The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3

by Christina Ochs

  He’d made the mistake of telling Gwynneth about his vow to the gods during battle while Maryna was present. It had never occurred to him that a child of six might be interested in theology, but she considered herself a good friend to Edric Maximus and was anxious that everyone in her family understand his work.

  It had become a ritual most evenings that Maryna sat in a little chair at his feet and read Edric’s sermons to him out loud. The first time, Arryk dozed off and was unable to answer her questions about what she had just read. He couldn’t bear to see her disappointed in him, so after that he always did his best to pay attention, though he still didn’t understand much of it.

  That night’s sermon was one about the prophesied ruler. “People say you’re the prince from the north,” Maryna said, frowning. “But Edric Maximus was certain it was Papa. Was he wrong?”

  Arryk shifted in his chair. He hated talking about the prophecy. It put even more responsibility on him. “Have you asked Edric?”

  “Yes. He says he might have been wrong about Papa, but he’s quite sure it isn’t you.”

  Arryk had to laugh. He was more relieved than offended. “Why does he think it isn’t me?”

  Maryna closed the book in her lap. “I’m sure he’s wrong, Uncle Arryk, but he says you aren’t pious enough to lead the forces of light.” She looked up at him, clearly worried she might have hurt his feelings. “But I’ve written to him and told him how we’re reading his books and how you say prayers with me at bedtime. Maybe he’ll change his mind. I think you would be very good at fighting the evil ones. After all, you rescued us when we had lost all hope.”

  “Come here,” Arryk said, picking her up and putting her on his lap. “I might not be pious enough for Edric Maximus, but I don’t mind. I suspect only the gods know the real truth.”

  “You’re right, Uncle Arryk. I will try not to worry about it.” Her clear blue eyes were still anxious.

  Arryk wanted to tell her she was only six and had no business worrying about prophecies of any kind, but he knew that would make no difference. Instead he said, “Why don’t we say our prayers now, and ask the gods to worry about it for us. They can give us answers when they feel like it.”

  Maryna’s face lit up. “That’s exactly what Edric says we should do. I think you’ve learned a great deal from his sermons. Tomorrow I’ll read from the Holy Scrolls. I’m sure you’ll love them.”

  With all of this religious education, Arryk reckoned he was building up so much credit with the gods, he’d be bullet-proof for the next twenty battles.

  Anton

  “They’ve found him,” Count Orland said. “Get ready to move out. We’ll go within the hour and the baggage can come later.”

  Anton sprang into action. Now they would finally meet Duke Evard, he hoped to get a chance to fight. Before getting his own horse ready, he ordered Cid saddled and equipped. He called to Gerd to saddle Skandar next. “We’re headed east,” he said. Gerd scowled. He’d never taken Anton’s promotion with good grace.

  “Do it,” Anton said, looking forward to the long ride. He worked Skandar every day, but he’d never taken him into a real battle.

  Anton had spent hours training him not to flinch at the sounds of battle. He’d started by igniting small amounts of gunpowder near Skandar’s head while he ate. Once he got used to that, he led him to the target range where troopers practiced with their pistols, rewarding him with treats when he calmed down. He asked a drummer boy to practice next to Skandar’s head and fed him oats on the head of the drum. When the count was away, Anton piled up some of his old, dented armor and make Skandar ride over it, rearing up and trampling it under his enormous hooves. But a real battle would be different.

  They rode east at speed. Count Faris had received word that Duke Evard was marching on Birkenfels Castle from the south. Though the empress had given him Terragand, it didn’t really count. Count Orland had burned the duke’s own castle, his son was a prisoner inside Birkenfels and the palace of Birkenhof was still a charred ruin. It was hard to rule a country without a place to live.

  Anton didn’t understand why an uncle would fight his nephew, though he thought of Bora and Seko, who’d been uncles of sorts. He would have fought them if they’d given him or his mother any trouble. And it sounded like Evard had given Prince Kendryk plenty of it.

