Anton felt overwhelmed with all the things he had to worry about. First was Susanna. If the battle wasn’t over in a day or two, she’d probably have the baby before he got back. He didn’t even want to think of what might happen to her if they were defeated. Then he worried about Skandar, out there in a dangerous place, ridden by one of the most reckless officers Anton had ever heard of. He might have approved of Colonel Dura far more if she were putting some other horse in danger. He also worried about himself. He’d lost all of his armor long ago and didn’t have enough money to buy much shot and powder, so his pistols wouldn’t be good for long.
But no one cared if he was scared, so when the order to move out echoed through the ranks, Anton had to march along with everyone else.
Kendryk
“I hoped Ensden had an officer of some spirit. I’m glad this Franca Dura finally showed up.” Lennart had seemed depressed for weeks after his ruse failed, but he was a changed man once he heard Dura’s Cuirassiers were looking for him.
“Spirit?” Kendryk asked. “She sounds insane. Dura can’t have more than a few thousand cavalry and she’s trying to draw you into pitched battle.”
“No.” Lennart chuckled as a page strapped on his cuirass. “She’s trying to draw Ensden into a pitched battle. I’d hoped some of his subordinates didn’t approve of his mutual starvation plan, but until now, none of them had the guts to do the deed.”
They weren’t starving yet, but in another month, finding enough food for Lennart’s combined forces would become challenging. This part of Terragand had been picked over so many times, nothing remained. Kendryk thought he’d become hardened to the plight of his people, but his heart still contracted with every burned village and every dead body he saw. “My fault, my fault,” was all he could think.
He was also certain he’d made a mistake leaving Gwynneth in Allaux. Braeden’s note came a week before, and Kendryk hoped he had reached Galladium by now. He’d feel a little better if he had his wife and children close by.
All depended on Lennart now. If Ensden came out to fight, he would still be likely to have greater numbers with many veterans among them. Anything but a decisive victory for Lennart would give the other Kronlanders excuses to stay neutral.
Kendryk sighed while putting on his armor. Lennart was brave, or maybe reckless enough, to wear nothing more than a simple breastplate, but Kendryk didn’t see the point in taking unnecessary risks. Teodora had taken the beautiful armor he’d worn at the first battle, but he’d replaced it with something plain, though it was thick and serviceable.
He’d agreed to combine his forces with Tora Isenberg’s, and Lennart said he’d put them on the left flank. The action would be heavier in the middle, but Ensden’s only escape route was to the northwest and the road to Ummarvik. It would be Kendryk’s and Isenberg’s job to cut off any retreat.
Karolyna Martinek held the middle. She, Trystan and Lennart had had a big argument, and even though Trystan’s numbers were larger, Karolyna insisted on taking the place of honor. “Podoska was your first ally,” she told Lennart, though that wasn’t true. Helvundala had been first, though Geffrey Manier would never put himself forward like that.
To everyone’s surprise, Lennart gave in, though the forces of Estenor and the other Kronlanders surrounded the smaller Podoskan army. Trystan remained angry about it, and Kendryk worried he’d take unnecessary risks to distinguish himself. Karil still served as one of Trystan’s officers, and Kendryk didn’t want him put in any more jeopardy either. But battle was dangerous, and many people Kendryk cared about might be hurt or killed. That paralyzed him more than his own fear, so he did his best to put it out of his mind.
Kendryk and Trystan rode together, past the center and to Trystan’s position, just to the right of Kendryk’s. Lennart commanded from the far right, on Karolyna’s other side. “Will it work?” Kendryk eyed the strange formations. Rather than put his forces in the typical blocks of pike supported by muskets with cavalry on the wings, Lennart kept his few pike in reserve, then set up alternating smaller blocks of musketeers and cavalry. Artillery sat behind and between them, but could be moved quickly. Kendryk understood the logic, but the fact remained, no one had ever fought a pitched battle this way before.
