The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3

by Christina Ochs

  She wondered if she had time to get water from the pump in the kitchen and decided against it. The fire looked like it was close now, and moving fast. She hadn’t realized there would be so much fuel and hoped her house’s stone walls and slate roof could withstand the heat. The cellar was without question the safest place.

  She settled herself and the children on the flour sacks once more after she’d made sure the door was securely shut. She wished she could lock it. “Let’s say a prayer,” she said to Iryna, who was still crying.

  She held Iryna’s hand and prayed for Braeden’s safety and for theirs. “And Holy Mother, keep us safe, and all of the good people in the city. We have followed you faithfully and will serve you to death and beyond. Look down upon us, your children and bless us.” The roaring overhead was loud, the air scorching. “Holy Father, keep us safe from the fire and the soldiers.” Nothing now but the heat and roar of the flames. It was hard to breathe. “Ercos, give me strength,” Janna gasped as the wall of flame passed on the street outside.

  Arryk

  Arryk knew the dream was coming, but was unable to stop it. Try as he might to stay awake and conscious, the darkness advanced again, faster and heavier than in the last dream. This time there was no armored woman, but a whole horde of screaming riders, sabers raised and dripping blood.

  And then he saw Larisa, like a golden beacon against the dark. Joy flooded him as she came toward him, wearing her battered armor, her wedding wreath on her head.

  “Thank the gods,” he gasped.

  Her eyes turned sad and she stopped before reaching him. “Saying goodbye is hard,” she said. “But I must. Know that I regret nothing. Everything happened as the gods ordained it.” And then the horde was on her, sucking her into the blackness. The shrieking in his ears was unbearable, but ended suddenly, with a rush of blood across the floor.

  It built up into a wave, lapping at the edge of his bed, then running across it. He could not move or escape. But this time, he woke up before the blood reached his mouth. He sprang up, and had his sword in hand before his feet touched the floor.

  Arryk slashed at the black, still fading into the wall, waded through blood to reach it. He slipped against the wall and slashed at it until his sword got stuck. He heard voices, and someone picked him up by the arms, someone else grabbed his legs and carried him back to bed.

  “The king is ill,” a voice said, sounding far away.

  “Not ill,” Arryk muttered. “Bad dream.”

  “I’ll say,” another voice said. “You had a bad dream because of a fever. I’ll send for the doctor.”

  “Don’t need the doctor,” Arryk said, but no one seemed to pay attention. A moment later the door closed, but now several lamps were burning. Arryk looked down at his feet, expecting to see them covered in blood, but they were bare and dry. He rubbed his eyes and his hand came away wet. At first he thought he’d see blood there, but it was only sweat that dripped from his face. He gritted his teeth and lurched to his feet again, reaching for his clothes.

  The door opened again and a doctor entered. “Your Highness, you must go back to bed,” he said, looking at Arryk with some alarm. “You have a fever.”

  “I do not,” Arryk said. “Go away, and get Magnus Torsen.”

  “That’s not wise,” the doctor began.

  “I don’t care,” Arryk shouted. “I’m ordering you to go away. Now do it.”

  The doctor opened his mouth, closed it again, and backed out the door. Sometimes it was good to be king. But it wouldn’t help if he couldn’t get to Larisa. He had to do it now, before it was too late. He was certain the gods were sending him these visions. Why would they do it if they didn’t want him to act?

  He stumbled into the corridor shouting for Magnus, who arrived a moment later, out of breath and still struggling into his clothes. “They say you’re not well, Your Highness,” he said.

  “I’m fine,” Arryk gasped. “But we must go now.”

  “Go where?” Magnus asked, alarmed.

  “Kersenstadt.”

  “Your Highness, we’ve already discussed it. We can’t go. Mattila will expect us to do exactly that.”

  “I don’t care. We need to go to Kersenstadt first. We can handle Mattila if she comes.”

  “But you must wait for Hohenwart,” Magnus insisted.

  “Tell her to meet us at Kersenstadt. I won’t tolerate any more delays.”

