Another chain shot shrieked at him, spinning wildly, forcing Anton to drop to the ground. It hit someone behind him with a wet thud. Anton didn’t look, or he wouldn’t be able to go on.
Smoke drifted into his eyes from the pistols his men fired, and he realized he hadn’t so much as fired a shot. Not that there was anyone to shoot at.
Still, he had no idea what might be behind that ridge. Trystan had been certain the enemy wouldn’t give up easily. Dust billowed around Anton while cannon- and musket-balls hit the dirt around him.
He hoped that might make it harder for the enemy to spot their targets, but knew it was unlikely. He was on the only path to the ridge, and the enemy was well aware of it.
Anton heard the carnage around him, but refused to see it. His luck was holding, and it needed to hold a while longer. There was only going forward now, up the steep hill, one step at a time, grabbing at rocks and small bushes for purchase.
He wasn’t sure if anyone was still with him, but kept moving. The ridge was near. He saw it ahead, a line of small trees at its top. Once he reached those trees, at least those on the fortress wall wouldn’t be able to see him.
Anton snatched smoky air into his lungs and climbed faster. Now he left the sound of the cannonballs and their awful chains behind him, but musket-fire continued unabated.
He pulled out both pistols. The ground had leveled out a little as he approached the ridge, and he needed to fire at whatever was behind those trees.
So close now, but not enough. He would be in range of enemy muskets, but unable to reach them with his pistols.
Anton stared at the trees until his eyes ached, but detected no movement. He might be lucky, but part of luck was being smart. No point in blundering in when he’d gotten so far already.
He felt, rather than heard movement behind him; he was not alone. That comforted him more than anything. Musket-balls threw up the dirt around him without ceasing, but they didn’t hit him.
Anton crouched low as he walked, holding both pistols, and approached the line of trees. He got so close he was sure he’d make it now, so he stood up a little straighter and moved faster.
He saw the glint of metal, heard the crack, and felt the blow all at the same time.
Someone shouted behind him as he staggered, and through gritted teeth Anton said, “I’m all right. But get down and shoot back.”
He fired one pistol at the glint between the leaves before dropping to his belly, then prepared to fire the other.
But his left arm wouldn’t move. He looked at his hand, still holding the pistol, then his gaze traveled up his arm. Above his elbow was a bloody mess. He wondered that it didn’t hurt more.
On either side of him, men ran forward, then fell to the ground, some of them hit, others firing into the trees.
Anton transferred the pistol to his right hand and fired again. It might have been his imagination, but now less smoke came from the trees.
“Keep going,” Anton shouted, as he sat in the dirt, trying to shelter behind a tiny bush while he reloaded with one hand. He managed by holding the pistol between his knees, though it went much too slowly.
By the time he’d reloaded both pistols, Mader had moved ahead. Anton refused to let anyone else get to the ridge first. He stuffed one pistol in his belt, held the other in his right hand and wobbled to his feet. He was light-headed, but still saw clearly.
He stood up straight and fired into the trees just as the hillside in front of him burst into flames.
Teodora
Teodora’s maid awakened her in the middle of the night, and before she could stumble out of bed, an unfamiliar officer stood in her chamber.
She came wide awake with a shock, her first thought that Lennart had somehow arrived at her gates.
“What in the name of Vica is it?” she asked, pulling on the dressing gown the maid brought.
The officer was breathing hard. “Captain Konrad Egner of the—”
“Later,” Teodora snapped. “First tell me what’s going on.”
Egner pulled himself together with some effort and said, “The prisoners have escaped.”
Teodora shook her head. “Prisoners? Which ones?”
The Arnfels was moderately populated this time of year with several generic miscreants, but she couldn’t think of anyone of note residing there right now.
“Hostages, I mean.” Captain Egner took another deep breath. “Aksel Roussay and Jozef Mattila.”
“What?” Teodora screeched, putting her hands on her head. “Please tell me they’re being pursued.”
