Oskar sat hunched on his saddle, forearms resting on the pommel as he watched the smoke billow up and curl like a river's deadly undercurrent. He felt tired and worn thin, eyes cracked in exhaustion, sweaty and caked in a thin layer of soot. Such were the byproducts of his current task. The Freemen—as they'd taken to calling those of the Free Cities—of the surrounding areas had mostly fled to Sino Point with as much food as they could carry. Oskar took the remaining grain and animals and burned the rest. For a week now, he'd led a thorough scorching of the eastern countryside, careful not to hit villages and homesteads belonging to Ermenik, the northern city now supposedly siding with Vasia. In reality, they were playing things neutrally, but that served the war effort well enough. One less flank to worry about, after all.

Just outside of town, Stanilo watched over a few dozen newly rounded-up villagers who'd stayed behind, and added to the ones they already had, well, it was quite the crowd they'd rounded up. Typical wartime protocol would advise their deaths, but Laczlo, now the tsar in some fucked-up alternate reality, wanted them alive. So Oskar kept them alive, even if it'd drain their own food stores at camp. Not my problem, he thought, then immediately shook his head. Well, shit. I'm looking over a lot more than a small band, now. He was voivode, in fact, by another twist of blind, foolish fate, and that meant more responsibility. Always more, no matter how much of a screw up he was, they kept giving him more. It made little sense.

He rode over to Stanilo and said, "I'm following Laczlo's orders, you see?"

The once-again druzhina frowned back at him. "It's tsar, Oskar."

"And it's voivode to you, isn't it?"

"Maybe." Stanilo gave a small grin, looking like a damn stone with an optimistic crack in it. "But you're different."

"The disrespect I suffer," he replied, smiling too. Even if the man was sent to be Oskar's minder, in a way, they were still old friends, and for all the twists and turns, they still were. "We should go. Azali and Fanes both pledged official noncommittal to Sino Point, but that doesn't mean some of their warriors might come anyway, and we've been making a scene."

Stanilo gazed at the sky, where the columns of smoke converged into a billowing wave of grey shit. In the distance, fading the further north one went, similar columns rose high up, almost symbolic of something. Like something you'd find in a tale about the end of times.

"Yeah," was all he said.

Oskar grunted. "Come on. Let's get moving. Hauling these many people around makes me nervous." If they wanted to run away or fight back, they likely could. A great number would die, but still, is was possible, and that made Oskar nervous. Besides, they'd done enough destruction that if Sino Point didn't surrender now, they never would do this kind of tactic.

Over the last week, they'd swept a long, wide arc east of the city, crossing the southern river once or twice, reaching as far as the distant, near-tropical forests around Azali and Fanes before cutting southwest again. Now, they were close enough that he could see Sino Point with its looming walls—an impressive city, particularly for so desolate a land as this, with stretching plains, scant forests, and the occasional roaming Dead. It reminded him of home, near Vilsi, almost. A little too dry and dead for his taste, though.

It didn't take too long to pick up a trail leading south of Sino Point, fording a few small streams, passing a handful of burnt-out shells of villages they'd hit in the first few days of the siege, then coming into sight of the camp. It was almost night by then, though fortunately, he made it back before the sun fully set, and his small army of prisoners could disappear into the night with greater ease.

First thing he noticed was that the other warband was back, led by Voivode Ruilsky, a decent enough warleader, though he was a bit old and fat to be heading a raiding party. But then again, Oskar was getting there too, to be fair; he just had the advantage of spending half a decade wandering around as a mercenary, half-starved most of the time. And it wasn't like his time as a voivode gave him much opportunity to grow fat, unfortunately. With the voivode, however, was the Vida woman and her new… friend, some druzhina from Kolomsa. Oskar studied them as he passed, trying to read exactly what was going on there. She touched his arm and laughed.

Laczlo won't like this, he thought, suddenly quite a bit happier. After all, it was hard to miss the way Laczlo stared after her sometimes. The damn fool.

But even if Laczlo was a bit of a buffoon around women, Oskar had to admit he ran a tight war camp. It sat on the western side of the city, ringed in a ditch and small palisade wall with guarded gates—in fact, all of Sino Point was ringed with a staggered picket, just in case anyone tried to sneak out or launch an offensive. Say what you will about the thick-headed whoresons of Sino Point, but they weren't content to sit behind their walls. No, they liked to launch sallies and small raids at odd intervals. It was such an attack that finally pushed Laczlo to heed his commander's advice and send our parties to sack the surrounding settlements.

Oskar understood his hesitation. Even if the tsar didn't have to do the dirty work, it all ended up on his hands anyway. That was what it meant to lead, after all.

