The next morning—

  It was already late enough that Dogon should have appeared to give the order to depart. Instead, the soldiers still lingered, milling about without purpose. Norjin had already finished his preparations and was waiting on horseback when an orderly approached and told him to report to Dogon's tent.

  Puzzled, Norjin dismounted and stepped through the tent flap the orderly held open.

  Though meant for the field, Dogon's tent was large and well-appointed. Inside were several of his officers, and Dogon himself sat with one leg stretched out before him, wrapped in cloth, his expression sour. It seemed he had been injured in yesterday's attack—by the enemy soldiers who had gone for the horses.

  Zaya stood at Dogon's side. She must have greeted him when she joined the force the night before; given her standing, her presence here was only natural. Still, Dogon would rather she were not there. Each time he shifted, his face tightened in pain, and Zaya watched him with open concern. The expression vanished from Norjin's face.

  Dogon barked, "What was that? No one told me about that."

  "About what?" Norjin asked mildly.

  "That. The ones who go for the horses!"

  One of the officers stepped forward and explained the enemy's desperate tactic—dismounting to fight on foot. He rattled off numbers: wounded men, dead horses, mounts rendered useless. The losses were not great for a force of three hundred, but this was meant to be a clean operation. Losing more men and horses would not do.

  When the officer fell silent, Norjin nodded.

  "My orders from Lord Batu were to locate the rebels," he said. "What would someone buried in brush and paper know of warfare?"

  The careful politeness of a Karakorum civil official slipped effortlessly into his voice. Zaya snorted before she could stop herself, then quickly covered her mouth. Norjin kept his expression blank, already deciding she deserved punishment later.

  "How many remain?" Dogon demanded. "Will this keep happening?"

  "There are perhaps three hostile settlements left," Norjin replied. "If we continue on this course, we should reach them soon. As for how they will fight—" He paused. "That is beyond my reckoning."

  "Hmph," Dogon grunted.

  Silence thickened inside the tent.

  "Norjin, stop playing stupid," Zaya said, tossing in a grenade. "Everyone saw what you can do at the hunting games."

  Several officers nodded.

  Norjin shot her a sharp look meant to silence her. He would deal with that later.

  "If you keep this up," Zaya went on, losing patience, "then I'll take command of this army myself."

  Dogon groaned and clutched his head. Norjin rolled his eyes heavenward.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  Shattering the wordless contest between the two men, Zaya crossed her arms and glared at Norjin. He exhaled.

  "Fine. Then we'll do it this way," he said. "Bring me paper."

  His tone had changed.

  "We proceed as before, straight on, with the archers held back. When the enemy dismounts, both wings deploy and loose arrows. Once surrounded, continued fire will neutralize that tactic. If their cavalry appears, each wing splits again and responds."

  The officers nodded.

  Norjin hesitated—just for a moment—then spoke again.

  "That is not how battles are fought on the plains. Someone taught them that method."

  Every eye turned to him.

  "I will not take part in the fighting," Norjin continued. "I will carry out Lord Batu's orders and locate the one behind this. Is that acceptable?"

  It was phrased as a question, but it was not one. The decision had already been made.

  "Very well," Dogon said.

  One of the older officers—likely Dogon's guardian—offered Norjin a silent bow of the head.

  "Wait," Zaya said. "I'm going too. You'll need guards. My people are suited for this."

  "Zaya," Dogon protested weakly, but the matter was already settled.

  "As you wish," Norjin said, his features composed and cold.

  Zaya gave him a troubled smile, but Norjin spared her only a glance before leaving the tent without another word.

  Once Dogon's force had formed up and departed, Zaya instructed Ehau to divide her people into small groups of two or three, sending the rest back to the Jochid ulus. Norjin stood with arms crossed, watching in silence. Leaving the selection to Ehau, Zaya walked over to him.

  "How long are you planning to sulk?" she asked. "We'll range through the area, looking for concentrated horse tracks. The ground hasn't frozen yet. If we're lucky, we can follow them back to whoever's in command. You can stay here and wait for us to bring information."

  She was already moving on. There was no point reopening what had passed. Norjin uncrossed his arms.

  "If we're doing this, we start with the first settlement," he said. "It was the largest. Likely the center of their organization."

  Zaya nodded.

  "We go back there first and set up a base where we can watch the ruins," Norjin continued.

  "I see. Someone might come looking for a settlement that's gone silent. We follow them."

  "If it goes that smoothly," Norjin said. "Dogon made quite a spectacle of it."

  "Then we make them come."

  "This could turn into a long game."

  "You're infuriating," Zaya shot back.

  She swung herself into the saddle. She could mount on her own now; her arm was clearly better. Norjin mounted as well and brought his horse closer to hers—too close, Zaya thought.

  Suddenly, Norjin reached out and pulled her in by the waist. His lips brushed hers. Startled, Zaya pressed her palm against his face, pushing him away.

  "What are you doing?!"

  Norjin guided his horse back with ease.

  "Punishment for bad behavior," he said. "Don't let boring men get too close."

  With that, he spurred his horse after Ehau.

  Dogon's force had destroyed everything—tents that might have housed ten families, sheep pens reduced beyond recognition. Many bodies lay trampled underfoot. Livestock that had failed to escape, women, children—none were spared. One corpse writhed black with movement. As Norjin approached, birds burst into the air with a thunder of wings.

  Searching for clues, he caught sight of something vivid.

  He moved closer, pushing aside rubble and broken furnishings. Long hair appeared. Norjin dropped to his knees and hastily flung away rags and scraps of felt.

  A woman's body lay beneath.

  Around her waist was a pale pink sash embroidered with flowers and birds in silver thread and bright colors—utterly out of place against her shabby deel.

  Norjin could not breathe.

  It was not something a Kipchak tribeswoman would ever wear. More than that—few would ever even see such a thing in a lifetime. Silk worked by hands honed through years of training. Not something bought with gold. Something meant to be offered to kings. To emperors—

  Norjin dug frantically, uncovering her completely. Half her head had been crushed, her features barely recognizable, but her sun-darkened face was unmistakably that of a Kipchak woman.

  The breath he had been holding escaped him.

  To find such a thing here—

  His body began to shake. With trembling fingers, he traced the embroidery.

  Impossible.

  From that day on, Norjin began to wake screaming in the night.