The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3

by Christina Ochs

  “That’s what I thought. So you believe now is the best time to attack Teodora?” It was a relief to finally have someone agree with her.

  “Absolutely. I’ve been trying to convince your husband, but he seems averse to making the first move.”

  Gwynneth sighed. “He doesn’t want to be seen as the aggressor.”

  “No one would fault him for being aggressive against Teodora, though I take it he has other considerations. He spends a lot of time with that Landrus fellow, a queer enough sort from the looks of him.”

  “Oh, he’s all right. He’s just got Kendryk tied up in knots over an obscure theological problem. At first I thought he would support quick action because he has the most to lose should Teodora prevail. But it’s not so simple. It ties in with something about the gods and a big battle and so on.”

  “How annoying,” Orland said.

  “It is. I have nothing against the man, but he’s holding us back now.”

  “That won’t matter if we can find a reason for the prince to act anyway. If there’s a worry of imminent danger, for instance.”

  “Linette, get that letter from Princess Martinek on my desk.” Linette brought the letter and handed it to Gwynneth, all while staring at Orland and blushing. Gwynneth rolled her eyes. Orland caught that and smiled. Gwynneth handed him the letter. “Do you have any idea who might have done this?”

  He glanced over the letter, shook his head and handed it back. “No idea. It might be Daciana Tomescu, although last I heard she was in Marjatya. Could be bandits, or partisans trying to start trouble. It doesn’t matter. How much proof does the prince need before he’s willing to act?”

  “I don’t know. I wish Count Faris were here. I’m sure he’d agree with us, and Kendryk always listens to him.”

  “I thought he always listened to you.”

  “He does. Or rather, he did, until Father Landrus came here. Now it seems the religious reasons will forever trump the practical.”

  “How did you ever get him to rescue Landrus?”

  “I convinced him that Korma besieging Atlona was a sign from the gods. Now he’s waiting for the next one.”

  “So, it will need to be impressive. I doubt these little raids on Podoska will do it.”

  “Oh, it’s frustrating!” She flung the letter onto a little table.

  “Is there any chance of convincing Landrus to help us?”

  “I doubt it. Though perhaps you should talk to him.”

  “Oh no.” Orland laughed. “Not me. He doesn’t care for me in the least. I hate it when he’s at dinner because he has that disapproving glare…”

  “Oh, I know what you mean. He makes me feel like a little girl who’s misbehaved.”

  “I think we must let the good priest be and try to convince Kendryk from the practical standpoint. If we can’t do it right away, I’m sure Count Faris’s arrival will help.”

  “I wish he’d hurry,” Gwynneth fretted. “I’m so disappointed in the response from the rest of Kronland. You’ve been the only one to offer real help. I hope you realize we appreciate it.”

  “Why thank you.” He flashed a blinding smile at her. “I’m just doing my duty, but it’s nice to be appreciated, by you in particular.”

  “I don’t want to keep you from your work, and I must get back to mine,” she said, standing. He rose as well.

  She walked him to the library door. “I suppose for now, we’ll keep mentioning the threat from the south and let him draw his own conclusions. Beyond that, we need to wait for Faris to arrive.”

  Braeden

  Countess Andarosz may have been frightened, but she was also angry. Braeden doubted she was as old as he was, but judging by the lines on her face, life hadn’t been easy. It often wasn’t for minor aristocrats. Only one step above peasant, survival was almost as much of a struggle. “Of course it’s better for you,” she said, her dark eyes flashing. “What good does it do me to surrender?”

  “I’m sure you know what happens when a castle is sacked.” It wasn’t a threat; just the way it went.

  “There are children here,” she said. “And many villagers. They have no part in this fight.”

  “Ah yes, children.” Braeden hated doing this. “That’s one reason I’m here. My orders are to escort one member of the Andarosz family to Atlona to be a guest of the empress.”

  She paled. “A hostage? There’s just me and the children. The oldest is only eleven. He can’t go.”

