The Column of Ash [Epic Fantasy]

He didn't know what he was doing half the time. Being a tsar wasn't like being a voivode or even a war leader in the uprisings against Vadoyeski. Some parts were the same, sure, like convincing people to obey and work together, nullifying enemies, and trying to peer through the mire of confusion to figure out who the enemy even was. But some parts were utterly different. He didn't know how to manage entire voivodes with such large interests. How to coordinate whole, massive armies. And by Deus's Gates, international diplomacy was the most foreign to him, fittingly. Fortunately, through it all, Varul was there to help. Laczlo hadn't trusted the man and still didn't to an extent, but he made for an excellent advisor on all these matters. Being a combination of Souls helped in that regard, he figured. An odd twist his past self could never believe.

Kapitalena tried her best, too, he had to admit that, but he still couldn't entirely rid himself of the suspicion he felt toward her. She pushed him to become tsar and seize the throne for her own reasons, not his. It wasn't even for their children—which he saw less of than ever, busy as he was—as she claimed. It was for herself. And with what he did to the tsar's family… Gah! He couldn't forget how defeated and betrayed Alasa looked. How it made him feel like the villain. Him! The loyalist to Vasia, to the tsar, to oaths and honor!

But he was a hypocrite, not just too weak to stand up to those close to him… No, it was never even possible. He'd been destined to fail, to fall into the clutches of others' plots. Maybe that was why he resented her—because he was just too weak to have ever succeeded in finding his own way.

Nevertheless, he moved east to hold court and maintain a presence at Latna near the mountain pass that would open more fully in the early summer. It was there that he sent Vida to go east and spy in Vetera. He had to know of their preparations, scouted information, and local readiness. She didn't want to leave him. It wasn't that she was afraid, but something more. It was easier when everyone just obeyed because they ought to, and that was that.

She'd claimed to be worried about him, about the people he surrounded himself with, and the weight of the tsardom upon his shoulders. As if he were too weak to manage it. That just angered him more.

"I gave you orders, Vida," he hissed at her in the privacy of a small antechamber connected to his room, where he slept, sometimes apart from Kapitalena. "Why won't you just follow them? You're my spy, aren't you?"

"You saved me yourself," she said, stepping close to him, a pleading tone to her voice. "Does that mean nothing? I'm just asking you to listen to me, Laczlo. Do you hold my word in such little regard now?"

"I hold your word with as much regard as anyone's. I am fine. Now, will you just listen to me and obey?"

"So that's it? Reduced to a servant, am I?"

"What do you think this is? There is nothing here. Nothing." It hurt to say, but it needed to be said. He had to force her away… No, he had to force himself away. Acknowledging her now as something more would break him. He just wasn't strong enough to do it all, dammit. "I saved you because you are useful. Because your capture is a slight against the imperial tsardom."

"Liar."

"What?"

"I called you a liar," she replied with a fierce spite in her words. "Don't you lie to me. Others, I understand. But I know you too well. All I want is to see the man I knew return. The one who cared, who tried to be better even though he couldn't always succeed. But the man that stands before me looks as if he's given up, and it breaks my heart."

"The man you knew was weak, Vida. He had to die so the tsardom could live."

"Gods, how trite. No, I think he's still there, buried in your shame and grief."

"Grief? For what? I'm the tsar of all of Vasia! I've only ever done what I had to!" he shouted at her, turning away. "Do as you're commanded and begone!"

"Fine, I'll go. And when I see you again, I hope you'll have thought on what I said and maybe done some honest reflection, Laczlo."

Before he could get another word in, she was gone. Out past the guards that protected the antechamber's doorway from the other side. She'll be fine, he thought, turning away and stalking into his room. He shouldn't be here. There were people to talk to about reviewing an old survey of holdings in the west. It was all just a mess of a show of things. He wanted to let others handle it, but that would be foolish. He'd be just like Radokh Vadoyeski, that coward.

Laczlo forced himself to go and listen and weigh in, though he hardly had much to say. Oftentimes, being a tsar was just about listening to the experts and figuring out which ones to agree with. That, at least, he could do without too many mistakes.

Currently, he was summoning his voivodes and their household druzhina for the march. Half of Voiakh's western forces came with their commander to Latna; with his troops plus old Sanei of the Eastern Command, they'd have quite the host to march east with. Thousands of men, certainly. Maybe even ten thousand—more than Vasia had fielded in decades. The voivodes respected him somewhat, it seemed, or at least feared him. Whatever drove them to obey, he was glad to have their participation, demanded though it was.

