Braeden
By the time Braeden and the hussars left Martiz, it was almost dark, so they went just a few leagues before making camp. They found a pleasant spot, just off the road and next to the river. The sound of the running water was soothing and Braeden felt very sleepy by the time he’d settled under a fur rug in his tent.
He didn’t know how long he’d been asleep when he heard voices. Miro Blavic, a young lieutenant, stuck his head under the door flap. “Sir, something’s happened.”
By the time he’d scrambled into his trousers, shoved on his boots and pulled on a shirt, Braeden was wide awake. Someone had thrown more wood on the coals of the campfire and lit a few torches. By their light, Braeden recognized one of Zluba’s sons, shivering and pale.
“What is it?” Braeden asked.
“It’s the town.” The boy’s teeth chattered. “It’s burning. And Mother … oh, gods. They’ve killed her.”
This made no sense. “Who? Who killed her?” He couldn’t imagine rebels causing this kind of trouble.
The young man was shaking so hard he couldn’t speak.
“Someone get him a blanket,” Braeden said. “Now, why don’t you sit down and tell me what happened.” He led him over to a pile of saddles. “What’s your name, boy?”
“J-Jonni,” he stammered.
“All right, Jonni. Tell me what happened, from the beginning.” Braeden turned to Miro. “I need horses saddled. We ride in two minutes.”
“After dark,” Jonni said, teeth clenched. “Riders with torches. We thought it was you returning, so we opened the gates.”
Braeden swore under his breath. “Go on.”
“They asked for the chief, so Mother came out. There was a woman at their head, a terrible-looking thing she was. Something wrong with her eyes. Oh, gods …” He sobbed.
Whatever it was, it was serious. A servant brought Kazmir up saddled, Braeden grabbed a helmet and a saber, then jumped onto his back.
“Pickets, return to your posts,” he instructed. “The rest, move out. We make for Martiz at a gallop.” They were at least twenty minutes away.
In the confusion, Braeden hadn’t thought about light, but the moon had risen, and the road lay straight ahead of them. Before long, the sky glowed red and the town’s stockade fence stood silhouetted against flames.
Braeden pulled up, looked around for the first time and noticed at least thirty hussars at his back, with a few more galloping up behind them. His lieutenants knew their business.
He turned to give orders. “I don’t know who did this. For now, we’ll assume they’re hostile. Draw your blades, and if you see any armed men, try to capture them. If they resist, kill them. Bring me any prisoners.” And with that, he urged Kazmir forward.
As they neared Martiz, the smoke blew toward them, making it difficult to see. The fire was too far gone for them to enter the town though a few people had escaped the flames. But in every direction, shadowy shapes on horseback were running down anyone who emerged from the gate.
Braeden went straight for those attacking the townspeople. He was looking for a leader. Everyone else he could kill. And he did. By the time he reached the gate, he’d cut down two men and one woman, mounted on short ponies, wearing long lambskin coats, leather helms and carrying curved swords.
Raiders from the east, then. What they were doing out here, he couldn’t say. Probably taking advantage of the instability to sack unguarded towns. But why burn a town they wished to plunder? Braeden saw no wagons, or anyone carrying loot, nor were they bearing off civilians for the Zastwar slave markets.
He reached the gate. Behind it, the town was ablaze, but what stopped him was Zluba’s body hanging from a crossbeam above the gate. Without thinking, he grabbed her legs and lifted, but a moment later realized it was too late. If the hanging hadn’t killed her then the gash in her throat had. Still, Braeden stood up in the stirrups and cut the rope holding her with one swipe of his saber. Her body landed on him with a thud, and he lowered her carefully to the ground. He would have to bring it to her son. He wondered if any other family members had escaped.
When he turned back to the road leading up to the gate he saw that the fight was over.
Reno galloped up and dumped a woman’s unconscious body in front of Braeden. “I don’t believe it,” he spat. “It’s Teodora’s pet wolf.”
“Her what?” Braeden squinted through the smoke.
