“You let the enemy right into the fortress, under your godsdamned nose?” Frostclaw’s spit struck Aven’s face, and Aven didn’t move. He stared ahead at nothing. Frostclaw’s anger only echoed Aven’s own. “How many died because you let him inside?”

  “Seven,” Aven whispered.

  Janaya lived, the insane “gift” that healed her wounds searing shut the spear wound after the healers finally pulled her free. They’d had to drug her asleep (one of Tanya’s concoctions) to stop her screams. Dashul and Logash would live as well. Others weren’t so lucky. Kaleb was dead, as were a half dozen other soldiers on the walls. More Vulgares dead than Hellfrost soldiers, but what did that matter? Frostclaw’s company had killed dozens of the enemy in the field and taken ten prisoners. What did that matter? The only number that mattered was the one that wasn’t a body.

  Esharah was gone. Captured.

  “Captain,” Etrani’s voice, tired, but the Executor still sat at her desk.

  “Do we even know how the bastards got in?” Frostclaw whirled on Etrani next.

  “Found an old waste shaft in the prisoner tower,” Aven said distantly. “Walled up years ago, apparently. Not well enough. They broke through the walls and climbed up the shaft.” No surprise that Hellfrost would have botched covering up such a weakness under Yvris’ leadership.

  “We’ll close it up properly this time,” Etrani said. “This weakness won’t be a threat again.”

  “Small comforts,” Captain Breton said from the back of the room, standing with arms crossed. “The damage is done.”

  That wasn’t the only damage done. There were prisoners in the tower, ones who hadn’t been pardoned by the governor. Ones who hadn’t fought against the voidspawn or helped in the rebellion against Yvris. A dozen were gone now, vanished into the night along with Teja. More warriors for the Vulgares. Not Hellfrost’s strongest or bravest, but more bodies to join the fight. Worse were the ones from Frostwood who joined the attack. That changed everything. The enemies weren’t just rebel criminals or outsiders. They were imperial citizens, some friends and family of those in Hellfrost.

  “What now?” Aven asked. Anything to distract from the chorus in his own head screaming condemnation. “He got new warriors from the prisoners, but not nearly enough to replace losses. He took Esharah, and it’s clear that was the plan, but why?”

  “A hostage, damaging my ability to lead, leaving us vulnerable to his Mindspeaker, any number of reasons,” Etrani said. She held herself together better than Aven was, face stoic and calm even as her voice quavered. “Perhaps they intend to pry information from her. She knows Hellfrost and its people better than anyone.”

  “Then we need to strike before they can take anything from her,” Frostclaw said, voice cold.

  “They’d kill her,” Aven said.

  “Yes,” Frostclaw said. His eyes were hard, “One woman’s life isn’t worth Hellfrost’s safety. I know what Sergrud is. He’ll do far worse than killing her if we give him a chance.”

  Aven glanced at Etrani. Neither spoke for a moment. It wasn’t just one woman. It was Esharah. Etrani could plan logistics, organize work crews, direct finances. Aven could kill Voidspawn. None of that was what really held Hellfrost together. Esharah was the true architect of Hellfrost’s revolution, she was the one who bridged the gap between Etrani’s cold logic and people’s hearts, she was the one who could reach into the storm of competing desires and thoughts in the keep and turn it to harmony and purpose.

  “There is a possibility that Sergrud will attempt to negotiate again,” Etrani said carefully. “Either an exchange of prisoners or some other-”

  “After all this, you still want to talk?” Frostclaw snarled. “We’re not giving Sergrud a damn thing. Him or any of the Vulgares. You don’t talk to traitors. You execute them. If you don’t understand that, then you’re not fit to lead Hellfrost.”

  “What the hell are you saying?” Aven stepped between Frostclaw and Etrani, muscles tensed.

  Frostclaw raised his chin, canin ears flat as he looked past Aven to Etrani, “I’m invoking martial law. ‘In a time of emergency when civilian leadership proves incompetent to the task, the highest ranking military officer shall assume leadership.’ We are in a time of emergency, Executor. You’re incompetent to the task. I’ll take over Hellfrost’s defense.”

