The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3

by Christina Ochs

  Mine was no better, she thought. She didn’t want to discuss this, but it had to be done. “Might we please forget this and not speak of it again? I still have so much to do.”

  “Of course,” he said. “I don’t wish to cause you any trouble. But I want you to know something before I go.” To her shock, he went down on one knee. “I will only speak of this once and never again unless you wish it, but I must tell you I still love you.”

  She stared at him for a moment, then shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I don’t believe you. You behaved terribly toward me. You wouldn’t do that to someone you loved.”

  “Forgive me,” he whispered. “The thought of losing you drove me mad. But now I want nothing from you except that you let me serve you in any way you see fit. I will do anything for you.”

  “Anything?”

  “If you ask me to throw myself off the top battlement of this castle, I’ll do it right now without a second thought.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous; I would never ask such a thing.”

  “I know. But you could, and I would do it. I’ve done you a terrible wrong and the gods are punishing me.”

  “Punishing you?”

  “By making me love you when there is no hope you will ever feel the same way.”

  “There’s no need to be so dramatic. And please …” She stood and walked over to him. “Please stand.”

  He rose slowly. She didn’t like him towering over her, but looked up at him anyway. “I thank you for helping my brother win this battle. He told me you saved his life by sending your page to him with a horse. You don’t owe me anything further.”

  “Please don’t say that.” His voice trembled. It was hard to believe he was the same man who’d destroyed her life last summer. “Please, let me do something, anything.”

  She wanted to send him away, but then considered she shouldn’t squander this opportunity. It wasn’t as though she had all the allies she needed. The combined force had taken terrible losses that day in spite of the victory. She still needed help.

  “All right,” she said. “I’ll tell you what you can do. I want you to find a way to rescue Kendryk.”

  She relished the shocked look on his face. It would have been much easier to jump off the tower.

  He composed himself quickly. “Very well, then. I’ll find a way, if I have to break into the Arnfels myself.”

  “I wish you to succeed, not sacrifice yourself needlessly,” she said. “I’ve nearly prevailed upon my brother to take on Teodora. Without Ensden, she is severely weakened. If we march straight into Olvisya, we may be able to demand Kendryk in exchange for sparing her lands. Or we may defeat her.”

  “She’ll build another army,” Arian said. “It won’t be easy.”

  “I don’t expect it to be. But I won’t rest until my husband is safe with me again, and in charge of Terragand, where he belongs. If you love me as you say, you will swear right now to help me do this.”

  To his credit, he didn’t hesitate now. He dropped to one knee again, and took both her hands in his. “I swear it,” he said, placing a chaste kiss on each hand.

  Anton

  “More of that Sanovan brandy,” Count Orland said, his speech already slurred. He slouched at a table in the library of his own castle at Anglestein.

  Anton hesitated, but not for long. He knew better. “That’s the last of it, sir.” He poured what remained into the goblet.

  “It might be enough.” The count drained it in one long swallow. “How old are you anyway?”

  “Twelve,” Anton lied.

  “Old enough to need this advice, then.” He slammed the goblet onto the table and turned toward Anton. “No matter what happens, never, ever fall in love with a woman.”

  “I won’t,” Anton said. “I don’t see any reason to.”

  “You will soon enough, and it will be hard to keep your head. The first time some pretty thing smiles at you, maybe even lifts her skirts for you.” The count looked sadly into his empty goblet. “You can have as much fun as you like, let her fall in love with you, even. But never, ever, ever fall in love with her.”

  “Seems sensible,” Anton said. “I don’t think I will.”

  The count laughed bitterly. “That’s what I thought, too. But it happened anyway and now I’m as good as dead.”

  “I thought you liked being in love.” Anton wrinkled his nose.

  “I used to, but now I’d give anything to stop caring. It’s torture when she doesn’t feel the same way. And you’d still do anything for her and agree to all kinds of foolishness just to see her smile.”

  “That sounds pretty stupid.” Anton stepped back in case the count tried to hit him, though he was too drunk to have good aim.

  “You’ve got some cheek on you,” the count laughed. “But I like how bold you are. Reminds me of myself at your age. Though I was a lot bigger at twelve. Be sure you eat more. Oh, and don’t fall in love.”

  When they had approached the castle earlier that day, a young woman had run out to the stable yard and cried all over the count.

  “Stop your caterwauling, wife.” The count pushed her away with a sneer, but she still seemed happy to see him.

  With all the talk of love and the princess, Anton hadn’t realized the count was married to someone else. Anton liked the young countess because she looked a little like his mother, smelled nice, hugged him a lot and gave him sweets. He wished they’d stay a little longer.

  But they rode out again the next morning. The countess cried over the count again while he rolled his eyes and pushed her away. She still gave him all the money she had, with papers to get more from a bank when they reached a bigger town. Anton didn’t understand why the count was in love with a princess who didn’t even like him when he was already married to someone so nice.

  They were on the move every day. After liberating Birkenfels, King Arryk and Ruso Faris went south, making sure all of Terragand stood behind them and gathering allies in the rest of Kronland. Count Orland went west to defeat Duke Evard. He was not at his seat, Emberg Castle, though his duchess was. The count gave her two hours to pack her things, then set the place on fire.

