The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3

by Christina Ochs

  Birgid had left a lamp burning, but Janna felt very uneasy. “What is it, sir?” she asked, trying to keep her voice even.

  “I’m very sorry to do this, Madame,” he said in his bland, pleasant tone. “But you will please hand over the rest of your money.”

  “I don’t have any more.” Janna was acutely aware of the purse hanging under her apron. She had split all of the coin into three separate purses and had given over two at the warehouse.

  “I know you do. Now please give it to me. Your house is well-supplied, thanks to our help, and the Norovaean army needs it more than you do.”

  Janna shook her head. She wondered what about her made everyone think they could take what they wanted.

  “Madame, I do apologize.” Ellert gripped her firmly by the upper arm and pulled her close. “But if you don’t hand it over I will be forced to do it myself.” He grabbed a fistful of Janna’s skirt and she shrieked. “Madame, please stop making such a fuss.”

  “All right, all right.” Janna’s hands shook so, she could scarcely grip the strings of the purse and unwind them from her apron. Ellert dropped her arm and stood by as if he were waiting to start a dance. At last she untangled the purse and threw it at Ellert, before running out of the room and to the nursery, where she sobbed into her pillow until an uneasy sleep finally came.

  Anton

  Anton and the count spent the spring chasing the Sanova Hussars all over the green countryside. “They’re trying to keep us from meeting up with King Arryk,” the count explained. “And we’re trying to keep them away from Brynhild Mattila.”

  They were both doing a good job, since neither force could reach their allies. This was better than being with the king, anyway. Even though it would have been fun to spend time with Duchess Maryna and her brother, sitting in camp was boring. Out here, troopers chased each other, exchanging pistol shots when they could. So far, no one had been hurt much, although they’d once shot up several houses in a village when two scouting parties stumbled upon each other.

  King Arryk’s messenger found them when it was time. The count read the letter and frowned. “It seems he’s decided to take on Mattila. I wish he wouldn’t try it without Hohenwart, and I’d like to know what’s keeping Seward Kurant. We’re very under strength right now.”

  “So he’ll need us,” Anton said, thrilling at the prospect of a big battle.

  “Yes, we must go soon, and somehow slip past the Sanovans. It’s likely they’ll try to join Mattila’s army.”

  “Shouldn’t we stop them first?”

  “I don’t see how we can. If the king fights in a place of his choosing, we’ll be more help there. He might be able to engage Mattila before the hussars get to her. We’ll leave tonight.”

  Scouts were sent in all directions while the count pored over a map. Once everyone had reported in, he made his decision. “We’ll cross the Lera river on the Fromenberg bridge, then blow it behind us. If the hussars want to chase us, they’ll have to travel twenty leagues to the next ford. “

  Anton was glad they weren’t fording. The rivers were raging torrents, even in shallow places. It didn’t help that there’d been so much rain earlier in the spring. He preferred a sturdy stone bridge, and so did Skandar.

  It took the hussars a little time to figure out which way the count’s troops had gone, but less than a league from the bridge, they were upon them.

  “Get across the bridge with the spare mounts,” the count told Anton. “Then round up as many boys as you can to help the engineers lay the explosives.”

  Anton hesitated. He hated leaving the count on the wrong side of the river again.

  “Go,” the count said, holding back Cid, who was eager to charge toward gunfire where the hussars had already engaged the rear guard.

  Anton swallowed his fear and spurred Skandar toward the bridge. Most of the baggage was already on it or on the other side. Anton pushed his way through, shouting at boys to bring the spares behind him. Drovers cursed when Skandar reared up, forcing them to draw their wagons to the side, but Anton didn’t care. The horses were more important than baggage. Sounds of fighting were close now.

  By the time he’d struggled to the other side, and secured the horses, the engineers were nearly done. Two of them hung on ropes from the arch of the bridge so they could place charges on the underside. “When do you blow it?” Anton asked one standing on the bank, holding at bit of lit match.

  “When the count’s across. A few hussars might get across too, so be ready.”

