The Column of Ash [Epic Fantasy]

"What?" he shouted, leaning over the cringing messenger, face contorted in fury. "That whoreson is still alive?" Laczlo turned from the messenger before he throttled him and strode a few steps away, then turned on his heel and pointed at Stanilo. "You said he got away from Nova! It was just you and him, and you refused to kill the man. And now he's a damn boyar?"

The imposing druzhina nodded, looking merely troubled at the news, lips bent in a slight frown. "I did."

"Deus! And see what you've done?" He stopped himself and glared at the messenger. "Off with you!"

He scrambled away, coughing and panting as Laczlo put his hands on his hips, standing before the exit of the stables. Besides Isak, they were alone enough inside, for it was early, and he'd awoken alone, even leaving Kapitalena in the room still.

"I do not regret my actions, Tsar Vilsky," Stanilo said. "If you wish to punish me for my mercy upon Oskar, I would understand. My actions were unfit for my current position."

"Agh! Enough of that," Laczlo growled out, shaking his head, rubbing his face in frustration. "Oskar's not just alive still, but a boyar? Why would anyone make him a boyar, of all things?"

"Perhaps he has reformed?"

Isak scoffed. "He killed good druzhina, not to mention his attempt on the voivode, now tsar."

"Oskar also fought to protect him," Stanilo replied.

"Briefly."

"It is unfair to judge a man only on his failures."

"Well, that's what it means to be a druzhina, doesn't it?"

"Stop it, both of you," Laczlo said, leaning up against a post, head falling back. "You two were friends, Stanilo. I understand. But he's a traitor to the tsardom still. You took the pardon, after all."

Stanilo sighed. "You are right, sir. He is a criminal."

"And yet he's apparently earned the voivode's trust, somehow. Agh! This is going to be frustrating." He could see it already. Pressure the voivode and erode trust in order to execute the bastard Oskar, making other voivodes nervous that a new tsar had a penchant for doing such things. What was the alternative? Let it be and appear weak? How could a tsar grant clemency to a twice-over traitor? "What would you have me do then? Pardon him again?" he asked after a long moment.

"I don't know, sir," Stanilo replied, hands folded behind his back, chest out.

He looked to Isak. "What do you think?"

The other druzhina crossed his arms. "He killed Oiir and rescued with that Feia woman."

"Feia died," Stanilo said.

"That's right. But just because she died doesn't mean the crime is forgiven, does it? How many good men did she kill? Nova deserved to have her head." He turned to Laczlo with an intense gaze. "If you executed all traitorous voivodes and their loyal men, why make an exception here? What does that say about your rule? You need to be even-handed."

His people wanted strength and decisiveness. They wanted someone they could trust to lead them to glory and prosperity. They wanted a Vasia to be proud of. Was there room there for an honorable tsar? Could a tsar be both honorable and strong? He used to think it possible, but learned politics were too cruel for that. Honor was a weakness one's enemies could exploit. Mercy a virtue only for the weak and powerless. But what if he were wrong? Could Oskar really have reformed into someone loyal and trustworthy who was truly serving Vasia? Deus, dared he believe it? That kind of naivety had almost destroyed him as a young man. What if it did again?

"Oskar is my friend," Stanilo said, his deep and strong voice soft with contemplation and emotion. "I will not deny that I wish to see him well. But Isak is right; justice must be even-handed. I will not protest should you do as you see fit, sir. You had my oath, and you have it again."

"Good. But I'll need to think on it." He went to walk away, then stopped. "Thank you both."

Laczlo strode back up the stairs on the outside of the wooden hall to his room. Inside, he found Kapitalena awake and dressing. She occasionally shirked the help of servants and ladies in waiting to dress herself as it suited her. He figured she liked to feel independent and not get too used to the coddling of imperial power. That, or just to keep everyone on their toes. But today, it was simply early, so no one was up.

"Urgent news?" she asked.

Laczlo sat down on a chair with a sigh, near his armor, gazing idly upon the intricate ringed mail that made up the base layer. Strong yet flexible. "The Free Cities are preparing for war. The longer we wait, the harder it will be. I'm considering moving out now."

"The mountain pass will be covered in snow. It would be excessively difficult. Dangerous, even."

"I know."

"And your army isn't entirely gathered. We're waiting on a few voivodes and more still."

"I know." He shook his head and looked back at her, finding his wife observing him closely.

"There's something else," she said, keen as ever.

"Oskar's alive. He's a boyar of Ltava under Vetesky."

She inhaled sharply and looked up, jaw tight with frustration to equal his own, if not more controlled. "That's a considerable position."

"He's clearly wriggled his way into the voivode's trust. But why Vetesky would trust an outlaw is beyond me."

"The Veterians pride themselves on their self-reliance. Perhaps he thinks little of imperial desires." She thought for a moment and added, "Besides, Voivode Vetesky likely doesn't know about the change in tsardom. He'd think Oskar's appointment isn't as grave an issue under Vadoyeski. So I doubt he does it as an affront to you."

