The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3

by Christina Ochs

  “Almost ten.” She dashed tears from her eyes. “Tall for his age but skinny, with dark hair getting too long and dark eyes. His name is Anton.”

  “Aren’t you young to have a ten-year-old?” She didn’t look a day over twenty.

  “He’s my stepson. But he’s been mine since he was four.”

  “Where did you last see him?”

  “South of the Moraltan border, at the top of that hill.”

  “How long ago now?”

  “I’m not sure.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I went into the woods and lost track. A few weeks, perhaps.”

  It sounded hopeless, with dead children everywhere these days, but Braeden tried to sound cheerful. “I’ll spread the word and we’ll all keep an eye out. Maybe he’ll turn up. Boys that age, they can be tough little buggers.”

  “Oh yes.” Her eyes lit up. They were large and hazel and quite beautiful, he noticed for the first time. Too big for her pale little face, though. “He’s tough, ever so much tougher than I am. I’m certain he could survive.”

  “Then he probably has,” Braeden said. “Now Miss, please don’t worry about a thing. Let Signora here take care of you, do little jobs for her if you can, and we’ll do what we can about your boy. All right?”

  She nodded and looked down again.

  Braeden stood, not sure if he’d done any good. “I’ll go now, but I’ll visit you again soon, if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all.” She looked up at him and stood. “Thank you for being so kind.”

  From over her shoulder, he saw Senta smiling at him.

  Kendryk

  Though Kendryk had warm memories of the times in the castle’s cramped library, having Landrus here at Birkenhof was far more convenient. Instead of riding to the river, he only had to walk to the guest wing of his own home. He found the priest hard at work as usual, in the little study they had improvised for him.

  “You should try to get outside for a bit.” Kendryk sat down across from the desk. “It’s beautiful out there.”

  Landrus glanced at the window with little interest. “There’s no time,” he said. “I feel such a strong pressure to work even faster right now.”

  “I won’t keep you long.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” Landrus put down his quill. “I find talking to you as helpful as poring over these scrolls and sometimes more so. By seeking to answer your questions, I often find interesting answers, even when they aren’t the ones you want.”

  “I’m glad I’m not too much of a bother then.” Kendryk smiled. “To be honest, I am under great pressure too, though of a different sort.”

  “I imagine you are. It seems everyone else in this household is eager to march into Teodora’s camp without delay.”

  “Eager doesn’t begin to describe the enthusiasm for that plan.” Kendryk let the frustration creep into his voice. “And I understand why. We’ve learned that Teodora has sent most of her guard into Marjatya, which means she would be easy to kill or capture. No one understands why I’m not keen to do so.”

  “It is hard to understand in the normal way of thinking.” Landrus pushed back from the desk and stretched.

  Kendryk winced at the sound of several sharp cracks from his back. Sitting at this desk day and night was taking its toll. He had it from the servants that the priest seldom slept over three hours at night. Kendryk wondered how long he could continue.

  Landrus slumped back into his chair. “Striking at Teodora while she’s so helpless is sure to turn many against you. The opposite must happen. You make the case against her so that allies are drawn to you.”

  “That’s what we’ve been trying to do. Gwynneth has written dozens of letters, with your pamphlets in every one of them. Many rulers have expressed interest in your ideas, but no one yet has offered any real help. No one except for Arian Orland that is.”

  Kendryk caught Landrus’s brief grimace. “You don’t like him, I realize that.” He sighed. “But you must admit, he’s here with a large force and a great deal of experience. No one else can stand against Teodora right now. My militia is close to useless and won’t improve.”

  “I understand. And I don’t wish to speak against Orland since I know so little about him. I get a bad impression from him though it’s nothing specific. But my prayers for guidance have so far gone unanswered.”

  “Perhaps there’s nothing.” Kendryk had to believe that. He couldn’t face yet another problem. “Though it’s true his manner can be abrasive.”

  “It’s not that,” Landrus said. “I’m a fair judge of character and something is wrong with his. But I haven’t spent enough time around him to discover what it is.”

  “Do you suspect him of disloyalty?” Kendryk frowned. “That he might be an agent for Teodora?”

  “No, nothing so obvious.” Landrus shook his head. “Your Grace, I don’t wish to cause you unease, but I wish you didn’t need to rely upon him.”

  “I won’t much longer. Count Faris’s latest message says he’s assembling a large infantry and artillery force and will march this way as soon as he can. He also has contacts in the Zeelund government and might enlist more help from them.”

  “That’s good. Zeelund is the ally you need. They practice a far better version of the Faith and are wealthy enough to offer meaningful help. “

  “But what should I do in the meantime? I have enough troops to attack Teodora before she gets help, so no one understands why I don’t.”

  “You’re in charge.” Landrus smiled. “You needn’t do what everyone else wants. You must please yourself and the gods, and no one else.”

  “I wish the gods made themselves clearer.” Kendryk knew he should trust his own judgment and the guidance he’d been given, but it wasn’t enough to stop the dread rising inside him.

  “Have they not so far?” Landrus asked. “They haven’t spoken to you again as they did in the dream, but that is not always their way. And yet, you’ve always received guidance when you most needed it. They will not fail you now you’ve come this far.”

