Winter of the Wolf (The Desolate Empire Book 4)

by Christina Ochs

  “Will they offer very much for us?” Maryna whispered. “And what will they do once they have us?” She’d always considered Maladenes civilized enough, though rather fierce.

  “How much they’ll offer remains to be seen,” Natalya said. “But once we’re with them, you’ll have nothing to worry about. It’ll just be a matter of time before we’re exchanged back to Galladium.”

  Natalya sounded so certain, but Maryna somehow couldn’t believe everything would be all right.

  “I’ll go to my cabin now,” Natalya said. “We’re free to move about the ship, but you oughtn’t go anywhere alone. I’ll come get you in the morning.”

  Maryna thought of Gaspard and his leer, and shuddered. Hungry as she was, she’d be happy to stay in here until daylight and Natalya’s company.

  Once Natalya had gone, she locked the door to her little cabin, though she doubted it would hold against anyone who wanted to break it down.

  Sure enough, she was awakened just after dawn by a great crash, and Henny falling onto her cot. Maryna screamed and wrapped the covers around herself, even though she’d slept with her clothes on.

  “Wh-what do you want?” she asked through chattering teeth.

  Henny stood up, dusting off pudgy hands on grubby breeches. “Just want to go through your things, sweetheart.”

  She smiled at Maryna in almost maternal fashion. “See if you have anything valuable, any letters that might be of interest. I won’t be a moment, and then I’ll take you up top for a bite to eat.”

  Maryna nodded, though Henny had already opened her trunk and was pulling things out.

  “Nice,” she said holding up Maryna’s best dress. “A shame I can’t wear it myself, though I’m sure I can get money for it.” She kept rummaging, and as she must, came upon Maryna’s jewelry case, brightening visibly. “Say you’re a duchess, aren’t you?”

  Maryna nodded again, unable to speak.

  “Well, these jewels are worthy of it. And would you look at this?” Henny had found the silver circlet and held it up against the light before placing it on her frizzy head. “How did you come by such a beautiful thing? Your papa give it to you?”

  “My uncle.” Maryna wanted to cry, but resolved to be tougher. She wouldn’t let this criminal upset her. She lifted her chin. “King Arryk of Norovaea. He had it made for me especially.”

  “Well, he’ll have to make you another.” Henny was putting jewelry in all of her pockets, while stuffing Maryna’s clothes back in the chest. “And I’ll just take all of these.”

  Maryna’s chin wobbled in spite of her resolve.

  “Oh, come now little bunny. You can always get more. The rest of us need to make do by other means.”

  Maryna found her voice. “My uncle will give you a great deal of money if you return me to him safely.”

  “No doubt he would.” Henny dropped the lid of the chest with a bang. “But we’re much too far from Norovaea. No, your friend has the right of it. It’s best to unload you quickly, onto Maladena. We’re only a few days from the coast, and I’m sure the navy will pick us up. Now come along.”

  She tugged at Maryna’s elbow, as she stumbled out of bed. “Let’s get food into you, and see what the day brings. With any luck, we’ll run into a Maladene patrol and be rid of you before Gaspard gets himself into trouble.”

  She looked around the cabin, grabbed a silk scarf and handed it to Maryna. “Be a dear and tie that over your hair, will you? I swear, the idiot is obsessed with golden curls.” Henny rolled her eyes. “You’d best keep them covered and stay out of his way.”

  Maryna tied on the scarf with shaking fingers and said, “Oh, I will.”

  Lennart

  Though Lennart felt awful about Gwynneth and the children, it helped to be on the move. He hoped Natalya’s letter had not reached Kendryk yet. He’d have to receive the news, but Lennart prayed it wouldn’t be until he was back here, among friends.

  Lennart wondered what had happened to Braeden Terris. No doubt he was hunting the killer. Lennart hoped he found her soon, especially since Natalya had intimated she had been born from an unholy ritual conducted by the evil Livilla Maxima. It was past time to clean house in both temple and empire.

