In the following week at sea, Karnys Vestile tried once more to escape, this time enlisting the two prisoners Oskar learned were Serpents. One of the pirates actually managed to make it to the open water before being dragged back in. Now, they kept the three men in a small compartment at the front of the ship, hands and feet bound together, with the Serpents' feet broken for good measure.

Oskar watched it all happen from his spot on the steps up to the rear castle, hardly moving. Took some begging on his men's parts to get him up and alive again. No one took Waker's death lightly, true enough—he was a candle of good nature in a bleak enough world, after all. A man like that was important to any band. Kept it honest, grounded. But Oskar? Well, to tell the truth, he didn't feel like doing much of anything anymore. Hard to say if it was all because of the foolish kid.

He felt common sentiment splintering. Some wanted to leave this all behind, a few argued for keeping on course to Nova and helping Emalia, and others even wished to earn the voivode's favor and try to join him, though they never admitted to it out loud. At least Nifont and Stanilo hadn't changed their minds, convincing others to keep with Emalia and do right by Vasia. Oskar tried to talk some sense into the others but found his own words hollow. The only time he felt any damn fire in his belly was when he saw Laczlo. Petty hatred and spite, maybe, but it was there, true as ever.

He was frowning at the so-called voivode from his step as light rain misted the densely packed ship, flattening his cropped hair and blurring his vision. Took him well by surprise when the old servant Mikha stepped in front of him, arms folded behind, strict expression hardly different from Oskar's memories.

"What?" he asked, squinting up at the old man.

"It is poor for the general mood to have such animosity openly bared," Mikha replied, words sharp and sharply enunciated. The condescension was palpable.

"Oh? Is it?"

"I would rather prefer it if you didn't glare at the voivode, Oskar."

"Well, guess the general mood will just have to suffer then."

"Your petulance is as grating as ever, I see."

Oskar stood, stepping forward to put his face in the old fuck's. "If you gave a shit about Vilsi you wouldn't be defending the weak little bastard—"

Mikha slapped him. Hard. His cheek stung, prickling and hot. "Do not level such base insults and accusations against the voivode."

Oskar growled and snatched the servant up by his neck, shoving him against the stairs' railing. "I don't obey you, you old prick! Put hands on me again, and I'll feed you to a horde of shamblers."

"Oskar."

He turned. Nifont was close by, a hand on his dagger, the other extended almost to grab his shoulder. Oskar looked up and around. Everyone was watching. The druzhina were about ready to fall on him with blades or fists, his own men looking about nervously, uncertain. The voivode wasn't far off, speaking to Emalia, but was now about to march on over. We've got the numbers, he thought in sudden clarity. And they don't have on their armor anymore.

"Oskar, release him," Laczlo shouted. His voice reeked of presumptive authority.

Gods, he just wanted to kill the old bastard and fall upon the rest of them like hounds to injured prey. The rest would follow once they saw him draw blood, sure enough—it'd be suicide not to. And yet he didn't move for his dagger. Something made him stop.

With a scoff, he dropped Mikha and sneered, "Keep your dogs in line, Laczlo."

The voivode helped the frail servant up, who was glaring indignantly, feeling at his throat. "I forgave you for your betrayal. I offered you much to help a good cause—"

"Desperation's hardly a virtue, you know."

"Neither is vengefulness."

Oskar scoffed and shook his head, sitting back down on his step. "I helped you escape your screw-up. Now leave me be."

If Laczlo left or stayed there, glaring, Oskar didn't give a shit. He stared at the open sea, ignoring everything else.

Why was it that no matter what he did, it seemed like the bloody world was against him? As if he couldn't do anything right, and everyone but him knew why. Gods, he could still see his men's shocked and near-horrified faces when he'd looked around the ship. As if he'd gone mad. Him. For what? Defending himself? It was a whole cart of shit, is what it was.

He promised to himself, as he watched the low waves rise and fall, that once he was done with Emalia and all the rest, he'd put away his sword and leave all this nonsense behind. Mercenary work and all. Farm, fish, learn a trade—whatever it took to retire if the treasure wasn't enough. Rescue Feia from Daecinus's madness, see her headed toward a better future she deserved. Then he'd be done with it all.

It was clear enough the world had moved on from when honor actually meant something for a warrior. Sure enough, the old days were dead, and glory had died along with it. For men like him, the only place that really fit was an early grave. And he'd long since outlived that.

…

Laczlo watched Oskar from afar, feeling very much like everyone would be better off if the once-druzhina was gone. He was violent, petty, and still clung to the notion that he had been doing the right thing when supporting a pretender! Laczlo sighed and shook his head, looking away. There was no use in getting upset over a man like that—there would always be some stubborn, violent fools in the world.

After working the past few days to solidify possible speeches and arguments with Mikha upon his return to face the voivodes and tsar of Vasia, he allowed himself a break for the day. They were getting close to Nova, now. Maybe only a few more days.

