The Column of Ash [Epic Fantasy]

Laczlo led the army. He felt like Voiakh should be the one to lead, but when he approached the man about it, he just smiled and shook his head. He said something about how that wasn't his place here and how the Warrior Prince had more of a right. So Laczlo conceded and took up the responsibility, the honor, and the crime. After all, this was rebellion.

With his host of over a thousand men, he took Denov Fort—an aging, towering complex that sat on a north-facing bluff over the sea, surrounded by streams and open fields. Most of the men inside had heard of his arrival and fled, leaving them a small imperial garrison that surrendered quickly. He restocked their meager supplies, looted the small armory and silver reserves inside, then purchased more food and basic goods for the army. His own purse hadn't taken a severe hit yet from it all, but if this stretched on, it very well could put him in dire waters.

The thoughts of all that still plagued him. He recalled the faces and names of those under his care in Vilsi. Good peasants and laborers, all of them. His children even had some friends among the people there, not that they were close after so long away.

But he tried not to think of such things as the dreadful day of reckoning drew closer. As reports of the enemy army grew in clarity and detail, with scouts returning and leaving by the hour instead of day. He called for a camp where Isak recommended on a short rise with a small patch of timber nearby. They did the thing the ancients did and set up a rough palisade to protect them at night as scouts reported upon an enemy only a few hours away, in roughly comparable size to their own. They had one last meeting—he and his select druzhina, Voiakh and some of his top men, the tsaritsa, Kapitalena, and some peripheral servants like Mikha to tend to anyone's needs. Vida's absence weighed upon Laczlo as a constant reminder of his failures. She was gone, and still, no one knew where or why, though he was certain it was a kidnapping.

He paced the room as usual, not really caring if it made him look anxious or not. Those here already knew him well enough as it was. There was no one to impress. "There's not going to be a battle right away," he said, hands clasped tightly before him. "We're going to talk."

Alasa stood tall, whether truly confident or trying to display some strength, he couldn't say. "If Radokh is there, he will send envoys for talks before all this."

Laczlo exchanged a look with Isak. "They usually do," he said.

She frowned at that. "It would be a serious attempt at peace. My husband is many things, but he's not a warlord. He would still try for peace."

"Varul would too. He isn't the kind of man to let battle decide things." Kapitalena hummed and strummed her fingers along the table. "Voiakh, what are your thoughts?"

"You're probably right, Voivodess, Tsaritsa. We'll parley. If they don't send us a messenger, we should get one to them. It is the right thing to do." He shrugged and flashed Laczlo a grin. "And we would look too war-hungry if we didn't make some effort for peace."

"I'm hoping for a resolution," Laczlo replied.

"It's just a matter of finding a reasonable one. Nova hasn't operated in a reasonable manner this last year. And that's coming from a tsar-appointed commander, so you know things are off." He took up a pitcher of wine and poured a number of cups, distributing them, then took one up himself and raised it. "But because of this mess, at least we know the reasonable from the unreasonable, eh? I'm proud to be alongside you, Laczlo. You're the Warrior Prince I knew you'd become ever since we met in that tainted waterhole, Goroden."

He cringed at the title and glanced around to see if anyone was perturbed by the slightly rebellious title. No one seemed to react, so he took the cup and lifted it slightly, a crooked, forced grin on his face. "Ah, well, I can't say I'm glad to be apart of all this, but I appreciate your trust in me. Your support. I'd be rotting in Atraxias Vestile's Rodezian prison right now, looking forward to the axe if it weren't for everyone here." He caught Kapitalena's eyes and the meaning there, so he turned to Alasa. "Especially the tsaritsa. You risked much for my family. We won't forget it. On the names of my parents, I am in your debt."

She held his gaze. Eyes like whirlpools he could slip into, her stare was so intent and encompassing. As if she were trying to tell him something important through only a look. It was almost unnerving, admittedly, the amount of faith she had in him.

"Things needed to change," she said at last. "I needed to change. I was living in a bubble of fear, blind to what was before me… I'm sorry. I was weak. Deaf to my duties. I thought it my role to abide Radokh's will, as astray as it was, but when I married him, I adopted a higher purpose, I think. My family. Vasia as a whole. They are one in the same. And even if that means prioritizing them over Radokh…"

Kapitalena put a hand on her arm comfortingly. "You are very brave."

