The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3

by Christina Ochs

  “Are there many wounded?” Janna could tell the woman didn’t want to talk. She looked uninjured but her expression was blank and her face covered in soot and dirt and streaked with what might have been sweat or blood, or both.

  The musketeer barked a short laugh. “Only on their side. I don’t reckon we have more than a few hundred casualties. It was a right slaughter.”

  “Thank you.” Janna stepped out of her way, relieved. If it had gone well then perhaps Braeden was all right. She should get back to their camp. By now, the road coming up from the river was crowded, the paths between tents clogged with soldiers.

  Janna side-stepped several wagons full of wounded, and one that looked as though it carried bodies. She looked away. She felt terrible for the wounded, many of whom would die before morning, but she was terrified that she might spot Braeden, or anyone else she knew among them.

  She heard horses crossing the field to her right, but it was too dark to identify them. When she got back to Novitny’s camp, most of the hussars had returned. Janna ran to their tent, her heart in her mouth.

  She ran into Kazmir first, being led off by a horseboy. He looked well, and bad-tempered as usual, though he nodded his beautiful head at Janna as she passed him.

  Braeden was inside the tent, Gergo helping him take off his armor. “There you are. Gergo said you’d run off all of a sudden.”

  Janna threw herself into his arms though he was dirty and bloody. “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t bear waiting around here so I went closer to the river to find out what happened. We won, didn’t we?”

  Braeden shooed Gergo out of the tent and pulled Janna close. “Yes, we won. Prince Kendryk put up a better fight than we expected, but we beat him all the same. Count Faris might have slipped away with a few hundred troops, but the rest are dead, wounded, prisoner or fled.”

  “Did you kill the prince?”

  Braeden shook his head. “No. Teodora shot his horse out from under him herself. Crushed his leg. She’s taken him prisoner, but word is he might not live through the night, he’s in such a bad way. Princess Gwynneth holds the castle and perhaps she’ll surrender it in exchange for her husband if he makes it.”

  Janna shuddered. “How dreadful. If I were the princess, and you were the prince, I would have already given up the castle to have you back.”

  Braeden held her tight. “I know you would. But there’s nothing you need to worry about now. The enemy’s defeated, the war is over, and we’re headed back to Atlona with the empress. Maybe we’ll find a house and live like civilized folk for a while. Never wanted to try that before, but I want to try it with you.”

  Janna thought her heart might burst with joy. She kissed him and smiled. “I’d like to try it too.”

  Gwynneth

  It was dark now, and the lights of thousands of cook fires flickered to life. Gwynneth wondered what they’d done with all the bodies. They hadn’t had many casualties; the bodies would belong to Kendryk’s soldiers, some of them people she knew. At the edge of the parapet she let the paper in her hand fall over the side. That was her answer.

  “Your Grace?” she started at Linette’s voice. “Supper is served in the great hall.”

  “Go away,” Gwynneth said, and waited until Linette’s steps retreated down the stairs. The idea of supper was obscene after a day like today. She realized she hadn’t eaten at all. Once Kendryk had left her before sunrise, the idea of food never crossed her mind. She was glad someone else was caring for the children, or they would have gone hungry too.

  She looked back toward the fires. The empress’s message said there were fifteen thousand soldiers out there. It seemed an excessive amount, considering she had only fifty armed men inside the castle. Perhaps Teodora worried that Arian Orland would try to break her out. Gwynneth laughed under her breath. That would be awkward though she didn’t suppose she could refuse help from any quarter.

  She walked to the other corner and looked up the river. Real help would come from here. She wondered how many ships Arryk would bring. Had he sailed yet? He probably hadn’t received her most recent message. The only reason he wasn’t here right now was because of her father, she was sure of it.

  There were footsteps again, the clank of something on the stone, then someone coming up behind her.

  “I told you to go away,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “I’m sorry Your Grace.” It was Landrus. “It’s very important that I speak with you before you send a reply to the empress.”

