“Oh dear.” Maryna shivered. “I don’t suppose they’ll be very nice if they catch us trying to escape.”
“Likely not.” Natalya looked very serious. “That’s why we cannot fail.” She sat down on the end of the bed they shared. “If worse comes to worst, we must let them take us to Atlona. I’m sure the Galladian ambassador will know we’re coming and can help us.”
“I don’t understand.” Maryna felt panicky at the thought of arriving in Atlona as Teodora’s prisoner. “How will he know?”
“I had a good many agents in Maladena and can’t imagine we could have spent time in Toralla without someone hearing about it. With any luck, someone will have told Gauvain.”
“But then why hasn’t he sent anyone to rescue us?” Maryna’s voice had turned high-pitched and whiny, but she couldn’t help herself.
“I don’t know.” Natalya looked tired and defeated. “Maybe he’s sent someone and they haven’t found us yet. Perhaps they think we’re still at sea.”
“What a mess,” Maryna said. “Perhaps I should try making friends with Count Vega again.”
“Oh, please don’t.”
Maryna was shocked at the fear in Natalya’s eyes. “Why not? I can at least talk to him, maybe get him to let his guard down a little.”
Natalya shook her head. “He won’t. Not after what happened last time. And if you approach him seeming the least bit desperate, he won’t hesitate to take advantage of the situation. No, I won’t have that on my conscience. Please swear you won’t speak with him.”
“All right,” Maryna said, “though it’s very hard to not be able to do anything.”
“Don’t give up.” Natalya’s voice wobbled, and Maryna worried she was about to cry. “This is discouraging, but we mustn’t give up hope. Perhaps we’ll be rescued, perhaps we’ll find an opportunity to escape.” She drew a heavy sigh. “Or perhaps we’ll end up in Atlona, though that might not be as bad as we think. Livilla Maxima is still my friend, I hope, and I’m sure she won’t let Teodora harm us.”
Maryna wanted to say she didn’t even fear that so much as being locked up and forgotten. What if Teodora threw her in the Arnfels and left her there for the rest of her life? That would be the worst. The thought made Maryna want to cry, so she got up and walked to the window, not wanting Natalya to see the tears already forming in her eyes.
The view was bleak, with a leaden sky hanging over the mountaintops, obscuring their magnificence, and everything around was some shade of gray. The trees had long ago lost their leaves; the endless biting wind made sure of that.
The few villagers out in the square were bundled up in heavy dark clothes, and looked so different from the merry, colorful people of Maladena. That experience already seemed years ago.
Maryna tried not to let Natalya see how worried and upset she was, but it was hard, because they were always together. At the village inn, they had to stay in their room all the time except for meals. Once they were ready to go, they walked from the inn to the coach and were shut in there again.
Maryna saw that their horses looked different now, and asked the friendliest-looking guard about it in her best Cesiane. The guard looked at her as if she were stupid.
“They’re mules,” she said, shaking her head. “We couldn’t get any for the last crossing, but we’ve got them now. They’re more sure-footed than horses.”
Maryna was especially glad of the mules as they climbed, since this road seemed even more treacherous than the last. She’d hoped she’d get used to the precipitous drop-offs, especially since they never seemed to go too near the edge, but looking at it more didn’t help.
She was far less anxious if she stayed huddled in the coach, far away from the window facing the edge. She knew that wouldn’t help if something happened, but she still felt more secure.
That crossing took another four days.
“We must be near the Tirovor border now,” Natalya said. “At the next village, I’ll try again. With any luck, we’ll be near a crossroads and there’ll be more people, with some willing to help us.”
The next village was bigger, with many people who looked like merchants from all over the empire. Maryna identified at least six different languages, just passing from the edge of town into the center, which opened onto a large marketplace. The weather was cold though clear, and the market was a lively place.
Maryna wished she could explore it, but again, they were installed in a gloomy inn and confined to one room. It seemed Vega or one of the guards had spotted Natalya talking to locals at their last stop and wanted to make sure it wouldn’t happen again.
