The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3

by Christina Ochs

  With any luck, they could receive training and be sent home with their weapons, keeping up a local drill until the danger from Teodora had passed, if it did.

  Kendryk hoped all of this could happen before the harvest. He was glad that Faris was in charge. He had considerable military experience and was ruthlessly efficient. If anyone could turn this lot into a fighting force, he could.

  He turned to Faris and said. “Do all of that. Send extra money to Zeelund if they’ll speed up their shipments. I don’t care about the uniforms, but we need the firearms as soon as possible.”

  Faris waved to a young officer and dictated a message.

  “In the meantime,” Kendryk said, “I’d like to help with the training.”

  “Good idea. That will be excellent for morale.”

  Kendryk agreed, but didn’t mention it would also be good for his. Any action was better than waiting for the sign from the gods that never seemed to come.

  Several days of training left Kendryk even more discouraged. He understood it took a long time to become proficient with a firearm, but the results were terrible. No one had hit a single target.

  “Let’s practice reloading.” Kendryk tried to keep his tone upbeat. The recruits were eager to learn and excited that he was teaching them. They were doing their best.

  “Men don’t learn anything fast, begging your pardon, Your Grace,” a young woman said. She’d been practicing with the pike nearby and wandered over to watch the musketry.

  “It’s difficult.” Kendryk smiled at her. About a third of his recruits were women. So far, Kendryk had found them rather easy to train, but he didn’t know if it was for the reason she described. “I’ve been shooting my whole life and am still far from an expert.”

  “Your Grace is too modest.” The woman looked him up and down while he tried to keep from blushing. He hoped she’d be as bold in battle.

  “I don’t believe I caught your name.” Kendryk tried to cover his embarrassment.

  “Sabina Martyn. I come from the lands outside Runewald.”

  “I appreciate you coming, Miss Martyn. It must be difficult to leave your home and family.”

  “Oh, I was glad to leave,” Sabina said. “I was dying of boredom out on that farm. And I was the biggest, so I always had to work the plow. Flinging a pike around is ever so much easier.”

  She was a tall, sturdy girl, the kind Kendryk always thought of when someone mentioned good Terragand peasant stock. With a broad, rosy-cheeked face and snapping brown eyes, she was pretty in a rough way. Kendryk wondered why she was unmarried, though it could be hard to meet someone in a small village. She might do much better in the militia. He already saw several fellows eying her with open appreciation.

  “Thank you anyway,” Kendryk said. “I hope to have you home in time for harvest.”

  Sabina made a face at that, but dropped a quick curtsy before strolling back to the ragged-looking pike square.

  Kendryk located Count Faris, showing some recruits how to reload a pistol. It seemed his progress wasn’t any better. When he saw Kendryk, he left them and came over.

  “I’m not encouraged,” Kendryk said. “If Teodora makes a move soon, we’re finished.”

  “It seems so,” Faris said. “Weapons or not, these troops will be no match for Ensden’s veterans. We should have a mercenary force at the ready.”

  “I hate to do that.” Kendryk sighed.

  “So do I. But with the truce in Zeelund right now, a lot of soldiers are looking for work. It’s a good time to hire.”

  “You’re right, I’m sure. I just feel like once we do, we have to use them.”

  “Not necessarily. We can offer a short contract, subject to extension. Ninety days at most. In that time, you’ll know more about Teodora’s reaction.”

  “How many do you think we need?”

  “At least twenty thousand—thirty if we can find them.”

  “That will be expensive.” Kendryk had never worried about money, but he’d never spent it at this rate before, either. Fielding armies of any quality was a costly venture.

  “It will be.” Faris seemed unperturbed. “But well worth it. Why don’t I go to Zeelund and see what I can find? I still have good contacts there.”

  “All right. The sooner you go, the better. See what you can do.”

  Gwynneth

  Gwynneth was encrypting a dispatch to her source in Zastwar when Count Faris interrupted her, bearing a letter. “It’s addressed to the prince.” He sat down across from Gwynneth and handed it over to her. “But you might as well see it right away.”

