The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3

by Christina Ochs

  Braeden didn’t like to think about facing his friends in a fight. If he hadn’t had a price on his head, he would have already returned to them. He and Kazmir ambled along a quiet country road, snow swirling around their heads. At least the worst of the blizzard had passed and it was possible to patrol again. Braeden had been stuck in a peasant cottage for the better part of the week. Now he was certain he smelled of cabbage soup, maybe permanently.

  Braeden’s mind wandered. Perhaps when he’d fulfilled his obligation to Lennart, he would rejoin Novitny in Sanova. Trisa said they were operating on the Briansk border; there was always action to be found there. Braeden shook his head. They likely weren’t here and with any luck he’d stumble on Elektra instead, still trying to work her way to Ensden. He’d already decided that if he didn’t kill her in battle, he’d put her in the Birkenfels dungeon. Kendryk’s cousin Balduin still rotted there; maybe they would be friends.

  “Horsemen ahead,” Trisa muttered at his side. Visibility was so poor in the snow, they’d come upon them rather quickly.

  “Assume they’re hostile,” Braeden said, knowing of no other patrols in the area. “Give the order.” Best to charge up on them before they realized what was happening. It was unlikely they’d be expecting opposition here.

  A small group ahead came into view, and Braeden heard the click of wheellock pistols and the clang of sabers being drawn. From their silhouettes, they didn’t look like hussars, but they didn’t have to be. After all, Elektra had escaped with her own small cavalry.

  “I’ll want a prisoner,” Braeden said. He doubted this was any kind of main force and he’d like to know what lay ahead.

  “Charge!” he shouted, drawing both pistols and spurring Kazmir forward. As they drew closer, the others turned, trying to get away. Braeden shot at one of them, his pistol ball bouncing off of armor. He cursed under his breath; not close enough to go through. With the other pistol, he aimed for a leg and got it. The trooper yelped, then slid sideways off his horse, which kept running. Braeden had his prisoner. He let his troops chase the rest as far as they could, while he dealt with this fellow. He jumped from Kazmir’s back and knelt in the snow next to him.

  “My leg.” The young man’s teeth were chattering while he tried to stop the bleeding with one hand.

  “Here, let me look.” Braeden pulled off his glove and pushed the man’s hand aside. Not so bad. “It’s bleeding quite a bit and hurting too, most like,” he said, happy that this one would live, and talk too. “But it looks like a flesh wound. We’ll get it tied up and you’ll be fine.”

  By the time he’d had a page bring a bandage and hoisted the prisoner onto a spare horse’s back, Trisa had returned with the rest of the patrol. “It was a scouting party,” she said. “Only twelve. We got eight or so, but I’m afraid a few got away, so they’ll know we’re here.”

  “We won’t stay here long,” Braeden said. “Let’s get back to that town a few leagues back. We’ll doctor this fellow up, and then I’m sure he’ll be happy to answer our questions, won’t you?” He grinned up at the man before mounting Kazmir.

  They found an inn before they reached the town and took over the dining room.

  “Food and ale,” Braeden called to the innkeep. “We won’t stay long.” He could already see the fellow scowling at the snow they’d tracked in, melting all over his nicely scrubbed wooden floor.

  Once the prisoner’s wound was cleaned with brandy and bandaged, Braeden patted him on the shoulder. “You won’t be part of this fight,” he said, “but it’s best if you tell us what we can expect.” He handed him a mug of ale and let him take a long drink.

  The man downed most of it, then looked at Braeden. “You’re not supposed to be here. We were told that Lennart’s forces went north, leaving only small garrisons at Birkenfels and a few of the larger towns.”

  “You had good information,” Braeden said. “But I had a hunch your lot would be out there. Who’s in command?”

  “Franca Dura,” the man said.

  Braeden swore under his breath. He might have known.

  “Ensden made her colonel straight away and sent her to Sanova to recruit,” The man went on. “That’s where she picked me up. I’ve been with her cuirassiers for two months now.”