After reading Vida's saved documents in the privacy of his cramped room, he turned his consideration towards a more delicate, worrying topic—Kapitalena. She was, after all, a Rodezian noblewoman; whatever the diplomatic backlash might be from revealing the scheme, he worried how she might take it. It wasn't as if she were entirely bound to the Rodezian Dynasty, not that he knew, at least. No, rather, would she feel safe in an empire newly pitted against her homeland? Would others look upon her as a spy? Would she be willing to assist in whatever efforts against Rodezia followed?

She will have to be, he thought, picking at an old scab with a lingering grimace. There's no reason for anyone to question her loyalty or…

His thought trailed off as he looked up in shock. "Could she have…"

No, she was loyal to her family, certainly, but not to the extent of a bald betrayal of Vasia. Of him! She would know that helping the Rodezians would endanger not just her life but the children's. Laczlo stood shakily and returned to where the documents were locked away in his chest. He took them out and spent the rest of the day parsing through them again. A few times, Mikha entered to check in and bring food, but Laczlo paid him little attention.

Letters were the primary documents inside Vida's stolen leather bag. Most of the letters were not clearly addressed; names of all sorts were avoided or otherwise hidden in code. They had identified two other voivodes besides Gorodenski who had accepted bribes and brought into the rebellious fold, as well as a few prominent officials, ministers, and men of the army—a worrying list, certainly, but no Kapitalena.

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Enough time passed that when he finally finished, his eyes stung and back ached something fierce. In the end, only one small piece of fine vellum aroused suspicion. It was a reply to something he could not locate, but nevertheless, he understood quickly enough what the original question might be.

The letter, in sharp brevity, said only, "Please disregard any conception that I possess such loyalties. We are not interested in your hinted proposal. It would be prudent to remember as such." It was, of course, not much at all, but there was a familiarity in the words. He could imagine them to be Kapitelina's, but then why would she not say something to him about it? Well, he hardly had to search out an answer for that. Despite their brief unity against his uncle and the occasional moment of joint, necessary socialization, they lived almost separate existences. Why would she reach out to him about this when she may have assumed it handled? Who could possibly guess at the scale of this bribery, after all?

Laczlo leaned back, the vellum in hand, shaking slightly. Regardless of everything, if this was hers, then she was loyal to him, not her homeland. She put the family over advancement, caution over ambition… He smiled and felt some weight leave his shoulders.

"Voivode!" a call came from outside. "You may want to come see this!"

He jumped to his feet, hand searching out the sword he always wore at his side, and put away everything else besides the letter, stowing them in his most secure chest. Letter in hand, he wavered for a moment, about to step outside, yet hesitating. She could be scrutinized for not reporting such contact, regardless of her justification… Yet, this is perfect proof of her innocence. Laczlo rubbed his face and reached for the candle. I may come to regret this, he thought, pinching the flame out and stowing the letter elsewhere with more personal belongings.

Then, Laczlo left the room to investigate the shouting.

If his memory didn't deceive him, they were nearing Goroden. And if his vision didn't deceive him, there was a blockade of imperial warships before them.

Laczlo rubbed his eyes and moved forward past the staring sailors and warriors. He reached the forecastle, climbing up to stand next to the priestess Emalia and her protector and no-so-secret lover, Sovina.

"Voivode," the priestess said, bobbing a respectful nod to him. "It came in sight as we rounded the shore's bend."

He glanced from her inquisitive light brown eyes to the scene before them. There were at least a dozen large cogs at sea, with more moored just outside the Goroden. After what he'd seen in Delues, the harbor no longer looked so impressive, though it was still large enough to require an official blockade. More ships, including the fast galleys similar to the Sea Serpents' vessel he'd sold off and a handful of massive, ballistae-bearing hulks, floated outside the Goroden harbor. In total, there were perhaps around two dozen vessels blockading the city's access to the Kastalec. They were too far away to see much more than that, however.

A blockade would only ever be used alongside a siege; there's no other reason for it. He tapped the fore railing, sturdy and without many gaps in case it had to serve as cover for missile fire, and squinted at the city, awkwardly sat upon a coastal hill, presiding over the surrounding lowland. They were too far, with too poor of an angle to see if it were under siege. No plumes of smoke from devastation or combined campfires. But that didn't rule out a siege, certainly.

Resisting the urge to ask worried questions the priestess was unlikely to know, he turned back and ordered, "Bring us in slow. All bear mail and arms, but keep it out of sight." This better be under the tsar's command, though Deus knows he would never act on his own accord. If one could say anything about Tsar Vadoyeski II, it was that we were awfully indecisive. Perhaps Gorodenski played his hand too soon? His thoughts raced along, leading to questions of further intrigue on the bribed pretenders' side; could they be using Gorodenski as bait, preparing action in the east? Are they drawing out the fleet to strike into Nova? Or, Deus forbid it, maybe the fleet was no longer in the tsar's control?

He prayed he was not too late and civil war had not arrived.

The sailors brought them in steady and slow, with warriors seated or out of view and Laczlo remaining on the forecastle. It took an hour to draw close enough so that they could clearly see an encampment surrounding the city.