  Anton was ready. He’d loaded his pistols and his sword was sharp. The count had given him most of his old weapons when he re-outfitted in Floradias. He rode Skandar as close to the bridge as the engineers would allow. The last wagons were crossing, followed by the thundering hoofbeats of several hundred of Orland’s cuirassiers. They spread out along the banks and fired at the hussars on the other side. Anton was sure they were out of range, but wished he could do something. He wanted to keep his pistols loaded in case some hussars made it across. If he got close enough, he might hit one.

  The fighting was fierce now. For the first time, Anton could see the hussars in force, their black wings fluttering like a dark cloud. A number of Orland’s troops had fallen and Anton couldn’t see the count. More and more horsemen crossed the bridge and the engineers stood ready.

  Finally, Anton saw the purple plume of the count’s helmet. He was using his saber to fight off a huge hussar with a long black plume rippling from his gold helm. The hussar had an axe, but Cid danced every which way and the axe narrowly missed him twice. The hussar was pushing the count hard and Anton realized he was holding his breath. Skandar danced around almost as much as Cid. Maybe he was worried too.

  When the axe swung down once more, Cid spun, then made for the bridge. The big hussar thundered after him, axe held high. Anton raised his pistol.

  Suddenly, there was shouting from the other hussars, and another one galloped onto the bridge, yelling at the big one, who was nearly on the count now. The two hussars halted on the bridge, then galloped in the other direction.

  When the count cleared the bridge, the engineers blew it.

  Anton had never heard a noise like it before. Too late he realized he was standing too close to the charges at the corner. Skandar shrieked and reared up, then ran away from the river. Anton barely held on and only reined him in after scattering a group of children gathered at the edge of the baggage train to watch the fight.

  “Whoa, whoa,” Anton said, breathless, petting Skandar’s neck. Skandar snorted and rolled his eyes. “I know, I know. Sorry old boy. Let’s go look for Cid.”

  Skandar knew that name and turned back towards the bridge a bit reluctantly. Or rather, where the bridge had been. The engineers had only set charges to the middle, so half of the stone still hung out over the river. Anton spotted Cid and the count standing near the engineers. The count was laughing.

  Anton looked across the river and saw the big hussar. He had made it back just in time. Anton was sorry he hadn’t followed the count. He would have made a marvelously large target for Anton’s pistols.

  Janna

  For several nights after Ellert took her money, Janna had nightmares of drunken soldiers laughing in her face, dirty hands grabbing her, while Anton and Anyezka screamed somewhere far away.

  Doctor Marsel came on one of his regular visits. “You must try to get more rest,” he said, looking concerned. “You look like you aren’t sleeping well.”

  “I’ve been having bad dreams. I suppose I’m terribly frightened.”

  “You mustn’t be. You must pray, and trust in the gods. They always look after their children.”

  “I know that’s not true,” Janna said. “The gods allowed the most dreadful things to happen to me. They let bad people kill my children and get away with it.”

  Doctor Marsel looked sympathetic. “The gods took your children to live with them in paradise. They no longer suffer in this world. And they let you suffer
so you could learn how to properly respect them. All of this trouble has come because we allowed empress and Imperata to lead us to damnation. For that we are punished, the guilty and the innocent alike.”

  He looked so eager and certain she hated to contradict him, but she simply didn’t agree. “That seems so harsh and unfair. I always believed, I always went to temple and prayed like I was supposed to and all I got for it was my family killed.”

  “It’s not up to us to question the ways of the gods. And it was not your fault, but all of your temple visits and prayers meant nothing if they were delivered in error. We are fortunate that we live in a time that has given us Edric Maximus and the priests who follow his teachings. We are climbing out of the mire of sin and corruption, on our way to a new world free of war and suffering.”

  “I don’t really understand that.” Janna had heard bits of talk about the teachings of Edric, but didn’t understand what was so different from what she’d been taught.

  “Oh, but you should.” Doctor Marsel’s eyes glowed. “I am sure if you learn more about the truth, you would worry less and see why these things are happening. When I return, I will bring a few books for you to read, if that’s all right.”

