First, he heard the drops, falling one by one somewhere nearby. Then, after the sound, he felt their gentle spray on his face. He heard his mother's voice, telling him to get out of the barn before his father woke up and found him drunk, asleep next to their cow. It was raining outside. For a long time after he woke up, he thought it was real, that his mother had just left. But there was no way she could have left, because he wasn't in a barn, nor was the cow beside him. He was under something like a shelter they had made the previous night from branches and leaves. This shelter was letting all the rain that fell during the night seep through. And he wasn’t at home. He was somewhere between Chernoval and nowhere, in a forest, and the memories began to return one by one, especially after he heard Ivanek and Stepan snoring beside him.

  The rum seemed to have reached his brain, crashing like waves inside it. He hadn’t always liked drinking, especially after seeing the drunks sleeping on the streets of Chernoval. Back then, he had promised himself he would never become like them. But he had, and since he’d been on the street, he drank constantly. He had stopped for a while in the smithy, but now, with Vasily, Ivanek, and Stepan, he had started again.

  The rum surged in his head like waves crashing against the sides of his brain. He felt the light rain on his back, but it wasn’t the rain that bothered him, it was the pain in his head. The memories of the previous night began to return. He remembered Clarice and Fabian. Vasily and Ivanek. He also remembered how, drunk, they had built the shelter just before the Sun rose, and the alcohol had made them so cheerful that it was a wonder they hadn’t attracted some wild animal or even an enemy passing by. He didn’t know how long he had slept, but he felt it wasn’t much. In any case, the Sun had already risen.

  The morning was fresh, fresh from the rain that had poured down during the night. But everything was wet. Clothes, shoes, even the horses’ saddles. Everything was soaked. The spot where the fire had been last night was now just a puddle in which the rum bottle floated.

  Two pairs of legs were sticking out from Clarice's tent. One was hers, with beautiful white skin smudged with wet dirt. The other pair was dirty, in torn boots, their color indistinguishable due to the moisture. But they were Vasily's. Igor glanced back at the shelter where Stepan and Ivanek were supposed to be. They were there. The clouds were moving eastward, which meant it would soon be hot, evaporating all the water, and the air would become hard to breathe.

  Soft moans, accompanied by a quiet wail, came from the tent. Soon after, the covering at the entrance moved. A female hand emerged, followed by Clarice’s beautiful face. Her hair was wet, with clumps of mud mixed in with the dripping drops. The shoulders of her lacy blue dress were also dirty, and her red hair clung to her entire face. She was beautiful even in this state.

  Without thinking, Clarice plunged her hands into the mud, propped herself up on them, and stood face to face with Igor. Igor didn’t move. Clarice placed her hands on his shoulders and wiped her dirty hands on him. There was nothing he could say, and he was so dirty that it probably wouldn’t make him any worse.

  “It’d be good to wake your man. He reeks of rum,” Clarice pointed to the tent.

  There was no need. Vasily had already woken up and was standing next to them with his famous smile, which Igor always found hard to read—whether it was from joy or just a cover for his bad character.

  “King of the Mud!” she mocked, without caring about the mud on her face. “You could have not set the wagon they were taking me to Chernoval in on fire. At least we could have sheltered from the rain. You give the impression of being smart, but you’re not.” Clarice was genuinely angry.

  “With the wagon, we’d attract more attention,” Vasily calmly replied, unfazed by her tone as he wiped the mud from himself. “And if I see you like this every morning, it will be a joy for my heart.”

  Clarice glared at him with her swollen red eyes. She hated him, and he laughed in her face.

  “Every morning? Kill me now and spare me the torment. I still don’t understand why I’m still alive with you. Honestly, I expected to be dead long ago. People like you…”

  “Redhead, there are no people like us. Stop repeating that. We might be all sorts, but we know how to treat a lady.”

  Clarice laughed. “You? Please. You want to use me for something. Where are we going? To Meihar? Solis? Shilan?”

  “You’re right, and I’ll tell you straight. At first, I did think about using you and killing you. And as for little Fabian, I would have left him in some village. I may be all sorts of things, but I don’t kill children. But now, I’ve decided that you’re actually going to be useful to us.”

