The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3

by Christina Ochs

  Braeden

  “I hate to leave you here with this lot,” Braeden said to Trystan as he prepared to leave.

  Several weeks of arguing had finally persuaded Princess Edyta to offer Lennart her support. But she insisted on placing her eldest daughter and heir, Karolyna, in command of the new army, to which Trystan strenuously objected.

  “Don’t worry.” Trystan looked like he was trying to smile, but his lips twisted into a grimace instead. “I’m used to it. And it’s past time to gather other allies. Harvest is fast approaching, and rulers won’t be keen on levying troops right now.”

  Braeden shrugged. “I’ll do my best to bribe them with Lennart’s money. He won’t mind.” Having had his own taste of King Gauvain’s largesse, Braeden reckoned Lennart would be awash in Galladian funds for the foreseeable future. Might as well spend it locally. Braeden carried little actual coin, but his pockets bulged with papers drawn on bankers scattered across Kronland. Any cooperative rulers might find themselves flush rather quickly.

  He hesitated, not sure about giving Trystan any further advice. “I’ve said it before.” He climbed into the saddle, feeling creaky after weeks of rest, then looked down at Trystan. “Let your sister command Podoska’s army. Lennart will give you a bigger one; I’m sure of it.”

  “Well, I’m not.” Trystan frowned. “I appreciate your confidence in me, but how will it look if I show up in Terragand with the requested army, but with someone else at its head?” He shook his head. “It won’t do. I’ll just have to fight it out.”

  “Best of luck to you then,” Braeden said. “We’ll see each other soon, I’m sure.” As he and Kazmir plodded down the road, a small contingent of guards trailing behind, Braeden pondered that he was always leaving a youngster behind somehow. First Anton in Allaux, and then it had been Karil, his regiment assigned to one of Lennart’s officers while he organized the fight for Terragand. Karil had been happy enough to stay near the action, but Braeden hated leaving him behind. Now he was leaving Trystan as well. Braeden could hardly consider him a boy, considering all he had accomplished, but at barely nineteen, his youth was more apparent among his many older siblings.

  Braeden shook his head. Aside from Trystan, he never warmed up to the Martineks; difficult and prickly, the lot of them. Lenora, only a year older than Trystan, appeared sweet enough until she opened her mouth. Braeden had known few soldiers with her vocabulary, and none who used it as cuttingly. Karolyna, the eldest, was close to Braeden’s age, but was also the most hostile, no doubt seeing him as her brother’s closest ally. Braeden shrugged, then patted Kazmir on the neck. “Glad to be rid of the them, aren’t we?”

  Braeden made for Oltena, where Kendryk’s aunt, Princess Galena Sebesta, welcomed him in a most friendly way. Everywhere Braeden went, his reputation preceded him. With most of Kronland poised to jump in Kendryk and Lennart’s direction, that was a good thing. People liked Kendryk, and now he had real force behind his cause, they were glad to welcome his rescuer.

  “I’ve commissioned a song,” Princess Galena said, as they sat at a formal dinner in Braeden’s honor. “It’s about Kendryk’s rescue. My singer will perform it after dinner.”

  “How nice,” Braeden said, downing most of his wine at once. He hated folks making a fuss over him, and he’d learned that the story of the Arnfels rescue had been blown all out of proportion. Sure enough, this song was the worst he’d heard so far. The singer had a sweet voice, so it was pleasant to the ear, but Braeden turned redder with each verse. First, it told how he broke into the castle in the middle of the night. “It was broad daylight,” Braeden muttered to the princess.

  “You were even braver then.” She beamed at him, patting his arm. “I’ll have the singer make the change.”

  Next, it was all about how Braeden slaughtered over forty strong men, fighting his way through to Prince Kendryk with his trusty cavalry saber. “There were only three guards,” he said. “And that was knife work; no place for a saber.”

  “What kind of song would that make?” The princess never stopped smiling. “I think the singer knows best how to tell it. See, everyone loves it.”