This was terrible timing, with Lennart so close and no positive news from Norovaea.
“They are, Your Highness. My unit was alerted when someone at the gate recognized Prince Aksel and gave chase. They got away, but only for now. There ought to be several hundred troops after them, and we know which direction they’ve gone.”
Teodora paced as her maid lit lamps all around the room. She still limped when she moved this fast, but would kill Egner if he said anything about it. More than anything, she wanted to join the chase, but knew it wasn’t possible.
“I’ll get dressed,” she said to the maid. There was no way she’d go back to sleep now. “But before I do that,” she paused in front of Egner, “you must tell me how they escaped. I take it they had horses?”
“Yes, Your Highness. Fine mounts from your own stable.”
Teodora stamped her foot. “How in the world did they get them?”
Captain Egner looked uneasy. “No one is sure, Your Highness, but they didn’t use force. Being within the palace walls, the stables are lightly guarded. They tried nothing until well after midnight, so it’s likely the grooms and stable-hands were asleep.”
“They’ll pay for that,” Teodora muttered, deciding to have a frank discussion with her guard captain. Perhaps she needed a new one.
She sighed. “So they have horses, and they got out the gate—the northeastern one I assume?
Egner nodded. “We’re sure they’re making for the mountain passes.”
“They would.” Teodora pressed her fingers to her temples. She already felt the headache building there. “Brynhild Mattila’s army sits on the other side of the mountains. They must not reach her.”
If she lost Jozef Mattila as a hostage, there was nothing to stop his mother from throwing in with Lennart. Between them, they’d crush Bosek Komary and be on her doorstep within weeks.
“Your Highness.” Egner appeared at her side. “You must sit.”
He guided her to a nearby chair and Teodora let him. The pounding in her head was unbearable.
“Might I send for your doctor?”
Teodora nodded, teeth clenched. Her guards were to blame for this. Both Aksel and Jozef lived in the palace, and after several quiet months, the few guards watching their chamber doors at night had no doubt become lax. Neither young man had ever made any attempt at escape, so not even Teodora expected it.
“After you’ve sent for my doctor,” she said, “get a message to all units within the city. I want them on the trail of the fugitives, and no one comes back until they’ve been caught.”
“Do you wish them taken alive?”
“Definitely.” Annoying as it was, neither one of them was any good to her dead. They might live a long time in the Arnfels, which was where they’d stay once they’d been caught.
A wave of nausea washed over Teodora. Egner disappeared, and soon Sibyla stood beside her, putting a cold, damp cloth on her forehead and making her drink something bitter.
“Your Highness, you cannot risk having another attack.”
“I’m not having an attack,” Teodora murmured, leaning back in her chair.
“Not yet. But you were terribly upset. That’s bad for you.”
Teodora would have laughed, except it hurt too much. “This is the wrong line of work for me if I can’t be upset.”
Sibyla clucked over her and Teodora tried to slow her breathing. She’d catch them. Sh
e had to, or it would all be over for her, and soon.
Maryna
The great battleship, the Leon, had been stationed near a Maladene port when it received word from the pirates, so Maryna and Natalya arrived on land within a few days.
Maryna wouldn’t have minded staying on board the Leon a bit longer. She and Natalya shared a comfortable cabin, vacated just for them by one of the officers.
They weren’t guarded, though it appeared Count Vega was assigned to take care of them. He did a marvelous job, giving them a tour of the impressive ship, and pointing out landmarks along the rocky coastline.
He wasn’t handsome, and no taller than Maryna, but Count Vega was so pleasant and charming, Maryna liked him more than she ought, since he was still one of their captors.
Only a few days had passed, but by the time Vega escorted them from the Leon onto the dock, kissing Maryna’s hand tenderly, his large dark eyes boring into hers, she felt rather sad. She’d hoped he would come along, but supposed he had to return to his duties on board.
Natalya looked at her with amusement as they settled into a coach that would bear them to the Maladene capital at Toralla.
