The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3

by Christina Ochs

  “They might have. But if they did, they did not get out of the city in time.”

  “Surely there are people alive inside. Have you checked the cellars?” Braeden tried to stand, but failed and had to sit again.

  “We’ve started to. Most didn’t make it that far. The various fires created a great storm and the flames moved too fast, creating a great wind. The empress herself narrowly escaped being engulfed and was saved only because one of her guards dragged her to safety.”

  “Damn,” Braeden muttered.

  “Yes,” Barela said, his tone flat.

  Braeden looked up, surprised. “I thought you and she …”

  “Yes, we’d been friendly.” Barela’s jaw worked. “Let’s say I feel less friendly at this point, though she doesn’t understand why. But let’s not talk about her right now. It will make both of us angrier.”

  “I’ll drink to that.” Braeden held out his glass. “I know drinking is a bad idea, and I ought to make a plan instead, but I can’t think right now.”

  Barela poured the last of the drink. “It’s understandable. You need to wait until it’s light anyway. Just sit right there and I will send for your friends. Together we will come up with something.” He stepped outside the tent and spoke to someone, then came back.

  They sat silently for a few minutes until Reno, Franca and Trisa filed in. Judging by the looks on their faces, they knew about the city as well. No one spoke, or would look Braeden in the eye. Trisa sniffled quietly, though she tried to hide it.

  Finally, Barela cleared his throat and reached for a rolled-up paper at the edge of the table. He unrolled it, setting the empty glasses on the corners. “This is a map of the city,” he said. “But before we go any further, know that you are causing yourself unnecessary pain by doing this. I do not advise anyone to go in there and see what’s happened unless they’re required to.”

  “I have to,” Braeden said. “I have to be sure. And if there’s even a small chance, I have to find them before someone else does, or before they starve to death, or …” He didn’t want to consider any other possibilities. These were more than enough.

  “I think Trisa shouldn’t go,” Franca said. In all the years Braeden had known her, he had never heard her voice shake.

  Trisa tried to speak, but a sob caught in her throat.

  “She’ll go.” Reno’s voice was rough. “If she’s old enough to go to war, she’s old enough to see this.”

  Trisa nodded tearfully.

  Braeden wasn’t going to argue though he didn’t want her to come either. He didn’t want any of them.

  He looked at the map. “I should be able to find the house easily enough without it.”

  Barela sighed. “You don’t understand. There are nothing but ruins and one looks much like the other. Many streets are gone and those that still exist are paths cleared through rubble. You will not recognize the neighborhood. You must show me what it was close to and we can go from there. You will need all of us and I will bring more to help.”

  “I don’t want help.”

  “Then you will never find them. Please let us do this for you.”

  Braeden was too tired to fight, so he nodded and tried to concentrate on the map. His head swam from the liquor, or perhaps from fatigue. He hadn’t slept in nearly a week. He finally focused on the river. “About five streets in that direction, right behind this square.” He pointed at the map.

  “Good. We can narrow it down. We might not be able to get to every house since some have collapsed completely.

  “It was solid stone. Surely the walls still stand?”

  “They might. Not all of the stone fell. We will do our best. Now go to sleep, and we’ll start at first light.”

  Gwynneth

  Gwynneth and her escort headed straight west, through the mountains. Until they reached them, everyone reckoned there was little chance of meeting Mattila accidentally. Still, they remained cautious and sent outriders in all directions before proceeding. Gwynneth felt exhausted from so much travel, but now they were in real danger, her nerves were on edge. She still wondered if she’d made the right decision. With favorable winds, Captain Brun might already have reached Zeelund.

  Something occurred to her. “Why wouldn’t Arryk go to Zeelund?” she asked Merton.

  “They might not let him in.”

  “Aren’t they friendly?”

  “Yes, but they’re not allies and I doubt they want to tangle with Mattila. Still, it’s a possibility. If there’s no sign of the king by the time we get halfway across Ummarvik, we can assume he’s at least trying Zeelund.”

