The Column of Ash [Epic Fantasy]

"Their intuitions were right," Kapitalena said as they rode side by side on the ancient brick road to Goroden. Her face was tight with the kind of anxiety that doesn't go away, even after the hard part was over. Still, she was beautiful, calm, and appeared as cool as a sculpture of ice, unperturbable, trying so hard to appear serene. She, of all people, knew the importance of appearances amidst one's followers. And after so long, Laczlo felt as if he were finally learning the fundamentals she portrayed daily. Lessons he should have learned years ago.

They were speaking on the political reality of Rodezia's clumsy attempts to bring Laczlo to justice by pressuring the tsar to force him to submit himself.

She continued, "I was shocked King Vestile sent the messengers with such a clumsy demand, but I suppose he wants to regain control. And your public trial and execution might have done the trick. He wants to save face, not just internationally, but at home—it's essential to retaining control over the politics of his children."

"All two dozen of them," Laczlo muttered.

"To secure a proper heir, yes."

"Consorts lead to nothing but confusion," he said. She raised an eyebrow at him, so he shut his mouth and looked away, wishing to change the subject. "So, what do we do with the messengers?"

Kapitalena shrugged. "Send them home or kill them, Vestile can do nothing. His position is weakened by your refusal. An enterprising prince may try to rally an army to invade, but we'll face no unified front from the Rodezians—not if another can profit at the invader's expense. With Karnys dead, their division is simply too strong."

Laczlo let out a long sigh of relief. That was certainly better than he was expecting, which wasn't much, because with how things were going, he'd half a mind to expect total war on multiple fronts at any point. So, he gave it a moment's thought and said, "We need to widen those divisions, but how? By weakening the king's position?"

"Send them home as tongueless eunuchs."

He gave her a surprised look. "Deus, Kapitalena!"

"It's a serious insult to a culture so bent around providing a plethora of heirs, not to mention the irony of tongueless messengers. Vestile's court will mock him, and his children will be emboldened at his expense. They will smell blood."

"Are they so cruel?"

"Little crueler than our own politics."

"But they're family…" And so was my uncle, but he rebelled regardless.

Her face, stony, taught, shuttered briefly with what he recognized as an attempt to keep something suppressed. Anger, disgust, disdain—something of the sort, certainly. Most would miss the small waver of expression, but not he. "They would rather eat their own children than surrender any power. My father was a better man, however."

"Not if he delivered you to me." Laczlo tried to smirk at his own expense, but it was sadder than it was comedic.

"No, Husband. Hardly. We bicker and have our disagreements, but…" She summoned a new breath of courage. The swordswoman finding her poise once again. "But I am quite fortunate."

"Oh?" He didn't know what else to say, just staring at her dumbly.

"And I have been unfair."

"What? Uh, how?"

"On the ride here, Vida was honest with me. She is a hard woman not to like, try as I did to ignore and repudiate her. Well, we spoke with much-needed honesty."

Ah, Laczlo thought, woman to woman. I see. Though he didn't know if he actually did.

"She has tried for your favor but received nothing. She called it selfishness. I suspected it was self-preservation, but I see now I was too pessimistic. She cares for you as much as I wish she didn't." Her face betrayed little as she stared out ahead like a general facing down an impossible enemy. Like Voivode Kolomsky before the battle outside his doomed home, he imagined. "While I still wish you had not brought her with you—I can see the practical reasons why."

"I didn't just do it because she's a good spy," he admitted before he could back down. "I didn't want to just abandon her. And after everything, well… Gah, I don't know! I don't know why things are how they are. Or why I do them."

"Sometimes, that is the unfortunate truth."

He stared at her. "You aren't mad?"

"I understand, Laczlo. That's what matters."

"What anxiety can be resolved by a conversation!" He exhaled a long-held sigh, feeling like a weight was finally pulled from his shoulders—one of many. "Next, you'll say Varul's army is a few hundred men and melting away like spring snow."

"Hardly. It is extensive and camped on the east side of the straight. I worry for our home."

"As do I. And the far East."

"Does that even make military sense? The Free Cities?"

