He was silent for a long time. She could tell he wasn’t pleased, but for once, she didn’t care.
“All right,” he said after a while. “You’ll come along if you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.” She smiled. “I really want to.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I’d rather have you along, but I worry.”
“You don’t mind taking a thirteen-year-old girl into battle, but you worry about me living in a tent?”
“Something like that. I never claimed to be the smartest man.”
Teodora
“I must go somehow.” Teodora didn’t like shouting at Livilla, but no one else was there and she was angry. “It’s the first time in my life I’ve sent an army on a major campaign without riding at its head. That of all people, she’s doing it instead is intolerable.” She paced the room, while Livilla sat in a chair by the fire, sipping steaming tea.
Teodora thought of something and returned to her own chair. “I’ll go along in disguise.”
Livilla raised her eyebrows and said nothing.
“I’ll pretend to be an officer, cut my hair, take another name. She’ll never even notice me.”
Livilla smiled. “My dear, you overestimate your ability to blend in. Many of your subjects recognize you on sight, and those who don’t, well, I’m not convinced you can easily put aside your regal bearing.”
“True.” Teodora frowned. She’d admit she was no actress, and being born to rule meant one carried oneself in a specific way from birth. “What shall I do then?”
Livilla set her mug on a small table. “The general is right in this—it is vital that people see you ruling here. When you leave your capital, your enemies think you are vulnerable. If you are here, it sends a message you have the resources to continue your business while sending servants to do your dirty work. And that’s all General Mattila is—a servant. Keep that in mind when you feel discouraged. However,” she went on, a twinkle in her eye, “You ought to be represented in some way.”
“How in the world will I do that?”
“Send a family member along.”
“Not my husband surely.” Not that she considered him family, but he was the only adult nearby. Her cousin, her nearest competitor for the throne, had gone to ground somewhere and would no doubt cause trouble at the most inconvenient time.
“Oh heavens, no. He would be worse than useless. No, I was thinking it’s time for Elektra to show herself as your heir.”
“But she’s only thirteen. What can she do?”
“Wear fetching armor and ride at the general’s side. It will put to rest any mutterings you are not doing your part.”
“Who’s muttering that?” Teodora demanded. It was galling how difficult it was to get respect from those who should offer it without question.
“Oh, no one in particular. But if someone should think it, they’ll be silenced when they see your own flesh and blood ride off to battle.”
“But she can’t fight. She hasn’t done her military service. And besides, she shows no aptitude.”
“Few do at that age. You were an exception in every way. In spite of what you think, Elektra is a bright girl and she will learn a great deal by observing. She can also report to you on what Mattila is doing with no one thinking twice about it. She can be well-guarded and won’t take part in any action.”
Teodora paced the room. “I don’t dislike the idea. I’ve long been wondering what to do with her. She seems so dull.”
“She’s at an awkward stage,” Livilla said. “Many girls go through it. She’s growing and changing a great deal, but her mind is sound. I’ve found her a good pupil at the temple school. Maybe not the very best, but she is not destined to become a Maxima, so she needn’t excel at theology. It will give her confidence to be given this task.”
When Livilla had gone, Teodora sent for Elektra. With the whole capital in an uproar about the army moving out, Livilla’s temple school was closed for a few days so the students could join in the excitement.
When Elektra entered the room, it was plain she was frightened.
Teodora looked her over critically. Short and dumpy, her face lacked definition and her hair was stringy and of some mousy hue. She was not empress material, but she would have to become one anyway, at some point.
“Sit.” Teodora gestured to a chair.
Elektra sat down on the edge and fidgeted with the end of her braid.
“I have a job for you,” Teodora said. “Your first official one as an archduchess and as my heir.”
Her eyes widened at that, though Teodora saw fear rather than anticipation.
“I’ve decided to send you with General Mattila when she goes north.”
Elektra’s eyes grew wider still. “Doing what?” she asked, her voice small.
“You will ride next to her as my official representative. You needn’t do anything except look good in armor and inspire the troops. Don’t worry, we’ll find something flattering.”
“I don’t know how to do that.”
“It’s easy. You appear every now and then, smile and wave. The general will do enough talking for everyone. But there’s something else that’s more important. I want you to pay attention to what the general is doing, who she talks to and what she said.”
“You want me to spy on her?”
“Not in any devious fashion. You’ll be present at a lot of meetings, many of them boring. Just listen to what is going on and write to me about it. You’ve learned the ciphers?”
Elektra nodded. “Some of them, at least.”
“Are you any good at them?”
Her face brightened. “Yes, I am. Livilla Maxima says I’m one of the quickest she’s seen in writing and deciphering the Ventophorm.”
“Excellent. That’s the one we’ll use, then. Overlook nothing. Even remarks that seem unimportant, mentioned in passing, might matter.”
“Do you suspect the general of treachery?” Elektra looked alarmed.
“Oh goodness, no. I just want to know what is going on since I can’t come along.”
“I was sure you would go.” The girl still sounded uncertain, but not as frightened as before.
