The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3

by Christina Ochs

  “I will. That’s not where you’re going?” Maryna cocked her head. Usually, Gwynneth enjoyed her daughter’s intelligence and curiosity, but it was inconvenient right now.

  Gwynneth furrowed her brow. She hated lying to her children, but didn’t want to put Maryna in danger with any knowledge. “Not exactly, though it’s better if you don’t know. It’s possible Natalya will be angry that I’ve gone so suddenly.”

  Maryna regarded Gwynneth with grave blue eyes. “I hope you’re not doing anything very dangerous, Mama.”

  “Not at all.” Gwynneth smiled down at her reassuringly as she fastened her cloak. “Say goodbye to the other children for me.”

  “You won’t do it yourself?”

  “They’ll just be upset.” Gwynneth tried to smile, but wasn’t able to manage it. “It’s better this way.”

  “I’ll tell them,” Maryna said, though Gwynneth saw she didn’t approve. She grabbed Gwynneth’s hand. “Please be careful, Mama.”

  “I will.” Gwynneth bent down to kiss Maryna’s forehead. She didn’t have to bend far; her little girl had grown so tall.

  She left Allaux several hours before dawn, in a hired carriage. Someone would surly notice, but Gwynneth hoped she would throw them off the trail. As the carriage rolled out of the city’s southern gate, Gwynneth whispered a prayer that Gauvain keep her children safe. She’d only agreed to this mission with his assurance he’d stand up to Natalya, so she wouldn’t use the children as hostages to force Gwynneth’s return. She was grateful that she hadn’t seen Natalya since she’d agreed to do this. That way she hadn’t been forced to lie about anything, though she doubted that would help her cause when Natalya found out.

  She told herself this was the right thing to do, even if it hurt her friend terribly. Peace with Maladena was of paramount importance, and since Natalya had failed to secure it, it was Gwynneth’s duty to do what she could. Gauvain’s plan was solid, and Queen Beatryz had expressed cautious interest in a series of encrypted letters. Gwynneth only needed to finalize the deal.

  She leaned back against the cushions of the carriage, watching dawn break over the yellow-leafed trees lining the road. With the harvest in full swing, Gwynneth looked forward to reaching the wine-growing country further south. Perhaps seeing pretty villages and merry peasants would help distract her from her terrible anxiety.

  “It’ll be all right, Your Grace.” Catrin had been asleep, curled up in a corner of the bench against the carriage wall, but as the sun slanted in she awakened. Gwynneth had decided she needed no other companion, and more than anyone, she could trust Catrin to keep her mouth shut when it came to sensitive matters.

  “I hope so.” Gwynneth offered a weak smile. “Though I worry about the children.”

  “The king will keep them safe. Oh, I can’t wait to get to Maladena. I’ve heard it’s so lovely and warm there, with oranges growing on all of the trees.”

  Gwynneth found it helped to think about her destination, and thanked the gods for Catrin for the hundredth time.

  When a whole day passed without incidence, Gwynneth relaxed a little. They switched to a plain post coach at the first mail stations, changed two more times after that, spent three nights in pleasant inns, and even briefly enjoyed a village wine festival in the south of the country. From there, it was only four days to the Maladene border.

  The weather turned rainy, which slowed the coach down, though they continued steady progress southward.

  “Terrible for the harvest,” Gwynneth murmured to herself, looking out the window as they lumbered down a muddy road. She consoled herself with the thought that even though her progress was slowed, pursuers would be slowed as well.

  One day from the Maladene border, the road became steep, winding up mountainsides around hairpin turns. Gwynneth and Catrin stayed glued to the window, staring at Galladium spread before them like a miniature kingdom.

  “This is what it must be like to be a bird,” Catrin said. “To see the whole world from so high.”

  “Aren’t you frightened?” Gwynneth asked. “If something happens to the coach, it’s a long way down.”

  “Nothing will happen, “ Catrin said. “People travel this way all the time.”

