"Ah, it hurts!" Igor's scream was loud, but it was swallowed by the laughter of Vasiliy and the others gathered around him.

  "Nothing’s wrong with you, nothing at all! You’re a child of Chernoval, aren’t you? Even the dogs don’t howl when they’re beaten here."

  "Is this the man we thought was so tough, Vasiliy? In the tavern, he seemed much more confident."

  Ivanek reached out with his sword, gently trailing it along Igor's thigh. The coldness of the blade sent a shiver through Igor, and he locked eyes with Ivanek. They gleamed in the darkness, as if reflecting some hidden light. His face resembled Ivanek's—a rough expression, one that left you uncertain whether he was smiling or scowling. But his hair, though tied back in a kerchief that fell to one side of his head, was red, with rebellious strands betraying his disguise.

  "He hasn’t wet himself yet, so we can keep going. We’ll stop when you soil your breeches, boy. I promise you that."

  Laughter erupted from the small group once more.

  "Quiet," Vasiliy shoved Ivanek and Stepan back. They all fell silent the moment he spoke. "Let Yarf finish his work. I’m sure the boy will hold up," Vasiliy looked at Igor and smiled. Igor still didn't trust him, despite Vasiliy's attempts to be kind.

  Yarf appeared simple, but evidently, he was the only one skilled in drawing on skin. Igor had overheard their conversations with him, and it became especially clear when Yarf began his work on him.

  At first glance, Yarf's craft seemed simple. He heated a bone, thin enough that Igor guessed it came from a fish, and then pressed it forcefully into his skin. The pressure was so intense at times that Igor tried to yank his hand away more than once. Unfortunately—or perhaps fortunately—Vasiliy’s men held him tightly.

  The smell of burning flesh filled the air around him. Yarf was silent, unlike the other three, who laughed, shouted, and drank excessive amounts of alcohol. Only Vasiliy restrained himself, but his laughter came freely whenever he saw Igor cry out.

  "The bear's head is done," Vasiliy pointed at Ivanek, "now just the blades behind it remain. Well done, Yarf. Well done."

  Yarf, a hulking man with a heavily bearded face, glanced up briefly before returning to his work. Igor wasn’t sure if Yarf even understood them.

  "Are you sure there won’t be a scar?" Igor asked, even though he knew the answer.

  "Shut up." Ivanek barked again. Yarf remained silent, growling only occasionally. "The women in the camp don’t cry as much as you do. I told you, Vasiliy, this one’s no good."

  "Some draw with soot," Yarf finally spoke, his words thick and hard to understand. "Others with wood. I draw with bone. That’s how I was taught. That’s how I teach all my sons."

  "Tell Igor how many sons you have, Yarf."

  "The ones I know of? Eight," Yarf grinned, revealing several missing teeth.

  "And they can all draw on skin?" Igor found it truly astonishing.

  "They can. For now, they practice on pigs."

  "And how do the pigs endure the pain?"

  "Their skin’s thick. And they only pick the small ones. Two hold the pig, the third draws."

  Igor’s imagination failed him when trying to picture Yarf’s children burning pigs to practice their craft. It was even funnier when he imagined two others like him holding the pig while the third burned it. But judging by their father, he believed every word.

  Yarf furrowed his brows again and continued working on Igor's skin. The blades were next, whatever that meant. Igor didn’t want to be marked, but could he refuse Vasiliy and his troupe?

  "And why this mark in particular?"

  Vasiliy approached and rolled up his sleeve, revealing the same mark.

  "Mine’s faded a bit. It’s been a while since I had it done."

  Igor saw the same bear’s head now etched into his own skin, surrounded by three blades. The bear's head wasn’t the most beautiful thing Igor had ever seen drawn, but it was unmistakably a bear.

  "Anyone with this mark is branded for life." Vasiliy rubbed the mark on his wrist with his thumb. "And soon, you’ll be too."

  "Do many people have it?"

  "Many. But few keep it."

