How are they alive? Laczlo thought, watching as the men in the tavern armed themselves. He couldn't intervene, not with opening their rear to attack by however many hired blades there were in the street. He peeked over the shoulder of one of the druzhina at the door, who was barely keeping the foe at bay. There were at least twenty outside. They'd soon surround the place.

When he first saw Oskar, he felt like the ground had fallen from under him. Anger, surprise, and, most of all, fear. It coursed in his blood now, making his hands shake and nerves a jumbled mess. They were being surrounded. Great Defender of the Gate, Lord of the Sky, they'd finally close in on him with their blades and bludgeons, ripping him to pieces! I'll never get home. I'll never make it right. He took a step back, pressing against the tavern's wall. The truth will die with me here.

Oskar's men inside were shouting. Those outside were getting closer. Any second now, they'd break through. Any second, it'd be over.

His legs were stuck, frozen in place. He wanted to move, to run or fight or hide, he didn't know, but he needed to move and yet couldn't. The world swirled all around.

Someone said his name. His title.

A face was before him. Silene's, bloody and half-bruised. Even so, she was so beautiful. One of Deus's own creations descended to their mortal plane to beckon him on. Was that what she was to him?

"Laczlo," she said, hands on his shoulders, "focus on me. Breath with me." She took in a deep breath. He glanced around. His druzhina would break. They'd be overrun any second now. "Laczlo, look at me. Follow my breathing now."

He pulled his gaze away from the chaos to her. He took in a deep breath, shaky and choppy as it was. She exhaled, and he followed suit.

"It will be okay," she said. "We need to think calmly, is all. We can do it. It will be okay."

Laczlo nodded and squeezed his eyes shut. The world still raged all around, but in darkness, he was in the fields of his home again. Upon his horse galloping through the grass fields to be cut for hay. He was at the beach, watching the waves, within them.

"Laczlo," Silene said softly.

He opened his eyes.

"You can do this. Just give a command."

There was no fighting their way out the front, that was certain. They could try their luck with the betrayer and his men, but that would risk getting surrounded and cut down to the last man. No, they had to do something else. He thought through the possibilities in hesitant clarity; it was as if he could see the consequences unfolding before him accurately, though brutally, and it frightened him—yet he could not look away. But Silene was right: they had to act.

He pushed off the wall and past her, grabbed Prince Karnys, and dragged him to the door. The man wasn't weak or small by any means, but he complied quickly enough, making it easy to hold him just behind the line of his druzhina.

"Do they speak Vasian?" he asked Karnys.

"They will not negotiate with your ilk."

He took out his dagger and pressed it into his cheek, just below the eye socket. There was no time for subtlety.

"No," the prince said quickly, "only their rough tongue and what Rodezian we've taught them."

While Rodezian was not second nature to him, he'd learned enough to please Kapitelena and her family, long ago. It had been handy in negotiations ever since. Laczlo took a deep breath and shouted out, in Rodezian, "I will kill your prince! Keep fighting us, and he dies!" They didn't seem to respond, so he pushed forward, drawing blood with his blade. "Step back or he dies!"

A few quickly stepped back, pulling others with them. Soon, a gap opened up between his druzhina and the Rutenians.

He was about to follow up with more commands when the prince hollered something in a foreign tongue Laczlo assumed to be the Rutenians' own. He slapped a hand over the prince's mouth just too late, for it seemed all hesitance disappeared, and the far westerners resumed their attack against his shield wall.

"What did you say?" Laczlo demanded, pulling him back.

Karnys smirked. "Let me be captured, and they shall all be executed."

"Would your father even notice your death? Out here, against his wishes?" Laczlo bluffed, somehow managing to keep his voice steady as the sound of clashing iron and steel sounded just behind, loud as battle.

"I'm here on his wishes, Voidode. He would burn Nova to the ground for me." The prince took in a deep breath and announced to Oskar's men inside, "Fight for—"

This time, Laczlo reacted quickly, driving the tip of his blade into Karnys's cheekbone, slicing it open. That shut the bastard up. Still, when he looked up to the men inside, he saw expressions of recognition. Especially in Oskar, wearing a belligerent smirk.

"Well," the betrayer said, taking a step forward, "I would go so far as to venture he would give us a fair deal should we fight for him. What do you think?"

A man beside him nodded. He was thin and viperous, with hooded, narrowed eyes. Laczlo recognized him as an old druzhina of lower standing. "I'd say a generous deal."