  After the shock of the news about Gwynneth, Lennart didn’t get back to the rest of his letters and finished them on horseback as he rode south. He’d already sent Raysa a brief reply, promising to write more later.

  Raysa’s last letter had brought another surprise.

  “Sounds like we can expect the Archduchess Elektra to join us soon,” Lennart told Tora Isenberg, riding beside him. “She left Heidenhof a few weeks ago and won’t stop until she finds us.”

  “Why did she leave? Wasn’t she all cozy with the Maximus and the queen?”

  “She was. But the Maximus took the death of Princess Gwynneth and her children hard. I don’t think he blamed the little archduchess personally, but wanted to launch her newly converted self straight at Teodora by way of revenge.”

  “That wouldn’t end well.” Isenberg shook her head.

  “No. And it would be a terrible waste. Fortunately, the queen put a stop to it and enlisted General Kalstrom’s help to get Elektra out of Edric’s clutches before he could do anything.”

  “Oh, to be a fly on the wall for that conversation.” Isenberg grinned.

  Though Raysa had downplayed her part in all of it, Lennart realized she had pulled off something major, especially in the face of an overwhelming personality like Edric’s.

  He was even prouder of her than before. Forget little bits of jewelry; he’d send her Prince Herryk’s whole treasury when he captured it.

  It was only a few days’ march to the hilly area leading to the fortress of Obenstein. Lennart ordered camp made once they were about ten leagues distant.

  “I’m sure Komary will know we’re coming,” he told his generals as they gathered that evening. It was hard to march an army of over twenty-five thousand without attracting attention. “But he hasn’t been here long and might not have dug in.”

  “He doesn’t need to dig in,” Leyf Lofbrok said with a wry grin.

  “No, but the longer he’s here, the better he can fortify the place,” Lennart said. “All the same, I don’t want to attack prematurely. I want to spend the next few days scouting the whole area and especially the approach to the fortress.”

  “Please let me do that,” Trystan said right away.

  “Sure,” Lennart said, “but mind you stay alive long enough for the real fight.” He wished he had a thousand Trystans; then he wouldn’t lose a moment’s sleep about taking any fortress in the empire. “I’ll take a ride to observe the city walls. Any volunteers to sneak in and scout the bridge and the garrison inside the city?”

  Tora Isenberg raised her hand. “I’ll wear my priestess costume. I can get in anywhere with that one.”

  “I believe you,” Lennart said. “My only condition is that I get a good look at you in your priestessly garb before you go.”

  “So you can laugh at me, Your Highness?”

  “So I can admire you. Maybe laugh just a little, too.” He needed every little bit of humor he could wring from life these days.

  Lennart left out early the next morning. Richenbruck was the largest city in the kingdom and it would take hours to circle the walls. Lennart rode beside Lofbrok, who took careful notes at every position.

  “Are you sure you should fly the royal standard?” Lofbrok asked. “Better if they don’t know it’s you.”

  “No, it’s better if they do. I’ll stay well out of range of any guns and I’d rather they realize I’m out here. Soften them up a bit.”

  Lofbrok shrugged, but called up a few more guards to flank Lennart.

  It was hard not to be discouraged as they rode around the city. The fortifications were massive and modern, with great earthworks going up outside the walls. Komary was industrious, but if Lennart acted soon, he wouldn’t have time to finish all of this, not that it mattered
.

  Whatever happened to the walls, the city couldn’t be conquered until the Obenstein was taken. Even from a great distance, it was clear to Lennart that the city could easily be bombarded from its heights.

  “Komary is wasting his time here,” he said, handing Lofbrok his glass. “I don’t need to see any more. We take the Obenstein or nothing. Let’s see what Martinek says about it.”

  Braeden

  At first, Braeden wondered if he might die from shock and grief. He lay on the ground in his cell while the poison wore off. But even immobilized, his brain worked well enough. Too well.

  He turned every second in Princess Viviane’s study over in his mind. He was supposed to protect Kendryk and had failed miserably. He’d allowed himself to override his instincts and let Kendryk take a drink when he shouldn’t have.

  It took little time to figure out that Princess Viviane had clearly poisoned herself so they’d let their guard down.

