The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3

by Christina Ochs

  “What about Reno, and the rest?” Braeden could scarcely force the words out.

  “Reno’s been promoted to colonel, and heads a re-formed, somewhat smaller regiment under Mattila’s direct authority. Lucky for us she didn’t mind thumbing her nose at the empress.”

  “Looks like you’ve been promoted as well.” Braeden staggered to his feet, dizzy with relief that he hadn’t hurt his friends with his recklessness.

  “Mm-hm,” Franca said. “Mattila sent me to bring you in personally. She reckoned I’d be happy to do it.”

  “I don’t blame you,” Braeden said. “But I never thought I’d survive the rescue attempt, and never dreamed Teodora would blame the lot of you. I thought I’d go to Atlona, and that would be the end of it. I wanted to be sure none of you knew what I was up to, so you wouldn’t be implicated.”

  “Hmph,” Franca said. “Things didn’t work out as you’d planned, did they? And now you’re in a real fix.”

  “I agree,” Braeden said. “But I’m glad it’s you bringing me in. Feels like justice, eh?”

  Franca pursed her lips and frowned. “I’m not bringing you in. I wanted to at first, but now that I see you, I can’t do it.”

  So he wasn’t prepared when she tackled him. He hit the ground with a thud, and then she was on him, landing a heavy punch to his jaw. His head exploded with pain, but he laid back and didn’t struggle. He’d taught her how to punch like that. He was ready for another blow, but it never came.

  “I hate that I can’t do it,” she whispered through clenched teeth, still straddling him. “But you’re the closest thing I ever had to a father, and mostly, you were a good one. And after what happened to Janna and the little ones, I don’t blame you for trying something crazy. I half wanted to myself.”

  In that instant, someone ran into her, throwing her off of Braeden, so he struggled back to his feet. It was Karil, bursting out of the bushes to rescue him. He and Franca wrestled on the dry leaves of the forest floor, throwing ineffective blows at each other until Braeden pulled them apart. “Stop it Karil,” he said while the two of them scowled at each other. “She won’t hurt us.”

  “I don’t understand,” Karil said. “It sounded like you were friends and then she hit you.”

  “Never mind that now,” Franca said, knocking dirt and leaves off her clothes. “We have to be quick about this. I had to bring a few others with me so Mattila wouldn’t suspect anything. I left them back on the road, but they’ll be wondering what’s going on if I take too long. Miro and Trisa are with them and should keep them a bit longer, but I don’t want to take a chance. You need a head start and you won’t get a long one.

  “I’ll make my way back to camp as slowly as I can, but then I must report that I wasn’t able to find you. Since Elektra knows exactly where she left you, people will be on your trail. You must head straight for Terragand. Mattila’s scouts range across the border, and they’ve reported a small army headed by Trystan Martinek just east of it. I’m sure he’ll be happy to take you on if you can run into him.”

  “I need to get to Marjatya,” Braeden said.

  “You can’t leave Terragand for a while. Ensden holds a great deal of it and you’ll never get past him with everyone looking for you. Martinek is less than two days’ march away, and with luck you’ll reach him before getting caught. Expect Mattila to send a large force after you within a few hours.”

  Braeden found his mouth was dry. “We’ll go east right away then. You’ll be all right? Mattila won’t be angry with you?”

  Franca shrugged. “She might, but the others will back me up. You’ve got to go now.”

  “Thank you,” Braeden said. “I mean it. I owe you a great deal for this. Oh, and I’m proud of you, Captain Dura.”

  “Stop that,” she snapped. “You’ll make me cry. Now off with you.”

  Anton

  Anton had been in a lot of fights, but never anything like this. He’d never ridden right into cannon-fire aimed straight at him. He worried he might be sick, but swallowed down his fear. There was no use in worrying when he needed to concentrate on getting through those cannon and onto the bridge.

  “This’ll be saber-work,” the count said. “Have your pistols loaded, but draw your saber, and on my command we’ll rush the infantry. They have no pike, and once their big guns have done their worst, we can overrun the rest.”