Laczlo exhaled, wondering how to honestly answer a question of strategy when he hadn't much of a clue himself. "They're rich. Winning them would mean prestige, expansion, and fulfill his own desire for legitimacy. And a defensive barrier against the Targul. Maybe preparation to campaign against them if he's even more ambitious." He ran his tongue over his teeth in thought, finding a small crack in a tooth from a fight. Which one was hard to say after the many he's had over the last year. "I doubt he'd raise an army just for Vilsi, considering Vasia's already precarious position. No, this has to be something big. Something that would overextend Vasia."

"I was afraid it was something that dire. Again, it's as if he's forcing our hand." Again, he shifted to stare. "Ride ahead with me." She brought her mount up a few paces away from the column they led. Scouts were in the distant front, of course, but this gave them a perimeter of solitude to ensure privacy. He worried why she wanted it. When they settled side-by-side again, Kapitalena whispered, barely audible, "You've noticed the tsaritsa, I would suppose?"

Oh, not this. "I don't know why she has taken such a liking to me or—"

"Don't be defensive. It's not your fault." She paused, then snorted. "Well, not your intentional fault. But you've become the man you were always meant to be—courageous, strong, and honorable. Part of you was that all along." Kapitalena extended a hand and grasped his, giving it a squeeze before returning it to her reins, composure shifted ahead. She continued before he could recover from the compliments and sentimental gesture, "This puts you in a difficult position, of course, but also a strong one. You have already made yourself into the apparent guardian of Amon—a good move, by the way. The closer you are to the Vadoyeskis, the more you can undermine the tsar and gain legitimacy in the eyes of boyars, druzhina, and voivodes. Her interest, while dangerous, is certainly useful."

"But why me?"

"Why you?"

"Well, I appreciate your words more than you know—"

"Laczlo," Kapitalena said, "you were there for her and her children when her cowardly husband shook in his silks. You saved Nova. You saved her. While the tsar is drinking and whoring, as she put it, you are fighting for Vasia. The tsaritsa grew up a boyar, yes, but nothing like the tsar. She was raised on stories of druzhina and warrior princes, not imperial politics."

"Oh."

"Yes. The timing of everything is impeccable. I'd congratulate you on it if you did it consciously… And you weren't my husband, of course." She chuckled while he sat there in shock and dawning understanding—a sort of horror that comes when the truth is more terrible than any lie.

It was as if he were seducing the tsaritsa? Oh Deus, was she suggesting something more? "You're not saying I should—"

"You should proceed carefully, Husband. Judiciously. But also ambitiously."

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"Alasa is your friend."

"Yes?" She made a face. A moment of a glimpse. Then it was buried. "Should this bond prevent me from looking after my family? Say we win. We defeat Varul. The tsar is still present—do you want Alasa to be enthusiastic in taking him back? He is still the weak, spineless man who brought us to this point. He needs to be destroyed, or this will all happen again. Vasia needs to move on from him toward a different future." Once more, she offered her hand, and Laczlo took it despite some hesitation brewing in him like a noxious fume. "And that future requires Amon Vadoyeski in hand. It requires Alasa compliant."

"But what about you?" was all he could muster.

"Me?"

"This would be an insult to your name. To our name."

"I can bear insult. I am used to it after everything we went through with your uncle and more." She shook her head and looked back. He followed her gaze to Bora and Nanko seated on Isak's saddle in front of him, playing and wriggling around and generally being a cute nuisance to the druzhina's steady ride, though Laczlo suspected he enjoyed it more than he'd admit. "But no insult or rumors matter as much as this, you see?"

"I do. I just… I don't… I don't want to be the kind of man who does this."

She looked as if she wished to argue against him, then her lips twisted and eyes appraised. Then, for a moment, it all fell away in a smile that glowed like the sun peeking through a misty morning. "Take it slow. Don't rebuke her. Let her fantasize and wish. She'll draw closer to us, and we can reevaluate later."

He saw through the cold shell. It wasn't a mask for him, he realized, but for herself. To protect herself. Deus, how hadn't he seen it? How had he been so blind? She was afraid! "Thank you, Kapitalena… And, well, you did well bringing her. I don't know how you managed to convince her, but it's amazing."

"I only did what was smartest for us." She might have blushed, but he couldn't be sure.

"That's more than I could ever do! And catching on to Varul's plan, seeing through this guise—we wouldn't have managed it if you hadn't let me know when you did."

"I just did what was best."