He'd make the Free Cities kneel before Vasia's might, finally retaking lost land for the first time since the tsardom's decline. For all his faults, Laczlo would become the tsar no one else could. He'd truly succeed. And if that required a little force and intimidation, if that required him to become the warrior prince his druzhina had talked about, why should he falter? Whatever Vida said about the better man within, that's not what Vasia needed.

…

Three rising suns. Two falling moons. That was the time it took for Protis to leave their friends behind, cross the mountains that hid the freed and divergent Reavers of the place Emalia called Kremya, traverse the rolling hills, and enter the flatlands home to Novakrayu, the city of men. A long way to run, but Protis felt free. Like a bird in the sky.

There were no chains anymore, and their mind roamed truly free, growing to fill the skull that held it with each passing day. Memories Protis didn't know were there came back with granular detail. Images of past lives of the zealots Protis was born of, Souls of those consumed, and most vividly, the past life of Daecinus. Those flashes of confusing, discerning visions haunted Protis no longer. They could be placed, understood, and integrated. Owned.

The tall stone walls of man towered in the quiet of night. Monuments. Protis had not understood before, not fully, but now they saw. Even as they scaled a broken section with rapidity, hunching at the top amidst the wind and sprinkling rain, peering into the city, the ways of man seemed less foreign than ever.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Down into the winding city depths convoluted as the flush of Souls when consumed and harnessed for growth. Twisting and growing, evolving.

Two paths emerged before them: to the temple of Emalia's or to the Black Han Taraz. Daecinus had not given detailed instructions, for there was little time. Protis was determined to find the optimal solution, and the two paths seemed best. Which to approach first?

They recalled the temple of timber with its hollowed-out interior that delved into the ground with tunnels. A dangerous standoff between the priests and Emalia over the use of a Sorcerous weapon. They did not have the weapon anymore, but they were still dangerous. Protis had killed some of the Sorcerers before in the hall, where they captured the voivode. There was much to learn in Daecinus's instructions and strategies.

The priests first, they thought, trying to center their mind on task. Sometimes, that proved difficult when so much to consider lay bare before them. They must be convinced. But first?

The Black Han conquered the city. Protis saw to that by forcing the gates open… Protis could sneak inside and find the priest leader—the one they called Wracen—and force him to obey. Or tell the Han and have him force all others. But that would not work, would it? Daecinus sent Protis for a reason, trusting them to communicate the message. A message of cooperation.

Convince. Sway. Not directions or orders. Not like it was before when Protis lacked a full mind… They cocked their head in thought there in the darkness, looking at the temple, rain splattering off their pale, hulking form. They had come to the temple first without thought. The mind was complex. Not all thoughts were revealed as words. Some were hidden in the depths.

Protis loped toward the temple doors and knocked upon them with their fist. There was no answer for the longest time. Protis hit the door again, cracking something on accident, sending it open slightly. Light peeked out through. Someone was coming. Protis looked at their Soul through the door, ability far more potent than before. I must be more attentive to this. Was this perhaps a lesson learned? Know yourself and your limitations before challenging another.

"Who goes there?" called the coming priest, carrying a candle. "It is too late for bread and lessons. You must wait for…" The voice faded away as he got closer to the doorway, able to see it was no human waiting for him. He hesitated a few paces away, squinting into the night, unable to fully see with his limited night vision.

Protis opened one of the doors now that its lock was accidentally broken. "I was sent by Daecinus, ally of the master of your people—"

The priest fled with a yelp back inside. Protis just stared after him, confused, then ashamed of themself. Of course, the human would see a large Dead creature and think it a thing to fear. In many circumstances, such a reaction was logical. Protis followed the priest inside, keeping up easily.

"Do not be afraid," they rumbled. "I am a friend of Emalia's. I have words for Wracen, your leader."

The priest threw open the door leading into the temple and continued to flee inside.

Protis followed, trying to determine if it was their words or still their appearance that scared the man so. Even as confusion spread and men leaped from their small rooms in alarm with flickering candles that barely lit their surroundings, the answer was unclear. A minor problem next to the one at hand. Where was the priest leader?

"Wracen!" Protis shouted, their graveled voice booming out and echoing through the vast interior. "I was sent to speak with you! Your city depends on it!"

Moments later, a group of priests in thin linen shirts likely meant for sleeping stepped forward, some of them huddled around a central individual. He looked at Protis with suspicion and concern, but not fear. Improvement. Yes, but the shouting likely achieved the better outcome, surely?

"You are Daecinus's creation, aren't you? You watched over the others for some time," the human said, waving away his fellow priests. Sorcerers. But not him.