  “True.” Gwynneth sat back and tried not to worry. They couldn’t be more than a half-day from the Maladene border. It would be heavily guarded, but she had a letter of safe passage, bearing the king’s seal. There shouldn’t be any problems.

  The coach moved slower and slower as it neared the top of the mountain. Fog rolled in, and there was nothing to see, so Gwynneth finally fell asleep. Perhaps when she awakened, they’d be at the border.

  Elektra

  “The scouts report hostile troops just over the border, Your Grace,” Major Linser said.

  Elektra stared at him, disbelieving. She never dreamed of running into opposition so far south. “What kind of hostile? Mattila?” Even though all reports indicated that Mattila was staying in Brandana, Elektra still worried about her.

  “Hard to say, though they don’t look organized like Mattila’s.”

  “Who could they be?”

  “Locals, I imagine. Lantura militia maybe.”

  “But …” Elektra swung down from her horse, and waved at a page to set up a table. “I thought all of southern Kronland swore loyalty to my mother.”

  “They did,” Major Linser said, waiting for Elektra to take a seat at the little table, then unrolling the map onto it. “But some of the rulers claimed oaths made under threat aren’t binding. They can’t be trusted.”

  Elektra stared at the map. She had to get through Lantura if she wanted to join Ensden soon. The only way around was hundreds of leagues out of her way through Sanova, and she didn’t have the time. She was certain Ensden would engage Lennart before winter. The rising wind blew cold, and Elektra shivered, drawing her cloak around her. “What can we do?”

  “Send scouts to get what further information we can. Then we must choose a spot and fight our way through. The Lantura border is long; I’m sure we can find a weak point.”

  “We don’t have time for that.” Elektra stared at the map even harder, as if that would yield new information.

  “Don’t worry yet, Your Grace.” As usual, the major’s optimism never flagged. That quality was likely the same one that made him believe Elektra’s rescue was possible.

  She smiled at him. “I don’t want to miss the big battle.”

  Linser smiled back and sat down across the table from her. “Why do you expect a big battle? Lennart is outnumbered. He will pick at Ensden around the edges, trying to draw him into a disadvantageous position. It might take months, or might not happen at all. Ensden is too canny to give in to provocation. And in the meantime, if southern Kronland has risen against us, there is useful work we can do here. If we engage and distract Lennart’s allies in the south, they can’t join him in the north, can they?”

  “I suppose not.” Out of long habit, Elektra glanced over her shoulder. Even though she’d left Atlona over a month ago, she still worried about pursuit.

  Linser understood. “If no one has come after you by now, they likely will not.”

  “She’s waiting for me to let my guard down.” Elektra shuddered, remembering the conversation in the woods when her mother had trapped her. “That’s what she does.”

  “Perhaps. But even if someone comes, we won’t let them take you.”

  Elektra still didn’t entirely understand why her officers had thrown themselves on her side, risking treason. When questioned, they all said she belonged at the head of their regiment, having taken such good care of them. In private, Major Linser confided that Countess Biaram believed Elektra might become empress before long, though he didn’t know her reasons. Had Teodora been weakened in a way Elektra didn’t yet grasp? Elektra wished she’d learned more from the countess.

  She managed a half-smile for Linser. “I know, and thank you. Now let’s figure out how to go forward.”

  Tha
t night, under cover of darkness, Elektra led fifty troops deep into the woods. Her officers objected, but she wanted to do this. She hated always receiving information second-hand, and it felt better to lead the action than sitting in camp stewing, waiting for something to happen. Once they neared the enemy lines, Elektra dropped to her belly, and motioned to the others to do the same. They already had their orders, so now all they had to do was creep forward and carry out the plan.

  They were lucky that night. The wind had picked up, rattling dry leaves on the birch trees, and rumbling through the firs. The pickets were spread far apart, and everyone sneaked past them with no incident. Whoever had planned the camp’s security had been careless. Elektra ordered everyone to spread out into the woods on both sides of her to keep an eye on the rest of the camp while she got closer. Now she saw the lights from the cook fires and the outlines of tents. She still didn’t know how large the force was, but would learn that soon enough.