“Daciana Tomescu.”
“Are you sure?” The girl laying on the ground looked peaceful, black curls framing a rather sweet face.
“I’d stake my life on it. Just wait until she opens her eyes.”
“Will she? She looks dead.”
“It’d take more than a wallop with my hammer to kill this bitch. Some say she’s part wolf and can’t be killed.”
Janna
Janna’s mind grasped at possibilities, but there was no way out. The knife would have been useless anyway; there was no escape, and she wasn’t clever enough to talk herself out of this.
“We could use the cart,” the man holding her arm said. “Couple of us ain’t walking so good.” He nodded toward a man with a crutch.
“Take the cart too, then.” She hoped the crossroads weren’t too far away.
“Hey sprouts.” Another man looked up at the children. “Time to get down from there. You and your mama is walking.”
Anton was still frozen. Janna nodded at him though she couldn’t manage a smile to encourage him. He finally stood up and handed Anyezka to one of the men. She looked into his face and screamed. He quickly set her down. Anton jumped down on his own, grabbed his sister’s hand and ran to Janna.
He pushed Anyezka against her and turned back toward the men. “You leave Mama alone.” He pulled out the cheese knife. “Or I’ll fight you.”
Janna stifled a shriek. The knife must have fallen onto the seat. She tried to grab Anton, but he stepped toward the man who’d shoved her.
The man jumped back a step and laughed. “Oho, a little fighter. We should take him along, turn him into a soldier.”
That gave Anton pause though he detected the mockery in the man’s voice soon enough. “Leave us alone.” In spite of her terror, Janna had to admire how brave he sounded. “Mama is giving you food even though she doesn’t have to. You can’t take our cart. Ani is too little to walk.”
The man laughed. “Oh, she is not. When I was that size I walked all the way from Kaltental to Kronfels, and I was carrying a basket bigger than I was.”
“Stop with the lies,” someone else shouted. “We know your mother carried you on her back until you was twelve.”
“That’s not all his mother did on her back,” another man said, and they all laughed.
Janna grabbed Anton by the collar and pulled him back to her. She squeezed his shoulder, grateful that he’d stood up for her, even though she was terrified of what they might do to him.
“It’s all right,” she whispered. “We can walk. It’s not that far.”
Now the men were looking at her again.
“Well, we should be on our way,” Janna said, trying to sound cheerful.
“Not so fast,” someone said. “We ain’t seen a girl this pretty in a good while since they all run out of the capital. Think we deserve a bit of fun after the trouble we’ve had these last few days.”
Janna’s breath came faster, and the man held her arm tighter. “Not enough to go around,” he said. She wondered if he was trying to help.
“We can roll the dice for her,” someone piped up.
“I don’t mind going last,” someone else said. “Scrawny for my taste, but better than nothing.”
All Janna could think was, ‘Not in front of the children, oh Holy Mother, please.’
“I have money,” she choked out. “Why don’t you take that so you can get enough girls for all of you, somewhere else.”
“Money? Why didn’t you say so?” said the man squeezing her arm. “I say boys, that’s a good plan. S
olid coin will do us more good than a bit of skirt this skinny.” Perhaps he really was trying to help.
Janna’s breath came so fast now, she had to gasp for air.
“Or we could take the money and her,” someone else said.
“Except we need to be on our way. Word is they’re recruiting out east and we don’t want to come too late. Where there’s recruiters, there’s soldiers. And where there’s soldiers, there’s always a few girls likely to be more fun than this one. Now, out with the coin missy,” he shook her gently.
Jana reached shaking hands into her pockets and pulled out every coin she had. At the sight of the silver, several faces brightened. The man with the hat stepped forward and took both handfuls.
“That’s all of it,” Janna said. “We didn’t have much saved.”
“What else is in your pockets?”
She pulled out the deed to the house. “Just this.”
The man grabbed it, looked it over and stuck it in his pocket. “Might be worth something.” He shrugged, then turned back to Janna. “Now the purse. Hand it over before one of these fine gentlemen looks for it under your skirts.”