  The poison didn’t seem lethal, though Braeden wished it were. He’d staked everything on Kendryk and his family. That he’d kept the rest of them safe made no difference now. In fact, Braeden knew he’d never be able to look Gwynneth, or Devyn, or any of the others in the eye again.

  Not that he’d get a chance. If got a trial, it would be a complete sham. Even if there had been witnesses to what really happened, Princess Viviane would never allow them here on her home turf.

  Most likely no one but her people and the Countess Biaram had seen it anyway. From the way things had gone, Braeden doubted that Merton and the hundreds of other guards had made it either.

  Trisa was the only one who might have escaped. His blood ran cold thinking about her. Though brave and clever, she was just a girl, and the few soldiers under her command were even less experienced than she. Unless they heard what happened in time, they likely would have been caught by Princess Viviane’s troops.

  Braeden stayed on his back on the cold floor of the cell. Weak light came in through a tiny, high window, but he didn’t care about exploring his surroundings.

  The best thing would be for him to die as soon as possible. He could hope for a speedy execution, but he doubted he’d get a quick one, especially if the horrid Countess Biaram was involved.

  Braeden licked his parched lips. He was unbearably thirsty; maybe if he let that continue, he’d be gone in a few days. There was no hope, no escape. And even if he survived whatever came next, there was nothing for him to return to.

  He’d failed everyone he’d been responsible for. He remembered the good news about Anton, and snorted. Just as well Anton had stayed with the count; if Braeden had been responsible for his safety, he’d likely have died long ago. He was better off on his own.

  Though he wanted this to be over quickly, he felt considerable regret that everyone who mattered to him—Franca, Anton, Lennart, and gods willing, Trisa—would remember him as a dual traitor. Breaking his oath to the empire had seemed understandable to some, but betraying Kendryk now was beyond imagining.

  He gritted his teeth against the pain that pierced his heart, wondering what tale the princess would concoct as to why he’d done the deed. He prayed there’d be no trial, so he wouldn’t have to hear so many lies before his death. The lies everyone would believe about him forever after.

  Anton

  Lennart’s camp was vast, spread all between the steep, brush-covered hills north of Richenbruck. But Anton got through quickly, since the first guard he met recognized Prince Kendryk’s seal.

  The guard took him to a major who said, “His Highness will want to see you immediately. I don’t suppose the prince himself is nearby?”

  “No, he’s up north on other business.”

  “A shame.” The man shook his head. “Still, the king will want his message right away.”

  After sending for someone to take the horses and find places for Anton’s men, the major led Anton to the biggest tent in the middle of camp. The royal standard flew from its top.

  Since the day was pleasant, a table was set up in front, and Anton spotted the king at one end, several generals he didn’t recognize in the other seats.

  Nervousness displaced the excitement that had propelled him this far. What if the king shouted at him in front of all these people? He’d die of embarrassment.

  “Your Highness,” the major said, placing himself in the king’s line of sight. “May I present Lieutenant Kronek, bearing a message from Prince Kendryk himself.”

  Anton bowed as the king sprang out of his chair, and didn’t dare to look up until he’d come around to stand before him. Now he felt the eyes of the others on him. He hoped his face wasn’t too red.

  “Hey Anton.” The king laid a hand on his shoulder. He was smiling. “Can I have that message?”

  “Of course, Your Highness.” Anton had it handy in his biggest pocket, but he still had to scramble for it. At least the king wasn’t shouting at him. Yet.

  Lennart remained standing as he read, and everyone else at the table got up and clustered around.

  Anton did his best to keep his face stern and serious. Still, when the king let loose a string of curse words, he jumped.

  Then the king was in his face. “You,” he said. “You, young scoundrel. I’m sure you put him up to it.”

  “Me?” Anton didn’t have to pretend shock. “Not at all, Your Highness. The prince thought of all of it himself, I swear it.”

  “It’s true Kendryk has a trouble-making streak,” Lennart mused. “But I have a feeling you didn’t try to stop him.” He glowered at Anton.