“I’m certain it’ll work.” Now that the battle neared, Trystan seemed to have put his indignation aside, and excitement colored his cheeks. “Lennart is a genius to do it this way and Ensden won’t know how to react. Even if part of our line doesn’t hold, we can maneuver so quickly it’ll be easy to fill in any gaps.”
“It sounds good in theory,” Kendryk said, hoping the others were right. They had reached Trystan’s position, at the top of a small rise overlooking the Osental, a broad valley between the Velta and the mountains to its west. Lennart’s artillery ranged below them, and Trystan’s forces had already moved into battle formation on the plain.
Trystan turned to Kendryk. “You needn’t worry on your end. Tora Isenberg knows what she’s doing.”
“I know.” Kendryk managed a small smile. “Take care, General Martinek, and I’ll see you after the battle.”
He rode along the ridge, Count Faris and a few officers behind him. It had rained the previous night and a heavy fog lay over the valley, though it was breaking up. Kendryk paused and looked into the distance through a glass. Great dark blocks crawled toward him, red banners fluttering above them. The enemy, at last.
He hurried on until he reached Tora Isenberg, waiting with her suite at the farthest end of the ridge. “Ready?” Kendryk asked.
“More than.” Isenberg pulled off her glove to gnaw on a fingernail, though she didn’t seem frightened. “All that time waiting, I worried I’d lose my mind. Thank the gods for that crazy cavalry commander.”
“I’m glad all of you are so confident.”
Isenberg turned to him with a grin. “We haven’t tried this before, but it’ll work.”
“I hope so,” Kendryk said.
“Do you reckon they’re in range?” Isenberg peered through her glass.
“From those little guns?” Kendryk didn’t mean to disparage Lennart’s artillery, but they weren’t as impressive in size as what he was used to.
“Ha,” Isenberg said. “Just wait.”
He didn’t have to wait long. The enemy came near now, marching at a brisk pace. From where Kendryk stood, they looked endless, waves of soldiers, horses and weapons stretching into the distance. His mouth was dry and he wished he’d brought water.
“It’s time,” Isenberg said quietly, and the orders went down the line to everyone, including Kendryk’s officers. He felt rather useless, but decided that was better than trying to get involved and making an awful mistake. His horse started as the guns below him boomed, then the troops below them moved forward in orderly fashion.
“Looks like Franca Dura got the middle,” Isenberg said, looking to the right.
Kendryk gasped. An enormous mass of cavalry came straight down on the Podoskans, and he hoped Karolyna Martinek was as tough as she acted. Even from a distance, the clash of the two forces made a tremendous noise and Kendryk shuddered at the sounds of the aftermath. The two armies broke apart and the cavalry charged again. Then he gasped in horror. Just two assaults by Dura’s cavalry had broken the Podoskan line. “Oh gods,” he said.
Isenberg was looking too. “It’s all right,” she said. “Lennart and Trystan will handle it.”
Braeden
When Braeden reached Allaux, he went straight to Princess Gwynneth’s house. “I’m afraid she’s not in,” one of her ladies-in-waiting said. They stood just inside the front door, and it was clear she would not ask him in to wait.
“When will she be back? I’ll come see her then.” If Natalya wasn’t allowing visitors, he’d find another way.
“I’m not certain.” The lady’s eyes darted off to the side. “She’s gone out of town on a visit.”
“What?” This wasn’t good—maybe Natalya had taken her somewhere, since
Kendryk was sure Gwynneth couldn’t leave on her own. “Is the Duchess Maryna in? I’ll talk to her if she is.” The girl was old enough to give him information at least.
“The children left with Princess Gwynneth,” the lady said.
“Who have they gone to visit?”
“I’m afraid I can’t say.” The lady looked uncomfortable, and clearly wasn’t telling the truth. He could hardly force it out of her, at least not yet.
Braeden sighed, then mounted Kazmir and headed for the Maxima’s palace. He didn’t relish tangling with Natalya, but who else would know where Gwynneth was? To his surprise, he received similar information about Natalya. She had departed Allaux just yesterday, but no one would tell him where she had gone.
