The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3

by Christina Ochs

  “I’ll be sure not to wear low-cut gowns for a while,” Rheda gasped as Lennart helped her to her feet. He chuckled, fully aware that the princess only ever wore the highest lace collars. He didn’t recall seeing so much as an inch of her neck, let alone any bosom.

  With Lennart on one side and the doctor on the other, they walked the princess to another room, and put her down on a cushioned bench. Lennart was glad to see some color had returned to her usually rosy cheeks. “Send for Prince Toland,” Rheda ordered a guard, and he disappeared down a corridor.

  She leaned back against the cushions, patted the spot next to her, and Lennart sat down. “Does your grandson know what’s going on?” he asked.

  Rheda shook her head. “I didn’t want him to worry, though it will be quite a shock. But he isn’t close to his father, and his life will change very little. I’ll take care of everything for the time being.”

  “Thank the gods,” Lennart said, then stood as the heir to Helvundala entered the room. “Prince Toland,” he said to the pudgy blond boy who bowed before him. “I congratulate you.”

  The boy shot Lennart a puzzled look, then asked, “What’s going on, Grandmother?”

  “I have overthrown your father and put you in his place.”

  The boy gasped, his brown eyes wide. “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s simple my dear.” The princess went on. “Your father was an idiot, refused to deal with King Lennart—an ally sent to us by the gods—and worst of all, engaged in treasonous negotiations with the empress herself.”

  The boy swallowed hard. “What have you done to Father?”

  “Nothing too dreadful. He’ll stay in the dungeon for the time being, though I suppose the council and I will have to investigate his treasonous activities sooner or later. You can visit him if you like.”

  “I’d rather not,” the boy said. He looked around the room, as if unsure that what he wanted to say ought to be said in front of everyone. Then he swallowed again and said softly, “I’m sure you did the right thing, Grandmother, though I haven’t the slightest idea what I’m supposed to do now.”

  Lennart gave him an encouraging smile as Rheda said, “You needn’t do anything my dear. I’ll rule in your name until you turn seventeen. If you’re interested, you may sit with me and join the council meetings, as long as you finish your lessons first.”

  Toland’s eyes lit up. “I don’t have to wait until I’m twelve? Father said—”

  “Never mind that now,” Rheda said sharply. “You don’t have to wait until you’re twelve, though you can if you want to.”

  “I don’t want to,” the boy said eagerly. “Wait, I mean. I’d like to start learning now.”

  “That’s what I thought,” the princess said with a fond smile. “I always knew you’d make a better ruler than your father.” She turned to Lennart. “Toland takes after his mother in just about every way. She was a dear, clever girl, and I miss her terribly. Such a shame she still isn’t with us.”

  Toland hung his head, and Lennart wondered how old he’d been when his mother died.

  “You may go back to your lessons,” the princess said. “There’s nothing you need do right now. I’ll come see you this afternoon, just like I always do.”

  “Yes,” Toland said. “And Grandmother, thank you.” He beamed at her before bowing to Lennart again, and leaving the room.

  Once the door had shut behind him Lennart said, “I like him. Are you sure he belongs to Stepan?”

  “Quite,” Rheda said tartly. “Though I’m relieved he doesn’t resemble him at all. But now you and I must talk. I wish to give you as many troops as I can, though I will not be leading them myself. I will send for the Baron Manier, who will take our forces to Terragand with you.”

  “Geffrey Manier?” Lennart said. “I know him.” The young infantry colonel had already impressed Lennart as one of Stepan’s most competent officers.

  “He’s a good man and a brilliant strategist,” Rheda said. “I hope you can make use of him. In the meantime, I’ll send for refreshments and we’ll discuss your invasion of Terragand as soon as he arrives.”

  Anton

  “Come on,” Susanna said, tugging at Anton’s arm. They had been staring at the remains of the Sanovan camp for several minutes. “It looks like rain. We should go.”

