Vetera was a mess, and Laczlo hadn't one clue how to sort it out. Mercenaries crowded inns and bullied their way into people's homes, terrorizing the population like bands of thugs, yet he couldn't expel them. He would need them in the coming war. Merchants of Ltava and other towns made appeals to him directly, begging imperial enforcement on the security of their loans to the voivode, but what could he say except that it was private business? Not a thing for him to meddle in. Not now, anyway. Besides, the voivode claimed Oskar stole them under a lie of servitude on his behalf. And as much as Laczlo wanted to execute the traitor, after a day of digging and thinking, Vida, Stanilo, and even Isak agreed it was probably a lie spun in desperation. Vida heard of significant exchanges of coin for jewels and gold; if the voivode truly planned on fleeing with stolen wealth, Laczlo arrived early with little warning, ruining his escape.

The day after arriving, they were out observing the city and fields leading east on a ride, just he, Commander Voiakh, and his personal druzhina. Voiakh and Laczlo rode side-by-side, the commander muttering pieces of advice and thoughts on strategy as they went, knowing the march to battle would come soon. Laczlo's envoys officially delivered their demands for vassalage of the Free Cities, and he suspected they would be rejected with spite and poor manners.

"It will take three days, perhaps four, to reach Sino Point," Voiakh said, squinting east through the rising sun. "The roads are poorly maintained, but we should have little trouble considering the open plains. Good scouting sightlines and our cavalry superiority limit their ability for guerrilla war—their most promising strategy. We are in a favorable position, my tsar."

Laczlo pulled his mount to a stop and looked at Voiakh, thin and narrow-faced, bearing more resemblance to some kind of diplomat or trader than a war leader. "How soon can we march?"

"We can march quickly, but it may be best to wait for the rest of our summons, not to mention the Free Cities' responses to our envoys."

"I want them besieged, Voiakh. I want it underway." They heard about what Oskar and his band did, raiding, slaughtering, and intimidating their way through the north of Sino Point. He couldn't say how effective it was, but if he wanted to capitalize on it at all, now was the time to strike. "We have the numbers to effectively siege Sino Point and certainly enough to engage them in battle, should they attack. I don't want to wait on this. We've already had a few days to recoup."

Voiakh did his best to grin and nod along, but Laczlo knew better. That was the pained expression of following orders he disagreed with. "As long as you have heard and considered my warnings as your Western Commander, then I shall do as you wish, of course."

"Good," he replied, not wanting to get into another argument right now. He'd had enough with Vida already, presumptively pushing him to execute Oskar under false charges and then leveraging the secret held over Voivode Vetesky to keep him loyal. "What do you think about Vetesky, Voiakh? Do you think he's being honest?"

The commander sighed. "Him? He's managed to avoid taking sides on everything so far, hiding out here. I could claim him wily, certainly enough." There was that charming grin again. "I'd only met him once before, at a summons in Nova, and he did about all he could to never commit to any faction that sprang up. Men like that are as fickle as the wind, I say. If you're asking if he's honest about that Oskar fellow stealing the silver? Well, it seems mighty convenient to have Oskar around to blame it on, but then, he does have a history of treachery, doesn't he?"

"And what do you recommend I do about it?"

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, lips pursed. "Can you trust this Oskar?"

"Trust him? Hardly. You know the background."

"All men can change."

"Not him," Laczlo replied with a snort.

"You may be right, of course…" He raised a finger and smiled. "But he does have a family now. A wife. I heard she is with child. A merchantwoman from Ltava. Prosperous and cunning, or so I am told."

Laczlo started. "How'd you hear that?"

"You're not the only one with feelers out in the city, Great Tsar," he said with a laugh. "Recall how we met in Goroden? That spy of yours is useful, but you'd be better off having many more in your service."

I feel even further out of my league with this man. "Does a wife make him more trustworthy?"

"Perhaps. But perhaps it doesn't have to." The smile turned into a thin line. There was a weight to his words. "There's always more to lose than a faulty sense of pride. He could be reminded of this. It could make him useful."

"That's quite ruthless."

"War is ruthless, I'm afraid." He shrugged as if that explained everything, then nodded forward. "Let's take a closer look out east, why don't we, Great Tsar?"

Laczlo nodded and rode along with Voiakh, peeking glances at the man occasionally. How could he seem so casual and good-natured one moment and then brutal and unforgiving the next? He used to call Laczlo by his first name as a friend, seeming almost unprofessional in his laid-back demeanor, but now the other side of him came forth. Good, he told himself, we will need him in the war to come. Perhaps the wars to come. Respect and deference are good signs of this.

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They finished the ride with an improved sense of the land. Laczlo couldn't say whether or not it would change his strategies, but it was still useful. Now, as he returned to Vetera, he felt himself pulled toward the voivode's hall. It had elements of fortifications developed with a wall and tower, and there were a few rooms for cells in the tower's basement. Temporary dungeons for executions or transfers were growing in popularity over the last decade or so. Such turbulence made them a worthy investment for many voivodes. Laczlo had one in Vilsi, naturally.

He left his druzhina above and went down below to find Oskar, the only resident, sitting in the dark with only shafts of dusty light peeking through the overhead floorboards to illuminate the cell. It was all of stone with a wooden door and iron-banded slits to see through.

Oskar sat in the corner of the bare cell with a measly two buckets and a mat of straw and old cloth. He had his arms resting on his knees, head back against the stone, eyes lazily ahead, watching Laczlo enter through the fist-wide slit in his door.