  “For what? I’m worthless. And besides, I only know someone in Chernoval.”

  “Something tells me I’ll need you. After all, we’re Vanders. Magic isn’t foreign to us. Or at least to those of my kin. I don’t know how to do it myself.”

  Vasily smiled slyly, and Clarice grabbed a lock of her hair with both hands and squeezed it. A mixture of mud and water dripped to the ground. She looked at her hands with disgust and wiped them against each other.

  Clarice jumped as if something had pushed her and rushed to the tent. Almost immediately, she came out calmer.

  “I told you, we don’t torment little children,” Vasily greeted her again. “The boy is asleep. He was very tired last night. And his mother got nicely drunk.” He laughed quietly, and Clarice grabbed her forehead as if now realizing how she had looked the night before.

  “I shouldn’t have allowed it. I… I was…”

  Vasily cut her off with his laughter. She glared at him so sternly that he shut his mouth, but he still looked at her with a mocking expression.

  “Did you do anything to me while I was drunk?” she almost shouted.

  Vasily leaned over to the fire, which had died out during the night, grabbed some cold ashes with his hand, and rubbed them on his face. His face turned black like his beard, but the mud came off. He looked up at Clarice.

  “Nothing, Clarice. The only thing we love more than women is rum. And if I knew you drank that much, I’d never have put it in your hands.”

  “And then? We woke up in one tent.” Igor saw that she was starting to worry. He found her somewhat sympathetic and a little amusing. If it were up to him, he wouldn’t kill her. But he was too merciful, and the Vanders weren’t like that.

  “Yes. We slept together.” Vasily paused before continuing. He watched her face, which was just what he expected. She widened her eyes. “But that’s all.”

  “Big hero,” Clarice had her turn to laugh. “Leader of a band of ruthless killers and fighters. And he can’t take advantage of a woman. What are you? Do you like men?”

  “The strange thing is, you asked me that last night too. And then you fell asleep.”

  Clarice ran her hand over her cheek, right where it was red.

  “You. You hit me. Now I remember.”

  Igor had missed that. Apparently, they had played more while they were alone in the tent. Standing by them now, he felt like a child while they were his parents, and he had to listen to them argue.

  “You were uncontrollable.” Vasily raised his hands. “Is this the first time you’ve gotten this drunk? I can’t believe I have to explain myself to a stranger woman.”

  “I hardly drink. Not this much. You must have done something to me.”

  Vasily just waved dismissively. Clarice stared at him, but not at him. It was as if her gaze passed through his eyes and went somewhere behind him. She was thinking about something. Mentally, she was elsewhere. Vasily interrupted her. Instead, he went and woke Ivanek and Stepan. Stepan abruptly stood up and knocked over the already barely standing shelter with his head. Ivanek pushed him as he wiped leaves and mud from his face. When they weren’t strict, they were funny. The same went for Vasily.

  Fabian was awake too. The boy waded quickly through the mud and nestled into his mother’s dress. He was also wet and dirty, with fear on his face.

  “Vasily!” Ivanek shouted. “How long are we going to drag her along? When have we ever had a woman with us? This isn’t good, you know.”

  “Another hothead,” Vasily’s tone changed. “Be glad we’re alive today, smile at the Sun, saddle the horses, and let’s go. And who lives and travels with us, leave that to me.”

  Ivanek lowered his head. He wasn’t happy, but he kept quiet in front of Vasily. Igor couldn’t afford to speak to him like that. Stepan and Ivanek were different. They were his friends.

  “I know of a village nearby,” Vasily continued. “It’s not very big, but we’ll find something to eat. And maybe something female, for instance.” Vasily glanced at Clarice. She was tending to Fabian.

  “Ivanek, take Igor to help you, and tell Stepan to come to me.”

  Ivanek nodded and stepped back. He had barely started when voices were heard behind him. Ivanek fell silent first, and then Igor. Both looked around to see if the voices came from Vasily or little Fabian. But no. Ivanek put his finger to his lips, signaling everyone to be quiet. And anyway, no one was talking anymore. Only little Fabian stirred, but his mother crouched down and held him close.

