The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3

by Christina Ochs

  Gwynneth’s letter reached him when he’d hit a low point. He read it over several times. What she said made sense, but he didn’t want to do it. Most of all, he didn’t want to deal with Mattila. The thought of a mere noblewoman gloating over a king was unbearable. He didn’t want to deal with Teodora either, because he would probably try to kill her, but he didn’t see a good solution.

  Arryk hardly recognized himself anymore. He lived in the cold, dank castle, dressed in fur and wool like any peasant, rode one of their shaggy ponies and carried one of their long farm blades. He’d cut his hair short and looked like any other young man from the land. Perhaps it would have been better for everyone if he had been born one of them. He reckoned any number of peasants might have done a better job at being king.

  He told himself when spring came he would go talk to Mattila, but not before. The thought of surrender was unbearable and he hoped something would turn the tide. Maybe Lennart would intervene and force Mattila to leave. That would be best for everyone.

  He sat around a campfire with a few of the peasant troops who now comprised his army. Sturdy and stubborn, similar fellows had made up the bulk of his Kronland army though too few had returned.

  “As soon as I find a way to make peace,” he said, mostly to himself, “I’ll find someone who can do the job better. My sister or brother most like.”

  “But you can’t, Your Highness,” a farmer named Swen spoke up. Arryk didn’t stand on ceremony when they were all living in huts and eating around the same fire without so much as proper officers.

  “Of course I can. I’m the king.” Arryk poked a stick into the embers, making them flare up again.

  “That’s just it. You’re the king, put over us by the gods. You’re meant to take care of us.”

  Arryk barked a laugh. “Fine job I’ve done of that, haven’t I?”

  Swen shrugged. “You’ve made a mistake or two. Likely shouldn’t have run off to Kronland like you did. But now you know better. Now you know it’s our land you must care for.”

  “I don’t think I can.”

  “Sure you can. All this trouble you’ve had, it’s a sign from the gods that you’re meant to stay here.”

  “I’ve had just about enough signs from the gods.” Arryk scowled, thinking about dreams and prophecies that had led him into disaster, as if his own incompetence wasn’t enough.

  “This is different.”

  Arryk wondered why Swen was so confident. “I doubt it.”

  “You must. It’s your duty.”

  “What do you know about it?” Arryk was getting angry.

  Swen was unbothered. “What we’ve always known. Roussays belong in Norovaea, taking care of Norovaeans. Any other adventures tend not to end well, even all the raiding out west years ago. Oh sure, it was fun, but it wasn’t until the kings came home and settled into Arenberg that we became rich and peaceful.”

  “We’re neither right now.”

  “But that will change if you stay here and do what you’re meant to.”

  “We’ll see.” Arryk poked at the fire, but for the first time, it seemed to warm him.

  Kendryk

  As they neared the gate, Braeden called them to a stop. “Here,” he passed Kendryk a belt of pistols, then pulled something long and sharp from his saddle and handed it to him. “This is an estoc; do you know how to use it?”

  “Well enough,” Kendryk said. He’d never practiced with one, but knew it was a Sanovan version of a long dagger. He would have to poke, not slash.

  “I can use a sword,” Karil said eagerly.

  Braeden raised his eyebrows. “When I last saw this young fellow, he was just a little thing who couldn’t have lifted a sword. He’s grown a fair amount in the meantime, but when did he learn to use one?”

  “We’ve spent hours practicing up there in the castle.” Kendryk wished Karil could prove himself in a less dangerous situation, though it was true the practice had been meant for a moment like this one.

  “Good.” Braeden pulled out a saber and handed it to Karil. Kendryk found the number of weapons the horse carried amazing. “And now we go. The guards at the gate might expect us, so we must strike fast and overpower them. If we fail, we die. Take down as many as you can, as fast as you can, no hesitation.”

  Excitement thrilled through Kendryk—he hadn’t felt this alive in years. He knew he should be afraid; he didn’t want to consider the odds of success. He didn’t care. Even if he died now, he would die out in the open, on the streets of a city he thought he’d never see. He glanced up at the cloudy sky and grinned. No matter how bad the weather, it beat being in the confines of that tiny garden.