"But I could be more." She looked at everyone, eyes glimmering. "I would like to be there tomorrow when discussions are had."

"The tsar will be there, Tsaritsa…" Voiakh began.

"I know. I know. I need to tell him the truth, even if he won't listen. I need to say it."

The commander looked intrigued. "And what truth is that? If you don't mind my arrogance in asking, of course."

She sighed and took a sip of wine, then stared down at the old hand-drawn map of the region stretched out before them all from decades ago, when such things were still done. "That his time is done, and he must abdicate."

A silence fell over the room like a frightened hush. No one spoke. Laczlo was afraid to break the quiet like his words might curse it all. This was the first time she'd said anything of this sort so straightforwardly. With her support, they could install the tsarevich on the throne as the new tsar. He bit his lip, anxiety rolling over him like a wave of cold, skin prickling with the rush of terror, teeth almost clattering together. Varul would never cede that. Even if the tsar abdicated, he would move to take power. He's too entrenched with too much of a hold over Nova politics, and Amon is too young to rule in his own right yet. He was still a boy, not even in his early teens yet. How many years until he could be a real tsar? How many years of an uncertain regency?

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

"That is selfless and courageous," Kapitalena said, pulling back, putting on an official and proper air. "But that doesn't remove Varul from the situation. He will be entrenched no matter what, unless he is removed."

"Removed?" Alana asked, frowning. "How?"

Kapitalena looked around the table. No one spoke immediately, as if afraid to soil the tsaritsa's mind with the dark of such schemes.

Finally, it was Isak who broke the spell. "Any means. Maybe even break the Column with him—the whole thing's past due for reform of a serious sort."

"Any means…" she muttered.

"This can all wait," Laczlo added. "We can handle him in due time, perhaps. Tomorrow, we approach these, ah, negotiations with hopes for a ceasefire. If the tsar won't abdicate, commands for my surrender to Rodezia not lifted, and amends not made for the crimes against myself and those here, then we must take to arms."

Voiakh rubbed his chin, squinting off in thought. "Abdication is a tall demand, Laczlo."

"We need something lasting. If power remains with the tsar, then Varul has the upper hand."

"What if we call to remove the priest himself?"

"He'll be there himself. Likely as the prime negotiator."

"And do you think he will entertain the tsar's removal any more than his own?" Voiakh asked. "Either way, he'll see this as a direct attack. If he wants to force a fight, then this is the sort of ultimatum he will say he was forced to resist—"

"That viper wants nothing but more power," Kapitalena said. "He will not accept our demands, not unless he's playing a larger game."

Laczlo rubbed his head, trying to pierce through the mire of entangled politics to find the answer that had to be there, somewhere. "I don't think we'll find a good solution here, not with the limited information we have."

"What do you propose, Husband?"

He sighed, not wanting to do this, yet knowing it was what the situation would demand. "When the talks come, a call will have to be made, one way or another. We'll have to react to the moment, not deliberate. We will have to decide. Someone will have to."

"You're proposing yourself?" Voiakh asked. "I accept that."

Isak nodded as the tsaritsa agreed, "Me too. I trust you."

He looked at Kapitalena, who stared back in concentration. He saw the cogs working away in her mind, weighing the risks of his blundering with the advantages of centralized authority behind the most externally obvious candidate. And then, Kapitalena nodded, brisk and decisive. "Very well. We've discussed the desired outcomes, and so, however we get there, it is sensible to invest all negotiating power in my good husband. Everyone else in attendance will be in support."

The meeting concluded a few hours after, with talk of strategy should battle break out following. He gave most of the authority there to Voiakh, letting him decide the plans and so forth, for even if Laczlo had some experience, he was nothing next to the professional military commander. In truth, he was more hopeful for a good outcome with Voiakh leading a charge than he leading a negotiation. But that was the way of things, unfortunately, so he did not try to dally on it.