  And truly, the nobles sitting at the table looked enthralled, and when the song had ended, much of the applause was for Braeden. He doubted he’d turned redder in his life, and was grateful his beard covered most of it up.

  Princess Galena had been the older sister of Kendryk’s mother, but Braeden saw little of the prince in her. Her blond hair was now mostly gray, her pale face long and very refined, and her eyes, though blue, were slightly slanted, and nothing like Kendryk’s. She’d likely been a handsome woman in her time, and clearly still considered herself as such. So Braeden did his best to play the courtier, managed a few tame jokes she might or might not take for flirtation, and got her to help without handing out too many of Lennart’s banknotes.

  By the time he left Oltena, Princess Galena promised to raise her own militia and hire a few mercenaries from Briansk, if she could get them.

  “Send all of them to Terragand,” Braeden said. “Right now there is no threat from the south and if Lennart can beat Ensden, your kingdom will be secure by winter.”

  “I hope you’re right.” The princess gave Braeden her hand and he kissed it, adding a little pat for good measure. She’d been very kind. Or maybe he’d become used to Martineks by way of contrast. Now if only the other rulers he needed to visit fell into line as easily.

  Teodora

  “I refuse to accept that nothing can be done for her,” Teodora said. She and Livilla had been in Capo over a week and had made no progress. After their first mostly lucid conversation with Daciana, she had relapsed into a blank, sullen silence interspersed by fits of violence if anyone tried to approach her.

  “I believe we can help her,” Livilla said. She looked flustered and wearier than usual. “But she must let us near her. I have prayed to the goddess, and she’s shown me a way, though I hesitate to use it.”

  “Why?” Teodora got up to start her usual pacing, though there was space for only a few steps in her tiny temple quarters. The priest had given her the largest room, but it was still much smaller than what she was accustomed to. “Why do you hesitate?”

  Rather than answering that question, Livilla asked, “Does Daciana have anyone close to her besides you; any friends or even distant relations that you know of?”

  “No one comes to mind. Her family died when she was taken as a little girl. As far as I know, I’m her only friend, though perhaps she was close to some of the members of her band of marauders.”

  “Can you find any of them?”

  “Probably not. Most were killed in the explosion after Kendryk’s escape, and if any survived, they melted away after that whole debacle.” Just as well, for Teodora would have killed any survivors in her anger and grief. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not foisting her off on someone else to take care of. She’s my responsibility, and I will help her.” Even though Livilla seemed uncharacteristically hopeless, Teodora refused to lose faith.

  Livilla sighed and stared at the wall. “I didn’t want to consider this, except as a last resort. There’s a chance she can be fully restored to herself, but it will cost you dearly. Too dearly, I fear.”

  Teodora sat back down, pulling her chair close so she could look directly at Livilla. “I’ll do it. I don’t care what it is, if it helps her. Aside from you, I have no one left and I refuse to give up on her.”

  “Your loyalty is admirable,” Livilla said, her voice soft and her eyes sad. “But there is a chance that even this significant sacrifice will not be enough.”

  “I’ll try,” Teodora said, then licked her lips, aware that her heart was beating faster. “Just tell me what I must do.”

  “I will do most of the work,” Livilla said, “but I must draw the strength I need from you.”

  “I’m strong,” Teodora insisted. “I don’t mind giving up some of it.”

  “It’s more than a little.” Livilla seeme
d to not want to continue, passing her hand over her eyes. Teodora had seldom seen her so troubled.

  “Tell me,” Teodora said, panic rising against her will.

  “It will cost years of your life,” Livilla said at last.

  Teodora’s mouth was dry. “Years? How many?”

  “Hard to say,” Livilla whispered. “At least ten; maybe more.”

  “I don’t understand. How can anything take so much life without killing me? Only the gods can do such a thing.”

  “Yes. And they will. I’m merely a vessel to transfer your life force to Daciana. I fear it will take a great deal to restore her.” Livilla leaned forward and took Teodora’s hand, anguish in her eyes. “Please my child, of all people you must not do this. You are too valuable to the Faith and the empire to throw your life away.”