  “You’re right. But I pray and pray and study as much as I can and yet I understand less than I did when I first brought you back here.” No one else seemed as frustrated as Kendryk, but then, no one else had his responsibilities.

  “It’s not wrong to doubt,” Landrus said, his voice softer now. “It’s natural, especially in this very difficult situation. You are handling it brilliantly. Just don’t let anyone force you into action that doesn’t seem right to you.”

  Even though he hadn’t resolved anything, Kendryk felt better. He made to get up, but Landrus said, “If Your Grace has time, there’s another matter I’d like to discuss with you, soon if not today.”

  Janna

  Janna ran outside the tent again as her breakfast came back up. This was the third time since last night. When she came back in, Senta looked concerned. “You might be sick. You should ride in a wagon today.”

  Janna shook her head. “I’d rather not. I’m all right otherwise. Do you suppose it might be … oh gods, I can’t even bear the thought.” She put her head in her hands.

  Senta led her to a cot and made her sit. “Listen, little dove,” she said with her lovely accent. “You might be, or you maybe ate something too rich last night. You were starving not so long ago, and it takes time to get back to normal. But a baby is not the end of the world.”

  “Isn’t it?” Janna couldn’t hold back the tears. “I can’t … I won’t know who the father is. The only certain thing is that it was one of those horrible men. What if I hate the baby? What if every time I see it, I remember….”

  “Ah, it won’t always be like that.” Senta patted her back. “You will be so busy with a baby, which will be so sweet, you’ll forget all about those men after a while.”

  “How do you know? Unless it’s happened to you, how could you know?”

  “It hasn’t happened to me, true,” Senta said. “But in my time with the hussars, I watched many women
go through the same thing. It’s one of the most common things to happen in wartime and often babies come afterward. Those women always manage. And you might not believe it, but a husband adds difficulties. Even if the baby looks like him, he will always wonder.”

  “Oh, that would be too dreadful.” Janna couldn’t imagine Dimir reacting to her plight very well. She was sure he never would have put her aside, but she wondered if he might have always held it against her. But then she thought of something else. “How will I survive with a baby? Must I leave it at a temple?”

  Senta shook her head. “Of course not. No matter what happens, we will not abandon you.”

  “But I can’t impose on you forever,” Janna wailed.

  “You won’t. A pretty girl like you—and you are pretty as soon as you gain a little weight.” Senta had an obsession with girls having ample figures. That her own daughters all had athletic builds was a source of distress for her. “You will get a husband in no time. You should choose a high-ranking officer though. More money and nicer things, better quarters in the towns.” She made it sound as though Janna would have her pick of suitors, a ridiculous idea.

  Though she found the idea of a husband repulsive at the moment, Janna saw the sense in it. She was no good at taking care of herself. But while the hussars were all kind enough, she still found them foreign and frightening. The men were large, rough and loud, and she’d seen them kill without hesitation. Being married to one of them seemed a terrifying prospect. But when the time came, she’d have to do it. Baby or not, she mustn’t live on the Torresia’s kindness forever.

  “How will I find a husband if I already have a baby?” she asked in a small voice.

  Senta shrugged. “Easily enough. There are plenty of widows with children around and they nearly always find someone. You’re so sweet and you’ll look good once you’re plumper. It’s possible you’ll be snapped up before the baby is born. If there’s a baby at all.”

  Janna wiped her tears and got to work, helping pack up the tent. She hoped Senta was wrong about the baby. It would be too cruel of the gods to take the children she loved and give her one she would probably hate instead.

  Braeden

  “We’re done here, sir.” Reno’s eyes watered from the smoke.

  “Move out,” Braeden shouted, and the hussars gathered from the various points they’d scattered when the fighting started.

  Braeden saw no survivors. With any luck, the folks that stayed out of the fight were hiding in the woods somewhere.

  “What’s left?” Braeden asked.

  “Just the village below the castle,” Reno said. “I think it might be empty. A scout reported people running for the castle right after we got here.”

  “Let’s burn it anyway. Sends a message. Get everyone to gather round, and then we’ll deploy around the castle.” Braeden’s orders were to take Count Andarosz’s castle by any means necessary. The count was one of Andor Korma’s most fervent supporters.

  Braeden squinted at the castle. Built on flat land, it was small and old. It hadn’t served as a fortification since the Zastwar armies last came through here a hundred years ago. With any luck, the defenders were ill-prepared. Most of the fighting people in these parts had marched to Atlona with Korma, leaving behind the elderly, and women with young children.

  The air cleared as they moved down the road toward the village. “Round up any livestock,” Braeden said. The villagers hadn’t had time to take everything to the castle on such short notice. It was nice having fresh meat on hand, now they were deep into rebel territory with not a supply line in sight.

  A few troopers rode off and some time later, drove a herd of cows and goats down the road toward their camp. When he’d received word that the village was stripped of valuables, Braeden gave the order to burn it. They’d be sure to see that at the castle.

  It was near evening by the time he approached the walls. Many times, they’d gone around the castles, burning everything else, but Braeden needed to get a hostage here. Any Andarosz would do, according to Teodora’s list. The count’s wife and children ought to be here.

