“-should’ve have killed them all when we had the chance.”

  Frostclaw’s voice was audible even before Aven pushed open the door to find the captain leaning over Etrani’s desk, claws latched onto the edge of the oak desk. Esharah wasn’t present, only the two reserve captains.

  “Please take your hands off my desk,” Etrani said, chair shoved back against the wall, body tense even though her voice was calm. Her eyes were fixed on a spot on the desk where Frostclaw’s spittle had landed.

  “Two men dead,” Frostclaw didn’t move. “Good men. I have to tell their families that the bastard who you let walk right out of Hellfrost two weeks ago murdered their sons. You-”

  Breton wasn’t moving, staying seated with a dark look on his face, so Aven marched up to Frostclaw and grabbed his shoulder, “Executor Etrani asked you to back off. You can say everything you need to say from your seat.”

  Frostclaw threw off Aven’s arm and backed away with a growl. He didn’t sit, but pacing around the room was better than looming over Etrani’s desk like a gargoyle.

  “I made the decision not to break a truce on the very day we honored the Ideal of Discipline,” Etrani scooted her chair back up to the desk and carefully wiped up the angered captain’s saliva with a spare cloth that she then set to the side, far away from where her arms rested. “I stand by that decision. The loss of your soldiers is deeply regrettable-”

  “Regrettable?” Frostclaw snarled, hackles raised. “Regrettable? Two of my men are dead and all you can say is it’s ‘regrettable’?” The canin was a second from launching across the desk.

  “Save your anger for the one who actually killed them,” Aven stepped between them. He took a deep breath, “What actually happened?”

  “Vulgares party attacked our patrol on the road east,” Breton answered flatly. A pause before he spoke again, “Two dead. We got three of the bastards too before the rest got away. Small comfort that it is.”

  The second attack since the Still Vigil. Certainly wouldn’t be the last. First on the quarries, though no lives were lost. Now, an attack directly on a patrol. The strategy made sense. For all Sergrud’s bluster, he couldn’t possibly take a walled town in a direct assault, not without numbers far exceeding what they estimated from the Vulgares. Even a full siege would put the Vulgares in a position where Hellfrost could retaliate. Instead, the rebels could only harass imperial scouting parties. They’d doubled guards for supply convoys, and so far that had been enough to ward against potential attackers.

  “The patrol was standard size?” Etrani asked. “Sergeant, seven regulars, two vis?”

  Breton confirmed the numbers while Frostclaw snarled, “Wasn’t anything wrong with the patrol. Only thing wrong is their damn killers were still alive when we should have-”

  “Captain,” Etrani interrupted, “I cannot resurrect your men. I cannot turn back time to make a different decision. Are you going to continue to indulge yourself in blame and rage, or are you willing to discuss steps to take for the future?”

  Frostclaw’s lips curled back to show his teeth. For a second, Aven was certain the canin was about to leap at Etrani. Then, Frostclaw whirled, kicked aside a chair and sat on the ground. The anger remained in his eyes, the rage clear from his posture. But at least it was contained. For now.

  “Captain Arvanius, can you spare additional vis from your legions? Perhaps ones suited for scouting, detecting enemies, things of that nature?” Etrani asked.

  “We can spare a few,” Aven replied. Katrin’s spirits and Wally’s senses should fit the need exactly, and there were a few other vis with similar abilities. “The pits aren’t an emergency right now.” At least one thing in Hellfrost was only at the usual level of danger. “As long as the legionaries are willing to work with former prisoners.”

  “Our soldiers will do their duty,” Breton said. His eyes narrowed, “Will yours?”

  “Yes, Captain,” Aven answered. “We’ll coordinate with you to determine what the best mix of skills for patrols will be.”

  “Double archers for patrols as well,” Etrani said.

  “Taking them from the walls?” Breton asked.

  “For now, the patrols are in more danger than the walls, I believe,” Etrani said.

  Breton accepted that reasoning, and even Frostclaw looked somewhat mollified at devoting more resources to the field instead of pure defense. As long as the conversation turned to the future, their goals aligned. If the past and blame were dragged back to the surface, it would likely descend back to a shouting match. Aven didn’t envy Etrani having to balance those personalities on top of leading Hellfrost.

  Orders received, the reserve captains departed, and Etrani fell back into her chair with a sigh, rubbing her temples.

  “Thank you for your intervention, Captain Arvanius,” Etrani finally said. Even after months of the title, it still felt alien. More referring to a character Aven played than to himself.

  Aven bowed, “Happy to help. Esharah wasn’t available to smooth things over today?”

  “The Head Warden has her own duties to attend to,” Etrani fiddled with her own fingers for a minute. “I cannot solely use her as a shield to cover my own deficiencies.”

  “Peculiarities.”

  “Pardon?” Etrani looked at Aven questioningly.

  “There’s certainly nothing deficient in you,” Aven said. “You clearly think differently than many folk. Certainly different from the reserve captains. But you also see things we don’t. There’s nothing deficient about that.”