  It was from Princess Zelenka of Arcius, the southernmost Kronland kingdom. The princess was not the most literate woman, and she had been distraught while writing. Gwynneth read it over twice before saying, “She sounds quite mad. But let me see if I understand this correctly. She says that a certain Arian Orland, an ally of Kendryk’s, has attacked her lands. Is that Duke Aidan’s son?”

  “It is.” Faris nodded. “Arian is a younger son and last I heard, was a soldier of fortune in Floradias. I don’t suppose you’ve heard from him or his father?”

  “I haven’t. Oh, wait. I received something from the duke before we went to Isenwald, but I don’t recall seeing anything of importance.” Like most of the responses to her first round of letters, Duke Aidan’s had been equivocal, if polite. There was no point in wasting time on those types of messages.

  She turned to Halvor. “Can you find the last letter from Duke Orland?”

  Halvor nodded and went to a large bureau with many drawers in it. He had an efficient filing method which no one else understood.

  Gwynneth turned back to Faris. “It was difficult for me to tell why Orland was targeting Zelenka’s lands. She didn’t seem to understand herself.”

  “We received word that the empress stayed with Princess Zelenka on her way back to Olvisya and persuaded her to supply several thousand troops at some future date.”

  “Oh, maybe that’s what she means when she writes ‘only doing my duty to my sovereign.’” Gwynneth took Duke Orland’s letter from Halvor and scanned it for references to Arian.

  The Duchess sent her greetings, but she was a silly woman and Gwynneth usually ignored her. The duke went on at length about their daughter, the heiress to the duchy, being betrothed at last, and “here it is,” Gwynneth said, then read aloud. “Our son Arian is returned to us after the truce in Floradias. He has married the widow of my cousin, the Baron of Engelstein, and we hope he will settle down and manage her estate, held in trust for her young son.”

  Gwynneth put the letter on her desk. “That doesn’t sound as if he plans to become a marauder. It’s rather domestic in fact. If I recall, the baroness was young and lovely and I felt sorry for her having to marry that horrid old baron. Perhaps it’s worked out well for her, and for young Orland.”

  “Perhaps.” Faris frowned. “I’ll make further inquiries, but the fact remains that in the meantime, someone is committing atrocities on Prince Kendryk’s behalf. That is not acceptable.”

  “No, it’s not,” Gwynneth said. “We must find out who is doing this and stop him.”

  That evening, they discussed it with Kendryk after supper.

  “I remember Arian Orland.” Kendryk frowned. “He was a few years older than me, and a friend of my brother’s. By the time I came back from Galladium, he’d already gone soldiering. There was some kind of trouble with a girl so his father sent him away. Back then, he would have been fifteen or sixteen.”

  “So he might be a troublemaker.” Gwynneth was still trying to put the pieces together.

  “He was then,” Kendryk said. “He was always getting my brother into scrapes and was a terrible bully. I stayed away from him. But that was long ago; perhaps he’s changed.”

  “Fighting for a living rarely changes a personality for the better,” Faris said, his face grim. “If we didn’t know that he had just come into a bride and an estate, it’s not beyond comprehension he mig
ht try to start trouble as a way to gain employment. The Floradian truce has been hard for mercenaries who have nothing saved. Which is most of them. But it’s possible that Orland has the resources to build up a force of his own. It’s common to terrorize a region and then extort protection money from its ruler. But I don’t understand the benefit of doing it in your name.”

  “I don’t see that Princess Zelenka mentions being forced to pay him.” Kendryk looked at the letter again.

  “Would she?” Gwynneth wondered. “I’d be likely to keep such humiliating circumstances to myself.”

  “It’s hard to say,” Faris said. “The whole thing is odd, and problematic. Delicate as the situation is, we need no one stirring up extra trouble. Right now, it might still be possible to treat with Teodora since you’ve committed no act of aggression. Should Orland attack Olvisya in your name, we might have a serious problem.”