"Generous! How about that? I would not hesitate to agree, given the situation. Can't burn the inn down without threatening the prince's life, after all, so it'll be a slugging match at a narrow entryway. Not the best odds against men in mail, I'd say."

"Oskar," another beside him said. Who was this, now? He was tall, powerfully built, and with a face as if carved of stone. Stanilo… His betrayal hurt the most. But if he had one flaw, it was following the rat Oskar. Stanilo exchanged words with the man in question, eyes flicking up to hold Laczlo's from across the room, steady and self-assured but almost pleading. For what? In the moment of conversation, Laczlo looked at the others again but did not see anyone else he recognized. There were, oddly, two women to the side—one in full armor and arms, another in fresh traveler's garb. He cocked his head, observing her. She wore rings of silver, a necklace barely visible with a pendant hidden in the folds of her clothing, and simple dangling earrings studded with a purple gem each.

A Column priestess, perhaps? Out here? And one of Raizak? He frowned, thinking back. Wasn't there a priestess who'd gone missing from the Column? A runaway or self-proclaimed visionary? Could it be her?

"Voivode Vilsky," Isak muttered, interrupting his thoughts, "we need to do something."

"I know." He ran his tongue over his teeth, then clenched them tight, glancing to Silene. "Can you run? Fight?"

"Yes."

She looked beaten and exhausted, yet she still stood on her own. "By Deus's own gates," he muttered, handing over the prince. She put a blade in his mouth roughly enough to keep him quiet. Laczlo summoned up all the will he possessed and slid through the druzhina guarding him from Oskar's band.

"Voivode—" Isak began.

"Follow my lead, Druzhina." He didn't bother looking back to see how the warrior reacted. It didn't matter. It was do or die. And so, he faced Oskar and cleared his throat, ending whatever whispering conversation was happening between him and Stanilo. "You chose my uncle over me years ago. Why ever you did this, I trust it was for reasons beyond your own enrichment and station. I trust it was for the realm, for Vilsi. The old gods and new know I was few's favorite. Yet that time has passed; Vilsi is ruled by me, my father's chosen heir, the rightful heir. I defended my rights as you fought for your ideals; for this, I hold nothing against you." He swallowed, feeling his throat both bone dry and mouth full of spit. He took a deep breath. It never hurt to pause. Focus on the end. Focus on the end. He took another step forward. There were less than a half-dozen paces between him and Oskar now. Laczlo turned his head to the side to let all see his stitched scar stretching from cheek to jaw. "But I've bled for Vilsi too. For all of Vasia. Our home is in danger because of him." He thrust his dagger at the prince held behind. Karnys Vestile wishes to bring civil war across the whole empire. Oskar, hear me when I say that this will end us. Hear me when I say I must bring him back, or else all will fall."

He forced himself to stand tall with his chest high. He took one more step forward so he was equidistant from his men and Oskar's band. From safety and danger. "You betrayed me before to save Vilsi. Now, I ask you to trust in me to save all of Vasia."

...

He wanted to gut the prick. He wanted to step forward and disembowel him like a pig ready to roast. But as the so-called voivode finished his little speech, arms at his sides, sliding the dagger away inside his clothes, Oskar felt a twinge of something awfully familiar. It sat in his gut like sickness and crawled up him like a shiver, shoving its way to the forefront of his mind, sharp and horrendous. What was it? He knew, but he didn't dare put a name to it. Because then, well, he'd be—

"To the Dead with him," Nifont grumbled, licking his lips. "We cut 'em down. Let them end each other before Daecinus and Feia even get there."

Stanilo, unsurprisingly, said, "He's not lying. Look at the hostage—he's a Rodezian. Could be a prince, how he talked to the men outside."

Oskar gave him a sideways glance. "You speak Rutenian?"

"Somewhat. I think he's really this Karyns fellow."

Nifont scoffed. "So? Doesn't matter anymore."

"Of course it does."

"Oskar," Emalia said, pushing through the men till she was between Nifont and him, "I haven't spoken on this until now, but I would ask you bear my mission—and yours, should you see the virtue in our endeavor—in mind. Think about all of Vasia. All of it." Sovina stood just behind her, her saber in its scabbard but close at hand. Oskar met her eyes and saw no hesitation there.

Nifont bounced his short sword. "Think about what we deserve. Our justice."

Emalia raised her nose at him. "This is hardly justice. It is vengeance. And vengeance is never deserved; it is lusted for by the selfish and faithless."

"Where's your faith? Where's your god? Was he there in Neapoli? Stay out of this, priestess."

