The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3

by Christina Ochs

  “If you wish. Although I’m sure this rabble-rouser is not worth your time. His guilt is beyond question. Dozens of people witnessed him accusing the Imperata of deception. How dare a common priest think he knows the truth of such matters?” The duke’s voice rose to a shout. “We must stop this sort of insolence now and make an example of him.”

  Heat flooded Kendryk’s face. Perhaps his uncle needed to be reminded once again that he hadn’t been regent for over five years. He decided to save that for a more private occasion, but didn’t bother hiding his impatience. “As yet, I am not convinced of his guilt. I will look into this myself and decide based on what I learn. You are free to go.”

  The duke slowly turned purple, but seemed to realize he couldn’t lose his temper with Kendryk in public. He bit his lip hard, turned away and remounted his horse. Balduin snickered.

  Kendryk didn’t wait for his uncle’s party to leave. He turned on his heel and walked toward Father Landrus, who had come down off his box, and stood waiting, a slight smile on his face.

  Gwynneth

  Birkenhof Palace, Terragand

  There was a soft knock on the library door as it opened.

  “What is it, Edson?” Gwynneth put down her quill. She was writing a lengthy letter to a Galladian duke of her acquaintance, explaining the reasons for Terragand’s dissatisfaction with Empress Teodora.

  “I am very sorry to interrupt you, Your Grace,” the footman said. “But it’s the Duke of Emberg. He insists on seeing Count Faris at once. I told him the count was busy, but he won’t be put off.”

  “Count Faris is always too busy to see the duke. Show him into the drawing room and I’ll meet him there.” The door closed again.

  “You may as well copy what I have so far.” Gwynneth handed the letter to her secretary, a slim bespectacled young man seated at a small desk in the corner. “I’ll send the same thing to Sanova and Cesiano.”

  She turned to the window and watched the rain run down the glass and dull the bright green of the gardens. Then she looked at herself in a long, gilt-edged mirror, pushed a stray hair into place, smoothed her skirts, and turned to her ladies, waiting by the door. “Shall we go?”

  Her heels tapped on the polished parquet of the long hallway as they made their way to the front of the palace. She glanced up at one of the portraits of Kendryk’s ancestors hanging high on the walls. “I wonder if the duke is so ill-tempered because he and his son both got old Princess Lyonet’s dreadful chin and ears?”

  Linette giggled, but Avaron, who at thirty, fancied herself senior and more mature said, “The poor man. It’s not nice to laugh. Bad enough about the looks, but that Kendryk got those and everything else must be terrible for him.”

  “Hush now,” Gwynneth said at the drawing room door. She swept through as Avaron opened it and fixed an insincere smile on her face. “Uncle!” She put out both hands, forcing him to take them.

  “Princess.” He touched the tips of her fingers and bowed as briefly as protocol required.

  “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting. I’m afraid you caught me quite unaware.”

  The duke straightened. “I only wished to speak to Count Faris for a moment.”

  “Oh, the count is out on business,” Gwynneth said, although he was just down the corridor, toiling away in Kendryk’s study. “Please, sit while I send for refreshments. Would you like a hot drink? Or maybe something stronger? Or both?” She nodded at Linette, who pulled the ornate bell rope before taking her place in the corner with Avaron.

  “Nothing for me, thank you.” The duke looked around, snorted, then sat on a tiny embroidered chair.

  A maid bustled in.

  “Tea, and those little honey cakes, if we still have them,” Gwynneth ordered, then sank onto a dainty velvet settee, her skirts billowing around her. “I’m afraid Uncle, that Prince Kendryk is out as well. With the weather so dreadful though, I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”

  “Hmph.” The duke scowled at the rain streaming down the windows. “I’d prefer to wait until Count Faris returns.”

  “It might be hours.” Gwynneth pushed back her irritation. It could be impossible to get rid of the duke. “He told us not to wait for him for dinner, but of course, you’re welcome to join us.” She hoped the duke understood this was a polite lie. He was often oblivious to the niceties and far too literal.

