The Column of Ash [Epic Fantasy]

I returned in worried anticipation by midday. We took most of the Novakrayuan ships with us, manned by captured sailors and extra Pethyans, just to make the impression.

The docks were open with people waiting for our arrival. It was not hard to spot such a fleet from so far away. I peered into the city with my Soulsight, boosted by the diadem I wore once more, sifted through the noise of countless human Souls, and found Protis near the docks. It stood out from the rest. Where a typical person's Soul was warm, messy, and fluctuated slightly like a candle in the wind, Protis's was a steady hum and a shade darker than the others.

I let out a sigh of relief. "Protis is here," I said to Demetria at my side. Emalia, Sovina, and the two Sorcerers were close at hand; their names were Desirdus and Ignatia, and they would become our guides in what they called New Petha. They held the position of archon, a sort of nobility that granted them political power and allowed them to serve in positions of power in the centralized military.

"Look there," Demetria said, pointing to a cluster of onlookers from the docks under a strange red cloth open tent of sorts. It stood on posts secured into the old stone street, the top flapping in the wind, providing some meager cover from the dusty breeze and warming sun. I squinted into the shade of the tent and saw a group waiting before a small throne, its inhabitant impossible to make out at such a distance.

"I thought their ruler was in a distant land."

Demetria nodded. "He is. This is their local leader. The Black Han of the Tulir Steppes, leader of the Black Banner, which is composed of many regional divisions."

"I see." It was a dangerous way of doing things—being decentralized enough to allow for significant expansion by one of your subjects led to weaker control and powers, while also empowering your inferiors enough to potentially challenge you. It was a dangerous trade-off. One I would have to consider if I wished to expand New Petha far enough to contend with Vasia's capital of Nova.

I glanced over to find Demetria instructing the Sorcerers to follow our lead. They had ultimate authority over the fleet in political matters, though military decisions were a bit more convoluted, I'd found. In New Petha, as it was called, the primary leader, the High Magistros, was elected among the four other magistrosi to lead the government alongside a priestly episcos, once held by Maecia. No magistrosi were aboard the fleet today, just lower archons; otherwise, I might have been unable to take control so easily, for there was a Magistros of Power: leader of the military, and current High Magistros. I will have to legitimize myself in their government quickly when we arrive on the isle if I wish to rule. Myth and legend would only go so far in a bureaucracy as developed as New Petha's. Take power too hastily and informally, and I would be seen as a usurper, undermining the fabric of their government.

After docking, we departed to the greetings of a Targul escort. They were not quite the tanned people of my imagination, where I pictured life under the open sky and harsh sun to bring about such features. They were fair-haired with ruddy skin and startlingly bright eyes. Instead of the heavier armor popular in Merkenia, when it was afforded, the Targul wore linen armor and tied hardened leather plates. Over their heads, helmets that covered the brow and eyes, and sometimes more with a metal mask made to look like a man's face. The Shell from our previous ship carried my locked chest of riches ashore with us, keeping it close at hand.

"Demetria and Daecinus Aspartes?" one of the masked warriors asked in Vasian.

"I trust all went well?" Demetria replied.

"It has, honorable lady of Pethya. Novakrayu belongs to the Black Han, as it rightfully should." He escorted us forth, and as we ventured under the large open-faced tent. Inside was an ironic sight indeed. The voivode's throne had been hauled outside and placed upon worn stone streets, and now bore who I assumed to be the Black Han. He sat stiffly, with two small projections from the back of his armor to make miniature banners of black feathers. This han wore no crown or diadem like I but bore a mask of fine silver inlaid with small gemstones. Beside him, forced to his knees, was Voivode Krayuski, bruised with a bloody scalp. Flanking the han on either side were rows of warriors, attendants, and nobles of various sorts from both Novakrayu and the Targul, all standing silently.

