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 Observing this, Zakhar said, “Honorable brothers, do you want to hold a council to consider Burunda’s proposal seriously or are you unequivocally agreed in favor of accepting his proposal at once as it stands?”

“Let’s deliberate upon it first!” the elders replied. Then Zakhar asked Tuhar Wolf to withdraw for a few minutes.

Imperiously, the boyar retreated in the company of his daughter.

“Zakhar,” said one of the townsmen, “this is definitely a question of life or death for your son. Wouldn’t it be better for us to forego an uncertain battle and save the boy?”

“You’re wrong, this is not a question of my boy’s life at all,” remonstrated Zakhar Berkut. “If it were really a matter concerning my boy, I would say to you, ‘I have no son, my son died in battle.’ But this is a question of loyalty to our neighbors, those living on the mountain crest and on the other side, who are depending upon our defence and who, unprepared, would all have to perish by the hands of the Mongolians. That is why I am telling you, don’t consider my son, but proceed as if he were already buried!”

“Nonetheless, Zakhar, the outcome of a war with a preponderate Mongolian force is problematical.”

“Well then, every last one of us will die in the battle. After that, over our corpses, the Mongols can go wherever they please. But to negotiate an agreement with them now on such unequal terms as the exchange of the life of one youth for the death and destruction of our neighbors would be shameful, treason. But who can predict in advance whether the outcome of the war with the Mongols is indefinite? Our position has every advantage, the Mongolians are locked in a rocky basin. With comparatively small losses to ourselves we can go on resisting their most determined attacks. But I doubt we will need to lose even that. This very night we will unleash our