Laczlo grinned her way and tried to catch her gaze. After a moment, she seemed to comply and looked back at him. "We'll be okay," he said. "And not just because of luck or good fortune or anything, but because of you. You're amazing."

She swallowed, jaw clenched, a slight tremble there. "You—" she stopped, clearing her throat. "You are to blame for our good fortune as well, Laczlo. I've seen how you changed. I meant it all. I'm, well, I'm proud of you."

"Now that's not fair." He barely got the words out. She always knew what to say.

"I can play this game better than you."

"Complimenting you isn't a game for me. It's becoming second nature. I'm better at seeing what's before me."

"You've gotten wittier." She smirked. "I approve." Her lips parted and eyes widened in a sort of joking, offended surprise. "I don't mean to tease you on, of course. Forgive me."

He couldn't help but laugh, even embarrassed as he was. "Some of us want validation, yes. But that's not the only gift there is to give."

"Oh, and what do you imply?"

He reached into his saddlebag and brought out a rich, golden necklace. The kind they previously couldn't afford and only had as heirlooms they couldn't sell for the sake of prestige. Her eyes widened in honest, joyous surprise. Laczlo leaned over and tried to string it around her neck, but on horseback, it was too difficult, so he had to awkwardly hand it over and let her do it.

"It's beautiful," she said. "Where did you get this?"

The smile vanished like the dying wind in a sail. I should have expected that question. He looked away. "The war has been profitable."

"Laczlo." He glanced back to see her watching him acutely, a small, confident—no, a decisive—smile on her face. "Don't feel pity for our enemies. We were better, smarter, stronger, and so we deserved to win and they lose. That is the order of things."

He didn't believe that notion, but when she said it, he almost did, and so he smiled and watched her wear the trophy of a voivodess sent to her death in Nova. A voivodess standing with her husband for a cause that was right, yet foolhardy and hopeless, not very far from where he was now. The irony cut like a knife. Yet, seeing Kapitalena smile, it was a knife on mail, glancing with a faint bruise. As if it would all be okay anyway.

And he wasn't sure how to feel about that.

…

Laczlo expected Goroden to be a warzone. It was far larger than Kolomsa in scale, and both sides had larger armies. Western Commander Voiakh had the mobile half of his army at his back, reinforced over the last months, bulking his initial numbers up to a few thousand strong. Far more than Laczlo, even if most were irregulars who typically served only for a season out of the year. Just approaching made him anxious, even if he'd sent scouts ahead with letters warning Voiakh of his arrival. Gorodenski was not a warlord voivode but pretended to be one, and so he had a fair number, reportedly near a thousand himself, stuffed inside the walls of the hillfort city.

And so, Laczlo expected something brutal and harsh. And therefore, his arrival and assistance to be a well-received gift. Instead, he found a camp outside the city with fewer soldiers present than expected—and even fewer in a state for war. No actively manned pickets watching for reinforcements, no bustle of a siege underway, no bombardment with engines. In fact, even before his scouts returned, looking at the city from a distant hill—one of the few in this part of Vasia—he knew the siege was over.

Goroden was won. Voiakh was victorious.

And now half of Laczlo's leverage was lost.

As they approached, he and Kapitalena whispered of strategy. Their dependence on the commander's men and ships. He convened with Isak and Stanilo about the state of the army, leveraging their experience. A battle had been fought. There were bodies and damage enough to inform Laczlo of that, but his top druzhina told him it wasn't a particularly bloody one. Far less than expected. Therefore, he assumed they won by rouse. The scouts weren't helpful besides assuring Voiakh would have him and guarantee his safety. Still, as he passed the empty camp and entered the city, he felt increasingly nervous.

Another brick to the wall from which he'd have to jump was the fate of Voiakh's long-time friend, Voivode Iarek Kostuveski. At least Irina Kostuveski was a loyalist. Still, Laczlo hadn't spoken to the commander since he knifed the voivode to death in Nova, and he now wish he had. It never pays to put off the hard thing, he thought, staring at the piles of bodies inside the walls, stacked near the gate in orderly piles—their disposal systemized. He'd overseen such organization himself in the last year. Had to prevent disease. Had to keep order. Had to be civilized, even when all evidence suggested the contrary.

