Winter of the Wolf (The Desolate Empire Book 4)

by Christina Ochs

  Elektra turned to face him, and realized he looked a great deal like King Arryk.

  “I will,” she said. “I have no plan, but I do have an escort of two hundred Estenorian soldiers. Oh, and I know where they’re keeping Braeden Terris,” she added, though she hadn’t planned to. She had to trust that the gods were guiding her, even if she didn’t understand.

  By now, Princess Gwynneth had paced to the other side of the room and had returned to stand in front of Elektra. She looked her up and down in critical fashion, but Elektra didn’t feel judged, even though the princess was far more fabulous.

  “You don’t look like your mother,” Gwynneth said approvingly, “and that dress suits you.”

  “Thank you to both,” Elektra said. “I hate my mother and will do anything to thwart her.”

  “That shows excellent judgment on your part.” Gwynneth said. “The best way to thwart her right now is to get Braeden Terris away from here. Will you help us?”

  “Braeden and I have had our difficulties,” Elektra admitted, excitement overriding her disappointment over Braeden escaping justice. Foiling her mother’s plan seemed far more gratifying “But I can’t believe he’d kill Prince Kendryk either.”

  “So you agree we should try to rescue him?” Devyn asked.

  “We probably should,” Elektra said, “though I don’t see how. I can’t imagine Princess Viviane will give him up. It’s of vital importance to her that he be found guilty.”

  “I don’t care,” Devyn said. “It’s my right as Terragand’s ruler to see justice done against my father’s killer.”

  Elektra wanted badly to tell him who was responsible, but she had to bite her tongue. It would be enough for now to steal Braeden away. They could deal with Princess Viviane and Countess Biaram later. Much later, Elektra hoped.

  But it wasn’t to be so easy. Princess Gwynneth looked at her hard. “You say you’re on our side, but how can I believe you? I can understand a daughter of Teodora’s turning against her, but it’s still a big and dangerous step for you.”

  “I’m a Quadrene now,” Elektra said in a rush. “Consecrated by Edric Maximus himself.” As Gwynneth’s eyebrows shot up, Elektra pulled her little copy of the Scrolls out of her pocket and handed it to her. “He gave me this.” He’d even inscribed it personally.

  Gwynneth took it and opened it, taking out the four icons in front. “These are beautiful.”

  “A gift from Queen Raysa.”

  “I see.” Gwynneth looked like she was about to smile. “And I recognize Edric’s handwriting. It seems he’s rather fond of you.”

  She closed the book, sliding the icons back inside, and handed it back to Elektra. “All right, I believe you. We must act quickly, if one of your mother’s agents is here. Devyn, go out through the garden, and pick up the guards we left outside. Ride for our encampment and tell Colonel Destler to bring the rest here.”

  Devyn ran off into the darkening garden, and Gwynneth turned to Elektra. “Where are your troops?”

  “Camped on the parade ground, though their commander is likely outside that door, fuming because I’ve escaped him.”

  Gwynneth frowned, “We must tell him you’re helping us. I have eight hundred troops camped about a league away.”

  “Eight hundred?” Elektra gasped. “What will we do with them?”

  “I have no idea. I’m not even certain they’ll follow my orders. Can you get your commander into this room quickly?”

  “I’ll try.” Elektra walked to the door, her heart pounding. She opened it a crack, and to her relief spotted Major Silberg straight ahead.

  Her guards and Princess Gwynneth’s were holding back Princess Viviane’s who were pushing and grumbling, though no one had yet pulled out their blades.

  “Come here.” Elektra gestured at Silberg frantically and he was inside like a shot, slamming the door shut behind him.

  “What in the Father’s name is going on, Your Grace? We’re about to have a fight on our hands.”

  Elektra grabbed his elbow and turned him around. “This is Princess Gwynneth, and we’re helping her rescue Braeden Terris.”

  Braeden

  For such a small fellow, Father Vico was quite a runner. Braeden had to move his fastest to keep up with him. They ran down a short corridor, and to a tall wooden door.

