The Column of Ash [Epic Fantasy]

Oskar sat backward in an old wooden chair, elbows on the back of it, facing a small group of merchants in the draftless, well-decorated boyar's hall in Ltava that was now his, for some reason. Fresh-cut stone made up the floor instead of dirt and hay. A proper fireplace instead of a pit in the center. Tables cut by master craftsmen instead of purchased from the village ages ago. He felt like an imposter. Like a dog trying to play a cat, or better yet, a dog trying to play a damn peacock, whatever those looked like. Probably ugly, gangly things that stole and lied a lot. That was the old boyaress for you. Now, she was dead, along with her son, and Oskar tried not to think about it as he directed around all the people who once served her.

After a few weeks of being boyar of a town, everyone still eyed him with a wariness behind all the proper bowing and scraping. Merchants most of all.

Except this time, it wasn't just any old merchants. It was probably the last conversation of them all: the one he was putting off most. The one that included Milava and her two partners of the Lunar Trading House. By now, they'd heard of what was happening and had likely prepared. Not that it mattered. The voivode was getting silver no matter what; it was up to Oskar to get it nicely.

"Listen," he said, trying to remain patient and calm, "what's the alternative? You fight him on this and see justice delivered from the tsar's people when they arrive, right? Or even earlier."

"I can't believe this," Milava said, not for the first time.

Oskar winced. "Right. Unusual times. Unprecedented, you could say. But things are how they are. The voivode's got no other options here. Join the other merchants who've already agreed to this and extend a loan on good terms—"

"This is too great a risk." She shook her head, arms crossed tight over her chest. A sign of firm resolution and resistance, most certainly. "There is a reason we don't lend to voivodes."

"He's not just any voivode, and this isn't just for any reason. This is different."

One of her partners scoffed. Whatever his name was. "It is not. He is above the law and could refuse payments—that is the prime issue here."

"That's a poor reputation for a voivode to have."

"That is insufficient. We would need more."

Oskar sighed. A lot of conversations went like this at first, but then they all slowly gave way once he threatened the tsar's punishment for their somewhat illegal practices under imperial law. But not these merchants. He should have expected that of any company Milava took part in. Still, he was starting to worry he'd have to pull a bigger blade soon. "Listen, you've worked long enough without any oversight. This is the cost of business. Bend now, and things will work out. You don't want to fight me on this."

"Or what?" Milava asked, chin high, ready for a battle as usual. It was why he adored her—ah, well, it's why he loved her.

He stared at her for a long moment. "I've got more than the carrot here."

"You call this an incentive? It's blackmail."

"Opportunity to gain the voivode's trust. He'd let you work in broad daylight from now on in all matters of business. Damn it, he might even push to make your loans legal! Imagine he absolved all your debtors of responsibility to repay; you want that?"

"He wouldn't."

"He very well might."

"This is too far!" another said, standing like some stiff boyar bent out of shape about the impropriety of his daughter. "You cannot do this. You're hardly a boyar, sir. I am leaving."

"Mlaji—" Milava started.

"Stay right where you fucking are!" Oskar shouted.

The man froze.

Oskar stood and stalked over to him, leaning into his face, growling low, "I'm no boyar, eh? Maybe you're right. I'm more of a druzhina, in truth. A man fit for harder fights than you could ever muster, you stringy little wet shit." The merchant went to protest, so Oskar socked him in the stomach, folding him over. Everyone flinched back, even Milava. He turned to survey the others. "Look at me. I will break you apart if I wish it. I've done worse to stronger foes."

"What's the deal?" the third partner asked, voice meek from across the room.

"I'm sick of this fighting. So here's what I'm offering: you two—" he scowled at the two men, one on the floor and the other stiff-backed in his chair, both business partners to Milava "—are going to sell. I'm not dealing with three of you in the future. Too much of a headache. Your partner here is the lucky one. I trust her most. She'll take your shares and deal with me."

Milava stared at him with big brown eyes, slack-jawed. The others were equally shocked. But it was the seated man who spoke first, "Gods, you would do that? We built this from—"

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"Yeah, I would. And my advice? Sell low, then leave. Everyone else had the brains to see I'm not a man to fuck with. You all? You're bound to get in the voivode's way, sooner or later."

"Oskar, this is too far," Milava sputtered, staring up at him. "They're my partners."

"Yeah. And I had orders to do worse if they resisted. But I didn't. This is a kindness."

"A kindness? You're destroying them! And I don't have the coin to pay them properly for their shares—"

"They're excited to leave. They'll sell low." He gave the men long looks, and they nodded meekly after a moment. Even the one on the floor. "Besides, I might... help out."

She put her head in her hands, covering her face from his view. "I don't want your help."

He took a step closer. "If not me, then it would be someone else. Someone meaner, I can guarantee you that. I'm just the messenger here."

"I don't give a shit, Oskar! It was you! You're the one ripping the commercial district apart, ruining people with debts your voivode can't repay—"

"He can, and dammit, he will. I trust him. That's why I'm doing this." He didn't look at the others now, just her. As far as he cared, the conversation was just between them now. "That's why I need you to trust me. Your partners will be fine. They'll set up somewhere else. War's coming. They'll profit. Everyone trading will. That's how it always goes."

