The morning was still dark when Voran’s sleeping form was jostled awake by unsheathed swords. The soldiers holding them didn’t bother to be careful, and he was cut in several places. Without a word or a sound of complaint, Voran got up. They did not put the bag on his head.
Outside the yurt, all the soldiers were mounted. Voran couldn’t figure out where they had hidden the horses, until he saw an unfamiliar figure—someone dressed in the Karilan style, but with actual colors. That was unexpected and interesting.
“Hey,” Voran pushed one of his guards with an elbow, which earned him a gaze that would have shriveled most men. “You’re using me to buy your way back into Karila, aren’t you?”
“Shut up, meryn.”
Voran laughed. Meryn was an old Vasylli swear word, meaning “castrated horse.”
“You
