Winter of the Wolf (The Desolate Empire Book 4)

by Christina Ochs

  “As you wish, Your Highness,” Martinek said, then turned back to Anton. “You’ll report to my headquarters after this meeting and we’ll plan the assault.” He said no more, but those strange eyes told Anton, “You’d better be up to this.”

  Anton was.

  Maryna

  “You might as well come up on deck,” Natalya told Maryna. She smiled at Maryna’s look of alarm. “I promise to protect you, and so will Henny.”

  Maryna had little faith in Henny after she’d stolen all of her things, but she trusted Natalya. So she put on her plainest dress—Henny had taken the pretty one she’d been wearing—and tied her hair up in a scarf.

  It was nice up on deck after being stuck down in the cabin for over a day. Maryna was relieved to see Dolf, even though he whispered to her as he walked past that he was being forced to work for the pirates now. Maryna hoped he would be all right, though he didn’t seem unhappy about it. A few other crew members were missing, along with the captain.

  When Maryna asked what had happened to them, she didn’t see Henny coming up behind her.

  “We killed some of ‘em.” Henny touched the short sword at her belt. “Though the captain’s in the brig.”

  “But why?” Maryna felt angry at Henny for being so cheerful about killing people.

  “We’ll get a bigger payout for the ship if the captain is still alive. As to the rest, they weren’t smart about it and fought us when we came on board, even though we said we’d spare anyone who surrendered.” A puzzled look crossed Henny’s face. “Can’t think why they’d be so stupid.”

  “Maybe they didn’t like you stealing their ship,” Maryna said with a sniff, turning her nose up. She might not have her duchess dresses and jewels, but there was no reason she couldn’t still act like one.

  “Likely not.” Henny looked like she was about to burst out laughing.

  Maryna narrowed her eyes and shook her head, then went to join Natalya, who’d moved to the opposite side of the deck.

  “Don’t worry—we’ll be rid of her soon,” Natalya said.

  “Are they taking us to Galladium?” Maryna had to hope.

  Natalya shook her head, looking serious. “No, to Maladena, as they’d said. I’m not happy about it, but it’s better than Neviar, isn’t it?”

  Maryna nodded, relieved.

  “Besides, I have friends in Maladena,” Natalya said. “They’ll keep us safe so they can make a good deal with Gauvain for us.”

  “Will he have to give up very much to have us returned?” Maryna felt bad about that, even though it wasn’t her fault.

  “Possibly. But if the war continues, maybe he can win it back.”

  Maryna caught sight of the box at Natalya’s side. “They let you keep that? I thought they took all of our things.”

  “Nearly everything.” Natalya had been forced to give up her fine Maxima’s robes and now wore a plain blue dress. “But once they saw what was in the box, they let me keep it.”

  “I wish I could see what was in there,” Maryna said.

  “It’s better if you don’t, since it’s awful. Really, it’s best if only Teodora sees, though it might be a while before I can get it to her now.”

  Maryna was very curious, but had other things to worry about as they came up on a cluster of large ships. As the Lyra sailed into their midst, the pirate ship hanging back, Maryna craned her neck to look up the side of one of them.

  “The Maladene navy has the biggest warships in the world,” Natalya said. “And they sail them well. Galladian sailors are better at fighting, though.” She smiled at Maryna. “Even though our ships aren’t as big, we ought to do well in a battle.”

  Maryna gulped, staring at the rows of cannon poking out from the sides. They’d probably been rolled out in case the pirates tried anything funny.

  The Lyra drew up close to one of the biggest ships, and Henny shouted to drop anchor. Then she shouted some more at someone on the big ship.

  Maryna had learned Maladene in school, but she’d never spoken it, so she couldn’t understand what they were talking about. The shouting went on for a while, then a boat was lowered down the side of the big ship.

  Maryna watched as it came closer, rowed by four men wearing matching clothes and hats. In the middle sat someone with a large hat, piled with red and gold feathers.

  A few minutes later, the boat bumped against the side of the Lyra, and shortly thereafter, the pile of feathers popped over the side, followed by a face, and then the rest of the man.

