“The question is, are you REALLY thinking of leading the Mongols against your Tukholians?”
“Yes, I really am, if only it will be possible . . .”
“What do you mean, ‘if only it will be possible’? Does it mean only if the path is unguarded?”
“No, I guarantee that the path will not be guarded and that we’ll pass through it in broad daylight unobserved, if only there will be no other obstacle.”
“What other obstacle could there be?”
“I . . . don’t know. . . .”
“In that case, there’s no sense in standing here arguing about it. Let’s go to Burunda!”
“Go alone, Boyarin and repeat to him what I’ve just told you. You need make no mention about a possible hindrance because I reiterate, neither the Tukholians nor any other armed people will hinder us and no other obstacle will frighten those daredevils.”
“Very well!” Tuhar Wolf replied.
“And ask him to order my chains removed, otherwise it will be impossible for me to do anything.”
“That’s to be understood,” said the boyar and went out, wondering on the way what this paradox meant.
What fearfully painful moments Maxim underwent in the interim, while the boyar was out informing Burunda concerning his design. With his head in his hands, he sat there in dreadful uncertainty, straining to catch with his ears the faintest swishing sounds, as if awaiting the coming of someone dearest to his heart. He shuddered and quivered as if a palsy had seized him, his teeth chattered as if he were bitten by the frost. But the moments stalked by quietly, peacefully, interminably each of them tearing into his heart like a bear’s sharp claws. What if it didn’t turn out as Peace-Renown had told him it would and the boyar began to press him to fulfill his promise. Well, it stands to reason that death would not pass
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