Elektra didn’t know what to think. Of all things, she would never have expected Braeden to do such a thing. He might have been awful toward her, but he had always seemed on excellent terms with the prince.
“Maybe,” she murmured. “Did they kill him? Braeden Terris, I mean.”
“No, they caught him in the act and threw him in the dungeon. There’s to be a big trial in Kronfels in a few weeks’ time.”
Elektra closed her mouth, realizing she was gaping like a fish. “Thanks for the news,” she said, and went in search of Major Silberg.
By the time she found him, he’d heard the news as well, looking sadder than she’d ever seen him. “This is will be a terrible blow for the king. He and the prince had become such good friends, and he was a staunch ally. Who knows what will happen in Terragand now.”
“Oh gods,” Elektra murmured, remembering that all of Kendryk’s family had been killed too. She wondered who would take the throne. Lennart would have to appoint someone, perhaps Edric Maximus.
“We’ll stay here tonight,” the major said heavily. “I doubt anyone will want to travel any further. The troops will take this hard.”
Elektra had never met Prince Kendryk, and she still felt sad about it. But as the shock wore off, she started thinking. Braeden would be on trial for his life soon. She doubted he’d be found innocent, if the princess herself had witnessed the murder.
She paced the floor of her tiny room under the eaves of a crowded inn. Still, Edric himself had been found guilty of heresy in Kronfels, and Kendryk rescued him. What if someone tried the same thing with Braeden? What if Lennart did?
Elektra threw herself on the bed and stared at the ceiling, slipping into shadow as the sun set. She wondered what she could do to make sure Braeden was found guilty and sentenced to death. He deserved it for what he’d done to her, never mind any other crimes.
She was surprised he’d kill his friend, but perhaps she shouldn’t be. He was after all, completely ruthless, one of the most dangerous people she’d ever met. While he lived, she knew he’d interfere with her plans, as he always had so far.
Elektra sat up. She’d go to Kronfels herself somehow, and watch it happen. She wouldn’t rest now until she saw Braeden Terris’s head parted from his body at last.
Lennart
Lennart squinted against the rising sun. His armies ranged behind him, ready to stream up the hill. He had to silence those guns somehow. This assault would be costly, but there was no point in throwing life away needlessly. Besides, it would do him no good to take on Teodora if he’d lost most of his force.
Everyone had taken their positions, and not long before, Isenberg’s guns had begun their work. He hated waiting, but needed to give them time. Getting up and over those walls would still be a challenge.
And something else worried him. Isenberg’s reconnaissance of the town had revealed a strong garrison, and worse, another huge battery of cannon guarding its walls. Deployed in the right place and at the wrong time, they might easily target the troops attacking the fortress, while Lennart could do little to stop them. He had to hope that subduing the fortress defenses would be enough.
The noise was deafening now as Isenberg’s cannon hammered at the fortress walls. Trystan had vowed to take the western side of the hill, while Lennart would lead from the east. If all went as planned, the fortress’s defenders would be too few and too battered to withstand a dual assault.
Lennart shifted in the saddle. He’d dismount when the time came, but for now he could see better on horseback. Squinting through the smoke, he wondered if the firing from the fortress walls had decreased. It was hard to tell.
An eternity passed, but finally a sweaty, dust-covered adjutant galloped up. “General Martinek sends his compliments,” he said. “His troops have taken the lower ridge and are holding it, waiting for the signal. He also wanted to let you know they’re using chain shot.”
“Vica’s tits.” Lennart didn’t want to think of what taking that ridge had already cost. He hoped most of those terrible guns were already neutralized.
Lennart called for the page bearing his helmet. He’d need it in a moment. He drew his sword and waved it high above his head.
“For Estenor and Kronland,” he shouted, then dismounted as cheers rang in his ears. He put the helmet on, muting the sound.
He approached the hill at a walk, his eyes fixed on the fortress. Cannon still fired, but most pointed away from him. Lennart noticed some on his side, bristling from the stone walls, but they were silent. He didn’t know why. Probably waiting for him. He grinned and pushed down the half visor.
If the city guns fired, they’d likely start as soon as they saw the enemy on the move. Lennart hoped it would take them a while to get it together. No point in worrying about them now.
He started up the hill as the slope increased. The hill wasn’t as steep here, but still a good climb. He startled as the cannon above his head fired. So they had been waiting for him.
He scrambled up the hill faster, as cannonballs rained down behind him. They’d do a number on the troops following him, but with any luck he was out of range.
Without peripheral vision, he didn’t know what the city batteries were doing, but it no longer mattered. His path lay ahead, and he didn’t look back.
Now musket-shot peppered the ground ahead of him, and he coughed on the dust it stirred up.
It was much too hot to wear a helmet, though he appreciated it a moment later when something metallic pinged off of it His eyes blurred and his ears rang, but he kept climbing, a loaded pistol in one hand.
He didn’t yet see the enemy muskets, but the balls hit the ground around him with increasing force; they had to be close.
He took a deep breath, and for the first time, ventured to look back. Eager as he was to take this fortress, he didn’t want to do it alone.
Hordes of soldiers followed him, although they now had to weave around increasing numbers of dead and wounded on the ground.
