Braeden pulled Kazmir to a stop as he stepped into a small stream. The fog against the hills in front of them hadn’t lifted, and it was hard to tell what was directly ahead. To his right he could see the front ranks of the empress’s personal troops. Over here the fog had burned off, and the sun shone bright.
Teodora wore a full suit of gold plate armor and rode a magnificent white courser. A deep red cloak fell from her shoulders. She wore no helmet and her heavy black hair hung loose to her waist, lifting like a flag in the breeze.
“Now that’s a sight to behold,” Miro said, frankly appreciative.
“She’s still an evil bitch. I hate fighting for her.”
“Rather fight for the loser?”
“He wouldn’t be losing if we were over there. In fact, if Orland were here, it’d be a different story.”
“Wonder why he’s not. Thought he and Prince Kendryk were like brothers.”
“Theological differences.” Franca rode up between them.
Miro rolled his eyes.
“Do you reckon?” Braeden wondered. “Arian Orland doesn’t strike me as someone who cares much about religion.”
“But Prince Kendryk does,” Franca said. “And he’s even thicker with that Landrus fellow. One word of disagreement with the priest and you’d be out on your ear. Anyway, I delivered your message and Novitny had a good laugh. Said you should be ready to go soon and watch out for guns on that hill. With any luck we’ll crush the right flank straightaway and swoop down on the prince himself. Oh there he is!” A sudden breeze had cleared away the mist clinging to the hills.
Braeden followed Franca’s gaze. Prince Kendryk was right in front of them, conferring with one of his officers. With his glittering silver armor and a blue plume rising high from his helmet, he’d make a good target, even in the smoke and confusion of battle. He looked quite cool, sitting his horse with the same easy grace that had first impressed Braeden. If he was bothered because he’d just burned his ancestral home and sent his young family into that mousetrap of a castle, he didn’t show it.
“Oh, he’s lovely.” Franca sighed. “I hope I’m not the one to kill him. I don’t think I could bear it.”
Kendryk
“It’s done,” Kendryk said, as he joined Count Faris and the rest. His battle charger was waiting for him, so he checked his weapons and mounted. As he left the burning palace, he had already heard the splash of troops fording the river. They would be here soon.
“I don’t understand.” Faris shook his head. “There was no need to destroy Birkenhof. If the empress occupies it, I’m sure she would leave it unharmed.”
“I don’t want her to occupy it,” Kendryk said through clenched teeth. He felt if he relaxed a single muscle he might collapse into a thousand pieces.
He didn’t tell Faris the real truth, which was that he felt compelled to punish himself. It didn’t seem right he’d asked his people to destroy their own homes while his still stood.
And even if he survived this and came back someday, it would never be the same. Though he was glad of his reconciliation with Gwynneth, his marriage would never be what it had once been. If he ever saw his children again they would be older and the little ones might not remember him. If he ever was to have a home again, he’d rebuild it from the ground up, on some other, impossibly distant day.
Once mounted, he and Faris rode to the front of the lines. There was a heavy fog but Kendryk wanted to be ready, in case the enemy stumbled upon them accidentally. That at least might give them an early advantage though he doubted any of Teodora’s commanders would be inexperienced enough to let that happen. “Take as many troops as you can through the gap behind us when we’re overrun,” he told Faris.
“Let’s not talk of retreat.”
“I don’t want you to sacrifice yourself needlessly.”
“So you can?” Faris was the closest to angry Kendryk had ever seen him. “It’s all very well they’ll write poetry about your heroism but you being dead won’t help the rest of us.”
“I’m not sacrificing myself. If we can regroup and fight again, I’m all for that. I want you to know that if something happens to me, you should salvage what you can.”
“I’ll keep fighting. You needn’t worry about that.” Faris’s jaw was set, his gray eyes resolute.