  “So that’s what she’s calling them, eh? No more wings, no lances.” Braeden had to make an effort to cover his shock. He shouldn’t be surprised at Franca’s quick rise—there was no one more capable—but she couldn’t be over twenty-six. He would have expected Ensden to choose someone far more senior.

  “No,” the fellow offered a pale grin. “It’s pistols and heavy plate for us. Me and the rest couldn’t get the hang of the lances in the few months we had to prepare. Besides, they’re not needed for this kind of work.”

  “Probably right,” Braeden said, then took a long drink of ale while he thought about what Franca was likely to do next. “I’ll let you tell me all about that work in a minute. But first I have another question. Have any of you seen the Archduchess Elektra while you traveled through Sanova?”

  “We saw her all right.” The man almost laughed, then grimaced. “She and her scraggly little cavalry and three dozen dragoons have been with us since the Podoska marches. Colonel Dura doesn’t like it, but she can’t seem to get rid of her.”

  Braeden grinned widely. “I might be able to help her with that.”

  Elektra

  Franca stomped and cursed, using words Elektra had never heard before. A few survivors of a scouting party had appeared, telling of an attack by an enemy patrol. “No one was supposed to be there,” Franca shouted.

  Elektra backed away from the table. She supposed she ought to appreciate that Franca included her in her councils, but it was often an unpleasant experience. “Do we have any idea who it might be?” Elektra asked, while Franca breathed hard, eyes flashing fire while trying to calm down. “Did the scouts see anything?”

  Franca shook her head. “No, they didn’t. Not that it matters. The problem is, the enemy is expecting us now.”

  “Do they know where we’re headed?”

  Franca sat back down. “I don’t know. It depends on if they got a prisoner. This lot hurried away too fast, and because of the snow, they didn’t see much.”

  Elektra wanted to carry out their plan so badly, she could taste it. Franca had hit on it, and for the first time, Elektra agreed with her, enthusiastically even. If they could pull it off, the rebels would be forced to surrender, the war would end, and Elektra would get much of the credit. If she succeeded, she wouldn’t even mind sharing the glory with Franca, who in spite of her unpleasant personality, excelled at her job. “I think we should go ahead anyway,” Elektra said.

  “You would.” Franca snorted. “I should have known you’d be more excited about stopping heresy than any military operation.”

  “This is both, isn’t it?” Elektra kept her chin up. Her confidence had returned and she wouldn’t let Franca bully her.

  “I suppose so.” Franca leaned her elbows on the table, cupping her chin in her palm. “I want to go ahead too. The enemy won’t have a big force here, and if we move fast, we might still pull it off, even if they figure out what we’re up to.”

  “I agree,” Elektra said, then stood. “Let’s go right now.”

  It was a tricky plan, especially since Heidenhof was one of the most strongly garrisoned cities in Terragand. Lennart clearly wanted to keep the heretical Maximus safe. But since no one expected the enemy to be near, the gates of most cities remained open during the day so trade could continue.

  At first, Franca didn’t want Elektra to be involved. “It’s dangerous, and you can’t lose your nerve.”

  “I won’t,” Elektra said, wondering why she felt so confident. Or perhaps her desperation had turned to something else. She’d have to play a vital part in this mission, or die in the attempt. And if she pulled this off, she’d gain not only Franca’s respect, but everyone else’s. It would be hard for her mother to
bully the hero who’d single-handedly brought down the Quadrene heresy.

  Dressed as a farm woman, bundled up against the cold, Elektra rode through the gates of Heidenhof on the seat of a wagon. Most of the bundles and barrels in the wagon were empty, but when the guard asked what they carried, Elektra unwound the scarf over her face enough to smile at him and say, “Ale, and a little flour. But mostly ale.”

  “We don’t mind seeing more of that.” The guard grinned and winked at her. “Welcome to Heidenhof.”

  Elektra smiled once more before covering her face again. It wasn’t as though she needed a disguise; no one here would expect her or recognize her, but it was still cold. The wagon trundled over the cobbles toward the market square. Bundled-up people ran about and the market itself was busy. It seemed everyone was coming back out, now that the blizzard had passed.