Still no sign of guns from the city. Lennart prayed they stayed silent. This was bad enough.
Musket barrels glinted up ahead. Just in front of the fortress walls, they lay in a long trench. There was nothing to do but storm it.
Lennart stood up straight, held his pistol in his left hand and drew his sword with his right. He’d only get one chance to do this. He looked back over his shoulder, raising his sword again.
“Charge!” he shouted, and ran straight into the musket-fire.
Elektra
Elektra had to act before Major Silberg took her farther south. She had two days until they reached the crossroads leading to Kronfels, so she needed to come up with something before then.
Sliding back into old habits, she prayed to Vica, begging her to show her the way. She told herself that she respected the other gods as well as any good Quadrene, but she didn’t see how they could help her now.
She considered escaping, but this time she had no army of her own to help her. If she left her guards behind, she’d be alone, with no protection and no money, since Major Silberg bought everything she needed.
After more prayer, she decided all she could do was convince Silberg to take her to Kronfels himself.
Every inn on Isenwald’s main roads had been full since they’d crossed the border. Elektra wondered if it was because so many were going to Kronfels for the trial. She and her escort had to make camp in the fields every night, although the pleasant autumn weather had changed from golden sunlight to a continuous chilly drizzle.
Elektra waited until after supper, then pulled on her cloak and went out. She was safe walking alone in the little camp, since everyone here was meant to protect her.
She found Major Silberg’s tent not far away, and spotted a page outside.
“Tell the major I wish to see him,” she ordered.
The boy disappeared into the tent while Elektra waited, getting damper by the moment.
The page soon returned. “This way, Your Grace
.”
He opened the tent flap and Elektra stepped in.
It looked as though the major had been sitting at a little table writing a letter, but he came to his feet as she entered, his face anxious. “Is everything all right, Your Grace?” he asked.
Elektra never socialized with any of her guards once supper was over. She was a bit shy because her Estenorian wasn’t very good, and that was all they spoke amongst themselves. At least the major conversed with her in passable, though accented, Olvisyan.
“I’m not sure.” Elektra shrugged her wet cloak into the page’s waiting arms, then took the camp chair the major pulled out for her.
The major barked at the page in Estenorian, and he ran off.
“I’ve been thinking,” Elektra said. “Mostly about poor Prince Kendryk and how upset the king will be.”
“It’s awful.” The major looked sad, and Elektra wondered if he’d ever met the prince. “I sent a message south as soon as we heard, but have no idea when the king will receive it.”
He looked up as the page returned, bearing two steaming mugs. “You look soaked, and it’s a chilly night. I hope this will help.”
“Thank you.” Elektra took the mug. It was still too hot to drink, but smelled wonderful—of spice and brandy.
“Gets us through the Estenorian winters,” the major said.
Elektra put hers down while she waited for it to cool.
“I’ve been thinking,” she started again. “I’m sure the king will be upset not just about the prince, but that Braeden Terris did it.”
Major Silberg frowned. “I won’t believe that. I’ve made Commander Terris’s acquaintance, and the man doesn’t have a treacherous bone in his body.”
Elektra knew now how she’d have to play this. She’d been about to say Braeden was certainly treacherous, having betrayed the empire, but decided against it.
“I’m sure you’re right.” She sighed. “You’ve probably heard that he and I have had our differences, but I’m on your side now. And I’m sure it’s the gods’ will I try to reconcile with him. It would be dreadful if he were to die before that could happen.”
She sniffled and wiped at a dry eye.
“You’re right.” The major sounded nearly eager, though it was rare for him to show emotion of any kind. “I wish there was something we could do to prevent his death.”
“That’s what I’ve been pondering,” Elektra said, taking a sip of her drink. It was delicious, burning a little as it went down. “Since we’re so close to Kronfels, we should go, and see if there’s anything we can do to free him.”
Major Silberg frowned, taking a long sip from his own mug. He put it back down on the table and said, “I’m inclined to agree with you, but my orders are to take you to the king. I doubt he would approve of us detouring like this, and for who knows how long.”
“Wouldn’t the king change his orders if he knew?” Elektra sighed heavily. “I’d hate to go to him, and have him angry with me, knowing I was so close, and that I did nothing. If you like, I’ll write a letter tonight, telling him this is my decision, and taking full responsibility.”
“That’s an excellent point. I also hate being so close and doing nothing to help the commander. If we both write to the king, and keep him apprised of what is going on in Kronfels, I hope he’ll understand.”
“I’m sure he will.” Elektra ventured a smile. “I realize I’m not a full-fledged ally yet, but I want to show the king I’m willing to make difficult decisions.”
“That’s wise of you.” The major nodded approvingly while Elektra drained her mug.
“I don’t know about that.” Elektra wouldn’t have minded more to drink, but she needed to stop while she was ahead. “Though it’s kind of you to say so. We’ll turn toward Kronfels tomorrow, and send a messenger to the king with our letters.”
She stood. “With any luck, we’ll be able to learn the truth about what really happened to poor Prince Kendryk.”
