The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3

by Christina Ochs

  Gwynneth

  Kendryk sat across from Gwynneth at a small table, staring down at his plate. He hadn’t wanted to eat, but she insisted on having something sent up to their bedchamber in the borrowed house.

  It seemed he could not accept several things. To him, the verdict was incomprehensible after all the discussion that had made it so clear that Father Landrus had discovered something important.

  “Then,” he said, pushing his food around the plate with a knife, “The compromise Flavia offered seemed like an answer to my prayers, only for him to refuse it.”

  “I guessed he would.” Gwynneth reached across the table to take his other hand. “Once he turned down our offer to help him escape, it would have surprised me if he had agreed to it now.”

  “If only I had one more chance to speak to him,” Kendryk said. “I know it’s hard for him to confess to something he isn’t guilty of, but isn’t it much more important that he stay alive and continue his work?”

  “It seems not. Would you confess to heresy you hadn’t committed?”

  “I don’t know. My first answer is ‘of course not,’ but if faced with the stake in three days time, I might decide to live so I could redeem myself later.”

  “So would I.” Gwynneth couldn’t bear seeing him so unhappy. “In a heartbeat. But your Father Landrus truly differs from the rest of us. And that’s why he’s doing something the rest of us can’t.”

  “But when he dies, then what? If no one else can replace him?”

  “If he dies.” Gwynneth buttered a second slice of bread. She wasn’t suffering from loss of appetite. “A lot can happen between here and Atlona, especially in these uncertain times.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Gwynneth raised an eyebrow. Was he deliberately misunderstanding her?

  “I mean there is still hope,” she said putting down her knife. “You still have a role to play.”

  “I think my role is finished. Why didn’t he choose exile? It would have been the easier way.”

  “For you.” She smiled. “But not for him. He told you. His work is in Terragand, nowhere else.”

  “Now it looks like nowhere at all.” Kendryk crumbled a piece of bread onto his plate.

  “On the contrary. The empress has granted him a stay of sorts, which buys us time.”

  “I wonder why she did that.”

  “Oh, she’s not stupid. She sees which way the wind is blowing here. And she still needs your troop levies. The worst thing that can happen to her right now is Landrus being executed in front of all of her enemies. She’s far better off presenting him as yet another rebel in a city where more people are fearful. Besides, the word is that Andor Korma has crossed the border and is making for Atlona. Even if she leaves today, she might not get there before he does.”

  “I don’t see how that helps us, though I don’t mind seeing her inconvenienced,” Kendryk said, still glum.

  “It helps us because she’ll be distracted and in a hurry to get back. So you should be able to act and get away with it.”

  He shook his head. “You amaze me. Exactly what can we do at this point?”

  Gwynneth pushed her plate away and took a long drink of wine. “You rescue Father Landrus and take him back to Terragand.”

  “What?” It was clear Kendryk had never considered the possibility. “How in the world am I supposed to do that?”

  “We’ve brought plenty of armed men. It will be easy enough to see how well Landrus is guarded on the way to Atlona and find a good time to break him out. The empress will have all of her best troops in front, riding for Atlona as fast as they can. Landrus will just be baggage and guarded as such.”

  “Baggage? He’s far too valuable for her to be casual about security. Besides, she might guess we would try something.”

  “Oh, I doubt it. I think you’ve done well to give her the impression that you are firm but not belligerent. You’ve been all charm and courtliness, so it’s unlikely she’ll suspect you of any violence.”

  “She thinks I’m too soft.”

  Gwynneth shrugged. “Too soft to make a bold move, perhaps. But that’s a good thing. She won’t be expecting any action from you besides an appeal to the imperial court or to the Imperata. She won’t expect you to break Landrus free.”

  “Even I don’t expect that.” Kendryk pushed his plate away, his food still untouched. “And what if I swoop down on the imperial baggage train and rescue Landrus? It’s possible we’ll injure or kill people to do so. The empress could interpret that as an act of aggression.”

  “Maybe. Though I doubt she’ll declare war. Just look at the reception she’s received here. She’s already fighting on two fronts and Zastwar could open a third. Even if she wants to fight you, she can’t. Oh, she might throw a tantrum, but that’s as far as it will go. You’ll have the support of at least eight Kronland rulers; I’m sure of it.”

  “What does that mean? Will they stand with me against the empress if the worst happens, and she invades Terragand?”

  “At least some will, I’m sure. And she can’t invade because she doesn’t have enough troops. What’s more likely is, that by the time she has things straightened out on her eastern border, she’ll complain, take you to court and you can put her off indefinitely.”

  “That’s not how I like to do things.”

  “But just think of the possibilities. With the time you buy, Landrus can preach and write and his works can be published and spread all over Kronland. By the time the empress can react, you might have set up your own branch of the Faith. And with that, it’s also possible that Kronland will find it doesn’t need the empire either. Now is the perfect time to start this.”

  “I don’t even want all of that,” Kendryk said. “All I want right now is for Father Landrus to stay alive, to keep working and for me to learn more. I don’t care about the rest.”

  “You may not care.” Gwynneth was feeling more excited than she had in weeks. “But many others do and Father Landrus himself has said that change is essential if we are to survive.”

