The Column of Ash [Epic Fantasy]

He paced the shadowed pavilion, feet padding over a central rug, hands tightly folded behind his back, perpetually shaking his head at the madness of it all. A light breeze whispered in through the hanging door flaps, brushing his face, disturbing the brief silence since the others' departure.

It was one Kapitalena was not content to let linger. "How long will you fret over this?" she asked, still seated in her chair, hands on her lap, back straight and head high. "The direction is obvious."

"Obvious?" Laczlo scoffed, rubbing his eyes and turning to face her from across the room. "How can you trust a word that man says?"

"I needn't. It is in his best interest."

"Oh? Is it? Not lying to weaken us and get me out of the way?"

"Quiet your voice. Come closer." He did, reluctantly, and then she said, "Be reasonable, Laczlo. Say the tsar isn't dead, and this is a ruse to get us to lay down our arms. We'd still be bringing our army east with us for this alleged campaign. How does the worst-case scenario hinder us? If anything, it gets us closer to Nova and maybe even inside. The sea was our biggest obstacle, after all."

"He could attack us along the way with our guard down… I don't know."

"And what? Have his people pretend to be our new allies while secretly plotting an attack? That would never work on this scale, and you know it. There are too many weak points for it to go awry—and then he's in a worse position than a pitched battle, where things could be controlled, at least. It would be chaos. Don't make me explain things you already know."

Laczlo rubbed his forehead, feeling lost. "What if he just kills us? Or me? The men might not avenge me. They would look after themselves, maybe."

"Then why not do so here and now? He's a Sorcerer." Kapitalena stood, hands still before her, eyeing him steadily. "Waiting presents nothing but more dangers for him. And even if it were a lie about the tsar, we would learn so shortly upon leaving this talk."

"I just don't like it, Kapitalena."

"Me neither, but it is the logical thing to do."

"Logical." He shook his head. "By the Gates above, and what about Alasa? We're abandoning her exactly like we said we wouldn't! I don't know how you can even propose any of this."

"Abandoning her? Laczlo, she's not fit to rule. Her children are too young. A regency in such a dangerous time would spell instability and chaos for Vasia; both you and I know it—"

He took a step toward her, eyes wide. "Then why push me to gain her confidence? Amon's trust and mentorship? What use was any of it if it's simply too dangerous to do what's right?"

"If not for her, then we couldn't have come this far. Not with Voiakh, not with the army, not even with Varul here. As Varul was going to say earlier, we needed her close to us to lend credibility to her eventual abdication. If we appear as allies, then others will be more likely to accept it." She came face to face with him and placed a hand on the back of his neck, grasping it. "We couldn't plan for this turn. But it's here before us, and we must take it. With caution, of course, but ambition, nevertheless."

He didn't know what to say to argue against her. He didn't know anything besides the sickness this made him feel. "It's wrong, Kapitalena. It's just wrong."

Her eyes narrowed, grip tightened. "You would prioritize her over Vasia? Your own family?"

"By my ancestors, woman! How is this better for our family or tsardom?" he choked out, yanking away from her.

"Power is safety! It's our sword and shield, don't you see?"

"No. No, this isn't about that." He chewed at his curled lip, shame and anger turning it into a scowl. "This is about fear. It won't make us safer, but it will make you feel better. You think tsardom could give us protection? Well, look what it's given Radokh? His own wife and children bargained off to Varul as hostages. Is that what you want of Bora and Nanko?"

"Don't you say that to me."

"Well? Is it? You're asking me to kill my honor for power. You're asking me to put a knife to their throats for your ambitions—"

"Don't say that!" She came at him with wild fists, powered by anger but little real strength. A slap across the chin, scratching nails down the neck and off mail, fist into his protected chest. It took him by surprise, yet he protected himself long enough to sidestep and parry. She was off-balanced by the move, providing an opening, and so he struck. Kapitalena was on the ground, gasping. He moved automatically, rearing back to strike again, when he stopped himself.

What the fuck am I doing? Laczlo lowered his fist, staring.

His wife was on the ground, glaring up at him, struggling for a breath with the air knocked from her lungs. He'd hit her. Almost without thinking… Curse his Soul!

He knelt. "I'm sorry." He reached forth carefully. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to."

"Stop it," she gasped out. "I'm fine."

He stopped and sat there on his haunches, arms falling to his sides, watching her collect herself.

"I am afraid," she said. "Of course I am. But what else can we do, Laczlo? What can we do?"

"The right thing."

"For who?"