  Next, they spent a few days at the home of Duke Aidan Orland, the count’s father. He had a castle somewhere, but right now he was in a big house in Kaltental, a large northern port city. The count and his father weren’t on good terms. There was a good deal of drinking and shouting, but in the end, the count rode out with five hundred soldiers from the duke’s militia.

  Through all of it, Anton rode right behind the count on his own horse. Skandar was a shaggy gray Norovaean stallion, a gift from King Arryk himself. He was a reward for Anton bringing the king a horse and pistols at the right moment. The count reckoned he’d saved the king’s life.

  “There’s nothing for it,” Count Orland had said. “That stupid girl got herself killed, and the king himself rewarded you. Common as you are, you’ll be my page now.” Lotta had been too scared to follow Anton during the battle and a cannonball hit her right where she stood. Anton was glad he hadn’t seen it. The count refused the offers of half a dozen nobles who wanted him to take on their own children, preferring Anton over all of those little lords and ladies.

  The count also gave him his own helmet and a breastplate, black just like the count’s, with a falcon on the front worked in purple inlay. It was nearly as handsome a gift as Skandar had been, but the count was grateful for making him look good in front of the king. Anton had been sure to tell King Arryk that he’d brought the horse and weapons due to the count’s instructions and the king had been very pleased.

  Even more importantly—to the count at least—Princess Gwynneth had thanked him personally for saving her brother. When she took the count’s hands in hers, Anton saw him turn pale and shaky, which was very funny. Then the princess gave Anton a kiss on the forehead. She really was beautiful, though hugely pregnant. At her side was a little girl, the Duchess Maryna, who reminded him of Anyezka. She smiled shy
ly at Anton and he couldn’t help but smile back, though he felt sad right after. He missed his little sister.

  Anton’s heart might have exploded with pride except he remembered his mother telling him they owed everything to the gods, and that it was wrong to be too proud. So he made an offering to Ercos in gratitude, and pledged his life to fight the empress until she was defeated. If the gods heard his prayers, Anton would kill her himself someday and be a great hero.

  Kendryk

  Kendryk couldn’t face Sybila’s feeding tube again, so he ate enough to keep her away. He’d first thought he’d pour whatever they gave him into the privy trench, but now a guard stood in his cell and watched him until he choked the horrible food down.

  So he wouldn’t die that way after all. He still held out hope that he might catch the plague, but because no one ever came near him, he doubted he’d catch so much as a cold. And he couldn’t face endless years of this darkness.

  He turned on his side to face the wall, and out of long-established habit, sent up a prayer to Ercos before stopping himself. If the gods existed, they didn’t hear him. Or he had disappointed them and they had abandoned him. Prayer was a complete waste of time. He drifted into an uneasy sleep, full of nightmares; Teodora’s mouth stretched into a grotesque laugh as she shoved a hot iron poker into his mouth. Kendryk woke up with a shout and a terrible pain in his throat.

  He lay in the dark, staring straight up, trying to calm his breathing. He started to relax a little when the scent of flowers wafted over him along with a warm breeze. He had probably drifted off again. Propping himself up on his elbows, he looked around.

  It was pitch black as always except for the two times a day someone brought food. The fragrant breeze blew over him again. And then he recognized Gwynneth’s scent. Perhaps he was dying and the gods were giving him one last good memory before he went.

  He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent, then his eyes flew open as someone shook his shoulder. She sat on the edge of the stone bench he lay upon. There was no light but he could see her clearly. Her hair hung loose and she wore a peculiar gown he’d never seen before, but he knew beyond any doubt it was Gwynneth.

  “How did … I … How?” he croaked, his throat nearly swollen shut.

  “Shh,” she said, placing one finger against his lips. It was soft and warm, just like she always was. “The gods have given us only a few moments. You must not give up hope. The children and I are safe and well.” She looked down. “See? We’re going to have another. She’ll probably be here before you’re rescued, but not too long, I hope.”

  Kendryk shook his head, disbelieving.

  “It’s all right,” she said, stroking the side of his face. “The gods are with you still, and they’re with me too. You must stay strong and be ready. We will be together again soon.” She leaned forward, placing a kiss on his forehead. Then she was gone.

  Kendryk opened his eyes and felt around in the dark, but there was nothing. The faint scent of flowers lasted a while longer and he lay motionless, breathing it in, allowing hope to creep back into his heart.

  Anton

  Anton and the count were escorting Edric Maximus who was spreading the word of the Holy Scrolls all over Kronland. While they were in a big city up north, the count sent Anton to a printer’s shop with a large stack of paper, instructions and a hefty bag of coins for the printer.

  The big man had grumbled about being too busy until he saw how much was in the bag. “Tell Count Orland I’ll have these done in three days,” he said. “The boys and I will work all night if we have to.”

  Anton drove one of twelve wagons sent to pick up the results: several hundred bales of small books, cheaply bound and stamped with The Words of the Holy Family on them. Messengers then carried those bundles to every town, village and farm.