He has a great deal of authority. Perhaps all Targul hans do. Before anyone could speak, I scanned the forms before me for Sorcerers. As my eyes blazed a fiery crimson with the use of Souls, I found no Sorcerers among those gathered or any others nearby. It would be an impressive feat if they could hide themselves from my sight, at least so closely. Once again, I cursed myself for not seeing the threat to Emalia aboard our ship. Quickly after I confirmed no Sorcerer's presence, I called Protis to me.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Its feet pounded across nearby rooftops. Many turned in alarm to look, but no one moved. Perhaps they saw my eyes and knew of me. Perhaps they were more afraid of their han. Either way, Protis crashed down nearby and strode up to me, stopping just behind like a shadow come to life, hulking and eerily still. Desirdus and Ignatia murmured in surprise at the sight. I wondered if they'd even seen a Soulborne before. Emalia whispered something to Protis, which grunted back in return. It was a small exchange, but it brought a faint smile to my lips. Protis was growing beyond a mindless creation of death, and its care for others of our party was most demonstrative of this fact.

Demetria kneeled carefully, placing her hands on her thighs and bowing. Before any of us could even follow suit in replication, the Black Han stood and spread his hands. With a smile in his voice, he said in accented Vasian, "We meet here as allies, not enemies. I receive you not as subjects or tributaries. I am Taraz, Black Han of all the Tulir Steppes and Southern Merkenia under the Great Han Zumabhek of the Targul. Please introduce yourselves so we may meet officially."

Demetria easily recovered, standing with the grace of a sovereign. I recognized her show of deference not as an honest one, but for the han's image among newly conquered people. She's much better at this than I am. "I am Demetria Aspartes. I was the prime diplomat of Pethya, head envoy for all matters of diplomatic import. With me are Daecinus Aspartes, once Magistros of Sorcery of Pethya, Lord of the Grand Observatory, and Supreme Commander of all Pethyan forces." She gestured to Emalia and Sovina, who hesitated, so Demetria covered for them. "With us are Emalia, Priestess of the Column, and Sovina, Column Guardian. They were instrumental in the taking of Novakrayu."

"No surname?" the Black Han asked.

"Our birth families were forgotten," Emalia answered. "We were reborn in the Column's sanctity. Lives to be dedicated to nothing but the gods."

"I see. And your islander companions?"

Demetria said, "They do not speak our tongue. Only Pethyan, I am afraid." She asked them for their formal introductions and translated. Desirdus introduced himself as a humble archon of New Petha, political head of the Second Fleet. I wondered idly if that meant it was only the second fleet New Petha had ever formed or if there was a first fleet out there somewhere. He also introduced Ignatia as his second in command.

For a moment, it seemed as if the han would ask about Protis, but decided against it and sat back in contentment. "What a glorious day, no? We bask together in the glow of victory over the barbarous, forgotten Vasians. I have heard of New Petha, though not by name, for your wave riders are feared and Sorcerers known along the coast. We have not been allies until this day."

Demetria acted as translator, conveying to Desirdus and Ignatia the han's words. Desirdus bowed his head, speaking through her, "I beg your forgiveness, Black Han, but New Petha can only recognize allies officially when its True Episcos and High Magistros have consensus, and they have not been briefed on these glorious developments."

I wished to read this han's expression, but the ornate mask kept a distance between us all. The han leaned forward. "Yet you are here in what I would presume to be an alliance with Daecinus and Demetria Aspartes."

"He has not returned as an ally, Black Han, but as foretold savior. Oathkeeper. He is the Returned One from our old homeland of Pethya in the west."

"And what does that make us, Archon Desirdus?"

He was in a tough position; that much was obvious. The archon didn't fold and break but held up to the pressure with experienced competence. "A friend of Petha." Desirdus looked over to me with a certain smile. "And soon to officiated ally, I would believe. It would be a matter settled upon our return to our homeland, of course." Ignatia nodded along firmly.

"I had hoped to settle all outstanding matters of agreement, diplomatic and otherwise, today," the han mused. "But if there is no sovereign, or at least anyone with negotiating powers to speak to, then I am uncertain of how to proceed, friends."

"Negotiate not with New Petha but with Demetria and me," I said after Demetria prompted me with a mental wave of certainty sent through our bond.

"Ah, Daecinus Asparts, once Magistros of Sorcery, a curious proposition. We have made agreements prior to this, of course, but I presumed it would be ratified by the powers of a nation-state."

"Entrust that I bear the power to rival most states."