Janna pulled the purse out from under her apron, but her hand shook so badly she dropped it on the grass, spilling coins everywhere. The last rays of the sun glinted off the gold. The man holding Janna’s arm dropped it as several others dove for the coins.
“Now!” Anton shoved Anyezka at her. “Run!”
Janna scooped Anyezka up, grabbed Anton with the other hand and ran, legs still shaking.
“Stop her!” She heard shouts around her, but the only man in her path was the one with the crutch. Once Anton pulled her past him, she didn’t look back.
They crashed through some bushes and into the woods. Branches whipped at Janna’s face and it was so dark she couldn’t see, but Anton kept pulling. They stopped when an enormous fallen tree blocked their path. Anton climbed onto it and Janna handed Anyezka up, then scrambled up and over. The three of them dropped to the ground, breathless.
“They won’t see us here, even if they look,” Anton whispered. “But I don’t think they will, now they have all of our money.”
Janna pulled a whimpering Anyezka into one arm and Anton into the other. They sat huddled against the log, listening to the surrounding woods. They listened for a long time, but heard nothing but the rustling leaves and the occasional chirp of a bird. No one came and after a while, they breathed again.
Gwynneth
Kendryk hadn’t come to bed the night before, but Gwynneth didn’t mind, since she knew where he was. Having a pious husband was sometimes a bore, but at least she never had to worry that he had spent the night at a seedy inn, tumbling the local whore. The only thing that kept him from her bed was worry, worry that made him turn to prayer for hours on end. It used to be rare that he spent the night in the chapel, but since he’d spoken to Landrus, it had happened several times in a fortnight.
Kendryk seemed surprised to find her lounging in a chair in his dressing room, wearing her prettiest lace dressing gown and reading letters while a maid drew a hot bath.
“How long have you been here?” He leaned over to kiss her.
“Not long.” She smiled up at him and ran her hand across his cheek. “You need to shave.”
“A hot bath sounds perfect. My legs have gone completely numb.” Kendryk’s valet materialized and helped him undress. The poor man had likely been up all night, waiting for him to return.
“I thought you’d be frozen. That chapel is so cold. Why don’t you put icons in your study, or even in the library? It would look charming and be so much more comfortable.”
“Comfort isn’t the point.” Kendryk winced as he slid into the steaming water.
“Do the gods give you greater credit for sore knees?” She was teasing though she suspected he held at least a small amount of suffering as a virtue.
“Wouldn’t that be nice?” He slid further into the water. “It wasn’t all for nothing, though. At least, I don’t think so.” He told her about a very frightening dream, one that included the renegade priest, the banners of Zastwar, all manner of monsters, and as if those weren’t frightening enough, the Empress Teodora herself.
“It sounds horrid.” Gwynneth shuddered. “I shouldn’t have ordered that cream sauce for the venison. You get nightmares when your food’s too rich.”
“This wasn’t a nightmare.” His eyes were clear and serious. “It was awful, yes, but didn’t feel like a dream. When I woke up I felt like I was still on that field. And I remembered all of it. I never remember dreams in such detail.”
“It’s true you’ve been praying for a sign. Though it would be nice if it had come with more specific instructions.” Gwynneth had heard that some particularly gifted clergy were capable of prophetic dreams, though secretly she thought they were poor deluded souls trying to cover up some level of madness.
To her relief, Kendryk laughed at that; he had looked so upset while telling her about the dream. “I thought so too. If the gods go to the trouble of giving me a vision, the least they can do is make it helpful.” He lowered himself further to wet his hair.
Gwynneth knelt next to the tub. “Here, I’ll wash it for you.” He loved it when she rubbed the soap into his hair.
He closed his eyes and leaned back. “Mmm, that’s wonderful. You should get in, too.” He opened his eyes and playfully grabbed her arm.
“Stop it.” She splashed him in the face with her free hand. “I had mine last night. I waited hours for you, but you never came.”
