Elektra nodded. Just because she could breathe didn’t mean she could talk.
“If this doesn’t beat everything,” Braeden said, as someone knelt beside him, wrapping up his still-bleeding arm. “You of all people, saving my life.”
“I couldn’t let him kill you,” Elektra croaked through her dry throat, suddenly very thirsty. “I was so afraid of him.”
“You were right to be.” Braeden patted her knee with the gloved hand of his uninjured arm. “He was a nasty character and one hell of a fighter. Too bad you did it in front of so many witnesses.”
Elektra felt his smile in the dark. “I’ll never live down that I needed help from a little girl. And you, of all people.”
“I won’t tell anyone if it’s too embarrassing,” Elektra said. Now she was calming down and realized that Rykter was gone for good, she wanted to smile herself. Someone helped her to her feet, and led her back to the sledge. Braeden climbed in beside her. Straight ahead, the sky turned gray.
“It’s almost morning,” Elektra said.
“Yes, and high time we returned to headquarters.” Braeden paused while the sledge got moving again, sliding down the far side of the bridge at an alarming speed before going back to normal on the snowy road.
“It’s odd,” he went on. “I expected you to be followed, though we haven’t heard a sound or seen a thing.”
“Maybe we lost them,” Elektra said hopefully. “My mother said she’d send people after us.”
“That bothers me,” Braeden said. “I wonder what she’s up to.” He tapped the driver on the shoulder. “When you get close to the house, stop in the trees. We don’t want to go barging in there before we know what’s happening.”
Then he yelled at someone behind him to get a message to Torresia. Elektra thought that might have been the girl who wanted to fight her after Braeden’s rescue.
It was fully light, under a cloudy sky when the sledge halted in a small clearing at the side of the road. After the sound of the horses on the hardened snow and the screech of the runners, Elektra expected the woods to be silent.
But they weren’t. From not too far off came the reports of muskets, the screams and shouting of combat. Elektra turned to Braeden, her eyes wide.
His face was pale and grim as he stared back. “Our headquarters are under attack,” he said. “That’s what your mother was up to. While she had the lot of us distracted far away, she stole a march on us. Pray to all the gods we’re not too late.”
As the sledge lurched back into motion, more slowly now, Elektra prayed.
Lennart
Someone had handed Lennart a brace of loaded pistols, but it somehow didn’t seem right to shoot Dura at a distance. So he pulled out his sword again, pleased to see her drawing a saber. This would be a proper fight then, though it hardly seemed fair. Even under her heavy armor, it was obvious that Lennart must have weighed twice as much.
But that didn’t seem to bother Franca Dura in the least. She pushed up her visor for a moment, green eyes regarding Lennart, and dawning with recognition. She smiled and clapped the visor back down, as though happy to get a chance at him.
Lennart decided she was likely more dangerous than she looked and resolved to give her no extra chances. Not much point in being gallant to a woman trying to kill him.
The fight raged all around, but a small space had cleared around the two of them. Lennart spurred his horse, raised his sword and made for Dura head on. All his weight bearing down on her might make her veer away.
She did, but only to slip sideways and bring her saber around. It clanked off of Lennart’s cuirass.
Since he wasn’t as heavily armored as she, he’d have more freedom of movement, but that would do him no good if she found a soft spot. Lennart turned his horse fast only to find Dura coming straight at him, saber raised high. This time, he had to dance aside.
She’d come at him with such force, her horse—a magnificent Norovaean—went past him rather far, so Lennart chased after her. His best bet was to unhorse her. Between her quickness and her heavy armor, he had almost no chance of defeating her on horseback. So he spurred his mount on but had to pull up when she stopped almost right in front of him.
Lennart’s horse slipped and stumbled on the slushy, muddy ground, pitching him out of the saddle. He landed flat on his back, the air pushing out of his lungs. While gasping for breath, he tried to find his sword. He must have dropped it as he fell, though he carried another.
Grateful that he hadn’t stabbed himself in the fall, Lennart drew the smaller blade and struggled to his feet. He didn’t want be on his back when Dura appeared.