  “Can someone else do it?” Teodora’s mind was clearing a little. She was determined to do this, but wanted to find a less costly way. “I could get a prisoner, someone who will die anyway.”

  “No.” Livilla looked down. “It must be one who loves her. That’s why I’d hoped for someone else.”

  “I can’t stand to see her suffer like this,” Teodora murmured, mostly to herself. Daciana was tough, but it was clear her pain was nearly unendurable, and there was little respite. The priest had made an herbal concoction that provided a little relief, but never for more than an hour or two of each day.

  “Think about it,” Livilla said. “Pray. For at least a day and a night. I will pray as well, and if the gods have mercy, they will send us an answer.”

  Teodora nodded and closed her eyes, even though she dreaded the images that passed before them when she did. For years now, she’d kept the memories at bay, but she couldn’t any longer. At this moment, Daciana needed a supreme sacrifice from her. And Teodora owed her one.

  Gwynneth

  “I can’t stay in Galladium much longer,” Gwynneth said the next time she saw the king. She told him about her last conversation with Natalya.

  Gauvain frowned. “I’d hate for you to leave, though I won’t force you to stay. But I promised Kendryk I’d take care of you and the children, and now I feel terrible that Natalya has made you unwelcome.”

  “Not unwelcome exactly,” Gwynneth said. “But there’s no question matters are awkward between us. With everything going so well in Terragand, I don’t want to risk becoming embroiled in intrigue here.” That made her smile. “Those are words I was sure I’d never say.”

  “I don’t blame you.” Gauvain looked worn and somber. “You have your own problems. Although, if you were willing, I might find a job that would take you out of the country for a time.”

  “You would? And Natalya would approve of this?”

  “Probably not.” Gauvain sighed. “But after your success in brokering peace between Estenor and Sanova, I’d love to send you on an embassy to Maladena.”

  “Maladena?” That had never occurred to Gwynneth. “I wouldn’t know how to begin.” Even though she needed to stay focused on Kronland, she was intrigued and rather flattered at Gauvain’s trust in her abilities.

  “Very much as you did the last time,” Gauvain said. “With an offer of marriage.”

  “Yours?” Gwynneth was puzzled. “Isn’t the treaty with Teodora still in place? And who in Maladena would you marry?”

  “I’d be willing to break the treaty with Olvisya,” Gauvain said. “Teodora has little to offer at this point. I’d willingly return the troublemakers in the Dallmaring Provinces to her, and she can’t threaten us as long as Lennart remains in Kronland. And I’ve just received word that Queen Beatryz has chosen a new heir, her niece the Princess—now the Enfanta—Lucrecia.”

  “I know of her.” Gwynneth was trying to remember details of the Maladene court. “A quiet, retiring type if I’m not mistaken. And older than you. Are you sure she is still of an age to bear children?” It was hard to look at Gauvain, he seemed so depressed, but Gwynneth had to. She worried he wasn’t thinking clearly, and likely to make a terrible mistake.

  “She’s older than me, but not that old.” Gauvain managed a half-smile. “And she’s unlikely to be as difficult as any daughter of Teodora’s.”

  “Would Beatryz agree to it? Will Natalya?”

  “Beatryz might, but I’m sure Natalya won’t. That’s why you must do this for me. You’re the only person here I can trust, Gwynneth.” The king gave her a pleading look.

  “I’ll have to consider it carefully. Going behind Natalya’s back is tantamount to treason, and it would be a terrible betrayal of our friendship.”

  “Betraying me would be treason,” the king said, though his tone was gentle. “But you’re right; it’s a very serious thing I’m asking of you. Just consider this: if I cannot avert war with Maladena, I cannot support Lennart for more than another year, maybe two.”

  “I hope the war will be over by then,” Gwynneth said, though she hardly dared to hope for it.

  “So do I. But I want you to be aware of the possibilities and the risks, if we can’t manage peace.”

  “I understand,” Gwynneth said. “But suppose I agree to do this. What about my children?”

  “I’ll keep a close eye on them, and if there’s the least hint of trouble, I’ll have them brought to the palace. But perhaps, once you’ve returned I’ll have Joslyn stay with me.”

