The Column of Ash [Epic Fantasy]

"Kapitalena, this is a shock!" Tsaritsa Alasa Radokh exclaimed as she followed the snake Vida into the protected gardens. How symbolic. "I recall Vida, of course—she helped warn us on that wretched day, but… Oh, what is wrong?"

Kapitalena was shaking, partly from anxiety and fear, partly for effect. "I'm sorry to come to you like this. I just had to be sure. I had to speak to you without them finding out."

"What is it?" she asked, coming closer, grabbing her hands.

Vida backed away, keeping an eye out for others. Somehow, the spy had managed to reach Alasa without any guards spotting her, but the tsaritsa still had servants, of course, who followed along worriedly. If we had the luxury of time, we could wait until night and achieve greater secrecy. But, of course, they had no such time. Even this was a great risk that Vida barely accepted, and only after everyone else—the children included—were bundled up for travel and securely escorted beyond the walls. Kapitalena didn't have to try very hard to usher a sense of urgent fear in her voice, with the thought of her children vulnerable and far from hand, as she said, "Varul is betraying us. He's selling us out to the Rodezians for what happened to their scheming prince."

"Oh gods be merciful. He cannot do that…" she trailed off, eyes widening. "Radokh wouldn't agree."

"Laczlo received a written order to comply from the tsar."

"He wouldn't write such a thing!"

"Then is it a lie? A forgery? It was carried by a druzhina of Nova. He's trying to send my husband to his death, Alasa!" She quieted herself, looking at the faces of the servants, waiting a respectful distance away. They wouldn't keep a secret, of course, but she hoped that by the time she was done, it wouldn't matter. "Laczlo can't go. He simply cannot. It's not a lawful order from a tsar to his voivode—"

"You don't need to convince me. I know. This isn't right." Her face bent in a worried frown. "I can speak to him, but… I tried earlier, but he just ignored me. My husband is no longer himself anymore. He's never sober anymore!"

"He won't even hear pleas for his most loyal voivode's life?"

"I… I don't know."

Kapitalena leaned in, staring into her friend's eyes. "I don't know what else to do except run. And if we run, then Varul will come for us. We will be enemies of Vasia. It will start another war—one he hopes to win with his new army by attacking Vilsi. He's making us—us!—into traitors to the imperial tsardom."

"I can fight for you. Advocate for you—"

"Then you will become Varul's enemy. He might try to have Radokh…"

"What? Have him what?"

"I hesitate to say it, but he might force Radokh to divorce you. You're too strong an enemy for Varul to have. He can't risk it. He can't risk losing a puppet." As Alasa began to cry, shaking with realized horror, Kapitalena prepared for the next part. It was the most delicate piece, and she had to frame it correctly. "Or, gods forbid it, he might look for an easier tsar to control…" The tsaritsa's teary eyes widened. The realization hit her hard and was clearly more gut-wrenching than even the thought of losing her husband. Kapitalena quickly added, "He has no qualms with betraying a loyal voivode or undermining the tsar, so why not this? He's a shark, that man. Loyalty and honor mean nothing to him."

The tsaritsa sat heavily upon a nearby bench. The same one, in fact, they sat upon together just a few hours ago. She was likely thinking about Kapitalena's assessment, which was biased in her favor, of course, but hardly unrealistic. A puppet child tsar was ideal for a man like Varul—it was likely one reason why he had the tsar drinking and whoring so much, as to hurry up his death. Or make an untimely death all the more explainable. Or simply just to weaken his image to allow for a justified change.

"You could be right, but I can't be sure," Alasa said. "But you've come with a plan, surely. I know you well enough to guess that."

"I have. It's desperate, dangerous, and may seem foolish. But doing nothing could very well be worse, Alasa." She sat down next to the tsaritsa, her friend. "Come with me. Bring your children." Before she could interrupt with any sort of reaction, Kapitalena continued quickly, "Varul could not act openly against me if you and the heir were giving legitimacy to our plight. He could also not act subtly against you or your children if they were out of his reach. And with the tsaverich out of hand, he can't do anything to harm the tsar, otherwise risking the heir be in your hands."

"This would make him my enemy."

"He already is."

"But an actual enemy, Kapitalena. We couldn't turn back after this."

"I already cannot."