"You're right. Still." Laczlo stood. "I need to get out there and get a grip on things. I need to hit Sino Point."

"I don't like us risking it in this weather."

"We won't be."

"What?" she faced him fully, eyes narrowed and voice sharp.

"You're going back to Nova with the children. I won't have you near the war—"

"Laczlo, I will not sit by and—"

"Stop," he ordered, then pointed to a stool where she sat to do her makeup. "Sit." Kapitalena did, slowly, staring at him with wariness and frustration. "I need you in Nova. I fear this war may take longer than we hoped, and I won't risk having Varul run things too long. He seems loyal enough, but still. You'd be there as my official regent."

She went to say something, then stopped and held his gaze, considering. "I don't know about this. I would be helpful in any dealings with the cities."

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"I know you would be. But I need you in Nova more."

"Perhaps." She sighed. "I just worry about this. We are newly risen to the tsardom. Will they obey me as regent? This isn't a simple voivodeship."

"I thought you'd want this."

"What?"

He leaned back, picking at his calluses, looking at her over the bridge of his nose. Why can I not understand her? "You wanted to be tsaritsa, Kapitalena. This is your chance to wield the power you pushed for."

"I wanted security, safety—"

"Horseshit. We could have those things without making ourselves the biggest targets in Vasia. Deus, in the damned world, it seems. So don't say that."

"I disagree, but fine, let's not argue again." She stood and came over, sitting beside him, head resting on his shoulder. "I also want to rule, yes. We deserve it. You deserve it. And the children… Well, they deserve a safer, better world than the one we could give them as voivodes. Bora cries too much for a girl her age. Did you know that?"

Laczlo frowned. "She seems… unshakeable."

"No, hardly. She tries for you, I think. For us. But the nurses tell me she cries at night often enough to keep Nanko up. And that boy… He has a soft heart, always trying to comfort her."

"Why are you telling me these things?"

"You're their father. Is that not reason enough?"

"Not before," he said, suddenly ashamed at the thought that he knew so little about his own children. He barely saw them anymore. To be honest, in the past, he'd rarely saw them in the first place, shut away and frightful as he was.

"Well, perhaps I wanted you to know that they still bear the scars of our failures. We can't raise them in a tsardom rife with war and unrest. I won't have it." She bit her lip, brow straining with emotion. "I can try to mother them better, it is true, but even the best mother cannot overcome the darkness of the times. I learned that myself. No, we must change the times, Laczlo."

He looked at her as she spoke and tried to see if there was more there that she didn't say. There might be. She did like power and authority, but then again, so did he. It didn't always bring safety, but it made him feel safe, and perhaps that was more important in driving one's actions. "So go back then. Do what you can in Nova. We will both be fighting battles, Kapitalena, just in different wars."

She smiled a sad, understanding smile, eyes crinkling ever so slightly. Was she close to tears? "Very well. You make a good argument. Just… Be careful, Husband."

"And you as well." He stood. "I need to see to the voivodes and commanders. I want us marching by early afternoon." Laczlo kissed Kapitalena's forehead and hugged her. It was almost odd to be so intimate, but it didn't feel wrong. Not at all, really. "Thank you. I can only manage this with your help. It's too much for one man."

She stood and smirked, hands on his shoulders like a proud mother observing her son, all grown up. "Well, that's always been true, hasn't it?"

…

Oskar waited at the edge of a small village he'd seized in the middle of the grassy plains just southwest of Ermenik, a few hours away from the city. He could see it from here—a dark, spread-out blob upon the horizon of grasslands and fields. Good land for farming, this, right between the forking river, whatever it was called. Lush enough to grow legumes and good oats without washing out wheat. No wonder the tsar and his cronies wanted it all back, greedy bastards.

The druzhina Thovin was set to return at any point with the silver and sworn assurances from Ermenik's overseer, the stupid name for whoever the electors elect to run the city. Oskar wanted to force them to remain neutral in the war and submit, as he had Elector Panos Balazoy firmly in hand, a special ring of his and a freshly written letter sent with Thovin to prove it. Oskar thought it'd be enough, but now he was nervous and pacing.

"They will hear you, good boyar," the elector Panos said just behind. Oskar had called for the annoying worm to be brought up from where he and his men were being held. "Overseer Maluita is a forthright woman. She will see to my safety."

He turned to scowl at the wiry man. "You chose a woman to oversee you?"

"Why would that matter?"

"Well, uh, because she's not a man?"

"Men and women can both be good overseers, just not electors. Gender doesn't matter nearly as much as wealth, reputation, and character."

"What does character have to do with it?" Oskar scratched his head, then resumed his scowl. "It's not about if they'd do a good job; it's about, well, I don't know… Nevermind. Your rehearsed speech sounded like shit. What if this Maluita is a bad overseer and abandons you?"

