Sergrud grinned at the surrounding crowd as he marched into Hellfrost. What a shithole. His beautiful shithole. Five years was a long time, especially with how quickly Hellfrost changed. People died, and new ones came, more veterans rewarded for years of service with the prize of a few furlongs of frostbitten dirt. More unfamiliar faces than familiar ones, even fewer who’d seen Sergrud in his prime rather than the two years in chains. Oh, but these people still knew him. It was obvious from the looks in their eyes, like deer in the presence of a great wolf. Terrified, but too trapped to run. Only a dozen Vulgares, but they might as well have been a hundred to these yokels.

  And there was Frostclaw. The Red Wolf of Hellfrost had aged poorly, even more than the five years since they’d last laid eyes on each other. Seven years since the bastard had teamed up with Erdrak to take him on. Sergrud hadn’t taken a fall without dragging his two opponents to the mud, but the result had been the same. Two years in a cage. A cage that could hold anyone except him.

  And now here they were again.

  The glare from old Wulfred could have lit a blaze, and Sergrud met it with a grin, comforted by thoughts of mounting the bastard’s head on his standard. Oh, that would be a nice rallying flag for the Vulgares.

  “Welcome, Sergrud of the Vulgares,” a tiny, spindly little woman spoke from the platform.

  Hells and damnation, was this one the executor now? Sergrud had laughed when he heard that a godsdamned scribbler was the latest of Iraias’ dogs to take leadership, but this? Pinched and squinty face, reedy voice, practically smothered in robes that made her look more like a yarn-ball than a woman. Dammit, Sergrud had worked himself up at the sheer stones it took to throw an offer for surrender back in his face. Now it was hard to even take her seriously as a threat.

  “You’re the new executor?” Sergrud asked. He turned to Patz at his side, raising his eyebrows in signal.

  Patz howled with laughter. The rest of his warriors joined. The little twig of an imperial woman didn’t even flinch. No rage or shame or indignity. Just kept her face fixed in a mask of control. That made Sergrud’s blood burn.

  “As I mentioned in the message,” the scribbler talked as if he was too stupid to understand what she’d written, “the negotiations will take place this evening. We are in the middle of festival proceedings now. You may wait in Hellfrost Keep until the time of negotiations if you wish. Captain...” her gaze flicked to Frostclaw before then switching to the other legionary captain. A complete fop from first glance. “Breton, please escort Sergrud and his companions to-”

  “We aren’t going anywhere,” Sergrud called out, baring his teeth to the captain in question.

  The dandy gave Sergrud a haughty glare. A pathetic try at intimidation. Gods and devils, how long did the prick spend polishing his armor to get it to shine like that? Armor didn’t need to shine to do its job. If the man dedicated himself to his blade and battle as he did on hair and armor, he wouldn’t be in Hellfrost. Even had one of those patchy beards that were popular in the legions when everyone worshipped the ground old Emperor Dramus walked on. Even by the time Sergrud left the proper legions for Hellfrost, that had already gone out of fashion.

  “The negotiations are tonight,” the executor repeated, “we will-”

  “They start when I say they start,” Sergrud shouted. His voice echoed across the square, his warriors falling into a silence that demanded attention. “You wanted to talk? We talk now. We don’t play by your rules, bitch.” That got a response at last. A frown.

  “Yes, you do,” the woman replied. “If you insist on threatening me in the square, Captain Frostclaw and the reserve legions are ready to respond. Do not forget your situation.”

  “Oh, I don’t forget a thing,” Sergrud said. He glanced around at the crowd of people gathered. The crowd was tense. Good. Let ‘em squirm. Let ‘em feel who was the strong one here. “I don’t forget what happened the last time I was here. Took Frostclaw and Erdrak himself to bring me down. I’m stronger since.” He grinned at Frostclaw, “Fancy another shot?”

  Frostclaw growled. All he could ever do. Bluster, growl. Too slow and stuck in the legion’s ways to act.

  “I left you alive last time,” Frostclaw said. “My worst mistake.”

  “Worst?” Sergrud gave a laugh that his warriors dutifully echoed. “Now that’s a high mark! I only gave you a few of those scars. You’ve got more mistakes than a man can count, all carved into your body, you old mutt. Sit, dog, Erdrak isn’t here to save your ass this time.”

  The third captain stepped forward. There he was. The voidtouched. Honestly, Sergrud expected someone taller. Stronger. This man could hardly be called a man at all. Face like a naked rat. If not for the black veins marking his skin, Sergrud wouldn’t have noticed him at all.