He didn't know what to say to that. Just stared. He wanted to say, 'For everyone,' and let that be that. But was that true? And even if he believed that, did that mean abiding by his honor and oath to uphold the Vadoyeski dynasty was best for everyone? They weren't ready for the tsar's death, not yet, not now. Amon surely wasn't prepared. Half the tsardom was still rife with instability, strife, and opportunists waiting for a moment to strike. He'd seen it himself. He'd crushed rebels, all and one, but there was always more. Always. The city of Kolomsa wasn't pacified just because he'd beaten their militia and voivode—not really. The same could be said for Goroden and Ruila. People there were scared, desperate, and resentful. A child on the throne would do nothing but fan the flames. But could I do any better? They hate me. He winced and turned from Kapitalena so she wouldn't see him waver. But they also fear me. I have a reputation. It would pacify the rebels through the threat of violence and satisfy the voivodes wanting stable strength.

The worst thing is that he didn't need her to talk him into it. It seemed almost reasonable enough on its own, the more he thought about it. But it was wrong. Plain and simple. How could he do something like that to Alasa? After everything?

How could he do this when claiming that he was trying to be better?

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

The worst lies were the ones you told yourself, after all.

With a sigh, he stood and turned to Kapitalena, offering her his hand. "What would we do with Alasa? I won't keep her from her children."

"No. Me neither." She took it and stood, face betraying no pain from his strike, yet she had to feel it, sharp and deep. Oh, how the thought hurt him. "Keep her in the Column. She can see them that way, but will be… protected." Kapitalena sighed. "And watched. I don't want this, but…"

"I know. And banishment won't work."

"It's too dangerous."

"I agree," he muttered. "They must be close at hand. Watched and guarded. Together, but not entirely. The Column is the only way."

"It gives Varul leverage, should he tire of us." She paused, then shook her head. "No. He couldn't use her again. Not after what he's done. She might hate us, but not as much as him."

"Are you sure about that?"

"She'll come to understand. We have no choice."

"I don't know if even I understand that."

"Laczlo—"

"I know." He put his hands up. "I get it. We do what we must, as always."

She hugged him, suddenly. Arms wrapping around his shoulders, his finding their way to her sides, curling up her back, heads buried in each other's necks. "I'm sorry I'm so cruel," she whispered. "She's my friend."

"No, she was mine too." He pulled her tight. "Varul is forcing this on us. He's giving us an ultimatum. For all we know, he killed the tsar to get me on the throne… Either way, he gives us no choice. It looks like one, but it's not a choice at all."

"So you'll do it?"

He didn't answer for a second, jaw shut tight to prevent his teeth from clattering. And then he asked, trepidatiously, leaning back to look her in the eye, "Will I be a good tsar?"

"You're the Warrior Prince, Laczlo. You can do anything."

"Be serious."

"I am. I believe in you," she replied, voice even and sharp, confidence reclaimed. "You'll be a better tsar than Radokh ever was."

He brought back the others into the pavilion shortly after, trying to be the steady, confident man they expected of him. Someone who could properly rule as tsar. He told Alasa the terms of their stay, ensuring some meager amount of comfort and hospitality from Varul, who accepted all Laczlo's demands. He asked Varul about how he should proceed, given he was essentially a false claimant with no real connection. But the viccar smiled and explained that, in fact, Laczlo had a previously undiscovered familial connection reaching back to a tsardom dynasty from before the Vadoyeskis. It was plainly false as far as Laczlo could tell, but Varul seemed confident in his ability to manufacture a new truth. With political backing, military support, and no other real claimants due to the current dynasty's recent ascension, Varul said this found connection would be easily accepted.

And then that was that. A new tsardom lineage was born, his children thrust into imperial heritage. In the course of a conversation, everything was different. He no longer had to worry about attacking Nova and defending Vilsi, perceptions of his ambition for the throne, or how he'd regain the tsar's favor. The man was dead. And Laczlo had replaced him.

When it was done, he returned to camp and prepared it for march, uniting with the tsar's army that was now to be his own. In a matter of days, he would be crowned. For now, all the common soldiers knew was that some sort of truce had been found, appeasing all sides except the most bloodthirsty among them, but those he punished accordingly for any acts of violence or retribution. And despite his fears, there were no betrayals or hidden lies.

Laczlo didn't know how to feel. In truth, he simply didn't—he was in shock the entire rest of the day, walking through it like a dazed vision. A dream in which he had no real autonomy at all, events passing as they may. Men looked upon him with curiosity, respect, and deference. Even the once-enemy soldiers did. They greeted him as voivode with bows. He met the Eastern Commander Sanei and found him to be genial, wizened, and slow. Not the strongest adversary, but one with a wealth of experience that could make him useful in other matters. Voiakh got along fine with the other commander, though he clearly seemed bemused meeting his once-opponent as a new ally.