  He was small, but walked as if he were the tallest person on the ship. He even made Henny back up a step or two, while Gaspard faded into the background altogether. The little man’s eyes traveled over all of them, coming to rest on Natalya.

  “Your Holiness,” he said, sweeping the hat into a deep bow. “I am Cornelio Vega, Count of Avela, come to escort you to Her Majesty’s ship, the Leon.” In the meantime, two of the men in uniform came over the side, carrying what looked like a heavy chest.

  It seemed unfair to Maryna that Henny and Gaspard were getting not only her dresses and jewelry, but all that money on top of it. Maryna hoped the gods would send someone after these pirates, bringing them to justice before long.

  She ignored Gaspard, but gave Henny a stern glare before climbing over the side of the ship and into the little boat.

  Anton

  “Do you still want to go first?” Trystan asked Anton.

  “Sure.” Anton wondered what the catch was. “Is there a problem?

  On the eve of battle, Trystan had asked him to join the rest of his officers as they planned the assault, then asked Anton to stay behind after he’d dismissed the others.

  “Only what we expected.” Trystan regarded him with his oddly colored eyes.

  Anton stared straight back, hoping he looked unintimidated. He had to keep reminding himself that Trystan was no more a few years older than he. It was only because he’d been a duke to start with that he’d already become a general. Anton was sure he could have done as well with that kind of head start in life.

  “I understand the plan well enough.” Anton’s mouth had dried up. “I also understand that those going first will draw all the enemy fire.” He didn’t like to think of it, but this time he’d be on the move, not stuck motionless in a block of pike.

  “Your chances of survival are slim.” Trystan’s tone was matter-of-fact. “It’s no problem for me to send someone else. You’re too young to do something suicidal.” He smiled briefly. “Listen to me—I sound like an old man.” His face turned sober again. “I’m serious; you needn’t do this. No one will think worse of you if you join me in the main assault, while I send a few troublemakers I’d like to be rid of out ahead.”

  “How do you know I’m not a troublemaker?” Anton flashed a smile. “I’m lucky, but if my luck runs out, what better way to go?”

  He knew he wouldn’t die, but if he did, it would be the kind of heroic death everyone talked about for years after. Maybe even sang songs about. Anton would like that, even if he would be too dead to enjoy it all.

  “True.” Trystan pushed away from the table and stood. “Just think about it. You have until dawn, when I make the final assignments.”

  Anton stood too. “I won’t change my mind,” he said.

  He didn’t change his mind, but he also didn’t sleep well that night. His dangerous mission aside, the allies expected to take heavy casualties. King Lennart had ordered extra hospital units brought forward in anticipation of many more wounded than usual. Just in case, Anton said his goodbyes to Storm, who wouldn’t be needed on the morrow.

  It was a little strange, not having any other friends. Karil was here somewhere, but the camp was so vast that Anton hadn’t found him. The men in his platoon were under his command, so he couldn’t truly be friends with them.

  But in case something happened, he wanted Karil to have Storm. He wrote a little note to that effect, and left it with Trystan’s secretary when they gathered to f
orm up just after dawn.

  Anton’s heart pounded, his palms were clammy, but he was also bursting with pride. He’d told his platoon none of them needed to follow him; they could join Trystan’s troops in the main attack. But every last one of them had volunteered to go with him. Maybe they weren’t friends, but something even better.

  “You’ll take this lot too.” Trystan pointed at a cluster of sullen-looking soldiers. Dirty and unkempt, they must have been the trouble-makers he’d mentioned. “Have one of your sergeants look after them so they can’t run away.”

  Anton beckoned at Mader, a sturdy veteran who rounded them up and marched them over to Anton’s unit. “You run, I kill you,” he growled at the worst-looking fellow.

  “That should do it,” Trystan said. “You understand the plan? Once you reach that ridge, stay there and wait for me.”

  A shadow crossed his eyes. He’d already explained to Anton that getting to that ridge was nearly impossible because of the position of the enemy guns. The survivors—if any—would wait there for the main assault.