  Mostly, they heard the birds and the creaking of the trees. Vasily motioned for everyone to crouch down, and they did. After the sound of birds and creaking branches, they heard the noise again. And it wasn’t from the forest.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Igor crouched. Vasily and Clarice were in front of him, and Stepan and Ivanek were somewhere behind by the horses. One of the horses snorted. Whether that gave them away or those walking nearby had heard them earlier, he didn’t know, but he heard the whistle of an arrow, which he managed to see fly past Vasily's ears and lodge in a tree behind them.

  Soon after, a second arrow landed close to his foot.

  Everything happened so quickly that Igor remembered nothing of the moment. He only remembered Vasily grabbing Clarice and pulling her to the ground while he also crouched, and Ivanek and Stepan were nowhere to be seen. Or at least he didn’t hear them. Little Fabian was quietly crying.

  “Stay down!” Igor heard Vasily shout.

  Igor hadn’t intended to do anything else.

  “Who are they?” Clarice clutched Fabian tighter to herself.

  “I don’t know. Anything you need to tell me?”

  “Tell you? Do you think they’re after me?”

  Vasily didn’t answer her. He found his sword by hand, got up so quickly that even Igor barely sensed it, and hid behind the nearest tree. Another arrow followed him and lodged in the tree. They had seen him.

  Vasily slowly stood up and looked around, searching for the direction of the arrows. Igor got up to help him.

  “Stay down, boy,” Vasily shouted at him, waving a hand.

  He hadn’t finished speaking when a sharp pain pierced his leg. He looked down and saw the rear part of an arrow. It was sticking out of his foot. It was strange because he first felt the pain, then heard it whistle past. Igor doubled over on the ground and screamed so loudly that if those attacking them didn’t know they had hit, they knew now.

  “Fool!” Vasily yelled at him as another arrow whizzed past him. Clarice and Fabian were still lying on the ground. Vasily rushed towards the tent. Shortly after, he emerged with one of the wooden boards they had used to pad the wet ground.

  He waited for another volley of arrows to pass and moved towards Clarice. Three. Three arrows were fired simultaneously at him. And then they stopped. And again, three came. He was right; there weren’t more than three people.

  Igor writhed on the ground. Once, a hot iron in the smithy had fallen on his foot. The pain then had been so intense and burning that he still remembered it. He remembered it until now because the pain from the arrow was twice as strong. His entire leg down to his ankle was numb. He sat on the ground, both terrified for his life and in such pain that he wished he could die as soon as possible.

  “Pull the arrow out, fool,” Vasily said. “And stop crying like a woman.”

  Vasily lay on the ground and used the wooden board to shield the prone Clarice.

  The redhead turned and grabbed the wooden board. Vasily left it and once again, under the flight of two arrows, hid behind the tree. Igor had also taken cover in a safe spot, but it was too late. He had already been hit.

  He grasped the arrow with his hand. Even from the slightest tremor of his hand, the pain seemed to shoot from his leg through his body and hit him in the head. He gritted his teeth, clenched his eyes. He tried to think of something good. But nothing came to mind. There was nothing good in his life. He wanted to die just to stop feeling such pain. Or to cut off his leg. Yes, maybe if he chopped off his leg at the ankle. The pain would be intense then too, but it would pass in a few days. But now? How to pull out the arrow?

  From somewhere, he heard another shout. He didn’t know if it was from one of their own or from afar. He grabbed the arrow again. It hurt. It hurt, but he yanked it out quickly. He felt it tear through his skin, and blood started flowing from his muddy boot. It burned. It burned and throbbed. He threw the removed arrow aside.

  He leaned against the tree with his hands and stood up. He could stand on his healthy leg, and he did. More arrows flew around him. There were two.

  He peeked slightly and looked around for Stepan and Ivanek. Neither of them was there. He only saw Vasily, who looked ahead to where the arrows were coming from and occasionally glanced at Clarice. And Clarice was looking at him with a look that was both full of hatred towards him and a plea for help. Vasily didn’t move. An arrow lodged in the board Clarice was holding, and she screamed. Fabian was also crying in her arms.