  Anton couldn’t speak, but stumbled after her. He was glad Susanna said nothing for a while, since he was trying to think. He couldn’t accept that Skandar might be gone for good. How would he get to the Sanova Hussars without deserting? And once he’d found them, what then? March up to Skandar’s new owner with a bag of coin? An officer who had spent most—if not all—of her payout from Livilla on a horse was unlikely to want to give him up.

  Susanna dragged Anton along, all the way through camp, much of it already being taken down and loaded into wagons. From the look of it, every unit was leaving. They walked along an endless string of wagons, and a long line of artillery being hitched to six-horse teams. Normally, Anton would have stopped to admire the big guns and joke with their crews, but today he barely noticed them.

  It started raining. Susanna yanked on his arm and they went faster. She took him to her tent since it was closer than his, but by the time they’d reached it, they were both soaked. Anton fell into a chair while Susanna hurried to close the flap and light a lamp. “It’s so cold,” she said. “I’ll start a fire.”

  Anton nodded, numbness creeping over him, though it wasn’t only the cold making him feel that way.

  Susanna shed her wet cloak and hat, and set about starting a fire in the little brazier. Once she had it crackling merrily, she came to Anton and took his hand.

  “Come sit by the fire. And take off that wet doublet. Here.”

  She helped him peel it off, and hung it over the back of a chair. For the first time, Anton noticed how cold he really was, and shivered. He slumped to the floor in front of the fire cross-legged, while Susanna bustled around.

  When she returned to sit beside him, she had a bottle of the best liquor from her cart and two mugs. “We’ll figure out what to do later,” she said, handing Anton a rather full mug. “But first let’s have a drink or three.”

  Anton drank it down fast, sighing as the warmth spread through his middle and out to his fingers and toes. “I can’t think of what to do,” he said, as Susanna topped off his mug.

  She took a few sips of hers and said, “You can’t do anything right now. But fortunately, we’re sure to run into the Sanova Hussars again.”

  “We never even saw them when they were here.” Anton drank more in big gulps, hoping to get drunk faster.

  “We weren’t looking for them before.” Susanna put her mug on the floor, then tugged at her hair, pinned up at the back of her head, until it fell down around her shoulders. It was damp, but sprang into little curls as it dried.

  Anton realized he’d never seen her with her hair down, and wanted to tell her how pretty it was, but was too miserable. “So we find them,” he said. “Then what?”

  “It shouldn’t be too hard to find a red-headed female officer. There aren’t many women amongst the Sanovans. I hear they’re dreadfully old-fashioned.” Susanna shook her head. “We find her and offer to buy him.”

  “She won’t want to give him up.” Anton drained his mug again and held it out.

  Susanna shook her head. “You need to slow down. I’ll get you some water.”

  “No,” Anton said. “More of this.” He realized he sounded like the count. “I need to get really drunk.”

  Susanna sighed and poured a little more. “You’ll be sorry when you’re on the march tomorrow.”

  “I don’t care. The thing is, she’ll love Skandar, and she won’t give him up for anything. Even when I was close to starving, I wouldn’t have sold him for any amount of money.”

  “You’ll have to ask anyway,” Susanna said. They were both silent for a moment until she turned to him, sliding closer. “Oh, Anton,” she said, “I’m so
sorry.” She put an arm around his waist and rested her head on his shoulder. “I wish you’d told me about your horse sooner. We might have been able to get him weeks ago.”

  Anton rested his cheek on top of her head. Her hair was almost dry now and very soft. “I should have told you,” he said, “Even though you never tell me anything, Madame Stengel.”

  That made her laugh. “You’re right,” she said. “I don’t know when I became so suspicious of everyone.”

  “When your husband left you, no doubt.”

  She shook her head, damp curls tickling Anton’s nose. “No, it was before that. Once I realized I’d have to live in a military camp and make my own way, I decided it was better to trust no one but myself.”

  “I don’t blame you,” Anton said. “It must be hard for a girl alone, especially a pretty one like you.” He was drunk now, and a little happier. He might not have Skandar, but he hadn’t even seen him in months. What he did have was Susanna, practically in his lap. He slid an arm around her waist and pulled her even closer. When she looked up at him, he kissed her. She hesitated, but kissed him back. Her lips tasted like brandy as Anton ran his tongue over them. She made a little noise, and pushed her tongue toward his.

