Voivode Laczlo Vilsky watched on in horror as his naval blockade of Kolomsa was eaten alive by a deluge of flames, smoke, and chaos. He'd managed to save two of the eight ships, but they just wouldn't be enough to hold the line against the city's small garrison fleet. The calm sea made the flames dance and flicker like an illusion on the western coast of the Vasian frontier. Kolomsa was a lonely place, far from civilization. And yet, there was work to be done here. His task was simple: pacify the remaining rebels by any means necessary—a responsibility he was quite used to, at this point.

Laczlo turned from the scene and trudged on back through the muddy campgrounds to the poor hovel he'd taken as his temporary residence. Whoever the owner was, the place was abandoned with his army's arrival, along with most of the small village on the distant outskirts of the city, adjacent to the low-lying coast. In truth, they were probably inside the city, terrified and worried about their homes when it was all over. If they survived the siege, that is.

"How did we not see this coming?" he asked, stopping by the crooked hovel door.

Isak frowned at the city in the distance—a mere smudge of a shadow in the night. He wore a beard now, making him look older, and the few shallow wrinkles seemed more pronounced. But the druzhina was younger than Laczlo, in fact. And every time he got up in the morning in the field, Laczlo felt that age deep in his bones, even if he was still in his thirties. The cost of a life of turbulence, he supposed. "The townspeople must have assembled them out of sight," Isak muttered. "We should have torched the fishing boats when we had the chance."

Laczlo glanced from him to Stanilo, who had also been accompanying him. The former mercenary had served well following the Battle of Nova, and since manpower was desperately needed, Laczlo decided to bring him on as a druzhina once again only a month ago. It proved to be a good decision. Stanilo was a giant of a man, intimidating yet considerate, capable yet cautious. Some others still didn't trust him.

A lot of distrust was being tossed around these days.

"What's your opinion?" he asked Stanilo.

"Isak's right. I should have been harder on them, sir. The fault is mine." He bowed in formal apology. Straightening, he could see Stanilo's face betrayed little besides a stoic calm. His granite-cut features scarcely shifted from neutral. "We can change our stance from a blockade to raiding. It won't be perfect, but Deus willing, it will hinder their resupply efforts."

Laczlo nodded at this. "Anyone who leaves now knows the danger. We've little choice."

"A fine enough solution," Isak grunted.

"You're in agreement?"

"Want me at sea?"

"No, let Stanilo take it." He watched the new druzhina's face as he said, "He can lead our remaining ships."

Stanilo revealed little. "It will be done."

"Get some rest. I want you up early in the water with your men. Take whoever you need for the other ship." Outside of Laczlo's personal guard, druzhina often led men in battle as independent leaders when not attached to a commander. Voiakh, Commander of the West, was up north, still dealing with Gorodenski in a protracted siege that had grown substantially in scope over the months. It had become a rallying point for separatists and dissenters alike. One week, it seemed like Laczlo might be sent to support him, and then he was shunted off down south in the corner of Vasia, far from Nova. Far from the tsar.

Vicarr Varul thought he was subtle and clever, but Laczlo knew better. This was a political move, not a military one. Kapitalena had told him as such when he left, after all. And she missed nothing. In discarding Laczlo, Varul cut off his power and access to the tsar.

Such thoughts lit a fire of worry in his stomach. It had been months since he'd been home. His wife, his children… How did they fair? Brief letters could only say so much.

"Tough bastard should've died that day," Isak muttered as Stanilo walked back to his quarters. "Yet here he is, commanding our fleet. Two arms to his name."

"Do you resent the fact? That Varul helped heal his arm with Sorcery?"

"Eh? No. That looked fucking horrid—ah, forgive the cursing. No, let him get seasick. We've got a city to take, whenever they decide to surrender."

Laczlo rubbed his face. He was tired. So tired. Command of so many men demanded much, and he didn't have enough to give. "We won't be sacking it, Isak."

"Right you are, Voivode. It's imperial lands. But Voivode Kolomsky won't be keeping all his riches. Nor his head. We're too far into this for an amiable end."