  Braeden wondered if it was locked, but the priest flung it open and ran through. Had he been such a docile prisoner they hadn’t even bothered locking the door? Braeden felt faintly embarrassed, but not enough to slow down.

  It was growing dark outside, but that was helpful. This building backed onto a wood, and Father Vico crashed through an open gate and into the trees, sodden yellow leaves fluttering down around him.

  He turned back even as he ran. “Princess Galena’s troops are that way.” He pointed in the opposite direction, and over the wind, Braeden heard shouts, and the sound of fighting.

  “They drew many of the guards away,” Vico said, “and dragged off the rest. There’ll be a few left on the palace side, but they won’t yet know you’re gone.”

  “Yet,” Braeden said under his breath as he ran more slowly now, bare branches lashing his face. He had to be careful not to slip on wet leaves covering the forest floor.

  “Ah, here we are,” the priest said, as they came upon two horses standing in a clearing held by a frightened-looking girl.

  “You take the big one,” he said to Braeden, who didn’t have to be told twice. “And you get out of here,” he told the girl, who disappeared into a thicket. “Now we ride east.” Vico flung himself awkwardly into the saddle. “We must reach the Oltena road, where we’ll find the rest of our escort.”

  Braeden was pleased that his horse was large enough for him, and seemed young and in good condition. He could gallop far if he had to. He hoped the priest could keep up.

  The saddle bulged with weapons, though if the pistols were loaded, their powder would be wet by now. Braeden loosened a sword in its scabbard.

  It was slow going for a time in the gloomy woods, rain coming down harder now. There was no trail, though Braeden knew roughly which way to keep his horse headed, letting him pick his way across the rough ground. Anyone who pursued on horseback would have the same obstacles.

  Once they were underway, Braeden let himself breathe. Maybe he’d make it. Father Vico had taken care of the details, and he was pleased that Princess Galena had come through. Perhaps he’d end up commissioning a song in her honor.

  His musings were soon cut short. As they crossed a dry stream bed, a shout came from Braeden’s left, so he turned his horse and drew the sword in one swift motion.

  “There they are,” someone yelled, and torches drew nearer.

  Braeden counted seven, though he saw more in the distance.

  “Ride for the road,” he told Vico, “I’ll catch up.”

  “Not a chance.” The priest also drew a sword, though somewhat clumsily.

  Braeden sighed. “Please, let me take care of this. You’ve done enough.”

  He’d barely finished the sentence when shots whizzed over his head. “Never mind,” Braeden said, sheathing the sword, “We ride for the road.” Now he could only hope that the darkness would offer them cover until they reached help.

  He urged his horse to a trot, dangerous in the dark, with the ground wet and slick. But they needed to stay well ahead of the enemy with their many pistols.

  “Stay low,” Braeden said, hugging the horse’s neck as pistol balls crashed into tree trunks around him. He went ahead, but kept a close eye on the priest. But the moment he turned away, Father Vico yelped.

  “Are you hit?” Braeden turned, but didn’t slow down.

  “Yes, but I don’t think it’s bad.” The priest spoke through gritted teeth.

  Braeden turned to grab the reins of the horse behind him. “Just hold on until we reach the road.”

  Even though they were still shooting, the enemy appeared to fall further behind. He chose to believe that
and not look at Father Vico, now slumped over his saddle. In the dark it was impossible to see how badly he’d been hurt.

  Braeden urged the horses on, and thought he spotted a clearing ahead, which might mean the road. But he never reached it.

  “Stop right there,” a deep voice snarled. “Put your hands up.”

  Braeden halted his horse and raised his hands, looking over his shoulder at Father Vico, who whimpered and slid to the ground, collapsing in a small heap.

  “Please help him,” Braeden said. “I’ll surrender if you help him.”

  “You’ll surrender anyway.”

  And then strong arms pulled him from the horse.

  Lennart

  Writing to Edric Maximus was harder than Lennart had expected. He’d heard nothing from him since Kendryk’s death, and Raysa wrote that he’d taken it very hard.

