Jewel of the world. Isle of gold. The heart of the empire. Nova, in Laczlo's eyes, was the center around which all turned—the vortex of the storm, perhaps. It is where great schemes were made and unmade, factions born and broken, and riches gained or lost. It was where he turned his war around with deals and debts that he was finally ending. This very day, perhaps.

They were approaching the western docks, only an hour out. It was midday. Once inside, he would march right on up to Iarek Kostuveski, deliver his information and evidence, then see his family. And it would all finally be over. Well, he thought, holding onto the bow castle's railing, sighing at his own naivety, likely not over. There will be some conflict. Voivodes will be upturned, replaced. Men of the armies too. One could not deny those things, certainly. But after? After, there would be peace. Enough time to deal with this Daecinus business, whatever that was.

In the days since, he'd not spoken to the priestess. At first, he was unsure what to do and how to proceed. If people could easily put together the fact that she was the runaway, then that endangered him. But he had a duty to uphold. A promise. That was important. Still, next to the Column's wrath, he found himself paralyzed, unsure how to treat her, so he'd kept his distance. Finally, he resolved himself to the knowledge that whatever came following his report to Iarek was no longer his concern. He would retire away for a year, perhaps more, seeing to his family and estate's affairs. And that would be that.

A sharp breeze cut through his blue and gold silk robes, eliciting a tremoring shiver. He wished for something thicker, sturdier, and more protective. Armor and weapons—can I find comfort in nothing else anymore? he thought. Or am I just a brutish warrior now? Have I truly become so… He couldn't find the word. And part of him was glad for it.

"Voivode," the priestess said, just over his shoulder. "You requested my presence?"

"Join me." He gestured to an open spot beside him. They were alone on the forecastle. Wind high enough to whisk away their words beyond any listening ears.

She came to stand beside him. "It's been days. I would have imagined you wished to speak to me earlier."

"I did. But I had much on my mind. There is much to plan for, you see." Laczlo inwardly cringed at his own awkward handwaving but turned to face her with a small, understanding smile not unlike Voiakh's own, in Laczlo's hopeful estimation. "It is difficult for me, as you should understand, to go through with sneaking you into the Column given how exposed your secret is."

Her expression fell, then tightened, lips thinning and eyes narrowing. "No, I don't seem to understand. Do promises mean so little?"

"One could argue our agreement was made under false pretenses of your status as a full priestess… I could jeopardize my standing by harboring a Column runaway."

"I didn't run away," Emalia said, scoffing. "I had good reason to do as I did—as you well know."

"As I partially know. You said little more than there is a Sorcerer named Daecinus coming from the north. That is not much to go on. I need more than that if the Column seeks to hold me accountable."

"Truly? Even after you deliver news and proof of the treachery going on? I think all of Vasia will be thankful and in no mood to prosecute its savior for so small a crime." She looked around, then leaned in and whispered, not breaking eye contact, "If I am handed over to Column authorities, I will not be able to stop Daecinus, should he come. And neither will you. Would you wager on the possible threat of Column disfavor with your actions or the certain one of a Sorcerer that can only be swayed by someone he trusts offering the right information?"

He thought for a moment on her argument. Could she be lying? Creating this whole false threat to escape her Column's justice? But no, she committed to this long ago—as did Oskar—and even risked exposure with the eastern commander, speaking about this threat. No, it was simply too grand a lie. And why return to Nova otherwise? "I know little of your proposed certain threat, so if I simply trust you at your vague word—"

"I cannot say more, Voivode. I simply cannot."

He held up a hand. "So if I simply trust you at your word, necessarily vague as it may be, then I would agree with you. And, so far, I have no reason to distrust you. Vida would agree, and I trust her word." Though the distance between us is still insurmountable, not that I dare get closer to her, near as we are to home. She had made little attempt to join his bed again, and for that, he was both thankful and disappointed. Still, he trusted her loyalty and perceptiveness. "So," he continued, "I will keep your secret and deliver you into Nova, allowing Oskar's band to continue in their mission. But I would ask that when you find what you are looking for, find me. If this threat is so large, I would not wish to be unprepared, nor would I wish you to try to solve it alone. There are many in Nova you cannot trust."

She smiled, sighing in relief. "I will."

For a priestess, she certainly lacks the capacity for deception. "Good. That was all, Priestess."

"Voivode." She bowed, then left.