Laczlo winced but nodded. He'd established quite the reputation for dealing with the enemy. It started with Ygon and his head upon Laczlo's walls, even if only for a few hours before he thought better of it and took it down so his children wouldn't see. Then it was Iarek Kostuveski, leaving his wife, Irina, as the widowed voivodess of the Kostuvate estate, forced to imperial loyalty. The rebels under the betrayer, Oskar. Many more after. Voivode Ruilsky—the only eastern voivode to join the rebellion—had the displeasure of being beheaded by Laczlo's own hand. His head was paraded around and then put on a pike in front of the city gates. His entire family was killed. Laczlo had a hand in the family's death, but in truth, it was mostly his men's doing during the madness of the sack that left Ruila a gutted ruin that'd take years to recover.

"It isn't a reputation to further, Isak."

"I think it is," the druzhina replied. "What's more important these days? Having voivodes' favor or fear? There's not one druzhina who doesn't know your name and deeds. If it wasn't for your reputation, the siege here would be a lot tougher."

It was true. He had more men following him now than any voivode should. Only commanders had armies, yet his retinue had grown from dispossessed druzhina, loyal to Vasia over their rebellious lords, sellswords, and hopeful young men looking to make names for themselves. "Maybe. But I'm not a warrior. My goals are outside that of the field."

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"Voivode," he said, putting a hand on Laczlo's shoulder with a grim smile, "as far as I see it, these days, there's nothing you can't take with a sword. And few you can take without it." He gave a friendly, reassuring pat, certainly inappropriately familiar from any other druzhina toward their voivode, but not with Isak. "Anything else tonight?"

"No. Rest. We've more waiting around tomorrow."

"Isn't that the truth? Rest well, Voivode."

Laczlo watched him go, then went inside. The home was poor and cramped, even if it was the best of the lot in the small village. A sad testament to these frontierspeople's wealth. It made him want to do better by them than their current voivode, even if he didn't know how. The floor was packed dirt covered with hay, his bed a cot—he didn't bring any furniture from Nova, though Deus knows he wanted it sometimes—and wattle and daub walls covered in old plaster supported a thatch roof. A servant had prepared a fire in the central hearth earlier, and it was crackling with a homey glow. He wished for Mikha to be with him instead, but his old servant was in Nova, assisting Kapitalena and keeping a cautious eye on everything.

But he was not alone in this room.

On the other side of the fire from him, facing his way, was Vida. The orange light flickered across her beautiful, soft features he'd only grown to appreciate more over time. Her eyes were dark and alluring, like peaceful pools of water in the twilight hours. They were knowing eyes, understanding eyes, clever eyes. He felt she always knew what he was thinking and then knew what to say. Laczlo went to speak, but his mouth was dry and voice raspy. It had been many days since he'd seen her.

He cleared his throat and came over, sitting upon a crooked stool across from her, the fire between them. He didn't trust himself to sit closer. "I'm glad you're safe."

"I was in little danger," she replied, her voice smooth and lulling like a song. "There are many of Rodezian heritage here. I blended in well."

"Good. Good. And no one saw you leave?"

She smiled knowingly. "Of course not. And no one saw me enter, either."

Laczlo flushed red and looked away. "Ah, well, that's good but not… Well…"

"You're a good man. Don't feel shame over it."

Shame for being a good man or wanting you? He licked his lips, trying to summon some appropriate authority and dignity. "You didn't alert us to the fireships."

"I didn't know about them," she admitted. "Not until it was too late, at least."

"The blockade is finished. They'll get resupplied from the surrounding villages now."

"Will they? Won't everyone else be hesitant to trade with them, considering the siege?"

"If only it were so simple." He sighed and stood, pacing about, rubbing his hands before him in thought. "I can't watch everyone—they know this. And, well, this is dangerous ground, now. A voivode rebels with claims of freedom and rightful rule, and you don't join? That makes you a loyalist to the tsar. A good citizen of the tsardom. A little trade shouldn't compromise that, not if we want to keep everyone loyal when it's done. They will try their luck."

Vida nodded in understanding. "You're saying you must be forgiving. Politics over strategy."

"Unfortunately, yes. We can't alienate the local powerholders. We need them on our side. So, I'll have my remaining ships threaten anyone who comes in to trade with Kolomsa. If they proceed, they'll be raided. That's the best I can do."

"It's not proactive, but it may work. Maybe send missives to the surrounding villages to alert them? It may earn some trust ahead of time."