Anton
Once Trystan had arrived, and Anton realized his wound was superficial, he wouldn’t be stopped. He took a long drink of water, choked down some food, and got to his feet, only swaying a little. “I’m coming with you. My right arm still works perfectly.”
Trystan grinned at him. “If you like. Though you’ve already done more than enough, taking this ridge against those odds. There’ll likely be a promotion in it for you, even if all you do is sit here while we do the rest.”
Anton had no intention of sitting around. They had to wait a bit longer, until Isenberg’s guns had battered down some of the wall, but by the time that happened, Anton felt fine. He’d stopped bleeding, and his wound only throbbed a little, after one of Trystan’s medical staff cleaned it and applied some numbing cream.
Besides, he was excited. He’d pulled off an incredible feat, and now would be part of a huge assault. He doubted very much he’d die now, but if he did, he’d be covered in glory.
Once Trystan gave the order to prepare, Anton gathered up his remaining soldiers. His unit was diminished, but he was certain he could rebuild it after this.
The presence of Trystan’s fresh troops had done a great deal to lift everyone’s spirits. When a piece of the fortress wall, fell with a crash, great boulders rolling down the hillside to their right, Anton and his men were right up front again.
The enemy waited for them on the other side of the broken-down wall. Anton had a few frightening moments, scrambling over big blocks of stone, while shots whizzed around him.
Though the enemy was aiming at him, he worried even more about all of the metal flying off the rock around him. With his left arm not working too well, he couldn’t hold a weapon as he climbed over the remains of the wall.
But his luck held, and as soon as his feet hit level ground, he drew his sword and waded into the defenders. This time his own and Trystan’s soldiers flanked him on both sides, and more came behind him in great waves.
The enemy muskets had delivered a tremendous barrage as the invaders came over what remained of the wall, but Anton and the others moved so fast, they didn’t have time to reload. Those who remained used their musket butts as weapons, though a few had dropped those and pulled out swords and daggers.
Anton didn’t care; by now he realized he wouldn’t be stopped today, and he dodged under one musket butt, slashing at the man’s legs, then stabbing him when he staggered backwards.
He cut down one more, and then they were on the run. Anton ran after them, amazed at how energetic he still felt. The sun stood high, and it must have been many hours since he’d first started up the hill. But victory was close now; he could sense it.
Gwynneth
Gwynneth was indescribably grateful to Devyn. She could tell he grieved his father, but he loved Braeden too, and he wouldn’t lose him. So he helped Gwynneth come up with a plan to save him.
Stella cried and cried, clinging to Gwynneth’s skirts wherever she went. It was so unlike the fierce little girl she’d always been, but Gwynneth hoped she’d return to herself in time.
She was most worried about Maryna. Not only was she now the ruler of Terragand, of all the children, she would be most devastated at the news of her father’s death.
Gwynneth didn’t know where she was, or how she would hear about it. She prayed Natalya would be close to help comfort her.
She needed to reach them somehow, for now it was critical that Maryna get to Terragand as quickly as possible. But there was nothing to be done about it right now. Her focus had to be on Braeden.
Princess Edda was incredibly kind. Gwynneth tried to apologize for her extravagant display, but Edda waved her off.
“Of course this is terrible for you. I can only imagine how I would react if something happened to Dristan.” Tears filled her eyes, and Gwynneth wondered what the fat prince and gaunt princess were like together behind closed doors.
Edda had sent food upon hearing Gwynneth was up, had a bath drawn, and even found clothes for her to borrow. The
princess was taller and thinner than Gwynneth, but with hemming and letting out of other seams, she looked rather presentable, at least in her dress.
Everything else was awful. Gwynneth glimpsed her face in the mirror as a maid arranged her hair, and nearly cried.
Her eyes were sunken, with dark circles under them. In spite of the tan she’d acquired on her journey, she looked gray and drawn, and as though she’d aged ten years. She was barely thirty, and looked fifty.
Not that it mattered any more. She’d only cared about her beauty because it was one of the things Kendryk loved about her. She didn’t want to be beautiful for anyone else, and never would again.
With her hair pulled back severely, and wearing one of Princess Edda’s plain, modest dresses, Gwynneth looked like her sister. And not necessarily a younger one.
But she felt determined now, and asked to see Prince Dristan in private.
When she entered his study, the prince sat behind his desk, looking tense. He rose to meet her in the middle of the room, clasping her hand.
“My dear princess,” he said, his voice shaking. “I’m so sorry. I was always a great admirer of your husband, and will mourn him.”
“I appreciate that.” Gwynneth sank into the proffered chair. “Perhaps you can help me then.”
“Anything,” the prince said with a gallant flourish, as he sat back down.
Gwynneth doubted he truly meant that, but pressed ahead. “I am quite convinced Braeden Terris is innocent of killing my husband and I mean to save him.”
Prince Dristan nearly started out of his chair. “But, my dear, Princess Viviane herself has accused him.”
“I realize that.” Gwynneth gripped the arms of her chair, but kept her tone even. The prince was dramatic enough for both of them. “I believe Princess Viviane is lying, and I intend to find out why.”
“That is a very serious accusation.” The prince glowered at her.
Winter of the Wolf (The Desolate Empire Book 4) Page 22
