The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3

by Christina Ochs

  Now he worried even more as they finally approached Kaltental after crossing the river on a long bridge. The gate was shut, though a line of people and wagons stopped before it.

  “Will they let us in?” Anton asked the man standing in front of them. He led a donkey, laden with bundles.

  “Most likely,” the man said. “They’re just being careful. They’ve got Estenorians camped to the north and west and don’t want them walking in.”

  “Are you bringing supplies to the city?” Anton asked the man.

  “Yes, though I have little to sell. But prices are high, since Lennart has cut off shipping from the river and blockaded the port on the other side. The only food and supplies that get in come from the surrounding countryside. I bring herbs my wife and I grow in the garden and dry for the winter. This is the last bunch.” He patted one of the bundles on the donkey. “But we’ve made enough money to keep us for a while.”

  Anton hoped he wasn’t leading them into a worse situation if food inside the city was scarce. Perhaps he should have looked for Lennart’s forces and offered his services. But it was too late for that. Susanna leaned against him exhausted, and he needed to find a safe place for her. Tramping across the countryside, looking for the Estenorians didn’t seem a good idea right now.

  “They open the gate twice a day and let us in and those inside, out.” The man went on. “All you have to do is prove you’re not an Estenorian.”

  Anton wasn’t sure how he’d prove that, but decided not to worry about it. After a while, the massive gate swung open and the line moved. A stream of people, horses and carts came from the other side.

  When they reached the gate, the guard looked Anton and Susanna over with amusement. “You two escaped from a mummer’s troupe?” he asked, to laughter from the other guards.

  Anton lifted his chin. “I’m sure you already heard the news of Lennart’s victory further down the river. My regiment survived, but my wife and I were separated from them in a blizzard. I’d be happy to reenlist inside the city if I’m needed.”

  The guard looked him over carefully and Anton stared straight back. Nothing he’d said was a lie.

  “What about the girl?” the guard nodded at Susanna. “Can’t have her lazing around, a useless mouth.”

  “I’ll work,” Susanna spoke up before Anton said anything. “I’m a good cook. I’ll look for a position right away.”

  The guard looked at them long, then finally nodded. “All right,” he said. “The two of you are in luck. The army has been losing soldiers to disease and desertion. We try to stop ‘em from leaving, but too many sneak out anyway. Ask your way to the Granter Pike; they’ll probably take you on. Likely they can use a cook too.”

  “Thank you,” Anton said, relief and gratitude washing over him. “Thank you.”

  Then he and Susanna hurried inside the gates before the guard could change his mind.

  Elektra

  It took forever for evening to come and the market stalls to empty, their owners breaking them down and packing them up in wagons. Elektra’s bunch went through the motions, but as the square emptied, they slipped away in ones and twos. With the city so busy, they wouldn’t attract attention. Some headed toward the Maximus’s palace, while others made for the gates. Because of the cold weather, no one looked suspicious wearing layers of clothing concealing all kinds of weapons.

  Elektra was calm through the afternoon, but now her mouth dried out and her heart pounded. She still had hours to go before they acted, and she hoped she could survive the suspense. She and a few of her guards went to an inn where they ate a dreadful, greasy stew, which unsettled Elektra’s stomach. Now she felt nauseous on top of everything else.

  By the time the temple bell tolled seven, it was completely dark, the streets quiet. Elektra made her way to the Maximus’s palace and hoped her troops at the gate would succeed. It was one thing to nab the Maximus in his own home, and quite another to get him out of a well-fortified city. She and Franca considered trying to take it over, but decided it would be too hard to overcome the whole garrison. They just needed to get the Maximus out, disappear into the night, then secure him in a small castle Franca took over a week before.

  Now that it was time, Elektra wondered if the whole scheme wasn’t wildly fantastical. She was surprised Franca was going along with it. Then she wondered why Franca was going along with it, and if she perhaps had another motive—to be rid of Elektra, for instance. Elektra thought she might be sick.

