The Column of Ash [Epic Fantasy]

He liked his new life.

It was peaceful, quiet, and no one was threatening him with blades on a regular basis. Sure, it was a bit boring, but a man could use some time away from the madness to sit and think, couldn't he? Besides, Oskar had earned it. Retirement is what it was. Good, well-deserved retirement.

He'd settled in the end of winter, purchasing land from some desperate boyar who couldn't make ends meet. Had a small estate all to himself, presiding over a village called Stent in the eastern foothills on the edges of Vasia. Not a lot of luxuries so far from humanity, so most of his remaining treasure just sat in the chest in his room like family heirlooms.

Oskar began the day like any other, rising with creaky bones and a grumbling stomach, pissing in the dark outside, sitting by a fire his servants started in the hall till he warmed up and felt human again, then ate whatever they gave him. Wasn't anything rich, but some far better grub than his meals as a mercenary, that was for sure.

His estate was a few small buildings with a courtyard in the middle, all surrounded by a low wall. Something like a cloister of those fucked-in-the-head Ekhenists in the north. Bleating sheep and goats mixed with pigs, chickens, and oxen around the property. He even had a few horses in the stable. Nothing like his war mounts as a druzhina, but what use did he have of those beasts? Expensive, is what they were. No, he was happy with the ponies and draft horses for the carts and such. More practical. Better for the coin. Even as a landowner overseeing forty-some families in his village, well, coin didn't always stretch as far as he wished. Best to be economical.

"More wood, Gaiek."

The fire bloomed with the aid of his manservant. He wished for some wenches instead, just for the ambiance of things, but it seemed Stent was in short supply of them. Oh well. Couldn't set your expectations too high, now could you?

Oskar warmed his hands, drank deep from a cup of cider, and finished his meal before stretching and sauntering off. His first task in the morning was the hardest, but something he couldn't stop. See, Stent was a small place on the frontier of Vasian land, hardly even Vasian, for though it owed its allegiance to Vetera, no one gave a shit enough to come and exact taxes and fines, much less demand labor services. So Oskar had the run of the place, more or less, but that also meant being self-sufficient. So, he employed a few guards to keep things nice and quiet.

"Oh, Pravez, looking lively this morning," he said, grinning at the young man yawning as he leaned against the wall in the early morning dawn.

"Always am," the lad replied, grinning.

Oskar tossed him a wooden pole the length of a spear. "It's not that early."

"Of course. Right you are, Oskar."

While sparring, at least, he demanded they use his name. Couldn't get used to the bowing and scraping that reminded him of his days as a druzhina. And the fighting circle was his escape from all that, brief as it was. Took a minute to warm up, but when he got going, he was as good as any fighter here. Better, to be honest, which didn't inspire the most confidence in the protection of his investment, but then, they didn't have the twenty-some years of experience he did. Again, you had to set your expectations realistically.

When they finished, he was sweating despite the cold air, and Gaiek brought him some diluted wine and a wet cloth. The man reminded him of Mikha, in a way, though he'd rather not remember that old prick Laczlo kept around. And not Laczlo, either. The past was a field of pitfalls and caltrops crisscrossed with killing zones from archers and crossbowmen.

After sparring, he heard any pressing complaints from his people, which were usually nothing of real importance. It was tedious, but he sorted it out just fine anyway. Then he took his peace horse and rode out, letting the villagers know he was about and concerned and all that, inspecting the fences, roads, fields, and homes. Sometimes, he'd ride further out to look over the stretching eastern plains for any sign of raiders or Dead, but there was usually nothing. Just quiet vastness. Like today.

Good. Oskar loved the quiet. And vastness. Always had, always did.

He rode back and oversaw maintenance of the estate, his village smith working away. Shit, he was jealous of the man's proficiency in metalworking, looking like a damn Sorcerer bending Souls into shape. Oskar was trying his hand at carpentry but wasn't very good and made little to no progress over the months. Most things besides spears and swords were hard to learn, anyway.

The boyar before him was a fucking twit of a man, and so most of the work was done by the steward. Oskar didn't know much about managing a domain, so he left the numbers to the steward and tried to oversee the man's work as best as possible. They spoke daily. They reviewed complaints of labor dues, complaints of fees, complaints of this and that. Money that came in and went out. He figured the steward was pocketing some of it, but Oskar had poked around on his own and hadn't found much cause for concern, so he let the man earn his keep. Oskar helped oversee plowing, planting, harvesting… He pitched in from time to time when necessary. Helped to move around and do things once in a while.