"Oh?" He chuckled. "The confidence in you—I like it." He glanced to Demetria. "And what say you, other partner in this matter?"

"Daecinus speaks true." In truth, I didn't, lacking the Sorcerous might I once wielded before my imprisonment, but the Targul needn't know that. "And it would be the fair solution. We made agreements not on behalf of New Petha, but ourselves. Our future campaign will be certain."

"Very well. This we shall." His hands swept forward to clasp in his lap. "You offered the city, and, in exchange, requested access and supply for a campaign west when it should come. This is in our interest, and as friends, I will uphold this commitment thoroughly." Demetria nodded but said nothing. She would not give thanks for an item that was not a compromise. He proceeded with what I imagined to be a knowing grin under his mask. "You also requested alignment of strategy against the Vasians when you initiate your campaign. What strategy would this be?"

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I answered for us, "That remains to be seen. Optimally, I would request supreme command if we are aligned in our timelines."

That chuckle again; this time, it was incredulous. "I cannot commit to that."

"I would then offer a distinction of two theaters of war. Assuming Targul presence in the Steppes and Silver Peaks pushing west, that would leave us with the buffer states of Ladoga and Agonia."

"They are not quite Vasian lands, Daecinus Aspartes."

"No, but they would side with Vasia against a combined Targul and New Pethan initiative. They would need to be dealt with." This was based on the history Emalia had told me, at least.

"Agonia was at war with Vasia but two decades ago."

"And their defeat saw them bound to Vasia by defensive alliance and trade concessions. They would help in the war as near vassals. Or do you disagree?"

"I do not." The Black Han tapped at the voivode's throne. "Very well, you wish to fight the Kingdom and Sodality. So you shall."

"And when Vasia breaks, we will take Nova."

He stood and said in a rising voice of increasing incredulity, forced or honest, I was unsure, "You make a claim to the imperial city of Vasia? As a pair of titleless Sorcerers?"

"Yes."

"This was not in our agreement, Daecinus Aspartes."

The use of my full name was infuriating. It reminded me of Feia. Demetria should take over now, but I was becoming indignant. "We gave you Novakrayu."

"The Targul armies would have seized it in time—"

"In another two years, at least. You lack siege engines, Sorcerers, and heavy infantry. I've seen your troops. Novakrayu would have held against multiple assaults and a prolonged siege, particularly as you would be unable to blockade it at sea."

"You think my army weak, do you?" He raised a hand and every one of the Targul attendants standing in line immediately stepped back in unison. Taraz, the Black Han, stepped forward to face me but a pace away. "You think Targul weak?"

Demetria sent me another pulse. I expected hesitation, but instead I felt confidence. She wanted me to keep going, but why? I knew I was being somewhat headstrong, wavering between fiery commitment and backing off. Yet, I trusted her, and so I replied evenly, as if unmoved by the display of power, "I think your forces suboptimal for sieges against fortified opposition equipped with Sorcerers. Your only reliable chance was a rouse—that chance was delivered by us. Are the Targul weak? No, of course not, but you are hyper-specialized for open field battle and raids as a military force. This much is clear."

Slowly, the Black Han reached up and grasped his mask. He took it off his face and held it to his side. Under the ornate piece of silver, revealed was a man in his middle years of that same ruddy complexion, a few fair scars, a large nose, and smiling eyes like that of a boisterous, somewhat bemused relative. His lips were cracked in a grin. "You are certainly the military commander you claim to be, Daecinus Aspartes. You were quite right." His smile passed over Demetria. "And, by my ancestors, you're the diplomat too. The communications we received from our spies… Hah! You two work well together." All tension in the open tent fell away with the han's ease. "I am sorry for the rouse of my own making, but I like to test out my allies' mettle, you see. Yes, Daecinus and Demetria Aspartes, if you take Agonia and Ladoga, you may have Nova. I think that a fair deal to strike. The historic irony against the wretched Vasians is worth the loss to the Great Han."