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

"I am a disciple of the true faith. I will not sway from my path in pursuing truth." She leaned forward to nearly butt heads with Nifont. "This is as much my matter as it is yours."

Nifont went to push at her, but Sovina was there in an instant, interposing herself between them, saber half-bared, her eyes narrowed under her iron helm. "Be wise now, Nifont."

Oskar went to order them to stop, but the voivode spoke first, "Oskar, former druzhina of Vilsi, what is your answer?"

He closed his eyes. The clashing of steel, shouts, a scream, voices behind. His jaw hurt and teeth ached. Everyone and their fucking opinions. Everyone and their fucking demands. That twinge was louder now, a real mean shouting growl from within. Fuck it, he thought, striding forward, sliding his blade away in its scabbard. The voivode relaxed, hands hanging still at his sides. Oskar came forward. One step, two. Wariness in the man's eyes. Good, let him fear me. Oskar swung and punched him in the stomach, doubling the voivode over. His druzhina, stupid and obedient, shouted and surged forward, but paused when Oskar grabbed the thin, weak Laczlo Vilsky by his tunic and wrenched him over, raising the mean little dagger he stole from the thieving bitch earlier right up to the voivode's eye like he'd done to the prince. That gave them all pause. Especially Laczlo, who froze there on the floor, staring up at the blade, pale as a biter's bones.

"Here's how this is gonna work, you dumb bastards," he shouted so all could hear. "We'll let you pass—fuck, we'll even fight with you to whatever ships you better have waiting. But you're gonna let us sail out of this shithole with you, and when we reach Nova, you'll get us into the city and to the Column. You see, you got your disaster you're trying to avoid. We have ours. And when we stop it, you'll be thanking me for threatening your voivode, I can promise you that."

All stared at him, silent.

He jerked up Laczlo to his feet and growled in his face, "You understand me?"

"I… I do." He visibly swallowed. "But do you need to threaten me?"

Oskar shook the man, resisting the urge to thrust his blade through the prick's face. "You survive because I allow it! Your message and hostage return to Vasia because I allow it! Now swear on our deal."

"I swear."

"Make it an oath."

"By my honor and my family's, I will do all in my power to bring you to the Column unharmed and free so you may continue your mission." The voivode stared past the dagger, meeting his gaze. He didn't seem wrought with fear and terror, not anymore at least. It was still there, to be certain, but there was also defiance, perhaps even confidence. "Is this satisfactory?"

"Fine." He pushed the voivode over, sending him stumbling back. One of the druzhina caught him, lifting him up. Oskar didn't recognize him at first, but that strong jaw and sturdy cheekbones under steely eyes… Well, he recalled facing the man in a shield wall upon that fateful day all hope of a better Vilsi was thoroughly fucked. The druzhina righted Laczlo, then fixed Oskar with such a stare it seemed he might charge forward to fight them all himself.

"There's an exit through here," Oskar said, putting away the dagger and drawing his sword again. "Come on."

He led the way, not bothering to look back and see if they followed. They did, of course, a cautious peace in the entranceway that had been scored by blades and blood of a few of the Rutenians. As he went, Oskar nodded to Stanilo. "We got armor still stowed away in the rooms. The chest, too."

"It's in a cart."

"What? Really?"

Waker nodded enthusiastically. "We moved fast. It's ready to go!"

As they exited the tavern portion of the inn, he eyed the Rutenians. They slowly edged their way inside, keeping about ten paces back from the druzhina but ever-advancing like coyotes against an injured wolf. They were almost as dark as walnut lumber, faces sharp and pinched with large, black eyes. Made him shiver just looking at the strange bastards, slinking forward in Rodezian armor and arms. Fortunately, there were none near the rooms, and when they retrieved their things—chief among them the armor piled over the chest in a small handcart—Stanilo lead the way outside.

It was getting dark already. The sun was hot and orange over the densely packed rooftops. Their iron gleamed. Maybe that's what got the pedestrians of the city to run at the sight of them. But then, such a big procession of angry-looking men would likely do that anyway.

His group and the voivode's formed up well enough once the Rutenians came into sight. They had surrounded the building and were waiting at the back, but in few numbers. They shouted and scattered, keeping a spear's throw away.

Oskar glanced to Stanilo, who muttered, "They're calling the rest here."

"Figures."

Quickly, there were a dozen more, then two, then nearly thirty of the bastards swarming all around like mosquitoes. His group made a tight, rounded shield wall, which limited their speed to a shuffle but was enough to keep the enemy at bay.

