His new family sat cross-legged near the central hearth. Khorjin passed them each bowls of food. Shade shrouded them, the only light coming from the small fire in the hearth and the little stream of pale morning sun through the top of the ger.

  The dish was the same as he’d had when he woke up yesterday: sliced, boiled lamb with the bones still on; the fermented milk drink whose sour taste he would have to quickly get used to; those strange white chunks that her sons nibbled on like snacks; and a bowl of broth.

  “The broth tastes better than the off milk, at least.” Julian sipped from the bowl, slurping loudly, which drew a strange glare from his feline eyed, soon-to-be wife.

  Lucy took the bowl after him, because she almost hurled when drinking the fermented mare’s milk. “The food is horrible,” she snarled. “I’d kill for a Starbucks coffee and grilled cheese sandwich.”

  “The sooner I forget what those things are, the better,” Julian said.

  Next to him sat Khorjin’s older son. A cold atmosphere still reigned between them. Has his mother told him that I am his father’s murderer? He wondered. Probably not, he thought at first, but at the same time, it wouldn’t surprise him if they were brutally honest about these things. The boy looked with a fascination at Julian’s eye-tattoo on his palm. Could he know the significance of the Arahkin? Would it perhaps make him fear him?

  The boy passed Julian the bowl of whitish chunks, and now, judging that they were safe to eat, he elected to try one. He bit into it. A sour, tangy taste invaded his mouth. The things had a chalky texture, becoming quite gritty as he chewed. He grimaced, trying to get it down with a straight face lest he offend his hosts, but he couldn’t hide his distaste very well.

  “What are they like?” Lucy asked, though he already sensed she could tell they weren’t nice by his face.

  He gulped it down all the same. “Not great,” Julian sighed. When he noticed Khorjin and her children staring at him, he held the chunk up, smiled, and nodded, eagerly taking another bite. “Very nice,” he said to her and then turned to Lucy. “Try one.”

  She reluctantly took one from the bowl, lest she too offend her hosts, and bit a small chunk out of it. “That’s fucking gross,” she said calmly, then smiled and nodded to Khorjin, passing her the bowl.

  Khorjin filled their wooden bowls with the herb-scented boiled lamb, giving them each a bit of broth to go with it, and they ate in awkward silence, with brief lapses of talking between Julian and Lucy and Khorjin and her sons.

  Even despite their awkward sleep last night, it did little to bring them closer together in the morning. Julian had been dreading it, knowing that, essentially living in a big tent, they would all have to share a bed to keep warm. Even in England, which was warm by comparison to this place, Julian had occasionally went camping up in the hills in the countryside enough to know how freezing it could feel inside a tent. The last time he did it, the wind thrashed against his tent all night, crashing against the flaps like a battering ram to a thick gate. He had to keep his socks on, wear thermals under his waterproof trousers, and keep his waterproof coat on, even despite wearing a hoodie and being wrapped up in a sleeping bag. And he still shivered.

  Thankfully, they all slept wrapped up thick in their furs, but god it was still cold. At least it maintained a bit of modesty, because Lucy would have never undressed in front of them. She had complained that the felt woollen coat that Khorijn gave her stunk, but it was better than shivering all night. Lucy’s shirt would have never kept the heat out. Julian had gotten used to the smell by now, so he didn’t mind. But he had been sandwiched between Lucy and Khorjin, and her two sons slept in front of her.

  He didn’t get much sleep that night. Too awkward, too squished together, and the roaring cold winds howled till early morning. There would be very little privacy here, Julian thought, if any at all. That’s something he’d struggle to get used to. He liked the peace and quiet that being alone in his room offered him. He had never thought himself a recluse, but maybe he was one.

  After they finished eating, and Julian had just managed to get half of his fermented mare’s milk down without his stomach seizing up in a tight knot, the boys said something to Khorjin, and they ran off, both holding two small wooden sparring swords.

  Lucy got up and stretched. Her long, ginger hair looked far more windswept and messy than he was accustomed to seeing, since she had no hairbrush or a shower here. Yet it made her look more wild, almost fierce. He kind of liked it. The steppe suits her well. Julian imagined he resembled some skinny ape by now for the same reasons. His stubble was starting to come in along his cheeks and jaw.

  “Want to sneak off for another cig?” Lucy went and got her felt coat, but Khorjin stood up, gathering some of the bowls.

  “Arilchin bolta sharun!” Khorjin snapped, pointing at Lucy and then to the dishes. Then she turned to Julian. “Darshin karashok! Arilchin bolta sharun!”

