The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3

by Christina Ochs

  “And is that true?” Teodora had no interest in making this easy for the little liar.

  Elektra bit her lip so hard it bled. “Sometimes, I do hate you,” she said, “but I don’t want you dead.”

  Teodora raised an eyebrow, and said nothing.

  “The only way I could stay alive was to pretend I’d help him kill you. I told him Mattila would help us, but as soon as I got back to Mattila’s camp, I turned him in. I swear it.” Elektra stared at her, eyes wide, as if willing Teodora to believe her.

  “That’s quite a story,” Teodora said. “But the fact remains he got away. How did you arrange that, and why? Do you hope he’ll get another chance at me?”

  Elektra shook her head. “He got away because Mattila made a mistake. She sent one of the Sanova Hussars after him, expecting they’d be happy to have his head. I suppose they were still friends, because one of them must have helped him escape. You must believe me, Mother.” She was pleading now. Much better.

  Teodora took her time responding. It wouldn’t hurt to let her suffer for a while. “I’m not sure I do. In fact, this story is so different from what you first told me, I don’t know what to believe.” She turned her horse back toward the city, and Elektra followed.

  “I’ll write to Mattila,” Elektra said, her voice very small now. “She’ll tell you it’s the truth.”

  Teodora laughed. “You think I’d trust a word that woman says? You clearly don’t know me at all. She was probably in on your conspiracy until Terris escaped, for whatever reason. No, that won’t do at all.”

  “That’s why it’s best if I leave,” Elektra was saying now. “I’ll head for Terragand tomorrow.”

  Teodora whirled on her. “There’s no way I’m letting you out of my sight now. We’re going back to the palace, where you’ll be confined to your room until Aksel is converted and you can be married. And when he becomes king, you’ll go to Norovaea with him. In fact, from now on, you’ll do everything I say without question, is that understood? One peep from you, and you’ll go to the Arnfels.”

  Elektra gasped and looked around wildly, but at a gesture from Teodora, the guards had drawn close around her. She wasn’t getting away.

  Lennart

  Once Lennart explained the situation in Helvundala to Kendryk, they rode west at speed. Kendryk told him that Martinek and the rest were holding off an unknown number of enemy, so there was no time to lose. They could talk on the way. Kendryk took the news of his cousin’s overthrow with good humor. Lennart wasn’t too surprised, since he doubted Kendryk found Stepan any more likable than he had.

  “Try not to worry,” Lennart said, though it looked like Kendryk would anyway. “Our numbers combined with yours will be more than enough to overcome any resistance. If Ensden is throwing the bulk of his force at Kaltental, I doubt he’s got much to spare to oppose us here.”

  “But if they take the gap, we won’t be able to get through.” Kendryk’s eyes were wide and anxious. Lennart had to admit that the prince was an appealing young fellow, but much too serious.

  Lennart shrugged. “We’ll find a way. And you’ve already told me about your friend holding it. I’ll be very surprised if anyone gets around him.”

  Kendryk seemed to attempt a smile, but he was clearly still worried. Lennart thought he understood well enough. This was his land, and he’d already seen much of it devastated. Lennart tried to picture Estenor wracked by war, and shuddered. Far better to take the fight to foreign soil.

  Still, this part of Terragand wasn’t bad. Lennart liked the look of the tidy farms—the fields just now being sown by sturdy-looking country folk—and the pretty villages. He was a little disappointed they’d see no larger towns in this area, but when he said so, Kendryk, replied, “That’s what’s spared this region so far. Ensden has concentrated all of his efforts on bigger places, and isn’t too concerned with the countryside. He still strips it bare on his way to the towns,” he added, bitterness plain in his voice.

  “Well, we’re putting a stop to that now, aren’t we?” Lennart asked.

  “I hope so.” Kendryk offered a weak smile.

  Lennart hoped he’d find a way to cheer him up, or they were sure to have a depressing time as they reconquered Terragand. As they rode, he assessed Kendryk still further. He could hardly admit to himself that he considered him a rival for Gwynneth’s affection. Not that he was interested in Gwynneth that way anymore, at least not too much. He told himself she was just a friend, and he wished only for her happiness.