  Anton felt a little sick, but that wouldn’t stop him. He’d faced worse and survived it.

  “Now go,” Trystan said, “before it gets much lighter.”

  Anton and his men had tied leafy branches to their helmets, hoping to blend in with the brushy hillside. As they set out, Anton looked up at the fortress once more. He had to crane his neck to see it, and its sturdy walls rose out of a rocky outcropping at the hill’s crest.

  He didn’t know how anyone would get over that wall, but it wasn’t his problem. Lennart, Trystan and the others had worked it out, and it remained to Anton to draw the enemy’s fire so Tora Isenberg could aim her guns as efficiently as possible.

  As they marched up the base of the hill, Anton’s troops spread out, just as they’d planned. Mader and his criminals were on Anton’s right, while another sergeant led the stoutest men on his left. A few more followed in a second wave. If Anton’s assault failed, the others might get through. But he didn’t plan on failing.

  Gwynneth

  Gwynneth decided not to go to Lerania on her own. Once inside Aquianus, she felt safe enough to seek help. She made her way toward Barenburg, Prince Dristan Fabrey’s castle. She’d made friends with the prince and his wife at Edric’s trial in Kronfels, and after some confusion at the castle gate, she sent him a message.

  The prince came at once, and recognized her in spite of her grimy appearance and peasant garb. An enormously fat man, he lived on the castle’s spacious ground floor, which had been made modern and comfortable. He was friendly enough, though not as jolly as she’d remembered, and kept looking at her furtively.

  His wife, Princess Edda, waited for them inside. She greeted Gwynneth politely enough, though her face was tight and anxious.

  “I must catch you up on the news,” she said, then turned to the children. “Why don’t you go upstairs? We’ll have rooms made ready for you and you can have a bath.”

  Both children made faces at that, neither of them being overfond of bathing. Gwynneth suspected they’d rather enjoyed living like grubby soldiers these past weeks.

  “Go on,” Gwynneth said. “I’ll be up soon.” She, for one, would enjoy a bath. She’d had more than enough grime and rough clothing to last her the rest of her life.

  Gwynneth had been so relieved to see friendly faces and comfortable quarters, it took her a little while to wonder what was wrong. Had the Fabreys met with some recent misfortune? Had there been bad news about Lennart’s war effort?

  She tried to cover her anxiety by gesturing to her clothes and smiling. “It’s a long story.”

  “I’m sure it is,” Princess Edda said. She was the opposite of her husband—tall, thin, and serious. “Please come into the drawing room.”

  Gwynneth followed her to a beautifully appointed chamber off the castle main hall.

  “How nice you’ve made it in here.” She looked around, smiling. “I’ve never made Birkenfels very comfortable.”

  Princess Edda was still frowning. “Where is your eldest daughter?”

  “Gone to Norovaea I’m afraid. It’s all part of the story.”

  The princess shook her head. “I don’t know where my husband’s gone. Of course he’d disappear at a time like this. Men don’t have the stomach for the difficult things, do they?”

  Her voice caught as if she were about to cry. Whatever was wrong with the woman?

  Gwynneth sat down on a bench and pulled the princess down next to her. “Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong,” she said. “Best to get it over with, don’t you agree?” she added with an encouraging smile, though by now her stomach had twisted into an anxious knot.

  “I suppose so.” The princess fidgeted with her hands in her lap, and tears came to her eyes. “I don’t want to be the one to tell you this,” she said, nearly sobbing.

  “Oh gods.” Gwynneth’s hand covered her mouth. Only one thing would be certain to upset her so. “It’s Kendryk, isn’t it?”

  Princess Edda nodded, tears now running down her cheeks. “It’s too awful, my dear. I’m so sorry.”

  “Is he—” Gwynneth could hardly force herself to say the word, but it appeared the princess wasn’t going to. “Is he dead?” She choked it out.

  The princess nodded, still unable to speak, and Gwynneth sat very still. She’d feared hearing this news for years now, but not so much lately. Things were going well. Lennart was winning the war, and Kendryk was helping him, or better yet, staying safe in Terragand.