  The duke grunted something negative, and then the maid returned with tea. He waved her away, but Gwynneth took a cup and a tiny cake on a delicate little plate. She stabbed at it a few times with a dainty silver fork, then leaned back.

  She smiled over her teacup. “Perhaps I can help you somehow?”

  “I doubt it. Your husband has been making a mess of things. I was hoping to speak with a person of sense.”

  Gwynneth’s smile disappeared. “You forget yourself, Uncle. Prince Kendryk is the final authority on all matters concerning Terragand.” She smiled again, but less broadly. “I’m afraid I’m the only one here, so you might as well tell me your problem.”

  “The problem is that a dangerous revolutionary is at large, and Prince Kendryk refuses to stop him.”

  “Goodness! That’s quite a story.”

  “It’s no story,” the duke snapped. “I saw him with my own eyes. He defended this man and refused to let me do my duty.”

  “He must have had good reason.”

  “What reason could he have? This man spoke openly against the Imperata and the Temple.”

  “Shocking.”

  “It certainly is.” The duke was as immune to irony as ever. “Worse, this fellow is preaching heresy at the Runewald Temple, and the people are swallowing it like the fools they are.”

  “I am surprised. I think we both know how Kendryk feels about heretics.”

  The duke nodded. “Yet here was this man, spewing his poison without shame, while Prince Kendryk refused to let me arrest him.”

  Gwynneth shrugged. “You may not approve, but he had the right to act as he did.”

  “I shall require an explanation!” A vein pulsed in his temple.

  Gwynneth raised an eyebrow. “He does not need to explain himself to anyone, and especially not to you.”

  “The Temple is clear about how these types should be dealt with. The maxima will hear of this.”

  “I’m sure she will. You know as well as I do that she has no authority over Kendryk. I’m afraid you must take this up with the empress.” She stood, so the duke had to stand as well. “And I suggest you take no action in that direction.” She looked straight at him, unsmiling. “You may not like it, but Prince Kendryk is your sovereign lord and you must obey him. Your agreement isn’t necessary.”

  The door opened and Edson appeared. “Edson, please show the duke out. Good day Uncle, I’ll tell Count Faris you wished to speak with him.”

  The duke, too angry to speak, turned on his heel and stormed out. A second later, the front door slammed.

  Janna

  People and wagons clogged the east-bound streets leaving Kaleva. Janna wondered if she would ever reach the gate. Her cart at last passed under the first arch when she heard several great cannon blasts followed by popping noises that might be musket fire. She heard more screaming and shouting coming from inside the city and shuddered at the thought of Dimir in the middle of that.

  The noise prompted the crowd to move faster and finally Janna and her little wagon reached the outskirts of the city. That did nothing to slow the pounding of her heart. If soldiers decided to give chase, no one could stop them. She had to believe they’d be distracted by the wealth of the city and not bother with those trying to flee, or she’d be unable to hide her terror from the children.

  Outside the city, the road was wider and the going somewhat faster. There were many wagons, most of them much larger and heavier-laden than Janna’s. A few people rode horses but most were on foot, carrying what they could.

  “Look, Mama.” Anyezka tugged at her sleeve and pointed at an old woman bent double
, pushing an even older man in a wheelbarrow. Janna wondered if she should stop and pick them up, but there was no room in the cart. Janna normally used it to pick up vegetables and hams in the Kaleva market; it was too small to carry three people and their belongings. It only worked now because the children were small. Besides, it was impossible to stop and help everyone who needed it. Janna forced herself to look away and distracted Anyezka by pointing out a girl her age sitting on the back of a cart that was passing them.

  Once they’d been on the road for an hour, the children’s excitement melted with the afternoon warmth. “Why didn’t we wait for Papa?” Anyezka wondered.

  Anton asked, “If Papa and his friends are winning the battle, why is everyone leaving the city?”

  “The empress’s soldiers were better than they expected and got all the way to the gates,” Janna admitted. “Papa wanted us to be safe in case they broke through.”

  “But if they get in, what will they do to Papa and the other patriots?” Like his father, Anton considered himself a Moraltan patriot, not a rebel.

