moustache than sense and an over-inflated ego. Ivan dislikes him on sight, and his opinion is not improved by their subsequent conversation.
What Ivan needs is a skiff, more time than he has, and to not be stuck in an argument with a pugnacious otkazat'sya with a grudge against Grisha. He gets precisely none of these.
It quickly becomes clear that despite Ivan technically outranking him, the Major has no intention of relinquishing one of the Skiffs, no matter the reason. Even Ivan telling him that the Sun Summoner has been kidnapped is brushed off as nothing more than "grisha tricks".
It's the sound that stops the argument mid flow. It starts as a low, threatening rumble, like distant thunder. It's then that Ivan feels it; anger and grief so raw and terrible that it tears at him. The emotions washing over him are at once foreign and yet achingly familiar. He knows this anger, knows this grief. Underneath it though is something new – a protective fury and thirst for vengeance that sends chills racing down his spine. The Fold is beyond angry. Beyond anything Ivan has ever felt before. It's the fury of a mother defending her child, the fury of the wronged, the fury of Nemesis herself.
Ozone crackles through the air, sharp and static against his skin, and he knows with gut-wrenching certainty that they've failed.
Gold shoots through the murky depths of the Fold like lightning and he can't help the hope that rushes through him that maybe, just maybe, some good will come from this clusterfuck and the Fold will be destroyed.
Then the screams start. Blood curdling echoes of the damned and dying, their cries reflected and amplified by the unnatural nature of the Fold.
Ivan has heard of this phenomenon before, but he's never witnessed it in person, never heard the spine chilling sounds of what can only be a volcra attack while standing at the dry dock.
Before they can do more than just stand there, trapped in mute horror, it stops and only ominous silence is left.
All around him life is frozen, even the habitually noisy gulls have fallen quiet, and it feels like the universe is holding its breath, although for what Ivan has no idea.
Too late.
They are too late.
Desolation the likes of which he has never felt before rushes through him. He has failed his beloved General, who in all probability is now dead. He has failed in the mission entrusted to him. He has failed his people by not protecting the Sun Summoner, and he has failed Alina, the girl who turned his life upside down.
The only benefit is that Zlatan is likely also dead; but it's a hollow consolation and seems a poor trade when set against what they have lost: their leader and their hope.
The dark thoughts continue to swirl as grief clouds his mind. How will they manage now without Kirigan and his careful protection. Who will lead the Second Army and make sure Grisha continue to be safe. It seems the height of foolishness now, but there isn't a contingency for this – for the General's death. A man as careful as Kirigan has contingencies for everything, and yet there isn't one for this; He should have insisted on it, should have pushed the General more, but he 'd chosen to leave him be in the belief that as an immortal they would never be without him, even if it was him under a different guise or with a new identity. In the cold light of today though such a belief seems idiotic, moronic even. Immortality doesn't mean you can't be killed, that had been his assumption. An assumption that is going to be destruct tested today.
The loss is greater than just their death of their leader though. How will they manage without the Sun Summoner and the hope she represented of a united Ravka. The Fold looms large before his wide, startled eyes, the towering fog swirling angrily against the invisible walls that keep it contained.
Panic crowds in at him, clawing up his throat and stealing his breath. Who will be their leader now?
For all that Ivan knows he is an excellent officer and an exceptional Second-in-Command he is also very well aware that he is not a leader. He lacks the charisma, the decisive decision making and the vision that his General so excelled in. To add to his faults, he has no patience for stupidity, doesn't like people, and would sooner cut out the Tsar's tongue than have a conversation with the buffoon.
A hand on his shoulder startles him for a second before he recognises the steady touch as his partner's. The overwhelming panic recedes under Fedyor's careful ministrations, his heart rate slowing until it is once again normal. "Deep breaths, love," Fedyor prompts him, and Ivan realises he hasn't exhaled for longer than is advisable. He breathes in, the ozone hanging in the air stinging his nose. He takes another, and then another.
Clarity returns. First things first, they need to find the skiff and bring it back. There might yet be survivors, although it seems unlikely. Either way, he will not leave his General and his girl to be eaten by volcra. Their bodies, at least, much be reclaimed and given decent burial. There is also the question of Zlatan, and of ensuring that he can cause no more mischief.
Whispers break out around him as the crowd starts to recover from the shock, the murmurs turning heated and unsettled as rumours start making the rounds about the Sun Summoner and General Zlatan. It angers him, the casual way both First and Second Army officers – he is seriously displeased to note – are gossiping, each inaccurate theory tossed about like fact incensing him further.
It reaches boiling point when he hears one of the otkazat'sya call her the Lantsov's whore.
Before he can intervene though, the Fold changes again; its thick, smoke like walls writhing and, Ivan notices with rapidly mounting alarm, pulsing in and out as if it's trying to expand.
The silence that descends is eerie, unnatural, as all those present hold their collective breath, terrified. It is the stillness that follows a tsunami. The nothingness that follows death and destruction. A numbness born from terror. A pause that promises a reckoning.
The Fold lets out an enormous sound, like a belch, and a severely damaged skiff bursts from its murky depths as if shoved by an invisible hand.
Through the binoculars Fedyor has appropriated from somewhere, Ivan frantically scans the skiff. The damage is immense: the mast is cracked and close to breaking, what's left of the shredded sails are on fire, and all along the rails and wooden sides large chunks are missing. It's a miracle the thing is moving at all, but moving it still is – and then he spots it, a lone figure standing on the deck in the midst of the ruin and fire, glowing like the sun, a dark blob in her arms.