The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3

by Christina Ochs

  “Easier just to carry him,” one of the men said, picking him up like a child. “Lost a bit of weight, have you?”

  Kendryk let himself go limp, but it didn’t seem to make a difference. He’d never been big to begin with and starving himself didn’t help.

  The guard carried him up the stairs and into a room that wasn’t a cell. He saw a patch of blue through the bars of a high window. So it was daytime. He wondered what time of year it was. Maybe it was already spring.

  The guard dumped him onto a table. “You should eat something,” another one said. “It’ll be a lot worse for you if you don’t.”

  Kendryk shook his head. He had decided the best way to thwart Teodora while putting an end to his misery was starvation. At least it didn’t hurt.

  “Have it your way then,” the guard said. “Hold him down, boys.”

  Someone pinned his arms to his sides and someone else held his legs. The man who’d been speaking grabbed his nose and pinched hard. When Kendryk finally gasped for air, he poured water into his throat. Most of it went into his lungs and he coughed so hard he thought that might kill him.

  “That won’t do,” someone said. “Should we call the doctor?”

  “I’d rather not. She always gets so high and mighty telling us what all we did wrong. One more time, shall we?”

  A bit of water went down, but surely not enough to matter. Then they tried forcing down some kind of runny gruel, but that didn’t work either. Kendryk was beginning to hope he might thwart them by choking to death. Finally, they left him alone on the table unrestrained, but too weak to move. All the coughing had tired him out even more. He fell asleep looking at the patch of sky.

  When he opened his eyes again, Sybila looked down at him disapprovingly. “Why must you be so difficult, Prince?”

  “Not a prince anymore,” he croaked.

  “Whatever you are, I can’t let you die. What I’m about to do is extremely unpleasant and I’d rather not. Please eat and drink a bit so I don’t need to.”

  Kendryk shook his head.

  She sat on the edge of the table and took one of his hands. “I know this is terrible for you, but the empress will not let you die and there’s no point in trying. Your wounds healed well, so your will to live is irrelevant. You might be here for some time, and it would be better for all of us if you cooperate.”

  Kendryk shook his head again.

  Sybila dropped his hand. “For someone who’s lost the will to live, you’re terribly stubborn.” She stood. “I hate to do this, but you leave me no choice.”

  Kendryk couldn’t imagine what would be so bad. More choking perhaps.

  Sybila rummaged around some things on another table for a few minutes, then ordered the guards to hold Kendryk down again.

  “This has to go down his throat, but not into his lungs,” she said, holding up a funnel with something that looked like a reed attached to it. It wasn’t too big, but Kendryk didn’t see how she could force it in.

  As it turned out, she could. He felt like his throat was being torn out and thrashed so hard Sybila had to stop and call for another guard. He held Kendryk’s nose until he gasped for air, and another held his tongue down while Sybila shoved the reed into his throat. It scraped and burned all the way down and made it difficult to breathe, since it took up all the space in his throat.

  He must have turned some awful color because he heard Sybila say, “Let his nose go, by the mother. He needs to breathe.”

  He didn’t stop fighting, but he wasn’t strong and the guards were. Sybila, tiny as she was, could have held him down if she weren’t otherwise occupied. Once she had the funnel positioned, she poured liquid into it from a small flask. Kendryk didn’t notice that. He noticed when the reed came out, because it hurt far more, and then he coughed for a long time after.

  When he lay back on the table, completely spent, Sybila stood over him. “It will be worse next time,” she said. “I must do it every two days and your throat won’t have time to heal. Please think about that before you refuse food and drink. I’ll send you only thin porridge. I assure you that’s all you’ll want to swallow.”

  Kendryk closed his eyes, and she gave his hand a pat and disappeared. He would have to find another way to end this.

  Arryk

  Arryk lay on the beach, waves washing over his legs. He was so stiff he could hardly move, but knew he had to before he froze to death. That would be more embarrassing than drowning.