  “But you don’t even believe all of those things about the final battle, do you?”

  “I don’t know, but I’d like to learn more and I can’t do that if Landrus is dead. Listen darling.” She leaned across the table and took both his hands in hers. “I know you’ve been waiting for a miracle, and you just got it. Now you have to do something with it. The gods will help, but they need you to act, too.”

  Kendryk smiled wearily and squeezed her hands, then stood. “I need to find a place to pray,” he said. “I might be there all night.”

  Gwynneth got up and kissed his cheek. “There’s a chapel down the street. I got the key for you.”

  Now all she could do was hope the gods gave him a push in the right direction.

  Braeden

  Braeden wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep, but it hadn’t been long. Teodora’s maid looked like she hadn’t had a wink. “Come quick, sir,” she said. “Her Highness is in a real rage.” Not that Teodora being in a rage was anything new. Braeden jumped up and made for the door, pulling on his clothes as he went. He shoved his boots on, then grabbed his pistols, fastening the belt as he followed the maid into the corridor.

  The maid led him into Teodora’s dressing room. Another maid was helping her fasten on a traveling cloak. If the empress was angry, it wasn’t the usual; Braeden could see that right away.

  “Get your troops ready, Terris.” Her voice was hard as a brick, her face set and pale. “We ride for Atlona within the hour.”

  He nodded and prepared to leave the room.

  “If it makes you hurry more, I’ll tell you right now, that bastard Korma has Atlona besieged it with your precious hussars inside.”

  He’d expected as much. “Yes, Your Highness. We’ll be ready to go soon.”

  He rushed back to his room and sent his servant Gergo to rouse his troops. He struggled into the rest of his clothes and what armor he could p
ut on without help. If they were to ride fast, less was better anyway. As he strode into the corridor, he met Gergo coming back.

  “Pack up my things,” he ordered. “I’ll meet you at the stables.”

  By the time he reached them, a saddled Kazmir was dancing around a nervous groom. Gergo was efficient when he needed to be; he gave him that. A good half of his hussars were also ready. He started a head count, hoping no one had celebrated the end of the trial with a drinking bout and was sleeping it off in a tavern somewhere. Anyone missing would have to catch up.

  He heard shouting and another imperial servant elbowed his way through the crush.

  “Message from Her Highness,” he shouted at Braeden. “You’re to secure the prisoner before we go.”

  “Is he coming with us?”

  The man shook his head. “He’ll be in the baggage train, but she wants him well-guarded.” He handed Braeden a scrap of paper.

  It looked like Teodora had scrawled it in haste, and Braeden had to take it to a nearby stable lantern to make it out. It said he was to pick twenty guards from her household troops and set them to guard the priest, and another twenty to guard the wagon bearing her children.

  “Torresia,” he barked, spotting Reno in the crowd. “Make sure everyone is ready within the quarter hour and go with Her Highness. I need to see to the baggage.” Braeden jumped onto Kazmir. He wasn’t sure where the baggage was but he found it on the other side of the stables. These were enormous since Princess Kasbirk was an exemplary breeder and always had at least five hundred head of horse. It looked like more than a few would be pressed into imperial service tonight.

  The courtyard was bright with torchlight and crowded with wagons and servants rushing around. It was less chaotic than he would have expected, but when he spotted Count Solteszy, he knew why. With him in charge, the train would be no more than a few hours behind the rest of them. He cantered straight up to Solteszy.

  “I’m to secure the prisoner,” he said.

  Solteszy nodded, his face grim. “Over there,” he pointed to a heavy wagon with a barred window.

  Braeden trotted over and jumped down when he got there. “Prisoner inside?” he asked an officer who might have been in charge.

  The man nodded. “Aye, sir. We’re waiting on further orders.”

  “I have them. Her Highness wants twenty guards detailed to the prisoner and twenty to the children.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Yes. I reckon she wants the rest at the walls of Atlona as soon as possible.”

  “Does she realize it won’t be enough?”

  Braeden shrugged. “Not my problem. Or yours. I don’t know the household guard as well as you, so pick the best fellows for the job and send the rest round the other side. The empress is ready to go.”

  “Now?”

  “Within minutes. My troops are already saddled up.”

  “Quick work.”

  “Slower than I would have liked, but we’ll get going soon enough. If yours aren’t ready, tell them to catch up as quick as they can. We’ll be on the main road south.”

  The man nodded and had already motioned over another officer. He shouted several names at him, the fellow ran off and he turned back to Braeden. “Tell Her Highness that Kerzer will come with near four hundred. They’ll be as fast as they can.”

  Kendryk

  Perhaps Gwynneth was right and even a temporary stay of execution could be considered a miracle. Kendryk just didn’t know what to do with that miracle.

  The tiny chapel was warm, and candles burned before the icons. Kendryk paced in front of them for a time. He knew he needed to pray, but he was unsure of what to ask for. Until now, requesting guidance had resulted in nothing but a series of confusing events.

