The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3

by Christina Ochs

  The flames roared now; they licked through the floorboards and out the first-floor windows. Sweat ran down her face. She stared down into Fernanda’s yellow eyes and jumped.

  Lennart

  Geffrey Manier was talking, but Lennart couldn’t hear him. His ears rang, and guns fired in the background, though the battle must be over by now. Sweat ran down Lennart’s face and he wiped it with the back of his gloved hand. He didn’t think the day had been that warm.

  If it was over, then he’d won; he was certain of that. But he still wasn’t sure how it happened. He stood in the middle of the battlefield, near what had once been Ensden’s front line and asked, “Ensden? Did we get him?”

  Manier shook his head. “We don’t know yet. But Evard Bernotas is dead.” Manier still sounded very far away, though Lennart understood if he listened carefully and watched his lips move.

  “Just as well. Kendryk’s claim is stronger with him out of the way.” Lennart walked across the battlefield. At some point he’d dismounted, or fallen off. He didn’t remember, so he looked himself over. Dirty, but not muddy, like he’d fallen. “What else?” he asked Manier, who’d dismounted and now walked beside him.

  “We carried the day decisively,” Manier said. “Only the Podoskan center took heavy casualties. Karolyna Martinek is badly wounded and it’s uncertain if she’ll survive.”

  “Dura’s charge was something else.” Lennart grinned, remembering, and wondered if Franca Dura had survived. If she lived, he hoped he might persuade her to fight for the winning side the next time.

  “Indeed. I confess I was worried for a little while.”

  “Me too.” It wasn’t so hard to admit now that everything had turned out so well. The decisive moment was when the Podoskan center broke. No one expected him to move his front lines quickly enough to outflank Ensden on both sides. Lennart knew it was possible, but hadn’t done it before; no one had. Once it actually happened—Leyf Lofbrok and Trystan Martinek trapping a huge swath of Ensden’s army between them—Lennart realized he’d been muttering prayers under his breath while everything unfolded before his eyes.

  Ensden’s unwieldy pike squares maneuvered too slowly, and it didn’t take long to crush them between waves of muskets and light cavalry. It worked exactly as Lennart had hoped. The enemy fought hard, as he’d expected, but when they finally retreated, they ran into steady artillery fire. Overrunning Ensden’s gun positions and turning those onto their own soldiers was an unexpected gift and made the victory complete.

  Manier kept talking. “Karolyna Martinek took the heaviest losses, though we took at least a few thousand more. I’ll have better numbers soon. We have another problem.”

  “What’s that?” Lennart’s ears still rang, even as his vision cleared. It was as if a film covered his eyes and now broke away. The colors became vivid—blood and mud and torn flesh. He looked away and stared at the sky, now overcast, even though the smoke of battle had cleared.

  “Looting,” Manier said. “The enemy turned and ran for Kaltental and our fellows went after them. They captured thousands and killed a good many more. But then ours kept right on going, and now they’re inside the city, making a mess of things.”

  Lennart sighed. “We’ll have to stop them, I suppose.” He was suddenly exhausted, but he never allowed looting. He didn’t need the people of Terragand seeing his army as the aggressor.

  “I’ll give the order.” Manier mounted his horse. “There’s still plenty of troops about who didn’t join in.” He rode off toward the city.

  Lennart kept walking. Several of his suite followed him, but he didn’t want to talk to them. He came across a field hospital, offered a few words of encouragement to the wounded and kept going. The battlefield was vast, but most of the bodies strewn across it belonged to the enemy.

  In the distance, he saw Prince Kendryk approach, flanked by Count Faris and Tora Isenberg. “Your Highness.” Kendryk looked rather pale, likely from the sight of so much carnage. “I congratulate you.” Upon reaching Lennart, he dismounted and pressed Lennart’s hand.

  “Terragand is yours.” Lennart smiled, pleased he could do this for him.

  “I can’t believe it.” Kendryk’s eyes were damp. “I still expect an enemy to suddenly appear. Or maybe I’m dreaming.”

  “The enemy is gone.” Lennart clapped Kendryk on the shoulder. “Though I’m told we captured a good number. Many of them might be Kronlanders, and you might persuade them to join us. Why don’t you come with me and we’ll look them over.”