  “I’ll write to him,” Kendryk said. “We’ll send one copy to Engelstein castle and ask his wife to forward it to him if he isn’t there. I’ll also send a messenger into Arcius and see if he can be located. If Orland is leading a force large enough to cause the princess real distress, he shouldn’t be that hard to find.”

  “What will you say?” Gwynneth asked.

  “As I’m his liege lord, I’ll tell him to stop it right now. I authorized none of this and I don’t appreciate help of this sort. I’ll order him to leave Kronland and take his trade elsewhere.”

  “Why not here?” Faris asked. “A large force might be a useful addition to your militia.”

  Gwynneth sat up straighter. “It would indeed. A few of our friends have made encouraging noises, but no one in Kronland or elsewhere has offered any concrete help. If Arian Orland is operating on Kendryk’s behalf, he should be placed under his direct command, where he can be of real help.”

  Kendryk pulled a face. “I’d prefer to not have him around at all.”

  “Why not offer him a choice?” Faris asked. “He can either leave Kronland altogether, or he can work for you.”

  “I don’t know if I want to pay him,” Kendryk said.

  “Why should you pay him?” Gwynneth asked. “You’re his lord and as regent for the Baron of Engelstein, he’s responsible for delivering a certain number of troops to you, is he not?”

  “Militia troops,” Kendryk said.

  “Experienced mercenaries are better,” Gwynneth said. “I like the count’s idea. Give him a choice. If he intends to act in your best interest, he’ll join you. If not, you can publicly disavow him and order him away.”

  “I suppose it can’t hurt to try,” Kendryk said. “Let’s write that letter tonight.”

  Braeden

  Whenever the waiting seemed unbearable, Braeden reminded himself how much worse it must be inside the walls of Atlona. Teodora seemed to think the city had enough provisions to hold out for months, but right now there was no end to the siege in sight. Besides, Braeden knew that most hussars didn’t like long periods of inactivity. Those inside would be crawling out of their skins worse than he was.

  Braeden suspected that Reno Torresia didn’t mind the quieter schedule. With his wife and two daughters around him, he had a nearly normal family life. They worried about Adela, the eldest, pregnant and living in Atlona with her husband’s family, but they had lived with war for years now. In fact, Reno had met his wife Senta while sacking a town in Cesiano—Braeden forgot which one.

  Braeden had hoped that the middle girl might become a hussar herself. Cara was a wild little thing and sat a horse like a natural. But she’d turned fifteen and all of a sudden it was frilly skirts and making eyes at the best-looking of the young troopers. The baby, Trisa, was coming up nicely though. At twelve, she had the lanky, athletic build that made a good cavalry trooper, and idolized Franca. But with Franca inside Atlona, Trisa pestered Braeden to teach her how to use a lance, even though she was still too short. He also suspected she rode Kazmir when she could get away with it.

  Teodora called for Braeden and he went, with some misgiving. He couldn’t remember a personal conference turning out well for him. She was reclining on an ornate sofa, wearing a lacy gown unlike her usual clothing. He wondered if it was underwear and averted his gaze. At least she was in a good mood; rather uncommon these days.

  “I’ve had the most brilliant idea, Terris,” she said, smirking. “I’m sending you to Marjatya.”

  That caught him by surprise. “Marjatya, Your Highness?”

  “That’s what I said. There’s no sense in you lot sitting around here wasting your time when you could be causing trouble for Korma’s followers.”

  “I see. I’d hate to miss out on lifting the siege, Your Highness.”

  “Oh, you won’t. You won’t be far away, and when I receive word that help is on the way I’ll send for you. You’ll have plenty of time to get back.”

  No reasonable objections then. “Yes, Your Highness. What are your orders?”

  “Nothing too difficult. I have here a list of Marjatyan nobility that support Korma. Most are in the field with him. I want you to attack and destroy as much of their property as possible. When you can, get at least one hostage from each family and send them back here.”

  Braeden wondered how well he could keep his feelings from showing on his face.