  Etrani stared at Aven for a long while, then a faint smile crossed her lips, “I appreciate the perspective. I only wish others felt the same about my being...peculiar.” A long pause, “Do you agree with Captain Frostclaw’s assessment? Of my actions on the day of the Still Vigil specifically.”

  “Does my opinion matter?” Aven asked. “You made it clear you don’t regret the decision.”

  “That is not what I said,” Etrani’s eyes lingered on a letter her desk, probably a letter to one of the families of the lost soldiers. A growing number of such letters. “I said that I would make the same decision again.”

  Etrani had often complained about how inscrutable others felt without Esharah to bridge the emotional gaps. In many ways, Etrani herself was just as inscrutable. Maybe the same gaps existed for everyone and Etrani just felt them more keenly than most.

  “If it were my decision, I’d have attacked Sergrud,” Aven finally answered. She deserved honesty from him at least.

  “Even breaking the truce?” Etrani asked.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  “He already broke it by attacking you,” Aven pointed out.

  “As a tactic to intimidate me into surrender or provoke me into breaking the agreement. I called his bluff.”

  “Provocation or not, there was an opportunity,” Aven said. “I’d have seized that opportunity.”

  “Breaking the Ideal of Discipline on the day we honor it most.”

  Aven shrugged, “Yes. I suppose so. If I may be frank and risk heresy, I’ve always been a poor student of the Ideals. And if folk like my father and Yvris are representatives of the Ideals, I’ve found better company among heretics than pious men.”

  “I appreciate your frankness,” Etrani’s fingers drummed the desk as she remained deep in thought. “I do not believe we should judge the Ideals by those who misuse them. Men may abuse any beliefs. That does not change the merit of those beliefs. Would you say justice is not worth striving for simply because some judges are corrupt? Would you say we should not seek joy only because some drunkards seek only to numb their pain in a bottle?” Her hands clenched as her voice took on new fervor, “People fail. Mortals are weak creatures. Our failures do not rob the Ideals of their virtue.”

  “If all believed in the Ideals as you do, perhaps I’d find such belief easier,” Aven said.

  Father followed some Ideals zealously. Courage, Discipline, Loyalty. On days like the Still Vigil festival, Father’s voice spoke the oaths with pride and certainty matching any other in the Empire. Others, he dismissed, Harmony and Joy chief among those he neglected. Mother was dutiful as any in public, but in private she scorned the Ideals as a whole. Some picked and chose what Ideals to follow. Some twisted and distorted them. Some cast off the Ideals entirely as rotted garments long worn away. Or rusted chains. Only a scarce few seemed to actually strive to live by the whole of them.

  Aven himself...what had his own beliefs led him to? The pit of a lake in the Void, where he was rescued not by faith in the Ideals but by his own selfish desire to live. The goddess who spoke in that void was not a Paragon of any Ideal Aven knew.

  Etrani’s vision, though...there was beauty to it. A sincere belief that the Octarnis Ideals truly could fulfil their promises. That beauty was worthy protecting. Worth fighting for. Even if Aven couldn’t hold such beliefs himself.

  “With devotion like yours, you missed your calling,” Aven laughed. “You’d make an exemplar priestess.”

  “If only priests have faith, there will be none to act on the Ideals,” Etrani’s voice was fervent. As if she’d had this same conversation many times before. “If we do not have the Ideals, we have nothing. The Empire itself is merely power. Power without direction is meaningless. All the laws, the structures, the institutions we establish to direct that power must be based on the Ideals. If we do not have the Ideals, what are we?”

  The question might have been rhetorical. Aven answered it anyway, “Just people, I suppose.”

  “People do terrible things every day,” Etrani said. “With or without the Ideals. The Ideals at least gives something to strive for, give names to the evils they commit, give paths towards virtue. Without them, there is only...emptiness.”

  Emptiness was one way to describe it. No ideals existed in the void.

  “There is nothing in the Void,” the goddess had said. “Only what you bring into it.” Maybe that was true of the world outside the void as well. People brought meaning, gave the names of the ideals to their actions.

  Aven didn’t know the truth, didn’t have Etrani’s certainty. He did know that the time for questions had passed, and now they had work to do. Ideals or no, Aven had voidspawn to kill. And people too.

  * * *

  “-we honor the dead with blood and wine!” Tulun’s sonorous voice boomed out over the gathering of Clan Hravast and the Ragashars. “May their souls bear their glory forevermore in the fields of eternal battle!”

  Sergrud raised his tankard along with the others, as expected of a jarl. Even if the whole affair was meaningless. Dead was dead; any words of honor fell on ears unable to hear. Especially since they didn’t even have the corpses. The fleeing warriors left behind the bodies of the fallen for the Hellfrost dogs to take. Speaking to the effigies now alight in the pyre was even more worthless than normal funeral rites would be.

  “Their bravery still deserves honor,” Mensikhana chided inside his head.

