The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3

by Christina Ochs

  Kendryk hoped that things inside the city were getting desperate. He didn’t wish for the citizens to suffer, but wanted them to lose patience with Ensden’s army, and encourage him to come out. After seeing how easily Isenberg took down one town after another, he began to hope for an easy victory.

  Anton

  Anton rushed toward the shadowy figures outside his burrow.

  “Hey!” he shouted, holding up a pistol. “Stop right now or I’ll shoot.”

  One man heard him, and stumbled aside in the snow, though the other hung onto Susanna’s arm. “We’ll take that cart of yours and leave you be.”

  “No.” Anton advanced on him. “Let go of her and leave now.”

  “Don’t think I will.”

  The man snatched Susanna around the waist and pulled her close. A knife’s blade flashed, and Susanna whimpered as he pressed it to her cheek.

  At this range, Anton was a good enough shot he could hit the man without hurting Susanna. He aimed carefully and pulled the trigger. Nothing. He’d been right to worry about keeping his powder dry in this weather. “All right,” he said, lowering it, wondering what to do next. Whatever it was, would have to be fast.

  “Jorge,” the man said to the one who’d been inching away. “Grab that cart. And since the little boy can’t stop us, we’ll take the girl too.”

  “That wasn’t part of the plan,” Jorge said, though he moved toward the cart parked next to the burrow, a snow-covered canvas across the top of it.

  “Plans change.” The other man leered into Susanna’s face, and she shuddered while his free hand ran down her front. “Oh hey.” His hand stopped on her belly. “Looks like she’s got one in the oven.”

  “Let her go,” Anton said. “Or I’ll kill you.” He’d do it too, even though he didn’t yet know how. He tried to catch Susanna’s eye, because he’d need her to help somehow.

  “Oh, I don’t mind,” the man said. “I’m not picky that way. Not at all.”

  Anton kept his eyes trained on Susanna, so he caught it as she tensed up and shot her elbow into the man’s groin. Sometimes, being so short was an advantage. The man yelped and backed away a step, though he still held the knife.

  “Move!” Anton shouted at Susanna as he barreled toward the man, switching his pistol to the other hand. It would work well enough as a club. Susanna yanked herself out of the man’s grasp, falling sideways into the snow, and Anton hoped she wasn’t hurt. He’d have to worry about that later, and charged toward the man, who was a bit shorter, but a lot sturdier than Anton.

  Anton raised the pistol and caught the man’s arm with the butt. The man yelped while the knife tumbled into the snow and disappeared. Out of the corner of his eye, Anton saw Susanna scrambling for it. He swung at the man again, catching him on the ear hard enough to make him go down. Anton jumped on top of him, their combined weight pushing them deep into the snow.

  Anton pressed down on the man’s throat with the pistol barrel and pulled out his dagger with his free hand. His head heated up, the way it did in battle. His ears rang, and a pink mist rose in front of his eyes. His face felt wet, and he realized the pink mist was blood, spraying into his eyes. He tried to get off the man, but fell back onto his thrashing legs. The man was gasping, holding his throat and making a horrid gurgling sound. Anton still held his pistol in one hand, a bloody dagger in the other. He stared at it; he couldn’t remember using it. Susanna pulled on his shoulders.

  “Anton.” She was breathing hard. “We’ve got to get out of here. I tried to go after the other fellow with the knife, but he got away.”

  Anton staggered to his feet, struggling to balance in the snow. “We can go to the count. He’ll give us shelter.”

  “We can’t.” Susanna clung to his arm, tears streaming from her eyes, though her voice was firm. “He yelled at me that he was going straight to the count to tell him you’d murdered a man over a girl.”

  “What’ll we do?” Anton wiped blood from his face. Even in his confusion, Anton was proud of Susanna’s self-possession. He looked down at the body, rapidly being concealed by snow.

  “We’ll cover it up,” Susanna said, “and we’ll leave.”

  “Leave? Right now?” Suddenly exhausted, Anton wasn’t able to think. “We’ll die out there.”

