The Column of Ash [Epic Fantasy]

East of Vetera lay a few scattered hills, slowly flattening through Oskar's first day of travel. On the second, it leveled out into a wide plain that reminded him of the empty stretch of tundra north of the Fallen Cities, except far more hospitable. There were some scattered hamlets and a lot more isolated homesteads. Sometimes, a shambling corpse could be spotted, likely from Vasia's bordering mountain range, maybe from the east where Neapoli lie. Hard to say. He directed his party to intercept any Dead they spotted. Not that he had to; it was just the right thing to do.

He had five men with him, all were mounted, experienced warriors. A few from Voivode Vetesky's own entourage, a few druzhina who now owed loyalty to Oskar. All good enough men. Still, no company like Milava, officially his wife as of a day ago. He couldn't help but grin when thinking back to the night. The ceremony and preparations consumed the whole day, with Milava actually pausing her work at the trading house, which was probably the most miraculous part of it all. She'd worn a veil during all of it and was only allowed to lift it when all was said and done and they were in bed together, finally alone sometime in the depths of night after a long feast. Vetesky had secretly paid for a good portion of it, making a grand event out of the occasion. Why? It was hard to say. Maybe he wanted to keep Oskar loyal. Maybe it was a distraction for the city, something good to remember before the war was upon them.

Milava would have preferred not to rush on to it, but it was best to do this before the scouting trip, just in case. She didn't like him talking like that, but one had to be realistic. Their eastern neighbors suspected something was going to happen, and that meant they would be on the lookout for scouts and spies.

And so, they rode into the early evening, Oskar still with a bit of a hangover. It was good and gone by the second day when his band stopped outside a cluster of about ten homesteads.

The small settlement was halfway between Vetera and the Free Cities, and was nominally Vasian, though it was so far out that no one gave a shit. They might as well be independent. Families stood about, gawking at them, tools firm in hand, concern knotting shoulders and necks. Fear of attack is what it was. He'd seen it a thousand times before. Good, let them be ready for the day it'll inevitably come.

Oskar led the way and dismounted, helmet held under his arm, free hand casually on the pommel of his sword, something close to an easy smile on his face. "We're from Vetera. I'm Voivode Vetesky's man, Oskar Koyzlav, new boyar of Ltava. We're just passing through here."

"Through here, sir?" a man asked, confused. "For the night?"

"We might come about on the way back, too."

He nodded slowly, still looking concerned and uncertain. "We've not seen anyone from the west in a long time. Not like you, at least… uh, a boyar, that is."

"We're not here for trouble of any kind. Just a roof over our heads," Oskar replied, sighing.

"We don't have much space, I'm afraid."

"You'd turn away a boyar serving your voivode?" Oskar's eyes narrowed. They'd be marching this way with an army in due time, so if these people weren't loyal to Vetera, they might pass information to the enemy. "Think carefully about this."

Another piped up, their voice high and tremoring. "It's just… You know how the East is. We don't want to be seen taking sides—"

"What my cousin means to say is Sino Point likes to send riders every once in a while, and if they see Veterian men here, well, they might take it out on us."

Oskar cocked his head. "Sino Point sends riders here? Druzhina?"

"Not druzhina, sir. They don't, uh, have druzhina there." The man was sweating. He looked over his shoulder and then back to Oskar. "I just don't think it's a good idea. It could make things bloody."

Oskar had a sinking feeling in his gut. "They're here now, aren't they?" When the villager didn't respond, he squinted out past the few gathered men, scanning the hamlet for anything suspicious. There was a cluster of far buildings walled in together like a semi-fortified homestead—not unusual, given the Dead and bandits of these parts. Smoke from a fire rose up from inside. "How many?"

"I don't know what you mean, sir—"

He cut off with a gasp when Oskar grabbed him by the front of his tunic and yanked him close. "You're Veterian, you dumb shit. I could have your people killed for this. Don't fuck with me. How many?"

"J-just three of them. They're in Tazar's barn. He always hosts them, but not us! We just didn't want anything to happen, I swear it."

"Tazar, eh? After this is done, might want to knock some sense into him."

"Uh, yes, sir. Will do." His eyes were opened wide, lips pressed flat in barely contained dread. "What will you do?"