  Gwynneth turned toward him. It was dark now, but the moon had risen, bathing the tower in silvery light. “Why? There’s nothing to discuss.”

  “I disagree.” The maximus looked as tired as she felt. “But first, you should eat something.” He nodded toward a tray he’d set on a nearby step. “Linette wouldn’t let me come up here unless I brought you food.”

  “The time has passed for you to tell me what I should and shouldn’t do.” She wanted to be angry, but couldn’t muster up the emotion.

  “I apologize, Your Grace. That was never my intent.”

  “You still did it enthusiastically.”

  He sighed. “As ever, I sought to protect your husband.”

  “Between the two of us, we’ve done a fine job, haven’t we?” she snapped.

  “I don’t blame you for being angry with me. Please hear me out.” He walked around so she had to face him. “You haven’t told me what the empress’s terms were, but I can guess. If you turn me over to her, will she return Kendryk to you?”

  “Kendryk is dead. She is bluffing.”

  “Kendryk is not dead. I’m sure of it.”

  “Oh you are?” Gwynneth laughed. “Are you sure of this the same way you are sure of everything else? Because the gods spoke to you?”

  “They don’t speak to me directly, but in this case, I am certain that your husband is alive.”

  “I don’t believe you. You’ve been wrong about everything. After today, I doubt very much that Kendryk is the ruler from your prophecy. And this battle? If it was the great one at the end, well, the forces of evil won and we’re still here.”

  “This was not that battle. As to Kendryk being that ruler, the Scrolls never said that his path to the battle would be straight.”

  “So you conveniently left out the part about all he must suffer first? That was kind of you.”

  “If I had known all of this would happen, I would never have asked for his help.” There was a quiver in his voice. Unbelievable.

  Gwynneth stole a sideways glance and saw what might have been the glitter of a tear in the corner of his eye. He hadn’t shown emotion like this when facing his own execution.

  She took a deep breath. “All right. I believe you. But that changes nothing. Whether Kendryk is alive or dead, I will not turn you over to the empress. I promised him I wouldn’t, and I swore in the sight of the gods I would never break another vow to him. As long as I hold this castle, you’ll be safe, whether you like it or not.”

  “Very well then; I won’t fault you for abiding by his wishes.” Landrus looked up the river. “How long will you be able to hold out?”

  “A long time. We laid in supplies to last at least a year, and I had planned for more people. Rations will be dull, but we won’t starve. Besides, my brother will be here before long. He’ll bring more than enough troops to defeat Ensden.”

  “And now Your Grace, won’t you take some rest? I understand if you don’t wish to eat, but everyone here is looking to you to lead us through the coming weeks.”

  “I feel like I should punish myself,” Gwynneth said softly, but he heard her.

  “That won’t do anyone any good; Kendryk least of all.”

  “It’s my fault all of this has happened.”

  “Hardly. I bear an equal share of the blame.”

  “If I hadn’t encouraged Kendryk, you would have died months ago and already be forgotten. Everything here would have gone on as usual, just the way Kendryk wanted it to.”


  “It’s not that simple.” His voice was very soft. “The gods have ordained all of this and you were just one of their instruments.”

  “I won’t be a tool of the gods.” She wanted to stamp her foot, but was too tired. “What kind of gods would do this, anyway? Kendryk has only ever been a good man; devout and kind to everyone. He deserves a reward, not to lie bleeding and in chains, at the mercy of that horrid woman.”

  She was unprepared for the tears when they came. Sobs shook her body, and her legs wobbled. She nearly fell, but he caught her and sat her gently on a step. Then he stood nearby, looking up the river. To her relief, he didn’t try to comfort her. This was humiliating enough.

  Finally, the sobs subsided. She wiped her eyes on her skirt and looked up. “So what happens if I turn you over to the empress? Besides your death, obviously.”

  He turned toward her and leaned against the stone parapet. “If I die, it’s possible that the changes I’ve started will continue. There are many more teaching the truth now than when I began. That’s why I asked you to give me to the empress. My death won’t make much difference, but Kendryk’s life will.”