There was no way to get away. Still, at least the sun shone and Maryna spent much of her time at the window, watching people come and go in the street below.
Lennart
Lennart had returned to Richenbruck in a good mood, but it didn’t last.
“You will not believe this,” Isenberg said, leading him into her study. “Teodora is in Arcius.” She turned to shoo out an orderly, then slammed the door.
Lennart took a seat. “I know. We captured messages from Rykter to one of his officers. Seems she’s gone to beg money from Princess Alarys.”
“She’s done a lot more than that.” Isenberg’s face was grim as she settled into her own chair. “Brynhild Mattila is also in Arcius, and it seems they’ve settled their differences.”
“Vica’s tits.” Lennart had been trying to swear less, but sometimes it still seemed justified. “What’s the size of her force and where is she now?”
“Mattila is still in Arcius, last I heard, though I don’t know what she’s waiting for. As to her numbers, we can assume all those troops scattered around Tirilis and Lantura will be mobilized shortly. Knowing her, she’ll match our numbers soon, if she hasn’t already.”
Lennart brought a fist down on Isenberg’s desk, making a pile of papers jump. Never even flinching, Isenberg calmly re-ordered the stack.
“Sorry,” Lennart said. “This was the last thing I expected. We’d best make ready for a siege, just in case.”
“If we can,” Isenberg said. “The city is already overcrowded. I’ll see what we can do about stockpiling food and creating a plan for rations.”
“Good idea.” Lennart shook his head. “No shortage of things to worry about. Terragand’s still a mess. Edric Maximus wrote that he’s released Balduin Bernotas from prison and crowned him prince. Problem is, the fellow is an idiot.”
“But.” Isenberg’s face wore a puzzled expression. “What about Prince Devyn?”
“Who?”
“Kendryk and Gwynneth’s oldest son. Their daughter is missing, but Devyn is very much alive.”
“Wait. What?” Lennart felt he’d missed some important information.
“You’ve heard about Isenwald, I assume.”
“Now you mention it, I didn’t get many letters out in the field.”
Isenberg sighed. “It’s true any outside messages for you came here. Well, you’re about to get an eyeful, though the news is mostly good. Here, start with these.” And she handed him a hefty stack from the piles on her desk.
Lennart took the letters to his own study, and was soon laughing as he read. Much of it was joy that Gwynneth and at least some of her children were alive, well, and apparently full of fire. He wanted to say he was shocked she’d take such bold action to avenge Kendryk’s death, but truly he wasn’t. That anyone could manage such a coup was astonishing, but Gwynneth was extraordinary.
Braeden’s rescue was another piece of sorely needed good news, and Lennart resolved to write a letter of thanks to Princess Galena at once.
Another big surprise was Elektra’s part in the whole affair. Considering her history with Braeden, Lennart had feared she’d gone to Isenwald to cause him trouble, but the opposite had happened and now they were working together. Surely the gods had a hand in that transformation. Raysa often wrote of Elektra, praising her excellent character, but Lennart had been doubtful on that score. He wa
s happy to be wrong.
In the pile of letters were a few from Trystan and Anton. Those annoyed Lennart, though he chuckled as well. Arriving too late to help Braeden, they seemed determined to rescue someone anyway, and had hared off to Galladium, hoping to pick up the trail of the missing Natalya and Princess Maryna. Though Lennart needed Trystan here now, retrieving those two was also important, since he didn’t know how long King Gauvain would offer support without Natalya’s influence.
The news about Gwynneth left a smile on his face, but once he considered the implications, it soon fled. He’d backed the wrong horse in Terragand, and cursed himself for acting so hastily. Edric’s further letters indicated that Balduin Bernotas was not only rather stupid, but far from docile, and Edric hadn’t tamed him.
A boy prince like Devyn, with Gwynneth as regent was preferable, and Balduin would have to be removed. Lennart sighed. He’d write to Edric, telling him to take care of matters once Gwynneth arrived in Terragand.