  "Keep it? How does one remove it?"

  "Don’t ask too many questions. Yarf, how much longer?"

  "Not long, commander."

  "Commanders are those up there," Vasiliy pointed to the tall tower in the mountains, rising from Chernoval’s castle. "The king and his court. Don’t call me that here."

  Igor looked up at the tower. All the windows were dark except for one small one at the very top.

  "There's a light up there," Ivanek noticed it too, pointing toward one of the highest floors of the narrow castle. "Must be someone banging the queen."

  "If her husband can’t do it, someone else will," Vasiliy joined in. "I’d do it too, but she doesn’t even know I exist."

  "Is it true she’s much younger than him?"

  "Probably born when his cock had already stopped working. You said you live here?" Vasiliy kicked him lightly with the toe of his boot.

  "Yes, but I’ve never seen her. She doesn’t come to the blacksmith, nor does she enter the tavern."

  "Well, I’ve seen her. She’s beautiful and young. But that old fool is completely senile. I don’t even know how he’s still in power."

  Stepan joined in their laughter, and Yarf flashed his two remaining teeth once more.

  "Enough laughing," Vasiliy pointed his sword at Ivanek. "The king’s mice are eavesdropping even here."

  "We're leaving tomorrow anyway."

  "That doesn’t matter. We’ll return someday, won’t we?"

  "Oh, I don’t want to. This place reeks of decay. And honestly, Vasiliy, these painted bears on every wall, and hanging from every medallion, are starting to annoy me."

  "The bear is our symbol too. And you know why we’re here."

  "Yes, yes. Only here do they accept the Vanders. But if they decide, they could come and beat us like dogs tomorrow."

  "They could. But we won’t go down without a fight."

  Igor groaned again in pain, causing the band to laugh once more.

  "Why doesn’t that one speak?" Igor glanced at Stepan, who was staring at him blankly, sitting beside Ivanek with a stalk of grass between his teeth.

  Vasiliy, swift as lightning, drew one of his blades and, with a sharp motion, sliced a piece off the fleshy part of Igor’s ear.

  Igor screamed, clutching his ear as a thin stream of blood dripped between his fingers and onto the grass below.

  "Don’t speak about any of us like that again. The next thing to go will be your hand. You asked about the mark? Here’s your answer. Many have borne it, but not everyone keeps it. You have one more wrong move or word. After that, you’ll see your hand on the ground. At least a meter from your body. And the fresh mark will be on it."

  Yarf held Igor’s hand firmly, continuing to draw as if nothing had happened. With his other hand, the young man clutched his ear, blood still dripping. He gritted his teeth and hissed in pain. Ivanek and Stepan watched him with smug satisfaction, while Vasiliy wiped his blade clean of the blood that had splattered on it.

  "Would you like me to tell you a bit about us, boy?" Vasiliy's calm voice was nothing like the one that had just roared at him. Without waiting for a response, he continued. "Stepan killed his brother. He saw him kill their father. And he did nothing. He was small and lived with it for a long time. But when his drunken brother went after their mother… Stepan killed him. Took a knife and stabbed him in the back. Nasty story. Whether he's good or bad, I don’t know. But the village condemned him. When I saw him, he was a mere child, no more than 15 years old. He was tied to a post in the village square, and the landowner was preaching morality to him. A few stones were thrown at him. Two hit him in the forehead. If you look closely, you might see the scar." Igor tried to see it, but the darkness obscured it. "That’s when Ivanek and I showed up. We were just there by chance. The night before, we drank and then had some fun with the local women." Vasiliy glanced at Stepan, and seeing his approval, continued cleaning his blade. "How we freed him is a story for another time. The happy ending for Stepan was that he left with us. It wasn’t without blood, I admit. Some villagers were left lying in their blood. The lord of the village lost a leg. And there were plenty of crying mothers."