  “What are you saying?” Lucy said, though the frown on her face meant she knew Khorjin had gotten riled up about something.

  “I think she wants you to help her tidy up,” Julian said.

  “Ha! I’ll clean my own dishes, but I’m not cleaning everyone else's,” Lucy complained. She walked up to Khorjin, shaking her head. “I’m not a maid! No.” Lucy went to put on her shoes, but Khorjin grabbed her, and Lucy shrieked, “Get off me!”

  Then Khorjin started screaming, and Julian got between the two before they started clawing each other's eyes out. “Stop it!” he yelled, separating them, and then turned to Lucy. “Just help her. Remember what we talked about yesterday?”

  “It’s degrading!” she stubbornly screamed, and now Julian was starting to get annoyed.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose, losing his patience with the pair of them. “Be degraded or be dead then. You won’t eat if you don’t work, mark my words.”

  She snatched her arm from Julian’s grasp, sighing. “Ugh. I have a fucking economics degree!”

  Ah, yes. From Cambridge, as well. “Not here you don’t.”

  She glared at him, then relented. “Okay, I’ll clean your fucking dishes then. Enjoy playing with swords or whatever. What actually is your job around here?”

  He shrugged. “I’ll find out soon enough, I imagine.” But his blood ran cold thinking about it. The Arahkin had to confront these ‘Vakrul,’ whatever they were. But the shaman had said they rode dragons… Julian shivered. He hoped these dragons were some sort of big exaggeration of what he knew a dragon to be.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  As Lucy reluctantly helped Khorjin, Julian took a stroll outside. Lucy’s words echoed in his mind as he wandered around the windy steppe, watching Khorjin’s eldest son sparring with a boy similar his age. Long black hair, and two full blue serpent eyes.

  They sparred on a open plain not far from the ger, their wooden swords clacking with each thrust and parry. The boys giggled as they performed their mock dance of death, yelping and running when one of them was hit. Julian couldn’t help but smile. They are not so different from us, really, he thought as he remembered when he was that age, playing football with his friends in some back alley or a street.

  The boys ran near him when the long haired one fell over, and Khorjin’s son forced him to yield by pointing his sparring sword at his throat. The boy’s sword fell near Julian’s feet, so he picked it up, smiling at the pair, and offered it back to the boy.

  Instead of taking the sword back, he gave a slight bow of the head. Then, Khorjin’s son raised his sparring sword tentatively. He wants to dual me, holy shit. Julian grinned, accepting the challenge. He wouldn’t go too hard on the kid. It would be good to have some bonding with this child he was supposed to protect and raise now.

  The boy lunged, a sudden fire in his eyes, and Julian quickly stepped out of the way. He swung his sword to deflect the incoming attack, and the clacking of the wood echoed across the village. The lad looked to be swinging his hardest to the point where Julian wondered whether he was trying to actually harm him. Is he trying to avenge his father?

  Whatever it was, Julian kept deflecting the attacks, never really pushing it, even though he could easily just grab the sword and knock the kid over. As he parried one of the boy’s attacks, he hit the kid’s fingers. Khorjin’s son cried out, dropping his sword.

  “Oh, shit!” Julian rushed over to him, holding a hand up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Are you okay?”

  “Tak!” a deeper voice boomed behind them. Julian turned to see three men glaring at him. Covered in furs they were, each wearing a fur lined leather hat that fell past their ears. The one in the center, with a short cropped auburn beard and a long moustache that drooped past his chin, approached Julian. His arms folded. In his fist he held a larger sparring sword.

  He looked toward the two young boys, then at Julian, and mumbled something. The kids looked awkward, as though they were being put on the spot, but the man stared daggers at Julian. He nudged his hand toward the sparring sword Julian held. “Shugan kel, Arahkin.”

  Julian’s heart started beating louder and louder, and he felt adrenaline flood his veins. Is he challenging me? An awkward moment indeed. He didn’t want to look weak in front of these people, but at the same time, didn’t want to get his ass kicked. Not in front of the whole village. He just looked blankly at the man, not doing anything.

  The Sarugani man frowned, his lips twisting into a snarl, and yelled, “SHUGAN KEL!”

  The sudden thunder in the man’s voice almost gave Julian a shock. But, keeping a stoic face, he raised his blade. He still had no idea if it was a challenge or not. The man could just be telling him to piss off and leave the kids to their games. But either way, a show of strength was the best way, Julian calculated. Win or lose.

  The man’s amber serpentine eyes fell toward the blade, and he frowned. His arms unfolded, and he give his sword a couple of spins in his fist before he pointed it toward Julian.