  Anton had started reading one himself, but it was boring. There were stories he already knew, like how the Father and the Mother made the world and everything in it. Then there were long lists of rules and names of people who were important long ago, but who’d been dead thousands of years. Their names were hard to pronounce, though he was pleased to discover an Anton among them. He’d been a simple cobbler’s apprentice who became a great general and did something holy somewhere near Zastwar. But most of the stories were boring or confusing even though everyone else seemed excited about them.

  They liked it even better if Edric Maximus read to them from the book himself. During the days, the Maximus spoke in town squares or in temples, but in the evenings, he sat by the cook-fires and spoke with the soldiers. Anton came close once, but was a little scared by the stern way Edric looked at him. It wasn’t unkind at all, but it was as though he could see what Anton was thinking, which was how he’d sneak a ride on Cid after everyone else had gone to sleep.

  Still, he liked the sound of Edric’s deep, smooth voice, so he hung back in the shadows and listened. The Maximus often recited from memory, even though he held a book in front of him. “For it has been given to you to touch the face of the Father, and he shall hold your hand. The Mother will hold you like a child and her own children will tend and guide you. You shall call upon Vica for wisdom and upon Ercos for strength and they shall hear you.”

  Edric put the book down. “See, it’s quite clear. There’s no mention of a priest or priestess here. They are not needed for you to speak with the gods directly. If you pray, they will listen.”

  “So what’s the point then, of priest or temple or Maximus?” A young man asked. Anton recognized him as one of Duke Orland’s musketeers.

  “Just to help you,” Edric said. “It’s important for the children of the gods to gather as one and to pray together and learn from the Scrolls. Most of you do not have time to study every word of the Scrolls and sometimes they are hard to understand. It’s the job of the priest and Maximus to help you understand. But they are there to help only; they are not higher or better than you.”

  Edric Maximus said much the same wherever he went. Everyone listened and most of the time the priests and priestesses agreed with him too. But sometimes they didn’t, and that was why the count had come along. Princess Gwynneth had asked him to protect Edric and remove anyone who stood in his way. Usually that was someone at a temple who still wanted to follow the old way. That had happened just the other day in Urwessen, a large town in the Brandana marches. The priestess shouted at Edric and told him he was bad and wrong and a rebel. That scared Anton. His father had been a rebel and they’d killed him for it. He didn’t want that to happen to Edric.

  But the count rode into town with a hundred armed men, dragged the priestess out of the temple and told her to leave. She wouldn’t go, so he threw her into the city jail until she changed her mind. He’d done that a few times to a few others, but mostly everyone agreed with the new way. It was fun to be part of it all, though Anton wished they’d get back to fighting real battles.

  Arryk

  “They worship you like a goddess,” Arryk said. He meant to make a joke of it, but found it unpleasantly close to the truth and couldn’t say why it annoyed him.

  “Hardly.” Gwynneth handed baby Stella back to the nurse before mounting her horse. “The troops like seeing the baby and the other little ones. It gives them something real to fight for. Innocent children they can defend.”

  “Whatever you’re doing, it’s working,” Arryk said. “They can’t wait to fight for you.” They were riding back to the town where they were staying for a few days—he couldn’t remember the name. They had visited so many towns in southern Terragand and northern Lantura he lost track.

  Gwynneth insisted on getting in-person commitments for troops and money from every lord and every town council, no matter how small. She also wanted to make sure that every temple they saw followed the teachings of Edric Maximus. “Religious reform is essential to political reform,” she had said when they first set out from Birkenfels. “Those who follow Edric’s teachings will not tolerate Teodora’s rule. They are your natu
ral supporters.”

  He wished Gwynneth and the children were safe in Norovaea, but he couldn’t persuade her to go. He worried that she was distracting him from his mission. Instead of marching directly to Teodora, who sat virtually undefended in Atlona, they were spending far too much time traveling through Kronland, gathering reluctant allies. The only reason he hadn’t already returned to Norovaea was because he wanted to finish Teodora off while she was still weak.

  “You don’t have to work so hard,” he said. “The most important thing is meeting Teodora in the field and defeating her.”

  “I’m not repeating last year’s mistake,” Gwynneth replied. “Before we make another move, I want the certain backing of every person of importance in Kronland. We can’t sway Princess Zelenka, but we don’t need her if we get all the others.”

  “You’ve thought about it a lot more than I have,” Arryk said.

  “I had time, all those months in the castle.” Gwynneth smiled at him. “I suppose I learned patience then, and you must learn it now. We’ll gather our forces and face Teodora once we have overwhelming numbers.”

  Arryk worried that losing the last fight against Teodora had made his sister too cautious now, when Teodora was nearly as weak as she had been last year. But he’d long ago learned there wasn’t much point in arguing with Gwynneth because she would always win.

  They arrived in the courtyard of their temporary home and he swung off his horse, then lifted Maryna from her pony before helping Gwynneth dismount.

  Beside him, Maryna piped up. “Might I come to your study later, Uncle Arryk? I should very much like to read that last sermon with you.”

  Arryk caught Gwynneth’s eye and hid a smile. “All right, but you can’t stay up past your bedtime.”