Laczlo found time to speak further with Varul and question him on unanswered matters. Chiefly, what he'd done with Vida. The Vicar looked at him strangely and said he didn't even know who that was. When Laczlo explained, Varul just seemed ambivalent and said he knew nothing. Laczlo floundered there, wondering if he should keep pushing for a different answer, then just let it slip on by. He didn't trust his own intuition now. Wherever Vida was, he just hoped she was safe, but he had other concerns to attend to, as much as it hurt him to admit.

He talked to Mikha that night and found some comfort in his patience and practicality. And the wine he drank to deal with it all. Kapitalena chastised him for his drunkenness, and he thought of the dead tsar's destructive habits and stopped, guilt-ridden and anxious. He slept that night, tossing and turning in his cot, guards patrolling his half of the camp, loyal druzhina outside his tent, and kept a sword nearby and a sheathed knife in hand. At one point, he woke from a nightmare, having thought he heard a disturbance, and leaped up with his blade out, frightening Kapitalena and the children half to death. Two druzhina rushed in with swords out, alarmed. After apologizing profusely and ordering the warriors to return to their post, he sat awake for the rest of the night, watching and listening, resolute not to let something surprise him again.

He was a bleary-eyed shell of himself come the ambushing light of dawn. The sun filtered in through the canvas with a soft glow, eeking between gaps with sharper rays. Laczlo watched it illuminate Kapitalena's face. Bora's. Nanko's. They were in his bed with her, sound asleep. What would they think of all this? Of Alasa's children, suddenly distanced, then shuffled away? He hoped they could make friends again. He'd see to it, in fact, when he was tsar. All the voivodes and boyars in Nova would try their damnedest to have their children insert themselves and make friends. But maybe that wasn't such a bad thing with the turbulence forced upon his family in these last years, destabilizing everything.

He put on a tunic and crept out of the tent, feet in simple soft shoes, sword belt on, arms crossed tight in the cold chill of the morning. The camp was slowly emerging from its nighttime slumber like a village starting a harvest day. Jobs to be done and tasks to complete. A behemoth to urge on eastward to Nova and then beyond.

"Morning, Voivode," Isak said, squatting nearby at a guard post before a small fire. "Care to join me? It's bitter out here."

"Many thanks." He shuffled over and crouched down, extending his hands to the meager flames. It warmed him quickly, surprisingly. A salve to his wounds, almost. "What are you doing here? I've got others for this kind of work now."

Isak grinned. "I can't defend you right anymore?"

"Hardly. There's no one I'd rather have stare down a Soulborne."

They both chuckled at the memory. A grin felt good to wear, for once.

"What a day that was," Isak muttered. "Didn't think we'd make it out of the tsar's hall."

"Agreed."

"Yesterday was almost up there, eh?"

Laczlo shrugged. "I didn't have to kill anyone. Much less a champion warrior. So there's that."

"Sometimes violence is easier, though, isn't it?"

He met the other man's gaze. Isak was a steady enough man, strong and reliable, but his gaze said something different. He looked concerned. "You've figured it out already, haven't you?" Laczlo asked.

That grin again, but this time, it was weathered and chagrined. "I like to think I know you pretty well after two years of madness." He rubbed his hands before the flames, rough skin making a soft scraping sound from the friction. "I think you'll do a good job, Voivode. In fact, I know it."

"No one can know anything like that." He looked away. "And with how it's started…"

"You're worried about the tsaritsa, aren't you? She's in a tough spot, but so is everyone. Between her and Vasia, well, you can't be blamed. Besides, there are crueler ways to get things done. We both know it."

"And so what? I should be praised for not murdering someone I've sworn an oath to?"

He shifted in his seat, cheek caught between his teeth, eyes narrowed at nothing as he worked through the question as a man bound by oath himself. "I don't know what's right, Voivode. All I know is that whatever you choose, I'll still bear a blade for you."

"You don't care if I'm in the right or wrong? Could you really serve an oathbreaker?"

"You have a chance to do better than any tsar before you here, don't you? Bring Vasia back, protect its people, keep the tsardom whole… I think it's worth it." He shrugged, seriousness fading like the tide pulling back. "But it's as I said. You have nothing to fear from me—or any of the men, for that matter. They don't follow you because of your oaths. They follow you because they trust you. That's what they care about."

"Thank you, Isak," Laczlo replied numbly. "I don't know what I did to earn such trust."

"Come now, Voivode, you've got a few scars to explain it, don't you?"

"I suppose I do." The one on his cheek below his eye didn't hurt anymore, but whenever he caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror or still water, the memory hurt. But oh, how he'd changed since that day. "I'm just trying my best, Isak. It feels like I keep failing, but… well, dammit, I won't stop trying. I owe everyone that, at the very least."

"And that's a lot. A whole lot." He leaned in over the low flames, grinning like a warrior who'd won his duel. "We need someone strong, yeah… But someone who tries? Well, that's rare enough indeed. You'll do just fine, Voivode. Just fine."