  “Maybe.” Susanna wiped her tears and climbed through the snow to her cart. “But it’s better than having you hang. I couldn’t bear that.” She sniffled as she rummaged in the cart. “Get into the cave,” she said to Anton over her shoulder. “Take off that bloody shirt and doublet, and I’ll find you something else. We’ll put on all the clothes I have in here and dump everything we can’t eat. And we’ll go right now, since everyone will be stuck here until the storm is over.”

  “All right.” Anton crawled into the burrow and pulled his shirt off, shoving it out into the snow. Without the two of them in here, it was freezing, and he shivered until Susanna handed him another one. Made of fine, embroidered silk, it wouldn’t be very warm, but Susanna gave him two more, and a linen one to put over that. A velvet doublet completed the look, though the sleeves were too short, and it was rather tight over all of the shirts.

  Out in the snow, Susanna pulled on two pairs of breeches and shed her skirt. Once they’d put on as many clothes as they could, they shoved the rest into the burrow, along with nearly a dozen bottles of brandy.

  “We’ll keep a few bottles for ourselves,” Susanna said.

  Anton was starting to realize that he’d just murdered a man, and even though he’d had good reason, he was frightened and sad at the same time. His teeth chattered, but not from the cold.

  “You need a drink right now.” Susanna handed him an open bottle. “It’ll warm you up. Hurry.”

  While he took a few swigs, she pulled out all the food in the cart along with two bottles, then wrapped it all in the canvas cover. “The cart will slow us down,” she said. “We can take turns carrying this.” She shoved the bundle into Anton’s arms while she pushed more snow over the corpse.

  Anton was no longer accustomed to alcohol and it went straight to his head, though it felt deliciously warm. He hoped he’d be able to walk, then remembered to pray. He usually didn’t, but realized they’d need help outside the ordinary if they were to survive out there.

  Lennart

  “There’s no point in carrying on in this weather.” Tavio Sora was as negative as ever.

  “I suppose you’re right.” Lennart looked out the window at the whirling snow and stopped himself from pounding the table in frustration. He prided himself on being able to move his army in any weather, but it seemed this blizzard would thwart him. “At least the enemy won’t be able to move either.” As the weather worsened, Lennart had halted his march in a small town at a bend in the river.

  Most of the citizens had fled as the remnants of the enemy army marched through a few days before, but they returned quickly, as soon as the army was gone. This was no time of year to hide in the woods. Lennart sent messengers ahead to reassure the townspeople they needn’t leave on his account. He’d quartered his troops on them, but they knew to behave or they’d answer to him. He’d sweetened the deal by bringing a small, heavy chest of coin to the burgomaster’s house, which resulted in a friendly invitation. The house was comfortable, and the man had a pretty daughter, a young widow whose husband had died in battle a few years ago.

  Lennart loved Raysa dearly, and wrote to her every day he wasn’t on the road, but he still enjoyed a pretty face and a bit of flirtation every now and then. Still, being cooped up indoors while the storm raged made him restless. He decided to brave it for a moment to go to the stables. He was likely to find a few officers there, exchange a few jokes and perhaps smoke a pipe. Lennart had taken up the habit after Alona Brynner introduced him to some excellent tobacco, imported from the Maladene colonies overseas. He hoped he didn’t run out before the battle, because he doubted he’d find any more before Kaltental.

  He’d just made himself comfo
rtable on a barrel in the barn, when a snow-covered messenger burst through the door. “Been looking all over for you, Your Highness,” he said.

  Lennart jumped down. “Is it the enemy?”

  “No, it’s Trystan Martinek, marching into town with a large force.”

  “I’ll go meet him,” Lennart said, forgetting about the storm. “No, wait, bring him and his officers to the house.” He turned to one of his own officers. “Get to the quartermaster, see about accommodations and something to eat right away. I’m sure they’ll be cold and hungry.” He shook his head and muttered, “Showing up in this weather, the rascal,” before hurrying back to the house, a smile on his face.

  “Sweetheart,” he said, poking his head into the little parlor where the pretty widow sat with her knitting. “Could you cook up a big mess of something? Seems we’re having a few generals over for dinner. Oh, and bring up more of that wonderful wine you have.”