“You must be careful of men like him,” she said, “Though I’m sure your mother has warned you against Galladian courtiers already.”
“They aren’t as nice. Except for King Gauvain of course,” Maryna added hurriedly.
Natalya chuckled. “Gauvain’s mother was a Maladene princess, so he inherited that charm.”
Maryna thought of Count Vega’s dark eyes on hers. “So even if he acts as if he likes me, he might not mean it?”
“Oh, he likes you. But that doesn’t mean there’s anything good in it for you.” Natalya dropped her voice and bent her head toward Maryna’s. “You’re very pretty, and you look older than thirteen. You’re also in a vulnerable position and some men might try to take advantage of that.
“No matter how handsome or how nice they are, remember that they are the enemy. Maladena is at war with Galladium, and Queen Beatryz has been helping Teodora fight against your father and King Lennart.”
The thought of that made Maryna a little angry. “Yes you’re right. I will be polite but not too friendly.”
Natalya smiled and patted her hand. “That’s wise. I wish I’d been as sensible at your age.”
Maryna was pleased. Natalya must have been ever so wise even at thirteen, so she’d just paid Maryna a nice compliment.
The journey to Toralla took several more days, but it wasn’t too bad. It was still rather hot, even though the worst of the summer heat had passed, but they could keep the curtains at the coach windows rolled up, and a pleasant breeze blew through.
It also brought in a great deal of dust, and Maryna’s face was a whole different color after she washed it at night. The same was true of her dress after the maid gave it a good shaking.
They stayed in comfortable inns, and Maryna was already learning to speak Maladene well, just from talking to servants and a few of the friendlier guards. Two especially were young and handsome, staring at Maryna until she blushed.
But then Natalya noticed, and the next day, different guards stayed close to them. Maryna knew there was no point in trying to escape unless Natalya thought so, and she seemed to trust in her powers of persuasion once they reached Toralla.
Maryna was excited as they neared the great city. It was surrounded by the tallest, thickest walls Maryna had ever seen, but even over those she saw towers, rounded and ornate, and wildly colorful.
She’d already learned that the Maladenes loved color, men and women alike dressing in the most gorgeous reds, greens, yellows, purples and blues. Even the poor people who wore linen or wool instead of silk looked bright and eye-catching. Maryna was a little sorry she’d be stuck in a prison somewhere, unable to enjoy the sights.
The coach entered the city, met by a larger escort of liveried guards. Maryna left the curtains rolled up and peered out. The broad streets were lined by market stalls, bright fruits and vegetables spilling out of them. Others offered bolts of cloth in all the colors of the rainbow, and some Maryna had never seen before.
“Oh, I’d love a dress in that shade of green.” She pointed out a bit of fabric fluttering from a stall as the coach waited at a crossroads.
“So would I.” Natalya smiled. “If all goes well, perhaps I can persuade the queen to lend us money for new clothes. We can’t go around looking like servants all the time.”
“I agree.” Maryna settled back against the bench. After the terrible fright of being captured by pirates, this was pleasant and interesting. She looked forward to seeing the court and meeting the queen. Even though Beatryz was an Inferrara, maybe she’d be more like Zofya, and not so bad.
But they didn’t go to the royal palace. The coach wound its way up a steep hillside, and when Maryna stuck her head out, she saw a great fortress at the top of it. An older, unfriendly guard barked at her, and she understood well enough to pull her head back inside.
She turned to Natalya. “That looks like a prison.”
“It is. But don’t worry. I doubt they’ll put us in the dungeon. They just need to keep us somewhere secure until we meet the queen.”
Natalya took a deep breath and pulled the curtain down over the windows, shutting the coach into gloom. “But just in case they separate us, I don’t want you to lose hope. Even if the queen sent a message to Gauvain, as soon as they heard of our capture, it will take time to reach him, and for a response to come back here. But I know he won’t fail us.”
Natalya gave her hand one more squeeze before the coach came to a halt.