Near the bottom of the pile he found a letter from her, stating that she was setting things in order in Isenwald, but planned to leave for Terragand at the earliest opportunity. Hopefully she and Edric could put Balduin back where he belonged, whether that was prison, or some other situation. Lennart couldn’t recall his original crime.
Getting through the letters took hours, and replying to them would take hours more, but Lennart didn’t have time. He needed to rally his troops and prepare to meet Mattila whenever she appeared.
Lennart hoped it wouldn’t be too soon. He’d need several weeks at the least to get everyone in position and wondered if he should send for Dolf Kalstrom. Almost as quickly, he decided against it, at least until he knew things were right in Terragand. If Gwynneth had any trouble at all, he wanted her to have his troops at her disposal.
Even though he didn’t have time to write, he dashed off a note to Kalstrom, telling him to support Gwynneth and Devyn. Gwynneth apparently had a borrowed army, but Lennart didn’t know how long she’d have use of it. Better to have proper Estenorian soldiers.
Lennart got up, and went in search of Leyf Lofbrok. He’d write letters another time. Right now he needed to figure out how to stop Brynhild Mattila in her tracks.
Anton
An icy wind tearing straight down from a snow-topped peak stung Anton’s nose and made his eyes water. He’d never been so cold in his life, and they hadn’t even reached Tirovor yet. They were still in the Galladian part of the massive Galwend range, and the going was maddeningly slow. But there was nothing to do but forge ahead.
It had snowed a few hours before, but the flakes had been sparse and dry, the wind blowing most of them away before they stuck to the ground. Anton’s mule, Hansi, put his head down in the face of the wind and plodded forward. He’d hated leaving Storm behind, but King Gauvain had insisted, and Anton knew by now you did what a king told you to.
“The mountain passes are no place for a horse,” the king had said. “Especially a great battle charger like Storm. He’ll have the best care in my palace stables, and I will supply mules for all of you and your company. They are hardy and sure-footed, bred for these types of expeditions. You’ll thank me later.”
Anton thanked him now. He hated the thought of exposing Storm to conditions like these, and Hansi navigated the slippery, treacherous stone trail as if he were wandering a park path in Allaux.
Besides, Hansi had a pleasing personality, if you didn’t mind a little stubbornness. He’d taken to Anton right away, and was rather protective of him, nudging aside anyone who came near. He was also a good-looking creature, tall and strongly built, with a glossy chocolate-colored coat. In his own way, he was almost as pretty as Storm.
Besides mules as mounts for everyone, the king provided a hundred more to carry the baggage, which he provided. They were laden down with food, blankets, winter clothing, shot and powder, and special tents made to be used in the winter.
Trystan, Karil, and Anton each carried heavy purses to buy any additional supplies they needed, and to hire guides to get them through the mountains. With so much help, Anton didn’t see how they could fail.
Once they crested yet another ridge in a seemingly endless succession, Anton urged Hansi forward until he reached Trystan. “Are we there yet?” he asked.
“Hah,” Trystan said, his voice muffled under a scarf he’d wound around his face. The three of them had attempted to grow beards, but only Karil had produced a rather impressive black thatch that threatened to cover his whole face. He never let Anton and Trystan hear the end of it either.
Anton had taken to drinking only dark beer, since it was supposed to aid beard growth. Until that worked though, he and Trystan had to find other ways to keep their faces warm.
Trystan pointed straight ahead, into a hazy distance of never-ending mountains. “Tirovor is only twenty leagues that way,” he said.
“Only,” Anton grumbled. He’d already learned that twenty leagues of mountain roads were very different from any other kind. “That’ll take a week.”
“Not quite.” Trystan’s eyes crinkled in a grin. “I reckon we can do it in four days if the weather holds.”
“What if it doesn’t?”
“We hunker down in the nearest village and wait. Our guide is taking us through the lowest passes, so if we make it in the next few weeks, there’s a chance we won’t be snowed in.”
“What if we are?” The slow progress and the cold was making Anton pessimistic.