  He made it sound so easy. Anton checked his weapons, and Skandar followed Cid without Anton doing anything. The count’s troops scattered across the road, and into the woods on both sides. He’d ordered them spread out so the guns wouldn’t hit a large cluster. Once they’d fired, everyone would charge the bridge. The count rode down the middle, with Anton behind. Anton saw the mouths of the big guns at the bridge, their crews standing at the ready. His stomach roiled and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Even though he wore all of his armor, it felt useless.

  The count looked back before clapping down his visor. “Come on,” he said, “Let’s get this over with.” He urged Cid forward and Anton followed, hoping to somehow keep from being sick. He decided not to look at the guns, and stared up at the sky instead. If he survived that first barrage, he might get through to the bridge.

  Anton was unprepared for the blast when it came. He’d never been so close to a cannon when it fired. A deafening boom was instantly followed by a shriek overhead. Skandar reared up and Anton hung on, unsure of what just happened. He stared at the the spot the count had been just seconds ago. A ribbon of smoke blew across the road, and disappeared. Anton knew he needed to leave, since the gun crews wouldn’t take long to reload. But couldn’t move, and it seemed Skandar didn’t want to either.

  The two of them stood there, staring at what remained of the count and of Cid. If Anton hadn’t known the count had been right beside him, he wouldn’t have known this mess of blood and bone was him. It might have been anyone—anyone and their horse.

  Anton choked down the sick that filled his mouth. He had to keep going. The cannon fired again, and Anton flinched. Dust and screams filled the air.

  Maybe it was someone else. Troopers galloped past, yelling and shooting. Anton would join them. Surely the count and Cid were already at the bridge, in the thick of things.

  Skandar walked down the road, refusing to move faster. Anton applied his spurs, but Skandar still wouldn’t hurry. Was he hurt? Anton looked down and saw blood on Skandar’s leg, but couldn’t tell how serious the wound was. At that moment, Anton realized blood covered him too. It drenched his armor, his clothes, and the rest of Skandar. He stopped. He didn’t think he was hurt, but needed to check on his horse.

  Anton dismounted clumsily, even while something in his brain clanged at him, shouting that he needed to keep moving and not stop here. But he wouldn’t move until he knew Skandar was all right. All the same, he was unprepared for the blow when it came, and slumped to the ground as his vision turned to black.

  Braeden

  After Franca left them, Braeden and Karil headed east as quickly as they could. But Karil’s horse went lame, so they left it behind after they’d gone less than a league.

  “Kazmir can carry both of us, at least for a while,” Braeden said. They’d both lost weight in the past few months, and had few supplies to carry. “They’ll be looking for two horses. Might be we’ll throw them off.” Even as he said it, he knew it was unlikely. Franca couldn’t buy him more than a few hours’ time, and their pursuers would have fresh horses, maybe even dogs.

  The dense woods kept them hidden, but also made for slow going, since Kazmir had to pick his way across the uneven ground. A warhorse was not built for this kind of terrain.

  They’d traveled only a few leagues before sounds of pursuit drifted their way. The road was a half-league away, and Braeden heard a large party pass, and even spotted the occasional glint of torchlight as the afternoon quickly turned to evening. He knew nothing about the area except that they would reach the river Lera soon, and that the road led t
o a bridge, which would now be watched. Braeden and Karil both carried many weapons, but he knew they had little chance in a direct confrontation with Mattila’s troops.

  “We have to find a ford,” Braeden said. “None of the bridges are safe.” To reach Terragand and safety, they had no choice but to cross the river.

  “Is there a ford?”

  “I have no idea.” If they asked locals, they’d risk being recognized. But if they did it soon, there was a chance Mattila’s troops hadn’t yet spread the word. Braeden pulled Kazmir to the left. It would take longer to reach the river, but at least no one was behind them yet.