  “Of course.” Janna was tired of reading about politics and didn’t mind learning something new. “I’ve never been much good at understanding theology, though.”

  “Oh, that’s not necessary. Edric Maximus writes simply and clearly. He tells us priests are not needed to interpret the word of the gods. All of his writings are meant for the common person to understand.”

  It seemed the teachings of Edric Maximus were all anyone thought about these days. Before Doctor Marsel returned, Birgid came in from an afternoon out. Her eyes sparkled and her cheeks were flushed from the cold that persisted, even though it was nearly summer.

  “We were just sitting down to some tea,” Janna said, although Iryna ran off to get a toy as soon as Janna let her off her lap. “Won’t you have some?”

  Birgid grabbed Iryna and put her in a chair. “You must learn how to sit quietly, young lady. Here.” She handed Iryna a sweet biscuit, just as she looked like she was about to cry. “Oh, Madame, I do wish you could get out more. I’ve just been to the most wonderful service at the East Temple.”

  “But it’s the middle of the week. I’m afraid I don’t understand why there are so many services these days.”

  “It’s that everyone is so excited at finally receiving the word of the gods. Those who can read get their own copy of the Holy Scrolls in Olvisyan and for those who can’t, why the priestess reads direct from them. It’s thrilling.”

  “How is that different from before? My priestess always told us what the Scrolls said about everything important.”

  “But it might not have been true,” Birgid said, dipping a biscuit into her cup. They were getting stale and Hilda would bake no more since flour was reserved for bread. “There was no way to know. Even most priests and priestesses didn’t have the learning to read the Scrolls for themselves and the Imperata would never allow them to be translated out of the ancient tongue. But Edric Maximus did it, and now we can all read what they say for ourselves.”

  “And you understand them?”

  “Oh yes, they’re quite straightforward. There’s no mention of many things we were taught to believe were important. We don’t need big temple ceremonies, we don’t need to give money to the temple so the gods will hear our prayers, and there’s no mention of an Imperata anywhere.”

  “How strange.” Janna sipped her tea. “Why wouldn’t they just tell us the truth?”

  “So they could keep us as slaves, I suppose. So we’d give them money and do whatever they said. Here …” Birgid rummaged in the pockets of her cloak, thrown over the back of her chair. “I brought you some pamphlets. These are some of Edric Maximus’s most famous sermons.” She handed Janna a stack of papers.

  Doctor Marsel came the next day, even though he wasn’t due for a visit. “I brought you this.” He handed Janna a small book. It was bound in cloth and plainly made. “The Holy Scrolls in Olvisyan,” he said, looking at the pile of pamphlets on Janna’s table and seeming pleased. “So you are already familiar with Edric’s sermons?”

  “No. One of the servants just brought me these yesterday. She was at the East Temple and very excited about what was taught there.”

  “Oh yes, I attend the East Temple as well. Mother Ilsa is a compelling speaker and so compassionate toward her congregation. It would do you much good if you could attend a service.”

  “I’d like to go out, but can’t walk that far.”

  “I’ll come check on you again in three days. There will be a special afternoon service and I’ll take you there myself. I’ll bring my little carriage so you needn’t walk.”

  Janna was beginning to feel like she would be given little choice in the matter.

  Braeden

  After failing to stop Arian Orland, the Sanova Hussars joined Mattila’s army, and then waited to find out whether she planned to move on Arryk or on Kersenstadt first.

  “This can’t be good news,” Prince Novitny said as he and Braeden hurried to a meeting Mattila had called on short notice. “You know how she likes to schedule everything.”

  Braeden said nothing, but had a bad feeling as well. He couldn’t imagine Mattila allowing the Norovaeans to take Kersenstadt with no repercussions and imagined the weeks of delay were due to the general making plans to take back the city.

  By the time they reached the inn that Mattila used for her headquarters, most of her senior officers had assembled in the main dining room. Braeden and Novitny chose a spot at the long table near the foot, as far away from the general’s place as they could get.

