It took four days to instill order once again. They'd been outside the walls for weeks, fighting skirmishes, hungry, nervous, fearful of the day it came to battle, and so all that pent-up anger was a hard thing to dispel. Laczlo tried not to think of his men as beasts. Yet he was the voivode inside Kolomsa now, so he had to officially handle any crimes. But the way of war meant he ignored most of it. He wished he didn't. He wished he could do otherwise.

But a leader only had so much loyalty. And it wasn't wise to spend it on tempering rage for the enemy, even if they were one's own countrymen.

And then there had been the problem of the voivode's family. He'd had a beautiful wife and four children, all shivering with fear and dread when he rode into the keep, which was more of a poor village hall than anything, mostly built of timber, its floors dirt and straw. Laczlo hated a lot of things about the life he led now, but the worst was the look he got from innocents who feared him. The voivodess had stared at him like a monster, clutching her children behind her as if that could possibly protect them.

"Voivode Vilsky," she said shakily, summoned courage wavering in her voice, "I didn't know of my husband's plots. I was not part of them. My children are innocent of any crimes. Please don't—"

He put up his hand, still tired from the battle, and stared flatly at her. "Stop. Don't ask anything of me. You'd be a fool to think I have a choice in any of it anyway."

"What?" She gawked at him. Her eyes were frantic, and so she tried a different tactic. "Please, if there's any way I can convince you. Any kindness shown to my children would mean very much to me." Yet she scarcely moved from where she was.

He knew her type. A stranger to hardship, yet desperate all the same. Laczlo walked past her and stared into the waning fire in the central pit. "You're to be sent to Nova. The tsar doesn't want a repeat of Ruila, you see." He faced her and saw a shred of hope in her eyes. "You won't ever return here. The people will hate you, as they'll soon hate your husband. He brought this onto them. Onto you."

"We will… live?"

"For now." He looked away, voice dropping to a whisper. "Take care of your children, Voivodess. Many in your city lack such luxury."

She began to sob, body wracked with relief and sorrow, he imagined. A difficult thing to know you were partly to blame for your people's suffering.

"When you leave the city under escort," Laczlo said, "cover your children's eyes."

As it was, they were sent to Nova the same day. By then, the voivode's body and head were bloody and fresh upon the city gates, stained with rotten fruit and beaten with hurled rocks. Abuses from his own citizens. That's what happens when you lose. As much as they hated Laczlo's men, they seemed to despise their own past voivode more. One was untouchable, but the other? Well, he was clearly to blame for it all.

In hindsight, such optimism of rebellion often seemed so foolish.

…

"That was smart, using Stanilo to secure the gates," Vida said over a cup of wine.

They were in the hall, eating in semi-privacy as druzhina ate and drank merrily near the fire. No one was close enough to hear the conversation. Laczlo wanted to be in his bedroom with her, but he was no longer such a weak man, even if he was still victim to a good drink. "He played his part well."

"And you rewarded him appropriately?"

"Of course." He took a long drink. Wine was always a pleasant distraction from reality, he'd found. "Others are jealous of his rise, but I commend it. He was a good druzhina before Oskar—that man was his only fault."

"You reward competence. That's good."

"It is better to be known to reward loyalty."

"He turned on his friend to protect you. That means something." She gave him a long look over the rim of her pewter cup. Her eyes shining like dark ponds in moonlight, deep and knowing. "You worry much, Laczlo, yet you succeed more than any voivode in recent history. I wish I could help ease your burdens."

"Vida…"

"By listening, of course." She leaned forward across the table, maybe to entice him again with a view, and said, "We need to speak honestly, Laczlo. This state of awkward caution is good for no one."

"What is there to say? I have a wife. I'm… faithful or trying to be. It's different than it was."

"You follow your sense of duty, and that's admirable. But where is your heart? What does it say?" She paused, letting the question hammer away at his thin resolve. Damn her, but it worked, and he looked away, ashamed. "And what use is such dedication when it brings you nothing but suffering, so far from home, so alone?"