“Then we are.” Trystan shrugged. “On the bright side, any terrible weather will slow down Natalya’s captors. They won’t get ahead of us.”
“It almost seems easier to meet them in Atlona.”
“And have Teodora breathing down our necks? No thank you. And besides, based on what the king has said about Natalya, she’ll likely try to escape. Once we reach Tirovor, we must keep our ears open in case word gets out about any prisoners crossing the mountains with a large escort, escaped or not.”
“It seems hopeless,” Anton said, as Hansi decided it was time to go faster, and pulled ahead down a gently sloping trail.
“It’s not,” Trystan said. “We’ll keep going until we hear something and then we can decide what to do next. Why don’t you and Hansi take the lead for now?” he asked with a laugh, as the road narrowed again, switching back in a tight turn, and then straightening for a short stretch.
Anton had become used to these zig-zag roads. At first they seemed silly and inefficient, but he soon realized that going straight up the mountainside wouldn’t work, especially not on a mule. This was very different from the Obenstein, though that was mostly good because no chain shot or musket-balls rained down on them.
Anton was still prepared for danger, since the king warned that they needed to keep an eye out for the Maladene army, which had made a desperate push for the mountain passes a few weeks before. The Galladians stopped the bulk of them, but some smaller units broke through, then disappeared into the wild terrain.
Anton kept his eyes peeled, though he didn’t know what a Maladene soldier would be doing out in this weather. They were used to a warmer climate, and Anton reckoned his natural hardiness would be an advantage if it came to a fight.
He was about to find out, for when they finally reached the village at the bottom of the pass, they were told that Maladene troops had passed the previous day.
“Did they have prisoners with them?” Trystan asked first thing.
“Not that I could tell,” the man they’d stopped to question said. “They was a small, rough-looking bunch, even rougher than you,” he added with a grin at Karil. “Didn’t give us any trouble, though they nearly ate the innkeep out of house and home Then they bought up all the extra food. Not as well supplied as you lot.” He nodded toward the heavy-laden mule train, still snaking down the mountainside.
Trystan turned to Anton and Karil. “I don’t want to run into these fellows, at least not on purpose. Anything that keeps us from our mission is a bad thing right no
w. But if we stumble on them accidentally, let’s be sure to give them a good fight.”
Elektra
Elektra wasn’t sure how much longer she could cope without Braeden. He’d sent a message a few weeks before, saying he was looking for Princess Gwynneth, but then a big storm had set in and she heard no more.
On the one hand, the storm made everything settle down for a few days. No one could go out, and therefore couldn’t cause trouble on a large scale. On the other, those trapped inside the palace became increasingly annoyed with each other, and Elektra was no exception.
She tried using the quiet as an opportunity to set up a little court of her own, with people she might rely on. The problem was, the only person she trusted at all was Major Silberg, but none of the Isenwalders trusted him.
He knew this as well as anyone. “Your Grace, I must take a lower profile if you’re to succeed with these people,” Silberg said. “They hate Estenorians and there’s nothing we can do to change their minds about it.”
“They think King Lennart wants to make himself emperor.” Elektra decided it was all right to confide in Silberg, since he seemed immune from intrigue. “He doesn’t want that, does he?” She stared at Silberg anxiously, hoping he would allay her doubts.
“Of course he doesn’t.” Silberg shook his head. “He came to restore Prince Kendryk to his kingdom, and now he’s dead, the king will secure it for his son. He wants to clear Kronland of imperial influence, and make it safe for the Quadrene creed, but that’s all.”
“It’s hard to believe he wouldn’t want to be emperor, given the chance,” Elektra murmured, staring out the tall library windows at the snowy garden. There had to be two feet on the ground and still the snow fell. She wondered what would happen if it didn’t stop.
Silberg sniffed. “I don’t know why anyone would want that job. You can see what trouble ruling a kingdom the size of Isenwald is, Your Grace. I imagine the empire is that, but multiplied by at least ten times. King Lennart has his hands full keeping Estenor strong.”
Winter of the Wolf (The Desolate Empire Book 4) Page 44