"Well, is it time?" Oskar asked, his expression cold and tired.

"No." Laczlo found a stool in the corner and pulled it over to sit in front of the door, but the slit wasn't quite low enough. Foolish builders. Laczlo sighed and used the keys he borrowed from the guard above to unlock Oskar's cell, opening the door wide.

Oskar didn't move, just raised an eyebrow.

Laczlo adjusted his sword to the side to sit comfortably in the entryway on the stool. "I like to look a man in the eyes when we speak. And I know you won't do anything stupid like trying to fight me."

"No." He smirked. "Of course not."

"Because things have changed. I've killed stronger men than you."

"Yeah, yeah. I can see the fucking scar, Laczlo. You're some warrior, alright."

Laczlo chewed at his lip, hands firm in his lap to not pick at the calluses. He grunted and stood, took off his sword and dagger, set them on the bench, and stepped inside the cell.

Oskar stared up at him, still unmoving. "What is this?"

"You doubt me? Think I'm weak? You spent the last few years running while I've been killing rebels." He took a step forward, fists curled at his side. "Well, come on then. It's just you and me in here. Whatever happens, you'll die anyway, so why don't you take your shot?"

"You're still afraid of me, aren't you? Like I'll snap out and bite you?" Oskar shook his head, looking away. "Sometimes I forget you were still a damn boy when it all happened. You shoulda've been a man, Laczlo. But you just didn't grow up fast enough."

He bristled at the arrogant bastard's words. He didn't know a damn thing! "Fuck your waxing nostalgia! Good men are dead because of you! It's your time to answer for it."

"That's what this is about? You know Vetesky's full of shit, don't you?"

"You were never pardoned. You gave that away and killed Oiir. Your life is mine."

"It's just a piece of paper with a man's word attached." He looked up at Laczlo, brow furrowed and lip curled. "You could do it now if you wanted, couldn't you? Isn't that what being tsar means? Doing whatever you want, even if it's a stupid fucking idea?"

Laczlo leaned over him, for Oskar was still seated on the floor. "So you admit that pardoning you would be foolish?"

He shrugged. "Given how much we despise each other? Yeah, probably. But I'd rather you don't cut off my head for the voivode's crimes. Be honest about it, at least."

"You demand I be honest? You?"

"I've always been honest. Did my best, even when that was a tough choice out of two shitty options. You yourself said you understood. Back in Delues, you said you forgave me, though that was a damn lie." He snorted. "I see that now. We never understood each other. How could we? How could you?"

"You spat on my forgiveness when you murdered Oiir."

"He tried to kill Feia. She wasn't in her right damn mind and—" He tossed up his hands, cursing. "Never mind. Sure, I was in the wrong. Simple as that. Kill me and clear your conscience."

Laczlo wanted to beat him down, but stalked away instead. There was no winning any meaningful fights here, not with a man content with shrugging off all consequences like Oskar was. Not with a man who wouldn't fight back. Still, he made a good point, as much as Laczlo hated to admit it. Nothing was so simple as right and wrong. He'd learned that plainly. So, he stood in the doorway and gazed in at the man who'd caused him so much anxiety and fear and near ruin. "Tell me of Milava."

Oskar's head snapped up. "What did you just say?"

Laczlo put a hand out, hoping it was calming. "It's not a threat. I just… I want to know how someone like you… Well, how you found yourself a wife."

"That unimaginable, is it?" he muttered, glaring, not quite convinced. Eventually, he screwed his lips up and looked away. "She's a merchantwoman. One of the many Vetesky asked me to scare into coughing up silver."

"You didn't mention her once, trying to play to my sense of mercy. You just asked about your men."

"And you kept it quiet, right? She doesn't know?"

"No," Laczlo replied. "She won't. Word hasn't gotten out yet. Your druzhina, well, they just think we're working on something secret."

"Good." Oskar gave a firm nod, contented with that. "They're decent men. Well, they don't deserve to be caught up in this, anyway. And Milava… She deserves nothing but joy, I say. Let her run Ltava when I'm gone—she'll do a better job of it than me anyway."

"Your crimes are hardly hers." When Oskar stared at him still, Laczlo gripped the doorframe tight in frustration. "I mean that. I don't punish innocents…" he trailed off. That wasn't exactly true, was it? He'd hurt a lot of people who didn't deserve it. His nails bit into the wooden frame. Impotent anger aimed into the void. Why couldn't he just find the one to blame? The villain? Deus, that would make it so much easier. Even with Oskar before him, trapped in a cell, he was unsatisfied. The man didn't make for the enemy Laczlo needed him to be. "Whatever happens to her, you have my word she will be left alone. As the tsar… As a husband, I promise you that."

Oskar breathed out. Not quite a sigh of relief, but something close. "Good. Is that all?"

"Busy down here?"

"Just tired."

Laczlo chewed on it, thinking. No, he wasn't quite done yet. "Tell me about Ermenik. I heard reports from your men, but you were the leader. I want your take on things. This isn't a war we can lose, Oskar, no matter how we feel about each other. For Vasia and everyone in it."

For a moment, it seemed as if the other man would scoff and argue or even outright refuse to engage. Why help his jailor and enemy? Then it seemed he changed his mind, standing. "Fine. But let me use that stool. The stone ground's a bitch on my ass when I was already sore from the damn ride here."

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