  The path flattened and Kazmir moved a little more quickly. The trees thinned out as well, and the rising moon lit their path. Braeden stayed alert to every sound around them, though he heard nothing but the rustle of forest creatures and the occasional cry of a bird. Karil fell asleep against his back. Braeden cursed himself for ever getting the boy into this adventure. He should have taken him straight home instead of giving in to the temptation of the archduchess’s lightly guarded convoy.

  Braeden was hungry and thirsty, but didn’t much care. He paused a few times to let Kazmir drink from forest streams, but didn’t bother dismounting. They would make Terragand long before starving to death, or dying of thirst. Their odds of dying by other means were far greater.

  Before dawn, they rode through a silent village. Braeden held his breath when a dog barked, but someone shouted at it, the dog stopped barking, and all went quiet again. Once they left the village behind, he hoped to find a remote farm where folk hadn’t received news in some time.

  The sun peeked over the tops of the trees when he came upon a girl driving a herd of cows into a meadow. She looked up at Braeden with wide, frightened eyes.

  “Good morning, young lady,” he said in as friendly a tone as he could manage through his fatigue. “I’m looking for a ford across the Lera.”

  “There’s a bridge not five leagues up the road,” she said pointing, while looking more curious than frightened.

  “I need a ford.” Braeden hoped she wouldn’t expect an explanation.

  “There’s no fording the Lera,” the girl said. “Too fast and deep. But if you don’t want the bridge, you can try the ferry at Erzenbach. It’s two leagues to the north and small, but should do for just the two of you and the horse.”

  “Thank you,” Braeden said, then paused and handed her his last silver coin. He doubted he’d need it between here and Terragand. “If you’d be so kind, tell no one you’ve seen us.”

  The girl nodded, hopefully in agreement, staring at the coin in her hand while cows wandered off in all directions. Perhaps she’d never seen silver before.

  From here he had no choice but to take the road if he wanted to find the ferry. Kazmir was tired, and Braeden couldn’t hurry him. Once they got across the river, he’d find a safe place, and take a few hours’ rest.

  It took another hour to reach the ferry, but the road remained quiet. Every now and then, they’d spot peasants working the farms in the distance, but it wasn’t a market day, so the road itself remained deserted.

  Braeden breathed a sigh of relief when he spotted the path leading down the riverbank to the ferry. Before going farther, he dismounted and crept into the trees lining the riverbank. “See anyone Karil? Your young eyes are better than mine.”

  Karil looked intently, then shook his head. “Nothing.”

  “Doesn’t mean they’re not hidden somewhere, but we’ve got to get across this river. Let’s go.”

  He led Kazmir down the sandy trail to the ferry tied at the water’s edge. A man sat on the shore, throwing rocks into the current. Not a busy crossing then.

  “Good morning,” Braeden said, trying to look friendly and nonthreatening. “How much to cross?”

  The man looked the two of them over. “Two coppers apiece, and three for the horse.”

  Braeden pulled the money from his nearly empty purse, and led Kazmir onto the tiny raft. It was attached to a thick rope stretching all the way across the river, and the ferryman cranked a large handle, working a wheel that propelled the raft across.

  “Clever, isn’t it?” Braeden winked at Karil, who looked rather green. The water was fast and the little raft pitched terrifyingly. Kazmir stomped, snorted and rolled his eyes, while Braeden held onto him tight.

  It was a relief to reach the eastern shore. Braeden had kept a close eye on it while fingering his pistol, but saw no movement. Some trees were losing their leaves, but those along the river were bushy firs blocking much of the view. They got off the ferry, led Kazmir up the bank, and Braeden allowed himself to hope they might have a chance. Only a few leagues now to the Terragand border.

  “Braeden,” Karil said in a small voice. “I see soldiers ahead.”

  Kendryk

  Kendryk had barely set foot inside the house in Allaux before children swarmed around him. Just as happy to see them, he sat down on the floor of the main hall and let them climb on him. He’d hated leaving them again so soon after their reunion in the spring, but no one else could do what he had just done in Zeelund.

  All three of the older ones piled on his lap, while Gwynneth held onto a wriggling Stella. “Did you know Mama is going to give you another little brother or sister?” he asked the others.