  Faris was hurrying to meet Evard, but hoped the count might cut him off first. The castle had a small garrison with few supplies and if Evard attacked it in force, it wouldn’t hold out very long.

  At the end of the second day, scouts reported Evard a few leagues ahead. They had entered the hilly country around Birkenfels and as far as they could tell, the duke didn’t know they were there.

  “How many?” the count asked.

  “Three or four thousand at most,” the scout replied.

  “Horse?”

  “Only a few hundred.”

  The count stopped and called his officers. Anton stood at his elbow, ready to help with anything he needed, whether it was a flagon of wine or a message to another part of camp. “Do you think we can surprise them?” Schurtz asked.

  “I wouldn’t count on it,” the count replied. “He must expect someone to stand in his way. But we outnumber him, so we ought to defeat him ourselves. I’d rather not share credit if I don’t have to.”

  “Princess Gwynneth will probably throw you a flower either way,” Schurtz said, smirking.

  Anton held his breath, but the count ignored Schurtz’s insult, which was unusual. He’d once fought a duel with another officer who said the princess looked fat. The fellow still couldn’t sit a horse.

  After more discussion they decided that Faris was at least two days’ march away to the east. “Let’s strike right away and see what damage we can do. Maybe I’ll get a shot at the old bastard himself. If we have trouble we can wait for Faris,” the count said.

  Anton was bursting with excitement when they finally made contact. They rode through the trees at a breakneck pace. He couldn’t see what was ahead until they splashed through a stream and spotted the silver glint of helmets. Evard’s troops were marching down a wide road with trees on both sides.

  Anton stayed close behind the count, who rode out in front as always. Once the column was in sight they all yelled at the top of their lungs. The infantry turned in surprise and only a few lowered their pikes. It wasn’t enough to stop the horses and the muskets were slow and too few. The count’s troops cut through the column with no casualties and then circled back around for the duke.

  They had seen him in the middle of the column, and he didn’t have time to gather more guards around him. The count ordered the guards killed and captured the duke personally. The duke was mad about that and shouted curses at the count, who just laughed before knocking him in the head with a pistol butt. Then he told someone to carry him to a wagon and chain him to the bed until he could be taken to Birkenfels where he could join his son in the dungeon.

  Anton hadn’t had so much fun in his whole life and he could tell Skandar had enjoyed himself too. He hoped they’d fight again soon.

  Teodora

  “He’s here, Your Highness, in your small study,” Elyse said. She was Teodora’s most level-headed lady-in-waiting and as such was often the bearer of bad news.

  Teodora sprang from her chair. “How many? How many have returned with him?”

  Elyse sucked in her breath and paused before saying, “I’m sure he can give you an exact accounting better than I can.”

  Teodora chewed her lip. That was not a good sign. She rushed into the study, Elyse just far enough ahead to open the door and announce her. The first thing she saw was the bald spot on top of the general’s head, as he bowed. “Stand,” she snapped, waving at Elyse to close the door behind her.

  When he lifted his head she had to keep herself from gasping. She’d never seen Niklas van Ensden look so terrible. He’d always had a rather gaunt face, but now it was skeletal. When she last saw him, his dark hair
had been graying and thinning; now the little bit remaining was white.

  “Your Highness.” His voice at least was as firm as ever.

  “What. In the name. Of the gods. Have you done?” She tapped the pointed toe of her slipper between the words for emphasis.

  “I have suffered a serious defeat,” he said, with no change in his tone.

  She suppressed the urge to scream, which made her very unhappy. “That’s what I’ve heard.” She forced the words out between clenched teeth. “I was hoping I’d been misinformed, or that you’d be able to explain.”

  “It’s true,” he said. “I have no excuse or explanation, though I will be happy to answer your questions.”

  She hated his composure at that moment, though she wondered if she might use it to require him to fall on his sword or some such nonsense. She’d love to do it herself, though her position prevented it. Barbaric as some of her subjects were, they didn’t seem to like the idea of a ruler who murdered the unworthy in cold blood. Besides, she might need him later. Best to keep him alive for now.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I’d like to know how an excellent army like yours was so easily overrun.”

