The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3

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The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3 Page 66

by Christina Ochs


  “Which woman?” Arryk waved over a page who poured wine for both of them. The Fromenberg varieties were uncommonly good. He and his officers had taken over an entire wing of Princess Keylinda’s palace and were putting a large dent in her excellent cellar. “Mattila?”

  “No.” Bronson took a long swig, draining his cup, and banged it down on the table. “No, it’s Emilya Hohenwart. I refuse to work with her.”

  Arryk sighed. He had hoped this wouldn’t be a problem. Prince Bronson seemed unable to get along with anyone. But his force was too small to operate independently, so it made sense to combine it with Hohenwart’s larger infantry and artillery.

  “Why? She has a good record. Experienced. What’s wrong?”

  “I won’t take orders from a jumped-up country squire’s daughter.”

  “You’re not taking orders, really. You’re joint commanders, and she’s the senior. She still has to consult you on everything.”

  “But she doesn’t. She acts like I don’t exist and does exactly as she pleases.”

  “Well, it’s true she’s used to working on her own and I’ve heard her manners are rough.”

  “Lack of breeding.” Prince Bronson sniffed, though he hardly personified good manners himself.

  Arryk swallowed down that observation. He needed a deft touch here and he regretted Gwynneth’s absence for the thousandth time. “Breeding doesn’t matter in the military, but results do, and hers have been good.”

  Not perfect, but good. Hohenwart had suffered a few defeats in her ten years as a commander, but she’d always come back from them quickly. She had the type of experience Arryk needed around him, now with Faris and Orland gone. “And I was wondering what was keeping her. I need her here. What if I send for her and we’ll all sit down over some ale and discuss it?” That could end in a brawl, but might sort things out.

  “She won’t come. It’s money that’s keeping her there. She needs more before traveling across Kronland. And she can’t get down here before winter. Besides, you don’t want to feed and quarter a force that size. No, she’ll sit in Brandana for at least a few months more, living off the untouched parts of the land. And I don’t intend to keep her company.”

  “Well, maybe you needn’t.” Arryk waved for another glass of wine. “Why don’t you spend the winter with me and we’ll work out everything else in the meantime? Did you bring many troops?”

  “A few. I sent most of them home for the winter.”

  Arryk pushed down his anger, something he’d learned to do well of late. He wondered what it would take to make his few remaining allies do as they were told and join him when he needed them.

  Anton

  Anton went to the banker’s with the count since they were taking the horses and didn’t plan to return. Not that they had told Vrouw Belsen anything.

  “She’d just carry on,” the count said. “I can’t stand women who carry on, though most of them do.”

  Anton wondered if that was why he liked Princess Gwynneth. She didn’t seem like the sort who’d carry on much at all.

  They had to walk far, to a better part of the city. Here the streets were wider and the tall houses decorated with bright paintings and beautiful dark woodwork. “Most of the money for the whole continent comes from here,” the count said, stopping in front of a heavy door with a small window in it.

  Anton nodded, though he didn’t understand how all the money came from here. He thought if it did, more people would carry bags of it around. The count had tried explaining to him that most of the money was on paper, but that didn’t make any sense.

  The count handed Cid’s reins to Anton, already holding Skandar, and said, “Wait here. It might be a while.”

  Then he used a heavy brass knocker to pound on the door. Almost right away, the tiny window opened and closed again, and then the enormous door swung open. Anton tried to look inside, but caught only a glimpse of a shiny dark floor before the door closed again.

  The horses were restless from being cooped up in the stable for the past several days, so Anton walked them up and down the street. It seemed that fine warhorses weren’t often seen inside the city, so several people stopped to admire them. One man wearing a tall black hat came out of a nearby house and offered to buy both of them on the spot.

  “They’re not for sale.” Anton was surprised at how easy it was to turn down the huge amount of money the man offered.