  “Certainly, Your Highness.” The woman had already dropped her knitting and offered Lennart a dazzling smile. “I’ll make a big pot of my potato soup. It’s quite famous here in town.”

  “I’ll bet it is.” Lennart chuckled, then went back to the front hall and paced until the door opened, blowing in Trystan Martinek on the swirling snow. A woman came in behind him, along with a few other officers.

  “Have you lost your mind?” Lennart clapped Trystan on the shoulder, knocking great clumps of snow to the slate floor. “Marching around in this weather?”

  “We didn’t want to delay.” Trystan shed his hat and cloak, wiping away snow that had collected in a scraggly beard. It did nothing to make him look older. “And it wasn’t too bad until a few leagues from here. Then we decided we might as well head for real shelter.”

  “Good man.” Lennart couldn’t stop grinning. He looked over Trystan’s shoulder. “And this must be the young lady.” He winked at Karolyna Martinek, and was met by a scowl, though she covered it with a quick bow and a brusque “Your Highness.” No flirting with this one then. Not that he wanted to. Lennart decided the duchess wasn’t bad-looking, but her demeanor was rather unpleasant. Not his type at all. He was glad Braeden had convinced him to let Trystan have command of the Oltena and Isenwald forces. “Come in,” he said, leading the way to the dining room. “The lady of the house is preparing something warm for you right now. You can tell me the news while you eat.”

  He’d already noticed Braeden’s absence. “I hope Terris is all right,” he said as they sat down. The widow bustled in with bread, cheese and the promised wine.

  “He’s fine,” Trystan said, “but he’s stayed behind with most of the cavalry. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “I assume he had good reason,” Lennart said, though judging by Karolyna’s scowl, she didn’t agree. He took a long drink of wine. “Why don’t you tell me what’s happened.”

  Teodora

  “There’s nothing for you to worry about.” Teodora gave Aksel her nicest smile. The poor boy had been so miserable lately. “I’m sure the archduchess will write back soon. She likes you very much.”

  They sat in Teodora’s study where Aksel had just finished writing Elektra a second letter, after the first had met with no response. Teodora had sent a copy to Sanova and one to Kaltental, just in case Elektra really had joined Ensden. The weather had been terrible everywhere, slowing everything down, including the mail.

  “There’s nothing she can do to help me.” Aksel’s eyes were red-rimmed, and nothing remained of his usual liveliness. Teodora’s spies reported he hadn’t set foot in his laboratory ever since Father Marcus’s arrest.

  “She can keep you out of the Arnfels.” Teodora offered a broad grin, then laughed to herself at Aksel’s shudder. She was certain he considered her evil personified.

  “I don’t care if you send me to the Arnfels again,” Aksel said, his voice dull.

  “Oh, you will. I’ll be sure to make it worse than the last time. And I’m sure the archduchess will care.”

  “I’d rather go there than spend any more time with you.” Aksel looked up, a spark of rebellion in his eyes.

  “No need to be rude.” Teodora enjoyed it when Aksel showed spirit. Normally he was rather bland, compared to his siblings. “I’m only doing what’s best for the empire, and ultimately that will benefit you as well.”

  “I don’t see how.” Aksel glared at her. “You’ve taken me away from my home, imprisoned or killed my best friend, forced me to convert to a religion I detest, and write lies about it to your daughter. And don’t even get me started on your daughters.” Aksel brought a fist down on the table, and Teodora jumped, though she was enjoying herself. “I don’t know what you’ve done with Elektra, but it’s clear you have no idea where she is or what she’s doing.”

  Teodora rolled her eyes. “Aren’t you clever.”

  “You’ve obviously done something to drive her away, and I’ll be very surprised if she responds to any of your letters.”

  “They’re your letters, remember?”

  “She’ll know you’re behind them. I would say none of those things to her the way you wanted me to say them. She knows me better than that and won’t be fooled for an instant. But I doubt very much that anything you’ve done to Elektra is as bad as what you’ve done to Zofya.” Now his face was turning red. “What kind of horrible mother sends her fifteen-year-old daughter to marry a stranger twice her age? I can’t imagine what she’s going through right now.” Aksel’s lip trembled.