"Not if we lose," she said, meeting his gaze, fear in her eyes.

"We won't. I'll be helping."

"In the war?"

"I'm the voivode's man. He'll listen to me." Oskar tried to inject some confidence in his tone—more confidence than he had in this mysterious campaign against the Free Cities, at least. "We can win this. And victory brings wealth. Always does. You'll be repaid. Then some. Everyone wins. As long as you comply."

She sighed and sat back, hands on her thighs, lips pressed thin. "I don't believe I have a choice anymore."

Why did this have to be me? "Work with me or work against me. That's it. And please, dammit, work with me, Milava."

"Do it, he's right," the man on the floor said. He scooted back and stood, finally having caught his breath. "It's the best bet. I wouldn't want to be a part of this risk anyway."

"Me neither," said the third.

"There you have it." Oskar sat back down. "Everyone's in agreement."

"You greedy pigs." Milava gave them a sad, half-hearted sneer. "Always looking to saddle me with the debts."

"The, um, boyar is correct. Money can be made. On both ends," the one Oskar punched said. "But you always had a greater tolerance for risk. If there was a time to expand on your own as you wished, it's now."

Milava looked from them to Oskar, almost embarrassed. He figured that had something to do with him. "Well, that was then," she said.

Oskar stood, feeling merciful. No, just feeling tired. "Talk about it. I'll be outside… Just do the smart thing, please. I already had one try to run away." He wanted to say more but didn't know the words, so he just turned and walked out of his own hall. Guards at the doors splitting, two following him, with two remaining nearby. Like he was the damn tsar. Rough place, rough time, he thought, not that I need them.

He tried to pass the next hour being productive, but it was pointless. He paced and muttered to himself like a madman, brow furrowed with the weight of this new responsibility ever-grinding him down. A fucking mess is what it was. Nearly a hundred pounds of silver had been gathered as loans at this point. And I didn't touch a single coin of it. Enough to fund a sizeable army for some time. There were mercenaries this far east—plenty of them. The voivode could hire all of them and then some with this.

Milava met him in the antechamber connecting the great hall to the other estate rooms. A small stone room with a scattering of doors. Like it was a mistake from amateur masons' miscalculations. They were alone—his guards sent off, and her partners departed.

"I want to think you didn't have a choice in this, Oskar," she said in almost a whisper, standing too far away for it to be conspiratorial and intimate.

"I didn't. Not really."

"But I can also see this is not something just forced on you."

"I trust the man, true enough."

She nodded. "That's significant. I know."

"I tried to speak to you before this," he said, spreading his hands, then wringing them.

"I shouldn't have been so stubborn. I know. This is bigger than our argument." She looked sad. Almost as if mourning a loss. "This is really happening, isn't it?"

"It is."

"War. We haven't seen war here in… well, a long time. Nothing like this."

He snorted. "It won't be easy. Money to be made, sure, but a lot to be lost. None of it is up to us. This is imperial political bullshit." Oskar risked a step toward her, trying not to scare her off. "I'm trying to do right by you. Maybe I'm failing—I don't know. But this is a good deal. Or, well, it's the best you'll get."

"Did you really have to cut out my partners?" she asked, brow raised.

"The voivode wanted your company cut down. Easier to manage."

"But did you have to?"

"I don't know." He thought for a moment and sighed. "No, I didn't."

"Then why?"

Oskar stayed silent.

"Were you jealous?"

"They were in the way. Now, they're not. Everything is easier this way—including your business."

"Spoken like a boyar. Dammit, Oskar, you might have sunk me with this. I depended on them. Their contacts, their sellers, buyers..."

"But you're better than both of them! You said it yourself."

"It's not so simple. Things will be harder now." She gave a long exhale and pinched the ridge of her nose. "Never mind. I'll find a way. They would fight this more than I would, anyway. You were right in that."

He nodded and waited, unsure of the next move. Then afraid to ask it. But then again, he wasn't one to hesitate for more than a moment, and so he asked, "Where does this leave you and me?"

Her eyes flicked up to his, seizing him. "The balls on you, Oskar Koyzlov."

"Yeah. Well." He shrugged. What else was there to say?

She held out her hand, and he took it, feeling lit with a flurry of emotions, swollen with hope and relief. Her hand was soft in his grasp, small, yet decisive and strong. "I'm proud of you for doing what you believe in. This fits you. I've heard about what you've done these last weeks, and honestly, you're already better than the Thief."

"Thief?"

"The late boyaress. An accurate nickname. Nevermind. But this.... This is good for you."

He felt it coming. "But."

"But you've hurt me. And right now, I don't know what to think about this. It's too far."

That rush of relief died, and he turned cold and bitter and hallowed out. "Don't say anything. Let's wait it out. See how things go."

She squeezed his hand and pulled away. "This fucking hurt, Oskar. But sure, we'll see how things go."

"Right," he muttered. It just felt unfair. But what should he have done? What could he have done?

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah. Me too, Milava. Me too."