“Thank you,” Kendryk said, then looked forward. The mist lifted, and he saw them now. As he had expected, Teodora held the middle with Ensden’s veterans. That meant Barela would be on her right, and Novitny on her left. Kendryk rode toward his right. His best and most experienced troops were here; pike accustomed to repelling heavy cavalry.
He hadn’t seen his uncle, but Faris had sent him to hold the left. He would have preferred to have the professionals face Barela, but he didn’t have enough to put them in both places and make a difference.
Kendryk spotted Colonel DeGroot, who had survived the plague in fairly good condition, though he still looked somewhat yellow about the gills. “How do they look?” he asked.
“Good, Your Grace. I’ve got them swinging the pike around like a lot of lubbers. Put on a good show for Novitny.”
“Ah yes.” Kendryk looked ahead. The Sanovans had come up, their black standards fluttering over a sea of wings. At least DeGroot had experience in fending off cavalry, so he might hold on long enough. But long enough for what? There was no rescue coming, no reinforcement.
He nodded to DeGroot and cantered back to the center. The imperial troops kept coming. “How many do you reckon?’ he asked Faris.
“At least thirty thousand.”
Kendryk swallowed hard against a sudden surge of nausea. He had less than fifteen thousand, and those included Evard’s green militia. It had done well enough in the Garsten Gap, but was at a disadvantage right here. Best to just get it over with.
He nodded at Faris, who gave the signal. Guns on the hill behind him fired all at once. The balls landed in Ensden’s third rank, but the group was so vast, there was barely a ripple. The imperial guns replied at once. Kendryk winced as cannonballs shrieked overhead. They landed in the middle of the troops behind him. He closed his ears to the ungodly sounds and pulled down his visor. Time to advance before any more damage was done.
His guns fired again. Their crews were well-drilled and experienced. He just needed three times as many. Shot whistled around him now and the noise rose. He saw only straight ahead through the slits in his helmet, and smoke billowed everywhere. He spurred his horse on and drew both pistols. Glimpsing the imperial standard, he wondered if Teodora was near. His only hope of turning the tide was to find her and fire before she did.
Braeden
Braeden turned his attention to the enemy troops. They looked impressive. The backbone of Prince Kendryk’s force stood across from them in alternating blocks of pike and musket in the Zeelund style.
Braeden eyed the pikemen. It looked like their pikes might be longer than the hussar lances, but if the soldiers weren’t used to that length, their maneuvers would be clumsy. He was more worried about the placement of the muskets.
“Send word to the captains,” he told Franca and Miro. “We’ll move double-time with close ranks. The muskets will be quick on the first round. I want them overrun before they can get off a second one.” Now he could see the clumsy movements of the pikemen. “Tell them not to worry about the pike.”
Franca returned and took her place on his left, fidgety and bright-eyed. Smoke and flame burst from Prince Kendryk’s guns on the hillside, but all the shells landed well to Braeden’s right.
The imperial guns replied, and the shells landed somewhere in the back of Prince Kendryk’s ranks. The imperial center moved forward, the black and red Inferrara standards fluttering boldly, in front of endless ranks of shining pike and helm.
His way was clear. He looked back for the last time. The Sanova Hussars stood ready, the rising breeze rustling through their black wings and the black banners fluttering from their lances. Kazmir snorted and pawed at t
he mud.
“Forward!” Braeden shouted and spurred Kazmir into a gallop. The pike swung into formation, but Braeden waited for musket fire. The sound of the wings rushing in his ears made it hard to hear anything else. Straight ahead he noticed a young musketeer, his eyes wide as he raised his weapon. A puff of smoke came from the barrel. Braeden’s lance slid into forward position as Kazmir bore down on the bristling hedge of pike. Franca was no longer at his side and Kazmir veered away when the pike didn’t budge.
Braeden pulled Kazmir around. “Regroup!” he called to Reno, at the head of the second rank, which hadn’t yet reached the line. With lances down, no one was prepared to shoot. In the meantime, the musketeers might have time to reload.
Braeden threw his lance down and pulled out both pistols. Miro was beside him. “Dura?” Braeden asked.