  “Well, no.” Anton scraped at the dirt with his boot, then forced himself to stop. “To be honest, I’m worried about his family too. I’m good friends with his older children. And it seemed too hard to sit around with the Maximus, just waiting for news.”

  “Sometimes, following orders is hard.” At least Lennart wore an amused, rather than angry expression.

  “I know that.” Anton forced himself to look into the king’s eyes. “I’ve walked straight into cannon-fire because I was following orders, even though I had better things to do.”

  That brought a laugh from the others and Lennart nearly smiled. “I understand,” he said. “If Kendryk insisted, you couldn’t say no. And it looks like he’s done well by you, Lieutenant.”

  Lennart’s eyes ran over Anton’s fine clothing and weapons. He hadn’t even seen Storm yet.

  “I owe him a great deal.”

  Lennart took him by the arm and steered him to a chair. “Someone bring this young man refreshments. In the meantime, you might as well listen in on the discussion.”

  Lennart sat down across from Anton and the others took their places again. “We’re working out how to storm the Obenstein.”

  “So I’m not too late.” Anton couldn’t hide his relief, and a few of the others laughed.

  “You’re just in time. We attack in the next day or two. But I might send you back to Kendryk right away.”

  “Oh please, Your Highness—” Anton began before he realized Lennart was teasing him. He leaned back in his chair and grinned.

  A servant pushed a plate of camp stew and a mug of ale in front of him, and he dug in as the others resumed their discussion.

  “What word from Prince Kendryk?” a young man sitting a few seats down the table from Anton asked.

  “Better than I’d hoped,” The king said. “He’s gone to Isenwald and Aquianus to raise more troops for us. Someone has been causing trouble on the Terragand border—might be Mattila, though he’s not sure—and he’s asked I send Tora Isenberg to fend them off.”

  He nodded at a blond woman with a long, thin face who looked like she laughed a lot.

  “Please not until after the battle,” she said.

  “Not sure I’ll send you at all.” Lennart frowned. “Until I know what Mattila’s doing, I can’t spare any troops, especially since I don’t know when reinforcements are coming from up north.”

  Anton realized he had information on that score,
and told the king that the Oltenan army had been almost ready to move out when he’d passed through a week before.

  “So they’re on your heels.” Lennart sat silently for a moment. No one else moved a muscle. “And Kendryk hopes to send more before winter, more than enough to replace Isenberg’s army, should I send her to Terragand. I’ll think about it.”

  He turned back to Anton. “Kendryk also says I can send you back with Isenberg or keep you here with me. Which would you prefer?” His eyes crinkled, as if he already knew what Anton’s answer would be.

  “Oh, please let me stay with you,” Anton said, then realized he was being rude. He leaned forward so he could see Isenberg. “No offense to you, General. I was on the receiving end of your guns on the beach in Terragand, and joining you would be a great honor. But it’s always been a dream of mine to fight the empress directly, and it seems I have the best chance of that by staying with the king.”

  Isenberg said, “Sorry about the bombardment. Hope it wasn’t too awful.”

  Anton grinned and pointed at the scar on his cheek. “I survived.”

  “All right,” Lennart said. “You and your men can stay for the time being, and join the attack on the Obenstein, if you like.”

  “I’d love that.” Anton worried he was sounding too eager, but decided he didn’t care. “In fact, Your Highness,” he added, embarrassed again. “I’d like to ask that my men and I be allowed to lead the assault on the fortress.”

  “I don’t see why not,” Lennart said.

  “But Your Highness ...” The young man who’d asked about Kendryk scowled at Anton. “You’d promised me that honor.”

  “It’s still yours, Martinek.” The king nodded at Anton. “Lieutenant Kronek will be under your command.”

  Anton decided he was pleased, though he’d pictured himself alone, fighting his way to the fortress, his own men far behind.

  He looked the young man over carefully. So this was Trystan Martinek. Both Lennart and Kendryk had praised him after Kaltental, though Anton had never met him.

  Odd gray eyes stared back at him, sizing him up, looking annoyed.