He swore as a youth never to be a fieldworker again, and this was the closest he'd come to compromise on that. But difference was he wore a sword at his hip and gave commands, so he could bear it.

But today was a different day than most. Today, he would visit a neighboring town, most of a day's walk away, ostensibly to resupply all the things his household needed. In truth, there was more to it. It broke the monotony of a life he most certainly, truly loved, and for that, he was excited.

Well, he was more excited about something else, in truth.

He left with a small escort of two guards, a few servants, including Gaiek, and a hand or two from the village who needed something from the town of Lteva and were willing to pay to join. He talked with his men, servants, and the villagers on the journey there. People liked him because he was honest, direct, and fair enough. He hoped they liked him, anyway, and weren't lying to his face. That could happen. He tried not to worry himself too much over it.

Let them see plain old, agreeable Oskar. A good enough boyar to have.

The journey was boring. He half-wished for some excitement but knew better than to desire a face-off with some bandits. He'd just hand over their things anyway. No sense in getting anyone killed, even if he could take a few malnourished whoresons by himself. I need a fucking lance, lamellar, and a good warhorse again, he thought. It'd make bandits a lot easier than a sword, old mail, and his riding horse, a meek ten hands tall. This land wasn't as safe as interior Vasia. It was called the frontier for a reason. Part of why he chose it. Figured it suited him best.

The town of Lteva sat in a river valley southwest of his village, surrounded by long, fertile fields, ample quarries, and stretches of pine woods that fueled a dozen or so charcoal makers' fires, slicing the landscape with smoke trails like a pillaged countryside. The smell always made him nervous. Unlike his village, the town itself was walled and had a small dock that sent barges up and down the river for trade with surrounding villages. Stent only had a few streams they ought to damn up for fishponds at some point; otherwise, he could do most of his trading from home. Convenient, but then he wouldn't have an excuse to visit.

Compared to Nova, Lteva wasn't even a tenth the size, but it still made Stent look like a hamlet. He felt a little overwhelmed riding slowly through the streets, amusingly enough. Sometimes, his people would ask him about his past life, and what details he shared would shock them, for they'd often never left the shadow of the mountains, let alone Vasia. Sometimes, he figured he seemed alien to them. Sometimes, he felt it himself.

Technically, he was an outlaw of Vasia still, but no one knew or would even care this far east. Nova law faded past the mountains. It was nominal, at best, somewhat relevant in the city of Vetera and little else. Even then, the voivode there wasn't part of imperial politics and kept to his domain as Oskar did to his. They were isolated from the world.

After some trading and haggling, he found the time to slip away on vague personal business without an escort. He wished he didn't have to wear his mail around, looking like a war-bound fool next to the merchants and boyars in fine, colorful tunics and fur hats. Oh well. That's what he was, after all, so who cared if they gave him suspicious looks?

Oskar picked up his pace through the town until he got in sight of the Lunar Trading House. An experimental sort of place booming out here, started by a few profitable merchants. They dealt in bulk goods, mostly, sometimes acting as brokers of other people's goods and services for a fee, even offering loans at high rates and the like. Some of their business wasn't exactly the most legal of enterprises, but again, things were different out in the frontier. Interesting if you cared about that kind of thing, sure, but not why he was there.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Oskar slipped inside, hardly containing his grin, and tried to be sneaky as he crept past the open floor where most of the business was done, finding a dark corner behind some crates. Cast an eye around the interior until he found her. She was bartering with some nameless fucker, but he didn't matter. She did. She was unshakeably competent, sharp, and mean as a pissed-off tomcat, beating the poor fool down till he gave in. It was a sight to behold. He'd been on the other side of it before—well, that was how he met her, of course—and almost felt sorry for the man. When she was done, she glanced around the inside, almost as if searching for another customer, but Oskar knew better. Today was the day, as usual.

And he was where he usually was, as usual.

Her dark brown eyes found him, and they crinkled into a smile only he could see. As usual.

She made excuses better than he could ever summon up and left the floor, calmly striding toward the back past him. Oskar fished out his key and entered the rest of the warehouse space with it through a locked door, wove through the maze of barrels, crates, and stacked sacks to find another interior reserved for something. All he knew was that it was safe. That's where they met.

No words exchanged. No sentimental gestures.