  She stood at a corner of the palace, watching the guards milling around at the main entrance, well-lit by four torches in sconces on the wall. It was the only spot that appeared well-guarded, although most of the other entrances were protected by a great wall that encircled the rest of the property. Elektra had eyed the wall, but it was tall and very smooth. Even with the right equipment, she doubted she could get enough troops over it before being discovered.

  No, her plan would work well enough. Now she waited for the distraction. It came soon, with an angry shout and a woman’s piercing scream. Elektra smiled. That young dragoon volunteered because she claimed to scream better and louder than anyone. It seemed she was right. The guards looked at each other, then about half of them went toward the commotion.

  “Now,” Elektra whispered, though everyone knew what to do. She’d already pulled out a pistol and drawn her sword. In such close quarters, she’d be lucky to get off one shot.

  She managed one as she ran up the stairs to the great door, and a guard crumpled to the ground, rolling down several stairs before stopping himself, groaning. Elektra ignored him and ran past, her sword ready. She was sure the door was barred, but that was part of the plan too. Many of the guards had fallen, or were locked in combat with her own troops, who’d materialized out of the shadows in overwhelming numbers.

  She headed straight for the door, dodging a guard who lunged at her, but he was quickly engaged by someone behind her. Now only one stood before her, a young man, wide-eyed and trembling, close to Elektra’s age. He’d do perfectly. He held out his sword, but his hand shook, and she knocked it to the ground before he could use it. Some guard. At least the others put up a better fight in spite of the hopeless situation.

  Before the young man did anything else, Elektra grabbed him by the arm and pulled him close to her. She held the point of her sword to his throat. This hadn’t been part of the scheme, since everyone thought Elektra too small to grab anyone and hold them. But since this fearful guard presented himself—a gift from Vica, she thought to herself, grinning—she might as well do the honors.

  “Stop it,” she shouted. “Lay down your arms or he dies.”

  She turned the young man around and pushed the sword a little harder against his throat until he squeaked. He must have been related to someone to get this job while so incompetent. She smiled as swords and pistols clattered to the stone stairs and the cobblestones of the square.

  “Open the door,” she shouted.

  “I c-c-can’t,” the young man quavered.

  “Not you, stupid,” she nudged him in the ribs. “Someone inside.”

  Another guard appeared. “You’ll never get away with this.”

  “Tell them to unbar it or he dies.” Elektra dug the point in and drew just enough blood to make the other guard turn pale.

  “All right,” he said, opening a small door at eye level.

  Franca and her cavalry should be here anytime now. The gate was too far to hear sounds of fighting, but Elektra had no reason to believe her people hadn’t been able to overcome the guards there. “Now tell them to hurry up and open that door.”

  The man said something to the person on the other side and after an eternity, the great door swung open. Elektra nodded at her troops.

  “Find the Maximus,” she said. “Once we have him in custody, I’ll let you go, all right?” she said in the young man’s ear, feeling rather sorry for him since he trembled so. He nodded and seemed to shake a little less.

  No
w there was a commotion in the street leading to the square, the sound of hooves on cobbles and the clank of armor. Elektra sighed, relief flooding her body. Franca had made it. She turned to look at the door. The Maximus stood there. He wore his hair short and a plain black suit like any ordinary person. He didn’t even look like a priest, let alone a false Maximus, but Elektra knew it was he in an instant. Even though his arms were held by two of Elektra’s stoutest soldiers, he seemed completely calm and his pale eyes bored into her with considerable intensity.

  “Let the boy go, young lady,” he said, and Elektra realized with a start he didn’t know who she was. “I’m coming with you.”

  She shoved the young man away, and he scurried down the stairs and into the arms of an older woman, also a guard.

  “Let’s go,” Elektra said. “I’m sure our escort is already here.”

  “Are you sure that’s your escort?” the Maximus asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

  Elektra turned back to the square, now flooded with torchlight, where a cavalry troop had assembled, Braeden Terris at their head.

  “Good evening, Your Grace,” he said, a nasty smile on his lips.