  Braeden rode up to the gate. He’d put on his wings, just for effect. A crossbow bolt whizzed past his ear, snapping at the feathers. A few more bolts flew by. He wondered if they didn’t have firearms. More likely, they had a few, but were saving their ammunition. He waited a few more minutes until the shooting stopped. Their aim was terrible, which meant there were no older soldiers here. Few youngsters these days learned how to shoot a crossbow.

  A head poked up over the battlements. “What do you want?” a man shouted.

  “I’d like to speak to the Countess Andarosz, if she is at home,” Braeden shouted back.

  “She is, but she doesn’t want to speak to you.”

  “I’ll wait.” Braeden turned Kazmir around and rode away. When he reached the hussar line, he sent them off in twos, until they surrounded the castle in a thin circle. It wasn’t an impressive show, but then the castle wasn’t very big either. When he gave the order, everyone fired their arquebusses at once. They were to aim over the battlements, and with any luck, a few balls would reach over them. He didn’t expect they’d hit anyone, unless it was an accident, but it would give the defenders an idea of what they were facing.

  A gratifying racket echoed off the stone walls. Braeden waited for the smoke to clear. Nothing from the castle. He ordered a few more rounds, and this time they moved closer. A few crossbow bolts flew, but hit nothing.

  At last a shout came from the castle. “The countess will see you.”

  Braeden rode to the gate. A face poked through a slit in the wall next to it. “You’re to come in, alone.”

  Braeden dismounted and handed Kazmir’s reins to Trisa, who’d just ridden up behind him. He handed her his weapons and unstrapped his wings. These were no hardened killers, and if any harm came to him, they wouldn’t live much longer.

  A small door in the gate opened and closed right behind Braeden. The countess already stood in front of him.

  “We won’t surrender.” Her voice was firm, although panic showed in her dark eyes.

  “It’s better if you do,” Braeden said, hoping she’d give up quickly.

  Gwynneth

  Gwynneth watched the children play for a few minutes longer, then made her way back to the palace. Kendryk would be with Landrus, as usual. She asked for a tray to be sent to the library for luncheon and got back to work. Halvor had copied letters all morning while Avaron opened the messages as they arrived.

  “Your Grace, you should see this one right away,” she said, as soon as Gwynneth sat down at her desk. It was a note from Princess Martinek of Podoska, a small kingdom southeast of Terragand. Raiders from Moralta were crossing her borders and burning crops and villages before disappearing again. She didn’t know who they were or who sent them, but blamed Teodora and Kendryk for starting the trouble.

  Gwynneth tossed the letter onto her desk and put her head in her hands. It didn’t matter who was behind it if she could somehow convince Kendryk that Teodora was attacking Kronland. After a moment she said, “Avaron, send for Count Orland and ask him to come here as soon as he can.” She’d seen him return to the palace earlier, so perhaps he was still nearby.

  He entered the library with an easy saunter that wasn’t quite the thing off the battlefield, but it suited him well enough. He bowed with a flourish as Gwynneth rose from her desk. “Princess, I am honored.” He straightened up and took her hand, brushing it with his lips while regarding her with his too-bold dark eyes. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever speak a word to me.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Gwynneth snapped, more sharply than she meant to. She had spoken to him, in dinner conversation at least. It was true there’d been nothing beyond that since she was in here the rest of the time, leaving Kendryk to entertain the men afterward. “Please, sit down,” she said, taking a seat across from him.

  He slouched back, his legs outstretched and unapologetic
about the mud on his boots. “What have I done, Princess? Since I’m sure you wouldn’t bother to speak to me unless you wished to call me to the carpet for something.”

  “You must have a guilty conscience.” She smiled, then cursed herself for falling into flirtation. “But no, you are not in trouble, and I don’t wish to hear any lurid confessions,” she said firmly, changing her tone.

  “That’s a relief. I was wondering if I’d offended you.”

  “Not at all. I’ve been busy. I apologize for being such a poor hostess. The times are …”

  “Difficult.” He leaned forward, his tone serious now. “I understand that well Princess, and I should be the one apologizing for imposing upon you so. Now, how may I be of service?”

  That was better. “I’d like your opinion on what Kendryk should do next, from a military perspective.”

  “We should march on Olvisya right now. Teodora is so weak at the moment, we could overcome her easily with my troops alone. She’s surrounded by so few Sanova Hussars that we might have a chance.

  “My sources tell me the Sanova Hussars are in Marjatya.”

  “That’s welcome news. In that case, we should act now. Anyone Faris brings can serve as reinforcement should Ensden be able to come to her rescue.”

  “That’s what I was thinking. The hussars won’t be far and could probably relieve Teodora within a day or two, so you’d have to sneak up on her.”

  “I could do it.”

  Gwynneth sat back in her chair, pushing down her excitement. “Kendryk thinks Andor Korma might attack Teodora, but if he hasn’t yet, I doubt he will.”

  “He won’t. I’ve met the man. He’s brave, but stubborn and rather an idiot. Even if the other Marjatyans see the possibilities, which I doubt, they’ll never be able to talk sense into him.”