Do they not value strength in a leader? The mind must be more important for them. Curious.

"Yes," Protis replied. "I come from Deacinus and Emalia. They found Maecia."

Immediately, his face twisted in some kind of display of distaste or unhappiness. "Well, are they all right? What did they find there?"

"They are healthy but captured."

"Healthy. Thank the gods. But did you say captured?" The man paled in the way humans did when they were afraid. "Truly?"

"I do not lie. More importantly, Maecia will raise Dead at Kremya, then attack this city and use its population as fuel for a Spell to block Sorcery."

"Gods protect us…" He frowned, shook his head, and squinted at the Soulborne. "How can I trust you? The last directive Daecinus gave us resulted in many dead men at sea, you must understand. I advised caution then and would do so now. I do not wish to endanger my people again."

Persuade. Convince. Difficult asks for a creature ignorant of human ways and minds. Protis stared at the man and considered his perspective, odd as it was. Yes, there was danger in the thing called trust. One must proceed with caution. Like hunting by a faint scent. How to change his mind? How to convince? "Emalia is with Daecinus. She and Sovina know of dangers and would want you to be safe." That wasn't good enough. What else? "Maecia killed Daecinus's warriors. They were good humans. Friends. This is evidence of her intent to harm and conflict with Daecinus."

The priest seemed intrigued but not fully swayed, saying, "I understand, but these could be commands from your master. How do I know he is working in good faith?"

Trust… Give it to them. Hand it to them. Make them see. Protis stared at the human and then pointed to a Sorcerer behind. "Bind me."

"What?" the woman asked. "We don't use Dead here…"

"Bind me. Sorcery. You will see I have no master."

"Do as it says, Sudanka," Wracen muttered, eyes narrowed.

The Sorcerer Sudanka stepped forward, uncertainly, and placed a hand on Protis's arm, face bent in fear. Why touch? Ah, she must be weak. There was a flash of Sorcery Protis could see, but no sense of anything touching their own Soul.

The woman gasped and pulled back. "It's not bound but… There is nothing to latch to! I've never even heard of this before. Is this a trick by your master? Another ruse?"

"I have no master. Daecinus released me. And I do not lie." Protis looked at Wracen. "I speak no commands but do as he asks because I want him to live. I want you to live. Innocent lives should be protected." Why? Such a thing felt true. Inherently true. Protis recalled a conversation with Daecinus early on, after it was born on this. A curious lesson, but one they took to heart.

Wracen rubbed his head and glanced at Sudanka. "If Protis here cannot be bound, that does complicate our understanding of what Dead can do… Nevertheless, I feel it would be foolhardy to only suspect the worst."

"I have never read, heard, or seen anything like this, Wracen. It can only mean something is wrong—"

"Do not let your fears consume you." He peered up at Protis with a probing look. "What instructions do you have for us? Surely Daecinus has something in mind."

"You must work with the Black Han and defend the city against Maecia's attack."

Wracen's face revealed confusion and interest at the same time, oddly. "Have you spoken to the Black Han yet?"

"No. I will after you agree to fight."

"If this Maecia comes with intent to destroy us, then I will rally who I can to fight her and her Dead army, mortal and feeble though we may be." He raised a finger. A gesture to suggest a pause? "But do not go yet. It would be unwise to seek out the Han in the middle of the night."

Protis thought on this. Unwise… Frightening? Yes, it would make his guards angry and defensive. "Waiting loses time. It is slow, even if more appropriate."

"Perhaps, but we can use it to plan and present him something as a unified front at a reasonable hour. It gives a human touch to your claim while connecting me back to Daecinus, his ally. You wish us to work together, don't you? This is the best way to ensure his trust and cooperation while giving us time to review this. Is this agreeable, Sudanka?"

The woman sighed and mumbled, "I still recommend caution, but yes."

Protis saw it as reasonable. Emalia trusted this man. So did Sovina. Protis grunted in the affirmative. "I will do as you say."

"Besides, the Han has a strange northern guest. Some sort of envoy of their church of Daes, or Deus, as they would call it. It would be best to converse when we know the envoy is gone."

Protis did not understand. This was a thing of human politics, yes. "Why?"

"He is some sort of fanatic, I believe. One that despises Sorcerers and Dead."

A shock of something. Realization? Memory? It arrived with vicious familiarity and curious discomfort. "The White Order," Protis said, calling upon distant memories. "Of Sadovoe."

"That's right." The nodded adamantly. "So you know the danger they might bring."

The zealots. Protis's first kill. Protis's creation. "They hunt Sorcerers and Dead."

"Yes, and I believe your former master might have been their quarry."