After handing off the captured civilians to the jailors and their fenced-in yard, where they'd be used for hard labor, eventually ransomed, let free when it was all over, or sold for slavery back west if they were of poor behavior, allegedly. Some of Milava's competitors dealt with slaves. A tricky business Oskar wanted nothing to do with. A man either had a right to be free or to be dead, in his mind. Forced to do some hard labor for a while, sure, but indefinitely? The thought made him itch with discomfort.

He saw to his men, ensuring they got food and care, for there were a scattering of injuries among them, and then, with a deep breath, he and Stanilo trudged on through the cracked mud to the camp's center. Whereas most of the men slept outdoors under the stars, some had small huts and tents, but select druzhina, voivodes, and, of course, the tsar, occupied homes leftover from the small settlement they'd seized. It sat close to the city, only a short ride away, so it was easy to be jealous of the proper buildings behind those walls. At least it's not winter, and we're not freezing to death on some mountainside, he thought with a snort. Hard to do worse than those days, alright, even if some things were simpler then.

He approached what looked like a small wall made of worn, old poplar planks with a thatch roof and a lit fire pit streaming smoke through the center of the roof. He stared at it for a second before shaking his head and glancing to the guards stationed out front.

"Now a good time?" he asked. "Just got back."

"The tsar is meeting with the commanders, Voivode," the druzhina replied.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Is that a no, because I'm struggling to read between your fucking lines."

The man stiffened and looked away. "Yes, Voivode. You may enter."

Oskar scoffed and strode in. Why can't anyone talk straight anymore? He caught Stanilo giving him a half frown. "What?"

The big man just sighed and kept ahead. Normally, a druzhina would be presumptuous in joining a voivode's report to the tsar, but Stanilo… well, he was just different. Like Isak, almost, who lingered in the back of the smoky room with his arms crossed and eyes narrowed at the center, where Commanders Voiakh and Sanei sat on stools discussing something as Tsar of all of Vasia, Laczlo Vilsky, paced with his hands behind his back and lips curled in a contemplative frown.

It sounded like they were discussing the siege.

"No good news?" Oskar asked Isak. They still weren't friends—a few months didn't erase all the bad blood there—but they worked together fine, and that's what mattered. Technically, Oskar was above him in station, but it took a dense fool to clash with Laczlo's head druzhina.

Isak gave him and Stanilo a nod. "Sino Point's not giving in."

"Shit." He groaned and rubbed his tired eyes. "I should have known. We'd be packing up if so."

"They're stubborn, alright. Hard to break."

"And they know it, sitting behind those damn walls."

"Stanilo. Voivode Vetesky," Laczlo said, cutting off the commanders, eying Oskar. Still felt wrong to have that name, particularly given who held it last, the prick. "How was your raid?"

Oskar stepped forward close to the fire and stood straight, as if at attention. "Fine enough, Great Tsar. Swept as far east as we figured was judicious, and brought back near a hundred captured."

"Good numbers. I'm afraid it won't be enough, however, though no fault of your own."

"Right you are, Tsar."

"They're determined to see this through, hostages or no," Laczlo replied, exchanging looks with Voiakh. Say what you will about old Sanei, but he was a decent organizer and a steady hand at many things. Commander Voiakh, however, was one scary dagger of a man, unassuming though he seemed, all jokes and grins. Probably one of the reasons why he was so dangerous.

"We think it's time to change tactics, though it was a mighty good effort," the commander said with a smile and spread hands. "Harrying is, unfortunately, no longer a viable option."

No shit, Oskar wanted to say, but instead stayed silent as Sanei rubbed his hands before the fire and muttered, "We need to tighten our encirclement and starve them out. Tried and true is not always the quickest, I'm afraid."

"We can't hold a full encirclement," Voiakh replied. "We'd be spread too thin, left exposed for a coordinated assault, given their considerable numbers."

"And that's why we must remain mobile in our defense. A good wall would help."

"A wall? Around the entire perimeter?"

Sanei shrugged and gestured Oskar's way. "We put the captives to work. We've trees in the north to work with, don't we?"

"Yes, it could be done, but why spend our resources on a wall when we can build more siege engines? If I had brought more catapults to Goroden or committed to their construction sooner, then we would have been inside without having to rely on local cooperation."

"Sustained bombardment is a nice idea, Commander Voiakh, but we'll have to push eventually, and with those walls, what gaps do you expect to open up with a few onagers?"

The western commander leaned back and looked up as if he were summoning his patience. Oskar recalled that look a good deal from Milava, who was back home, somehow running Vetesky in his absence while still managing a profit with her company and all while bloody pregnant. Even thinking about that made him sick with stress. Better a her than him, for all things considered, he just didn't have the grit for that kind of shit. "Yes," Voiakh said, "I do believe sustained bombardment will break down enough openings to push, but it will also isolate wall segments for ladder assault."

