Ivan shouted into the wind, “If any man remains alive here, let him answer! Who slew this great army?” One soldier, near to him, coughed, blowing bubbles of blood from the corners of his mouth. Ivan Nikolayevich rushed to him, gave him water from his own flask. But the water just ran over his face, wetting it darkly, like silk. The soldier drew a ragged breath, and threads popped free in the corners of his lips. Ivan recoiled. “All these dead belong to Marya Morevna, the queen from beyond the sea.”