  He wanted any solution except the one Gwynneth suggested. The rulers of Kronland always spoke of more independence from the empire, but until now, that was nothing more than talk. No one had done anything vaguely rebellious in a long time. That Kendryk should be the one to do so felt wrong. He just wasn’t the sort. Someone like Prince Bronson seemed so much more likely. He was older, and had military experience. Why shouldn’t he take the lead?

  Kendryk breathed in the scent of candle wax and paused in front of the Father. The icon stared back at him with large, blank dark eyes. Even though the Holy Parents rarely intervened in human life, the Scrolls made it clear they must be worshiped and their blessing sought.

  They stood for all that was sacred and alive about the land. The Father created all—the mountains, the deserts, the oceans and the rivers, the whole of earth itself. The Mother gave life to all—the creatures of the fields and the plants in them. She gave life to the first humans, but it wasn’t until she gave birth to Ercos and Vica that people received understanding and strength to rise above the other animals.

  Kendryk didn’t know who would help him now, or if he should expect no more. Perhaps the discussions with Landrus, and his own readings of the Scrolls should have been enough to tell him what he needed to do.

  He moved from one icon to the other, sending up his prayers and waiting for a response. He hoped to fall asleep again, and dream as he had before. Maybe that would spur him to action. Or perhaps there would be another sign. He wondered how many signs he needed before he’d be comfortable enough to act. He wished he could speak to Landrus one more time.

  Kendryk lay on his back on the hard floor, staring straight up, into the flickering shadows vanishing into the blackness of the vaulted ceiling. His limbs were heavy with despair and exhaustion, but his head pounded and sleep would not come. He tried letting his mind wander from the immediate problem.

  He recalled the hours spent in the castle’s little study, reading over the Scrolls while Landrus translated other parts. It reminded him of his years in Galladium, sitting in Benet’s cluttered library, poring over the ancient tongue. He loved Benet like a father, more than he loved his own father. Edwyn Bernotas had been an intimidating stranger until the last year of his life. And in that year, broken by the death of Kendryk’s older brother, the prince was not himself.

  Benet died less than two years later, leaving Kendryk bereft. Count Faris filled some of the gap as both a friendly and competent adviser. But Faris and Gwynneth were both entirely practical. Neither of them were interested in discussing religious stories, myths and deep theological puzzles. Gwynneth excelled at philosophy, but she liked to apply it to reality. To her, pondering the meaning of something written thousands of years before was an exercise in futility.

  When Landrus came to Birkenfels, Kendryk felt like he’d found a long-lost family member. To lose him after such a short time was intolerable. When Landrus refused the maxima’s offer of clemency, Kendryk was sure his heart would shatter.

  Why had the gods sent Landrus to him, only to take him away again so soon? Sure, he’d learned a great deal, but in doing so also understood that he was scratching the surface. There was so much more.

  Landrus had made progress on the translation, but would need at least another year to complete it. And now it looked like it would never be done. Kendryk lacked the ability and the time, and the chances of finding someone else to do it seemed minuscule. All the same, he couldn’t let it end now. There must be a solution.

  Kendryk saved his last prayer for Vica. He needed wisdom more than anything right now. Before he started, he silently apologized for any hard feelings he might have harbored toward the goddess. It wasn’t her fault that empress and Imperata were putting her forward. The gods were not like people, who gloried in being held above others. He was sure Vica wished for a return to the proper worship as much as Ercos did.

  Kendryk said his prayer, then waited. He waited until his legs cramped under him and the candles guttered. A pounding on the chapel door and someone shouting his name broke the silence. Kendryk leapt to his feet, wondering if the gods had sent him an especially noisy messenger.

  Braeden

  Braeden hurried back around the stables though
the press had increased a great deal. He spotted the empress at the head of the column and joined her. “Your Highness, a Captain Kerzer will join you with four hundred troops as soon as he can gather them. I told him to catch up to us.”

  “Very well,” Teodora said. “We go now.”

  Braeden took his place right behind her and at the head of the Sanova Hussars. It was the middle of the night, so most of Kronfels was asleep by the time they reached the town. The column made a fair amount of noise, shod horses hooves clattering on cobbles, weapons and armor clanking. Torches flickered, and the commotion brought some sleepy residents to the windows overlooking the street. No doubt they’d be happy to see the back of them.

  Silence reigned as the southern gates swung open, setting them onto the Tirilis road. Braeden felt relieved as they left the city behind them. It had been a tense place.

  “So it’s true?” Reno asked in a low voice. “About Atlona and Korma.”

  “It is,” Braeden said. “We can only hope Novitny and the others stay inside the walls.”

  “Korma is said to have at least five thousand. Novitny won’t take them on.”

  “I’m sure he won’t. His orders were to defend the city, and that’s best done from inside. You’ve seen those walls. Korma may have a lot of soldiers, but I doubt he has many guns, and he’d need hundreds or more to take them down.”

  “I hope you’re right. I suppose Adela will be safe enough, though I hate being so far away and feeling useless.” Reno’s eldest daughter had recently married an Atlona merchant and was expecting a baby.

  “We all do.” It was times like these that made Braeden glad he didn’t have to worry about a family.

  “But the empress can’t hope to take Korma on with just us and those few hundred household guards.”