"Levies won't put up with that for long," Sanei replied, looking grim.

"And you think waiting another three months is any better?"

"Yes, I do, in fact. I think it far more judicious."

Laczlo stopped pacing, standing before the fire, facing them both. "I've heard what you both have to say, but I disagree. Your strategies don't match our timeline."

Voiakh's brow rose. "We need to move quicker, my tsar?"

"Much." He glanced at Oskar, then away, focusing on the flames. "Nova is… unrestful. The old tsarevich's death has upset a good number of people, my wife says."

"Well, I would believe that," Sanei muttered.

Laczlo kept staring at the fire, but Oskar caught Voiakh glaring at the other commander, giving a slight shake. Wasn't hard to miss the eggshells they walked on when it came to the grisly business of the old tsar's family. Oskar wasn't up in arms about it, to tell the truth, for a few deaths were surely a lot better than many. Some political maneuvering and assassination weren't honorable, but neither was open war, and besides, the tsardom couldn't go to a child now, of all times…

"We need to finish this fast," Laczlo continued. "And it's not just our home I'm worried about."

"The Targul," Oskar guessed.

"Exactly. We know they will make a move, but the question is when?"

"Our scouts haven't seen anything yet," Voiakh said. "I know Vicarr Varul said they sent an assassin after the previous tsar—"

"They did, Commander."

Voiakh put his hands up in surrender. "Yes, well, it doesn't have to precipitate war. It could just be a lone actor's actions or a defensive measure, is all."

Laczlo turned and looked pointedly at Isak, who cleared his throat from the back of the room, shrouded in darkness like some lurking ruffian. "I looked into it," the druzhina said. "We think they're considering a campaign. Traders tell stories of greater demand for livestock and mounts. I'm sure if we had any arms merchant contacts, they'd say the same thing. Besides, it makes sense."

"I agree." Oskar scratched his whiskered chin. He needed to shave something fierce. "We're too close for comfort out here. If I were them, I'd come and crush us when we were sick and tired of this siege."

"So, back to the point. We tried to rush the walls, and it didn't work," Voiakh said. "Unfortunately, we simply can't risk another direct assault on the walls and gates again without further preparation."

"Or none at all," Sanei countered, which about launched Voiakh into a frustrated reply.

"Then let us prepare." Laczlo put a hand on his sword's pommel, and the commanders quieted, miraculously. "Because I'll make use of the northern woods, but not for walls. I want a tower, maybe two, so we have a shooting platform above the wall. We have two weeks. Sanei, I want you in the forest tomorrow, getting operations underway."

"Two weeks?" Voiakh asked.

Sanei grumbled and pulled back from the fire. "For towers? In the gods' names, why?"

"Because," Laczlo said, slowly and quietly, almost like a whispered threat, "we'll be assaulting the walls. And we'll want platforms to protect the ladders. And it is in our best interest to hurry, considering the chance of my death should we lack sufficient coverage."

"Your what?" Isak interjected.

"I'll be leading the assault via ladder."

Commander Voiakh belted out a deep laugh. "For morale, Great Tsar? Ah, the tradeoffs of a Warrior Prince come to tsardom…"

"So there you have it." Laczlo surveyed the room. "Isak, Stanilo, I would request your participation. We need the best at the tip of the spear here."

"If you're going up those ladders, then I'll be a few rungs ahead, Tsar," Isak said.

Stanilo grunted. "Of course."

Never one to miss a moment of stupidity, Oskar groaned internally, then said, "And I'll be taking another ladder with my druzhina and mercenaries, I suppose."

"Good." Laczlo smiled his way appreciatively. And, damn him, Oskar actually felt a bit proud of the recognition. "I don't want all our voivodes up there, not with the attrition we've had, but I could use you there, Oskar. Thank you. Everyone, get your rest, for we start early tomorrow."

Chosen voivode so I can act the fool and get myself killed like some grunt, he thought, rubbing his face again, shaking his head in dismay, and shuffling outside into the warm summer night, where at least a breeze carried enough gusto to cool him off. He should have been annoyed or angry, even, but Oskar didn't feel that way, to tell the truth. If anything, he felt relieved. This gave him a chance to do something important as a voivode, rather than just being another lazy leech to suck up everyone else's efforts. But if anyone had told him this is where he'd be but a few years ago, fighting alongside Laczlo Vilsky, the tsar… Well, he'd have punched the madman and stolen his dubiously earned silver to buy himself an ale.

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