Braeden swore with frustration. He was almost certain that Gwynneth and Natalya had gone away together, but couldn’t for the life of him think why, and more importantly, where. Only one other person might be able to help him, but he doubted his chances of seeing the king were very good. He’d try anyway.
Before showing up at court, he found a good inn with a stable for Kazmir and ordered a bath. He’d been on the road for nearly a month and looked it. And he knew how they were at the Galladian court. If your looks weren’t up to snuff, no one would say a word to you. Braeden’s hair and beard had grown long once again, but he decided he was more likely to be recognized that way, so he left them alone. He had no fancy clothes, but changed into something clean. Hopefully that would work.
It was mid-afternoon by the time he reached the royal palace, and the majordomo on duty looked as snobby as Braeden had expected.
“What is your business?” He looked Braeden up and down, clearly finding him wanting.
“I must speak to the king. It’s urgent.”
The majordomo snickered. “And who might you be?”
“Braeden Terris. The king knows me.”
The man snickered some more. “If you say so. What is this about?”
“Princess Gwynneth. I have an urgent message for her and can’t find her.”
“What the princess does is hardly the king’s concern,” the majordomo sniffed.
“Well, you’d be wrong.” Braeden tried to keep his anger down. He was tired and hungry and didn’t have time to spar with this overdressed flunky. He was certain the fellow had his eyebrows penciled on. “The king will want to be told she’s left town.”
“You can see him tomorrow.” The man shrugged. “He and the queen are seeing the last petitioner of the day. In fact, Her Majesty is returning to her quarters right now.”
“I don’t need to see the queen,” Braeden said. “And this is urgent. Please at least tell the king I’m here. Prince Kendryk will be very displeased if he finds I’ve failed to locate Princess Gwynneth and the children.”
“Princess Gwynneth?” A girlish voice rang out behind Braeden and he wheeled around.
He suppressed a gasp at the sight of a miniature Teodora.
“Do you know something about Princess Gwynneth?” the girl demanded.
“I have an urgent message for her, Your Highness,” Braeden said, realizing this must be Zofya Inferrara.
“Then we must talk right away.” She waved a tiny hand at the majordomo. “Gresson, tell the king to join me in my chambers when he’s done. Tell him I … what is your name?” she peered up at Braeden. He doubted Teodora had ever been so pretty, or had such a sweet voice.
“Braeden Terris,” he said. “I’m a friend of—”
“I know exactly who you are.” Her face lit up and she extended her hand.
Braeden bowed over it. When he looked up, her dark eyes stared back at him, rather wide. He hoped he didn’t look too frightening.
The queen grabbed Braeden by the hand and turned to the majordomo. “Tell the king I’ve gone to my quarters with Braeden Terris.” She smiled up at Braeden, a dimple in her cheek. “That ought to make him come quickly. Follow me, Commander Terris. We have a great deal to discuss.”
Anton
It took hours to march out to the battlefield, and Anton hoped that the whole thing would be over by the time he got there. Judging by how high the sun stood in the sky, it was nearly noon by the time the boom of the guns drew near and they had arrived right in the thick of it. Now Anton realized he missed his old comrades from the Michalek regiment; all dead now. Today, he stood next to strangers he’d drilled with only a few times. Because they’d been quartered in different houses in town, he hadn’t gotten to know them the way he would have in camp.
He kept facing forward as they came in range of the artillery. On the bright side, he didn’t much care when those around him died. Because they did. It was every bit as awful as Anton had feared. Worse than the time he’d faced Tora Isenberg alone. She was somewhere out there, but only one of many generals Lennart had with him.
To distract himself from the increasing horror as cannonballs fell into the crowded ranks, Anton recited the names in his head: first the strange foreign names of Isenberg, Kalstrom, Lofbrok, then the Kronlanders—two Martineks, Dahlby, Manier, Bernotas. The sergeant had told him all of those by way of passing the time as they marched. Bernotas. Kendryk was out there somewhere and Anton squinted into the smoke, wishing he would appear and get him away from here.