The door opened and Maryna stepped out, leaning on the arm of a guard she hadn’t seen before. He looked like an officer, and while he was polite, he said nothing to her beyond, “Watch your step, Your Grace,” as they entered the cool darkness of the fortress.
Anton
The blast threw Anton onto his back, and he wondered if the end had come. But when he opened his eyes and watched smoke drifting across the blue of the sky, he realized he was still alive.
He bit down on his tongue to hold back a whimper of pain. Now his left arm really hurt. He touched it with his right hand, but couldn’t hold back a groan when he applied the least bit of pressure.
His hand came away sticky with blood. Anton hoped they wouldn’t have to cut his arm off. But first he needed to live long enough to worry about that.
He struggled to his feet again, a difficult task, since he’d been flung backwards, his head pointing downhill. He put all his weight on his good arm and stood, hoping no one would shoot him again.
Anton heard a grunt nearby and Mader rolled to his knees, covered in soot and dust. Anton doubted he looked any better.
They grinned at each other, then Anton looked for his pistol. He’d dropped it at some point.
“Never mind that now,” Mader said. “We’d better get up there while they’re in disarray.”
Anton’s ears rang, and he had to read Mader’s lips, but he understood. Something had happened, and the enemy was no longer firing. They needed to get to the ridge before they started up again.
Anton pulled his other pistol out of his belt and started forward. When he glanced back, he saw at least a half dozen other men besides Mader climbing behind him. So not everyone had died.
Anton couldn’t stop smiling, even though he hadn’t yet accomplished his goal.
But now they’d reached the trees, and Mader let Anton go first. He’d have the honor of arriving first in the enemy position, though that wouldn’t last long if he got shot.
He raised his pistol and took a step between two small birch trees, their leaves on the verge of turning. Anton was amazed he noticed any beauty at all in a moment like this.
But the next instant was bad. The lone enemy canon had overheated and blown up its crew. The ridge was small and rocky, with few places for positions of any kind, so the musketeers flanking the gun had been too close. Several were dead, an
d a few more wounded far worse than Anton.
Suddenly exhausted, he turned to Mader. “Disarm the prisoners, though I doubt they’ll give us much trouble.”
He looked at the rest of his men, their faces pale under the grime as they stared at the remains of the gun and its crew. “Just leave that. We’ll take up positions around and make sure no one comes at us from the castle or either side.” The enemy might know of another path and still outflank them if they weren’t careful.
Anton knew he should count heads, see who’d survived and how many casualties his unit had taken, but he was too tired. He found a stone not covered in too much blood and sat down.
Another sergeant knelt in front of him and talked, but Anton couldn’t hear. He stared at the man, puzzled, while he tore off the bottom of his dirty shirt, then wrapped it around Anton’s arm.
“Thanks,” Anton said. He didn’t want to bleed to death just yet.
“Water,” the man said, and Anton remembered his canteen.
He fumbled at it, but wasn’t able to manage it one-handed, so the man helped him. Anton once knew his name, but couldn’t remember it now.
After a long drink, he looked at the other weary faces, recognizing all but one. It seemed one of Trystan’s miscreants had survived.
“Lucky,” Anton murmured, thinking not just of the man, but of himself.
The others drank their water, and a few of the more seasoned had strong enough stomachs to be able to eat.
Anton considered food, but banished the thought as his stomach heaved. His mind felt so foggy, he’d forgotten which orders to give next.
Mader seemed to remember everything, and after he shouted for a moment, the few men melted off, taking positions amongst the trees.
Mader came to sit next to Anton. “They’ll be here soon,” he said. “You’ve got to hang in there a bit longer.”
“I know.” Anton didn’t feel like moving his lips.
He was roused from his lethargy a moment later at the report of big guns near the base of the hill. Tora Isenberg had sighted in her cannon and and now blasted away at the enemy positions on the fortress wall.
Winter of the Wolf (The Desolate Empire Book 4) Page 20