  It was getting light. Horses and soldiers wandered about the rocky beach, but corpses of both lay everywhere. He dragged himself to his feet. A sharp wind hit him and he realized his clothes were still soaked. Now he had to hope that Larisa or Bronson Falk would find him, and quickly. But before that, they needed shelter.

  He heard a moan nearby and looked down. The young trooper who’d pushed him overboard lay near his feet. He’d remembered his name now—Magnus Torsen.

  Arryk bent down to him. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  Magnus rolled onto his back. “You saved my life, Your Highness.”

  He must have been the one Arryk grabbed. Arryk grinned down at him. “You saved mine first, giving me that shove.”

  Magnus sat up slowly, his teeth chattering. “It had to be done. I apologize.”

  “No need.” Arryk grabbed him by the hand, pulling him to his feet. “But now I need your help again. We must find shelter soon if we are to survive this day.” The storm hadn’t abated and the wind drove sleet against them from the lowering clouds. “Let’s round up those who can move and get them out of the wind. We must gather the horses before any more wander off.”

  “My horse.” Magnus’s voice wobbled. “I can’t lose him. My family could hardly afford one.”

  “You will have another,” Arryk said. “No, you’ll have two. The finest Norovaean stallions. It’s the least I can do.”

  Magnus opened and closed his mouth, and before he could say anything, Arryk clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Come, before we all freeze to death.”

  Once the others realized that Arryk was alive, things happened quickly. He ordered the wounded gathered into the shelter of some tall rocks and someone built a driftwood fire. They caught dozens of horses and herded them into a makeshift pen, girded by rocks on one side and clusters of soldiers on another. The wind remained strong, but the day grew a bit warmer.

  Magnus, as energetic as Arryk had suspected he might be, found a village less than a league away and sent someone to take a message to Prince Falk. Arryk hoped Larisa and the rest of his force were nearby as well.

  He had just warmed up enough to realize he was hungry when two laden carts lumbered out of the distant woods and down to the beach. A stout fellow with a leathery face drove the first. “We was told the King of Norovaea is here.”

  Arryk stepped forward, conscious of his bedraggled appearance. His wet hair had dried into salty ropes and his face was burned from the wind. “King Arryk, at your service,” he said, hoping he looked the part well enough.

  The fellow seemed delighted. “Never thought I’d live to see this. A king in the flesh. Your messenger came through the village and told us about the wreck. I’m sure our prince will come to collect you. In the meantime we’ve brought bread and ale. It’s simple fare but it’ll keep you alive a bit longer.”

  “We’re very grateful. You’ll be rewarded as soon as I meet the rest of my force.”

  “No need,” the fellow said. “All of us here are eager to fight the empress.”

  “That’s exactly what I mean to do.”

  Larisa arrived before evening, at the head of a long string of wagons bearing tents and supplies. She brought enough troops to set everything up, but left the bulk of the force behind with Prince Bronson.

  “We’ll take you to him tomorrow, Your Highness,” she said, her tone strangely formal.

  Arryk tried to catch her eye and smile, but she refused to look at him. He was sure she was angry with him, but hoped she’d visit
him later anyway. If she hadn’t appeared by the time he was ready to sleep, he’d send Magnus, who now followed him everywhere, puppy-like, with an order for her to attend him.

  He had just shed his damp, salty clothing and slipped on someone else’s dry shirt and breeches when the tent flap opened.

  Arryk grinned. “It’s good to see you.”

  Larisa was on him in two quick steps. “How dare you,” she whispered, then shoved him in the chest so he fell back onto the cot. She slapped his face. “How dare you frighten me like that.” She slapped him again. “I told you not to go without me. I told you to wait.”

  When she tried to slap him again, Arryk caught her arm and pulled her down next to him. “You were right. I’m sorry.” He tried to look her in the eye, but she turned away. “I’m so happy you’re here. I feel like such an idiot.”

  “That’s because you are,” she muttered, and then he realized she was crying. He’d never seen her cry.