"I knew people in the city," Vida said, suddenly beside him. He glanced to Kapitalena, who nodded in assent. Vida noticed, of course, but didn't seem to mind granting consent for him to speak to her. "Maybe some of them yet live, Voivode. Contacts. Will you give me leave? I can find out more about what happened. Likely what Voiakh may not."

"Or won't tell you," Kapitalena said. "It's a good idea."

"Thank you, Voivodess."

Laczlo stared between them. What was going on? What exactly did they talk about on the way here. It seemed like Vida was halfway between a peaceful understanding and trepidatious tip-toeing. "Ah, well, that seems a good idea," he said, eventually, scratching at his freshly shaved face, cleaned up at Kapitalena's behest. "Just be careful. The voivode might have agents about still."

"I'm not as ignorant as I was then." She gave him a knowing look. "None of us are." With that, Vida dismounted and left, disappearing into the city as easily as she had appeared beside him.

I don't understand anything. He sighed and glanced to Isak, who shrugged. Sometimes, pleading the ignorance of manhood was preferable to the confusion of understanding. Truly, he was growing wiser by the day. Or just self-deceiving.

"She knows her place," Kapitalena said to him when they had a moment on the ride through the quiet streets. People watched from their doorways, clutching children, clutching weapons in view as desperate threats. At least the city wasn't sacked. Otherwise, they'd be hiding, not bluffing. "We've been speaking, she and I."

"More than on the trip from Nova?"

"Understanding her helps me to understand you," she said, with no small amount of sharp pride. "And besides, she needed her talons trimmed to something more manageable."

Laczlo picked at his hands, squinting at the peaceful, uncertain city around him. A reflection of himself. "Alright, just… leave her be. She's done a lot of good."

"I'm not threatening her, Husband."

"She looked scared."

"She's been treating you as a partner, not a voivode." He caught the cold frown of disappointment in her eyes and looked away. "It's one thing to have a woman quietly. It's another to parade her around and let her disrespect your title. It's an insult to our name. It undermines us."

"Alright. Okay. I understand. But don't threaten her."

"I haven't. And I won't." Out of the corner of his eye, he caught her lips twisting slightly like swallowing a sour fruit, then flat again in controlled calm. "I will respect your wishes as you respect mine."

He wasn't sure if that was supposed to mean more, so he just grunted and resumed scanning his surroundings. She just wants control. Control brings stability and peace, he told himself. It isn't about weakening you. Remember, it's a mask to avoid the fear. Just as his wife wished to understand him, so did he try to understand her. Laczlo looked behind at his line of warriors and hangers-on. The tsaritsa and her family were in the middle. Children with wide eyes. The heir, Tsaverich Amon Vadoyeski, looked back at him, supposed to be playing with Bora and Nanko. He'd taught the child a little over the past few days in swordplay, riding, archery, and the like—things a father should teach his son at a certain age. Nanko was still far too young, for instance. But Amon was a quick student. More than that, he clearly looked up to Laczlo, obeying him easily, quick to please. It was hard to know how to feel about it all. Some guilt at his manipulations, some pride at his own influence and guiding, fatherly hand. It had been too long since he felt like a father. Even recently, it was hard to find time for his children with all he had to manage.

"Look," Isak muttered.

Lazclo turned and frowned at the sight before him. Around the corner, the old keep he'd visited long ago when first heading west, and outside its gates, Gorodenski's naked, flabby body upon a stake wedged against the stone curtain wall, dead eyes staring out. Mouth gaping. Flies hovering.

Isak grunted in consideration. "This isn't old."

Laczlo saw the blood still dripping like a leaky roof. Splatting upon the red, muddy ground. "A day. Two at most." He half expected to see the voviode's family beside him, staked and defiled, but they were not. Mercy was a good sign, Laczlo figured. It might mean well for his quest.

"Cover the children's eyes," Kapitalena called back.

Laczlo stared at the body. "They'll see such things eventually."

"No need to hurry it along then."

"They should know the danger."

"It's a voivode, Laczlo. Gods, think about it. They'll think about their own father dead like that. They don't need it in their heads."

"Fine." They already think of that with what I put them through. He sighed and frowned at the keep past the gates slowly being opened. A new kind of battle to unfold. One he didn't have a good chance of winning. They needed every edge. He needed every edge.