But she didn’t come. The fight whirled around him through the snow, but he didn’t see her. And then it was over. She and the rest of her troops were gone.
Lennart stood there for a time, still trying to catch his breath as his suite formed around him. Someone had retrieved his horse and brought it back. He mounted, then asked, “Where did they go?”
Dura had done considerable damage to his ranks here, but hadn’t finished them like she might have. After giving the most senior officer he found orders to regroup, Lennart rode back to the front. Here all was quiet too.
Lennart stared at his ranks. They stood in good order, with what appeared to be minimal casualties. So they hadn’t lost. But where was the enemy?
“Did we win?” he asked a major who was ordering his troops to reload.
“I don’t know,” he replied. “Hard to say.”
That made no sense, so Lennart rode forward into the swirling snow. There he came upon Lofbrok and his suite. “What the devil?” Lennart asked by way of greeting.
“Looks like we’ve been tricked,” Lofbrok said, standing next to something that looked like a scarecrow. “Mattila is gone, marched out last night. Left artillery behind to make noise at the Obenstein, a little infantry to fool us, and Dura’s Cuirassiers to make a mess of things. But her main force is gone.”
It took Lennart a moment to absorb that information. “Why?” he asked. “Where?”
“No idea,” Lofbrok said. “I couldn’t even find a prisoner to question. Looks like most of the army we saw was figures like these.”
Lennart took a closer look. It was something like a fencepost hammered into the ground, with a cape thrown over it. He looked around and saw others like it. At a distance, they looked like real soldiers and Mattila had made sure they’d never get close enough to tell.
Lennart felt like an idiot. “Best we stay alert,” he said. “Might be she’ll come back.”
But he didn’t have to wait long to get an idea of where she might have gone.
Tora Isenberg appeared within the hour. “Good thing you ran her off,” she said, “though I know where she might be headed.”
“I’m glad you have a clue,” Lennart said. Maybe he still felt wrong from falling off his horse. At least that had spared him being beaten about the ears by Franca Dura. Humiliating as this day was, it might have been worse.
Isenberg dug in a pocket, then handed a message to Lennart. “This came from Dolf Kalstrom a few days ago,” she said. “He’s on the verge of being besieged in Heidenhof.”
Lennart shook his head as he took the note, but his bile rose as he read it. Prince Balduin of Terragand had declared in favor of the Empress Teodora. He’d ordered the arrest of Edric Maximus, which was when Kalstrom had intervened.
The prince hadn’t taken that well, and recruited a small force from the local nobility intending to attack Heidenhof. Kalstrom would allow no such thing and set up defensive positions, preparing for a siege He’d also sent Count Faris and a few hundred troops to hold Birkenfels Castle.
“He wants our help,” Lennart said. “Naturally. Do you reckon that’s where Mattila’s gone?”
“I imagine she received the same news,” Isenberg said. “Though maybe she’s gone to join Teodora in Isenwald.”
“Who? Where?” Lennart wondered if he was losing his mind.
; Isenberg shook her head. “That was another letter. The empress herself appeared in Kronfels several weeks ago and took over. No word on what’s happened to the archduchess or Braeden Terris.”
“And no word on Gwynneth or Prince Devyn in Terragand either, from the sound of it,” Lennart said with a sigh. “Well, I know what we need to do.” He turned to Isenberg. “Garrison the city. Folk can stay until spring. If the gods are good, it’s only a few weeks off. We’ll see about getting supplies sent in from Lantura. The rest of us need to get to Terragand.”
Lennart cursed himself for not giving Balduin Bernotas more thought. Likely anyone who knew him realized he was a treacherous bastard. He doubted Balduin would raise a large force on his own, but if Mattila reached Heidenhof before Lennart did, Kalstrom couldn’t hold on for long.
A cold shiver washed down Lennart’s spine. Raysa and Kataryna were there. He couldn’t let them fall into enemy hands, especially not Teodora’s. And now she was a lot closer to Terragand than Lennart was.
Gwynneth
“We can’t wait for Braeden any longer,” Florian said. “We need to move out.”