Teodora looked down her nose at Elektra. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’ve decided it’s more important I stay here and show the people the strength and stability of the empire. And now you’re old enough, you can represent me in the field. You needn’t worry about going into battle, and I’ll see you have a large contingent of your own guards.”
Elektra swallowed hard and looked straight at Teodora.
“All right,” she said. “I’ll do it.”
Braeden
It was the largest force Braeden had been part of in at least a decade and one of the more impressive. The troops were seasoned veterans, which made training them easy, their weapons and armor the best.
Mattila could afford to spend money on that part because the campaign otherwise paid for itself. Once they left Atlona behind, it was a simple matter of living off the land and levying contributions from the town.
“We prefer to make the empress’s enemies pay,” she’d said. “But if allies must bear part of the burden, that’s the price for our protection. Friend or enemy, we’ll deal with anyone who complains the same way.”
It only took a few examples to make everyone fall into line. When they entered Arcius, the only Kronland kingdom friendly to the empress, Mattila extracted large sums from every town they passed. The first few objected, but she wasted no time in sending her personal troops to sack the homes of every prominent citizen. A delegation laden with sacks of gold always appeared within hours.
Once they left Arcius, it was easy enough to get payment in exchange for protection from marauding Norovaeans, who presumably would be worse. Braeden didn’t mind, because some of that gold flowed to Prince Novitny, and then to him.
Janna shook her head when he added another installment to the big chest in the corner of their tent. “It seems so
unjust,” she said. “They haven’t even rebelled.”
“No, and now they won’t.” Braeden couldn’t feel too bad, especially when this gold meant security for Janna and Iryna if anything happened to him.
“Really? I would be far angrier with the empress now if I’d had any friendly feelings before.”
“Yes, but you’re already a rebel.” Braeden gently poked her in the ribs.
Janna slapped his hand away and rolled her eyes. “True. But others must find it unjust as well.”
Braeden sighed and pulled her closer. “It’s different for soldiers. We’ve learned not to question these things. It would drive us mad otherwise.”
“But you questioned Tomescu.” Janna let herself sink into his arms.
“That was different.”
“It was not.”
“She was killing people who hadn’t done anything.”
“These people haven’t done anything.”
“No one’s been killed.”
“Not yet,” Janna said.
Though late spring, it never stopped raining, so the going was cold, wet and unpleasant. Braeden had worried it would be hard for Janna to manage with a baby, but she got help from other women who’d had practice. Once, when he checked on her on a particularly nasty day, he found her riding Zoltan, covered in tent material, little Iryna dry and warm, cradled against her in a sling. They both looked far more comfortable than Braeden.
It was hard to keep everything dry all the same, and the tent was cold and drafty. The little brazier warmed a small area around it, but the wind blew in through every hole and seam.
“You can’t be enjoying yourself.” Braeden watched Janna rock Iryna in a little hammock she’d borrowed from another woman with four older children.
“Oh, but I am,” she said, smiling at him. “I loved the house, but this is your life. I could tell you were getting restless in Atlona.”
“I was.” He sat down on the edge of the cot next to her and took over the rocking. Iryna was bundled up and sleeping soundly. She seemed to be a very good baby. He’d always heard they were more trouble. Might be he was lucky and the baby had inherited Janna’s calm nature, or maybe she was just a good mother, or both. “But it was conditions like these that made me think twice about a permanent situation with a family. Everyone else seemed so miserable, with dirty, screaming brats. Someone always sick, with mud everywhere.”
“It’s bad for some,” Janna said. “But we’re well off compared to most. It makes a big difference to have a large tent and servants to set up, fetch water and build fires. If I had to do all of that myself while hauling the baby around, I’d be a lot less happy. Though I’d still be happy to be with you.” She leaned against Braeden.
“I’m happy to be with you, too,” he said, putting his free arm around her. “I’m just not used to worrying about someone. We’re going up against multiple armies and King Arryk is a serious opponent. If we’re defeated, and they get into the baggage train it could get ugly very quickly.”
“Have you ever been defeated?” Janna asked.
“No, but I’ve seen it happen to the opposing forces. I’ve been part of it a time or two. We were chasing down the enemy, but there’s always some who stop to plunder, or worse. Why, it was that Lermonov fellow, you know, the trooper with one eye? That’s how he got his wife. He stopped to pick through some general’s wagons, and found a servant girl hiding under a canvas. He threw her over his saddle and brought her back to camp.”
“And she married him anyway?” Janna was aghast.
“Not like she had much choice, I suppose. Ugly fellow like him, though she wasn’t much to look at herself. But they seemed happy enough.”
“What happened to her? I didn’t know he had a wife.”
“She died having a baby. That was a few years ago.”
“Oh,” Janna said, and they were silent for a moment.
“I worry about that, too,” Braeden said. “What if we have another baby while we’re on campaign? That’ll be much harder.”