  Anton

  Anton still lay in the mud when he woke up, but at least he wasn’t dead. Pain shot through his jaw if he tried to move it, and a loose tooth wiggled under his tongue. He raised himself up on one elbow and looked around. A number of imperial troops sat or lay on the ground around him, and beyond them he saw the halberds and helmets of guards. So he was a prisoner. This time, he’d at least been captured by the right side, though he didn’t see what good it did him.

  He sat up all the way and tried to think, remembered why he was here, and staggered to his feet. He had to get to the city and find Susanna. He made his way to the friendliest-looking of the guards.

  “What do you want?” The guard looked Anton up and down, scowling.

  He’d planned on using his smile on her but decided against it. Instead he did his best to seem sad, which wasn’t hard. “I need to get to the city. My wife is having a baby, probably right now. I give my word I’ll return as soon as I know she’s all right.”

  “Ha! Do you think I’m stupid or something?” The guard lowered her halberd menacingly. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  “But I have to.”

  “What you have to do is stay right here.” The guard took a step closer to him, her weapon’s point a little too near his chin.

  Anton stepped back. He’d have to think of something else. The guard looked away toward a commotion on the road and Anton wondered if he might sneak past. But there were so many other guards, he doubted he would make it, especially while he was still wobbly.

  Another guard turned toward the prisoners. “Up!” he shouted. “On your feet, you lazy buggers. King Lennart himself wants to inspect you.”

  Anton made his way toward the road. He’d always been curious about Lennart, though he didn’t care much about him right now. Still, he might never get another chance to see the man in the flesh.

  Guards lined the road and Anton stood as close behind them as he dared, a crush of bodies pressing him from behind. It seemed he wasn’t the only one who was curious. A mounted group came into view, a tall bare-headed man wearing a battered leather coat in front. The guards cheered and Anton stared. He’d never seen a king so un-kingly in his dress and yet so kingly in his bearing. And then he gasped as the man on the king’s right came into view. It was Prince Kendryk.

  Anton almost shouted, but held back. He needed to wait until Kendryk was close enough to hear him, since he doubted he’d get more than one chance. When the king drew almost level, Anton shouted. “Prince Kendryk! It’s me, Anton. Prince—” before a guard shoved an elbow into his stomach.

  Anton bent over, gasping, hoping Kendryk had heard. Now several guards had moved in front of him, blocking his view. Likely he’d failed and he’d never see Kendryk again. But the guards moved aside, and a familiar voice said, “Anton? Anton Kronek?”

  Anton straightened up, and couldn’t keep from grinning. Kendryk had dismounted and now stood right in front of him as the guards gawked.

  “Thank the gods,” Kendryk said. “We were certain you’d been killed along with Arian Orland.”

  Anton shook his head. He didn’t know what to say.

  Kendryk was beaming. “You’ll come with me, if that’s what you want.”

  Anton nodded. His voice caught in his throat. Maybe it was relief at seeing a friendly face on a day like today.

  Then Kendryk had him by the arm and the guards moved aside.

  “You’ll meet the king first,”
Kendryk said, “and then we’ll talk.”

  Anton nodded again, still unable to speak, and let Kendryk guide him to where the king still sat his horse, an amused smile on his face.

  “Found an old friend, did you?” he asked Kendryk.

  “Your Highness, this is Anton Kronek.” Kendryk gave Anton a gentle shove in the king’s direction, and Anton executed a hasty bow. “He helped rescue me and killed Daciana Tomescu himself.”

  The king jumped off his horse to face Anton. “A true hero. How did you find yourself in this position, young man?” He nodded toward the crowd of prisoners.

  Anton finally found his voice. “I was captured when Arian Orland was killed and they made me fight for them, even though I didn’t want to.”

  The king clapped him on the shoulder, and Anton staggered a little. “It’s happened to more than a few good soldiers, but you’re lucky I dragged Prince Kendryk along to look you lot over.”

  “Very lucky.” The shock was wearing off, and Anton remembered Susanna. He licked his dry lips. “Your Highness, I don’t wish to be a bother, but I must get to the city as quickly as possible. My wife is having a baby and I must find her.”