  Janna didn’t want to tell them they’d never see their father again even though she couldn’t imagine how it would be otherwise. “I don’t know,” she confessed in answer to most of their questions.

  As the sun sank beyond the low hills, the children complained of hunger, and Janna saw many people stopping by the side of the road. They’d been traveling for hours now with no sign of pursuit, so it might be safe to stop. As Janna drove the cart off the road, she noticed they were near a stream. That was doubtless why others had stopped. She and Anton struggled to unhitch the donkey, so Janna could take him to get a drink.

  “Anton, can you guard the wagon?” she asked. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

  He nodded and took up a position next to the cart, looking fierce. Janna hid her smile and took Anyezka’s hand as they walked to the stream. The donkey drank for a long time and Janna felt bad. She should have stopped for water sooner. At least there was plenty of good grass around them.

  Back at the cart, she saw that Anton had made a friend. He and another boy had found sticks and were playing at war.

  “This is Franz,” Anton said. “He’s a Moraltan patriot too. We’re practicing so we can fight the empress when we’re bigger.”

  “I’m so glad.” Janna forced a smile, though she hated to think of Anton going to war, ever. “Can you stop and help me hitch the donkey up again?” She wanted to be able to leave at once if there was danger.

  Anton took over the job. By now he considered himself an expert in donkeys and carts and Janna saw he enjoyed explaining the details to Franz, whose family had stopped nearby.

  They were on foot, pulling a barrow and carrying baskets. Franz was the oldest, and his four small sisters sprawled exhausted on the grass. Their father filled a pipe while the mother rummaged in bags. With that many children whatever food they had would go fast.

  Janna walked toward them, her heart in her mouth. She was afraid of strangers, and of men in particular. So she looked at the woman. “Good evening,” she said, “It seems our boys have made friends. Would you like to share supper with us? It will be cold, but there’s plenty.”

  The woman looked as frightened as Janna, but her face became friendly soon enough. Perhaps because her efforts had yielded just one small sausage. She waved to the man, who tucked his pipe in the corner of his mouth, sprang up, and offered to help.

  Janna dug for food and handed it to the man, who’d in the meantime introduced himself as Ivor Kalina and his wife as Greta. Janna got out plenty of bread, cheese and sausage and found a knife.

  Ivor looked at it with approval. “You might need that, where you’re going.”

  “It’s meant for cheese.” She didn’t want to imagine why she would have to use it to defend herself.

  “Hmph,” Ivor said. “Still, keep it close.”

  “I don’t even know how to use it. I’d never hurt anyone.”

  “You can’t think that way. If it comes to someone trying to hurt you or the children, what will you do? You do what you have to.”

  Janna nodded, feeling she’d lost her appetite, but did her best to eat anyway. “Where are you headed?” she asked Greta.

  “Not too far,” she said. “If the weather stays fine, we’ll walk a few more leagues tomorrow and then start back.”

  “Back to Kaleva? Isn’t it still dangerous?”

  “Shouldn’t be,” Ivor said. “Word is General Ensden is strict with his troops and lets them loot for just a few hours. There should be order in the city by now. In a few days, we’ll be back and see what they’ve left us. I suppose that’s what most folks are doing. They’re not as well-supplied as you.” He nodded toward the cart. “In fact, I’d be careful if I was you. There’ll be those trying to take what you have.”

  “Soldiers?” Janna shuddered.

  “No, just regular folk, like us. Me and Greta and the little ones, we’ll be all right. But others who left the city with nothing are hungry tonight. By this time tomorrow, they’ll be desperate.”

  “I’m happy to share,” Janna said.

  “It’s one thing to share with another family,” Ivor said, “But there might be dozens, even hundreds. That’s why you need your knife handy.”

  Janna wished she didn’t still have so far to go. They couldn’t have gone more than a few leagues today. She doubted they’d reach the Sanova crossroads tomorrow.

  Supper over, she made the children a bed in the back of the cart. Ivor had built a fire, which was welcome in the cool spring air. Everyone else huddled around it, wrapped in blankets that Janna got out of the cart. She wondered if she’d be able to sleep since she couldn’t stop worrying about Dimir or how they would safely reach the farm. So she lay quietly, watching the fire and listening to the chirping of crickets and the murmur of other voices around other fires.