  “Your Highness, please.” Magnus looked so frantic Arryk would have felt sorry for him if he had been able to overcome his own panic. “You’re not well. Let’s discuss it in the morning.”

  “The gods have spoken and we must act now.” Arryk pushed a door open and lurched into a room that held a table and a few chairs. He fell into a chair and laid his head on the table.

  In the distance, Magnus said, “I believe he’s gone mad. I’m sure it’s the fever. Would someone find that doctor?”

  Arryk shook his head but didn’t have the energy to protest. It didn’t matter. Fever or not, they had to follow his orders even if they didn’t understand. Even if he didn’t understand. He wished the gods had chosen someone else.

  He thought hard, even though it felt like the hammer of Ercos was pounding inside his head. He did his best to remember the prophecy from the Scrolls, since he was certain the dream had to be related to that. Perhaps the gods were guiding him to his proper role by sending him the dreams.

  And if he was the ruler in the prophecy, he would win this battle, wouldn’t he? He’d had Maryna read the passages from the Scrolls to him several times, but now he couldn’t remember who won the battle at the end. Surely he would? Wasn’t that the point? And at his wedding the priest had said Larisa was part of it, so he needed to get her first.

  Arryk stumbled back into the corridor and spotted a cluster of officers in the distance. “Give the orders,” he shouted, “We move out right now.”

  “Move out where?” someone asked.

  “To Kersenstadt.”

  “But,” someone else said.

  “Shut up!” Arryk screamed. “I’m the king and I give the orders and we’re going to Kersenstadt. Get my horse ready.”

  Teodora

  Teodora opened her eyes, then quickly closed them again. The light burned. Everything burned. She swallowed. Her throat was raw and dry so she asked for water, but no sound came out. Even though it hurt to breathe, she did it anyway. That she could breathe at all came as a tremendous relief once she remembered what had happened.

  She scrambled to sit up, though she kept her eyes screwed shut. She was alive. Teodora forced herself to recall the wall of flame, the roar of the wind, the billowing black smoke. She’d expected to die, but somehow she hadn’t.

  She opened her eyes to a squint, and realized it was quite dark; a small lamp burned on a corner table. Slowly, she opened them all the way. She was inside her tent, on top of the covers of her bed, still wearing grimy, sweat-and-smoke-stained clothes. Strange, that no one else was about. She tried shouting again, but little more than a croak came out. She needed water.

  Brytta burst into the tent. “Your Highness! You must not stand until we can help you.”

  Teodora wanted to bark at her that no one could tell her what to do, but again, no sound came out.

  Brytta tutted, then poured water into a cup and handed it to Teodora. She drank it quickly and Brytta refilled it.

  After she’d emptied the second cup she could speak. “What happened? How did I escape the city?”

  “Your guards dragged you to safety after you’d fallen. You gave us a terrible shock, Your Highness. We were certain you were dead for the first few minutes.”

  Brytta did not look nearly as horrified at the idea as she ought.

  Teodora scowled. “What about the city? Is it badly damaged?”

  Brytta shifted to her other foot and chewed her lip. “I’m not sure. Shall I fetch General Barela? He will know more.”

  Teodora nodded, feeling weak with relief. She hadn�
��t dared to think about whether he’d survived. One of the last things she remembered was letting go of his hand, then seeing nothing but fire.

  She lowered herself back onto the bed, feeling winded and tired. Demario came quickly. He’d changed into clean clothes, but looked grim and haggard.

  He pulled a chair up beside her bed. “Thank the gods you survived. After you let go, I couldn’t see you; I’m so glad your guards stayed close.”

  Teodora wondered if she should be angry with him. It would have been far nicer if he’d been her rescuer. “Hmph,” she said, fixing him with a hard stare. “I’m glad they did too.”

  “I noted their names,” Demario said. “Though one of them is still unconscious. It seems she breathed a great deal of that terrible black smoke. I was sure you’d want to reward them.”