"I still could." She licked her lips and looked away, wavering, almost lost. "I could still make Varul trust me or value me in some way—"

"Then you would have to accept the fate of not just your husband but your children under Varul's authority. If you can accept that, then there is no use trying to convince you." As the tsaritsa hesitated, Kapitalena stared at her. She considered cutting her losses and leaving there but was too angry. With her, the tsar, Varul, Laczlo for being gone, and herself for not being more proactive. And so she ignored her more cautious instincts and grabbed Alasa by the fine mantle she wore. Servants around gasped but didn't move when Vida uttered a rather creative threat. "You are tsaritsa of Vasia, Alasa. The most powerful woman in the known world. This creature comes and threatens not just your rein, your life, your husband's, but your children's? And you hesitate? If you don't do something right now, you are better off abdicating and handing the throne to Varul then poisoning your children lest he get to them first." She pushed her back none-too-softly and stood. "I know there's a woman of strength in there underneath all that fear and hesitation. A mother of strength. Will you fight for them or abandon them to Varul?"

Alasa gawked up at her, shocked and frightened, likely having never been spoken to in such a manner, lost for words. Then her lost expression settled, and frightened, hurried, yet committed certainty took hold, and Kapitalena felt her resolve buffeted. The tsaritsa stood, trembling, and said, with a voice still shaky, "Elan, forgive me if I am wrong, but I will trust you, Kapitalena. We'll go with you. Just tell me what to do."

…

Laczlo rode along the old road he'd taken what felt like decades ago to Goroden, back before any of it really started. Back when he was still a boy of a man. They were two days from Goroden, making good time after selling off their uncommitted captured as slaves, and yet, he couldn't help but worry. Vida should have returned with Kapitalena by now. The journey from Nova to Goroden with a small group on horses shouldn't take much time at all compared to his lumbering army. And yet, they were slow by over a day. Maybe more.

And so Laczlo rode with the scouts in the front and rear, restless, needing something to distract him from the concern that loomed like the tsar's executioner's axe that might fall upon his neck should he fail. Upon his family's necks should he fail.

An extra druzhina was always with him on his rides, and this time, Stanilo came, stopping with him under the shade of an olive tree. Together, they watched the peasants work their fields and distant villages bustle with the daily necessities of life, his scouts eating a small lunch on the grassy ground. He remained in his mount, unable to even consider food, so Stanilo remained mounted, too.

"How does it feel?" he asked the ex-mercenary, nodding to his arm.

"Fine enough, sir. But you don't need to concern yourself with me."

"I concern myself with all my druzhina. If I had the time, I'd walk the camp and ask every man."

"That's kind, sir."

"Is it?"

"I'd say so."

"Hm." He shrugged. "I think it's every leader's job to look after his men. The greater your position, the greater your responsibility." Laczlo gave Stanilo a long look. "But I was a poor leader before. Things have changed now."

"You're a good voivode," he replied, expression unreadable. "And no matter how you were before, it doesn't justify what I did."

"It's done. You paid your due."

Stanilo nodded, saying nothing for a long time. Eventually, he grunted, "I appreciate whatever you said to Isak."

"Are you two settled?"

"He's a loyal druzhina, deserving of his position. I'm glad to have his trust."

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

"As you have mine. I've always liked you, Stanilo. I'm glad you're with us again."

He smiled, stony unreadability cracking into open gratitude. "It took me too long, but I'm glad I'm back, too. After enough time, you'll see my men deserve recognition and reward, too."

The ex-mercenaries now serve as his personal retinue. Likely an odd change of pace for them—the handful who survived everything, that is. "I'm sure I will." He pulled on his sword to keep it loose in its scabbard and scanned the horizon behind them once more. Still no Kapitalena. "Say we meet with Commander Voiakh, and he agrees to join up. What would you advise me to do next?"

He let out a long sigh of heavy consideration. "The professional in me advises a march on Nova, but it's risky. A lot of things at play. There's Rodezia, unknown numbers Varul's has mustering, and Sorcery. Then the politics of whatever comes after, which I won't pretend to know."

"If all goes well, we could try to depose Varul, but he wouldn't go down without a fight. And that would get bloody. We'd lose a lot of men. The tsar would not be willing to abdicate, so we'd have to do it by force, somehow convincing the tsaritsa to put her son on the throne instead…" he trailed off, noticing Stanilo's expression. "What?"

"No one's said it, have they?"

"Don't speak in riddles with me. What do you mean?"

The druzhina chewed at his lip, then, with set shoulders and a steady voice, said, "Sir, if we beat Varul and take Nova, there might not be a better time for you to take the throne."

Laczlo's jaw dropped. "What?" He tried to see if Stanilo was joking, but the man looked serious. "I couldn't do that! That's… Deus, that's… rebellion or, well, it's insane! Who'd agree to that? The other voivodes would be in arms in a matter of hours. The commanders, too!"