  “I won’t do it.” She wanted Kendryk back; nothing else. She felt like cursing him for forcing her to do the opposite.

  “Very well then, but might we call a truce between us? The next weeks will be difficult, and it will do us no good to be at odds. I can’t make you trust in the gods, but I can pray that they will give you strength and comfort. Perhaps you don’t believe me, but I care about Kendryk a great deal, and he loves you more than anything. For that reason alone, I would do everything I can to be of help to you.”

  “I believe you, strangely enough.” She tried and failed to smile. “I won’t deny that I’m tempted to give you to Teodora, and I would, if I hadn’t promised Kendryk. But if I do, he will never trust me again. This is my last chance.”

  Epilogue- Anton

  The scout came to a stop in front of the commander’s tent. He leapt off the horse and tossed the reins to Anton who had just come back from feeding the other horses. Anton caught them and stayed close. Something had happened.

  He fished in his pockets and pulled out the last of the gnarled apples he’d found along the road. While the horse crunched happily he moved closer to the tent. He’d caught the word “empress” from inside.

  “You’re sure it’s her?” Count Orland asked.

  “They’re flying the imperial standards, sir.”

  “How far?”

  “Ten leagues, dead ahead.”

  There was some loud swearing and Orland burst out of the tent. Anton had no time to escape. “You, boy,” he said, “Let someone else take care of that horse and find Colonel Schurtz. I need him here right away.”

  “Yes sir.” Anton flung the reins at another boy who had sidled up and ran for Schurtz’s tent. He slowed down at the sound of female laughter from inside, but steeled himself to open the flap anyway. If he had to choose between an angry Ossian Schurtz or an angry Arian Orland, he’d choose Schurtz, ugly as that was.

  Schurtz had a girl on his knee, a tankard in one hand, and a fistful of her dress in another. “What do you want?” he snarled.

  “Count Orland needs you to attend him right away.” Anton looked away from the girl, whose dress was falling off her shoulders.

  “What does he want at this hour?”

  “No idea sir, but he says it’s urgent.”

  “Bah.” Schurtz slammed down the tankard and stood. The girl squeaked as he dumped her on the floor. “You.” He poked her with his foot. “You stay right here. I’ll be back.” She nodded and crab-walked into a corner, her skirt tangled around her ankles.

  Anton backed out of the tent as Schurtz barreled through the entrance and followed him at a safe distance. By the time he positioned himself behind Orland’s tent, hoping no one noticed him, they had started talking.

  “Is it over then?” Schurtz asked.

  “Seems so,” Orland replied. “Though we’re not quite sure what happened. I’ll ask around the villages later, but first, we need to get out of Teodora’s way. The scout didn’t see what was behind her.”

  “Might be her whole damned army,” Schurtz growled.

  “Might be. But if not, we may have an opportunity here.”

  Anton’s heart beat loudly in his head. He couldn’t believe Orland was talking about taking on the empress. He’d thought it might take years before that happened.

  “So now what?”

  “We disappear. I doubt she knows we’re here, and it’s better if she doesn’t find out. Let’s head into the Osterwald. It should give us good cover while we find out what we’re up against. I want to move out right now. She’s probably made camp for the night, but I don’t want to take any chances. We can be at the edge of the woods by morning. Send riders ahead to scout out likely camps.”

  Thousands of horses had to be saddled and thousands more readied to move. As part of an army of grooms and horseboys that kept Orland’s Cuirassiers in fighting order, Anton spent the rest of the night in a fever of activity. Knowing the empress was so close was a dream come true and the whole reason he’d joined Orland in the first place.

  Things had been all right with the Marjatyans who’d captured him though he quickly lost track of the men who had killed his mother. But when word came that Count Orland was nearby, he decided to escape. Korma had been defeated, and it might be years before he’d be ready to take Teodora on again. Orland was ready now though Anton didn’t understand why he wasn’t in Terragand fighting her.