  “We were outnumbered and outgunned. We might have withstood King Arryk’s undisciplined hordes, or even Orland’s fine cavalry, but not after Ruso Faris’s guns did their work.”

  “Unbelievable,” she said. “How is it he could place them where they could harm you? Did you not have guards placed on the high ground?”

  “I did Your Highness, but they were overrun.”

  She shook her head and turned her back on him. “How many have returned to Atlona?”

  “Two or three hundred.”

  She whipped back around. “What did you say?”

  “Two or three hundred.” To his credit, he still didn’t flinch.

  “Out of fifteen thousand? How is that possible?”

  “We lost several thousand during the siege. It was a wet winter and there was flux in the camp. We lost some to desertion as well. I am not certain, but I believe there were another two thousand killed during the battle.”

  “I’m no mathematician, but that should still leave you some ten thousand.”

  “Indeed.” He shifted from one foot to another. “Unfortunately, our retreat was cut off and many thousands were captured.”

  “What happened to them?

  “I’m not certain, but we heard rumors that most went to fight for King Arryk.”

  “What?” These were her own troops, veterans of the border wars, of Cesiano and Moralta.

  “It was said he offered a piece of Norovaean silver to every soldier who joined his employ and many did.”

  “Traitors,” Teodora hissed, and clenched her fists at her sides. She took a long, deep breath. “How many did you come away with?”

  “About three thousand, mostly horse. We did what we could to harass King Arryk’s baggage train and pick off his scouts. We met a detachment of Orland’s cuirassiers in the field, but they overran us quickly. Those who remained—well, we had no food and very little ammunition. We took what we could from the local population, but they had little enough after the winter. Many of the rest starved or died of exposure.”

  He looked like he’d come close to being one of those casualties. Better for him if he had.

  Teodora badly wanted to throw something, but suppressed the urge for now. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Elyse scribbling away, no doubt taking detailed notes of everything that was said. She would later transcribe it to the official document. She breathed deeply so she could keep her tone even, then said, “Very well. You can repeat all of that at your court martial.”

  His face lit up. “Your Highness, I thank you.”

  It seemed the fool thought he would get a chance at justice.

  “Don’t thank me until you hear who the judges are. I’ve half a mind to hand you over to the temple on charges of providing aid to heretics.”

  That made him turn even paler than he already was.

  “In the meantime, there’s plenty of room for you in the Arnfels. Give my love to Kendryk Bernotas; you will be neighbors.”

  His hue became even pastier, but his face remained impassive. If he lived, she might be able to take lessons in composure from him.

  Janna

  It started in the middle of the night. Janna sat up suddenly with a moan. It was all right an instant later and she wondered if she’d imagined the sharp pain. She sat up for a few minutes, listening to Braeden breathe. By some miracle, she hadn’t awakened him. He was the lightest sleeper she’d ever known.

  It came again, sharper this time. Her moan was louder and Braeden awoke in an instant. “Are you all right?”

  “It might be time.” She held her belly, trying to tell if the baby had changed position or not. It had kicked and moved a great deal in the past month.

  Braeden was up like a shot. “I’ll send for Senta,” he said, “and I’ll go for a doctor.” He was dressed by the time he finished speaking.

  “Don’t leave me alone, please,” Janna whispered.

  “Franca will be here in a moment.” Franca was staying with them until the baby came so Janna would never be alone. Braeden ran into the corridor, shouting, “Dura, it’s time!” He came back into the room, lit a lamp and set it on the table next to Janna. Another pain came.

  “They’re so close together, “ she gasped. “What if the baby comes while you’re gone?”

  “Franca’s helped deliver a foal or two,” he said. “How different can it be? And I’ll get Doctor Toure from camp. I’ll be back with her before you know it. Now let me get a message off to Senta.” He kissed her quickly and disappeared the moment Franca came into the room.