  “I hope he does.” She preferred her children in Bonnenruck than some fishing village on the Ummarvik coast. She hoped the Zeelund authorities wouldn’t allow them to fall into Mattila’s hands once they were safe inside its borders.

  As they moved west, the weather improved, and a series of sunny autumn days did much to dry the muddy roads. The mountain pass was quiet, though they traversed that only after all scouts returned safely.

  “Bandits are everywhere,” Merton said. “Even in Terragand, outside the towns no one can travel without a large escort. I do wish you’d taken ship, Your Grace.”

  “I probably should have, but it’s too late for that now.”

  Now they were beyond Terragand’s borders, they had to be especially cautious. They were as likely to meet Mattila as they were Arryk. Once they emerged into the flatter lands of Ummarvik, they looked for signs of a passing army but saw none. “We’ll go straight for the Zeelund marches,” Gwynneth said. “If the king is going north we’ll cross his path sooner or later.”

  Now they hurried, staying too close behind the scouts. If they happened upon Mattila, they would need luck to avoid her. But then, Gwynneth had almost always been lucky. And if there’d been setbacks, she felt her luck had turned for the better again in the past months, though the same couldn’t be said for her brother.

  They were nearly on the border with Zeelund when they saw signs of a passing army. Merton questioned a local farmer.

  “They was Norovaeans,” he said, pausing from digging potatoes. “And in a right state too. Took all the food we’d already harvested, the devils. I couldn’t understand much of their chatter, but if they came through here, they’re headed for Zeelund, mark my words.”

  “Thank you,” Gwynneth said, giving him a handful of coins. “You and your family should leave here. The army of Brynhild Mattila will be near.”

  The farmer looked dubious, but took the coin gladly enough. She doubted he would leave in the middle of harvest, though that was hardly her concern. At least she’d warned him.

  “Let’s hurry,” she said to Merton. “If there’s trouble at the Zeelund border, maybe I can help.”

  She had been right to worry. They came upon Arryk and a few thousand troops at a Zeelund border fortress, camped in front, not allowed to pass. Gwynneth found Magnus Torsen trying to set up a perimeter with a few shoddy-looking troops. “Where is the king?” she asked, wondering that he wasn’t supervising preparations to dig in. If Mattila came upon them here they would all die. They had to get into Zeelund.

  Braeden

  They rode all the way to eastern gate hoping to find the shortest route to Braeden’s house. Even on the outside, the stone walls of the city were blackened.

  “We thought the flames would rush right over the top, cross the ground and consume us all.” Barela looked at the remnants of the charred gate. “Fortunately there was no fuel outside. Great chunks of burning wood fell onto the ground but didn’t catch.” He fell silent as they went inside.

  In thirty years of warfare, Braeden had seen nothing like it. So many cities sacked, so many houses destroyed, their inhabitants killed. But none came close to this. While a few buildings still stood, their walls were nothing more than charred stone with the insides gutted, the roofs collapsed. It looked like something out of a nightmare, everything black and dead, and it got worse as they traveled further
down the street and saw charred bodies. Kazmir sniffed at one, then stopped and refused to move forward.

  Barela dismounted. “We can leave the horses here. They don’t like the smell.” Several grooms had followed them and they took the reins after everyone else dismounted.

  Braeden finally dared to glance at Trisa. “It’s all right if you need to be sick,” he said. “There’s no shame in it.” He saw that Franca and Reno weren’t feeling their best either, but they’d rather die than show it. Trisa gritted her teeth and shook her head.

  Braeden was glad now that Barela had insisted on coming. He kept the party moving so they didn’t linger over all of the dead bodies. They worked their way down to the river, clogged with debris and still water, as though it was dead too. Using the map, they looked for Braeden’s street. Or a street that seemed like it. With so much rubble it was impossible to tell where houses ended and streets began. They finally found the square Braeden knew and that helped narrow it down. Still, they might have to search dozens of houses. Or rather, piles of rubble.