  Elektra’s heart launched itself into her throat and she froze, knowing she needed to escape somehow, even while realizing it was impossible. She tried running into the palace, but stumbled on a stair and fell. A pain shot through her knee, but she struggled to her feet. They wouldn’t stay under her, and an unbearable tightness gathered in her forehead. Her ears roared, and the last thing she felt was the Maximus catching her as she fell.

  Gwynneth

  After that first visit, Gwynneth saw the young queen often. She came to Gwynneth’s house at least once a week, and invited Gwynneth and Maryna to the palace even more frequently. Gwynneth had to admit she was enjoying herself. After her falling out with Natalya, she’d become rather reclusive and missed being in society. Even though she had no money for new dresses, Catrin helped freshen up the ones she had with small alterations, and resized a few older ones to fit Maryna, who’d grown a great deal in the past months.

  Maryna and Zofya had become good friends. Not only did they share an interest in academic pursuits, their heads often bent over a scholarly text, but they enjoyed discussing politics. At first, Gwynneth worried that would lead to a fight, since Maryna had firm opinions about the Inferraras and their policies. To her surprise, Zofya seemed to agree.

  “My mother has made such a mess of things,” she said with authority, her voice echoing around the room, while several of her ladies gasped rather predictably.

  It was a sunny afternoon, with just a hint of spring in the air. Zofya and Maryna occupied a window seat in the queen’s sitting room, while Gwynneth tried to engage at least a few of the ladies in waiting. Most were terribly dull, but a few could make reasonable conversation.

  “I don’t think there was any reason for war,” Zofya went on.

  “Oh, I agree,” Maryna said. “If only the empress had been less stubborn. Papa was willing to come to an agreement with her, but she treated him abominably.”

  “She does that to everyone,” Zofya said, a little too loudly. “That’s why she doesn’t have a friend in the world. Well, except for Livilla Maxima, who is lovely, though I’m sure she’s able to intimidate my mother well enough.”

  At the mention of Livilla, the dark-haired lady Gwynneth had noticed at the first visit started visibly. Gwynneth turned to her with a smile. “Do you know the Maxima?” she asked in Olvisyan. She’d noticed this woman never took part when Galladian was spoken.

  “A little.” The woman had a strange voice. It was thin and raspy, but she spoke so softly it wasn’t unpleasant. “She nursed me back to health once when I was ill.”

  “They say she’s a famous healer,” Gwynneth said, glad she could finally talk to this woman. She’d wondered about her since the beginning.

  “I swear she performed a miracle on me. I was so near death.”

  Gwynneth saw that when the woman smiled, she kept her lips firmly pressed together. Perhaps she had crooked or rotten teeth.

  “It seems you have recovered well, if you could make the long journey.” Gwynneth still found it hard to meet the strange, bottomless eyes.

  “I have.” The woman looked around, and seeing everyone else engaged in conversation elsewhere, scooted her chair closer to Gwynneth’s. “It was important that I came with Queen Zofya since I have a particular mission concerning you.”

  Gwynneth raised her eyebrows. It would explain why she was so unlike the other ladies, but she wondered why she was confiding in Gwynneth, of all people. “Concerning me?” she asked, now on high alert. “And who’s sent you on this mission?”

  “I can’t say much here, since my employer is at odds with the empress. Your Grace, I must speak with you alone, and soon,” the woman said, her voice so low Gwynneth had to lean forward to hear her at all.

  “With me? I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  “My employer knows of your troubles with Natalya Maxima and wishes to help you.”

  Gwynneth drew her breath in sharply. “How in the world does he know?”

  “She. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that we have good reason to get you and your children away from Natalya Maxima as soon as possible.”

  Gwynneth wasn’t sure what to say to that, and just stared, wide-eyed.

  The woman looked around. Even though no one seemed to pay them any attention, she dropped her voice to a whisper. “I work for Brynhild Mattila, and she has learned things about Natalya that should cause you great concern.”