  “He must. If you let him go, we’ll ride away in the morning and leave you alone.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “We’ll wait you out since we know you’re not provisioned for a siege. You’re almost out of water, too.”

  “We have a well.”

  “Going dry.” He’d picked up this useful bit of information from a villager they’d questioned earlier in the day.

  The look on her face showed the man hadn’t lied.

  “We’ll fight.”

  “With crossbows? Come now countess, we both know that while your walls may be strong, there aren’t enough fighters here. We’ll break your gate down within a few hours. If you don’t surrender, our orders are to kill everyone.”

  “Everyone? You’d slaughter innocent women and children? What kind of knight are you?”

  “Not really a knight.” Braeden shrugged. He didn’t tell her he’d let most of the civilians get away.

  She stood silent for a moment. “What if we surrender without the hostage?”

  “That won’t happen. If you surrender, we take a hostage. Those are my orders.”

  “You can take me,” she said. “I can’t bear the thought of Karil … no, it’s too awful.”

  “Lady.” Braeden shifted onto his other foot. “Think about it. How many children do you have?”

  “Five.” Her voice quavered.

  “How old is the youngest?”

  “Two.” Tears spilled from her eyes.

  “You can’t leave them. You can’t leave your people here. When I go, you will have whatever is within these walls, but everything outside them is gone. The months ahead will be hard for everyone. What will they do without you? Your husband, if he comes back, won’t do so for some time. Stay, for your children and your people. We’ll treat your boy well. We won’t put him in a dungeon and someone will look after him. Eleven is old enough.”

  “For some,” she said, the tears still falling. “But not for him. He’s just not ready.”

  “I am sorry,” Braeden said, and he was. But he hoped she saw the sense in what he was saying.

  “Not sorry enough.” She sighed. “But I suppose we always knew the risks.”

  Indeed. And losing one child was a small price for rebellion, compared to what others had, and would, pay.

  “All right.” She wiped the tears from her face with her sleeve. “I will get him. He’ll need time to gather his things.”

  “There is no hurry,” Braeden said. “Have him ready to go at first light. And please, don’t substitute someone else’s child. When I find out, I’ll come back, and then you won’t have any choices.” Braeden made a small bow, turned on his heel and walked through the door that opened in front of him, and shut behind him again just as quickly.

  In the morning, he rode to the gate with a small contingent. The door opened once more, and a boy came out, carrying a small bundle. Braeden dismounted and took the bundle. “Your name?” he asked.

  “Karil Andarosz.” He was small for eleven, with his mother’s enormous dark eyes in a narrow, pale face. Braeden could see why she hadn’t wanted to let him go.

  “Can you ride?”

  The boy nodded.

  Braeden had a horse brought forward. It was a spare, and the smallest he could find. It was still too big, and he could see that the boy was frightened. He’d probably ridden nothing larger than a pony until now.

  There was no way he could mount on his own, so Braeden picked him up around the waist and lifted him onto the saddle. �
�This is Zoltan. He’s a battle charger, and well-trained. He’s big, but will respond to the smallest command from you. You’d be riding something of the sort in a few years anyway, wouldn’t you?” He gave the boy a small smile.

  Karil smiled back tremulously. From the looks of him, he wasn’t warrior material, but in a few years he might grow quite a bit. Braeden himself had been a scrawny little thing until he shot up at thirteen. Maybe he’d tell him about that on the way to the empress.

  “All right, Karil. Wave goodbye,” Braeden said. “You won’t be back for a while.”

  Karil waved, and a red flag fluttered from the battlements. The boy gulped back tears.

  “Move out,” Braeden said, then turned to Karil. “Think of it as an adventure. It’s boring around here, and you’re about to meet the empress of the land.”

  This seemed to rouse the boy. “She is not the rightful one.”

  “You aren’t the only one who thinks so,” Braeden said. “But you should keep those ideas to yourself. Think what you like, but don’t say it, and it’ll go easier for you.”