“But Doctor Toure is along; she’ll take care of me.” As bad as her experience having Iryna had been, Janna seemed unworried about repeating it. Braeden wished he could feel as confident.
Anton
The winter had been long and cold, so Anton and Skandar were happy to leave Lerania when spring came.
But there was one problem. On the longest night of the year, a few citizens had revolted and during their brief rebellion, blown up the bridge across the river. Those people were dead, but there was still no bridge and with the river swollen from the spring rains, no way to ford.
“I won’t wait any longer,” the count said when he met with his officers to plan the spring campaign. “We must build our own bridge.”
“But we have no Zeelund engineers with us,” someone objected.
“How difficult can it be? The ancients built bridges like these, at this very spot.” It wasn’t easy to talk the count out of anything once he’d set his mind to it.
So they built a bridge. It was called a pontoon bridge and it floated. It took several days, but at least the weather had cleared and the water wasn’t as fast as before. The count paced the riverbank anxiously. The most recent dispatches from King Arryk reported that General Mattila’s huge army was moving west. King Arryk wanted the count to join him before she got between them.
Anton helped the bridge builders, shuttling pieces of wood from the carpenters to where engineers placed them across large empty boats. Some had been built for this, after they’d taken all the boats from fishing villages up and down the river. Anton had never seen anything like it, and he wasn’t keen on crossing it.
“It’ll be slow going,” the count admitted, “But we must do it, so better slow than not at all.”
When the bridge was ready, he was the first to cross, Anton right behind him. It wasn’t as bad as he expected. The whole thing swayed, but it was wide enough to cross four abreast and Anton was in the middle, far from the edges, which was a good thing since he couldn’t swim. He kept his eyes on Skandar’s ears until they reached the other side.
It took all day for the troops to cross, and then the baggage started. They stopped at sunset and continued the next day. Almost everyone had crossed when a scout galloped up to the count. “It’s Mattila.” He gasped, trying to catch his breath. “She’s right in front of you.”
“How far?” The count’s expression didn’t change, even though Anton felt a surge of excitement.
“No more than half a day’s march.”
“By the Father’s balls.” The count swore. “We can’t meet her here with our backs to the river. She’ll demolish us.” The land in front of them was flat, so there was no good place to put the guns, though the count ordered them deployed anyway. “We’re falling back across the bridge,” he said. “We’ll go last,” he told Anton. “I’ll have to leave most of the baggage on this side.”
That meant people. “What’ll happen to them?” Anton asked.
“Who knows?” The count shrugged. “I can’t get them back across the river in time, but I must save as many cavalry as I can. They’re hardest to replace.”
Bad as things were, Anton had to admire the count’s calmness. He placed the few artillery pieces he had and a vanguard of pike to hold Mattila off as long as possible. Then troopers started crossing the bridge again, in the direction they had come only hours before.
The count paced some more. The scouts had reported no sign of Novitny or Barela with Mattila and he worried she’d sent them to outflank him. He sent more scouts in all directions to search for any movement across the burned land.
It started raining. The count cursed some more, and Anton got out of the way by leading spare horses across the bridge. By the fourth crossing, he was no longer afraid of the water. He was afraid of what was coming on the other side.
On his last trip, he escorted the burgomaster’s wife back to her house. She’d followed the count across the river, but he
made her leave now. “Go back to your husband,” he said, kissing her on the forehead. “You don’t want to be here when Mattila comes, trust me.”
“I don’t care about that,” she wept. “I love you.”
“No, you don’t,” the count said wearily. “I don’t have time for this. Kronek, take her back.”
“He’s in love with someone else you know,” Anton said as they returned to the city. She wouldn’t stop crying, so it wasn’t like he was making things worse. She cried even harder, but didn’t resist when he led her horse to the front door of the burgomaster’s house and gave her a hand down. She went in without looking back.
Before leaving, Anton took a quick trip up the city walls, then wished he hadn’t. He saw Mattila’s forces already, wave upon wave of spear-tips, red and black flags, the beat of drums. He’d heard they outnumbered the count’s forces four-to-one.
On the other side of the river, the drums were loud now, the screech of pipes above them. Anton’s heart was in his mouth, but the count seemed unbothered.
“Guns!” he ordered, and the big pieces fired.
Mattila stopped, but only for a moment. Then the drumbeats and the rumble of thousands of marching feet continued. Anton didn’t know what to do. He’d never retreated before. He saw the first square of pike advancing on them. Musketeers marched on either side. Soon they would be in range. Anton licked his parched lips and raised his pistol.
“Fall back,” the count said. “Orderly now.”
Most of the force was still on the wrong side of the river and they couldn’t cross the bridge any faster. They would have to hold them off here.
“Go now,” the count said to Anton. “I don’t need you here.”
“But,” Anton said.
“Go. Save as many horses as you can. Swim them across.”
Anton finally nodded and spurred Skandar back to the river. At the bank, he paused and shed his armor. If he fell off, he didn’t want it pulling him under. He grabbed the leads of two spare horses, then mounted Skandar.
The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3 Page 62