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Igor listened to Vasiliy’s tale, almost forgetting that Yarf was carving into his skin. He hadn’t expected anything else from the band, but even this was too much for him. Vasiliy continued:

  “Are we good or bad? I don’t know. The story changes depending on who tells it. If Stepan tells it, we’re the heroes of his life. But if some mother from the village reads it, we’re nothing but killers,” Vasiliy mused, turning to the bearded man beside him. “Yarf, how much longer?”

  “Almost done, Lord Vasiliy. And I’ve got a story like that too.”

  “A story like mine? And stop calling me ‘Lord.’”

  “Yes. Once, I killed a man, and his mother wept over him.”

  Ivanek and Vasiliy burst into laughter, while Yarf stared at them with a serious expression. Igor smiled too, though not because of the story, but rather at Yarf’s bewildered look.

  “How is that similar, you fool?”

  “Well, we killed bad sons. Anyway, the boy’s done.” Yarf lifted the bone tool and made a motion as if cleaning Igor’s skin. Blood oozed around the burnt edges.

  Yarf gathered spit in his mouth and spat onto the freshly branded mark on Igor’s arm. He pressed his hand over it, rubbing it in.

  “You’re a true Vander now. Congratulations, boy.”

  “Vander? I didn’t want to be a Vander.”

  Vasiliy and Ivanek laughed. Stepan joined in, his silent laughter strange and unsettling.

  “No one asked you. The choice before you was whether you’d live or die. Thanks to us, you’re alive.”

  Vasiliy tossed a coin to Yarf, who gave a small bow and left them alone. Stepan threw a few more logs on the fire before settling comfortably on his side, his bald head reflecting the firelight. Ivanek did the same. None of them spoke, but each wore a satisfied grin. The pain in Igor’s arm was intense. He couldn’t fathom how he’d ended up here. Yesterday, he was an apprentice to a blacksmith with enough coins in his pocket and small dreams. Today, he had nothing, was half-drunk, and lay among Vanders who claimed he was now one of them. He wondered what the next day would bring.

  The three men and Igor sat in a loose circle on the still-warm ground. Behind them, the Vanders' wagons and tents extinguished their lights one by one, merging with the night. Before them, a quiet fire smoldered, and a bottle of rum passed from hand to hand, now in Vasiliy’s possession. Igor stood before them, clutching his freshly branded arm. The pain ebbed and flowed, sometimes so sharp that he could barely hide it. The other three had grown bored of mocking him and paid him no mind, engrossed in a conversation Igor didn’t understand. Yet it piqued his interest.

  “So, where’s the map?”

  “I don’t know yet,” Vasiliy replied to Ivanek, passing him the bottle of rum. “But I’ll find out soon.”

  “How will you find out?”

  “Leave that to me.”

  “I can’t stand another day in this cesspit.”

  “We’re safe here, Ivanek. And look at how much fun we’re having.” The three of them glanced at Igor, their smiles returning at the sight of his pain.

  “How’s the ear, little one?”

  Igor had forgotten about his ear. He touched the tip, and when he felt the hole where Vasiliy had cut him, it was as if a needle pierced him, and he shuddered. The three new companions erupted in laughter again. The bottle now in Stepan’s hands, he took a deep swig and wiped his reddened mouth.

  “And you say this map leads to treasure?”

  “I don’t know where it leads, but I know where to find it. And if it’s hidden so well, there must be a reason.”

  “At least can you tell us where we’ll be heading? I want to be prepared.”

  Vasiliy laughed.

  “What do you have to prepare? Put on your pants, tighten your belt, and we’re off.”

  “I have a wife; I need to say goodbye to her.”

  Vasiliy’s eyes widened as he leaned forward to meet Stepan’s gaze. Then laughter rippled through the Vander camp once more. Igor understood none of their conversation.

  “A wife? That wench from the inn? With the big tits?”

  Ivanek licked his lips, his face briefly taking on an animalistic look.

  “Shut your mouth, dog,” Vasiliy snatched the rum from Stepan, managing not to spill it all over himself. “Hear that, Stepan? Our little brother loves the innkeeper’s wife.”