  Not well, it appeared.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Terris. These are not innocent civilians.”

  Braeden raised his eyebrows.

  “They are not. They’ve rebelled against me and by maintaining their estates they continue to derive income that helps support the rebellion. I’m not asking you to kill peasants and townspeople, although if they get in your way, no one will fault you.”

  “Most will die if their homes and crops are destroyed,” Braeden ventured.

  “Not my concern.” She shrugged. “The aristocracy is responsible for its actions and the people on their lands should hold them accountable.” She sat up and looked straight at him. “You don’t believe me, but I’m well acquainted with your type, Terris. Once, I was like you, and had definite ideas about how good soldiers behave. I don’t have the luxury of those ideas anymore.”

  He was obliged to look back at her. She had never seemed so earnest; there was a softness about her. Once he noticed her bare feet he was certain she was in a state of undress. He felt a flush creep up his neck and hoped his beard covered it.

  She rose and walked toward him. It took everything he had not to step back. She stood right in front of him. Tall as she was, she still had to look up, which made her seem young and uncharacteristically vulnerable. “You must help me with this,” she said, her voice soft and throaty.

  Braeden wasn’t sure if she was seducing him. If she was, he wasn’t sure how to handle it. He needed to get out of there. “I will, Your Highness,” he said.

  “Good.” She smiled. “I’d prefer you didn’t see me as a monster, but in the end, people will think what they will.”

  “You’re not a monster,” Braeden said, thinking of Daciana.

  “It’s charming of you to say so, but I doubt it’s the truth. That’s all right. There’s no one living who understands what I’m going through right now. There is no ruler anywhere with an empire so large and so fraught with trouble. I also realize that no one else thinks so, but I know that I’m the best person to hold it together and restore it to greatness.”

  “I have no doubt about that.” Braeden meant it.

  She seemed startled. “Thank you. It’s a difficult task, but I’m capable and prepared to do whatever it takes. There are few willing to support me right now and I will not forget those who do.”

  “I want nothing special for doing my job,” Braeden said. “Carrying out orders I don’t like is nothing new.”

  “I think we understand each other.” She placed a rolled-up paper in his hand. “These are the names of the estates you will target.” Her voice had hardened again. “Start at the border and work your way east. If you run into Daciana, se
nd her here. She’ll stay out of your way if you stay out of hers.”

  “That is my intention, Your Highness.”

  “Good,” she smiled her usual cold smile. “Then I shall see you when we are ready to march on Korma.”

  Gwynneth

  “That’s all for tonight, Halvor.” Gwynneth put her quill down and rubbed her eyes.

  “Just let me finish this one, Your Grace,” Halvor said, still scribbling. “That way I can send it with the morning messenger.”

  “All right. But you must stop after that. We have all day tomorrow.”

  After being closeted with Faris most of the day, Kendryk had gone to Landrus’s study, as he did most afternoons. “Don’t wait up for me,” he had said, giving Gwynneth a quick kiss while she sat at her desk.

  In her room, Gwynneth shrugged on a velvet dressing gown and sent Catrin for her supper. She collapsed into an armchair, then picked up a pile of letters that had come in with the afternoon’s messenger. One was from her agent in Zastwar. As one of the imperial ambassador’s many secretaries, he had a great deal of interesting news.

  He wrote that Ambassador Arceo had been in daily talks with the Zastwar foreign minister. After four twelve-hour days of discussion, a temporary treaty appeared imminent.

  Gwynneth sighed. She was too tired to panic. She read more. The agreement would be good for two years and require the empress to give up two of her disputed frontier forts. It was far from certain she would agree to such humiliating terms, but the ambassador was very much in favor, under the circumstances.

  Gwynneth put down the letter. Her maid brought in a tray and put it on the table next to her. “You can go to bed, Catrin,” she said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Sipping wine and picking at her food, she went through the rest of the letters. There were few responses to the dozens she’d sent to every ruler in Kronland and everyone else she could think of, including family.