"Voiakh wouldn't. Not if he joins you here. And no voivode is as strong as you are. Whoever holds Nova holds the wealth of Vasia, sir. Only reason you could challenge them now is all the won battles and looted gold. If the Eastern Commander fought you, you just cut his silver, and eventually, his men rebel," he said it all evenly, steadily, as if reading figures from a ledger. "Not saying you should do it, sir. But it's an option. More dangerous than putting the Vadoyeski child on, certainly. But you'd have direct instead of indirect power. That could be worth it."

Direct instead of indirect… Deus, he thinks I want to make the child a puppet! Does everyone think that? Am I the only loyal Vasian here? he thought, astonished, then slowly turning reflective. Have I been at this all wrong? Am I too soft? Too rigid? Laczlo had won battles few others could, turning the tide of the rebellion that might have otherwise dragged on for years. Still, how could he justify taking the tsardom for himself? He didn't deserve it. He couldn't rule effectively. By the Gates of Light, he could barely rule his own holdings now effectively.

If only Kapitalena were— He began to think, hardly for the first time, when out of the corner of his eye, he saw a commotion back at the distant army.

Something told him it was her. Somehow, he just knew it.

It didn't take long for them to ride back along with the scouts, for they hadn't traveled far. Laczlo arrived to a general ruckus of murmurings and shifting about. Everyone was standing close together near the center of an ill-formed column of men, paused in the middle of the road like a disorganized merchant's caravan. They were gawking at something, he could tell.

He rode forward with Stanilo, people dutifully parting before him after but a glance. It took a few minutes to reach the center. The first thing he saw was not Kapitalena or Vida, but a far less expected sight: the Tsaritsa of Vasia and her gaggle of children poking their heads out of a bulky, freshly-painted carriage, hardly a guard of theirs in sight. And certainly no Paltas, head of the imperial guard.

Laczlo stopped, frozen atop his mount, staring, mind racing.

But there could only be one explanation for such a turn, and she came into view now. He pushed forward to speak with his wife.

"I did as you asked," Vida said suddenly beside him. "But she wanted to bring them. We barely got out—"

"Any losses?" he asked, not taking his eyes off Kapitalena. It felt like it'd been years since he'd last seen her. Ages. Far too long, at the very least.

"No conflict of that kind. A few were seized by the gate guards, but no one vital."

He let out a relieved sigh. "Good. A success then."

"If you think this mess is a success."

Laczlo cast her a sideways glance, then focused ahead. He carried on, having no more patience for side conversations when all he wanted to do was see his family. "Thank you, Vida," he said and took his mount forward, dismounting when close.

Kapitalena had the children at her sides, clutching at the hem of her traveler's dress and staring wide-eyed, both quite overwhelmed.

"Bora! Nanko!" he shouted, spreading his arms from a short distance away.

Nanko was the first to notice and dash forward with a shriek of delight that made Laczlo's heart soar. Bora came next, less enthusiastically, but with bubbling tears and a tremor that pained him. This must have been traumatic. Like when we ran from my uncle's men. Deu forgive me… he thought, holding them tight. He stood, young children in arms, thankful for all his martial training to be able to so easily lift them, and gave Kapitalena a weary grin.

She returned one of her own, approaching almost demurely. People were watching. Everyone was watching: his soldiers, servants, druzhina, even the tsaritsa. Laczlo had a frightful moment of hesitant consideration, weighing acknowledging the tsaritsa respectfully and showing the humanity of a father and husband. But Kapitalena was approaching, and she had to know what was right. So Laczlo set down his children, put them at his sides, and embraced his wife.

"It's good to see you're safe," he whispered. "I was so worried about the delay and—"

"We brought more than Vida planned, as you noticed."

"Certainly."

"It's good to see you're safe as well, Husband."

He kept up the lowered voice. "Why is she here?"

"She offers legitimacy in the eyes of all. And more." She leaned forward, and he responded, kissing her. There were some cheers and laughs from the men. Laczlo tried to ignore them but grinned in spite of himself. "Humanity is your advantage. Don't hide it," she advised.

"How do I proceed with her?"

"Confident, reassuring…" She paused, something flashing across her face he couldn't quite place. "Warm. She trusts you—build on that. We'll speak more later. Go."

He scooped up the children once more, much to Nanko's delight and Bora's comfort. They both clutched him as he bounded forward playfully, jostling them about. In the rear, with his newly arrived servants, was Mikha. He gave his old mentor a nod, who returned it with eyes bent in relieved concern. They would have to talk later. He had much to share with the old man. Much to ask. But not now.