  “If you change your mind, I work there,” the man said, pointing to a house down the street. “Just knock and ask for Kornelyus. It’s not often I see horseflesh this fine.”

  Anton gave him a friendly nod, even though he didn’t like how he’d referred to Cid and Skandar as “horseflesh.” As far as Anton was concerned, these two were better than most people.

  The count returned quickly. That wasn’t good. Anton knew him well enough to know that he shouldn’t ask how it went.

  They walked to the end of the street in silence, when the count stopped. “I can’t do it,” he said. “I can’t go back to that woman.”

  Anton didn’t think they had much choice, but was silent.

  “I’ll have to sell Cid,” the count said.

  Anton thought maybe he should offer to sell Skandar too, but he didn’t want to.

  “I know what to do,” the count went on, “But I need money to do it.”

  Anton took a deep breath and told him about the man who’d offered to buy the horses.

  “He offered you how much?”

  ‘That was for both,” Anton admitted.

  “You can’t sell Skandar,” the count said. “He was a gift from a king. “

  Anton was glad he saw it that way, though the thought of selling Cid made him want to cry. But he showed the count the door and told him to ask for Kornelyus. He was still wearing his tall hat and was very happy to buy Cid. Even though Skandar wasn’t part of the deal, he handed over a large purse. Anton hoped it would be enough for whatever the count was planning.

  When they left the man after handing Cid over to him, Anton couldn’t stop the tears sliding down his cheeks.

  When he glanced up at the count, his eyes blazed and his mouth was set. “He said I could buy him back if I can come up with the money in a week’s time.”

  “Can you?” Anton couldn’t imagine how.

  “I will try. But first, we’re going to get really, really drunk.”

  Getting drunk and getting over it took the rest of the day and night, but by morning the count was ready. He and Anton found a room in a nice lodging house with a stable for Skandar. Then they went to a tailor down the street where the count spent a huge part of the money he got from Cid on several fine suits of clothes, including one for Anton. “We have to appear rich for a few days,” he said.

  They walked out a few hours later in matching red doublets and hats. The count looked Anton over approvingly. “You could almost be my little brother,” he said. “Though I doubt you’ll turn out as good-looking as me.”

  Anton doubted it too. He had to admit that in the fine clothes, he at least didn’t seem like such a ragamuffin. He had shiny new black boots that actually fit and when they returned to the lodging house, the count insisted he have a bath.

  “But I got a good soaking the other day when it rained so hard,” Anton protested.

  “It’s not the same,” the count said. “Now get in that tub and don’t come out until all the dirt is gone. I’ll check behind your ears to be sure.”

  It was worse than having a mother, Anton grumbled to himself as he lowered himself into the steaming water. Once he got used to the heat, he had to admit it felt good, and he almost fell asleep after scrubbing himself raw. Thankfully, the count didn’t check behind his ears since he came out looking pink and scalded.

  The count had had a bath too and once they put on their finery they looked completely different.

  “We don’t want anyone thinking we’re soldiers,” the count said.

  Anton was happy the count thought he ha
d looked like one in the first place.

  “And I will use a different name for the rest of our stay in Bonnenruck,” the count went on. “From now on, I’ll be known as Eberhard, Count of Winterberg.”

  “Why?”

  The count scowled. “After Lerania, anyone who hears my real name thinks of failure. Better if their first impression is this.” He pulled his fine, feathered hat down over one eye and smiled the way he always did when he was making a woman fall in love with him.

  Next, they got Skandar from the stable. The groom had cleaned his bridle and saddle, also gifts from King Arryk, and now they looked shiny and new, much like Anton. He could tell Skandar was sad about Cid, but he was also happy to get out of the stable again.

  As they walked down a narrow street, Anton leading Skandar, the count explained that they were going to a grand party. “The key is to act like you belong there,” he said.

  “But I don’t speak the language very well.”

  “That’s all right. I’ll say I picked you up on my travels, which is true enough. You must take Skandar to the stable, see he’s looked after, then find me in the big house.”