  It hadn’t occurred to Teodora, but appearing gracious made a better impression. “Certainly,” she said. “I’d like nothing better.” She pushed herself into a sitting position. Demario did nothing to help, though it was true he looked half-dead himself. “Now tell me what happened in there.”

  “We’re not sure. No one has been able to re-enter the city in the past few hours. The fire is dying down but it might be days before it cools off enough for us to go inside.”

  “The whole city burned?” She didn’t understand; Kersenstadt was nearly as big as Atlona.

  “All of it. It’s possible a few areas were spared, but we won’t know until we can go look.”

  “So it’s completely destroyed.” She let her head fall back against the cushions.

  “That’s what it looks like.”

  Teodora licked her dry lips. “What about my army? There must have been thousands inside when the fire started.”

  “Many did not survive. General Ensden and I are still counting and we’re still seeing stragglers trickle in. It seems a number escaped from the other gates and are making their way back to camp. We’ll know more by morning.”

  “Morning? But it was morning when the fires started.”

  “Yes.” His voice was flat and his eyes held none of their usual sparkle. “You’ve been asleep all day, and night has fallen again.”

  Teodora’s head pounded. “The city is ours then, but it’s gone. Is this a victory or a defeat?”

  Demario’s eyes hardened. “Both, I suppose. Your enemies are dead, but so are many of your own troops. And nothing remains of one of the richest cities in Kronland.”

  Teodora sat up suddenly. Her head swam and black spots danced in front of her eyes, but she refused to faint. “This is all Mattila’s fault,” she said. “If she hadn’t left the city so poorly fortified, it would never have fallen to Karsten.” Then she remembered, and brightened. “At least Karsten is dead. Has anyone let King Arryk know?”

  Demario’s gaze was unreadable. “We were waiting for you.”

  “Then let’s not waste any time.” Teodora wanted to spring to her feet, but restrained herself. “Call Brytta and tell her to bring my writing things. I must send the king a message he’ll remember the rest of his life.”

  Braeden

  Mattila had located Arryk Roussay’s force and was prepared to engage him as soon as she could pin him down. Even though she had sent a detachment north to block Hohenwart, she still outnumbered Arryk and he had stumbled into a bad position after suddenly changing direction.

  Braeden had just sent Trisa to the blacksmith with an armful of swords and knives that needed sharpening when Franca ran up to him. “Sir, there’s news from Kersenstadt.”

  He opened his mouth to ask if it was good, but saw by the look on her face that it wasn’t.

  “I’m so sorry, sir. You’re wanted at Mattila’s headquarters, you and the prince. Kersenstadt has fallen to Teodora.”

  Knowing what Braeden did about sackings, the bile rose in his throat. His ears roared.

  “Sir, you’d best sit,” Franca said, sounding far away. She grabbed his elbow and guided him to a camp stool. Once she made sure he wasn’t about to topple over, she pulled up another stool and sat across from him. “I don’t know specifics so you might learn more from Mattila. But it seems the city was heavily damaged when Teodora took it. I didn’t want you to hear it from anyone else.”

  “Thank you.” The roaring in Braeden’s ears grew louder and he wondered he could speak at all. He was glad he hadn’t heard this while conferring with Mattila. He might have attacked the little Archduchess Elektra by way of revenge. He still might. Next, all he could think was that he would kill Teodora somehow.

  “We haven’t received any official word yet so we don’t know details, and of course it’s possible General Barela was able to help.” Franca still sounded far away.

  Braeden attempted to pay attention and respond, but no words came. Finally he managed, “I need to go to Kersenstadt now.”

  “You can’t.” Franca put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure the prince will let you go after the battle. A day or two won’t matter. Maybe we’ll get a message from Barela in the meantime. Come now.” She stood and pulled him up by the arm. “Maybe General Mattila will have more news.” She guided him all the way to the inn that Mattila was using as her headquarters. Braeden stumbled along as in a dream.

  Novitny waited for him outside. “It’s a bad business,” he said. “You’ll go as soon as the battle is over, and take as many troopers as you like.”