  “That’s not your call to make,” Aven said. Dammit. The last thing they needed was a mutiny. “You’re not the highest ranking officer here. All three of us are captains.”

  “You’re not a soldier,” Frostclaw spat, “you’re a criminal who murdered his father. You’re good for killing monsters, but you’re no leader. If both real captains are in agreement, then you’ll capitulate, or you’ll be branded a traitor.” He half-turned, “Breton.”

  “I didn’t say I agreed with you,” Breton stepped forward. “This is too far-”

  “Cut the horseshit,” Frostclaw turned on the captain. “You know that this needs to be done. Get your ass off the fence and take a position.”

  Breton glanced from Frostclaw to Etrani.

  “This is the wrong decision, Captain Frostclaw,” Etrani’s voice trembled in a way that had Aven ready to murder on her behalf. “We need unity-”

  “What we need is for Sergrud to die,” Frostclaw said. “Under my leadership, we’ll march to Frostwood, and we’ll kill the bastard before your inaction gets any more good men killed.”

  Breton looked to Etrani, “If I agree with Wulfred, will you surrender your position quietly?”

  “What the hell are you saying?” Aven demanded.

  “Answer the question,” Breton kept his eyes on Etrani.

  Her jaw clenched, “I...will submit to the just authority of imperial law.”

  Slowly, Breton nodded, “Aye, Wulfred. I don’t like it, but Sergrud needs to die. I support your decision.” He turned back to Etrani, “With both captains in agreement, Hellfrost is now under martial law. The authority of Captain Wulfred Frostclaw will now be treated as the authority of the executor. Under imperial law, defying his authority will be considered a violation of imperial military orders and subject to military penalties. You will comply, Etrani?”

  “You godsdamned-” Aven began, void writhing in his veins, mist forming into claws ready to strike.

  “No, Aven,” Etrani said, voice still soft. Not angry. Defeated. Ashamed. “I will not defy imperial law. I am not truly an executor, only the agent of the Governor. I will not fight against duly appointed officers of the legions.”

  Mist faded to nothingness as Aven stared. Etrani wouldn’t even fight this mutiny?

  Frostclaw nodded, “Least you’ve that much sense. Arvanius, your soldiers are under my command now.”

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  Aven glared, “Throwing me back in chains, are you?”

  “You’re a poor captain, but that doesn’t make you criminal,” Frostclaw said. “You’ll guard Etrani. That much, at least, you’re good for.”

  “And if I refuse to step down as captain of the Hellfrost Legion?”

  “Then I will throw you back in your cell,” Frostclaw growled. “Don’t push it. I’ll treat your men with the respect due any soldier, but you won’t be in charge. I’m leading the assault, and you’re not going to butcher this again. Sergrud’s going to die.”

  Aven stared at the canin, and he saw the truth there. There was no arguing. Frostclaw was in command now. Aven had no power here, only threats. Threats that he couldn’t carry out without abandoning his position.

  And Aven wasn’t about to leave Etrani defenseless in Hellfrost, not when it came under Frostclaw’s rule.

  Seeing no more argument, Frostclaw turned and left, followed by Breton, the human captain giving Aven a last glance and grimace.

  The door slammed shut.

  Etrani’s face fell into her hands, and her shoulders shuddered with a sob.

  “Gods, Etrani,” Aven’s voice caught in his throat as he rushed to her side. He knelt next to the desk, reaching out to touch her shoulder before thinking better of it. She hated being touched. Tears wouldn’t change that. If Esharah were here, she could have reached Etrani’s mind without touch. But if Esharah were here, none of this would be an issue.

  “We’re going to get Esharah back,” Aven hoped words could at least provide some comfort.

  “Don’t make promises that you can’t keep,” Etrani whispered. Her face still hidden. “She’s gone, Aven. When Frostclaw attacks, killing hostages will be the first thing Sergrud does.”