  The stall was already set up by the time Elektra arrived. It sat on the outer edges of the square, in an area that got little traffic. Most of the activity was behind the stall, where nearly fifty imperial troops, disguised as farmers and merchants, gathered within an hour of Elektra’s arrival. One young woman manned the stall, selling an occasional barrel of ale to the few customers. They had just enough goods piled up in front to seem plausible.

  Elektra strolled off with only one guard at her side to inspect the temple. She was surprised to find it as impressive as many in Atlona, though it was true this was the religious seat for all of Terragand.

  “I think I’ll go inside,” she said to her guard, a little more loudly than necessary. “I’d like to pray.”

  Maybe she’d get lucky and spot the Maximus. Getting to him here would be so much easier.

  It was chilly and dim inside the temple, with only a few candles burning at the altar. Elektra gasped when she realized that the walls had been stripped bare of hangings and no icons hung over the altar. She wondered how the heretics expected to worship with nothing to pray to. Well, that nonsense would end soon, and Elektra would restore the art along with the proper worship.

  She wandered around the aisles, but there was nothing to look at, and the plainness depressed her. The Maximus never appeared either, so she returned to the marketplace. They’d have to go ahead as planned.

  Gwynneth

  “The queen wishes to pay a call on you,” Gauvain said with a smile. He didn’t visit as often, now he’d married, and seemed happier than he had in a long time.

  “She does?” Gwynneth had been wondering how to insinuate herself into the queen’s circle, and was on the verge of hinting to Gauvain that she’d like an invitation. “Why?”

  “She was good friends with your brother in Atlona. When she heard you were here, she wanted to meet you.”

  “Perhaps she has news of Aksel. I would love to talk to her about him.”

  Gauvain sighed. “I think she might have had a crush, which makes me feel even worse about the whole thing.”

  “Maybe she did, but you have no reason to feel bad. Zofya might be young, but she seems sure of herself, and she looked so happy at the wedding.”

  “I hope she was. I hope she is. I’ve tried to be as kind as possible, letting her take the lead in everything. Natalya is anxious the marriage be consummated at once, but I will not do that until Zofya is ready.”

  “That’s wise.” Gwynneth smiled at him. “And kind, as expected. Yet, you and the queen spend a great deal of time together.”

  “We do.” Gauvain’s face lit up. “She’s so clever and I enjoy talking to her. I worried a girl her age might be silly and superficial, but she is far from that. I’m hoping we can become good friends, at least.”

  “You will. Natalya can cool her heels. In the long run it’s more important you and the queen have a good relationship.” Gwynneth didn’t mention that she hoped Gauvain’s kindness would soon draw Zofya entirely away from her mother’s influence. Teodora likely wished to be the power behind the Galladian throne through her daughter, but Gwynneth doubted it would be as easy as she expected. “I’d be happy to receive the queen at any time that’s convenient for her.”

  With Gauvain gone, Gwynneth sent a message to Natalya, telling her that she was doing as instructed. Then she sent for Maryna.

  “The queen will visit us soon,” she said. “I realize you don’t like the empress, but please try to be kind to her daughter. Remember she’s far from home and if she makes new friends here, well, she might find she likes her mother less.”

  “How can she like her mother at all?” Maryna asked with a huff.

  “I’m not sure. But can you imagine how angry Teodora will be when she finds out we’ve become her daughter’s new friends?”

  Maryna giggled at that. “You’re right, Mama. That would make her very angry. I will of course be kind to the queen.”

  Queen Zofya came the next day, accompanied by only four ladies-in-waiting. Gwynneth received them in her drawing room, which became crowded by the time Gwynneth included her own ladies and Maryna’s governess.

  “I’m so honored, Your Highness.” Gwynneth curtsied deeply, pleased that Maryna did the same without hesitation.

  “Please.” The queen stretched out tiny hands and took one of Gwynneth’s, pulling her closer. “The honor is mine. Prince Aksel told me so much about you, it’s like I know you already.”