  “Erdrak isn’t here,” the boy said. He didn’t carry any weapons at all. The black veins rippled on his bare arms, “We are.”

  A mental touch from Mensikhana, “Do not underestimate the warriors here. This voidtouched has power. And the zhagra at his side had the better of Patz.”

  “Bullshit,” Patz growled. “I was just putting him through the paces.”

  Sergrud eyed the zhagra as the ogre stepped up to the voidtouched’s side. Now there was someone actually impressive. Biggest bastard Sergrud had ever seen, a full head above even the biggest of the ogorok Rocksmashers. Stance of a warrior too, no bluster, all readiness.

  Fine. No violence today. Fun as it would be to just kill the voidtouched and carry off the executor, that wasn’t why they were here. Not the only reason, at least.

  Sergrud gave a yawn and sat down, “Fine, fine. You can give your speech. We agreed to a peaceful negotiation, after all. But we aren’t going to the Keep. No need to keep all this prattle secret, yeah? Let the people hear what we have to say. We’ll just settle down right here. No violence, right?”

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  The executor gave a glance to the dezar at her side. No words spoken. Interesting.

  Sergrud gave Mensikhana a nudge, and the mental confirmation came swiftly when the dezar’s gaze snapped to meet Mensikhana’s eyes. Another Mindspeaker. Interesting. A nice challenge for Mensikhana to whet her skills.

  “Very well,” the executor said primly. “Captain Breton, please see to it that the square remains orderly.” She half-turned to the voidtouched, “Thank you, Captain Arvanius.”

  The voidtouched bowed his head and returned to the crowd. Sergrud studied the man as the executor launched into a speech about unity and trust or some other empty bullshit. The voidtouched was the one to keep an eye on, if Mensikhana was right. The others standing at his side were interesting too. Ogre, beastkin...hells, it was practically a mirror of Sergrud’s own crew. Prisoners and soldiers alike. What the hell had the voidtouched done to get them to work together? Sergrud had conquered the three tribes under his command and now Frostwood with blood and spear. That was the only way to get the respect and fear necessary for unity. Was this voidtouched strong enough to do the same?

  “Read him,” Sergrud hissed to Mensikhana.

  “Can’t. The dezar is blocking me. She is skilled.”

  Sergurd grabbed Mensikhana’s hand and gave it a squeeze. Hard enough to remind her what she was here for. “Then break through.”

  Mensikhana gave a mental hiss, and her hand tensed in Sergrud’s grasp. A second passed. Two. Five.

  Mensikhana gasped audibly, hand flying up to her mouth.

  “What the hell is it?” Sergrud grabbed the back of her neck and hissed in her ear.

  “She’s...she’s different. It’s not just words. I...I can feel her. Her memories. Her...her suffering. Oh, hidden Goddess... How...how could she...that much pain...”

  Dammit. Sergrud’s best tool reduced to babbling. He’d have to fix her later. Just observing was useless now. Time to act.

  “Are we going to sit here and listen to this horseshit all day?” Sergrud cut off the executor’s dull speech. The woman paused mid-word. Her eye twitched. Good. Getting under her skin. “Or do we get to this ‘negotiation’?”

  “The Ideal of Discipline exists,” the executor raised her voice, ignoring his words and continuing on the memorized speech, “To separate the empire from chaos. It-”

  “The Ideals exist to let weak, crawling scumsuckers like you control the actions of the free and strong,” Sergrud interrupted again. The Vulgares cheered at the words, Patz especially giving out a primal roar.

  “By ‘strong’, you mean men who were discharged from the legions for disobeying orders and getting half a company of soldiers killed, Sergrud Rolafson?”

  Sergrud blinked. Where the hell had she heard-

  “You were consigned to Hellfrost because the legions had no other place for you,” the executor said. “For someone who lacks the Discipline to follow orders.”

  A godsdamned lie. The orders were stupid, holding back when they had a chance to push. Not his fault they had a godsdamned Third Circle! And he’d defeated the warlord, even while he was only Second Circle himself. Should have had a commendation, not a consignment to a frozen, voidspawn-infested shithole.

  “Shut your mouth, you whore,” Sergrud spat.

  The woman met his glare, “You murdered Executor Torlin because she dared call out your senseless brutality.”