  Lennart understood why she had fallen in love with Kendryk. In spite of his sadness, he was very good-looking, with luminous blue-green eyes, and a kind, open manner making it impossible to dislike him. Lennart was certain he was an attentive husband, and likely an excellent father. “How many children do you have?” he asked, hoping to cheer him up.

  That worked. A smile spread across Kendryk’s face as he said, “Gwynneth just had our fifth a few months ago; our third girl. I can’t wait to meet her.”

  “Queen Raysa and I are expecting a baby later in the summer.” When he said it like that, Lennart felt inordinately proud, though he reminded himself that Raysa was doing the hard part. He felt a sudden pang, missing her.

  “That’s marvelous,” Kendryk said, still smiling. “I think you’ll find there’s nothing nicer than being a father. I only wish I hadn’t missed so many years of my own children growing up.” His face sobered again.

  That gave Lennart pause. “I suppose I’m likely to miss a few years, though I hope it won’t take too long to defeat Teodora and her toadies.”

  “Aren’t you at all worried?” Kendryk asked. “By my best guess, you’re outnumbered by Ensden now he has all of Mattila’s troops. Are you sure you’ll be able to defeat him?”

  “Very sure. Now I’ve got you along, I imagine at least a few of the other Kronland rulers will send us troops.”

  “I hope so,” Kendryk said, though he didn’t sound convinced.

  So Lennart told him about his military innovations, and how he hoped to implement them. “I’m convinced that more effective artillery can even out great odds, though I’d rather not face them to begin with.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Kendryk said. “I’m looking forward to seeing your ideas put into action.”

  Riding with Kendryk was the famed Edric Maximus, who’d started all of the religious changes. His greeting to Lennart had been friendly, though reserved. Lennart didn’t blame him for having doubts, though he hoped they’d have time to talk at length before too long. If it turned out Edric believed Lennart was the prophesied ruler, it would do much to strengthen his cause.

  But the first order of business was relieving Trystan Martinek’s force. They came upon them early the next morning, camped in a meadow against a series of low, steep hills. The road led into what looked like a dark hole in the trees—no doubt the entrance to the feared gap. The pickets had already alerted Martinek, so by the time Lennart rode into camp, the duke hurried to meet them.

  “Your timing is excellent, Your Highness,” Trystan said, after he’d invited them to his tent for breakfast. Lennart regarded him intently, and liked what he saw. Edyta Martinek’s youngest son wasn’t tall, but he looked strong and resolute. His penetrating gaze no doubt unsettled some, but Lennart saw behind it a kindred spirit. More than anyone he’d met so far, he was sure he and the young duke would get on well.

  “I’m assuming from the way you’re camped here that you still hold the gap,” Lennart said, after he, Kendryk and Trystan were seated around a small table in Trystan’s tent. It’s furnishings had once been luxurious, but now everything had a battered, worn look. It had been several years since Trystan had been home to re-equip.

  “We do. It’s gone exactly as planned. The enemy is camped on the other side, but doesn’t dare venture in. Commander Terris has reported that the first quarter-league of the road is clogged with corpses.”

  Kendryk brightened. “So Braeden and Karil are well?”<
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  “Yes. I received a dispatch only an hour ago with a list of casualties. We have suffered no deaths, although one musketeer broke his ankle while running through the woods, and one cavalry trooper fell off his horse. Our problem remains that while they cannot get in, we cannot get out, unless we want to march over dead bodies.”

  “Do you have a map?” Lennart asked.

  Trystan nodded, pulled one from behind his chair and unrolled it on the table, pushing dishes aside.

  “I know a way we can take out that force on the other side,” Lennart said, happy that he’d studied his maps of Kronland so carefully before coming here.

  Gwynneth

  “I’m so sorry, Your Highness,” Gwynneth murmured, unable to look the king in the eye. “This was not my choice, though I love Joslyn and will take good care of her.” That wasn’t strictly true, since Joslyn was rather unfriendly and difficult for such a small child, but it was clear Gauvain adored his daughter.

  “I understand,” Gauvain said, then gave a weary sigh. He had come to see Gwynneth at home, likely as soon as he heard of what Natalya had done. “I realize I could order her to come live with me in the palace, but I don’t want to anger Natalya.”