"Ah," he muttered, squirming under Oskar's gaze, glancing to his feet, "if she leaves me for dead, what then? She would be removed next election cycle. The electors must feel protected and respected by the overseer lest it all collapse. She must see to some sort of treaty."

"Don't think she'd march over here to deal with us herself?"

"With what forces? You don't know much about our cities, do you, Boyar?" he asked, then put his hands up in alarm when Oskar glared at him again. "What I mean is, wouldn't it be more useful if you knew your enemy better? Right?"

"Speak on."

"We don't have armies. Riders to deal with Dead and bandit threats, yes, but no standing armies. Those lead to wars that would ruin us. The cities must stand united, you see?"

"Yeah. I know that, but you have at least some men."

"I brought nearly everyone I could, good Boyar. If they mustered all their men to attack you, it would take days! It's already taking long enough to rally to Sino Point! No, I assure you, we are perfectly safe here."

"I don't trust your reassurances," Oskar muttered. Gods damn it, if they killed Thovin…

"Why? If they attack you, I'll die! Trust me, I want peace as much as anyone."

"Even if that means abandoning your precious Sino Point?"

The man turned away, head hanging low. "I was a fool to think I could march out there and make a difference. It all turned to dust so quickly…"

"Yup." He didn't know what to think about this man. Except that he didn't trust him. Rich, powerful people like him were a lot of things, but pathetic and weak? Not often. Take Laczlo Vilsky, for instance, a wilting shadow of his father, nothing compared to his uncle, but see how he turned out? He was still a shitty voivode, but, well, he came out strong and arrogant anyway. He even joined in the fight against the Dead and Feia. The bastard.

"Sir! Rider spotted!" one of his men shouted.

Oskar looked up and into the fields. Sure enough, a distant rider was approaching. But the closer he got, the more Oskar could see that something was wrong. The rider sat too slouched on the saddle as if he were hurt.

"Shit," he muttered, then raised his voice to shout to all those slowly gathering about. "I want a stronger perimeter, you hear? To arms!"

His thirty-some men grabbed their bows and spears, some mounting, others taking positions of cover, all with eyes out. Shoulda brought the mercenaries. Fuck Vetesky's silver-pinching. Oskar grabbed the elector and threw him in the hut where the other prisoners were kept.

"Stay inside," he growled, then pointed out one of his men to guard it before marching off.

Sure enough, the rider was Panos. And sure enough, as Oskar feared, something was wrong. But he wasn't just slumped over in the saddle; he was tied to it, for the reliable, capable scout was dead. He had a dozen stab wounds in his chest and his throat cut, with his rough jerkin soaked in blood. Good thing his horse had the brain to run on back so they could bury the poor bastard. Fuck.

Oskar helped pull the poor man down to rest on the dirt ground. Stabbed into his chest was a little leather bag. Oskar opened it and found a rolled-up piece of parchment. A note. He wasn't the best reader, but it was short, and since the people here spoke Vasian, he didn't have to call for a translator.

"'We will not bow to foreign overlords,' is all it says," he said to some of the men gathered around, shaking his head. "It's signed by the electors and overseer. All of them."

Gods damn them. Did they know what they were doing? Did they understand what this meant? Those fucking selfish, greedy sons of whores!

"Sir?" one of the men asked, tentatively.

He realized he was crushing the note in a white-knuckled grip. He released it and tucked it away, then glared about the small village, eyes going misty for some reason, head pounding with an ache that pierces his bloody skull. "On me," he muttered, then marched back over to the prisoners' hut.

They stared up at him from inside, frightened, damn near terrified. Especially the elector, that spineless prick. They want a war? They want the Blade of the East? Fine then. He pulled out his sword. The men shied back. It's their fault, not mine. He stepped forward and hacked down, splitting the first man's skull. That prompted the few others to try to flee, but no one fled from Oskar Koyzlov. He hacked and stabbed until there wasn't a man left moving except for the cowering elector.

"P-p-please," the weak man said, hiding his face. "We can work something out! Surely!"

Oskar knocked him down, put a boot on his head, and chopped through his neck. It took a few swings, but eventually, he got through the bone. He lifted the head and walked outside, tossing it to the dirt, and looked around. "Put their heads on poles outside this place and burn the rest. They want war? We'll show them how fucking miserable a war with Vasia can be." He glared at that distant smudge of a city. The sheer arrogance of them. The callousness! Did they know what they were doing to their own people? What they were forcing him to do? "We'll start here and work our way around. I want everyone who so much as looks south to Sino Point to see smoke and ruins. We can move at night. It will take them days to mount a defense, and by then, we'll be gone." He figured they could hit a village or two a day. A week or less of slaughter before returning west again.

He'd burn homes and food stores but try to leave people alive. Well, everyone but men of fighting age, at least—those he'd kill. Give them more mouths to feed and fewer potential soldiers. This could all backfire, but as he saw it, they seemed committed enough. There was no going back now. This was war. Better to make them afraid.

He didn't have to destroy their armies to win. All he had to do was break their will to fight.