"Stay away from that homestead. One peep and I'll start burning homes." He pivoted away from the dumb son of a bitch and remounted his horse. "Ready up," he called to the men, putting on his helmet. "Let's take two of the three if we can."

Oskar rode around the outskirts of the settlement, scowling to himself. Do these people not understand how bloody foolish it is to make home to an enemy like that? he thought to himself, sliding a recurve bow from the open case at the side of his saddle. Good for mounted fighting, not that he was any expert. His druzhina knew what to do. They approached from two different directions, surrounding the walled cluster of three buildings—a small and enclosed barn, a wattle-and-daub cottage, and what looked like an open cattle shed of some kind. Two entrances inside. They dismounted and stacked up with half on a barn door and half at a wall opening. Some had bows in hand like Oskar, others with their axes or swords, shields in the offhand. Oskar carried a sword at his side and shield across his back over his good mail shirt.

To be honest, he couldn't blame the villagers, however. Vetera might not as well exist to them, distant as it was. And when was the last time they sent out druzhina to help? Surely, these people dealt with Dead and the like. They had to look out for themselves. Well, till now.

He looked down the wall toward the others, then nodded.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

They rushed inside as one with held breaths and rattling mail.

Sure enough, three men sat around a fire in the middle of the yard near a well. Chickens pecking about. Two pigs, a goat, and some sheep in the open shed that was really a sheepfold. A pot on an iron stand over the fire, bubbling. Hearty laughter all around. A jug of wine stoppered and tilted over in the dirt. They didn't wear armor, but he could see a long-handled axe nearby. One wore a sword. Faces ruddy and jovial. The scent of cooked, oily meat in the air. Eyes turning toward him, widening.

He drew back the bowstring, aimed, and loosed an arrow. Two other bowstrings thwacked, cracking the air with the sharp sounds of an ambush. The one who saw him caught an arrow in the chest and one in the arm, with one missing entirely; Oskar wasn't sure which was his. He put his bow down against the wall and drew his sword and shield as the men without bows rushed forward. The easterners scrambled to their feet unsteadily, searching for their weapons, forming up. But they were too slow. The man with arrows in him got his hands around the axe when a sword cut across his face. Oskar focused on the one before him and smashed his shield into the man, who didn't even have his sword out of his scabbard, knocking him to the ground.

"Surrender," he shouted. "Pricks! Surrender!"

The last one went for an axe in his belt loop Oskar hadn't spotted. He took a mace to the forearm, likely shattering the bones there, making him holler. One of the druzhina cracked him in the back of the head with the handle of a shortsword, felling him smoothly.

The one Oskar knocked to the ground went to jump up, so he put his foot on the man's collarbone and pressed the tip of his blade into the man's belly. "I said surrender."

The man put his hands up meekly.

It was over in a few moments. One quickly dying and two others in hand.

"Any injuries?" Oskar called out, stepping back.

No one had even taken a bruise.

He let out a heavy sigh. No dead men today. Any day without dead was a good day.

One of the easterners was gasping and crying, trying to help his dying friend as the other rolled on the ground, holding his broken arm, cursing between clenched teeth. Oskar gave orders for two druzhina to find the owner and bring him outside and the four others to get a hand on the survivors, stripping them of weapons and hauling them apart. Oskar put his sword in the dying man just to be sure, then walked over to look at the injured one. His scalp was split open and arm already looking nasty.

"Let's get a bandage on his head. Maybe brace the arm."

"Boyar," a druzhina named Thovin said with a nod.

He still didn't like that. He despised most boyars he'd ever met, and now he was one himself, and in charge of a whole fucking town at that. Oskar sighed and focused on his work—that, at least, he could manage fine enough.

He squatted over the uninjured one he'd knocked down with his shield, pried away from his dying friend. "Where you boys from?"

The man had a thin beard and beady eyes under a strong brow. His nose was broken to the side and bleeding down over his lip. He couldn't be older than twenty. "You don't know? You attack us and don't know?"

"Where you from?"

"Sino Point."

"Good. Keep answering, and you and your buddy get to live, you see."

"Alright," he muttered, feeling at his nose. It looked broken.

"Why are you here?"

"Watching for Veterians."

"Why?"

"You're Veterian, aren't you?" He scowled up at Oskar, nose swelling and growing a mean purple-red. "Well? You know why."

"How much do your people know?"

This time, the young man didn't answer.