  “This could take weeks,” Reno said, looking at all of it.

  “Perhaps.” Barela shrugged. “Though it doesn’t matter since I’m in no hurry to rejoin the empress in Atlona.” His tone was bitter.

  Braeden clenched his teeth. “I’ll do it. I won’t ask anyone …”

  “Stop it,” Franca said sharply. “We’re helping and that’s final. You know there’s no point in arguing with us.”

  It was difficult, dirty work. Braeden started with the first likely-looking house, but it wasn’t the right one. Though narrow and made of stone, it was so blackened it was impossible to tell what shade the stone had been or any other distinguishing feature. He became certain it was the wrong one when he worked his way far enough in to see there had been some sort of shop on the ground floor. That meant he wasn’t even on the right street.

  So he wandered over to where Barela was directing a crew of soldiers. The day was warm and most had shed their shirts. Covered in soot from head to toe, they looked like demons.

  “They’ve reached the front room.” Barela wiped sweat from his nose, leaving a black streak across his face. Braeden imagined he looked even worse himself, digging in the rubble as he had been. “Do you want to go see?”

  Braeden walked through the path they had cleared and stepped between what remained of two walls. He shook his head. “No, the stairs are in the wrong place.”

  Barela waved everyone over and they took a rest while Braeden figured out where to search next. He checked on Reno and the girls who were working on one of the first houses he’d chosen. “We have to try another street,” he said. “This isn’t the right one.”

  Franca looked at him, then back at Reno, who shrugged.

  “What?” Braeden asked.

  No one seemed to want to speak. Finally Reno said, “We got to the cellar on this one.”

  Another long silence.

  “And?”

  “They tried hiding in there,” Franca said. “A family of six and two servants. They didn’t make it.”

  “I don’t understand. Surely the fire didn’t reach the cellar?”

  “It didn’t need to,” Reno said.

  “We’ve seen this before.” Barela had come up next to Braeden. “Hundreds so far, untouched by fire but dead all the same. The flames took all the air, and everyone suffocated. That’s why you needn’t do this. Even if they were lucky enough to reach the cellar, there’s no chance …”

  It took a few more seconds for the meaning of his words to sink in. Braeden sat down heavily on a large stone fallen from a wall. “So no one in the cellars survived?”

  “None that we’ve found.” Barela’s tone was sympathetic. “I should have told you last night, but it was bad enough.”

  “No, you’re right. I needed to see this.” Braeden thought he understood how it felt, not being able to breathe. He got up and stumbled over to where a heavy wooden cellar door stood open. He looked down. The sun was already high in the sky and he could see in quite well. A whole family lay on the floor, as if asleep.

  “They’re dead,” Trisa said, answering his unspoken question. “They look like they’re asleep, but I shouted at them and even went down there. It stayed cool, and it’s only been a few days.”

  In other words, the bodies hadn’t started rotting too badly. He backed away, stumbled, and Reno caught his arm, guiding him back to where he could sit. Everyone stood around quietly.

  Braeden couldn’t think. He wouldn’t accept there was no hope at all. And even if there wasn’t, he needed to be sure.

  “Reno and Trisa already know about this.” He was surprised at how rough and strange his own voice sounded. “But Janna had two children before we found her. The little girl died when Daciana Tomescu set their farmhouse on fire. Janna never found her body because the house collapsed. She always worried that maybe the little one survived somehow, but died afterward because Janna didn’t find her. I always told her it was ridiculous of course.” His voice shook and he stopped. When he continued, he had to pronounce his words deliberately. “So you see why I have to be sure.”

  “I always knew Tomescu was the devil,” Barela muttered, then said more loudly, “Of course we understand. That’s why we’re here. So we keep looking.”

  After consulting the map again, Braeden picked another likely house. This time everyone worked on it so they could learn more quickly if it was the right one. It wasn’t. Braeden had never realized how similar all of the streets were and how many houses the city had. They worked until it was dark, stopping only to eat a quick bite from the supplies that some other soldiers brought them. Barela had thought of everything.