“Her horse went down.” Miro’s voice shook a little, and he swallowed. “I don’t know what happened to her, sir.”
Braeden swore under his breath, but he had no time to look for Franca. The pike were advancing in good order so the clumsy maneuvers had clearly been a ruse. Novitny should have been too experienced to fall for it though Braeden had been no better. “It’s time we stopped underestimating Prince Kendryk,” he said to Miro. “Get word to Novitny that everyone keep their eyes open for Arian Orland, on our flank in particular. The way things are going, he’s likely to give us trouble when we least need it.”
He turned to the rest of his banner as Miro galloped off. “One more time.” He urged Kazmir into a canter and raised his pistols. “We go around the pike and take down the musketeers.”
That worked well enough, and just in time, too. Just past the first rank, Braeden pulled out his saber and spotted a flash of red braid. Franca was using her dead horse’s body as a shield, but she was nearly surrounded. Fortunately, the musketeers near her hadn’t finished reloading when Braeden arrived.
He used his left hand to pull out his arquebus while slashing his way through with the saber in his right. Kazmir charged ahead like normal. “Dura,” he shouted as he came up behind her. In the blink of an eye she was on Kazmir’s back and pulled out Braeden’s hammer.
The two of them cut through reloading musketeers like butter and suddenly were on the pike’s flank. “Now we roll them up,” Braeden said under his breath. The ranks were much thinner than they’d looked at first. A second rank of muskets couldn’t get off a shot before the hussars were upon them. Once Braeden saw their backs, he circled around so Franca could get another mount.
Even though it looked promising, Braeden didn’t want to take any chances. He grabbed an enemy pike by the collar and dragged her back. “Where’s Arian Orland?” he asked.
Her eyes had been large and terrified, but she laughed. “Who knows? He’s been banished from Terragand.”
Braeden dropped her. “Why?”
She shrugged. “Rumor is he got too familiar with Princess Gwynneth and the prince sent him packing.”
After the other stories he’d heard about Orland, that seemed plausible. Braeden hoped it was true. He handed the woman off to an ensign who was already rounding up prisoners and got back into the fight. He couldn’t see what was happening on the rest of the field because of all the smoke, but the hussars were deep into Prince Kendryk’s right flank. With any luck, they’d be on the prince himself before long.
Kendryk
Kendryk noticed vague shapes ahead of him and fired. One of them went down. He shoved his pistols back into their holsters and drew a second pair. This got him right into a sleeve of musketeers, who were busy reloading. He set to with his saber, unsure if anyone had followed him. If he was lucky, someone would get a good shot off at him right now. No one did, although bullets whistled all around him and clanged off of his armor.
He slashed blindly with his saber, and a few times felt he’d caught someone or something. A horse screamed, and the ground rose to meet him. Instinctively, he flung himself clear and struggled back to his feet. His horse lay on its side thrashing and then stopped. Kendryk held his saber and looked around. The fight had somehow gone around him. Sweat poured down his face and then a horse snorted in his ear.
“There you are, Your Grace,” said someone whose name he couldn’t recall. “I brought you another mount.”
“Right, thank you.” Kendryk swung into the saddle, gratified to discover more loaded pistols. His men were right behind him and had cut a small swath into the enemy line. That wasn’t always helpful. The imperial troops were in the deep Maladene formations, staggered to catch their opponents in crossfire. A step in any direction would put Kendryk in its path. Unable to see, he chose a direction and went.
A slight breeze lifted the smoke a little and Kendryk noticed that his small contingent was even deeper into the enemy ranks. He saw no point in falling back now. If he’d had a larger force they might have regrouped and tried another frontal assault, but he didn’t know what was behind him. By now, it might be Teodora.
All of these thoughts took little time. Kendryk spurred his horse again, toward the side of a square where the pike faced forward. He got to them before they swung around to meet him and crumpled that corner of the square before the muskets came to their aid. He still had a few soldiers behind him. His saber came out again, and he waded further into the square. This wouldn’t end well, but he didn’t expect it to anyway.