  “Mattila?” None of this made sense to Gwynneth, and she shot a glance at the queen, still chattering away with Maryna. “Why in the world would she want to help me?”

  “She hates Teodora,” the woman said. “Any enemy of the empress is a friend to her.”

  “I’m not at all sure I want to be friends with her,” Gwynneth said, her voice tight. This conversation made her distinctly uncomfortable. This woman might very well be an agent of Natalya’s.

  “She understands that, and will offer you proof of her esteem. And should you wish to accept her help, I can get you out of Allaux so you can return to Terragand where you belong.”

  “Why in the name of Vica would I trust you?” Gwynneth whispered furiously, shoving her chair back, so she wasn’t so close anymore.

  “I understand why you don’t.” The woman’s eyes laughed at her. “It’s hard to trust anyone in this den of wolves.”

  “Too true,” Gwynneth said, then stood. “I must get the duchess and take my leave. I’m sure the queen has other obligations.”

  The woman stood at the same time and Gwynneth noticed she was tall, with an almost feline fluidity to her movements. “I don’t expect you to trust me. But should you ever need help, understand Mattila has good reason to get you away from here. If you need me, send an invitation to the queen, but address it to Fernanda Vastic.”

  Gwynneth took a step back. “Thank you, but I’m sure that won’t be necessary, Miss Vastic.” She nodded by way of farewell, and hurried to take Maryna home.

  Lennart

  “We can starve Ensden out, but that’s not good enough,” Lennart said. He’d finally reached the outskirts of Kaltental and gathered his generals. “Now that the winter storms have passed, we can expect pressure from the Maladene fleet, and I don’t want to risk him getting resupplied. We need to draw him out now.”

  “I understand the urgency,” General Kalstrom said. “But how do you propose to do it? We have him nearly surrounded and it would be no great matter to close off the one gate on the eastern side. Once their supplies stop coming in altogether, they’ll come to an agreement soon enough.”

  Lennart’s patience was thin. Did no one understand that an agreement wasn’t what he needed? “I must fight him and defeat him,” he said. “I’ve been here a year now, and while I’ve secured most of Terragand, it doesn’t mean much until I’ve defeated the empress’s best
general in battle.”

  “We can take the city by storm,” Trystan Martinek said.

  Lennart noticed a few of the older generals rolling their eyes and exchanging knowing glances. It angered him that they didn’t see Trystan’s worth, though he supposed they’d had no example of it yet. Shouldn’t his trust be enough? “That’s better,” Lennart said, nodding at Trystan. “We should at least discuss the possibility.”

  “Excuse me,” Kendryk said, clearly ill at ease in a military council. “I have an idea. I’m not opposed to taking the city by storm, but that might prove costly and as far as we know, we’re still somewhat outnumbered. What if we make Ensden believe he can escape without engaging us?”

  “It’ll never work,” Karolyna Martinek said impatiently. “He knows we surround him.”

  “But what if we don’t?” Kendryk asked, looking down his nose at Duchess Martinek.

  Lennart stifled a chuckle. The woman could cut it high and mighty, but nothing beat Prince Kendryk for haughtiness when he felt like it.

  “I don’t understand,” Karolyna said.

  “I’m not surprised,” Lennart said, with a look that indicated she should keep her opinions to herself. He turned toward Kendryk. “I see where you’re going with this. Ensden would rather starve than engage us. But what if he thinks there’s a way out?”

  “Exactly,” Kendryk said, sounding more excited now. “What if he thinks he can march out toward the western beaches, the ones you escaped from.” He nodded in Isenberg’s direction. “And if he can break out of the city and get to a beach, the Maladene navy will pick him up.”

  “I like that,” Lennart said. He enjoyed puzzling things out like this, especially with another mind just as good at it. What a shame Kendryk had never had serious military training. He might have made quite a clever general. “What if for instance, we gave Ensden reason to believe that we were planning to attack from the east?” He continued. “It makes sense, with Kalstrom’s and Lofbrok’s armies still in place on that side. Then he receives word from Maladena that they’ll launch a rescue by sea.”