  I worry for his health, she’d written. He stays in his chambers and won’t come out. I visit him daily, and bring Kataryna, because only she can make him smile, at least a little.

  Under those circumstances, leaving Edric in charge of Terragand indefinitely was not a good idea. Besides, Lennart doubted the local aristocracy would wait long before attempting to put one of their own in place.

  Fortunately, Raysa had asked around and learned of a potential ruler. It’s rather embarrassing, she wrote. Kendryk’s cousin, Balduin Bernotas has been in the Birkenfels dungeon since the beginning of the war, and I know little about him.

  But the little she knew was enough. Balduin was in his early thirties, and the only son and heir of Duke Evard Bernotas, who’d fallen at Kaltental. So Balduin was a duke now, an adult, and hopefully not as difficult a character as his father had been.

  Lennart wrote of all of this to Edric, making a copy for Raysa. I know it will be painful for you to see someone else in Kendryk’s place, but it must be done. And far better it’s a family member than someone more distantly removed, whose claim might not be as secure. I expect Duke Balduin to be inexperienced in ruling a kingdom, but I trust you to guide his steps. Please have him released and crowned prince as quickly as you can. The more decisively you act now, the more likely it is we’ll have stability in Terragand.

  That done, Lennart prepared for an excursion. For now, he would head east, toward Fromenberg. It had the benefit of being no further north, so winter might not be as harsh, and he could review all of his troops on the way.

  If no threats materialized from Teodora or Mattila while he did that, he’d pay a visit to Princess Keylinda of Fromenberg, who had remained resolutely neutral in this fight. Perhaps an in-person visit might sway her.

  Making preparations helped keep his mind off of other things, since sadness over Kendryk and Gwynneth had given way to an intense longing to see his own family. It seemed too cruel that Kendryk had been separated from wife and children for most of the war. And now they were all gone, with far too little time ever spent together.

  For the first time in his life, Lennart wished for the simplicity of commonness. Born to normal people, living in Tharvik as some kind of worker or merchant, with a home and family to return to every night. He’d never wanted that before, but now he resented the responsibilities that kept him from his loved ones.

  Before leaving, he inspected the Obenstein with Leyf Lofbrok. The great fortress had been heavily damaged in the battle, but Lofbrok was working hard to restore what he could. It seemed unlikely but it was possible someone like Mattila could bring enough artillery to retake it.

  “Don’t worry Your Highness, I won’t allow that,” Lofbrok said with a laugh when Lennart aired his worries. “I doubt she’ll try anything this winter, and that gives me time to not only rebuild the wall, but also add another layer of fortification. Here, let’s go look.”

  Lofbrok led Lennart out one of the back gates and down the hillside where dozens of soldiers, heavily bundled up, were digging industriously. “We’ll throw up earthworks all the way around. That ought to make it difficult for anyone else to bombard the walls the way we did.”

  “Good idea.” Lennart was a little worried he hadn’t come up with that plan himself. He really was slipping.

  Tora Isenberg was doing similar work outside the city walls, building on the work Bosek Komary had started. Komary was inside the city under house arrest, while Lennart figured out what to do with him. The enemy had none of his own officers captive, so there was no reason for an exchange. But that could change if Mattila made a move.

  “Maybe I should stay.” Lennart said at the last minute, while taking his leave of Isenberg. He’d never been so indecisive. “What if the stories are true and Mattila is in Arcius? She can be here within a few days.”

  “So can you,” Isenberg said. “And I promise, I’ll send word after you the moment I hear even the slightest rumor.”

  Lennart still hesitated, but Isenberg gave his horse a slap on the rump, so it got going, whether or not its rider was ready.

  Lennart waved to Isenberg, standing in the palace courtyard. No doubt she was eager to have his gloomy, indecisive self out of her hair. He didn’t blame her.

  Gwynneth

  Gwynneth couldn’t believe how quickly the situation had changed, but the real danger was just beginning. The young archduchess seemed under the impression that Princess Viviane was up to no good, for whatever reason, which just confirmed Gwynneth’s hunch.