  “We come back in the morning,” Barela said as they rode back to camp.

  “It might take weeks at this rate,” Braeden said.

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m happy to stay here for some time. We keep looking until we find them, or until we’ve looked in every possible place they might be.”

  “I appreciate that you’re doing this, but I don’t understand why. I can’t ever repay you for helping me like this.”

  “You’re my friend so naturally I want to help. You’d do the same for me.”

  “But you’ll never be in this position. Now I realize how smart you were to never marry.”

  “Stop that.” Barela’s tone was sharp. “As awful as this is, you cannot forget the years of happiness you had.”

  “I want to forget them now and kill Teodora for this. Most likely I’ll die trying.”

  “I don’t blame you.” Barela’s tone was crisp and businesslike. “But let’s find them first. Later we can talk about giving Teodora what she deserves.”

  Arryk

  “Hello Gwynn,” Arryk said. “You’re a bit late.” He sat on the floor of his tent, since no one had bothered to unpack or set up furniture, waiting for Mattila to come finish him off. He wished she would hurry.

  “I know, I’m sorry,” Gwynneth said, sinking to the ground in front of him, kneeling and taking his hands in hers. She looked tired, but it was clear she had no idea of what had befallen him. “Count Faris told me about the battle. I doubt I could have helped you there.”

  “Likely not.” It was hard to make himself speak. “It was worse than that. What have you heard about Kersenstadt?”

  “A few rumors, dreadful ones.”

  “It was terrible. Something like thirty thousand dead. At least a fair number of imperial troops perished too. But they got Larisa.”

  “Oh Arryk. I’m so sorry.” Gwynneth pulled him to her.

  “The empress killed her personally,” he said, resting his head on Gwynneth’s shoulder. “Sent me her head.” So far, he’d not spoken of this to anyone.

  “What? That’s monstrous.”

  “And that wasn’t the worst of it. She beat her to a pulp beforehand. If I hadn’t memorized every last inch of her face I wouldn’t have recognized her.”

  “Oh gods.” Gwynneth kept
her arms around him and stroked his hair with one hand. He felt like a child again.

  “It was right before the battle,” he went on. “I tried to kill the messenger, though she got away. But then I couldn’t move.”

  “You fought, surely?”

  “Only because Orland forced me to. Not that it did any good. I don’t think it took Mattila more than a few hours to trounce us completely. Orland took off after a short skirmish with the Sanova Hussars, and I don’t blame him. I wanted to die out there, along with everyone else, but they wouldn’t let me. They dragged me off my horse, threw me in a carriage and joined the retreat. Not that I care one way or another.”

  Gwynneth took a deep breath. “I’m so glad they did that; I can’t bear the thought of losing you. But now you must tell me how the children are.”

  Arryk looked up at her. Normally, he’d feel guilty that he hadn’t thought of the children once since Orland had told him he’d ordered them sent away before the battle. Gwynneth’s anxious face should have upset him more, but he was numb. “Count Orland ordered them to head for Floradias before the battle, but I don’t know where they are and I have heard nothing.”

  He had to look away again because the shock and despair in her eyes was too much to bear.

  “I’m so sorry, Gwynn,” he mumbled, hanging his head.

  But she was so much tougher than he was and after a moment’s silence she said, “Surely we would have received word if they’d been captured. Mattila wouldn’t waste any time taking advantage of the situation. So they must be safe somewhere. I will leave right away to find them. In the meantime, you must get home.”

  “Can’t,” he said. “Zeelund won’t let us in and we don’t have money to buy boats in Ummarvik. We’re too weak to take them by force, which is what I’d do if I could.”

  “What about Prince Ossian? Won’t he help?”

  Arryk barked a laugh. “He’s scared of Mattila now, with his guard dog Hohenwart stuck in Floradias. He won’t help.”