When he neared the hulking carriage and its team of horses, he slowed and approached with some gravity in his step. The tsaritsa stepped out with the assistance of a lady Laczlo guessed to be one of her many boyaresses in personal service. So she brought some attendants at least. She wore a beautiful, certainly exorbitantly expensive dress of red silk accentuating her painted lips and rosy cheeks. It made him self-conscious about his own appearance, dressed for war, armor well-kept though worn and battle-tested. With her jewelry and make-up, he also became aware of his own whiskered face and increasing number of visible scars—the primary of which was his large cut from the Sea Serpents off of Goroden. His first real battle, in a way.

"Tsaritsa Alasa Vadoyeski, it is an honor to have you with us. I know these are troubling times, but be assured that you and your family are safe here." He tried a confident smile, but probably just ended up looking nervous as a new bride.

"Thank you, Voivode Vilsky," she replied, smiling wide. Her eyes crinkled in the expression, likely from relief after the terror of fleeing the palace and an exposed travel here. Not that he could ask her questions about such things right now. "I feel better here. You saved us once before, and I am assured this will be no different." Her cheeks reddened further, and she transitioned, presenting her children to him, one by one. It was something of a formal act, typically reserved for first meetings, but he supposed it had been some time. Of course, he knew all five of them by name and addressed them as such, trying to recall as specific of details as he could about each child, asking them questions to take their minds off the turbulence of their situation. At the same time, he occupied some of the youngest with his own children, who saw to entertaining them obediently. Kapitalena had really done a wonderful job with them. He wished he could claim even a portion of that attribution.

When he reached the eldest, Amon, he gave the boy a grin. "You're man of the house now, aren't you, Tsaverich Amon?"

"Yes, Voivode," he replied dutifully. Despite his princely demeanor, Laczlo could see the uncertainty there—the fear. He hoped it was not of him.

I need to gain his trust and favor to bolster our position, he realized with some regret. But politics was reality, and if he wished to gain something without the threat of the blade, this was how. So he glanced to the tsaritsa and asked, "Has he begun riding? Swordsmanship?"

"He has," she replied, eyes locked on him and Amon. "And was taking to them well before."

Before Varul. Before the war. "Good. With your consent…?" He nodded to the boy.

She smiled, and that was the confirmation he needed. And so Laczlo drew his arming sword and knelt beside Amon. "I was given this from my father before he died years ago. I was a little older than you. He taught me some, but he was no warrior. I had to learn a lot on my own, you see? But it's better to have a teacher. Amon, these next few weeks will be tough away from home, but I know you'll be strong. And I can help you be stronger. I can teach you. Fighting with a blade, horse riding, all when I have time. Would you like that?"

He seemed frozen, uncertain for a long moment. And then he touched the sword reverently and asked, "Can you fight Greyskins?"

"What?"

"Oh. Sorry. Can you fight Greyskins, Voivode?"

Laczlo was taken aback, and then he remembered. The children saw what Daecinus's creations did—the Soulborne. Of course, Amon would focus on that. It would be hard not to forget. Even Laczlo had nightmares about being at their mercy sometimes. He licked his lips and pointed at the scar stretching along his right cheek. "You see this ugly thing?"

"It's not ugly, Voivode. It's honorable. Handsome."

Laczlo grinned despite himself, glancing up to the tsaritsa, who looked away. "Ah, well, thank you. But it hurt a lot. You don't want something like this; it could make you sick if you're not lucky. People have died from less. Anyway, Tsaverich, my point is this: I got this nasty thing even though I could fight. Well, could mostly fight. I had plenty of druzhina with me who were a lot better, you see. But it was a battle we should have avoided if we could. A lot of fights are like that. Especially with the Dead. And that's something you'll learn too. Do you understand?"

"I think so, Voivode. Fighting Greyskins is dangerous. But sometimes, we must fight. Right?" He seemed contemplative, reflective. As if battling between the thought of caution and valorous ideals. "Like when he came."

"Who came?"

His face twisted in anger, forcibly repressed. "Vicarr Varul, Voivode."

"I see." This is dangerous. Deus, it's like everything is out to tempt me. He patted the boy on his shoulder and stood, sheathing his sword. "Perhaps, young tsarevich. Perhaps."

"What is this?" someone exclaimed.

Laczlo turned, finding the messengers of Rodezia gathered at the edge of the circle that had formed around the tsaritsa's family and his own. "This would be the Tsaritsa of Vasia, Beden."

The man's face paled. "What are you—"

"Take them." Druzhina appeared, seizing the messengers and hauling them away before they could offer any resistance. He couldn't hold them forever—not without risking potential escape—but the execution of messengers was a dangerous notion, potentially inciting Rodezia. He would have to speak to Kapitalena later on the matter, who could assess her home country's readiness for war better than anyone else. And as long as their west was secure, he could focus east on Nova. On the tsar, and most of all, on Varul.