Deus, Kapitalena warned me about this when I left, he thought. I called her paranoid, but she was right. Vida was a spy, a very good one. He needed her after the madness of Ruila—that's what he told his wife and himself. To some extent, it was true. She helped a great deal, of course, but that's not what Kapitalena was worried about. She knew his heart better than he. She knew his weaknesses better than he.

"If you cared about me, you would stop trying to ruin me," he said, staring into his cup.

"I'm not trying to ruin you."

"No? What happens if you get what you want?"

"Your men wouldn't care. The voivodes wouldn't care. Only her."

"And that means nothing, does it?" he asked, voice a hiss of a whisper.

"You are a voivode. You do as you please." She tilted her head down to catch his gaze. "And she would bear it. What else can she do? Can she leave you? Take the children away? Be realistic, Laczlo, you're a voivode in wartime. She has no power over you. I want you to be happy."

It was, unfortunately, the sad truth of things. But that wasn't what he meant. At last, he stared up into her eyes and forced his face into a strong, stoic block of stone, betraying nothing. "It would ruin me because I made a promise to the mother of my children, and Deus damn me if I break it. If you knew me as well as you thought, you would see that."

"I…" she began, then trailed off. Vida paused, holding his gaze, then bowed her head. "Fine. You're right. I just… I want what we had again. The only time I don't feel alone is when we are together. And I know you were happy then, too. But I was being naïve and stupid. I'm sorry."

Her words touched him, wringing his heart. Laczlo extended a hand and held hers, giving it a squeeze. Her touch was soft, delicate. He wanted more but pulled back and offered a sad smile. "We were lost, then. But things are, ah, falling into place now. We have our purposes to fulfill," he said, words a tad hollow, not quite sure how much he believed himself. "We return to Nova soon. And when this business is done, you'll have a home to yourself. You've earned it."

She nodded, seemingly trying to convince herself that he was right. "When we return, will I still be part of your household? I need work still. And of the two things I am good at, this is much preferable to my last vocation."

"Of course," he said, hoping he could keep his promise. "You saved lives. A longer siege would have been worse for everyone. What you did here—what we did—was good. For Vasia, for its people."

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"I'm sure the tsar will reward you well."

One would think. But after Ruila, what was his reward? More work and less recognition. Damn you, Varul.

"Ah, Voivode," a voice came from behind. "A letter here for you."

He turned and found the turncoat druzhina named Makarii, whom Vida had worked with inside the city. He was in his early thirties, tall, handsome, but with a ragged scar across his face, and had long black hair that swept down the back of his head. Laczlo felt jealous just looking at him. It was the same with Ygon, handsome and masculine as he was. And see what happened to him. The druzhina snuck a glance at Vida. Clearly, there was something there. An infatuation, perhaps. Hoped that was all it was.

Laczlo nodded and took it, dismissing the newly sworn druzhina with a wave, barely looking at the man. Vida raised an eyebrow at him, but he ignored her and focused on the letter. It was from Nova. From Kapitalena. He read it quickly, his frown growing deeper with each line. Then he read it again and tossed it into the fire.

"Is all well?" Vida asked.

"No." He stood and paced for a moment before saying, "Varul is planning something big. A military action east."

"East? The only rebels left are in Goroden, surrounded by Voiakh's western army."

"I know. This isn't about the particularists. It's something else. Something new. She isn't sure yet, but she has her suspicions, and they worry me. She wants me home."

"What is it? What would he want east?"

Laczlo watched the parchment curl up as it burned. "Expansion. I think he wants to try to seize the Free Cities."

…

One main road led to Nova; it went through the coastal city of Kostuvate and then passed by Vadin. He had originally taken ships to reach the rebellious city of Kolomsa, but those were mostly burned wrecks at the bottom of the sea, now. And so they trekked over land like merchants in a long column, his numbers augmented with camp followers, enterprising civilians hoping to peddle their goods and services, and slaves. Laczlo had forbidden taking slaves of civilians in Kolomsa unless they committed a crime against his men, so the main source was the survivors of the battle of Kolomsa Fields. Well over a hundred men to be sold in Nova or to be broken in and used as his warriors' servants, it mattered not. He took his silver and gold, and that was that.