Laczlo nodded. "Good idea." He put his head outside the hovel and issued the command to a guard there. He went off, replaced by another. As things were, Laczlo was taking all precautions against assassins. Isak had caught one already a few weeks ago. They put him on a stake outside of camp, facing the city. Laczlo reentered and was transfixed.

Vida was leaning forward, feeding the fire. Her tunic was drooping down, revealing the soft curves of her cleavage. He wished to see more, to press his hand between them, to pull her in for a kiss. Stay strong, man, Laczlo told himself, looking away. It had been months since he'd last lain with Kapitalena. He was hardly home, and even when he was… Laczlo stood a few paces from the fire, frowning out a small wind hole, half-shuttered, the night sky above rich with stars. Such a sight made him feel so small, so minuscule compared to the heavens above.

"What did you find out?" he asked.

"I can't be certain, but I believe they will attempt to sally forth soon."

He swiveled. "What?"

"Voivode Kolomsky has rallied some of the local populace. He is feeling confident."

"How do you know if he's feeling confident?"

"Discussions with servants and some close to him, observations of his official actions, speeches," she replied, somewhat icily.

"Oh, of course." Laczlo looked at his feet. This wasn't going well at all. Best to bring it back on track. "What are his numbers? Are they armed? How many druzhina?"

"He could rally hundreds to take the offensive. Maybe six hundred." That was a lot. More than Laczlo's small army, to be certain. "Armed? With sticks and farming implements, yes. They want their homes back. They know they'll starve if the siege goes on longer. And as for druzhina, he has only a dozen or so. Not many warriors under them. Not all are loyal."

"That's good news." He feared an army of soldiers coming his way, but in fact, it would be a mob. They could deal with that if it came to it. But something else piqued his interest. "Not all are loyal? Any that are vulnerable?"

"Yes. A druzhina. That was how I came by some of the numbers." She stood and approached. Laczlo braced himself mentally. "I offered him a place by your side. He's heard of you. Everyone has. The Warrior Prince, coming to exact his due, they said." A charming grin lit up Vida's face, and he couldn't help but chuckle himself at the absurdity of such a title and reputation. "It's not a joke," she said, "he believes it. And so do I. You've grown into something larger, Laczlo. You must see that."

"Well, my reputation has, at least."

"No." She put a hand on his arm and squeezed. "You, Laczlo." A pause lingered. She waited, and he held back. After a moment, Vida smiled in covered disappointment and stepped away. "He might not be able to reach the voivode, but he can inform us, maybe even reach others."

"Right. Good." I need to finish this. I need to get this siege done and be home again. "I want the voivode confident, arrogant. I want him to leave his walls, leading his mob himself."

"That won't be easy."

"Can you spread rumors? Get this druzhina to feed him lies? Ah, make the voivode believe that after the fire ships, we're calling on reinforcements from Commander Voiakh. Or better yet, if we can get a rumor started that Goroden has been taken, the city sacked, and Gorodenski's family was all killed—"

"It would make him push for a quick win. That or capitulation," she finished. "A rumor won't do it. You need to make him think he discovered it."

"How do we do that?"

"Through the druzhina. He can 'capture' one of the disloyal servants I've spoken to. Hmm… They can be carrying a message to someone who isn't real." She frowned at the thought. "It would be condemning someone innocent, but it may be the best way."

"Perhaps we can win before they are punished for it?"

"Maybe." She nodded to herself. "I'll reenter Kolomsa and begin. First, can you write a letter? Something convincing; only indirectly mention Goroden's siege."

That he did. In the end, it was directions to prepare a small party to take and open the gatehouse ahead of this alleged new wave of reinforcements from Goroden. Under scrutiny from a skeptical mind, one might see the rouse, but he hoped desperation and pressure would force Kolomsky into taking the bait. He thanked Vida and turned to the fire.

She grabbed his sleeve. "Wait."

"What is it?"

"I'm heading back in now. Into the city. Won't you wish me luck?"

"Oh, of course." He hesitated for a moment, then hugged her. She was warm, and her body soft and pleasant against his. She smelled like fire and rain and the sea. His face brushed the curve of her neck; it was soft. Do I love her? Laczlo closed his eyes for a moment as her hands pulled him closer, attempting to bridge that uncrossable distance with pure physicality. He pulled back before too long and said, "Good luck, Vida. Be safe."

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