  He let go her arm and pulled her close to him. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again. “Please don’t be angry with me. I can’t bear it. I need you to help me right now. Once we’ve sorted out this disaster, you can be as angry as you like, but until then, I need you.”

  She looked up at him, dashing the tears away. “All right,” she said. “How bad is it? Can we still go to Terragand?”

  “I don’t know. There are no more than a few hundred survivors here, but perhaps some of the other ships made it to safety. I’m sure we’ll find out in the next few days. How did you find Prince Bronson?”

  “Grumpy, but willing to help. He doesn’t have a large force—perhaps three thousand untrained militia.”

  “That’s not enough. But surely there are others. We must contact Ummarvik and Podoska. Counts Faris and Orland are still at large and I’ll send messengers to find them. It’ll take time, but it’ll be enough.”

  “Your sister doesn’t have time.”

  “Not much. But she’ll have to wait.” Arryk knew he should be more worried about Gwynneth, but his relief that Larisa was talking to him and not hitting him was so great he didn’t much care.

  “We’ll go to Bronson tomorrow and you can talk to him. Maybe he’ll be nicer to you.”

  “If he wasn’t nice to you, he’ll be sorry.” Arryk grinned, putting both arms around Larisa and pulling her onto the cot. She made some grumbling noises, but let him.

  Braeden

  “It’s time we found a house,” Braeden said. He and Janna sat at the brazier inside the tent one chilly evening. She was trying to mend one of his shirts in spite of the poor light and fingers stiffened by the cold.

  “Now? We won’t go on campaign as soon as the weather improves?”

  “I doubt it. Seems the empress wants to keep us close by to see what King Arryk does. It could be months before we go anywhere, and I want you safe and comfortable until well after the baby is born, whether or not I go out.”

  “You’d go without me?” Janna looked a little alarmed.

  “Come here,” he said, pulling her over to sit on the cot next to him. “Only if I must. I know you’re bound and determined to come, baby or no, but don’t you see the sense in staying here until it’s born?”

  To his relief, she nodded. “It’s true I’ll feel better with Senta and the girls close by. But if you go, I’ll join you as soon as the baby is big enough to travel.”

  “We’ll worry about that when the time comes.” Braeden kissed the top of her head, and put his hand on her now more prominent belly. “How’s she doing in there?”

  “Active for a girl.”

  “You’re sure it’s a girl?”

  She smiled. “Just a feeling I have. And you’re right. A house would be nice. I get so tired of the dirt and stench of the tents. I don’t think I’m acquainted with anyone who doesn’t smell like horse.”

  “Nothing wrong with that.” Braeden elbowed her to show he was teasing.

  “Of course not. But I don’t mind a change.”

  “I’ll search for a house tomorrow. We’re not drilling the next few days so I can take leave.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “Are you sure? We’ll have to walk all over the city.”

  “I’d like that. There’s so much I haven’t seen yet.”

  He liked the idea. It would be fun to run about, just the two of them. He already had a few houses in mind. Even though Janna seemed to handle the pregnancy well, sometimes he worried about her. He’d caught her crying once or twice when she thought she was alone, and knew she still mourned the children she’d lost. But when he tried comforting her, she’d dry her tears and say she didn’t want to talk about it, that she was happy and it was most likely the pregnancy making her emotional. He hoped a change of scene might lift her spirits.

  To his surprise, she didn’t like the first house.

  “It’s much too tall.”

  “How’s that? It looks rather grand.” Braeden had pictured something very nice for her. He didn’t want it said that an officer’s lady of his rank didn’t live in style, and he wanted her to get back at least a little of what she’d lost in Kaleva. He’d spent a few days in a merchant’s house there and had been impressed by its simple luxury.

  “It does. But it’s too big for the two of us.”

  “Three.” He reminded her with a laugh.

  “A third tiny person. She’ll take up no space at all. And think of all the stairs. I get tired at the very idea.”

  She had a point. She would only get bigger, and going up and down stairs wouldn’t be much fun.