  She was ready to fall apart, but first she needed to know more. After a moment, but she steadied her voice enough to speak.

  “You must tell me what happened.” Looking at the princess was too hard, so she picked a sconce on the stone wall and stared at it very hard, willing herself not to cry just yet.

  “The worst kind of death,” the princess whispered. “He was betrayed.”

  “Betrayed?” Gwynneth whirled on her. “By whom? How? Where?”

  The princess wiped her eyes, seemingly determined to get the rest of the story out. “He’d gone to Isenwald to pay Princess Viviane a visit.”

  Gwynneth shook her head. That made no sense. Why had he gone there? Not that it mattered now.

  “Go on,” she choked out.

  Princess Edda took a deep breath, then continued. “There he met up with Braeden Terris. Everyone believed he was his bodyguard, and Prince Kendryk seemed to trust him.”

  Gwynneth stared at the princess, aware her mouth was open, but unable to close it. “Of course Kendryk trusted him. I trust him. He rescued Kendryk, and saved me and the children only recently.”

  The princess shook her head. “I’m so sorry. Braeden Terris stabbed your husband through the heart.”

  “No.” Gwynneth sprang to her feet, in a rage now. “No. I don’t believe that.”

  She wanted to shout at the princess, but barely stopped herself from screaming, so she pressed both hands against her mouth.

  Princess Edda jumped up, but backed away from Gwynneth. She must have looked and sounded awful, but she didn’t care.

  A terrible sound rose, a shriek high-pitched enough to shatter crystal. Once Gwynneth realized it came from her, she stopped it, but then her knees buckled and she fell.

  “No,” she whispered, her fingers digging into the thick carpet, as she tried holding herself up. “No. I don’t believe it. Not Braeden.”

  The princess now stood across the room from her, looking terrified. “Well, that’s the story we heard. It seems he poisoned Princess Viviane so she was incapacitated, then did the deed himself.”

  “Poison? Braeden?” Gwynneth tried to push herself back to her feet, but her legs wouldn’t cooperate. “That’s even more ridiculous. It can’t be true.”

  But it didn’t matter what she believed. Kendryk was dead, and everyone seemed certain Braeden had done it. Gwynneth fell to the floor while waves of grief washed over her.

  Anton

  They moved th
rough the brush, the slope of the hill gentle so far. Anton wanted to run up it, but needed to conserve his energy. It was a long way to the top of the ridge he was supposed to hold.

  The sun rose, warming his back. With any luck at all, it would blind the enemy gunners before they spotted him.

  As the way grew steeper, Anton looked up again. No movement from the top of the wall. But cannon and sharpshooters manned the parapets, and would fire at the slightest movement. Two of Trystan’s scouts had already been shot as they reconnoitered the area the previous day.

  Anton found his mouth dry and tried to swallow. He carried a leather canteen at his belt, but he would need that later, as the day grew warm. He might be out here all day.

  The sun stood higher now, and Anton worried it would glint off their armor, in spite of the camouflage.

  When he looked up again, small puffs of smoke blossomed on the fortress wall, followed by the pop of musket fire.

  “Down!” Anton shouted, as shots whizzed past him. A few of them hit somewhere behind him, but he didn’t look back. He stayed crouched close to the ground until he was sure another volley wasn’t coming right away.

  Then he jumped up and shouted, “Go!”

  He ran forward, up the steep incline, barely conscious of others on his right and left keeping pace. They didn’t get far before a louder boom sounded. Cannon this time, followed by even more musket-pops.

  Something black hurtled toward him with an unearthly shriek, and when it hit Mader’s squad, Anton knew what it was. Chain shot.

  He’d never faced that before, but had heard of it. It seemed overkill against such a small group, but did its awful work as well as if it had plowed into a mass of hundreds.

  Anton glanced over at Mader, who trudged forward, only one man beside him now. So much for the troublemakers.

  “Come on,” Anton said, though he doubted anyone heard him.

  The defenders were in position now, raining down everything they had on Anton and his men. He wanted to throw himself to the ground again, but he needed to stay a moving target.