  They thundered up on the gatehouse, Braeden on his enormous charger leading the way. A guard came out and stepped into his path and the horse rode him down, heading straight for the gate, already barred, three more men standing in front of it. One of them held an arquebus, but Kendryk fired first and he went down. Braeden shot another, and the third sprang aside.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Kendryk saw Karil slashing at the third man with his saber. Without dismounting, Braeden fumbled with the gate’s multiple bars, but opened them soon enough. From behind them came the sounds of more guards filling the street leading to the gate.

  “Go, go, go!” Braeden shouted as the gate swung open. Kendryk spurred his horse and they were through. Karil and Braeden were ahead of him, so he slammed the gate shut behind him. The door was heavy and swung slowly, but it would give them a few precious seconds before their pursuers could shoot at them. Kendryk hunched over his horse’s neck and spurred him again.

  Now they thundered through the empty streets of the western suburbs. Kendryk wondered why no one was out, though he was glad it made their way easier. He heard gunfire behind him, but no shot reached him. He ventured to turn his head and saw his pursuers. There were at least twenty guards, but none on horseback. They all shouted and fired, but faded into the distance as the horses sped from the city. Still, Kendryk knew it wouldn’t be long before they’d be pursued on horse.

  Kendryk urged the horse on as the cobbled streets turned to dirt. Still no traffic. When he glanced back again, the street was empty. He was sure that wouldn’t last, but didn’t understand why more weren’t pursuing him. They galloped a few more miles, taking the road along the river, and turned south, into a wooded, hilly area.

  At some point, Braeden slowed his horse to a trot, then a walk, Kendryk and Karil following suit. When they reached a small crossroads, they came to a stop altogether.

  “We wait here,” Braeden said, “But not for long.”

  Kendryk finally noticed the sounds of battle. “Who is fighting?” he asked.

  “Arian Orland and Barela,” Braeden said. “Though with any luck, the empress is dead and they’re both on our side now.”

  “What?” Kendryk couldn’t make sense of what he’d just heard. “How? I don’t understand. I thought you worked for the empress, but clearly …” It was obvious Braeden had rescued him against Teodora’s wishes, but he still didn’t understand why.

  “I used to work for the empress,” Braeden said, his face grim.

  Kendryk finally remembered where he’d last seen him; as Teodora’s bodyguard during Edric’s trial. He laughed to himself, then said, “But you don’t anymore.”

  “No.” Braeden’s voice was curt. “Neither does Barela. Arian Orland is acting as decoy, to lure the empress out of the city with her troops, clearing the way for your escape.”

  “So that’s why no one followed us,” Karil said. “They were busy fighting.”

  “And from the sound of it, they’re still fighting,” Braeden said. “That’s not good. It should be over by now. We need to go and Orland will have to catch up. It’s only a matter of time before the empress sends horsemen after us if Barela doesn’t kill her first.”

  “All right then, let’s go,” Kendryk said, still unable to believe that Arian Orland was out there, risking his neck to help Kendryk es
cape. It made no sense at all. But that meant … well, it meant a lot of things. No matter what had happened before, Kendryk felt a warm rush of gratitude overwhelm any lingering resentment and hoped Arian would make it.

  Braeden

  “We can’t keep galloping,” Braeden said once they’d put the crossroads and sounds of battle far behind them. “Especially now we don’t have a spare. Let’s reload the pistols and slow down. The port is a few hours away.”

  “I’m glad we’re going by sea,” Kendryk said. “I didn’t think my chances of escaping over land were very good.” He pulled up next to Karil. “How is it you know Commander Terris?” he asked.

  “He took me hostage,” Karil said happily. “Though he was very kind. He and a nice lady named Janna took such good care of me. Do you know what’s happened to her, Commander Terris?”

  “She’s dead,” Braeden snapped, more angrily than he meant to. He’d forgotten that Karil and Janna had been great friends. Janna had taken him under her wing when Braeden took him hostage as a little boy of eleven. It was right about then that Braeden had started falling in love with her. A vision of Janna and Karil, laughing together as they rode side-by-side on a windblown Marjatyan road, passed his eyes and he blinked it away.