  “And then what?”

  “Stand around until I wave at you to come. I’ll send you on little errands to make you seem useful.”

  “I don’t see why.”

  “I need to appear rich and important. I don’t have an invitation to this party, but if I show up riding a fine horse like Skandar with a nicely dressed page, I’ll look like I belong there.”

  “Why do you need to go to this party?”

  “Rich women will be there. I need to find one for myself.”

  “One that looks better than Vrouw Belsen, hopefully.”

  “Hopefully. Though piles of gold will make up for quite a bit of ugliness.”

  The count, Anton and Skandar made their way to a nice neighborhood and joined a string of fine carriages all going in the same direction. The count jumped onto Skandar and Anton walked alongside, trying to look dignified. Ahead of them, the carriages lined up at the front door of an enormous house with light blazing from rows of windows. Finely-dressed people climbed out of each carriage before it moved on.

  Anton was nervous because they were the only ones without a carriage, but the count acted like he didn’t care. When it was their turn, he jumped down, tossed the reins to Anton like usual, then looked down his nose at the footman standing in front of the door. Anton tried to act bored and casual.

  The footman looked both of them over. “Your invitation?” he asked, holding out his hand.

  “I’m afraid my wife has it,” the count said. “I’m sure she’s already here. Oh yes, there she is.” He waved at a young woman who had turned to have her cloak taken by another footman inside. The count beamed at her. “Darling! You didn’t wait for me.”

  “Oh, I,” she said, flustered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t. I mean …”

  “Is this gentleman with you?” the footman asked.

  “Oh yes!” she said.

  Anton looked sideways at the count and almost laughed. He was using his best intense stare on her, the one that worked on every woman but the princess. He put out his hand and she took it and they swept past both footmen.

  The footman looked down his nose at Anton and talked for a long time. He talked so fast, it was hard to figure out what he was saying, but Anton caught the word “stables,” and since the footman pointed to the right, figured he should take Skandar that way. Anton nodded as if he understood, then hurried off since he didn’t want to miss the show. He didn’t know what the count had planned, exactly, but it was sure to be good.

  It took a long time to get Skandar in his stall and find his way through the enormous house. Large as it looked from the front, the rest of it covered an entire block. Anton paused in the kitchen to stare at the vast trays of food being readied. When no one was looking, he snatched a flaky piece of pastry from one of them and walked off. When he bit into it, he almost moaned with pleasure. It was warm and filled with nuts, butter, dark sugar and some kind of spice he didn’t recognize. He considered going back to get another, except he needed to find the count.

  He followed haughty servants dressed up in fancy liveries bearing trays laden with food and carrying crystal decanters filled with drinks of all kinds. Now he was especially glad for his fine suit.

  The house was about ten times the size of the one he’d grown up in and twenty times as luxurious. His feet sank deep into soft carpets and it was hard not to stop and stare at the beautiful paintings hanging on the walls or the brightly colored glass that made patterns in lampshades and windows. He wondered who lived here, but knew it wouldn’t be smart to ask. Perhaps it was the home of the Zeelund king, though he remembered the count explaining to him that Zeelund didn’t have a king, exactly.

  Crowds of richly-dressed people spilled from every room and jewelry glittered in the light of thousands of candles. Anton was glad he didn’t have to light them all. He finally spotted the count in one of the largest rooms, laughing and surrounded by women. Anton worked his way in until he was in his line of sight. The count saw him right away and waved him over. It was like being in battle, but without the pistols. “I’ll need you to stand behind me at dinner,” he said, “but that’s still an hour away. In the meantime, go fetch wine for these ladies.”

  Anton ran off, glad he’d paid attention to where the servants put the drinks. When he returned, carefully balancing four fine crystal glasses, the women tittered and pinched his cheeks.