There was still firing and shouting, so he must still have had troops fighting on his side. Who they were and where, he didn’t know, he just kept slashing at anyone who stood in front of him. Many went down, and soon the enemy surrounded him. But now they formed a wide circle around him and he could reach none of them. He tried a pistol, but he must already have fired it, even though he didn’t remember doing so. He knew he should reload, but didn’t quite remember how.
It was hard to say what the enemy was doing. They weren’t retreating, but they weren’t coming at him, either. Then the troops before him parted and Teodora was in front of him on a white horse. Kendryk cursed himself for his empty pistols, but pulled his saber out again. Maybe if he was fast enough …
Teodora laughed. That made him angry, so he put the spurs to his exhausted mount and raised his saber as he drew near. Teodora laughed again and raised a pistol. He was close enough now that a ball might pierce his armor, but she didn’t aim at him. He heard the report, saw the smoke and then his horse went down. Unprepared this time, he fell with it. His head bounced off the ground, and light exploded in his head.
The pain was immediate and overwhelming and his sight went black. His vision came and went for a few more seconds, and he tried to make sense of what was happening around him. The horse had landed on his right leg, still trapped in the stirrup. He pushed at the horse’s body, trying to get the pressure off his leg, but it was impossible. He bit his lip until it bled. Every motion was excruciating. He lay back on the ground, trying to catch his breath and opened his visor. That helped a little.
Armor clanked near his head and Teodora’s laugh was very close now. He clenched his teeth against the pain. He refused to cry out in front of her. There was another clank of armor and suddenly the pressure was off. It felt better for a split second, but then the pain came back in a bigger wave and he moaned in spite of himself.
“Oh, poor darling,” Teodora said. “That looks terrible. Take him.”
Kendryk blinked and lifted his head. He saw his leg. The armor over it was red and a white bone stuck out from the side. Someone picked him up under the arms and he lost consciousness.
Janna
Riding by herself was too nerve-wracking, so Janna found Nisa Retter’s wagon and joined her until they reached Birkenfels. The slow-moving train was a good ten leagues behind the fighting forces. “I’m glad we won’t be close to the battle.” Janna shuddered.
“It’s better that way.” Nisa agreed. “I didn’t use to mind so much, but once I had children I worried whenever the fighting came close. No one’s ever overrun our camp, but you hear
the most dreadful stories.”
It was evening by the time they reached the valley leading down to the river. The wagon came to a halt and Nisa jumped down and let the two older children run about in the trampled grass. “It looks like our lot made camp here last night. We can set up here.”
Janna said her goodbyes, wishing she were as calm as Nisa, who seemed altogether unworried about her husband’s safety. She found Braeden’s wagons a good distance up the line and Gergo was already setting the tent up with the help of a few other servants.
She saw the towers of Birkenfels from here and wondered if the battle was over. No one else seemed concerned, so she bit her tongue and concentrated on unpacking.
Restless, Janna left the tent with piles of blankets lying around and the bed unmade. Once she knew Braeden was safe, it would be easier to get her work done. She left the hussar encampment and found herself among Maladene women and children, also setting up tents and chattering in their musical, unfamiliar tongue.
She kept walking until she stood above the river. The castle’s towers soared over it, golden and undamaged in the late afternoon sunlight. Smoke still rose from the blackened ruins of the village at its base and heaps of stone stood where the bridge had been.
From here, she gazed across the river to the battlefield. The rising breeze carried the faint cries of the wounded all the way to where Janna stood. Among piles of dead horses and humans, rose the standards of Inferrara, Barela and Novitny. They had won.
Tired musketeers trudged up from the river, heading toward camp. “How are you crossing?” Janna asked one young woman.
“Ford a half-league that way.” She nodded her head in the direction she’d come. “Slow going, getting everyone back across along with the wounded.”
The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3 Page 43