  “Love might be a strong word…”

  “What’s this about a map?” Igor interjected, and the three men fell silent, their eyes locking on him.

  “I think it’s too early to tell him, Vasiliy. I don’t trust this one.”

  “I trust him, but it is early. I don’t know everything yet. But if all goes well, we’ll set out in a few days.”

  “Where to?”

  “You’ll find out tomorrow.”

  “And if the map doesn’t pan out?”

  “Then we’ll do what we do best.”

  “Rob royal convoys, seduce village daughters, and drink rum all night,” Ivanek added.

  “Don’t forget the innkeeper’s wife.”

  “Never.” Ivanek raised the rum. “She’ll be my wife.”

  This time, Igor joined in their laughter.

  Vasiliy threw two logs on the fire. The embers caught the dry wood, slowly igniting it.

  “Igor,” Vasiliy looked up, handing him the rum. “Who are you?”

  Igor took the bottle but couldn’t grasp the question.

  “Who am I? Igor.”

  Vasiliy looked at Ivanek, then back at Igor.

  “Is that your real name?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mother? Father? Wife?”

  “I have a mother and father. They’re alive, but I haven’t seen them in a long time.”

  “And a wife?”

  Igor hesitated, staring at the ground.

  “I see. You love someone.”

  “Visnya. The blacksmith.”

  “The blacksmith?” Ivanek jumped to his feet, pointing his sword at him. “You like men?”

  “Sit down,” Vasiliy pulled his friend back and turned his calm voice to Igor. “Tell us. But if you like men, spare us the details.”

  “His daughter.”

  “Ah,” Ivanek opened another bottle and took a swig.

  “We know Visnya. We’ve consulted with him a few times, so to speak. He has a daughter? The bastard hid her well. If only I had known…”

  “She exists. Black hair, tall, beautiful.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “Her father caught us in the smithy.”

  Vasiliy laughed and took the bottle back from Igor’s hands.

  “And what were you doing there?”

  “I worked for him. Just started. He paid me little, but I had nothing else. The money you took from me was earned there. I was his apprentice. According to him, I was doing well.”

  “And as punishment, you decided to bed his daughter?” Vasiliy looked at Ivanek again. “I told you he’s one of us.”

  “It wasn’t like that. She looked at me… she wanted to be with me.”

  “They always do that, those witches,” Vasiliy said with a near-mocking tone. “They flutter their eyes, show a bit of ankle, smile… And we fall into their trap. Then they step on our shoulders and leave us alone in the pit to suffer. Strange we never saw you at Visnya’s.”

  “I just started working for him. Before that, I was on the other side of the kingdom. With a baker.”

  “The other side? Even I wouldn’t go there. It’s dangerous and filthy. They bake their bread with mouse droppings.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “What would you know? I know those old bakers.”

  “It had its advantages.”

  “If you say so, fine.” Ivanek preferred to hear about the blacksmith. “Tell us, when Visnya caught you, what happened?”

  “Nothing. He heard a noise and came down to check. He saw his daughter first. I sensed him and hid, but when I saw him attacking her, I stepped in to defend her.”

  “Fool.”

  “Maybe I am. But she told him she loved me.”

  “Foolish girl.”

  “And he threw me out.”

  “Then he’s the fool. I would’ve killed you.”

  “Do you have children?” Igor tried to turn the conversation towards them.

  “Probably,” Vasiliy laughed again, “but I don’t know them.”

  “Me neither. And as for Stepan, let’s not even talk about it,” Ivanek boasted.

  “So,” Igor took a swig from the bottle before continuing, “jobless and homeless, I went to the tavern to drink myself to death.”

  “And you met us.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you should be grateful, boy.”

  “To whom?”

  “To whoever you want. If you had stayed with the blacksmith’s daughter, you’d spend your life hammering iron until all your teeth fell out. But now you’ve met us.”