“I’m sorry.” He let her arm go so she could finish pouring water over his head. “I’ve been neglecting you. This problem with Father Landrus has been weighing on me. If I knew what to do, I’d do it so we could get back to normal.”
“Something will show itself, I’m sure.” She leaned over to kiss him. “I need to get dressed. I’ll see you at breakfast soon.”
She took extra care with her dress, choosing one of her newest gowns; pink silk embroidered with white flowers. It felt especially springlike, and she hoped it would cheer Kendryk up a bit.
He noticed it right away when she joined him for breakfast. “I like that dress.” His eyes lingered on the low neckline. “Is it new?”
“It’s the latest from Galladium. They’re wearing it low in front like this now, even during the day. It’s not too much?”
“Not for me.” He grinned, then quickly kissed her neck before she sat down, taking advantage of a private moment while the footman fetched hot coffee.
Gwynneth had just started her second cup when another footman entered. “Message from Julia Maxima.” He handed Kendryk a folded paper with a Temple seal.
Kendryk opened it and Gwynneth came around to read over his shoulder. “Unbelievable,” she said. “Does she have the authority to do this?”
“I suppose she does as long as I don’t object.”
“Then you must object.” She pulled up a chair beside him. “Isn’t this the sign you wanted?”
“A sign of what? Now that she’s arrested him I can’t demand his release without a good reason.”
“Why not? She has no more authority than you do in this matter. You have every right to demand it.”
Kendryk shook his head. “On what basis? He’s preaching heresy according to the teachings of the Temple.”
“Don’t you see?” She took the message and looked it over again. “We were just wondering what you could do. Now it’s obvious. You must rescue Father Landrus from Julia’s clutches. Otherwise he’ll be on his way to Forli by nightfall.”
“I suppose he might. I still don’t see how I can ask her to release him.”
It seemed to Gwynneth that Kendryk sometimes forgot that he ruled over all of Terragand, Julia included. “Don’t ask her; demand that she do it. Insist on a public hearing so you can buy time. I’ve been hearing of other priests and priestesses around Kronland who are teaching strange new things. A council might be necessary to sort i
t all out.”
“I suppose you’re right. This is a fine opportunity. But I dread facing Julia.” He shivered. “She’s so intimidating.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You stood up to her very well when we were first married and she was being awful.”
“That was easy. I knew she was wrong and trying to take advantage of my youth.”
“She’s wrong here too. She’s overstepped her bounds.”
Kendryk shook his head. “Hardly. She’s allowed to discipline clerics in her temples.”
Gwynneth was undeterred. “But you’re allowed to intervene. Tell her that the state of affairs in Terragand is delicate and the people will resent the Imperata’s interference. The removal of a popular priest could lead to a revolt.”
“I doubt that very much.”
“So do I. But you needn’t tell her that. Just make it clear that as ruler of Terragand, you must keep order and sending Landrus to Forli will cause trouble. That will be enough.”
“I ought to send you.” Kendryk grinned.
Though Gwynneth secretly agreed, she knew Kendryk had to do this. “She doesn’t like me. She thinks I’m a heathenish Northerner. But she likes you; just don’t let her intimidate you.” She kissed him, pulled him from his chair, and gave him a shove toward the door.
Braeden
“I’ve heard the stories.” Braeden scowled. Why had no one let him know Tomescu was also operating in these parts? And why was she attacking towns he’d already cleared?
He looked around. The hussars had taken a few captives. Braeden pointed at one close by.
Miro grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and dragged him over.
“Who the hell are you?” Braeden asked in Marjatyan. Tomescu was from its far eastern reaches.
“They call me Vlad.” The fellow’s tone was surly for someone who’d just been captured. A short, swarthy man with bandy legs, he looked the part. “She’d better not be dead.” He pointed at Tomescu’s body, still sprawled on the ground. “A favorite of the empress she is. Herself will have the head of anyone who hurts her.”
The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3 Page 7