  Just as he started to really enjoy himself, she broke away. “Anton,” she said. “We’re drunk. This is probably not a good time.”

  “According to you, it’s never a good time,” he said, a little angrily. Then he gave her his best sad look. “Please Susanna.” He stroked her cheek softly. “I like you a lot, and I really appreciate how you tried to help me today. I doubt you’d give all of your money to a fellow for a horse unless you liked him a lot.”

  “I do like you a lot,” Susanna said. “But you’re too young.”

  “Do I kiss like someone who’s too young?” Anton asked, glad he’d had practice already before trying something like this.

  She flushed, a deep pink, which spread rather adorably across her cheeks and nose. Anton kissed the tip of her nose, then nibbled softly on her jawline before moving to her neck.

  Susanna whimpered.

  Anton took that as a sign to go ahead, and lifted her onto his lap with one smooth motion. But he was drunk, and she was heavier than he’d expected, so her weight knocked him over. He pulled her onto the floor with him, and she didn’t resist.

  Kendryk

  The darkness took Kendryk’s breath away. A torch went ahead of and behind him, and a whole line of them stretched back into the distance. But they seemed like tiny, fragile flickers in the oppressive blackness. He pushed down the panic that flared up, realizing this reminded him of the Arnfels dungeon. Then he told himself this was nothing like that. He was free now, leading a troop of soldiers who would help liberate his home and his friends.

  Once inside the mountain, the way sloped down quickly. The soldier holding the torch in front of him kept it close to the damp and slippery ground. The passageway was tall enough for someone of Kendryk’s height. Braeden would have had to duck. Kendryk wished he were here too, but he was needed to help carry out their plan elsewhere.

  Here inside the mountain, the way was clear. A tunnel had been carved into the limestone and it remained in good condition. They went down for what felt like hours. Finally, the tunnel straightened out, though now it became more dangerous. They must have reached the bottom of the hill, and were now underneath the meadow that lay before Birkenfels. Here, the tunnel went through thick clay, so wooden supports held it together. No one had touched these for the better part of a century—Terragand had been at peace for so long. Now they sagged, rotting and broken in many places.

  Kendryk found he was holding his breath, hoping the way hadn’t collapsed altogether. He didn’t want to think of making the climb to go all the way back. More importantly, he hoped it wouldn’t collapse now, with several hundred men tramping through it. They went slowly, picking their way across a muddy floor, and stepping over pieces of fallen wood. Yet another thing Kendryk might add to his list once he was restored here. He resolved that this route must always remain in good repair.

  After what seemed like hours—and one heart-stopping moment in which several large beams needed to be cleared away before they could go forward—the tunnel changed again, turning to stone and becoming taller and wider. “We’re under the castle now,” Kendryk said, and a relieved murmur went up behind him. He was sure they’d emerge in a cellar, but wasn’t sure which one.

  At last they reached a heavy wooden door, bound with iron. As Kendryk’s father had told him, it latched from the tunnel side, in case of pursuit from the castle. No one else would know about the entrance on the hillside, though Kendryk realized with a wry grin that the secret was out now. No matter; he would worry about that some other time. Today, the tunnel had served its purpose.

  The latch had rusted, and Kendryk used the hilt of his dagger to pound it open. He pulled, and it opened slowly, the rusty hinges shrieking. He wondered if anyone inside the castle heard, and hoped they’d look before shooting the intruders. The door opened to blackness, so Kendryk grabbed a torch and raised it high. A wooden wall blocked their way. His heart fell into his feet. Had the entrance been boarded up? Exhausted as they were, they’d have to cut their way in somehow.

  Someone large loomed up behind him. “Let me try,” the man said, grinning down at Kendryk.

  “Can you break it?” Kendryk asked.