  “Oh,” Karil said, but caught Braeden’s gaze and said no more about it.

  Kendryk diplomatically changed the subject. “You must tell me why you’ve done this and everyone who took part,” he said to Braeden. “You will of course be rewarded, provided we succeed,” he added wryly.

  Braeden hesitated, looked into Kendryk’s clear, kind eyes, then told him everything, starting with Kersenstadt. When he looked at Kendryk afterward, his eyes were damp.

  “I’m so sorry my good man,” he said softly. “I have little ones too, and I can’t think what I’d do if anything happened to them.”

  Braeden remembered that one reason he agreed to rescue Kendryk was so he at least might get a chance to watch his children grow up.

  Kendryk looked at him with sympathy. “I realize there’s nothing I can do to make you feel better. That won’t keep me from doing my best.” He smiled at Braeden, who had to admit that the long stay in the Arnfels had done nothing to diminish Kendryk’s charm.

  As they rode further with no sign of pursuit, Braeden explained the rest of the plan to them. “We’ll sail around to Galladium, where your friends are waiting for you.”

  “Is there any word of my family?”

  “I have received none, though I’m sure they’re safe.” Braeden hesitated, and told him the last news he’d had of Arryk Roussay.

  “That’s my fault.” Kendryk frowned. “He would never have invaded if it hadn’t been for me. And now he must surrender or lose his country.”

  “You can’t worry about that right now,” Braeden said. “Let’s get you back to your family and then you can figure out how to help.”

  It was a relief to see Anton and Barela’s messenger waiting for them at a roadside inn near the port.

  “Were you pursued?” Anton asked.

  “Not right away, though they can’t be far behind.” Braeden made the introductions.

  “Where’s Count Orland?” Anton looked anxious.

  “Not sure. He didn’t show up at the crossroads and the battle was still going on long after it was supposed to end.”

  “So Barela failed.” Anton turned pale.

  “Maybe, but we can’t wait. Especially if he’s failed, they’ll be breathing down our necks before long.”

  “I won’t go without the count,” Anton said with a stubborn set to his jaw.

  Braeden sighed. “I know how you feel, but we have to. All this will be for nothing if we can’t get Prince Kendryk to safety.” Until he ran into Arian Orland, he hadn’t realized the importance of Kendryk’s freedom if Teodora was to be defeated. He didn’t want to think of Orland arriving here to find the ship gone, but he was a resourceful fellow and would surely find another way to escape.

  “I agree with Master Kronek,” Kendryk said. “I won’t abandon the count when he’s done so much. There must be a way to help him.”

  Braeden sighed again. He could say no to Anton, but Kendryk gave the orders now. “I don’t know. I can go back and look, but I want you lot on that ship and ready to sail with the tide. If I don’t come back by then, go without me.” He scowled at Kendryk until he nodded in agreement.

  Braeden ordered a bite to eat from the inn’s kitchen, then prepared to leave. “Get them on the ship as soon as I leave,” he said to Anton.

  “I’ll wait,” Anton said. “For you and the count.”

  “Don’t.” Braeden shook his head. “Better only a few of us get caught than all of you. The prince especially. He’s important.”

  “I’m waiting,” Anton said mulishly. “You can’t tell me what to do and Prince Kendryk will agree with me.” Karil stood at his elbow, nodding. Braeden wondered how they’d become allies in the past two minutes.

  “I’ll come help you,” Karil said.

  Braeden shook his head as he shoved some stale bread into his mouth. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “Just as dangerous for you. I can help you; I can fight.”

  “Suit yourself,” Braeden said, shrugging. There was no time to argue. He sent Kazmir for a rubdown and ordered fresh mounts for himself and Karil. He was pleased to see that Anton had already reloaded his pistols and transferred Kazmir’s saddle to the new horse along with all of the weapons hanging on it.

  “Just like the old days, eh?” he said as he and Karil sped up the road. He had to admit it was nice to have the company.