  Torlin was a slimy toad trying to scrabble for control. No more virtuous than any of the other leaders of Hellfrost. She’d worked alongside him right up until she got too squeamish about challenging the Governor’s orders, then tried to pin the whole mess on him.

  “You fled Hellfrost, because you are a coward, leaving dozens of fellow prisoners to their deaths while you escaped.”

  A coward?! He was the only one with the stones to actually break free from Hellfrost. The only one to lead a successful escape in history. Others fell behind, but he survived. He endured. He conquered.

  “Now, you return and demand leadership?” the executor wielded the accusations like a sword. “I cannot think of less fit hands to hold the reins of leadership than an undisciplined, cowardly fool who-“

  Fuck the negotiations.

  Sergrud charged.

  The Hunter’s Mind saw the opening. The executor wasn’t even trying to defend herself. Frostclaw was too slow, the fop and the voidtouched too far away.

  Wind rushed by as he moved. For a moment, the thrill of that movement, the joy of pushing his body faster and harder than any mortal, replaced even the rage. No one stopped him from leaping onto the dais and seizing the imperial bitch around the throat.

  “Anyone moves and I snap the bitch’s neck!” Sergrud roared.

  The legions readied their weapons, but none had the guts to charge. Sergrud looked into the executor’s eyes, ready to revel in the panic she held.

  Fear flashed. But too swiftly to enjoy. Instead, determination took its place.

  She raised a hand towards the soldiers moving towards them and gasped out, “Hold!”

  The cowards all froze. Every eye in Hellfrost fixed on him. Every eye saw him take their precious leader by the throat.

  “Here’s my negotiation, you bitch,” Sergrud tightened his grip. She gasped. “You give me command of Hellfrost. Or I crush your throat right here.”

  He loosened his grip enough for her to respond again. Enough for the whole square to hear her surrender.

  “I refuse,” the executor closed her eyes.

  Sergrud leaned over, “I’ll do it.”

  “This remains a peaceful negotiation,” this insane woman said. “Captains, you are to take no action unless this man injures me further. If he does, you will kill him and all of the Vulgares within Hellfrost.” Her eyes met his, “You are a threat to Hellfrost and to the stability of the empire placed under my command. If you are unwilling to actually negotiate, you are a threat to be removed. If you kill me, then two-hundred and fifty soldiers will have their mission to kill you at all costs. We both shall die, and Hellfrost will be rid of your threat. I find that outcome...” She gulped. Steely eyes met his. “...acceptable. Do you?”

  One hell of a bluff.

  Then a mental touch. Not from Mensikhana. The dezar, her alien mind invading his with a maelstrom of thoughts. More than just thoughts. Unlike Mensikhana, it wasn’t just words. Raw emotions gathered in the dezar’s mind like a storm. Hells, it was deafening.

  A single voice rose above the cacophony. For a moment, Sergrud felt the publicar’s emotions. Her resolve.

  She wasn’t bluffing. This crazy girl actually was willing to die if it meant he did too. She believed in the Ideals, the Empire so strongly that she was prepared to go through with this.

  What kind of damned fool actually swallowed the Empire’s lies so eagerly?

  Sergrud released her throat and stepped back. Her mind had to be cracked. But damned gods, a man had to admire it.

  That tiny, frail wisp of a woman met his gaze.

  “You’ve got balls,” Sergrud said, looking her up and down again with renewed admiration.

  The executor gave a blank, insulted look, “I do not.”

  “Looks like negotiations are over, then!” Sergrud said. He walked off the platform. For all the executor’s resolve, the people would see it differently. He’d walked right up to their leader and had her by the throat, and the brave defenders of Hellfrost couldn’t do anything but watch. “Here’s my promise. I’m going to sack Hellfrost. I’m going to kill every single imperial dog defending it.” He pointed to Frostclaw, “I’m going to rip out your guts and mount your head on a pike.” He pointed to the executor, “And you’re going to spend the rest of your life on your knees in my bedchambers.”

  Both Frostclaw and the voidtouched moved towards him, only for the executor to raise her hand again, “Stop! We promised safe passage during negotiations, and we will not violate that promise.” She looked out to the crowd, “That Discipline is what separates us from the likes of him. As negotiations have concluded, you will now leave. If you are not beyond Hellfrost’s walls in five minutes, I will no longer stay my legions’ hands. Go.”

  Sergrud gestured for the Vulgares to follow him, “Aye, we’ll go. And we’ll be back soon. Prepare for it.”

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