  The man took a few steps back and ran at the wall, shoulder first. There was a great crash of wood, a shrieking noise, and then the wood fell forward, big fellow on top. It smashed onto the stone floor of the cellar, and they were in. The man stood, dusting himself off. “Guess it was just a shelf,” he said with a grin. “And an empty one at that.”

  Kendryk almost laughed with relief, though an empty shelf was never a good sign in a besieged castle. He clapped the man on the shoulder. “Thank you,” he said. “But I’ll go first, in case someone thinks we’re attacking.”

  He wasn’t wrong. A few seconds later, footsteps pounded on the stairs, the cellar door burst open, and Merton nearly fell into the room, sword drawn.

  As soon as he saw Kendryk, he stopped short and stared. “Is it? What?” He shook his head.

  Kendryk hurried forward and grabbed his hand. “It’s me,” he said. “I’ve come to get you out of here.” He realized he hadn’t seen his old friend in over five years after leaving his family in his care before going into battle. And through all of that, Merton had always held Birkenfels. Kendryk’s trust had been well-placed.

  For a moment, he worried Merton would cry, but he recovered and was soon grinning widely. “We’d heard about your rescue,” Merton said. “But we expected you to stay in Galladium until Lennart made a move.”

  “I can’t wait for Lennart,” Kendryk said. “He’s having trouble in Helvundala, and I hoped to gather up allies to encourage him.” Behind him, men streamed into the room out of the tunnel.

  Merton stared. “I had no idea this was here.”

  “No one does but me. Well, now it’s me, Duke Trystan and these three hundred good men.”

  Merton frowned. “I doubt three hundred will be enough to break out. We have only that many ourselves.”

  Kendryk couldn’t stop smiling. “Trystan waits out there with another fifteen hundred. We’ll get out tonight.”

  Now they were climbing the winding stairs leading to the castle courtyard. “And then what?” Merton asked.

  “I must find Edric Maximus,” Kendryk said. “Wherever he goes, I’m sure we can gain allies. But they say there’s trouble in the temples.” He gnawed at his lower lip, hoping it wasn’t already too late. “I don’t know where he is.”

  Merton stopped short. “He’s here,” he said. “He came not five days ago, right ahead of that army you see camped around us.”

  “So he’s all right then? Unhurt?”

  “Yes, he’s fine. He had some trouble, but he made it here, and now we can keep him safe.”

  “I must see him ri
ght away,” Kendryk said, his heart pounding. There was no one in the world he wanted to see more right now.

  “Edric Maximus is in his study, just like the old days,” Merton said as they entered the castle living quarters.

  It was a long climb, most of the way up the tower, but Kendryk took the stairs two at a time, even though his wounded leg ached. The door to Edric’s study stood ajar, and Kendryk pushed it open. Edric stood with his back to Kendryk, leaning out the window, watching the commotion in the courtyard as Kendryk’s men streamed in. “Has someone come to relieve us?” he asked, without turning his head.

  “I have,” Kendryk said, feeling suddenly shy and overwhelmed as he stepped into the familiar room. Memories of a happier, more carefree time rushed back at the sight and smell of it, and Kendryk swallowed down a lump in his throat. By then, Edric had crossed the room and pulled him into a firm embrace. Kendryk repressed the urge to burst into tears on his shoulder.

  When they pulled apart, Edric’s eyes shone. “Thank the gods,” he finally said, his voice husky. “I worried I’d never see you again.”

  “So did I.” Kendryk’s voice wobbled, but he steadied it and smiled. “Though it seems the gods spared me for some reason, and now I’m going to get you out of here.”

  Edric smiled back. “I know exactly why the gods spared you, and it wasn’t to rescue me.”

  “Maybe so.” Kendryk thought his face might split from grinning. “But I’ll do it anyway. You might as well pack up your things, and prepare to move back into your palace.”

  Anton

  Someone was shaking Anton’s shoulder.

  “Wake up,” a soft voice whispered in his ear. Hair tickled his cheek.

  Anton screwed his eyes shut and grinned. “Don’t want to.”