…

"We lost Cynebald and Stealer. Red Locc took a mean cut, but otherwise, the injuries were minor," Wendof reported to me in the hall once held by the voivode. He was half-drunk, with most of the others fully intoxicated, and had a few strings of silver around his neck. They had looted the voivode's chambers once the Targul got through the gates, and as they were the first there, each man was now a good deal richer. Bowyer sat close by, silent with an untouched drink in hand. Wendof belched, excused himself, and then gestured with his chalice vaguely. "Protis helped a lot. Did most of it, in fact."

"Good. I suspected it might."

He leaned in as if we were conspiring. "How can you make more?"

"Why?"

"If one can do something like that, well, I can't imagine what a few more could pull off." Wendof thought for a second. "No, in fact, I could. So why haven't you built up your army again?"

"It is complicated. First, there are the diplomatic and social ramifications if I started seizing Dead for my Sorcerous purposes. Second, each additional Soulborne draws more attention and potential ire, particularly from those who despise the Dead. And finally, I need more Soul fuel for a large army. We've discussed this."

"Right, yes, all that and Soul fuel. Okay. You think New Petha can offer that?"

"Soul fuel? I'm almost certain. Or enable my acquisition of more. There are multiple Sorcerous Ruins in Merkenia. One may have an Artifact that would be useful."

He leaned in further. "What about Neapoli?"

I'd heard of the Ruin. It was the most infamous in the world, as far as I could tell. It made Drazivaska look like a minor mistake in comparison. Not just the city but the entire island and surrounding land for many miles ruined by Sorcery. "That's in Silver Peaks territory."

"Targul land. I know. But say we can convince them? Or sneak in there ourselves? It's a broken portal to the Low, they say. Dead leak from it like water from an old well's bucket. Even if you catch but a few drops…"

"I understand." I sat back. It was ambitious and dangerous. Nothing I could commit to now, but certainly something to keep in mind. "I should have thought of this," I muttered. "Good job."

"It's what you pay me for. Deus knows there are better fighters than I." He tapped his temple and winked. "But my mind's sharper than most."

I looked over to Bowyer as the man seemed to be thinking through something. At my prompting, he said, "I don't know much about Sorcery. But if you want an army outside of hired men and islanders, and a potent source of fuel is necessary, there are three Ruins in Merkenia to note: Lesvoroda, Kremya, and Arkia. All may have what you need. But maybe none."

I had heard of Lesvoroda, where a battle against the Dead of Hazek's Fields, or Pethya, was fought, and Arkia, where the islanders were last engaged in a pitched battle, but not Kremya. It would demand further research. "How would the men feel if I expanded my Dead and recruited more mercenaries?"

"As long as they're paid, and prospects of future success promised, then satisfied," Bowyer said.

Wendof agreed. "After today, they'll be happy for some time. They've new faith in you, sir. New faith indeed. This was a victory few others could achieve." He stood. "On that note, actually. Ah, Bowyer, want to brief him? I'll ask if anyone wants to join."

Bowyer walked me over to the doorway from the hall leading into the voivode's chambers. "After we won and took the keep, the guards fled like cowards. Protis helped. We were unopposed. As such, we took first pickings of the voivode's riches, as you know, but figured you deserved something out of it."

I glanced back and found most of the mercenaries there, grinning and murmuring among themselves. Aelle urged me on, "Let him go in. We've been watching the fucking door for long enough, I say. Get that fresh biter here to watch it for us."

My curiosity was piqued. I obeyed and went inside. The door opened immediately into the voivode's bed chamber. A few beds for his family were also inside along with some furniture. But the items of greatest interest were two small chests and a hole in the hay-covered dirt floor. I walked over and cast a curious glance at the chests.

"Ours," Wendof said with a grin. "Silver, mostly. Enough to make each man here a wealthy landholder back home. Maybe even a bondsman. After today, no one's interested in retiring, of course." He nodded to the hole. "That there is yours, sir."

I went closer and looked inside, only slightly wary of some sort of trap. My worry was unfounded, as inside was a strange crate of dirt-stained wood.

"Come on now," Aelle said. He and a few others went over to help haul out the crate. It was the height of a child and as wide as my arm. Aelle opened it with a knife. Inside was a timeworn, rough sack. It had been cut previously, likely by my men, but shadows hid the interior.