  “Won’t that create difficulties when you marry?” Gwynneth wasn’t terribly fond of Joslyn, but she pitied the little girl; neglected by one parent, and an embarrassment to the other.

  “There’s no need to worry about that,” Gauvain said. “And of course, no one in Maladena needs to know anything about it for the time being.”

  “Of course not.” Gwynneth shook her head. “Though I’m not sure I can do it. It’s a terrible time for me to leave, since Kendryk expects to hold Terragand again by winter.”

  “As much faith as I have in his and Lennart’s abilities, I would be very surprised if they manage it that soon. But if you leave now, you’ll have time to get to Maladena, spend a few weeks there, and return here before winter sets in.”

  “In theory.” Gwynneth smiled. “Though I recall the last time I went on a similar mission with similar plans, I was gone for nearly a year.”

  “Even a year is worth it if it means peace, don’t you agree? And you will of course be compensated.”

  “It probably is worth it,” Gwynneth said, though she still hadn’t decided. “You needn’t pay me, though I’ll need help with expenses.” She hated being in a penniless position, still dependent on Natalya.

  “That goes without saying. And you’d receive a salary—something like what I pay my ambassadors. It seems only fair. I’m sure you’d enjoy having an income of your own.” Gauvain was far too perceptive.

  “You’re right; I would.” She smiled at him. “May I have time to think about it? You make a good case, but I can’t make this decision lightly.”

  But even as the king took his leave, Gwynneth had nearly made up her mind.

  Lennart

  “So what is this serious matter?” Lennart asked Edric. He could guess, but wanted to know exactly what concerned the Maximus.

  Edric took a seat across from Lennart. Even while presiding over the land’s largest temple and this fabulous palace, he wore the same worn black suit as he had on the road. He fixed his cold, pale eyes on Lennart and said, “I’m hearing talk everywhere—in the temples, the towns and amongst the soldiers—that many are convinced you are the prophesied ruler.”

  “I wondered if that was the case,” Lennart said. “Though that’s talk I had nothing to do with. But why, might I ask, does that concern you?”

  “I hope you are not offended.” Edric drew his brows together, deepening the ever-present crease between them. “But I’m certain you are not that ruler, and it’s unhelpful to our cause if there’s confusion in this matter.”

  “I understand. Though I wonder why you’re so certain it’s not me. I’ve studied the Scrolls
carefully, and read all of your sermons multiple times, and it seems the bit around the prophecy remains very vague.”

  “It is vague.” Edric sighed and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest. “That’s always worried me. At times I wonder if I’ve misread the whole thing, and am wrong not just about Kendryk being the ruler, but about there being any ruler at all. Sometimes the gods speak in riddles.”

  “Sometimes?” Lennart grinned. “All too often, it seems.” He leaned forward. “I suppose we have to ask ourselves if the prophecy serves our purpose. As far as I can figure, that’s the best way for us to carry out the will of the gods.”

  Edric frowned. “That’s rather too pragmatic for my tastes.” He looked at Lennart hard, then said, “Tell me Your Highness, why are you here? Truly. Everyone has their theories, but I’d like to hear it from you directly. I will keep in confidence whatever it is, but it seems we might work better together if we understand each other.”

  “You’re right.” Lennart didn’t doubt Edric’s good intentions. Now it was just a matter of guessing how much information Lennart would have to give him to bring him over to his side. “I understand why you think Kendryk is the ruler prophesied, and I also understand the value in having everyone agree with that. The problem with that theory, is that for the past five years, Kendryk hasn’t been able to take on the forces of evil in any concrete sense.”

  “He will soon,” Edric said, his eyes burning.

  “Maybe.” Lennart paused. He had seen how devoted Edric was to Kendryk, and didn’t wish to give offense. “But the fact remains, if he is restored to the Terragand throne, he’ll only stay there as long as I can hold the imperial forces at bay. When it comes down to a big battle, like the one described in the Scrolls, I’m far more likely to be the man on the field than Kendryk is.”