  “Which doesn’t mean my teeth won’t still fall out.”

  “You’re right. But at least it’ll be with a knife in hand, surrounded by your people.”

  “But I still don’t understand…”

  “What?”

  “Why did you trust me so quickly?”

  “Stepan and Ivanek still don’t like you. But I’m just having fun.”

  “You’re having fun?”

  “Yes, Igor. I don’t care about you at all. We need a fourth man, someone we can sacrifice if things get tough.”

  "If I were to run away now? Or kill you while you sleep?"

  "You won't do it. With us, you have food, shelter, and certain death."

  "And without you?"

  "Without us, death is all that awaits you."

  That was the last thing Igor remembered from that night. His eyes closed, and suddenly, he awoke. He had dreamt of falling from a horse. The fire still smoldered. He realized he hadn't slept for long. He saw that Stepan and Ivanek were already asleep. Vasiliy had also dozed off, though he was on the verge of drifting away completely. The freshly carved Vander mark on Igor’s arm still throbbed, a relentless ache that would not leave him in peace all night. His ear wound occasionally flared with pain, but compared to his arm, it was less noticeable. When he was a child, his house was near a flowing river, and whenever he felt pain, he would dip the afflicted area into the cold water, which would soothe him. But here, there was no river, nor anything cold. Only the rum, which, whenever Vasiliy and the others weren’t watching, Igor poured over his wound to dull the pain.

  He had almost fallen back asleep when the sound of horse hooves jolted him awake, nearly lifting him to his feet. Vasiliy, however, was already standing. The Vander was looking toward the direction from which they had come. Then he nudged Ivanek with his foot. Ivanek muttered something before he too sprang up and drew his twin blades.

  "What is it, Vasiliy?"

  "Wake Stepan. Someone’s coming."

  Ivanek did as told. Stepan let out a faint sound. Igor had figured out that Stepan couldn’t speak, but it was clear he could still make noises. The three of them were now on their feet. Igor stood behind them, unsure of what was happening. He was terrified.

  First, they saw the glow of torches. Not many, but not few either. All of them entered through the narrow gap from the kingdom, and all were mounted. Igor sensed the other Vanders emerging from their tents. The moon shone brightly, but not so bright as to reveal everything. He could only make out the faces of the riders.

  Vasiliy stood at the front. He held a long weapon, most likely his sword. Igor bent down and picked up a stick from the ground. It wouldn’t help him much, but it made him feel slightly more secure.

  Three of the riders broke away from the others and approached.

  "Who’s in charge here?" A tall man dressed in light black garments, with a sword hanging from his waist, spoke.

  "First, tell me who you are."

  The man looked around with annoyance.

  "Do we really have to go through this again, Vasiliy?" The stranger knew his name.

  "Sir Rurik? You’ve gotten fatter since I last saw you."

  The man scowled and drew his sword.

  "That 'sir' doesn’t sound quite right coming from your mouth."

  "What do you want here? You have no place among us. The king has granted us inviolable territory."

  "Watch your tongue when speaking to the First Blade of Lord Zoran, you peasant." Rurik tapped his horse lightly and moved closer. "We have new orders from the king."

  Vasiliy laughed without looking at him. He gripped the hilt of his sword without drawing it.

  "Don’t even think about it. There are more of us than there are of you." Vasiliy tried, but Igor doubted it would help.

  Rurik raised his hand, extended a finger, and twirled it in the air. His men shifted, surrounding the area. Almost immediately, screams rang out, and flames erupted.

  Vasiliy drew his sword, but three others were pointed at him. The same went for Stepan and Ivanek. Only Igor was free, unnoticed by their attackers. But there was nothing he could do.

  "King Zoran forbids the Vander camps." Rurik dismounted slowly and stood face to face with Vasiliy. The screams continued, and the fire from all sides grew, forming a circle. "Your carefree revelry is over. Hard times are coming."

  The man named Rurik drove his fist into Vasiliy’s face, and only then did he notice Igor.