  Teodora wondered if he really had cared for Zofya more than he let on. He was more than upset enough on her behalf. “Zofya will be fine,” she said. “She will be Queen of Galladium if she isn’t already.”

  “Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps she doesn’t care about that?”

  “No, it hasn’t.” Teodora leaned forward, smirking as Aksel shrank back. “What she cares about or wants is irrelevant. I’m surprised you don’t realize it already, being a king’s son. Though it appears you had a rather lax upbringing.”

  “You’re hardly one to criticize my parents.” Aksel was as angry as she’d ever seen him. “And you’d better believe you’ll be sorry about this before long.”

  Teodora laughed out loud. “Are you threatening me?”

  “As if I could.” Now Aksel’s eyes bored into hers, and Teodora found it hard not to shrink back herself. “No, I’m just telling you what will happen. You started something you can’t control and now you have too many enemies. When even your children hate you, it’s a bad sign, in case you didn’t realize it. Your own lover trying to kill you should have made you understand you’re beyond help.”

  That was going too far. Teodora slammed a fist down on the table. “Shut up, you insignificant little—”

  Aksel stood suddenly, then glared at her. “All your deeds will come back to you a hundredfold.” He leaned down, propping his fists on the table, his face now uncomfortably close to hers. “And since everything you’ve done is bad, you’re doomed.” He straightened up. “Look at your face; it’s started already. All of your evil deeds have taken your youth and health, and I’m sure it won’t be long before the gods reward you with death. I’m not a vengeful person, but I’ll celebrate the day you die.”

  Teodora stood up too. “Get out,” she said, pointing to the door. “I don’t have to listen to this from you, you little worm.”

  As he left, the door slamming behind him, Teodora sat back down and breathed in deeply. She knew his words meant nothing. An ignorant boy, shouting at her in anger. But she shivered, and wondered how little life she had left, and if there was any way to undo the damage.

  She was uneasy all day, and finally talked to Livilla about it. “Do you really think the gods will punish me for the things I’ve done in service to the empire?”

  “Of course not,” Livilla said, her voice turning soft in a way that never failed to comfort Teodora. “But I worry about those deeds that came about because of anger, rather than calculation.”

  “Like
what?” Teodora felt Livilla and her other advisers usually prevented her from doing anything too dire.

  “Like Larisa Karsten.” Livilla’s voice was grave.

  “I’d forgotten about her.” Teodora shuddered. She’d known at the time it was wrong and had done it anyway. “I suppose no brother of Arryk’s will ever forgive me for that.”

  “It’s unlikely,” Livilla said. “But the gods might. They frown upon taking life when it’s not warranted, but perhaps you can atone.”

  Teodora felt weak and tired. She wanted to give up, but Aksel’s words still rang in her ears. “What must I do?”

  Livilla stared at the wall. “Father Marcus still lives. Perhaps you can pardon him.”

  “I can’t,” Teodora said. “He’s a heretic and falls under your jurisdiction.”

  “I’m willing to offer a pardon,” Livilla said, “if he’ll agree to recant. But you can be the one to tell Aksel.”

  “But if his friend is free, how will I keep leverage over Aksel?” Teodora wasn’t willing to give that up.

  “You won’t,” Livilla said. “But you’ll have shown kindness and perhaps someday that will bear fruit. Besides, the prince has already done what you wanted him to do. You don’t need him for anything else right now.”

  “I doubt he’ll appreciate it,” Teodora grumbled.

  “Maybe not, but that isn’t the point. The gods will approve of you showing mercy, even if Aksel does not.”

  “Will showing mercy help me live longer?”

  Livilla sighed. “Likely not. But it might slow the decay.”

  “It’s worth trying I suppose.” Teodora hoped that Livilla didn’t see how desperate she was.

  Braeden

  Rather than wait around at Birkenfels for information to come to him, Braeden rode out with scouting patrols. He hoped he wasn’t wrong about this. He’d feel a real fool if it turned out that no one was coming and he’d missed out on a big battle up north. But he was familiar with how the Sanova Hussars operated, remembering how they’d tried to attack Kendryk’s base before the first battle. Even with Novitny no longer in charge, his replacement would work the same way.