"Where do I know you from?" Rurik's gaze bore into him. Now that he was closer, Igor could see that Rurik was far from handsome, nor as young as Igor had first thought. A horrific scar, likely from a burn, marred Rurik’s face, and his breath was worse than the drunks in the taverns of Chernoval. Igor remained silent, too fearful and uncertain of what to say.

  "Speak up, boy. I've seen you somewhere before, but I can't place it. You look familiar."

  "Leave him alone, Rurik," Vasily interjected, his face swollen where he had been struck. "He’s not one of us. We just found him."

  "Not one of yours? And what about this mark?" Rurik grabbed Igor’s hand, roughly rolling up his sleeve and tearing the fabric. "Isn’t this your mark? And it’s fresh." He pressed down hard on the burn, making Igor grit his teeth in pain. "Don’t think I don’t see, you wretches. You’ve taken him in, so he’s one of yours now. That’s all I need to know."

  Vasily slowly got to his feet. In the distance, the shouts from the tents and wooden carts continued, some already ablaze. He limped as he approached Rurik.

  "What do you want from us, Rurik? If you’re here to prove your strength again, just beat me and be done with it."

  "This place isn’t yours anymore. Orders from Lord Zoran. And honestly, you lot annoy me. I was more than happy to clear you out."

  "Then why didn’t you come during the day like men, instead of sneaking in like rats at night? Are you afraid of something?"

  Vasily took another hit, but this time he managed to stay on his feet, clutching his wounded side with a grim smile. One eye was already swollen shut. Stepan and Ivanek stood nearby, held at swordpoint by Rurik’s men.

  "I know you’re the leader here, so I’ll give you a choice," Rurik spoke calmly to Vasily, who was struggling to stay upright. "You can either keep acting like you have more rights than the dogs of the kingdom and take another beating, or we can raze this place to the ground." Rurik paused before continuing. "Or, you can go through the remaining tents"—he glanced around—"what’s left of them, and tell everyone to gather their things and disappear."

  Vasily hung his head. Igor had never seen him like this. Though he hadn't known Vasily long, he couldn't imagine him looking so defeated. Or was this his way of masking his anger?

  "How much time do we have?"

  "Anyone still here after the first rays of the sun will answer to me personally. The tents will be destroyed with everything in them. I’ll personally see to it that every horse of ours tramples and defecates on each one. That’s why we’ll feed them well tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll erase every trace of you, and real people will live here. Not you lot."

  "Sinners," came a voice. Igor turned to see the woman who had read his fortune earlier. Her name was Vida.

  "May you know no peace," she cursed.

  Rurik wasn’t fazed by her. He signaled two of his men, who grabbed her by the arms and dragged her away as she screamed.

  "No!" Vasily shouted, trying to follow her, only to be struck down again.

  "Haven’t you learned your lesson? Honestly, it disgusts me to even say your name," Rurik sneered, returning to his previous task. "So, have you made up your mind? From the looks of it, your people don’t have much time left. The horizon’s starting to brighten. If I see you’re making an effort, I might be lenient and give you some more time. But don’t count on my mercy."

  In the distance, they heard another scream, different from Vida’s. A body thudded to the ground nearby, followed by laughter.

  "Got him on the first try," someone chuckled.

  Another tent caught fire, and two women ran out, crying. Igor moved forward but tripped over something—another body, still moving. He knelt down.

  "Kill me," the man wheezed.

  "I can’t."

  "Kill me, boy."

  Igor raised the knife. The man smiled faintly, but Igor couldn’t do it. He fled, the man’s rasping breaths echoing in his ears. Rurik signaled his riders, and they began to withdraw. Silence fell, broken only by the faint sobbing from somewhere nearby. Igor hurried on, eventually reaching the makeshift stables where the Vandar kept their horses.

  He counted seven horses in total. They were old and scrawny, not that he expected anything better. The Vandar were never known for taking good care of their animals; that was something the people of Chernoval did, and the Vandar liked to keep their distance from them. Five of the horses seemed fine—at least to Igor, who knew little about horses. The sixth was small, unlikely to bear a rider. But the seventh, Igor had to put down. Its leg was bleeding, and the horse kept lifting it, then lowering it again, occasionally whinnying in pain. Igor drew the knife and approached.

  "Pull and slide," his father’s voice echoed in his mind.

  The horse seemed to understand what was happening. It stood still, then snorted and held its ground, its eyes gleaming in the darkness.

  "What’s your name, boy? Or are you a girl?" Naturally, the horse didn’t answer, and Igor was glad. Knowing its name would have made it harder.

  He placed his hand on the horse’s mane, tightening his grip on the knife, then positioned it at the animal’s throat.