  Sergrud forced a contrite message back before allowing himself to relax back into his real feelings when her presence left his mind. Most of the Rocksmashers didn’t follow Mensikhana’s example. The ogres had the right idea; it wasn’t their warriors who fell, so they didn’t need to show honor. The two Ragashar canin and one Clan Hravast woman who fell were just the slowest and weakest of the bunch. Their blood was a good reminder to the survivors of the hunting party of what was waiting for them on the battlefield. One didn’t win by honor or glory, just survival. That was all that mattered in the end. The winners were the ones who made it to the end, not the ones who died along the way. Victors would write the stories that performers like Tulun would sing.

  “Come, Jarl Sergrud,” Tulun waved Sergrud forward, the man’s eyes reflecting the flickering flame, “you led our hunt today. Your words of honor would be well received by the spirits of our fallen.” The old bastard knew exactly what Sergrud thought about the dead, but here he was trying to drag Sergrud into it. Maybe a trap, giving him a chance to slip up and lose the tribe. If the squealer had that amount of cunning left.

  When it came to performance, though, Sergrud could meet that challenge like he met all challenges. Sergrud rose, bellowed out his cheers to the dead. He listed their names and titles and some deeds Tulun hadn’t included in the song. It had been easy enough for Mensikhana to pull those facts out of the skulls of the warriors around them.

  “And greatest of all, by their brave blood two more imperial bastards are rotting!” Sergrud gave the final cry of triumph and the surrounding hunters erupted into roars and howls, fists pounding on shields. The Rocksmashers joined in with a stomp of their massive feet. Sergrud took the chance to drain his tankard in a final salute to the dead and sat back down. “Now get back to drinking!”

  Sergrud stomped away, gesturing for the council to follow him back to his tent. Let the warriors revel tonight. Every dead imperial rat was worth celebrating. Just not by wasting time talking to the ghosts of dead dogs.

  In the main tent, each of the six sat on the fur-lined furniture, Mensikhana joining Sergrud on the bearskin blankets. After the fit she’d thrown over the hunting competition, the recent victory at least got her back in a good mood.

  “The legion will respond to this attack,” Tulun warned, voice switching from the booming tones of a skald to the quiet rasp that the old man held when not using his vis-song.

  “Let them,” Gannuk sneered. “More chances to spill their blood.”

  Patz laughed and clapped Gannuk on the back, “Aye! Let ‘em get close enough that we proper warriors can have a go!”

  “We cannot keep trading two warriors for three,” Tulun said. “Numbers favor Hellfrost in such a game.”

  “Numbers,” Patz sneered as if the very concept of counting was an exercise only for the weak. “Gods, you sound like an imperial scribbler. We don’t win battles in a godsdamn ledger.”

  “Tulun’s right,” Sergrud said, and Patz immediately fell silent. “These attacks are just to soften them up. In an open field, they’re still imperial legionaries. Even with an ambush, we still lost more than they did.” He glared at Tulun and Gannuk, “Your warriors aren’t good enough.”

  Wrathful barks from Gannuk. Silence from Tulun. Both answers meant the same thing. They knew Sergrud spoke the truth.

  “There’s a reason the Empire has run right over your tribes for centuries,” Sergrud silenced the objections.

  “Not us,” Mensikhana reproached.

  “Right, none of your tribes have actually fought the empire,” Sergrud said. “You hid in the arse end of the continent on patches of iced-over dirt too worthless to even tempt Octarnis’ greed. That ain’t victory, it’s cowardice.” Sergrud leaned back, “Our victory won’t come just by charging headlong into imperial spears.”

  He squeezed Mensikhana’s thighs, giving her the cue.

  “Gannuk, your hunters often bring down beasts far too great for any one warrior to hunt,” Mensikhana said. “How do you do so?”

  Gannuk’s eyes lit up with eagerness, “Keep up the chase day after day. Keep it bleeding. Keep it running. Too tired and weak to fight. Then,” he slammed a fist onto his open hand. “We spear it right through the heart.”

  “Right,” Sergrud said. “Hellfrost is the same. Right now, we’re making it bleed. But I’ve got an even better idea for the next move.” He looked to Teja, “You got the route?”

  The black-furred felin smiled, “Aye. In the...festivities, I made it around to check. They plugged the hole, but the wall’s thin enough to break through easy enough.”

  Hellfrost Keep had held more than a hundred prisoners in its tower. All who needed to piss and shit. All that piss and shit needed to go somewhere, and for a long time they’d gathered it all in upper levels of the tower and dumped the lot down the chute, spilling out to the ditch on Hellfrost’s north side. Later on, someone had the bright idea to use that supply of good shit for the fields, and they’d moved to carrying it all into the shithouses on the edge of town. No one had plugged the chute, though, and it was wide enough for a man to squeeze through. Or for a lithe felin and a few carefully chosen warriors to climb through.

  The same hole that Sergrud, Teja, and Patz had crawled out when they escaped Hellfrost. Right out Hellfrost’s arse like its smelliest shit. Now, they would crawl right back up.

  A query from Mensikhana, an exasperated one, clearly annoyed at being left out. Let her stew. Just because they shared a bed didn’t mean he needed to share all his plans.

  “Like you said,” Sergrud grinned at Gannuk. “We take Hellfrost’s heart.”

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  patreon.com/OrpheusDAC