  Braeden nodded as Franca gave him a gentle push toward the door of the inn.

  The mood inside was a mix of festive and nervous. Everyone was glad that Kersenstadt was back in imperial hands, but everyone also reckoned Mattila would be angry that Teodora had pulled it off. Braeden seated himself and concentrated on taking one breath after another. If the battle went well, he’d be on his way to Kersenstadt soon.

  Mattila came in, the Archduchess Elektra right behind her. Braeden eyed the girl. Short and dumpy, she looked too pathetic to kill. Her eyes were red-rimmed. The general had likely been making her pay for her mother’s sins. Braeden almost pitied her. He wondered if Teodora cared about her child the way he cared about his. He hoped so.

  He stared at Elektra so intently she turned her gaze on him and frowned. He looked away with an effort, hoping he didn’t appear too menacing. Since the girl never took a step without at least six imperial guards at her side, getting to her would be tricky. He’d have to work it out later.

  Mattila was already talking and he tried to pay attention. She was in a real lather about Teodora but trying not to show it. “The empress has done us a great service.” Her lips stretched into an unnatural smile. She almost never smiled, so any expression like one was bound to be false. “Kersenstadt is ours once again. Unfortunately I have no idea how much materiel can be recovered. It seems Quadrene fanatics blew up a few weapons depots, but I’m sure we’ll find out more later. I’ve sent numerous messages to the empress requesting more details.”

  Braeden desperately tried to recall where the weapons and powder had been housed and couldn’t remember any specific locations. As far as he knew, none were all that close to his house. With any luck, Janna and the children had stayed inside and were safe.

  “The empress has done us another favor.” Mattila went on. “She killed Duchess Karsten and has let King Arryk know. If he cared as much as everyone thought, he might not be feeling quite in fighting condition right now.”

  There were chuckles around the table. Braeden glared at some who did so and they quieted. He understood exactly how the king felt, being in the path of Teodora’s destruction. The woman ruined everything she looked at.

  “That’s a shame,” Prince Novitny said. “Having Duchess Karsten as a hostage might have persuaded the king to return to Norovaea without a fight.”

  “Yes, I thought of that as well.” Mattila’s voice was tight. “But we cannot bring the duchess back to life, so we’ll take what advantage we can from the situation. I always expected an easy victory but now it should cost us very little.”

  Antonr />
  Now that King Arryk had changed his mind and marched on Kersenstadt, bad news followed on bad. First came word that Mattila had sent part of her force after Emilya Hohenwart and defeated her. She’d been caught on the march and annihilated. Scouts reported that Hohenwart had retreated into Floradias, though no one knew where.

  Even worse, a messenger arrived with the news that Kersenstadt had fallen.

  “How could that happen?” King Arryk had turned pale. “What of the garrison? Did Duchess Karsten send you?”

  “No, I’m afraid not. The main gate was opened by treachery and my commanding officer sent me out the east gate before the city was taken. I heard fierce fighting, but there were too many imperial troops. I don’t know who fell or who was captured.”

  King Arryk slumped into a camp chair. “Perhaps the duchess got away. If not, I’m sure Teodora will send a ransom demand soon enough. She must, don’t you think, Count Orland?”

  “Oh yes, I’m sure she will.” The count sounded certain, but Anton knew he didn’t know what the empress would do.

  Anton was very sorry for the king. There was nothing worse than having someone you loved in danger when you weren’t able to do anything about it.

  The king got a determined look on his face. “Alert the pickets to allow through any messenger from the imperial armies,” he said to one of his adjutants. “I hope someone comes soon,” he muttered to himself.

  An imperial courier arrived the next day, a white flag waving under the Inferrara standard. She was brought directly to the king. Anton wasn’t there, but he heard that the king sent everyone else out. There was a commotion and the courier burst out of the tent with a drawn sword and a bloody lip, shouting, “Your king is completely mad.” Then she ran for her horse and departed the camp in a hurry. No one went after her.