Gwynneth was worried. She hadn’t liked the look of Elektra’s companion and hoped he wouldn’t give Braeden too much trouble. She also hoped whatever force Teodora sent to follow her daughter wasn’t too large.
The plan was that Braeden would kill Janos, then lead anyone pursuing Elektra into an ambush set up by Trisa Torresia near a ruined castle deep in the woods. That done, they would all meet on the road to Kronfels.
By the time they neared the city, they’d be a force of nearly two thousand. Florian also hoped to convince the city guard to help, besides any armed citizens who might want to join them. He seemed confident as to the numbers Teodora would command, and that they would be easy to overcome.
Gwynneth hoped Braeden had helped Elektra. With any luck, they’d kill her mother today.
Devyn had put on his armor. Gwynneth protested, but Florian said, “No, we’ll need him. The prince is an accomplished fighter and our people like him. He can ride at my side and I’ll keep him safe.”
Devyn was so thrilled, Gwynneth didn’t want to say no. She’d have a hard enough time keeping Stella out of trouble. She packed their few things and readied their sledge.
Since she’d been living in the woods, Gwynneth found it more practical and warmer to dress like a peasant. So she wore a heavy woolen coat over baggy breeches, tucked into sturdy boots. With her hair pulled up into a cap, she might not be easily recognized.
Devyn and Florian had mounted and headed toward the road by the time Gwynneth was ready to go. She put Stella into the sledge, then handed her the wooden sword one of the peasants had carved for her. “So you can protect me,” Gwynneth said with a smile. That was the best way to keep her from being upset she wasn’t joining Devyn.
“I will,” Stella said, a fierce scowl on her face.
Gwynneth climbed in and ordered the driver to go. Almost at the same instant, she saw a commotion ahead. At first Gwynneth thought it was the sizable peasant force coming together with Major Destler’s troops, camped in a neighboring clearing, but no, she heard the crack of musket-fire through the trees.
“Get down.” She pushed on the top of Stella’s head until she huddled low in the sledge’s. “Go faster,” she told the driver. It might not be wise to head straight into the fight, but Gwynneth needed to get close enough to see what was happening.
They didn’t get far before the driver brought the sledge to a sudden halt. The road ahead was clogged with troops, orderly-looking troops flying the imperial standard.
Gwynneth looked around for Devyn, trying not to panic. His armor would protect him from all except point-blank shots, but he wouldn’t run from a fight, even if it looked bad. She prayed Florian had the sense to get him out of the way.
“Wait here,” she told the driver, who stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. “Watch the duchess, make sure she stays in the sledge.” She grabbed Stella by the shoulders. “This is very important,” she said. “You must stay out of sight, do you understand? Don’t come out for anyone unless it’s me, Devyn, or Braeden.”
“Or Trisa?” She was still Stella’s favorite person.
“Trisa is far away.” At least Gwynneth hoped so. “But yes, you can come out if she calls. I’ll come back for you as soon as I can.” And with that she climbed out.
Now, as she hurried along the side of the road, staying hunched over, since she still couldn’t tell exactly where the shots came from, Gwynneth was grateful she wasn’t wearing a dress.
All was confusion, the mass of peasants and Destler’s troops in front of her disintegrated into panicked clumps, heading back the way they’d come or running into the trees.
“Stand and fight, you cowards,” Gwynneth screeched, picking up the musket one man had dropped and pointing it at another. She pulled the trigger, but it hadn’t been loaded or primed, so nothing happened. She held onto it, in case she needed to use it as a club.
The enemy advanced in a countermarch, one rank of muskets firing, then peeling off to left and right, clearing the way for the next rank. As Gwynneth drew into range, she saw why everyone was retreating. There was scarcely a two-second break between one rank firing and the next. From their clothes, she guessed they were Moraltan infantry, and wondered if Teodora led them. Word was the empress had become old and decrepit, unlikely to take to the field again, but Gwynneth had a hard time picturing Teodora shying from a fight.