  The king’s eyebrows shot up and he frowned, while Anton hoped he hadn’t been impertinent. “Big day you’re having, young man. I’m afraid my troops are already in the city. I’ve sent someone to stop them looting, but who knows how bad it got.”

  Anton bit his tongue hard. He didn’t want to think about enemy soldiers finding Susanna.

  Kendryk stood next to him, a hand on his elbow. “Your Highness,” he said. “Might I take Master Kronek to the city to search for his wife? I doubt I’m needed here.”

  The king beckoned over a few mounted guards. “Accompany Prince Kendryk and this young man into the city and keep them safe.”

  “Thank you, Your Highness,” Anton choked out.

  Someone brought him a horse and helped him onto it. It had been a long time since he’d been on horseback, but it felt good and familiar. Kendryk rode next to him, a few guards at their backs. Once they had left the king behind, Kendryk said, “A great deal has happened to you since we last met. But surely Anton, you’re too young to be married.”

  “We’re not married officially,” Anton said, “but she’s having my baby. Her time was close when I had to leave the city.” He’d never really felt too young before, but now with Prince Kendryk acting fatherly, he wondered if he’d been an idiot, putting Susanna in such a position when he wasn’t able to take care of her. “It’s a long story, but I’ll tell you all of it later.”

  “I don’t wish to pry.” Kendryk shook his head. “And I’m glad to find you alive. I’m just surprised you were so easily ensnared by a young woman.”

  Anton had to laugh at that. “That’s not how it was; not at all. But I love her, and I’m terribly worried about her.”

  “Of course,” Kendryk said. “We’ll find her, and then we’ll figure out what to do next.”

  Gwynneth

  In the gathering gloom it was hard to see where she would land, but when sticks and leaves crunched under her, Gwynneth knew she’d fallen into a bush. She lost track of Fernanda for a moment while she fumbled for the pistol, which she’d dropped on the way down. She had to get away from the wall to give the children room to jump.

  Gwynneth staggered to her feet, her skirt tangling around her ankles, and ran straight into Fernanda, who hadn’t moved. Gwynneth put her head down, like a bull, and pushed Fernanda onto the ground. Behind her, she heard a small crash and a squeal; hopefully that was Maryna. She couldn’t worry about the children right now until she got rid of this creature.

  Fernanda lay under her for a second, and then Gwynneth found herself on her back, with the pistol flying out of her hand again. Fernanda wasn’t heavy, but she was strong. She sat on Gwynneth’s legs, pinning them down, her good arm pushed against Gwynneth’s throat.

  Gwynneth struggled and gasped, her arms flailing at her sides, knowing she had moments left to live before Fernanda started on her children. All she could do was draw it out as long as possible. She bucked her hips up, throwing Fernanda off balance and releasing the pressure on her throat for an instant. She made a fist and swung one arm around, hitting Fernanda on the ear. Fernanda slid to one side, and Gwynneth remembered her injured arm. She brought her other fist around and connected with the bloody spot. Fernanda shrieked and rolled off Gwynneth, lunging for the sword still on the ground. Gwynneth scrambled for it. If Fernanda got hold of it, she would finish them in seconds.

  The flickering light of the fire glinted off the blade and Gwynneth pushed her palm down on it while sticking out her elbow, hoping to push Fernanda away. But the blade sliced along Gwynneth’s palm and disappeared. Blood poured from her hand, though it didn’t hurt. Gwynneth pushed her hand against her thigh and tried to see where Fernanda and the sword had gone.

  When she looked up, Devyn held it. He was tall for his age, but still too short for the long curved blade, and swung it clumsily at Fernanda as she barreled toward him, running him down. Devyn disappeared under Fernanda, and the sword fell back to the ground. Gwynneth scrambled to her feet and threw herself on it as Fernanda reached for it. Blows fell against her ribs, first from Fernanda’s fists, then heavier blows that must have been kicks. Gwynneth gritted her teeth, refusing to cry out. She wouldn’t let the children think she was beaten.