  “I’ll hire servants. All you have to do is sit in a little parlor while they fetch you everything.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” She took his arm, and they walked away, while he looked over his shoulder at the handsome gray house, apparently not to be theirs. “I don’t want a lot of servants. I’ve become more useful in the past months. All I need is someone to cook and do heavier cleaning. Unless you want me to do the cooking.” She grinned up at him.

  “You’ll get a cook,” he said a little too quickly. The few times she had attempted something as simple as soup or porridge had been notable failures. “You’ll need a nurse for the baby too.”

  “Someone to help for the first few weeks. After that, I want to do everything myself. I realize it’s a lot of work. Anyezka was only a few months old when I married Dimir and she cried all the time. When a baby cries, its mother should be there if she can.”

  “I should have known you’d have your own ideas about child-rearing.” He’d never considered it at all. Until now, babies hadn’t been real to him. If anything, they were reason to pity his comrades when he heard plaintive wails at all hours of the night. And the poor little buggers died all too often, sometimes before they could so much as say a word. Braeden didn’t even want to think about that.

  “I’m looking forward to it all. Where’s the next house you wanted to see?”

  “You won’t like it either.” Braeden was feeling a little downcast. He’d been so certain she’d want something big.

  Janna stopped in the street and turned to him. “I know what you’re thinking but I don’t want anything grand. Just something comfortable. One or two servants to cook and clean. What about near Adela’s house? She and Senta will be more help than anyone else when the baby comes.”

  “The houses in those streets are so small.”

  “Yes, but they’re very pretty. Shall we see if any are available?”

  “If you like. It’s a long walk. Sure you don’t want to go tomorrow?”

  “I’m sure.” She took his arm. “It’s a lovely day. Why don’t we go to your factor and see what he recommends?”

  “Good idea.”

  Silbershmid was a small, dark man who lived in an enormous house near the main temple. He took one look at Janna and said, “I have exactly the thing. My nephew just bought it as an investment, and it’s quite lovely. Not too big, but fine enough for someone of your rank.”
>
  They followed him down a narrow alley, and out onto a sunny street; a pretty residential one so common in Atlona. They passed larger stone houses, made another turn and came upon a row of smaller stone and half-timber houses. Silbershmid fumbled with a large ring of keys and finally found the one he wanted. They had stopped in front of a house at the end of the row. With only two floors above the ground, it was shorter and wider than other houses on the street. A cross street sloped off to one side.

  “It has a garden,” Silbershmid said, as he opened the door.

  “I would love a garden,” Janna said.

  “I know,” Silbershmid said.

  That was news to Braeden. He didn’t take Janna for the gardening sort, though he reckoned she’d had experience with farming.

  With large windows on the three unattached sides, the house was sunny and light. Janna exclaimed with delight as they entered. It was open, with the dark beams of the ceilings just over Braeden’s head, so he didn’t have to duck.

  They looked at the garden first. It was rather bare, but it was still early enough to plant a few things. Maybe Braeden could get Trisa to help for a few days.

  Janna pronounced the small kitchen satisfactory, then lumbered up the stairs with surprising energy. Braeden needed only a glance at her happy, glowing face to decide he’d pay whatever was asked.

  Silbershmid seemed surprised that he didn’t try to bargain him down when he named the price, then shrugged. “I told you it was perfect. I can always tell by the look of the lady what is needed.”

  “That’s a rare gift my friend.”

  “That’s why I’m very rich.” The little man smirked.

  Arryk

  “I thought you weren’t coming,” Prince Bronson said, his craggy face unsmiling. Arryk found him unnerving. The Princess Rheda, Bronson’s wife and Kendryk’s aunt soon joined them. A trim, dark-haired woman with bright blue eyes, she reminded Arryk of Kendryk and he liked her at once. A young priest wearing all black followed her into the room. She introduced him as Father Anselm, a devoted follower of Father Edric, now known throughout Kronland as Edric Maximus.