Just out of musket range, Gwynneth stopped and hid behind a thick tree trunk. A few other soldiers, all of them Destler’s, had done the same, and some fired back, but they were too few to stop the tightly-packed, disciplined army.
Gwynneth looked around for Florian and Devyn. They’d led a small mounted troop, but she saw no horses at first. She cowered behind the tree at the next volley, then peeked out again. She only had a few seconds, but it was enough to see a few figures on horseback, although they rode under the imperial standard.
Florian and Devyn must have escaped into the trees. Gwynneth waited for another volley, then looked again. A ball hit the front of her tree, sending splinters into the air. She’d have to retreat soon. But now the mounted troops had pulled ahead of the muskets, swords out, slashing at any of Destler’s soldiers who tried to stand and fight.
Gwynneth gasped when she saw her.
Teodora sat the lead horse, the Inferrara banner flying at her side. And this was no old woman. She looked young and vital as ever, except for the steely gray braid down her back.
A man accompanied her, a civilian. If Gwynneth hadn’t known what Florian was wearing, she might have thought it was he. But when she looked again, she realized it couldn’t be. This man was much older, and while the planes of his face resembled Florian’s, he was distinctly less pleasant-looking. It had to be his horrible father.
Gwynneth knew she had to run, but couldn’t stop staring. Teodora was so close, and here she had no way to get to her. If she didn’t leave now, the cavalry would be upon her in seconds. She drew in her breath, preparing to dash into a thick grove of trees some distance away when she heard a shout.
“Your Highness!” It was someone with a Moraltan accent. “We’ve caught them.”
Gwynneth whirled around, hugging the tree, filled with foreboding.
“Terris and Princess Gwynneth I hope.” Teodora’s voice was strong and sharp, just as Gwynneth remembered it.
“No.” The other voice was subdued. “But this here’s Florian, the leader of the rebellion, and Prince Devyn of Terragand.”
“Almost as good,” Teodora said with a laugh.
Gwynneth stared, frozen, watching several strong men dragging Florian and Devyn into Teodora’s presence. Her heart hammered against her ribs and she could barely breathe. She was so close now, she saw the defiant expression on Florian’s face. Devyn’s nose bled, but he held his head high.
No. Gwynneth clenched her fists. Teodora would not get
her son too.
But Teodora focused on Florian. “They tell me you’re the leader of this idiotic revolt. Is that true?”
Florian didn’t answer right away, and ignored Teodora while staring at his father. “I might have known you’d find a way to destroy us.”
“Of course I would.” The man stepped forward and backhanded Florian across the face. The crack echoed across the snow and Gwynneth flinched. “You’ve betrayed me, our family and our kind. I have no use for you.” He folded his arms across his chest and turned away, leaving Florian standing in front of Teodora.
Gwynneth prayed for a miracle, prayed that Florian had a way to get Teodora. He was nearly within reach, though a big soldier held his arms behind his back. “I am the leader,” he said, sounding almost amused. “Though you’d best watch your back, making friends with someone like my father.”
“Don’t worry about me.” Teodora smiled, then lifted the sword she’d been holding at her side. In one smooth motion she slashed it across Florian’s throat.
Gwynneth thought she might be sick, but she refused to allow it. Devyn would be next. She yanked off her gloves, stuffing them into her pockets. She needed a better grip on the musket stock.
Teodora lost interest in Florian the moment his body slumped and dropped to the ground. “And you.” She smiled at Devyn. “You must be Prince Kendryk’s son and heir. What a handsome young man you are. I almost feel bad killing you.”
Gwynneth sprang out from behind the tree, even as she tightened her grip around the musket. She knew she couldn’t kill Teodora with it, unless she got very lucky. But the confusion she caused might be enough for Devyn to get away.
Braeden
Braeden, Elektra and the others left the sledges behind, then crept through the trees, weapons drawn. They were coming up on what remained of a large infantry force, though it was no longer fighting, most of the soldiers scattered through the trees chasing retreating soldiers and peasants through the forest. In the distance, it looked like cavalry was doing the same.
Winter of the Wolf (The Desolate Empire Book 4) Page 58