  Kendryk

  “Let’s talk now.” Kendryk sat back down.

  “We must discuss the changes the Faith has undergone in Terragand,” Landrus said. “I receive a great deal of correspondence from temples around the land, and most now embrace the new form of worship.”

  “I’ve heard similar things. I can’t imagine Julia has endorsed them though she’s been silent since our return.”

  “Julia is finished,” Landrus said rather dismissively considering how close he and the Maxima had once been. “Though she still holds the office, she has no power. Priests and priestesses are ordering the worship as they see fit and reading the passages I’ve translated from the Scrolls to their congregations. They ignore any orders to stop.”

  Kendryk shifted in his seat. “I don’t suppose Julia can do what she did with you.”

  “She’d need to arrest every cleric in the land at this point. Except for a few hold-outs, their congregations have removed them and replaced them with lay clergy.”

  “I didn’t know about that,” Kendryk said, appalled.

  “It’s done with little fuss. The Duke of Emberg is still a threat, and no one wants to cause you any more trouble.”

  “I wouldn’t let my uncle interfere.”

  “Not everyone knows that. But the Faith is undergoing great changes and it might be time for you to consider making some of your own.”

  “What sorts of changes?” Kendryk didn’t want another thing to worry about.

  “Julia could be removed and a new hierarchy put into place.”

  “We would choose a new Maxima?”

  “No, you can do away with the office altogether.”

  “But who would oversee the temples? If Julia is gone, you should be maximus. I’d be happy to appoint you.”

  “I appreciate that. But I don’t want the job. I can be more effective the way I am, at least for now. In that post, I would become bogged down in administrative tasks and another set of politics. No, it’s time congregations received more power and worked with their priest or priestess to set up a temple they like.”

  “That sounds like anarchy.” Kendryk’s head ached.

  “Not at all,” Landrus said. “According to the Scrolls, all of this Temple hierarchy is heretical. Nowhere is there any mention of Imperata or maximus. It’s the gods, the priests and the people. That’s all.”

  “That seems radical.”

  “It is. And it might take time before it settles into a workable state.”

  “What about those who don’t want change?”

  “They are wrong. Most are frightened of change, or misinformed. Their fellow believers will guide them to the truth.”

  “This is the first I’ve heard of this. I don’t know what to think. Given my current problems, I’d rather not confront Julia.”

  “What’s the worst she can do?”

  “She’s not without her own power. My uncle is not in open rebellion, but he’s made no secret of the fact he finds the course I’ve taken illegal and appalling. He would welcome the chance to throw his weight behind Julia once she has a grievance.”

  “True.” Landrus didn’t seem upset at the prospect.

  “Can we leave her in place for the time being? Once I’ve dealt with Teodora, it will be a simple matter to remove her, although I still don’t quite understand how we go ahead from there.”

  “It will be simple. Though there will be no religious head of the Temple, the priests and priestesses will still need to be bound by a few rules. Those would come from you. You would oversee the practical side of the Temple, or appoint someone who does.”

  “I am not fit for that role,” Kendryk said, alarmed.

  “You will be when the time is right. Soon, you will head the Faith in Terragand and the people will decide how to worship.”

  “I’m not sure I like this. I don’t wish to start a new religion or be the head of it. I liked much about the old one and don’t wish it destroyed altogether.”

  “It won’t be completely. But if we’re to prepare for the last battle, we must make significant changes, and soon.”

  For someone who wasn’t a rebel, Kendryk was overseeing changes so radical they made Andor Korma look like an amateur. He didn’t like the feeling.

  Gwynneth

  Gwynneth seldom joined the rest in the drawing room after supper, but she’d written all the letters she could stand. Besides, she felt guilty leaving all the hosting duties to Kendryk, who had more than enough to do. She also realized she looked particularly well today; her cheeks rosy and her eyes bright, and she sensed the appreciation at supper.