  Elektra was getting cold, lying on the dry leaves, but fear helped warm her as she got close enough to overhear conversations. She needed to find an officer, someone who could give her information. Only common soldiers sat around the first fire, so Elektra crept sideways through the brush until she neared another. It was frustrating to be confined to those at the edge of camp. If she’d been braver, she would have disguised herself and wandered in as if she belonged there, but she wasn’t that brave, at least not yet. And until she was, she couldn’t ask anyone else to do it.

  The wind rose again, the leaves rustled, and the crescent moon seemed to have stuck in its spot in the sky forever. Elektra wondered how much time had passed. It felt like hours, but probably wasn’t. She was about to give up at the second fire when she got lucky. A tall young woman paused to warm her hands, and one of the men referred to her as Lieutenant. Elektra grinned, and motioned to the troops waiting behind her. She pointed at the woman, then to the right, and whispered, “Over there.” If her guess was correct, the officer was heading toward the privy trenches, which judging by the smell, were very near.

  She jumped to her feet, then ran along the edge of the woods, crouched as low as she could. If anyone looked away from their fire, they’d see her, but they weren’t looking. Several people laughed at a joke, and a man started singing.

  “Sing louder,” Elektra muttered to herself.

  She kept her eyes on the officer, who had now disappeared behind a mound of dirt. Her guess had been correct. “Now,” Elektra whispered, and they pounced. The officer’s shriek was cut off quickly, then someone stuffed a rag into her mouth, and put a bag over her head. Uncomfortable memories rushed over Elektra, but she shook her head, banishing them. She’d never be captured like that again. It was someone else’s turn tonight.

  Braeden

  Braeden smiled when he heard Trisa’s screech, cut off abruptly. He had just glimpsed the archduchess herself skulking along the tree line. He couldn’t believe his good luck. It had never occurred to him that Elektra might lead a reconnaissance mission herself, but it would make his job easier. The wind in the trees obscured the sound of the ensuing scuffle, and he hoped Trisa was following his orders.

  “Don’t fight too hard,” he’d told her. “I don’t want them hurting or killing you accidentally.”

  “They won’t.” Trisa was fearless as ever. “They need information from me, don’t they?”

  “Yes, but don’t give it up too easy, or they’ll be suspicious.” Braeden frowned. His plan was solid, but he’d never forgive himself if something happened to Trisa while carrying it out.

  “I can handle a little pain.” Trisa smiled, as if looking forward to it.

  Braeden shook his head. “Don’t take any unnecessary risks, all right?” He offered a stern glare, though he suspected she was secretly laughing at him. Braeden told himself he was much too old for these kinds of antics, and resolved to consider retirement once he’d rounded up allies for Lennart. Surely he wouldn’t be needed in any further fighting.

  After Trisa’s capture, Braeden crouched behind the first row of tents, and forced himself to count to one hundred twice. As planned, the soldiers sitting around the fires made a big show of calling good night to each other while dispersing to the tents, some even pretending to be drunk. It seemed everyone but Braeden was having a grand time. He was cold and his knees hurt, so he focused on the flames dying down as darkness settled over the camp. It shouldn’t be much longer now.

  He’d nearly counted to one hundred again before they came out of the trees. Perfect. He motioned to his lieutenants to wait. The more enemy they could draw between the tents, the better. Braeden, his eyes now accustomed to the dark, kept them peeled for Elektra. He wasn’t the praying sort, but thought if there was any justice, the gods would send her his way. He’d make it quick, but would make sure she realized he was the one doing it. She’d know why.

  The first rank came toward him, spear-tips glinting in the starlight, the crescent moon providing little light. Braeden held a pistol in each hand, every nerve strained, waiting for them to reach the tents. At that point, they’d have to break ranks to go around them. Knowing Elektra, she would have drilled this lot relentlessly, and they’d fight well enough in formation. Braeden wanted to be certain they never got that chance.