Shortly after, Mikha approached, leaving little opportunity for Laczlo to escape to his room as he guiltily wished. After relaying the important parts of the conversation, his head servant looked upon him with some worry, his mustache bending with his deep frown. "I have my concerns about her, Voivode. About all of them and their secretive mission with this Daecinus fellow."

"As do I." He watched the priestess speaking with her guard, Sovina. They were turned away, so he couldn't even attempt to read their lips. "But she seems an honest one. If my judgment is any good."

"No one can read thoughts. But intentions? Have you been wrong so far?"

Laczlo thought on that. Despite all the lies and betrayals of Vida, Isak, and Mikha, mainly, they always had good intentions in mind; their loyalty was not a question, even with the deceptions. He knew Gorodenski was hiding something and he'd never fully trusted Iarek Kostuveski, though Laczlo had yet to see exactly what the man was up to. "Perhaps you are right," he muttered, picking at the flaking paint of the ship's railing. "Would you discard your concerns with only my judgment to go off of?"

"I believe you are right with her intentions, Voivode, but I don't think she left the Column in attempt to stop this Sorcerer. I think they stumbled across him. And things turned… sour." He nodded to Oskar, sitting on the deck, trimming his nails with a knife. "Have you seen that chest they always keep close at hand? It's full of riches. Never have I seen mercenaries so laden in gold and silver. My thinking is they found this Daecinus amidst some Ruin of the old world. Perhaps they had something to do with Rotalaan's fall."

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"It's fallen? Where did you hear that?"

"Goroden, Voivode. Rumors is all, but those there believed them well enough. It is a sign, a portend." He grimaced and looked down. "Or a sign of Deus, perhaps."

"You needn't accommodate me, Mikha. You know that."

"Apologies. But still, it is meaningful. The scholars all believed the city would stay afloat for another fifty years, at least. If this Daecinus is so powerful, maybe it was he who sunk it?"

"But why?" Laczlo sighed and shook his head. "I know only a little of Sorcery, but I don't believe there's anything to be gained from that besides notoriety. And as we haven't heard of his name until now… Perhaps we must content ourselves knowing that we shall know little."

Mikha put a hand on his shoulder and leaned in. "At risk of sounding contrarian, I believe it may be wise to be proactive on this, Voivode. You are too young to know of the Fourth Sorcererous War, but I recall the stories from my father, the news of them in the east before Vasia put them down, and the Column changed its policy… We must be wary, even if of just one man. If you agree, I can take this task myself upon our return and ask old contacts the pertinent questions."

He demonstrated his connections well in Delues with Vida's dishonesty and true lineage… He's always been one for more competence in secrecy than meets the eye. "Very well. Thank you, Mikha."

"Of course. I live to serve, Voivode."

"No. Please do not say such things. You serve me well, of course, but I don't wish to be all there is, you see."

"I—" Mikha cocked his head, then nodded. "Thank you."

Soon after, the three hills of Nova became clear through the heat haze of the midday sun, with the northern dock's great expanse soon drawing near. A patrol ship drew beside them and went to demand toll until Laczlo indulged in the slight delight of flexing his name and position, stunning the captain momentarily before he rushed to escort Laczlo's vessel ashore. The northern harbor was semicircular, built long ago of lumber, then local stone, extending far beyond the natural confines of the original space. A few large warships were secured, though many spots usually occupied were vacant—for the blockade, he figured—and so the toll ship directed his close to shore with all haste. With a payment of thanks, the captain of the toll ship, a local druzhina, escorted him and his retinue into the city. He had but a moment before parting ways with the priestess and Oskar's band, close as they were to their destination near the Column. It was not a moment he saw fit to embellish with thanks and well-wishes, but nonetheless, he said his farewells as was proper to most of them, but at the last second, pulled Oskar aside.

The ex-druzhina, weathered and far more aged than seemed right in the short years since he'd rebelled with Laczlo's uncle, stared back at him with a flat, dubious frown as if expecting the worst. He was armored and armed, though he wore his weapons casually, looking like the adventurer returned to civilization, not quite yet adjusted.

"I said it before in Delues, and I meant it," Laczlo said, making himself look Oskar in the eye. "I understand why you sided with him. I know why you despise me. And while I cannot have you back for matters beyond my control, if you would even wish it, I can offer this." He handed over a piece of tough parchment. One he'd written over a week ago but hadn't the courage to offer until now, when there was no other choice.

Oskar took it and read with narrowed eyes. He looked up, alarmed, then read it again. After a moment, he lowered the parchment, curling it up in a tight roll in his fist before waving it in Laczlo's face. "What is this? An act of bloody pity? What makes you think I even want your fucking pardon?"