  He’s going to embarrass me… Julian thought with shame. Why couldn’t he have just stayed in the ger?

  The cold wind bit at his face, carrying with it the faint sound of chatter from the other villagers starting to gather around the pair. His two new wives were among them. Khorjin looked stoic, but Lucy stood huddled to herself, biting her nails.

  The Sarugani warrior took a slow step forward, sword raised in both hands. The polished wood caught the light of the sun for just a second. His lips curled into a smug sneer, likely knowing how this contest would end as well as Julian.

  Julian braced himself, clumsily holding his wooden sword, which was heavier than it looked. The sweat seeping from his palms made his grip feel awkward, as though the smooth sparring blade would slip from his hands at any moment. The man circled him slowly with measured steps, a wolf to a fawn. Julian’s heart thrashed. I’m going to get my ass kicked in front of everyone. In front of Lucy!

  The warrior struck first. Sudden and vicious, a slash that whistled through the air so fast Julian barely had time to react. He raised his sword clumsily, catching the blow at an awkward angle. The impact sent a jolt down his arms, and his knees buckled ever so slightly under the weight of the blow.

  Then the man came at him again, faster this time, like a coiled rattlesnake springing into a strike. Each one relentless, powerful, and stronger than the last. Julian stumbled back, blocking one swing, then another, the wood clacking loudly in his ears. Each blow chipped away his little remaining strength and confidence.

  On the fourth strike, the Sarugani man feinted to the left and then swept low. He weaved his sword with the effortless grace of an artist’s brush. Julian’s legs were too slow to move. The sparring blade cracked against his shin. “Argh!” he cried out in pain and he fell hard into the mud, his vision blurring for a moment.

  Laughter rippled all around him. Only Lucy did not laugh. He met her gaze for a brief moment, and saw that she was covering her mouth in horror. Were those tears in her eyes? Or was he still dazed?

  I can’t let her see me like this… not like this… Julian gasped for air, struggling back to his feet, despite his throbbing shin. His palms caked in cold muck. Once more, summoning all his will, he gripped his sword tight, glaring at his opponent through the haze of his pain.

  The man waited with a sort of irritated twitch on his lip. His amber eyes watched Julian with a certain glint, daring him to try again.

  Julian struck, gritting his teeth against the pulsing in his shin. He swung wildly, putting everything he had into each clumsy strike. The Sarugani man sidestepped easily, his sword catching Julian’s exposed side with a swift arc. The blow landed with a sharp crack against Julian’s ribs, sending another jolt of pain up his torso.

  He tumbled over, wheezing, his chest heaving as he dragged air into his lungs.

  Still, once more, he pushed himself up. His arms trembled, his knees wobbled, but he refused to stay down. Not here. Not in front of her.

  The warrior’s smirk gave way to something else—curiosity, perhaps or just more irritation. Maybe he saw Julian as something akin to a stray dog who wouldn’t go away when kicked. He raised his sword again, this time pressing the attack.

  Julian tried to counter, more desperate than calculated. The man slipped past his defences completely, smashing the flat of his blade into Julian’s shoulder. Then, when Julian’s arm fell, he got another whack straight to the nose. The force sent him reeling back into the muck, looking up at the spinning sky. His nose went numb. A warm trickle oozed from his nostrils, running down his face.

  This time, he didn’t get up right away. His body screamed in protest, every muscle aching, every breath slow.

  The man eclipsed the broken Julian like a conqueror surveying his fallen foe. He said something in the Sarugani tongue—short, clipped, and final. Julian couldn’t quite make it out, but he heard the word “Arahkin.” And then the man pointed his sword at Lucy, barking some more words. Then, he turned and walked away, his sword resting against his shoulder.

  The fact the warrior addressed her worried him. So, with one final, desperate push, he managed to turn on his belly. But, before he could push himself up, the sparring sword came crashing down onto his spine. His limbs buckled under the force. His back throbbed with pain, and muck clung to his face, mixed with the sticky, drying blood leaking from his nose.

  “Galta, Tulgutai!” another man boomed. Through his hazy vision, Julian saw the form of Orkhun Targan standing over him. The exquisite silken robes underneath a patchwork of fur lined leather. His Rolex glinted on the targan’s wrist. And his Eye of Horus ring, curiously staring down at him.

  For some reason, Julian thought the targan would end him there and then. But instead, he folded his arms as the stoic expression on his face remained stern, and turned around. The onlookers cleared shortly after that, leaving him in the muck.

  All except Lucy.