  “Not sure what I’m supposed to do,” she said crossly. Janna still felt like an annoyance to her.

  “Nothing.” Janna tried not to cry out at the next pain. “Senta and the doctor will be here soon.”

  “Thank the gods.” Franca paced in front of the bed.

  “I don’t want to be difficult,” Janna gasped, “But could you sit down please? You’re making me anxious.”

  “Hmph.” Franca plopped into a chair and fidgeted.

  Fortunately, Senta bustled in moments later, a cloak over her nightdress. “How close together are the pains?” she asked, throwing the cloak aside.

  “A few minutes, I think,” Janna gasped.

  “It might still be awhile.” She took Janna’s hand. “It will be all right. Franca my dear, run and get rags and hot water. Make it yourself if you have to.”

  Franca disappeared.

  “Better to give them something to do. I imagine your husband’s gone for the doctor, though I hope we don’t need her.”

  Braeden was back before long. “The doctor’s finishing up somewhere else,” he said, looking worried. “She’ll get here as soon as she can.”

  By now the pains were close together and terrible, worse than anything she’d ever felt. She couldn’t hold back the screams, even though she saw Braeden turn pale.

  “Shoo, shoo,” Senta said. “Better you go keep an eye out for that doctor.” After he had gone she turned to Janna. “Those fellows are so tough on the battlefield, but I don’t know one who can endure the blood and screaming.”

  Janna wasn’t sure she was able to, either. It went on and on while she lost all track of time. At some point, she noticed light streaming between the drawn curtains. Hours must have passed if it was getting light outside. The light came and went. She hardly believed it could be evening again.

  She saw Braeden’s face briefly before someone pushed him away. Janna was afraid that if she died she wouldn’t get a chance to say goodbye. Another face, a dark brown one, swam into view and disappeared again.

  Senta wiped her brow with a damp cloth and a few seconds later there was an unendurable pain. Something was tearing her in half, and all went black.

  When she opened her eyes, it was full daylight and someone was crying. Braed
en sat on the bed next to her, his arms around her.

  “There she is,” Senta said. “And a good thing. This little one is hungry.”

  Braeden carefully propped her up, and Senta put a tiny, shriveled red-faced thing to her breast. Janna saw toothless gums in the wide-open screaming mouth, but it closed quickly enough.

  “See, she knows what to do,” Senta said.

  “A girl.” The pride was evident in Braeden’s voice. “A perfect little girl.”

  Janna looked down. “She is, isn’t she?” It was true the baby was a bit red and shriveled, but everything else was perfect.

  “Just right,” Senta said. “She’ll pretty up in a few days. I’ll go now, but Adela will be here in a few minutes and I’ll return tonight.”

  “Thank you,” Janna said gratefully to Senta, who looked as frazzled as Janna had ever seen her. After she had gone, Janna asked Braeden, “Was it very bad?”

  “About the worst thing I’ve ever seen or heard. And I’ve been in over fifty battles. I don’t know how you women keep doing that time after time. But you had trouble that wasn’t normal. Good thing the doctor came when she did. She’ll be back to check on you.”

  “It seemed she wasn’t coming out like she should.”

  “That was just it,” Braeden said. “She was turned the wrong way and couldn’t come out. Seems the doctor had to reach in and turn her around.”

  ““That’s what made me pass out,” Janna said.

  Braeden pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. “I prayed to gods I don’t even believe in to give me a cannonball to the gut if it would stop your suffering.”

  Janna found herself unable to speak, but then the baby wanted more, so she moved her to the other breast. When she was settled, Janna turned her face to Braeden and kissed him long and hard. “I’m glad they didn’t answer your prayers. And now, it feels worth it. Look at her. She really is perfect. Except for her head, which has an odd shape.”

  Braeden took a closer look and traced a finger around the baby’s skull. “I think that’s from the doctor yanking on it. She said it would come right soon.”