"It's not just for you, but those with you too."

"And you think any of us want your damn forgiveness? Like you've gotta make right your wrongs?" He scoffed and tucked the parchment away. "I'll take it. Maybe the men will want it. But don't think this changes anything between you and me. You stole my life away. You can't give it back with some scribbles and fake humility." He jabbed Laczlo in the chest, face screwed tight and angry. "I know what you are, you know. Deep down. Try as you might by wearing that new scar and waving a sword about, but you're the scared, weak, naïve man who let his home break. And no matter what honorable words you spew or papers you sign, you'll still know that under it all, you should have died, and your parents lived to spawn a different successor." Without another word, Oskar turned away and marched off, shoulders bunched up and fists curled.

Laczlo watched him go, caught between the urge to grab the bastard by the neck and flee from the scene in tears. He felt pathetic. Weak. However much he despised the brutish mercenary, he was right. Whatever anyone else said, these months from home hadn't truly changed him, and when the going would get rough again—as it most certainly would—he knew he'd hide away and peer through slatted blinds at the outside world in fear of when it would all come crashing down.

"Voivode?" someone called.

He turned. It was Mikha. "Yes?" he asked, voice wavering. He cleared his throat and tried again. "What is it?"

"Are you ready?"

Laczlo nodded, took a deep breath, and made way to Iarek Kostuveski to finally be done with it all.

…

The fucking smug bastard, Oskar thought, fists so tight he thought his jagged short nails might break skin. Hands me this and sends me on my way? As if it'd fix everything. That so-called voivode didn't know a thing about what he'd suffered through after it all went to shit. His home taken, wealth stolen, body scarred, respect and reputation destroyed, friends all but a few killed. Left with nothing but his mail, sword, and Nifont and Stanilo against the damn world. He'd eaten horseflesh, drank from dirty puddles in desert plains, slept with pigs in mud, and begged for shit jobs he wouldn't have given to a slave just so he could afford bread. Oskar Koyzlov, begging? What a pathetic thought. What a horrid memory.

And then, when he was finally close to making peace with it all, here enters Laczlo, the reborn, the glorious, with his fucking parchment. Now, Oskar had a chance. They all did. But they also had a job—one that would make him a criminal forever, making enemies of the Column. What a bloody dilemma. He followed Emalia and the others, staring at his feet. Show anyone else the pardon, and they might renege on the deal with the priestess then and there. Some of the men in his band were criminals on the run, others deserters, all complicit in taking company with him, a traitor and oathbreaker. But now…

Fuck.

He nudged Stanilo and drew him close as they went, whispering into the big man's ear, "Know what he handed me?"

"I figure I do." Stanilo's lips were quirked down, eyes worried. "Does it clear our names with whatever's about to happen in mind?"

"He can't exactly promise that, can he? No voivode's got power over Column laws."

"What are you thinking?"

Oskar grimaced. "You know how the men will react."

"I'd like to have faith in them…"

"But we have to be realistic."

Stanilo sighed and muttered, "Yeah."

Oskar looked over his men and glanced at Emalia and Sovina. Could have thought long and hard about it, could have called all to halt, given it a proper pause for concentrated reflection, but instead, he shook his head. "Fuck that. We made her a promise. And as for Daecinus, however crazy he might be, the man shared a fire with us, saved lives. I don't want to see the pale bastard killed for just trying to get some justice. Feia neither. Her fate's bound to him and all that, or whatever cryptic shit she'd say. Fuck Laczlo, his pardon can wait."

Stanilo smiled. "You're a good man, Oskar."

"Think so? Choosing those two over our own men?" He shook his head. "No, I believe I'm just a selfish prick wanting one last grab at fame and glory. No one becomes a legend by retiring comfortably."

The big man's smile just widened into a crooked grin. "If that makes you happy, Oskar."

"The fuck does that mean?"

"You're a liar. But one of the good ones. Heh." He nodded forward. "Engage front."

City guards at the corner. A half-dozen of them. But one look at Emalia and the spearmen looked the other way. Oskar squinted at them as he passed, meeting wary frowns as he went. Polished steel and iron, proper uniforms, shaved faces, and a whole city stretching out before them upon rolling hills, tight-packed, busy as a harbor whorehouse at night, and smelling like one too. But gods, there was something about it. Something he couldn't quite put a finger on.

"Back in Nova," he muttered, feeling something fluttering in his gut.

Anticipation.

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