She just grabbed him by the shirt and he by her hair, and they kissed, rough and passionate. A smarter man might wait, delay the greeting for a few hours for some privacy, but Oskar never boasted much patience. And neither did Milava. In all, they were half-naked in less than a minute, and he inside her only a moment after. Much to his chagrin and her amusement, Oskar was done not much after that. He pulled apart from her, gasping with a slight wheeze, face flushed and cracked in a satisfied grin. Milava looked back at him over her shoulder, brow raised, lips twisted devilishly, hips still grinding. She knew things about him he didn't.

A whole week of waiting did things to a man, but years of different longing did even more.

Suffice it to say, they were making half-muffled noise again soon enough.

…

"Sometimes I worry, you know," Milava said to him in the dark privacy of her room above the trading house floor. "I fear your old heart can't take it."

Oskar wiped the sweat from his brow and snorted, stretching to elicit a satisfying pop in his back. "My old heart? This heart's lasted through meaner things than you. And I'm not even old."

"It's not my bite that'll get you," she whispered, sliding closer. "It's my… persistence."

"Aye, it would worry a normal man."

"But you're no normal man, are you, Oskar?"

"Heh, no, I am not." He grabbed her, yanking her closer. She laughed and fell upon him with a hungry relentlessness that did, in fact, almost worry him if it weren't for his own insatiability. He'd chalked it up to a long time without a lover, but in truth, it was something more than that. He knew what it was, deep down. That sort of old feeling that swims up like a school of fish in the clear water, shifting and shining and almost fluttering. The kind of feeling that made him feel like a young man again, whatever she said about his heart.

Milava hovered over his face, staring into his eyes. "What is it?"

"What's what?"

"You went quiet." She pulled away, not petulantly, but seriously, brow furrowed and raised in concern. "You're somewhere else right now. Somewhere serious."

"Ah, sorry, I know we just wanted to keep it—"

"No, tell me."

It was Oskar's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"Yes. I was a fool for asking that in the beginning. And things are different now."

"Different how?"

"You're devious."

He chuckled, pinching her soft, curving ass. "I try."

"We've been doing this for a while now," she said, wriggling closer. "It's not just an escapade. Not just a transaction of pleasure."

"A transaction of pleasure? You've a real way with words, merchant woman—"

"You know what I mean. And yes, it's a partnership now. Of some sort."

If his eyes weren't deceiving him in the dark, he'd guess she looked almost bashful. That was a first. But bearing one's feelings never was an easy thing, now was it? He was skirting the issue like a young druzhina too scared to charge. Come on, old boy, puff up your chest and belly in. "I was thinking about you… Us."

"Us."

"Yeah. Us. Our future. That a problem?"

"Hackles down, it is most certainly not." She faced him like one of her business partners, except they were naked, and she still had a hand on his chest, fingers toying with the hair there. "You heard me. I already consider there to be an us. The question is: what exactly does that mean?"

"I, uh… I haven't felt this way before."

"I'm not sure I have either. It's been a decade, if so."

"Yeah. He, uh, sounded like a good man."

"We don't have to talk about that, Oskar." She kissed him on the cheek. "But know this is special for me. It isn't just a convenience. Far from it. My disregard for my work should be evidence enough."

He chuckled. "Worried you'll get a talking to?"

"My partners? They wouldn't. Saw them with women back there before, too, you know. And they've no position to critique me given the deals I secure."

"Damn right. You're good." He smiled and looked into her eyes, darker with the shadows of the room, sharp and cunning and beautiful. "I can't forget that day."

"Neither can I. You looked so confused and lost. Like a mean old guard dog without his owner."

Oskar scoffed and slapped her rear this time. She jolted in surprise. A win for me. "Enough of that! I'm trying to be sweet and sincere for you."

"You know me so well. 'Sweet and sincere,' he says. Well, I don't mean to punish you." She took his hand and put it on her ass again. He gripped it comfortingly, appreciatively. "So, what are you asking me, Oskar Koyzlov?"

"Ah, well…" He was about to say he wasn't sure, but in truth, he did. In truth, he knew exactly what he wanted. But could he say it? Breathe it some life, watch it fly away, snatched up by a bird of prey; could he do it? Hard as a cavalry charge, it was. Hard as anything he'd ever done, yet far easier, too. "I love you, Milava. And I want to marry you."

She blinked, stunned.

Ah, she didn't expect that, did she? he thought, almost horrified.