  Anton looked them over. There were just two left. He reckoned they’d frightened the others off. One was younger, tall and skinny, and not bad-looking until she opened her mouth. The other was old, but so heavily painted and powdered she didn’t look too bad, especially in the candlelight.

  Though Anton couldn’t follow their conversation very well, he could see the count was laying it on extra thick with the old one, though it was the younger one who grabbed him when it was time for dinner. That made the old one mad, and she put up a fuss until a man with large red whiskers came over and made loud angry noises at the younger woman. Anton wondered if she was his daughter, or maybe his wife. The old woman ended up going in with the count, and acted like she’d bagged a prize wildfowl. The count looked pleased too, and Anton had a feeling they would have money again soon.

  Teodora

  “It’s been too long.” Teodora took Daciana into her arms.

  “You should have called me back sooner,” Daciana said, pulling away with a smile. “There’s nothing left to burn up north.”

  “So you’ve done your work well, as always.” Teodora sat down and Daciana sprawled across a nearby chair. She’d come straight from the road, her hair a wild tangle and her boots muddy. Knowing her, she wouldn’t bother to pretty up for court. Teodora couldn’t recall ever seeing her in a dress.

  “I shouldn’t call it work; I enjoy it so.”

  “You really are a monster as they say.” Teodora smiled.

  Daciana shrugged. “Could be. The reputation makes me more frightening in any case.”

  “Eat.” Teodora gestured toward a heavily laden tray, while she poured two glasses of wine. She’d had everything brought in ahead so there’d be no eavesdroppers. “I take it your raiders are in the city, drinking themselves silly and causing all kinds of trouble?”

  “Most likely.” Daciana’s mouth was full of cheese. Her manners had always been atrocious. “I told them not to get too drunk in case we have to ride out again soon.”

  “Good. It will be soon, but you can take a few days to rest and resupply.”

  “What’s next?” Daciana drank down her glass of wine in one long swig.

  Teodora refilled it. “I think it’s time for you to go east again. Princess Martinek has fielded an army led by Seward Kurant and he’s marching them out of Podoska.”

  “You need him stopped?”

  “Oh, Mattila will do that.”

  “So it’s true. I’m sure you had
a good reason for what you did.” Daciana put the glass—empty again—down hard and her eyes flashed yellow, though her tone remained even.

  “I hope so.” Now Teodora needed more wine too. “Believe me, I didn’t want to. I always hoped that neither one of us would have to see her again.”

  Daciana sighed and leaned back. “So did I. It will be hard for me to ride in her direction without at least trying—”

  “No.” Teodora’s tone was sharp. “Not now. I need her alive right now. She’s the only person who can lead a large force to victory against just about anyone. Once she’s finished off Arryk Roussay and his allies and I no longer have a use for her, she’s all yours.”

  “Good.” Daciana pulled out a long curved knife to slice off a piece of sausage. The blade looked rusty. Or maybe bloody. “But I still can’t promise I will leave her completely unharmed. It’s so unfair. Why does she always have the advantage of us?”

  “It’s only temporary. I can’t stop you from harassing her, but try to remember that her force needs to stay intact if she’s going to win.”

  “Hmph,” Daciana said, her mouth full again.

  While she ate, Teodora told her more about the progress of the war and of Mattila’s latest outrage.

  “I can get Count Faris back for you,” Daciana said.

  “Don’t bother. He’s safe inside Birkenfels for now and it’s too difficult to get in there. He won’t be a threat until spring at the earliest, and Mattila might be able to defeat Arryk before then. No, I need you elsewhere. Arryk has had far too easy a time getting the Kronlanders over to his cause. I’m glad you punished Brandana, but now I want you to do the same in Podoska.”

  “Podoska?” Daciana wiped her mouth on her sleeve and frowned. “Even with Kurant gone, they’ll be harder to intimidate.”

  “Yes, and that’s why you must do it. It takes a lot to shock Princess Martinek, but you should try.”

 

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