When it was dark and everyone tired, the others vacated the tent, leaving Laczlo alone with Kapitalena, both of them seated in bare wooden chairs, he lounging out, tired and worn through, her sitting up straight still. She'd look energized and ready to most, but he saw the exhaustion in her eyes, in the slightest rounding of her shoulders.

"Do you trust me to handle it?" he asked over his cup of wine, swirling it slightly.

"As much as I can, considering I don't even trust myself."

"Fair enough. Then what is it?"

She shifted, letting her weight fall against the backrest, arms folding over her chest, richly decorated silk sleeves hanging limp over the rest of her dress. "I'm afraid you'll show mercy when there is room for none."

"Mercy," he asked dumbly, staring at her.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Why? Because you're a kind man with a good heart, but unfortunately, this is not what the situation demands."

His grip tightened on the cup in dangerous anger, so he set it aside and pressed his fists into the trestle table hard enough to make the whole thing shift. "I presided over the plundering of cities, Kapitalena. I've killed men. Many men. Torched their homes, pillaged their wealth, destroyed their families… How can you call me too good-hearted?"

"You did those things, but they are not you," she replied, unshaken.

"What do you mean? Do you hear yourself?" He licked his lips and searched for the words, but couldn't. The truth seemed so obvious, so apparent, he could scarcely describe it. "After everything, how can you say I am too weak?"

"I did not say weak, Laczlo. You are not weak."

"No, well, that's what it feels like you're saying."

She stood and strode over to him, placing her hands on his shoulders. "I've seen what you can do when driven to it. But when harm is threatened upon those you care for, and a solution presents itself that requires your own sacrifice, you will seek out the blade as quickly as you can. Do not deny it." She leaned down, holding his stare. "You've done it for me. For others. You are simply that kind of man."

"Then you've been deceived."

"My dear, you are that man for everyone here. Anyone would agree. Don't you see?" She gestured out, waving to the camp beyond the confines of the tent walls. "They all have invested their faith in you. They trust you to do right by them. But my fear is that you may sacrifice yourself in whatever dealings come tomorrow for their sake."

"Would that be so bad?"

"It would."

"If I have the opportunity to keep you safe and—"

"Do not be a fool, Laczlo!" she hissed, concerned expression turning vehement in an instant. "Varul will eat you alive, then, when you are out of the way, he will turn to us. Your children depend on your safety and power, and don't you forget that, do you hear me?"

He almost leaned away, taken aback as he was by her intensity. "Alright. Fine. I do."

"I want more than that. This is too important."

He nodded almost sullenly. "I won't sacrifice myself. You and the children are always my main concern, Kapitalena."

His wife let out a shuddering breath of relief. "Good. Good. This is terrifying for me. All of this. You're not alone in any of it."

"You do a good job of hiding it."

"You too, you know."

He grinned. "Not as good as you."

"I'm proud of you. How far you've come. Where we are because of it."

His smile faltered, brow twitched in confusion and concentration. "I… Well, thank you." His voice cracked suddenly, and he cleared his throat, looking away. "Deus, I don't know how I've managed… We're holding it together, aren't we?"

"We are. And just a little while longer. Win at the negotiation table or on the field, and it will be over." She smoothed his hair and placed her hand upon his cheek. "If they offer us a poor deal, don't take it. We'll win a better one by blood and sharpened steel."

He slept little that night. When his eyes did fall closed, nightmares of twisted memories plagued him, and he woke sweating and swearing like an angry drunkard. But Kapitalena patiently calmed him, a hand on his arm with a few soft words to lead him back to safety. And so, in truth, neither of them slept much at all, but he figured she was not one to let worries be concerns of the next day, and so they murmured to each other some in the night, discussing angles already discussed, working over old concerns, dancing the ritual of breaking it down as best they could to feel better for it.

He still felt wound up with fear and uncertainty in the morning, and by the tension in Kapitalena's back and slightly shaken movements of her hands as she dressed with the aid of servants, he knew she was as well. But they would have to bear it, for soon he learned of a messenger asking for him from the tsar's camp.

It seemed the tsar wanted to talk after all.

So Laczlo put on his armor and sword and went to parley with the enemy.