  “That’s wonderful,” Marya said as expected, then got up to put her arms around Gwynneth. Kendryk stood, with Devyn hanging on his arm and Andres clinging to a leg.

  “It won’t be until spring,” Gwynneth said, handing Stella to Kendryk. He nuzzled her soft cheek, her black curls tickling his face, until she nearly squirmed out of his arms. He put her down and she ran off into another room, the nurse on her heels.

  “If a baby is coming why isn’t your tummy fat?” Devyn asked, peering at Gwynneth’s midriff, at eye level.

  “Devyn, it’s rude to comment on a lady’s figure unless you’re paying a compliment,” Kendryk said.

  “But she’s not a lady. She’s Mama, and why isn’t she fat?”

  Gwynneth shook her head, but smiled down at him. “It’s too soon, darling. The baby is still tiny. I’m sure I’ll be fat before long.”

  “But then you shouldn’t say anything, Devyn,” Maryna put in. “It’s very rude. You must listen to Papa.”

  “You can’t tell me what to do.” Devyn had a belligerent thrust to his chin, and Kendryk saw he was ready to start a fight. He’d have to talk to Maryna about being less bossy.

  He decided to give Devyn something to do. “Devyn, can you get Stella and meet us in the drawing room? I’m sure you want to unwrap the presents we’ve brought you from Zeelund.”

  Once the presents were brought out—an embroidered cap for Maryna, beautifully carved wooden practice swords for Devyn and Stella, little wooden shoes for Andres, and a small mountain of brightly painted toys for everyone—Kendryk said to Gwynneth, “I must visit the Maxima at once. You can stay with the children and I’ll return in time for supper.”

  “I should go too,” she said, but he could see how tired she was.

  “It only takes one of us to give her any news we haven’t sent in letters. We’ll meet with the king tomorrow, and the four of us can discuss everything more thoroughly. Why don’t you send the children to the nursery with their new things and rest before supper?” He stood and kissed the top of her head. “I must go speak with Natalya,” he told the children. “I’ll be back in time to tuck you in.”

  Natalya greeted him with a smile. “I got your letter only yesterday. You made excellent time.”

  “We did, although I tried to go slower for Gwynneth’s sake. She was as eager to get back here as I was.”

  Natalya sighed. “It might be our time together will end soon. Lennart ought to receive his first subsidy within the month, and he’s already begun preparations for a full-scale invasion. I know Terragand will be yours within the year.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Kendryk said. “As soon as we receive word that Lennar
t has landed in Kronland and where, I’ll ride to meet him. Gwynneth and the children must stay here.” It occurred to him that the pregnancy had come at an opportune time; otherwise Gwynneth would insist on coming along. Brave as she was, he badly wanted to keep her out of harm’s way.

  “I agree,” Natalya said. “It’s best if you’re with him from the beginning. He seems confident of gaining Kronland allies, but it won’t be as easy as he thinks. Princes like Falk and Dahlby will be more inclined to follow you than a foreign king.”

  “I’m not sure anyone will want to follow me, after everything that’s happened.”

  Natalya shook her head. “Kendryk, you must stop seeing yourself as a failure. No one else does. You might have lost a battle long ago, and been the empress’s prisoner, but everyone sees your rescue as a miracle. Many still believe you are the chosen ruler, and that the gods made your escape possible for that reason.”

  “That seems a strange way of looking at it.” Kendryk wished no one would ever talk to him about the prophecy again. “It’s obvious that Lennart is the chosen prince.”

  Natalya gave a dismissive shrug. “I don’t agree, and neither does Edric. But you can take that up with the Maximus when you see him again. It would be wise if you collected him before meeting with Lennart. I last heard he was in eastern Terragand, so I’ll write to him and let him know to expect you. He will be very helpful in swaying the rulers who still view Lennart with suspicion. I doubt anyone will say no to you and Edric combined.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Kendryk said.

  “I usually am.” Natalya said it in a joking tone, but Kendryk knew she was serious, and he agreed.

  Teodora