"Voivode," Isak greeted him, coming to stand with arms crossed over his mail-covered broad chest, "would you allow my presence? I would not feel having you alone is safe."

He studied the druzhina, and, after a moment, nodded. "With hope, there will be no need for concern. Regardless, you will give authenticity to my claim of voivodeship. For all the sailors and marines might tell, I could be the enemy."

"And who would that be?"

"A good question, Isak." He frowned out at two galleys moving to intercept his path. "A good question indeed. If it comes to violence, we flee."

"Would it not be better to approach on ground, Voivode? We could send out scouts."

"Perhaps, but on board, there's less risk of capture. With the ship ran ashore, we could be pursued by cavalry, encircled. Even if we kept our distance and kept safe, I fear that scenario far more."

"Of course. Forgive my presumptions, Voivode—"

"No." He waved Isak's apology away. "A good thought. There are many things you know more of than I. If you are to continue serving me as head of my retinue druzhina, I would prefer your open advice and guidance."

It was an afterthought comment, one tossed out as Laczlo scanned the ships for any sign of who might be in control. And yet he felt something in the other man's reaction and looked over to find him struck quiet and still. "Voivode Vilsky, it is an honor to serve you and be in your faith. Thank you."

"You don't need to flatter me. Your loyalty is enough."

"I do not. The words I say are honest. I have no other intentions, Voivode."

He studied the earnest, almost zealous look of dutifulness on Isak's face. "If we make it through all of this, I would like to extend your post as Head of Druzhina to the term of life under capacity to serve."

Before the other man could respond, the two ships were close enough that a sailor on the lead one shouted over, "Oi, turn your vessel about!"

"Who commands the fleet?" Laczlo said to Isak, who shouted the question out.

The two ships slowed to a near-stop an arrow's shot away, as did Laczlo's own.

"What's it bloody matter to you? Turn about!"

"Fucking navy," Isak grunted, then, following Laczlo's direction, responded. "We're here on a voivode's business. Is this the tsar's fleet?"

"What voivode?"

"Is this the tsar's fleet?"

"Course it is. What voivode?"

Laczlo stepped forward, leaned over the railing, and shouted, "I am Voivode Laczlo Vilsky, sailor. Answer my question: Who commands this fleet?"

The man seemed momentarily stunned and confused. He turned to speak to another on board, then stepped away. In his place came forward an older, more distinguished-looking sailor who Laczlo assumed to be the captain. "Voiode Vilsky, the imperial fleet is led under Commander Voiakh. He was given it for the purposes of the siege and blockade. Would you allow our vessel to approach and board with a few men?"

Laczlo gripped his sword and glanced to Isak.

"One ship. Other stays a distance. No more than five on board, unarmed." The druzhina squinted at the other ships. "Not afraid of sailors and marines, Voivode, but caution doesn't hurt."

"Agreed. Instruct them as such." He left the forecastle to tell the others onboard to prepare themselves. In particular, he made sure Oskar's band would stay back and out of the way. Emalia and Sovina, however, he kept closer, for he trusted their steadiness and honesty far more, plus the priestess had a sharp eye about her.

It took a while longer than he expected for the other ship to approach and a few men to board. When they did, Laczlo was glad to see them unarmed and in plain clothes, with most of the sailors on the other ship similarly dressed. Clearly, they were unprepared for actual battle, so whatever the blockade's purpose, it was not expecting harsh resistance.

And why would it, with the fleet present? he thought, stepping forward to greet the boarding party with formal posture and as much authority as he could muster. Wearing his light traveling garb, the wealth of a voivode only partially on display, he was glad to have his silver and gold jewelry, at least.

"Voivode Vilsky," the older sailor said with due deference, bowing, "I would beg you forgive our brusqueness earlier. Many merchants and fishermen sought harbor here despite our blockade, if you would believe such a thing. The days have been hot and tempers short."

"You've nothing to forgive, Captain…"

"Krasik, Lord."

"Captain Krasik." Laczlo looked to the city. "Commander Voiakh leads the navy, then? Is Gorodenski rebelling against imperial authority?"

"Of a sort, Voivode. He was summoned to Nova and refused. Though I am just a humble captain, it was well-known the… friction present between the voivode and imperial ministers and others that led to a spiraling of the conflict." He glanced from the city back to him. "We have been ordered to hold the port for now. The siege has only begun a short week ago."

"I see. Is all calm in other cities besides this incident?"

"As much as can be expected given the circumstances, Voivode."

Why was Gorodenski summoned? He must have been worried about something more. He was quite open the last time I was here—perhaps Voiakh caught on? "I would like to see the commander, Captain. Would you lead our ship ashore to him?"

"It would be my honor, Voivode."

Thus, concerns of ambush and attack set aside for now, Laczlo had his ship follow the galley east to the Nova-facing flank of the city, where he could now see an encampment of tents, a crude palisade, and even the beginnings of siege engines amid the low plains. It seemed Commander Voiakh was not one to waste time.

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