  Kendryk shot her a grateful look when he saw her take Landrus’s arm as they left the dining room. Once they reached the drawing room, Kendryk drew Landrus into a corner to pore over a strange-looking document, while Ossian Schurtz and the two Maladene officers took up a card game.

  Arian Orland waved them off when they asked him to join.

  “Don’t they need a fourth?” she asked as he followed her to another corner.

  “Not for this game. Besides, I hate to leave you alone since you so seldom join us.”

  “I’ve been a terrible hostess.” She sat on a sofa, letting her skirts billow out around her. Arian took a seat in a chair next to it.

  “Not at all.” He smiled. He smiled often, probably because he looked so good doing it. His teeth were white and straight, a pleasant contrast to his olive skin, and he had a dimple in his left cheek. “Everyone is busy right now and you most of all. A great deal depends on what you’re doing.”

  It was about time someone acknowledged the importance of her work. “I’m glad you’re here with your wonderful cavalry, but if we’re to challenge the empress in any meaningful way, we will need several powerful allies.”

  “I agree.” Arian leaned forward and dropped his voice. “Have you had any luck persuading your husband to move now?”

  She shook her head. “He’s preoccupied with religious matters. And I’m certain that Father Landrus has counseled patience because he’s said no more about doing anything. It’s so frustrating,” she added in a whisper.

  “It is,” Arian said. “But he’s the ruler, and we must do as he says.”

  “Yes though I can’t help wondering if he’s making a dreadful mistake.” Once the words started they wanted to pour out. She’d prided herself on not complaining, but now she wondered if that was because she had no one to complain to.

  Arian wasn’t the right person either but now she could not stop herself. “And I worry that no allies will step forward until he takes action. Once he does so I’m certain others will follow, but if we wait for Teodora to move, they may be too frightened.”

  Arian shrugged. He never seemed to worry much about anything. “All we can do is keep showing him the best way and hope he’ll take it.”

  “That’s not enough,” Gwynneth said. “Even if it’s difficu
lt, I would rather march on Teodora instead of sitting here, waiting for something to happen.”

  “Something will happen soon enough. It always does.”

  “I wish I could relax about it like you do.”

  “I wasn’t always like this. It comes from spending so much time in the military. You become accustomed to waiting. In fact, you spend little time fighting. You’re either on the march, or sitting in camp.”

  “It sounds awful. I always pictured military life as glamorous and exciting.”

  “Everyone does until they experience it. Still, I prefer it to sitting in palaces all day. An evening like this one is a pleasant diversion, but I find endless talk of politics and religion boring. I prefer to make things happen rather than waiting for events to unfold.”

  “So do I. And that’s how my life has been so far. This is the first time I feel I have no control.”

  Arian leaned toward her. “To be honest, Princess, I am surprised at your husband. If you were mine, I would do whatever you asked.”

  Gwynneth blushed, quite against her will. “Pretty words notwithstanding,” she said, “I doubt that would happen, the first time you disagreed with me about something.”

  “Don’t be so sure. You seem so intelligent and logical, I doubt I could disagree with you about anything.”

  No one had flattered her like this in a long time, and it was going straight to her head. She hoped she kept it from showing. “It’s kind of you to say so. I like to think I’m right most of the time.”

  “I’m sure you are,” Arian said, his head cocked in a most attractive fashion.

  Gwynneth sensed she was at a disadvantage. Maybe it had been too long since she had engaged in flirtatious banter.

  Long after Kendryk went to sleep that night, Gwynneth mused that Kendryk and Arian combined would create a perfect man. Kendryk was all thought while Arian was all action. Since Arian was a younger son, he’d had to make his own way in the world and it seemed he’d done so rather well, showing both enterprise and ambition. While she admired Kendryk’s intelligence and thoughtfulness, they seemed to hinder him right now. Decisive action was needed, and she was certain Arian would have handled all of this differently.