"Where we going?" he asked Laczlo.

"The Throat. We have a ship downstream of here."

"The what now?"

"The central canal."

"Just like Rotaalan," Sovina muttered, narrowed eyes scanning the Rutenians.

Nifont scoffed, but Emalia nodded sagely. "Unlikely allies in both, it would seem."

"I wouldn't venture that far," Oskar said, regripping his sword and retrieved shield. They made it in sight of the canal, which was choked with ships and boats of all sizes. "How much further now?"

Laczlo, who was still armed with nothing but a knife, yet standing in the shield wall, said, "If all went well, they should be close… There!" He pointed downstream.

Maybe three hundred paces away was a fairly large cog about ready to sail. Outside, it stood a man in full mail, pacing anxiously. He turned and saw them, raising his arms. It seemed the Rutenians noticed this too, for a half dozen of them broke away at a jog toward the ship.

"Shit," Oskar hissed, then broke in a sprint after them. "Move!"

Whatever order they had in their shield circle shattered immediately as everyone ran as fast they could. The handcart and two prisoners slowed the lot down some. Still, the Rutenians ahead had a lead, and fast as Oskar started, his knees hurt like shit, and he found himself out of breath and slowing halfway there. Fortunately, a few of his lightly armed men caught up and hacked at the exposed backs of the Rutenians. What was once a mad dash became a melee. The few Rutenians there fled as Oskar and the others met them, clearing the way ahead.

Then someone shouted behind.

He skid to a stop, turned, and looked back. The so-called prince was scrambling from the knifewoman's hold, making his way to the canal. If he weren't the enemy, gods, it'd be an impressive sight how he dodged and weaved past grasping hands. The Rodezian bastard went to fling himself into the water when, out of the mess of scrambling people, Sovina tackled him down. Where she came from, Oskar had no notion, but when the man tried getting up, she slammed a knee into his stomach, doubling him over. She clambered up and wrenched him back by the scruff of his shirt and hair. That was when Oskar saw the Rutenian.

He was coming forward with a short axe raised. Oskar was too far to help. Too far to do anything but stare. Sovina was distracted, hauling the man forward. But at the last moment, Waker lept in between, pushing the enemy back with a few spear thrusts. Sovina joined the rest of the band, the prince in tow. Oskar let out a held breath and focused on forming everyone up into a proper shield wall.

With no enemies between them and the ship, they retreated quickly enough in good order.

Oskar scanned the battlefield, looking out for threats and unaccounted for elements. He paused and scanned the shield wall.

His stomach dropped, and he looked back up the street flanking the canal they'd run down. Waker was still out there.

"He didn't retreat?" Oskar muttered. "The bloody idiot."

He sighed and went to leave, but someone caught his arm. He looked back. Stanilo shook his head. "He's too far."

"It's Waker, dammit!"

"Oskar."

The dumb young fool was surrounded, fighting desperately. His left leg was bloody and making him stumble. His tunic was also stained red, though Oskar couldn't see the wound.

"Go!" Waker shouted, swinging his spear in a wide arc. "Leave!"

"Gods, he always wanted to be a hero." Oskar shook his head, then gave Stanilo a nod and resumed their retreat.

It didn't take long to make it to the ship. They didn't lose anyone else in the process—even the defiant prince, who again tried to escape once they made it onboard, though this time, it was one of the druzhina who took him down. And he was quite a bit rougher with it, too.

The sailors on board pushed off the canal wall with a hurried fear, scurrying around the densely packed ship to untie ropes and drop into their rowing stations. Oskar watched them, then turned to the shore where Waker made his last stand. He fought desperately, but bloodloss was slowing him, and then one of the fuckers slipped in and opened up his belly. He fell to his knees, spear clattering to the ground as he felt at his guts. A thick cleaver split his skull in two. And that was that. Some of the other Rutenians gave chase to their ship, keeping up as the city people fled at the sight of them, barbarous and armed as they were.

"We have any bows?" Oskar asked.

A few of the druzhina were already stringing theirs, but his question broke a few of his own men's dazes and spurred them to action. Nifont had his bow out and ready before anyone, loosing the first arrow right through the closest Rutenian's chest, straight on past his padded armor like it was nothing. At the sight of that, some of them stopped chasing, and a few more arrows from the rest scared them off.

The ship cut through the canal with such speed that the other rafts, boats, and occasional galley and cog hastily got out of their way. They reached the main quay and open mouth of the Baldric River before long. Though leaving in quick fashion was another problem.