  Kendryk

  After Kendryk dismissed his uncle, he sensed the crowd holding its breath, waiting for him to do something. He turned his attention to the priest, who still stood in front of the temple.

  “I would speak with you alone, Father.”

  “Of course, Your Grace.” Landrus made a small bow. “If the congregation will excuse me, we can go to my quarters in the temple.”

  “I’d like to speak to the people first. It doesn’t seem right to just run off with you.” Even though the fine mist had turned into a steady drizzle, no one standing in the square had moved.

  Landrus stepped aside and Kendryk climbed onto the crate, looking into hundreds of upturned faces.

  “People of Runewald,” he began and paused, unsure of how to continue.

  From somewhere, a man shouted, “Three cheers for our prince, and for justice!” There were a few ragged cheers and more excited chatter.

  Kendryk smiled and waited for quiet. “I want to explain what just happened. The Duke of Emberg brought an improper order of arrest for Father Landrus.”

  “Improper because he shouldn’t be arrested!” someone shouted.

  “You’re at least partly right. The evidence brought against Father Landrus is far from complete. I will speak with him in private since I am sure this problem can be resolved between us.”

  Someone cheered again, and soon the rest had joined in.

  “Now go home, good people.” The rain was soaking his coat. “Father Landrus will be here for your next service.” He hoped he could keep his word.

  Landrus led the way into the temple. It was gloomy inside; the only light came from a bank of candles burning before the icons of the Holy Family at the front. They passed through a side door and along a stone corridor until they reached a small courtyard full of fruit trees in full bloom. Beside this stood a house made of light stone where the priest lived. It was dark inside by now, but Landrus lit a lamp which bathed the room in a soft glow. It smelled of beeswax and old books.

  For the first time, Landrus looked uncomfortable. “Please be seated, Your Grace,” he said. “I fea
r I have little to offer you by way of refreshment. My cook won’t go to market until tomorrow, but she can bring us tea.”

  “Thank you,” Kendryk said. “A hot drink sounds marvelous. And please don’t apologize. I realize my visit is unexpected. I was hoping to hear you preach today without being recognized. If my uncle hadn’t come, you wouldn’t have noticed me at all.”

  Landrus showed Kendryk to a carved bench with a seat of soft, worn cushions, then stepped into a corridor and spoke to someone. Returning, he pulled up a plain wooden chair for himself. “I’m glad you were here or I would be on my way to the Imperata in chains. To be honest, I’m surprised you intervened. Your reputation indicates that you are devout, conservative and intolerant of criticism of the Temple.”

  “I try to be devout, and I’m not fond of change for its own sake. But I came today because I believe the Faith needs renewal. It’s riddled with corruption and the people are apathetic.”

  “The state of the Faith is indeed worrisome.” Landrus frowned. “I don’t wish to be a reformer, but the need for change is urgent and someone must do it. I had hoped to accomplish enough within the rules of the Temple, but it seems the authorities don’t approve.”

  He paused as a short, wide woman brought in a tea tray. She stared at Kendryk with round blue eyes, attempted a curtsy and nearly dropped the tray.

  “Just give it to me, Girda.” Landrus rescued the tray and placed it on a small table nearby.

  Girda wrung her hands, made a small choking noise, bobbed again, then fled.

  Kendryk grinned as Landrus poured the tea. “I’m sorry for frightening your cook.”

  Landrus smiled back and handed him a cup of fine Temple porcelain. “Oh, don’t worry. This is the greatest day of her life. I’m sure she’ll never tire of telling anyone who’ll listen how she served the Prince of Terragand in the flesh.”

  “You’re taking a great risk, you know.” Kendryk took a careful sip of steaming tea. “I’m sure you’re aware that those who publicly disagree with Temple dogma are often executed. With that in mind, I’d prefer to find a solution without involving outsiders. I suppose I must include Julia Maxima though I have an idea she would not approve of what you are doing.”