  “You shouldn’t be afraid of her,” Gwynneth burst out. “I mean, we shouldn’t be afraid of her.”

  Gauvain caught her eye and chuckled. “You’re right. But it’s hard, isn’t it? She’s always radiated power, but now she’s so stern and forbidding, she really is frightening.”

  Gwynneth wished the changes in Natalya would help the king get over her, but she doubted it. He was loyal to a fault. “You’re the king,” she said, keeping her tone gentle. “Any power she has outside the temple has been granted by you. You could take it away, you know.” She felt a pang, as if she were betraying her friend, then told herself that Natalya had changed so much, she was a different person now.

  That made the king laugh. “You’re right, of course. But I can’t do that. Even though we’re not as close as we used to be.” He paused and swallowed. The pain in his eyes was so obvious, Gwynneth had to look away. “She’s still invaluable to me for political matters.” He went on. “No one else sees matters so clearly.”

  Gwynneth disagreed. “You would let her drag you into war with Maladena?”

  The king’s eyes widened, and Gwynneth held her breath, hoping she hadn’t gone too far. Worry about war looming on Galladium’s southern border consumed many of her waking hours of late, though she’d been afraid to confront Natalya about it.

  “We have no quarrel with Maladena.” The king’s voice was bland, though his eyes betrayed him. Lovely as those eyes were, their openness was not helpful for a sovereign.

  “They seem to have a quarrel with you,” Gwynneth said lightly. “My sources at Queen Beatryz’s court say she is convinced of Natalya’s heresy, and will do anything to keep it from spreading to her lands.”

  “Natalya has done nothing to spread her reforms beyond the borders of Galladium. Though really, Gwynneth, I wish you’d tell me when you receive such information. It might help me a great deal.”

  “Certainly.” Gwynneth wondered if there was a way to spin this to her advantage. “I assumed your sources were at least as good. Natalya has the most amazing spy network I’ve ever seen.”

  “True, though she doesn’t share everything with me.” The king looked thoughtful. “Perhaps we can help each other. I don’t wish for war with Maladena, though I fear Natalya will provoke it. Can you think of any way to convince Queen Beatryz that we mean her country no harm?”

  “That’s a tall order, I’m afraid.”

  “I understand. But at least consider it. Perhaps we can find a solution.”

  Gwynneth sighed. “Natalya is the solution. If only she’d temper her ardor, perhaps be less extreme …”

  “That’s unlikely to happen soon,” Gauvain said sadly. “We must do this without her, or in spite of her. I hope you don’t consider it disloyal on either of our parts.”

  “I don’t,” Gwynneth said, letting anger creep into her voice. “She’s hardly been loyal to either one of us, has she? I bear her no ill will in spite of everything.” That wasn’t exactly true, but Gwynneth wanted to be charitable. “But it can’t come as a surprise to you I’m especially interested in preventing war with Maladena.”

  “I understand. You don’t wish us distracted from what’s happening in Kronland, though Lennart has the situation well in hand.” Word had finally come of the Helvundala coup, and Kendryk’s victory at Birkenfels. Gwynneth had been so proud when she read the letters. Kendryk’s own account of the action had been modest, but she’d also received letters from Count Faris and Lennart, both of whom praised his courage and creative thinking.

  “It’s going well now,” she said. “But will you still be able to send him money when you have your own war to worry about?”

  “That’s a good question,” Gauvain said. “And the answer is, we can help a while longer, but if a war with Maladena drags on, I can’t be sure of anything.”

  “I’m sure we can come up with something,” Gwynneth said, as she stood. “Come, I’ll take you to see Joslyn. She and Stella have divided and conquered the nursery. Everyone’s been forced to pick sides.”

  Gauvain chuckled as he followed Gwynneth into the corridor. “I’m sure she got that from Natalya. I’m very sorry to cause trouble in your peaceful household.”

  Gwynneth turned to smile at him. “Any household containing Stella is never peaceful. What’s a little more trouble? And besides.” She fell in beside Gauvain and took his arm. “No one will think anything of it, if you come to visit Joslyn every day. We’ll have plenty of opportunity to discuss everything.” She hoped he understood what she meant.