Oskar felt his stomach drop as a narrow ship moved to intercept them. It looked to be full of armed men. In the relative silence and stillness of waiting aboard the ship, he and his men had pulled on their mail hauberks, helmets, and padded coats.

"It's the city guard," Laczlo explained, waving them down. "Don't draw more attention than we already are."

Oskar frowned out at the closing ship. Indeed, it wasn't full of dark-skinned Rutenians, at least. But who could say the Rodezian didn't have some other men ready to attack? Regardless, he hawked and spat over the side of the ship, nodding for the others to heed the voivode's words. "They'll have seen our mail and blades. The fast rowing too. Won't be happy with it." The voivode walked forward to the bow of the ship, seemingly ignoring him. Oskar scoffed and shook his head. "Arrogant prick."

With weapons and shields hidden low and armor covered when possible, they slowed to stop beside the supposed city ship. He watched the marines aboard the other vessel closely. They were armed but not nearly as thoroughly as his men. If it came to a fight, it'd be bloody, but the guards would lose.

"Quiet," Sovina hissed, repinning the prince facedown against the deck between rowing benches, mouth stuffed with dirty linen. The local woman was held down too, but she seemed to comply far more readily, though one of the voivode's men had her gagged nonetheless.

There were some words exchanged up front, but he wasn't listening too closely. If things turned rotten, it'd be hard to miss. Instead, he watched the ships all around and the city behind for danger.

Didn't take long for the guardsmen to pull back and row away, and their own vessel to carry on out of Delues and toward the sea. He let out a sigh and sank to sit on the rear castle's steps. They coasted downriver with the sail down and tied, a steady breeze keeping it full and cooling the sweat from his face. His legs burned, chest ached, and head thumped something fierce.

They'd lost Waker. He'd lost Waker.

The poor young bastard. He was still a kid, really, had trouble growing hair on his face and bore a naivety that'd annoy, then endear even the coldest hearts. They'd found him shortly after losing the war and fleeing north. He was a teenager then, an orphan. Helped around with camp duties and things. They couldn't just get rid of the little bastard. Earned his name from fucking up one of his first real jobs and bringing the sentries down on them all. It was a messy shit show and a bloody wonder no one died or got hurt. He still chuckled at the memory. Not now, though.

"You barbarians!"

Oskar glanced up. The prince was struggling against newly tied bonds, and for some reason was no longer gagged. Beside him were two other prisoners Oskar didn't recognize.

Emalia stood before the prince, hands on her hips. "So it was you behind the conversions? There was talk of bribery and coercion, though no one had any evidence. But to use it as a cover for a greater scheme, for inducing chaos and division through buying loyalty, is truly despicable."

"As if I would stoop to reveal a thing to you." He spat at her, though it splattered off his chin and tied legs. "Your eyes will be plucked from your skulls and fed to those you love. Your tongues burned out of your putrid mouths. Your—"

Sovina cracked the side of his face with a mean backhand. "Answer her."

He winced, then stared up at her in defiance. "You have slaughtered my men. Why should I appease you?"

"It is as you have deduced, priestess," Laczlo interrupted, coming close, the bloodied woman who'd held Karnys at knifepoint earlier at his side, staring at the ground. "Now you see why it is vital we bring him to Nova."

Emalia frowned at him, likely alarmed by his recognition of her true station, then gestured for Sovina to re-gag Karnys. "I do. It is a good thing you've caught the rat behind this subterfuge."

"At least the largest one. But you, too, have a role to play in Nova, do you not?" He glanced to Oskar. "You mentioned something when you put a blade to my face, which was unnecessary, I should say."

Oskar scowled at him. "I had to make a point."

"And you nearly had your men killed for it."

"You sure about that?" He glared up, fingers curling around his sword hilt. "I've some experience in killing druzhina."

The voivode seemed to pause and collect himself, then said, "I am sorry for your man. He was a true warrior of honor to fight as he did."

Oskar looked away, grumbling to himself.

"Nevertheless, I wish to hear of this mission you have in Nova, but it can wait. We shall be stuck here together for some time." He supported the woman at his side when she slouched against him, exhausted or hurt, it wasn't clear. "Rest. I must tend to my, ah, companion. And get my retinue in order. This has been a chaotic day."

"Right."

The voivode went away, finally, and Oskar laid back against the ship's bulwark, face pointed high toward the sky. The sun was warm against his skin. A pleasant feeling. He tried to sleep but couldn't. And so he sat there in silence and stillness, thinking of the good days when jobs were simple and his men didn't die so often.

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