  "Pull and slide."

  "Are you going to kill it?" a voice startled him, making him nearly drop the knife. A dark-skinned girl, much younger than him, stood nearby, her fingers interlaced and resting in front of her.

  "Where are your parents? Do you have a mother or father?"

  "Mama is there." The girl pointed. "But I think they killed her."

  She spoke with such calm that it was unsettling. Another scream echoed from outside, but the fires seemed to be dying down.

  "What’s your name?"

  "Mama called me Bozhana."

  She was small but a pretty child, with the distinct Vandar features—round face, large brown eyes, and curly black hair. She couldn’t have been more than ten years old.

  "Will it hurt?"

  Igor had almost forgotten about the horse.

  "N-no. I don’t think so. I’ll be quick."

  "Go ahead." The girl turned away. "But I’m not watching."

  Igor gripped the knife and placed it at the horse’s neck.

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  "Pull and slide."

  He closed his eyes, imagining the act. In his mind, the horse was already falling, his hands covered in blood. But when he opened his eyes, the horse was still alive.

  He opened the makeshift stable, made of stacked straw and two broken doors, and nudged the horse. It limped forward.

  "I won’t decide your fate. Let the gods do that."

  "Maybe you should have killed it. Better to die at the hand of a kind person." The girl was watching him again.

  "I couldn’t. I’m afraid."

  "I was afraid too when Mama killed the chickens and drained their blood. But then I learned how to do it and stopped thinking about it. I just killed them and handed them to her."

  "Do you have anyone else? Besides your mother."

  "No. Do you?"

  Neither did he. It was a strange fate they shared. Igor grabbed the reins of one of the horses and handed them to her.

  "Hold onto this horse and follow me. It’ll keep you safe."

  She nodded and took the reins. Igor gathered the remaining horses, but the injured one kept looking back at them. Igor threw a stone to chase it away, and it hobbled off, stopping a short distance away.

  They first passed a small group of people gathering the last of their belongings. Then, two bodies on the ground disturbed little Bozhana, but they shook Igor more. Yet she walked on as if she had planned this, and the horse followed her. They crossed the open field slowly. There was no sign of Rurik’s men, and when they reached the edge, Vasily met them.

  "Only six?" He wasn’t pleased, Igor could tell.

  "Six. There was another, but… I killed it." He lied. "It was wounded by those men. I killed it to end its suffering."

  "And this child?" Vasily pointed.

  "They killed her mother. I told her to come with me."

  "I’m not looking after other people’s children. Find someone to take her."

  Igor looked around. Bozhana stood beside him. There were just over ten men, all younger than Vasily, and as many women. One of them stepped forward.

  "I’ll take her."

  The woman took Bozhana’s hand, and the girl didn’t resist much.

  "Will you look after her?"

  "Just get us out of here alive. I’ll take care of her outside. My two children are dead."

  "She’s telling the truth, Igor. Her name’s Mara, and both her children died young. We know her."

  Igor glanced at Bozhana. He thought he saw gratitude in her eyes.

  "Do you want to stay with her?"

  The girl nodded.

  "Then it’s settled." Vasily looked up at the moon, judging how much time they had left. Then he raised his voice.

  "Unfortunately, my dear friends, we’ll have to leave this place."

  No one reacted. They already knew.

  "We’ve spent our lives searching for our place under the sun, and just when we thought Chernoval would be good to us, we have to leave."

  Silence again. Vasily continued:

  "Don’t look back at what we’ve lost. Most of us are used to it. For those who aren’t, I promise you, I’ll give my life to change that."

  His speech was good, but Igor doubted anyone was really listening. Most were crying, others looked exhausted, and some were terrified.

  "I promise you, my goal for the rest of my life is to find a place where the Vandar will rule and no longer be chased away. Or, at the very least, where we’ll be respected as equals."

  No one responded, though the speech was stirring. Even Igor shivered. Vasily mounted one of the horses and headed for the edge of the Vandar camp. He waited for everyone to fall in line behind him. Ivanek and Stepan led the way, also on horseback. Mara sat on another horse, with little Bozhana in her lap. The last two horses carried everyone’s belongings. Those without horses walked.

  The darkness helped them slip away unnoticed. Only a few stray dogs barked at them. Stepan drew his sword, swinging it at two of them. The dogs backed off but continued to bark.

  They met no one at the gates. Vasily, Stepan, and Ivanek led the way, followed by the others. Mara’s horse, with Bozhana, trailed behind them. Igor walked among those on foot. Many looked to him as if he were their savior, even though he had only just become one of them. How would his father react if he saw him with this band of Vandar? He would be furious.