  Aven couldn’t say anything to that. Couldn’t bring himself to disagree. To promise it wouldn’t happen. Maybe it would. Maybe Sergrud had other plans. Aven didn’t know, and false comforts wouldn’t help. Instead, he stood and paced.

  “Gods!” Aven snarled and punched the blackstone wall, his knuckles ached. “I was right there. Right outside the keep, but I couldn’t stop Sergrud from taking Esharah.”

  “You protected me,” Etrani said quietly.

  It was a feint, Aven started to say. He choked back the reply. If he’d gone for Esharah instead of Etrani, what would have happened? There was every possibility that she would be dead right now. Teja meant the attack as a distraction, but would she have stayed her hand if the opportunity to kill Etrani actually presented itself? If he’d sent Janaya to help Etrani instead and gone after Esharah himself...

  If, if, if. The ‘if’s were useless. Just self-indulgent fantasies. They still gnawed at him like vultures at a carcass.

  In another world, if the situation were reversed, if Esharah were here and Etrani dead or in Sergrud’s hands...would that be better? Of course it wouldn’t. The failure went back further than that. Maybe Frostclaw was right, and they should have marched out to fight Sergrud head-on from the beginning. Or maybe they could have negotiated something that would have stopped this. Anything. What did he do wrong?

  He was a warrior, not a commander. No, not even a warrior. Just a monster good for killing other monsters. That’s why Frostclaw took command.

  “You shouldn’t be so quick to surrender to that bastard,” Aven said. “We can fight this. You can-”

  “I’ll not defy imperial law,” Etrani said sharply. “Martial law exists for exactly such times, when an inexperienced civilian leader is ill-equipped to handle a situation such as this. I’m...not a leader, Aven. I’m a bureaucrat, an administrator. A scribbler.” the tears stopped flowing, but her voice kept breaking. “What right do I have to make such decisions?”

  “No,” What did it matter that Aven’s thoughts had turned the same way at times? It sounded revolting to his ears to hear them from Etrani’s own mouth. Of course Frostclaw would say things like that; he was a boneheaded mule. Of course, Aven’s own thoughts would wonder; he was a reckless idiot. Etrani had a better head than all of them. “Your strategy was sound. While we kept a defensive position, we had the advantage. From a defensive position, we wiped out dozens of their soldiers and captured more. Under your leadership, Hellfrost stood strong. This was the first strike that slipped past our defenses. It doesn’t mean our strategy wasn’t correct.”

  “Regardless, it is out of my hands now,” Etrani said. “Imperial law demands I step down, and I will not put more lives in danger to cling to my own authority.” She clasped her hands together, “I...wrote to Governor Iraias, informing him of the situation. I requested that they have reinforcements ready if they were needed.” Her voice broke again, “He...he wrote back saying that he believed I had all the resources necessary to resolve the situation.”

  So, they really were on their own.

  She swallowed, “Clearly, that confidence was misplaced. I...suppose I need to send another message informing him of the change in command.” She paused. “And...I have more letters to write to the families of the fallen.” A glance at the growing stack of condolences. “That...is all I can do, it seems. You...should see to the injured.”

  Aven took that as a signal that his presence was no longer wanted.

  * * *

  “What the hells is this?” Tulun roared.

  Sergrud laughed as Patz threw the unconscious dezar from his shoulder onto the floor of the tent where the Vulgares leaders gathered, “Hellfrost’s heart, like I said we’d bring.”

  It’d taken a long time for Mensikhana to coax the Vulgares into a victory celebration. Especially with Tulun so spitting mad. Now, at least Sergrud had some more ammunition for some of the followers.

  “Look!” Sergrud kicked the dezar woman’s unmoving form. “The executor’s pet mindspeaker is ours now! Once we dig into her skull, we’ll have everything we need to crack open Hellfrost.”

  “You left us out in the woods to die,” Tulun’s voice shook with the pulse of his vis. “To take a woman?”