  “Push him toward me,” Vasily shouted, opening his arms for Fabian.

  He wished he were a child now. To do nothing and just be saved. And besides, they usually didn’t kill children.

  Clarice hesitated for a moment, then pushed the child. Vasily took a step forward and pulled him towards himself. Two more arrows whizzed between them, and one of them lodged in the tree behind which Igor was hiding. However, the third arrow came from a different angle. That surprised him. So far, they had only flown in pairs.

  He tried to look again and saw them.

  Two figures in colorful cloaks with hoods. Both held bows and, with slow steps and arrow after arrow, were approaching them. The third person was missing.

  “Are you coming?” Vasily shouted. Most likely, he was calling Clarice, not him. But it was a good idea to go too. He didn’t want to be left here. The two figures were approaching them with their bows drawn. Apparently, they had underestimated them. It was brave on their part.

  Both drew their bows, forcing Igor to hide behind the tree again. The arrows missed him. For a moment, he forgot about the pain in his leg.

  Igor peeked out again. There was time before they reloaded their arrows. But he didn’t see them doing it. Instead, he saw Vasily’s back, holding the board in front of him and walking toward them with a sword in hand. The two figures suddenly dropped their bows to the ground and instead drew weapons, no larger than ordinary knives. Both figures were large and most likely male, but he couldn’t see well from here. He only saw that Vasily was already swinging at them. That seemed to calm him. He had never seen Vasily lose to anyone in a sword fight. Not that he had seen many such fights.

  Igor emerged from behind the tree. There were no more archers. Or at least the third wasn’t shooting. Stepan and Ivanek were still nowhere to be seen, and dying alone and scared behind the tree wasn’t a good option. The pain in his leg was such that he really wanted his life to end as soon as possible, but it would be better to die in battle than here. Not that he could offer anyone a fair fight. He didn’t even have the strength to lift a sword. But he had his knife instead. The knife that Vasily had given him.

  He started after Vasily. He heard a voice behind him. It was Clarice, but he paid no attention to her. Naturally, he was afraid. And as he walked, he limped on his good leg. Occasionally, he stepped on the injured one, just to hurry up, but the pain made him stretch his neck and grit his teeth.

  There were no longer two people in front of Vasily. There were three. And the third was twice as big as the other two. He too was dressed in some sort of cape, which was small on him and stretched from his large head. Honestly, he looked ridiculous.

  Igor was already very close. He limped, held his knife, and dragged his injured leg. The entire way to Vasily, he wondered why he was doing this. What help could he be? He would just be another victim. Maybe he should have gone and protected Clarice. But protect her from what and how? He pitied himself.

  Vasily was saying something to the three of them, but they didn’t respond. He had lowered the wooden plank he was using as a shield down by his side and was walking confidently toward them, though his gaze was mainly fixed on the large man.

  His opponent struck first. Vasily blocked the blow successfully, and several sparks flew from the clash of their swords. The two smaller men had stepped back.

  Vasily gripped his improvised shield firmly and hurled it at the man facing him. The two archers raised their bows again, but the large man stopped them with a single hand gesture. He said something to them, and they stepped back. Igor also stopped and took cover behind a tree. If they weren’t getting involved, he didn’t need to either. Honestly, he was scared. If he knew how to fight, he surely would have jumped in.

  The large man was wielding a very beautiful sword. It had a white handle adorned with various sparkling stones. The blade itself shone in the light and was so clean it looked like it had never seen blood. Could this be one of those swords? Igor wondered. No, it was unlikely that some random passerby, probably a bandit, would have one of the ten. That was out of the question.

  Vasily attacked again, but the large man defended himself. The two smaller men had raised their bows again, waiting for the outcome of the fight to shoot. Vasily was in a difficult position. Igor needed to act. If Vasily defeated the large man, these two would kill him.