  When Anton heard that Orland was returning to Kronland, he slipped out of the Marjatyan camp one night and hid in the woods until morning. In broad daylight, while Orland’s camp broke up, Anton strolled in, found the horses and prepared them to go. With so many people about, no one noticed he didn’t belong. Two days later, one boy asked, “Aren’t you new here?”

  Anton shrugged, said, “Somewhat,” and went back to his work. No one paid him but they fed him regularly and he always found a place to sleep rolled up in a saddle blanket somewhere under a wagon.

  Once they’d reached the Osterwald, a great, dark forest that stretched east for untold leagues, they set up camps along the creeks that ran through it. Few people lived here, but Orland had sent out scouts to the surrounding villages to gather news.

  Gerd, one of the younger grooms, had the good fortune to hold Orland’s horse while he debriefed a messenger. “There was a great battle at Birkenfels.” Gerd relished his moment, with all the younger boys clustered before him. “The empress trounced Bernotas five days ago. She shot the young prince herself after he’d killed at least a hundred Maladene pikemen with his bare hands. Now she’s taking him back to Atlona, where she’ll cut off his head in front of everyone.”

  “She will not,” one boy said.

  “She will so,” Anton said. “She hanged my own father, and he wasn’t nearly as bad a rebel as this prince.”

  That attracted some interest and Gerd cleared his throat loudly. “Kronek can tell you about his stupid father some other time. The point is, the count is thinking about attacking the empress and rescuing the prince.”

  The boys murmured their approval at this. Anton twisted his hands together. He wondered how he might join the fight. “When will we attack?” he asked.

  “Don’t know. The count has sent out more scouts to find out what we’re up against. I suspect he’ll know tomorrow.”

  Anton spent half the night contriving a way to be near Orland as much as possible so he could be the first to learn his plans. The count had ridden out early in the morning to take a closer look at the empress’s force himself and would be gone for a few hours. Anton scanned the direction he’d gone, hoping to see him return.

  In the early afternoon a small cluster of horsemen thundered into camp, Orland at their head. Anton ran toward him and had the good luck to catch Orland’s reins when he jumped off his horse. Another officer came up from somewhere else,
probably waiting for orders. “Do we attack sir?” he asked.

  “No.” Orland shook his head. “Not this time.”

  Anton’s heart fell. “Why not, sir?” It came out before he realized it.

  There was a long pause as Orland wheeled around to see who had spoken. Anton prepared for a beating, but resolved not to cringe.

  “Why do you care?” Orland was laughing, though that wasn’t always a good sign.

  “Because I want to kill the empress. The sooner the better.”

  “Fierce little bugger, aren’t you?” Orland looked around at the other officers standing nearby and they all laughed.

  Anton stood his ground, pushing out his jaw.

  Orland came a little closer, so he loomed over Anton. “So, why do you want to kill the empress?”

  “Because she killed my parents and my sister.”

  Orland grinned. “That’s as good a reason as any, but we won’t attack for a while. Teodora’s got every last one of the Sanova Hussars with her. You’ve heard of them, haven’t you?”

  Anton nodded, then asked. “Are there too many of them?”

  “Too many for us,” Orland said. “Our ten thousand to their seven thousand.”

  “So we have a lot more.” Anton didn’t understand.

  “Not enough. They win when they’re outnumbered four to one. No one’s ever beaten them.”

  “You could be first,” Anton suggested.

  “Oh, I’d like that very much,” Orland said, “But this force isn’t at that level yet. Perhaps we will be one day.”

  “Can you hurry?” Anton asked, since things were going so well.

  Orland threw his head back and laughed. “I like you boy. Eager to get to killing, are you?”

  “I want to be a soldier so I can kill the empress and those hussars too.”

  “Well, maybe you will be.” Orland looked down at him and Anton stared straight back. “Do your job and if you live, you’ll get a chance to learn how to fight, I’m sure.”

  Anton hardly believed his good fortune. He couldn’t wait to tell the other boys. “When?” he asked.