  “You’re right.” Gauvain patted her hand. “I’m sure between the two of us, we’ll find a way to keep the peace, both in your house and in my country.”

  Anton

  Anton’s hands were slippery with sweat where they gripped the pike, and he wiped first one hand and then the other on his breeches. No one wore gloves, since the pike slipped against the leather. By now, Anton’s hands were so callused, he no longer noticed the the wood.

  “Nervous?” Stasny grinned at him.

  “No,” Anton said, though something hard knotted in the pit of his stomach. “It’s just hot.” A breeze rustled the flags flying over each company, but it didn’t reach into the ranks of tightly packed soldiers.

  Stasny opened his mouth to say something, but stopped at the rumble of distant thunder.

  Anton knew that sound, and hurried to clap his helmet back on. “I wonder if those guns are ours or theirs?” he asked, trying to sound calm, even as his heart hammered in his chest.

  “Probably both,” Stasny said, “though it’s true we don’t have so many. Hopefully the enemy doesn’t either.”

  Within seconds, the most awful sounds rose from the front lines, carried on the salty breeze. Anton didn’t know which side was being hit. He gripped the haft of the pike until his knuckles whitened, winced, and forced himself not to duck as a cannonball shrieked overhead.

  “Guess we’re in range,” Stasny said.

  His tone was casual, but Anton noticed his voice shaking a little. It was hard to say if that made him feel better or worse.

  Anton wanted to reply, but only managed a brief “Hm,” since his lips were pressed together so tightly.

  Though there was a small break after that first ball, the aftermath behind him was awful. Anton didn’t dare turn around. Judging by the shrieks and shouts, that last ball had landed only a few rows behind him. It did no good to look, or even imagine what had happened. There was nothing to be done about it.

  Sweat poured down Anton’s face, and he wanted to be sick. Now he wished to be on horseback more than ever; at least he’d be able to move somehow. He wondered if Skandar was nearby, though rumor said the Sanova Hussars had gone east. He hoped it was true, and that Skandar was out of harm’s way.

/>   More balls shrieked, but this time they fell a little to Anton’s right. The ground shook at the impact, and out of the corner of his eye, blood and wood exploded into the air. The shock of it made him bite his tongue, while his mouth filled with blood. “We have to move,” he said to Stasny, through gritted teeth. “We can’t just stand here while they kill us.”

  “We can’t move,” Stasny said, his face set and pale when Anton dared to glance at him. “There’s nowhere to go. We have to wait until we get the order to move forward. Or perhaps our front ranks will overrun the enemy guns.”

  “How can they, when they’re shooting like this?” Anton tried to keep his teeth from chattering. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever been so scared; even when riding into cannonfire with the count that last time. He was sure such rapid fire wasn’t possible. How many guns did Isenberg have? Or were her crews inhumanly fast re-loaders? Wouldn’t they run out of shot before long?

  More cannonball hit, one so close in front of Anton, he closed his eyes against the spray of blood, then nearly screamed from the terrible pain in his cheek. When he dared to open his eyes, he had to look away, because the man in front of him lay on the ground, and not altogether in one piece. Anton wiped blood from his eyes, while more blood rushed into his mouth. He poked at his cheek with his tongue. Something had pierced the side of his face, probably a splinter from a pike.

  He probed it carefully, since figuring out what had happened to his face beat looking at, or thinking about, the mess in front of him. From somewhere very far away, the sergeant shouted something about holding firm. Anton didn’t have much choice. He would have to stand here until he died. At this rate, that was likely to happen long before they marched in any direction at all.

  “That looks nasty,” Stasny said next to him. “Hope your girl will still love you, with your face no longer so pretty.”

  Anton wanted to say he hadn’t been pretty to begin with, but between the blood in his mouth and the splinter in his cheek, couldn’t get any words out. Cannonballs continued dropping around him, but maybe the breaks between them were longer. He had no way of telling. Now the first shock passed, and the pain came in waves. He worried he might fall, so he held onto his pike, after making sure he’d forced it far into the sandy ground. He closed his eyes. Better not to know what was going on around him.