  He stepped out from behind the tree and moved toward them. It was reckless, but it gave Vasily a chance. He might die, but at least he would save Vasily and prove himself, even posthumously. If it weren’t for Vasily, he would still be rolling drunk on the muddy streets of Chernoval. Now, he had the chance to die a hero, even in an unknown forest. It would have been better if he had a plan or at least knew how to fight.

  Both men saw him and raised their bows toward him.

  "Stay where you are!"

  He didn’t listen and continued. He saw them draw their bowstrings. He didn’t care. His leg hurt anyway. Another pain wouldn’t matter. He’d survive it. He didn’t know how he looked in their eyes, but he could see their hesitation. He wasn’t that frightening. He was young, skinny, and probably dirty. What were they so afraid of?

  Suddenly, one of them fell. A knife was sticking out of his neck.

  The second man turned around but also took a knife to the forehead.

  Even Igor was surprised. It all happened so quickly.

  Neither the large man nor Vasily had realized what had happened. They were too engrossed in their fight.

  Igor saw them. It was Stepan and Ivanek. He should have guessed. They were coming this way. Ivanek bent down and retrieved the knives from the dead men’s heads. He was laughing. Meanwhile, Vasily was still fighting alone nearby.

  "And what were you thinking? Where were you headed? Did you want to die?" Ivanek shouted.

  Igor looked at him. What had he been thinking? Had he escaped death once again?

  Vasily and the large man in the red cloak continued to fight. Only now, separated, did the large man notice that his two companions were dead. That seemed to anger him. Igor could tell by his movements, not so much by his face. He couldn’t see his face anyway. But he gripped his sword tighter and flexed his fingers around it. Vasily wasn’t paying much attention to what was happening around him. He was focused solely on the dark part under the man’s hood and on his sword. And the sword was beautiful. Very beautiful. This was also evident in the way Ivanek and Stepan were looking. They seemed to be more focused on the sword than on the large man.

  “There’s no need to hide your face anymore. Soon, I’ll see it. And your sword will be in my hands.” Vasily spoke to the hooded man, pointing at him with his sword. The large man laughed with a deep, heavy voice. He was much bigger than Vasily but quite agile.

  The large man let out a sound somewhere between a shout and a deep sigh, swung, and brought his massive sword down on Vasily. Vasily blocked it and pushed him back. Igor couldn’t understand how Vasily had such strength. Sometimes, he thought it was some new Vander magic. Vanders were known for such things.

  The large man was out of breath. This was Vasily’s moment. And Vasily knew it. He raised his sword and leaped.

  But it was pointless. A sword appeared through the large man’s chest. A moment later, the sword disappeared, and the large man collapsed to his knees before burying his face in the mud.

  Behind him stood Ivanek, wiping the blood off his weapon.

  “That’s enough.”

  “You bastard…” Vasily was furious and rushed at him. He jumped just as he had at the large man, but Ivanek defended himself.

  Then he stepped back, ready for another attack.

  “We don’t kill from behind, fool.”

  “We don’t kill from behind in fair fights. This wasn’t a fair fight. But if you want, go ahead, attack me again. Don’t you see who this is?”

  Vasily didn’t attack again. His face was red. He threw his sword to the ground, at Ivanek’s feet, said something to him in a language Igor didn’t understand, and bent over the dead man. The whole time, he kept his eyes on Ivanek, while Stepan stood somewhere aside, silent as always.

  Igor watched them. They looked exactly like a band of robbers. But they were good people. He knew that now. He knew they had principles and weren’t what he had thought they were at the beginning.

  Vasily was holding the large man’s white sword in his hands, while Ivanek cleaned his own, occasionally glancing at Vasily. Stepan didn’t speak, standing in a third corner, waiting for something to happen. Igor didn’t think the tension between them had lessened.

  The silence was broken by a new arrow that came from behind Igor and flew past Vasily. The danger wasn’t over. Igor dropped to the ground, but Vasily stood firm, the white sword in hand.

  He looked directly at the spot where the arrow had come from.

  There stood Clarice, holding a bow. And with her other hand, she was drawing a new arrow.

  And the bow was pointed straight at them.