"What is this?" I asked.

"We were hoping you could clarify that one." Wendof opened it for me to see. "Maybe it'll solve your Sorcery problem, sir. It has the hum of something dangerous."

Someone held a candle closer, and I saw the glint of gold. I opened the sack further to reveal a statue three feet tall of plated gold, wrapped in a cord of what looked like dried sinew, a few bones strung along it. It was in the shape of a small man.

Wendof was right. It smelled of Sorcery.

"This is a ward," I muttered, observing the sinew line. "A curse for any too curious. Did anyone touch it?"

"No, sir. We saw it and stayed away."

"Good." I couldn't make out the statue's function with the ward in place. And I didn't want to risk doing something reckless. I needed others more than I needed secrecy. I told a few of the mercenaries to fetch Demetria, Ignatia, and Desirdus. They arrived within minutes. We had only just arrived here after meeting Taraz at the docks, after all.

I asked if anyone knew what it was, but no one had any insights. Together, we broke the warding seal and prepared for any consequences. There were none. Yet, the statue hummed like the air after a lightning storm, filling the room instantly. Desirdus whispered a prayer. Ignatia swallowed and took a more preparative stance. I exchanged a look with Demetria, and she sent me a wave of readiness through our bond.

Tentatively, I reached out and touched the statue with Sorcery. It responded with a flood of cold power not unlike that which I experienced in Drazivaska. "This could be a reservoir." I tried using it to fuel a Spell, but it didn't respond. Typically, an Artifact's function would reveal itself immediately, but this one seemed veiled. "No, I think not. Whoever made this wanted it protected."

"A weapon, then?" Demetria asked.

"Most likely."

"Gold is a terrible material for Soul enchantment," Desirdus said in Pethyan. "Almost precisely opposite of a good substrate for infusion. A wonder why it was used."

"It may be plated to keep power held inside." Ignatia leaned in, probing it. I felt her experimentations through my additional Sorcerous sense. She was a careful, methodical Sorcerer, I could tell. "It is multi-layered. Gold. Ivory. And underneath…"

I followed her route of probing. She was right. It had a core of something different from near anything I'd felt before. But no. I touched the Corrupted Eye around my neck. Not so alien to anything I've felt after all. Disgusted, intrigued, worried, I said in Pethyan, "It is a Corrupted Sorcerer's body, compressed and entombed in ivory."

Everyone gawked at the statue. Ignatia was the first to speak. "You're right. Be it my Hubris, but I cannot imagine what such a potent material was used for."

"I do," Demetria said, her voice empty and cold.

I looked over, afraid. But it was not Sorcery that held sway to her emotions. It was fear and grief. I held her close with my one arm. Through our bond, I tried to reassure her, but little worked.

"I'm okay," she said, a lie meant for all but me. "Just… rattled. This is a difficult memory."

Bowyer went to speak, maybe to ask what was being said, as we were speaking entirely in Pethyan, but I stifled him with a look. He stopped and remained silent, respectfully.

After a few moments, Demetria took a deep breath. "I recognize the lingering Soul of he who lies inside. His name was Milta. He was one of the guards on my delegation." I closed my eyes in disgust and pain. Of course. This was a Vasian Artifact, after all. "They used them… The Vasians used them as material for weapons." Her face twisted in agony. No, not quite. It was anger that bent her expression—an emotion I'd rarely seen upon my dear Demetria. "Those monsters. They turned him into this."

I realized what it was as she did. Not just any weapon. It was something of the most dangerous climactic uses. Something that likely ensured Novakrayu's safety for centuries longer than the city had any right to survive. When enough Sorcery coursed through a living Soul, it entirely corrupted it, shattering someone in a necromantic deluge that could wreak havoc proportionate to the area. Milta was a fine Sorcerer. As good as any other than Maecia and I. His full Corruption could kill many within a hundred paces, but augmented, compressed, turned into this… He was a trap of the most dangerous sorts.

If someone wished it, they could use what remained of Milta to turn most of a city into a wasteland of unstable Sorcery and Death. Then, after some time, it could be used again. And, based on the many Ruins of Merkenia, it was not unlikely that this Artifact had already been used.