  “A Mindspeaker, you idiot,” Sergrud replied. “You know how traps work, yeah? Thought you’d know; you catch plenty of your little birds with ‘em. Set the bait, draw ‘em out, then strike.” He clapped Tulun on the shoulder. “You were the bait. Damn good bait too. Had Frostclaw out bumbling in the dark. Good work.”

  “Dozens of Hravast died for your scheme,” Tulun swatted away Sergrud’s hand.

  “Yeah? Should have fought better, then,” Sergrud said.

  Gannuk and Patz howled with laughter at that, while Mensikhana sent him an irritated rebuke. Something about not provoking allies. In another of her moods today.

  “You do realize that we lost,” Tulun said. Veins stood out on the old man’s neck. Looked close to finally having a fit and keeling over. “They fought us back effortlessly. You took a dozen into Hellfrost, and all but three died. You barely replaced the strong warriors you took with a few half-mad prisoners. Do you think they’ll surrender now that you’ve taken their Mindspeaker?”

  “The weak died,” Gannuk growled while Patz cheered in agreement. “Our strongest warriors remain.”

  “This, Tulun, is called strategy,” Sergrud walked up to the angry skald, towering over him and poking his chest. “Sometimes, you sacrifice weak pieces to win a strong one. You don’t like it? Challenge me, then. Like your jarl did. What happened to him?”

  “...he now feasts in the halls of our forefathers,” Tulun said.

  “No, that’s horseshit,” Sergrud said. “He’s dead and buried, and I’m the one that did it. I ran him through as your entire whimpering tribe watched and did nothing, cowering like babes. I chucked his corpse in a ditch while your tribe praised me as your new jarl. He’s not feasting anywhere. Worms are feasting on his rot. Wolves are cracking open his bones to suck out the marrow. That’s what happened to your nephew. And you know it, because if you believed half the shit you tell about rewards for the brave in the afterlife, you’d have the balls to fight me yourself.”

  Tulun looked around at the others, finding no support. He turned, face a mask of fury, and stomped off. Let him sulk over ale for a few hours. The old goat would be back soon enough, begging for a place on the council again. The Hravasts were always the weakest of the three tribes (four now, to count Frostwood) that he’d conquered, but he’d hoped that they’d do a bit more damage as a distraction. If the feint had wound up taking Frostclaw off the table, that would have been even better. ‘Course the barbarians that could only hunt fowl weren’t enough to take down the Red Wolf.

  “One thing Tulun’s right about,” Gannuk settled back into the seat, swigging more ale. “I thought we’d get more. Couldn’t take out their chief too?”

  “The scribbler, you mean,” Sergrud waved a hand. “If Teja took her down, it’d be a bonus, but that’s not the goal. The empire can replace someone like that easily enough. They’ve got ‘regulations’ and ‘contingencies’ for all of that. There’re a hundred bureaucrats who could take her place. A Mindspeaker’s harder to replace than that.”

  Gannuk grunted, satisfied. The Ragashar were easy to handle. Give ‘em a bloody fight, and they’d lap it up like happy pups.

  “Still, I’m surprised,” Sergrud tore off a hunk of the crusty grit that Frostwood called bread and hurled the chunk at Teja in the corner, who swatted it aside with her tail without even looking. In her odd state, staring at the flames of the firepit and sitting stock still. “The voidtouched actually drove you off? I thought you could handle a prick like that.”

  “His mind domain is...different from ours,” she said thoughtfully. “He doesn’t have the focus of our Hunter’s Mind. But he adapted quickly to my shadows. Tricks that’ve worked on you didn’t work on him. I’ll need more time to figure him out.”

  “Study all you want,” Sergrud said. She could use a project to focus on. Bitch got antsy when bored. He threw back the flagon of Frostwood beer, emptying the last of it before tossing it aside. “Now, Mensikhana, wake our sleeping princess here.” He nudged the dezar’s body with his boot again. “We need to have a chat and get to know each other.”

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

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