  The kicks stopped and Gwynneth rolled onto her back, breathing hard. Devyn had his arms around Fernanda’s waist, trying to pull her to the ground. Gwynneth found the sword and curled her fingers tight around the hilt. Maryna screamed somewhere in the distance. Had Fernanda brought an accomplice? Gwynneth prayed now, harder than she had in some time. She and the children might overcome Fernanda on their own, but they’d need divine help if anyone else had come.

  Gwynneth struggled to her knees in spite of the sharp pain in her middle and the blood pouring from her hand. She had to hold the sword in her left hand, but she would still kill Fernanda with it if it was the last thing she did, which seemed likely. She tried to stand, but fell, and then someone grabbed her from behind.

  “No!” Gwynneth shrieked and struggled.

  “Shh,” a familiar voice crooned in her ear. “It’s all right. You need to stay down.”

  Maryna, sounding close by now said, “Mama, you must sit still. Natalya is here, and everything is all right.”

  “Natalya?” Gwynneth felt so weak she did nothing but lean into those arms, still holding her tight.

  “Who else?” Natalya’s voice was soft.

  Gwynneth broke down at last. It really was Natalya, and now all of her children stood around her, safe. Maryna held Renata, and Devyn had Andres and Stella by the hand.

  “I don’t … I don’t …”

  Now she cried in great gulping sobs that came so hard she could scarcely breathe. Natalya settled back onto the ground, still holding her, rubbing her shoulder and shouting at someone.

  A man came and pressed on her hand, which made her cry harder. It hurt now, but then he put a salve on it, and it became numb while he wrapped bandages around it.

  Gwynneth finally slowed her breathing, though the tears wouldn’t stop flowing. “Fernanda…” She gasped. “Did you get her?”

  “She ran into the woods. I’ve sent people after her. I doubt she’ll get far in the state she’s in. I’m very sorry we didn’t get here quickly enough. I thought she wouldn’t try anything until after dark, and I didn’t want to risk being seen.”

  Gwynneth rolled over and slid to the ground, her head in Natalya’s lap. “I don’t understand. How is it you are here at all, let alone just in time?”

  “It was Maryna.” Natalya stroked the mad tangle of Gwynneth’s hair away from her face. “She came to me before you left Allaux. Please don’t be angry with her. She was so worried, and right to be.”

  “I’m an idiot.” The tears stopped, but now Gwynneth felt guiltier than she ever had in her life. “An idiot and a terrib
le mother.”

  “Not at all.” Natalya kept stroking her hair. “You did what you thought was best. And you were well-deceived.” She put an arm under Gwynneth’s shoulders and pulled her into a sitting position. “I am certain Fernanda is Teodora’s agent, since no one else would try anything so atrocious. The letters and the ring you carry must be forgeries.”

  “Of course they are.” Gwynneth shook her head. “It seems they knew exactly what was needed to convince me.”

  “The operation was carefully planned.” Natalya said. “What remains unclear is its purpose. There’s no question she acted under Teodora’s instructions, but I’d like to know what was behind them. Until I catch Vastic and interrogate her, I want to keep this quiet.”

  Gwynneth nodded, certain she’d never argue with Natalya again.

  Braeden

  Braeden learned from the last inn he’d stopped at that a large armed party had passed not an hour before. It had to be Natalya. He’d rather it were Gwynneth, but he’d be happy to find her at all, even if he had to tangle with Natalya first. The light was fading quickly, the forest road narrow and rutted, unsafe after dark.

  Braeden urged Kazmir on and his escort kept pace. They rode in silence until Trisa said, “Smoke up ahead.”

  Braeden squinted at a brown cloud billowing up through the trees, perhaps a league distant. “Let’s hurry,” he said, urging Kazmir to a canter. “Sure to be trouble up there.” It was the wrong time of year for a bonfire, and the smoke was the color of a thatched roof burning. Even if Princess Gwynneth wasn’t in danger, someone else might be.

  As they drew nearer, he could see the flames and spurred Kazmir until he galloped, even though the road was hardly visible now. Before long, a clearing appeared, full of soldiers standing around. A house burned in the middle, though no one seemed to be trying to put the fire out. Braeden pulled Kazmir to a halt, and his men stopped behind him. He didn’t want anyone getting the wrong impression, so he dismounted and walked toward a cluster of people near the burning house, making sure his pistols were loaded.