  "Where to?" One of the guards, fat and sluggish, stopped them.

  "Out, fool. Can’t you see?" Vasily was visibly annoyed. He might bow his head to Rurik, but to these men, he showed his true self—the Vasily Igor was used to.

  Another guard stood up.

  "Ah, it’s you… Once you leave, there’s no coming back. Rurik must have told you that."

  "We had no choice. And we have no intention of coming back."

  "So, Lord Zoran finally kicked you out. About time. You brought nothing but misery and disease to the kingdom. Wretched tribe."

  The fat guard spat at the horse’s feet.

  "Too bad none of those diseases got you." Vasily passed by them slowly. Stepan and Ivanek followed, with Igor and the others behind.

  The two guards stood aside, spitting at the feet of each passerby until their mouths ran dry. When the high gates of Chernoval closed behind them, the curses of the guards echoed in the night.

  They moved far enough from the fence before Vasily turned to everyone. Someone in their small group was still sobbing. The palace of Chernoval was still visible behind them.

  "Listen to me carefully," Igor knew what he was going to say. "I, Stepan, and Ivanek will ride south to find a better place for you."

  "That’s not what you said inside," came a voice from the crowd.

  They had forgotten about him. But where else could he go? He wanted to return to Chernoval. He would cut off the skin with the tattoo if he had to.

  "I know what I said, and I stand by it. I need to find a home for all the Vandar, and I will. There are many like us across these lands, not just us. My dream is for all of them to come together in one place."

  "And for that, you leave us? Aren’t we supposed to stick together?" another man spoke up. "You’re just as much a liar as that bastard from Chernoval."

  "I’m not leaving you. Go to Ashlen. It’s under Chernoval’s influence, but they’ll accept you."

  "Why don’t you come with us?"

  "Because if I go there, they’ll kill me. Same with Stepan and Ivanek. But you, they don’t know. Rurik hates us, not you."

  "So we’re being kicked out because of you."

  "Sooner or later, it would have happened."

  "And if they don’t accept us in Ashlen?"

  Vasily turned to Stepan, who shrugged. The moon was fading, and the sky was beginning to lighten.

  "If they don’t, head south to Volkar. I’ve heard King Severin is a good king."

  "You’ve heard? Sounds to me like you’re abandoning us, Vasily." Igor could hardly keep track of who was speaking in the crowd of Vandar. They all looked the same—dark, dirty, and ragged.

  "I’ve never done that. But you have no other choice. Either trust me and hope, or spit on me and I’ll leave. Either way, I’ll return and lead you again."

  No one responded. Someone spat on the ground.

  "Igor’s coming with us too," Vasily pointed at him.

  Bozhana waved, and Igor waved back.

  "I’m leaving you two horses for your belongings. Whether you carry your things or ride them is up to you."

  Without asking, Igor mounted one of the horses.

  A woman approached and spat in front of the horses. She muttered words that Igor didn’t understand, yet their meaning was clear. Vasily just smiled at her. Then he spurred his horse, and it moved forward. Igor looked back. The small group of Vandar stood in the middle of nowhere, looking as if they were lost to the world.

  "What did she say?"

  "She cursed us."

  "Aren’t you afraid?"

  "I’m a Vandar. Curses between Vandar don’t count."

  "But I’m not."

  "Then let’s hope she didn’t mean you," Vasily laughed.

  They rode slowly. Stepan and Ivanek were ahead, talking quietly. Vasily followed behind. Morning had come.

  "Why did we leave them?"

  "Isn’t it obvious? We have only three horses, and no one will take us in."

  "And Ashlen?"

  "I made that up. If they’re lucky, they’ll be accepted."

  "We’ve abandoned them."

  "Everyone has to survive on their own, Igor. Haven’t you learned that yet? Be glad you’re with us and not left behind. You’ll be better off."

  "I want to go back and take them with us. They’ll die."

  "They won’t die. They have enough men to find food. The Vandar aren’t as weak as you think. Many places would take them in. We’re not the hardest workers, but we don’t ask for much to live." Vasily seemed amused.

  Igor looked back. The Vandar were still standing in place, watching them as if they were their last hope. They didn’t move. And the farther away they got, the smaller the group became. But they didn’t move.

  "Where are we going, Vasily?" Ivanek stopped his horse and looked back.

  "We’re heading south to Krasnaya. There’s something I need to retrieve—something that’s mine and should’ve been long ago."

  "The map, right?" Igor had heard about this map before, but from Ivanek’s expression, it was clearly important to them. "Yes, Ivanek. The map. The map for your new life."

  He nearly shouted the last part.