  They found the trouble before too long. About a league from the port, Arian Orland and the few of his troopers who’d escaped the battle were fighting a losing rearguard action against Daciana Tomescu. By now Braeden was almost certain that Barela had failed, but there was no time to worry about his friend.

  Braeden paused at some distance and told Karil to wait. “He’s outnumbered and I don’t want you tangling with that woman. I’ll distract her, and you grab Orland’s horse and get him away from there.”

  Orland still held his saber, but lacked the strength to use it. One side of his face was a bloody ruin and still more blood ran from a wound in his leg. He’d been fighting off Tomescu and three others, but he was finished. Braeden though of a recent hunt with Barela, watching a magnificent stag brought down at last by a pack of hounds.

  He grabbed a pistol in each hand, spurred his horse and shouted, “Prince Kendryk!” as he barreled toward Tomescu. He fired the first pistol and hit the man on her right, but his horse was unaccustomed to the sounds of battle and shied as he fired the second one. As far as he could tell, he’d hit no one, but had everyone’s attention. He hoped Karil was getting Orland, but couldn’t look right now. Braeden pulled his horse back in line and drew his saber before spurring it on.

  He kept his eyes trained on Tomescu, watching her face light up with recognition. She brandished her own weapon, a great curved thing already dripping blood, and then she was upon him. Metal shrieked as their blades met and Braeden’s horse reared. He held on by sheer force of will, wishing for Kazmir. When the horse found his feet again, he bolted away from the fight and down the road, following Karil and Orland, slumped bleeding over the neck of his charger.

  Braeden let the horse have his head, hoping that Tomescu and her people had no loaded pistols. When he looked back, he saw they were pursuing him, but their ponies were winded after the long ride from Atlona. Braeden’s frightened, fresh horse was eager to return to the port and pounded down the road, soon overtaking the other two.

  “Get on the ship as soon as you can,” he gasped at Karil. “I don’t think any of the rest of Orland’s people made it.”

  “Anton told me there’s a new plan,” Karil said. “He’ll show you the way when we get there. Do you want me to shoot at them in the meantime? My pistols are still loaded.”

  Braeden looked back. Tomescu was still behind them,
but not gaining yet. “No,” he said. “Save them for when they get closer. And for Ercos’ sake, don’t fire them around the horses.”

  Anton

  Anton and Lora led the prince to the ship and showed him to his cabin. The captain had offered up his own when he heard who his distinguished passenger was.

  “Thank you so much,” Prince Kendryk said. “I’m very grateful.”

  He smiled at the two of them and Lora blushed. Anton scowled. Kendryk was much too good-looking and a prince to boot. How was a fellow supposed to compete?

  “We’ll be back soon with the count and the commander, I hope,” Anton said. He didn’t add that he’d told the captain to sail with the tide, even if Prince Kendryk was the only one on board. He checked on Skandar one last time, down in the hold next to Kazmir. Neither one of them liked it much there, but Anton had sugar cubes for them and they would be safe at least.

  He and Lora headed for the road on foot. She had a brace of pistols and a sword and said she knew how to use them. Anton suspected she might be the perfect woman, though he worried she thought of him as a little boy, being nearly nineteen herself. So he made himself stand tall, minded his swagger, and remembered to keep his voice low, so it didn’t squeak.

  Once they reached the Atlona road, they waited. Anton was nervous because he knew the ship would sail in about an hour. He didn’t want to miss it and he didn’t want Lora to miss it either. If General Barela had failed, she would need it to take her back home to Maladena.

  They didn’t have to wait long before Braeden galloped into view, Karil and the count right behind him. The count was more dead than alive, slumped over Cid’s neck.

  “Tomescu’s right behind us,” Braeden shouted. “We’ll have to hold her off at the ship.”

  Anton looked at him so he didn’t have to look at the count. “Follow Lora. Hurry.”

  Lora ran ahead to the ship. Anton grabbed Cid’s reins. “Leave the horses,” he said to Braeden. “Except for Cid. I’ll take him.”