  “Now!’ he shouted, firing both pistols at the same time. He hit two soldiers; one of them slumped against a tent, and the other fell face-first into the dirt. Everyone around him had fired, and now there was pandemonium. Braeden drew his saber and ran forward. He had kept Kazmir back in case things didn’t go as planned.

  After being beaten so thoroughly by Mattila, this little army needed a victory, and Braeden intended to give them one. Elektra’s well-trained troops fell back in orderly fashion when they saw they’d been ambushed. But that wouldn’t help them. As they retreated into the woods, the company that Braeden had sent to outflank them, caught them from behind. With any luck, they’d already retrieved Trisa.

  Shots blazed between the trees, and Braeden kept walking forward, looking everywhere for Elektra. She had to be here somewhere. Now the enemy was falling fast, a few throwing down their weapons when they saw all was lost. “Find the archduchess,” Braeden shouted over the din. “I want her alive.” With any luck at all, she was already a prisoner on the other side of the woods. He’d just have to be patient.

  “Secure the prisoners,” he told an officer who’d been keeping pace with him. “Keep them out of the fight.”

  He marched straight into the woods, aware of the danger, though he was flanked on all sides by highly alert soldiers. He couldn’t count the bodies on the ground, or the prisoners, but they had to number several hundred. Perhaps Elektra was among them. He kept going until he met his troops coming from the other side. He breathed a sigh of relief when he spotted Trisa, her face bloodied but joyful. “Where are the rest?” he called.

  “The rest?” another officer asked. “We got all of ‘em, didn’t we?”

  “It doesn’t seem like enough.” Braeden looked around. “There must have been a thousand enemy.”

  “Patience, sir.” Trisa wiped blood from her chin. “We haven’t counted all the bodies yet.”

  “You’re right.” Braeden tried not to worry. Elektra’s would surely be among them.

  Anton

  As Anton’s regiment made its way toward Kaltental, he felt happier again. Maybe he was looking forward to the baby, though that was still months away. Or maybe it was that he had stopped drinking everything except weak ale. His head was clearer, and when he felt sad, it didn’t last nearly as long.

  “You’re sure you’re not too tired?” he asked Susanna as they readied the cart for a big gambling party in a major’s tent. The major had decided he liked Anton after he’d been wounded in battle. So when he hosted a party, he let Anton know before any other sutlers got a chance.

  “I had a nap this afternoon, though it wasn’t much fun without you.” Susanna shot Anton her saucy grin, and he got weak in the knees,
even after all this time. He wished someone had told him how nice it was to be in love and living together like this. The count had always made it sound like a lot more bother.

  Susanna threw a rug over the cart, and they made their way slowly through the camp. By now, Anton knew many fellow soldiers, and was on friendly terms with most of them. Once he’d gotten done feeling sorry for himself, he found he enjoyed life a lot more if he made friends.

  The Michalek Pike and several other regiments had crossed the Velta River, fording at a shallow spot, then making camp on the right bank, awaiting further instructions from Ensden. Anton for once enjoyed the crossing, wading through chilly ankle-deep water. He liked not worrying about bridges held by the enemy, or being swept away in deep, fast water.

  Vineyards covered the steep river banks, but much of the grape harvest was dying on the vine, since the country folk had fled the approaching armies. In an attempt to salvage it, the wine-loving Count Michalek and a few other commanders released their soldiers to help pick grapes on the terraces rising above the river. Anton did his share and enjoyed the work, though he’d been sore after struggling to stay upright on the steep slopes all day.

  He liked the views from so high, looking up the river toward Kaltental, and down toward Birkenfels, as it wound between the bright yellow vineyards like a blue ribbon, small towns and castles at nearly every bend. But after his experience with white wine the previous year, he didn’t care to sample the finished product.

  Other soldiers liked it well enough, so Anton and Susanna had stocked the cart with twenty bottles Anton bought from the vintner whose land he’d worked. The man gave him a good discount in gratitude for his help. Anton felt a little bad, because the farmers wouldn’t have had problems in the first place if the army hadn’t come tramping all over their land, but he hoped his help made a little difference. With any luck, the coin Anton provided for the wine would help the vintner make it another year.