There were few things as profitable as a victorious war.

Part of him regretted looting Kolomsa, but that part was drowned out by the righteous indignation that said rebels deserved no quarter. If anything, he was merciful.

"How fares your arm?" he asked Stanilo, who rode up to trot alongside him through the dusty seaside landscape.

The druzhina lifted his hand, squeezing it. "I should've lost it. But Deus willing, it feels almost normal again."

"It wasn't just Deus, of course," Isak said on Laczlo's other side, his near-permanent position. "You've Varul to thank."

"All good things come from Him."

"Even Varul?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. But his healing Sorcery, perhaps."

"You a friend of Varul then, are you?"

Stanilo didn't react to the prompting and simply shook his head. "I do not know why he saved my arm if that is what you're asking."

Before Isak could respond, Laczlo said, "Isak, ride forward with me. I want to get vision over this bluff." He brought his mount into a trot ahead, and the druzhina soon followed. As they crested the natural rise in the land, he turned and asked, "Why do you have it in mind to antagonize the man?"

"I don't know what you mean, Voivode." Isak looked away.

"Yes, you do. Don't treat me as a fool."

"You know why."

"He sided with us that day."

"He did, but then he let Oskar go. Everyone knows it." He shook his head and grimaced toward the stretching sea. "He's a traitor at heart. Useful in a fight, sure enough, but taking him in, Voivode? He's a risk."

"You think I made the wrong decision."

"It's not my place. But if you'd ask me, yeah, he shouldn't ever bear the title of druzhina after what he did. Keep him as a mercenary, fine, but give him land and honors?" He shook his head again like a disapproving mother. "It isn't right."

"And what of my trust in him? Does that mean nothing?"

"Of course it does, Voivode. I fight alongside him because you trust him."

Laczlo leaned in. "We all make mistakes, Isak. He was young back then, during the rebellion. So was I. And frankly, I don't know how much I blame him for joining what looked like the winning side, let alone the right one." His voice hardened as a small flame of anger burned at his own druzhina's insolence. "You accepted a bribe from our enemy, after all. You offered me your head, it was severe enough. Stanilo fought against me, so his title, land, riches, and loved ones were taken from him. He accepts this now. But recall the punishment I gave you for your deception? Nothing." Isak was grimacing, struggling through Laczlo's words as expected. He was a loyal, honorable man, after all. Laczlo held his gaze and said, "I want you to keep your grievances personal. If he does something that warrants concern, talk to me. But you're proving a bad example to the others as is. And not doing Stanilo any favors in making him more loyal."

The druzhina squirmed, struggling with his words for a few breaths before sighing and saying, "My apologies, Voivode. You're right. I'll, ah… I'll speak to him." He went to leave, then stopped and cleared his throat. "With your permission, Voivode."

"It's a good idea. Go."

He watched Isak ride back, then turned to observe the dry landscape. New fields were tilled and some already planted, with the whole countryside opening up before him, rolling and fertile. It reminded him of home, in a way. The land here was flatter and dryer, but as with Vilsi, the sea winds swept the sun-bleached shore, air salty and fresh. He wished to let go and ride long and hard, free as a bird. Perhaps I'll have a hunt when I get home, finally, he thought, recalling the forests near Vilsi, perfect for rustling up game. Then his thoughts turned sour. If this new mess with Varul doesn't bring me into a whole new war.

The two commanders should be handling these things, but with Voiakh tied down at Goroden and the Eastern Commander, Sanei, who was old and lacked initiative, stuck guarding the mountain passes, much fell to Laczlo. Sanei's assistance at Ruila was meager, so the tsar kept him on the border, dealing with bandits and Dead.