  Filled with officers who usually chattered like sparrows, the room was awkwardly quiet. Just like Braeden and Novitny, the rest seemed to think the news wouldn’t be good, and no one enjoyed being on the receiving end of Mattila’s temper.

  The general herself strode into the room moments later, slamming the door behind her. Two crimson spots bloomed on her pale cheeks, her mouth was set in a thin line and her eyes blazed. She threw herself into a chair, pulling it up to the table with a loud screech.

  There was complete silence for a moment as she stared down, breathing hard, arms spread so her fists clenched the table’s corners. No one moved a muscle. Braeden noticed that the Archduchess Elektra was not there, which seemed odd, considering the girl followed Mattila around like a shadow.

  The silence dragged on, but Mattila spoke at last. “I have received the most extraordinary correspondence from one of my agents in the imperial court.” Her voice was harsh and loud, as though she were shouting at troops on the parade ground. A young Moraltan officer sitting across from Braeden flinched.

  Mattila went on. “It appears Her Imperial Highness has besieged Kersenstadt.” She paused, appearing to take some satisfaction from the shocked gasp that went up.

  It took an instant for her words to sink in, but when they did, they hit Braeden in the stomach like a shot. He grabbed the table’s edge, barely conscious of Novitny’s hand on his shoulder.

  Mattila kept talking. “Somehow, Count Ensden hired an army from Cesiano, and General Barela has joined the empress as well, in direct violation of our agreement.”

  Braeden didn’t know what their agreement was, and didn’t care, but he felt the tiniest bit of hope since Barela was there too. Perhaps his friend would be of some help, though he didn’t see how.

  Far up the table, someone asked, “Is that not a good thing? The empress dealing with Kersenstadt means we don’t have to, and can concentrate all of our resources on defeating Arryk.”

  Mattila whirled on him. “I’ll say what’s good and what isn’t, and I’ll thank you to keep your mouth shut. I had a plan for dealing with both Arryk and Kersenstadt, which is now unworkable. And Her Highness is likely to make a muddle of things, as usual.”

  Another gasp went up at such blatant disrespect
toward the empress, but Braeden was no longer listening. He kept holding on to the edge of the table, tried to quiet his spinning head and waited for the meeting to end.

  When it finally did, he stood up, Novitny’s steadying hand on his elbow. “I’m all right,” he muttered, but Novitny didn’t let go.

  “We’ll go back to my quarters,” the prince said. “I’ll call the others and we’ll think of something.”

  Even though Braeden’s mind wasn’t working well, he couldn’t imagine what might be done. His family was still inside Kersenstadt, at the mercy of enemy troops. Now Teodora sat outside, and would be ruthless in dealing with that enemy. Braeden knew her well enough to be certain she wouldn’t hesitate to destroy as many innocents as she needed to defeat the Norovaeans. Thinking about it made him sick.

  Novitny steered Braeden to the house where he’d headquartered the Sanova Hussars, dragged him to the room he’d taken as a study, and shoved him into a chair. “Wait here,” he said, as if Braeden could have moved at all, then disappeared.

  Braeden didn’t know how much time had gone by, but when the prince reappeared, he had Reno, Franca and Miro in tow. They pulled up chairs in a semicircle around Novitny’s desk. No one said a word, though Franca gave Braeden’s shoulder a squeeze as she went by.

  “I’ve already told them what’s going on,” Novitny said, once he’d taken a seat. “I’m sure there’s something we can do.”

  “I can’t think of anything.” Braeden’s mouth felt full of cotton.

  “General Barela is a friend of yours, isn’t he?” Franca asked.

  Braeden nodded, though he didn’t see how that helped right now. It had occurred to him that Barela was even better friends with Teodora.

  “You can write to him,” Franca went on.

  Novitny frowned. “Not sure what Barela can do.”

  “Maybe nothing right now.” Franca’s tone was patient, her voice softer than usual. “But if Teodora takes the city, he can look for Janna and make sure she’s unharmed.” She turned to look at Braeden. “Write to him, tell him where your house is, and if the city should fall, he can send someone to protect your family.”