And then Milava kissed him. A brief kiss. Not a comforting one. "I love you too, Oskar." She leaned back and looked at him evenly. "But I'm… a partner here. I would be leaving it all behind."

"I could give away the boyarship. Sell it."

"I don't think you could. No one would buy it. Not for a good price, at least."

He was starting to get nervous. "Say I sell it at a bad price."

Her eyes widened and mouth opened in surprise, ever the trader. "Oskar, I don't know. That's an extreme solution—"

"I know. But I got the money. And, well, so do you."

Her hand found his free one, holding it tight. "You worked hard for Stent. Those people there count on you. It isn't like my business here. If you gave it away to someone who couldn't even manage it, they'd starve. They almost starved before you arrived."

"I'm no boyar. It's luck." Oh gods, this is bad. No straight answer. Shit. He tried to keep a brave face and sound reasonable. "They'd manage without me just fine."

"That's not true. You're good at it. They trust you. I've heard stories."

"Exaggerations."

She licked her lips as her eyes crinkled in genuine concern and sincerity. "You repelled raiders in the first few weeks. You led them from the front. They were amazed. Everyone in Ltava knows about it. Stop downplaying your successes."

"Ah, well, I just didn't want to lose my investment. But—"

"Don't bullshit me, Oskar."

He sighed. "Fine." Shrugged, frowned, shook his head, remembering his fear, pounding heart, and shaking hands. Not hard, considering he was halfway there right now. "I'm a warrior. All my life, I've been one. Came into some riches and disappeared out here, pretending to be a boyar, but I'm still the same man. Fighting is what I do. That's it."

"I think it was brave," she replied, ignoring him, squeezing him comfortingly, lovingly. "And your people think so too."

"What's your point?"

"My point is that you're doing something meaningful there. I think you would regret leaving."

He sighed. "You're saying no without saying no, aren't you?"

She grimaced, hurt by his words or her own thoughts, he couldn't quite tell. "I'm just giving it some serious thought. I want you to as well."

His breath caught, something deep trembling. "What do you think I'm doing?"

"I just don't want you to regret only heeding your emotions on the matter—"

"Regret it? What the fuck do you mean?"

"Don't swear at me, Oskar, please. I'm sorry I'm so wavering on this, but this is all so—"

"No. Explain to me what I'll regret. After everything, how could I regret this? Do you have any fucking clue who you're talking to? The things I've done? What I've regretted?" It came spewing out of him like lava, like Sorcery from Feia's stolen rod in those last moments when it all went to shit. Like Corrupted blood from her wounds as he choked her to death. "I finally want something good, and you're telling me I'm a fool for asking for it? That I can't make my own damn choices?"

"I'm certainly not saying that. I just wanted to be cautious, but maybe I was too—"

"Cautious!"

"Alright. Enough. I apologize. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well, I say it's not enough," he snarled back, jerking away and sitting up to stalk away from the bed. He faced a shuttered window, naked, shoulders tensed and jaw tight. His breathing was ragged. Without turning around, he continued, "I'm bearing my damn heart for you, woman. Give me a yes or no; otherwise, let's be done with it."

She didn't respond for a while. And he was too stubborn to turn around and look, so he waited there, looking out at dark nothingness until she finally replied, "Oskar, I meant it when I said I loved you. But I'm going to think on this. I recommend you do as well."

"Think on it? That sounds like a 'fuck off, and I never want to see you again.' Or am I wrong?"

"You are wrong."

Something in her voice made him turn around. She was glaring up at him teary-eyed.

And she was not one to cry, he knew that for damn sure. Oh no. He went over to her and knelt by the bed. "Shit. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…" He went to hold her but bit his lip, unsure what to do, feeling awkward, feeling awful. "I, uh…" He sat on the edge of the bed and held her hand. "I messed up. You're right. Let's think about it. I'm just… Shit, well, I'm just scared, I guess. I don't want to lose you."

She sniffed and held on to him. He felt like crying, but it was stuck in his throat as if he'd been punched. His breath was thin and rapid, everything jittery, frightening thoughts assaulting him like waves of the Dead. Why this? Why couldn't he cry like a normal person, dammit?

"I'm scared, too," Milava whispered.

Oskar held her tight. "It'll be alright." He glared out at the darkness, daring it to attack, daring those damn thoughts to face him. He'd be strong. He wouldn't be their victim. "I've got you. We'll figure it out. I promise you."