Oskar nodded toward one of his men watching the injured one, now with a roughly bandaged head, who was still rolling around, moaning like a dying animal. He pulled out a knife and put it to the scout's face. "Make it the hand," Oskar corrected, and the druzhina did. "We can take fingers for each time our Free City friend doesn't comply."

"By fucking Neapoli, okay! Fuck!" the one being questioned moaned out. "They're gathering men from all four cities at Sino Point—"

"Don't answer the bastard," the injured one said through moans. "They'll just kill us anyway."

"Yeah, well, you want to be tortured? Huh? Who gives a shit? We're fucked. We can't fight this damn war! We won't hold for shit!"

Oskar sighed. "I'm getting rusty." He stood up. "Separate the two. We'll ask them separately and compare answers. Now, where's the owner?"

As if on cue, the two men he sent out were hauling back a stout middle-aged man with the kind of girth that gathered resentment among his hungry neighbors. He was likely the richest among them, and though this hamlet was too small to need a leader of any kind, this one likely figured himself one anyway. They usually did.

"Please, please, please," he begged as he was dragged out and tossed to the dirt. "I don't know these men! I don't know them! They forced their way in here! I was afraid for my family!" A small family trailed behind, frightened. A beautiful wife, two daughters, a son trying not to seem afraid—all ranging from teen to adult. Another man nearby, who might be his brother, followed with a limp, looking as terrified as the women.

If Oskar had less disciplined men, a situation like this could turn dark real quick. But fortunately, he was a boyar, and these were technically his subjects. The men knew this well.

"You don't open your doors for Easterners," Oskar said, shaking his head. Gods, he wished he were home. "You brainless shit, didn't you stop to think for one damn second? Or is this about making a good impression, eh? Trying to weasel your way into their favor?"

"No! I had to, I swear it! They threatened me!"

"Bullshit!" the uninjured scout shouted back at him. "This is the fourth time we've been here, following orders. We paid you!"

Oskar tuned out their bickering and closed his eyes. He didn't know what was fair or right, but this kind of thing was punishable by death, easily enough. Still, the situation was complicated, and just knifing a man wasn't always the solution. But it was wartime, and harsh punishments went far in cowing everyone into obedience. He thought of Vetesky and his political aims—they needed a good approach to Sino Point. That meant making sure the locals weren't helping scouts like this.

"Give him here." Oskar grabbed him and had a druzhina join him, leaving the rest to keep watch over the others. He marched the portly man outside his homestead into the most central area of the settlement, tied his hands back, and threw him to the ground.

Three dozen people watched on, fearful and anxious. Some angry. Oskar knew enough to see that some of that anger was toward the man, Taz, or whatever his name was. They'd blame him and his scheming for putting everyone at risk when all they wanted to do was avoid taking dangerous sides. If there was one common sentiment among people like this, no matter where you were, everyone hated the rich ones.

"Alright people," Oskar said, hands on his hips as he faced the crowd. "Voivode Vetesky is feeling generous. No one here will be punished for one man's crime. Still, you're a village, aren't you? Something close enough, anyway. Well, you need to hold each other accountable. You'll decide what to do with him yourself, authority granted by your voivode through me, understood? I'll leave him to you."

Oskar scanned the faces and saw relief in nearly every one of them. He walked away, unworried about the man's possible escape—they wouldn't do that, not after what happened. He went back to the homestead and spent the rest of the night extracting questions from the men, finding out the details of the Easterner's apparent intentions to gather and hold Sino Point against Vasia. A bold plan. But it was probably the best one to counter a Vasian invasion of significant scale, forcing a protracted, expensive siege that would be politically dangerous given the Rodezians to the west, even with their prince being dead. Still, that opened them up to harrying—an ugly, dirty business of raiding the countryside to force the defenders to sally out; otherwise, they risk having their lands decimated and people rebellious. Something to consider, unfortunately.

When the interrogation was done, he considered bringing them along, but prisoners would just slow them down and make things risky, so in the end, he just cut their throats and buried their bodies in a ditch outside the homestead. They slept there that night and left in the morning, Oskar making a quick stop outside to see the man responsible for hosting the enemy scouts hung in a tree, dead as the others. His family would manage without him just fine, he hoped. But in the end, it wasn't really his problem.

They rode east to see what else they could find.