If it were up to Varul and Tsar Vadoyeski, I'd be far from any more battles. After all, politics informed strategy, not the other way around; they'd want to stunt his rise anymore, even if he was loyal. He had a strange thought, then, one which was highly unusual for him and made him nervous at the implications. Laczlo recalled the oldest son of the tsar and how fearless he was during Daecinus's attack. He then imagined what tsar the boy would make. When the day comes, of course.

Of course.

He rode back to find Isak and Stanilo finishing their conversation. Laczlo glanced at Isak, who nodded to him. They both fell in line beside their voivode as he again led the column.

"What mind do you have about this alleged Eastern campaign?" he asked.

Isak was the first to speak, "It's hasty, but I get it. Everyone knows the Targul are up to something in the east. Taking the Free Cities might give us a better barrier against invaders. But we're not ready in arms, numbers, leadership, or diplomacy. We're barely through this civil war as it is."

"Do we know what Rodezia is doing?" Stanilo asked.

"Not that I know of." Laczlo shook his head. "They've been quiet."

"After everything, it doesn't seem like they'd just let their plots disappear."

"Or the madness in Delues."

Isak scoffed again. "Scheming dogs."

Laczlo rubbed his chin in thought. "It all leads me to believe there's something we don't know. Varul isn't a fool—he's hiding something."

Before anyone could say another word, Laczlo caught sight of a plume of dust ahead, coming down the road from Vadin. He narrowed his eyes at the blurry image. Only a fair number of horses could kick up that much dust, and they'd have to be riding fairly fast or simply in massive numbers. He muttered orders for the other druzhina to ride up in preparation. No call for armor and arms. In the meantime, he sent Stanilo ahead to scout out the approaching force and report back.

Ten minutes later, a heavy-breathing Stanilo rode up to him and said, "A half-dozen riders coming fast."

"Warriors?"

"I didn't see mail. No lances. Sidearms, maybe."

"Hm. If they're not here for us, we'll have a chat regardless."

Isak's horse danced nervously, and its rider seemed to share the sentiment, saying, "I don't like this. Six riders are too much for a message. Gotta be something else."

Nevertheless, they waited upon a hill for the strangers to approach. It didn't take long. Soon, the riders slowed at a bowshot's distance, coming to an easy canter, then a walk. The first thing Laczlo noticed about them was that they didn't ride warhorses, which was good, and the second was that they were Rodezian. He exchanged glances with his druzhina and wished silently that Vida was up with him instead of back with the camp followers, blending in and, well, doing her spy things.

"What is this?" Isak muttered as they approached.

"Voivode Laczlo Vilsky?" the lead one asked. A middle-aged, authoritative, darker-skinned man wearing fine clothes meant for hard travel.

"Yes?" Laczlo asked. "And you are?"

"I am immaterial, but you may call me Beden. I am here to report, on behalf of my lord, King Vestile of the Rodezian Dynasty, request for your attendance in the capital of Ekkadia." The statement was a bold, absurd, foolish one. And Laczlo almost laughed aloud at it. And then this Beden continued, "This request has been sent through your tsar. A Vasian druzhina here bears your tsar's commands." He gestured to a man Laczlo vaguely recalled from Nova, who approached and handed a letter with the tsar's seal. His gut dropped, but he opened it anyway. It was brief, bordering on brusque and dismissive, and ordered him to comply with the messenger's call for audience in the name of peace. It seemed real, but he hardly trusted his abilities to tell ruse from the truth at the moment. This stinks of Varul. Getting rid of me just in time for his new war while simultaneously shirking blame.

"Deus above," he whispered. "What's this for, then?"

The messenger took a deep breath, no doubt summoning his courage to dictate orders to a voivode with over three hundred armed men at his side. Yet, Laczlo didn't feel protected. In fact, he felt as vulnerable as he was before Daecinus and his Soulborne monsters. "You've been summoned to answer for the capture and death of Karnys Vestile, Second Son of the Great King. Your plea will be heard and weighed before His Majesty, Atraxias Vestile."

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