  “I’m so glad you got to know him,” Gwynneth said, leading the queen to the best chair in the room and waiting for everyone else to settle around her. “I hope he’s well.”

  Zofya frowned. “I hope he is, though I’m afraid I haven’t seen him in months. Mother didn’t approve of our friendship.”

  “Oh dear,” Gwynneth said then paused, seeing the queen wanted to say more on the matter. She let her talk, and a long list of complaints about Teodora followed. Gwynneth tried to keep from agreeing loudly, but was happy. Getting this girl away from her mother’s influence would be easy, it seemed.

  Natalya would be pleased. Gwynneth just needed the Maxima to thaw enough so she could ask her if she might go to Terragand. Kendryk had written that he had arrived there, and that Birkenfels remained safe. By the time she reached it, she hoped Lennart would have won a significant victory.

  Gwynneth let the queen talk, smiling and nodding, and offering refreshments as they arrived. She looked Zofya’s ladies over discreetly. One was young and probably a friend brought from Atlona. Two looked old, with gray hair and worn faces—likely distant relatives. The fourth was the hardest to categorize. Though she dressed correctly and didn’t say a word, something about her didn’t fit. She had a pale, sweet face with dark ringlets falling around it, and it was hard to say how old she was. Her eyes were most unsettling. Although large and beautiful, their dark brown was almost black, and looking into them was like staring into a pit with no bottom.

  Gwynneth had to keep from shivering, and tried to convince herself it was just a trick of the light. Once the queen stopped complaining about Teodora, Gwynneth introduced Maryna, who had the presence of mind to ask about the scientific work Zofya had done with Aksel. That was the right subject, and the queen chattered happily for another hour.

  When she finally left, she kissed first Maryna, then Gwyneth on both cheeks. “I haven’t had such a nice time since I first arrived here. I hope you don’t mind if I invite you to the palace.”

  “I would like that very much,” Gwynneth said, and was pleased that Maryna seemed to feel the same.

  Anton

  Anton couldn’t believe they were seeing the walls of Kaltental.

  “That must be it,” Susanna said, sitting down on a low wall that ran alongside the road with a sigh. “We’ve made it.”

  Anton sat down next to her and put an arm around her shoulders. “I owe it all to you. I would never have figured out what to do.”

  She smiled up at him. “We did it together. Us and baby here.” She put a hand on her belly, and Anton laid his over it.

  “He’s just along for the ride,” Anton said. “You’re feeling all right?”
Even though Susanna hadn’t complained, it had been a long, hard journey and he worried that it was too much for a pregnant woman.

  “Tired and hungry, but fine.” She stood and took Anton by the hand. “The city can’t be over two leagues off. Let’s go before they close the gates.”

  They’d had a stroke of luck after leaving the camp. After struggling through deep snow on the road alongside the river and barely surviving a cold night huddled in an abandoned shed, the weather cleared. It was still cold, but the wind died down and the snow melted a little bit each day. They took advantage of one sunny day to lay out their layers to dry on rocks along the river, and once they were no longer wet all the time, Anton began to believe they’d make it.

  Though they had to ration it carefully, they had enough food, and the many layers of clothes kept them from freezing to death. Now all that remained was getting inside the city and explaining himself to the nearest recruiting officer. With any luck, Michalek’s regiment was at least two days behind; Anton was certain it hadn’t been able to move as fast as he and Susanna had, covering twenty leagues a day. By the time it reached Kaltental, he’d hoped to disappear into the ranks of another unit and never see any of the others again. He was sad about friends like Stasny, but survival was more important, especially since he’d have a family to worry about.

  Anton knew it would be hard, since they’d lost all their money with the quartermaster, who’d disappeared after the battle with Lennart, and they no longer had any goods to sell. Their layers of finery had turned to rags, the food had been eaten, the brandy drunk long ago. Anton hoped to get in with a somewhat solvent commander, and at least get a loan if he wasn’t paid right away.