Another Bernotas fought here too, on Anton’s side. The old duke Evard needed to help Ensden win today if he wanted to keep ruling Terragand. Anton remembered capturing Duke Evard with the count years ago. That had been a lot more fun than this kind of fighting. And now he was stuck on the duke’s side, fighting against Kendryk. It was all wrong.
They kept marching until they got out of range of the artillery. Anton took a deep breath, hoping he’d survived the worst. They stopped and the sergeant shouted, “left face.” Anton executed the maneuver as smoothly as the fellows around him, most of them hardened veterans. He’d never done this in battle, and wondered if they were finally going to do some real fighting.
As they marched to the left, the sounds of battle grew louder. Anton glimpsed cavalry, and farther ahead, infantry troops running away. Were they winning already? He thought of Franca Dura on Skandar and decided he wouldn’t be shocked if she’d already beaten the enemy into submission. He hoped Skandar was all right.
“Forward!” the sergeant barked and they moved into a large open space. The enemy had been here moments before. Anton couldn’t believe it. Maybe he was on the winning side. He felt bad for Kendryk, but happy for himself, because he needed to win if he wanted to keep Susanna and the baby safe. He felt a little bit of the joy that always came to him in battle, back when he fought at the count’s side.
“Hold!” came the order and Anton hoisted his pike onto his shoulder, the tip facing forward. He didn’t see what was coming; cavalry perhaps. The two ranks in front of him held their pike lower, braced against their feet. Anyone facing them would be staring at stacks of bristling spear-tips.
Then he heard the pop of muskets and fellows around him started falling. Lennart would have musketeers, just as he had on the Velta. Pike didn’t do much good against those. Anton wanted to drop his pike and draw his pistols. He might stand a chance with those.
The sergeant ordered, “Push!” right before a musket ball dropped him. Anton looked away, not knowing what to push against. Much of the first rank had fallen, and Anton took a few steps forward. Now he was that much closer to the enemy, with no good way to fight them. He wondered about Dura and her cavalry. They might be able to run down the musketeers.
A commotion rose on Anton’s right, and he saw enemy cavalry attacking the right flank of his block. He stood near the middle, and there was nothing to do anyway, except watch his comrades fall. “Hate this hate this hate this,” he muttered to himself, holding the pike in position because he didn’t know what else to do. Any joy at possibly winning had fled some time ago.
A woman with a leathery face took the sergeant’s place and shouted the order to fall back. The gap cleared by the cavalry rapidly filled up with enem
y troops. Anton wondered what the rest of Ensden’s army was doing. His rank peeled off in a somewhat orderly retreat, though soldiers kept falling. The enemy’s muskets fired fast now, and their cavalry picked away at the edges. Anton needed to get away before there was nothing left.
“We’re drawing them into range of our guns,” someone said and Anton hoped that was true. Might that be part of the plan? As they marched away from the front line, the fighting increased and it was hard to tell what was happening. Shouldn’t there be less action back here? Anton’s hand itched to draw at least one pistol, but he needed both hands to hold the pike.
Now shots flew from all directions, and Anton wondered how he’d keep from getting hit by his own side. Were the officers confused too? The smoke blew in thick drifts and he occasionally glimpsed a standard, not always one he recognized. He wished he could do something. It was the worst, standing here, part of a huge block, unable to move.
Suddenly, shouts came from his right, then soldiers ran toward him. Anton squinted. Imperial troops. He took far too long to register that they were fleeing, and in a strange direction too. It would make more sense to head back toward the city. In fact, Anton planned to do so at the first opportunity.
“Where are you going?” he asked a man limping past, a little slower than the rest.
“Away,” the man said. “And if you’re smart, you’ll go too. Lennart’s turned our own guns on us.”
“What?” That made no sense. The only way Lennart’s troops might have gotten to Ensden’s guns would be by overrunning the imperial positions. Which meant they’d lost the battle. How had things changed so quickly? Or maybe hours had gone by and he hadn’t noticed. Anton stood there, still confused, while men around him started dropping their pikes and running off to the left.
The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3 Page 146