  She was uneasy about trusting Teodora’s daughter, and for all her bravado, there was something soft and confused about the girl. Gwynneth hoped she’d be tough enough to see this through.

  But there was no time to ponder, only act. She turned to the gray-haired Estenorian officer, whom Elektra had introduced as a Major Silberg. “What’s happening out there?” she asked.

  “Hard to say.” He shook his head. “Princess Viviane came out of here looking furious, but marched right on out of sight. Soon after that, that Countess Biaram appeared.” He turned to Elektra. “Is she any good?”

  “Not to us,” Elektra said. “She’s my mother’s creature, so I can’t imagine she’ll want to let Princess Gwynneth get away. She was shocked at hearing the princess and her children were alive.”

  “Well, she’s trying to get in here,” the major said. “Princess Viviane’s guards don’t seem to happy to help her, but they have to at least pretend to try.”

  “Can we get out of the palace?” Gwynneth asked.

  “It’s possible. All of my troops are near, and there are at least a few dozen fellows that came with you. Are they Terraganders?”

  Gwynneth shook her head. “I borrowed nearly a regiment from Aquianus. I’m not at all sure I can get them to fight Princess Viviane.”

  “If we’re smart about this, there won’t be a fight.”

  Gwynneth hoped that this man would be of greater help than she’d first thought. He looked to be a senior officer in Lennart’s army—part of the corps that made up the backbone of that impressive force.

  “That’s what I’m hoping for.” Gwynneth took a deep breath. “We must get Braeden Terris before leaving here.”

  “So that’s what this is about.” The major looked thoughtful. “I understand that you want to take care of justice yourself, but it doesn’t seem worth confronting Princess Viviane about it.”

  “He didn’t do it,” Gwynneth and Elektra chorused.

  Gwynneth went on. “I know Commander Terris well, and trust him with my life. It’s not possible he killed my husband. And the archduchess has reason to believe this Countess Biaram might be behind it somehow.”

  “I see.” The major looked grim. “That’s why the princess doesn’t want to turn him over, and that’s why we must get him. I too know the commander, and didn’t think he seemed capable of the deed. Though the archduchess here—”

  “I learned I was wrong,” Elektra said quickly, avoiding Gwynneth’s eyes.

  Interesting. Gwynneth hoped she wasn’t being led into another trap.

  “If you say so,” the major said. “I prefer it
in any case. There ought to be enough of us to break free of the palace, but then what?”

  “I’ve sent Prince Devyn to bring my escort,” Gwynneth said. “I hope they’ll come without questioning him. He’s only twelve.”

  “I reckon we can get the commander out with what we have.”

  “The archduchess says he’s in a building at the back of the garden.” Gwynneth turned to Elektra. “How many guards did you see?”

  “About ten outside, and a tall iron fence. I imagine there are more inside.”

  “If there are only a few dozen we can overrun them.” The major’s tone was dry, as if he did this every day. “Did they have firearms?”

  “Not that I saw,” Elektra said. “They carried swords and a few had halberds. The building didn’t look fortified.”

  “Good. Then we must act now, before Princess Viviane can rally her forces. And we won’t wait for your son.” He nodded at Gwynneth. “By the time we have the commander, hopefully your lot will be close and can help us get away. Let’s go now.” The major was already striding to the door.

  Her heart in her mouth, Gwynneth followed him, praying that Devyn had made it safely away from here.

  Pandemonium reigned in the corridor. A tiny woman was shouldering her way through the crowded guards. “Let me through! Let me through!” she screeched. “I must speak with Princess Gwynneth.”

  “I’m here,” Gwynneth said, “but I’m afraid I can’t stay. Give the empress my regards.”

  In the meantime, the major drew himself to his full height and bellowed, “Estenor to me!”

  The shoving and shouting increased, but soon Gwynneth found herself surrounded by Estenorian troops.

  “I need my guards too,” she said. With any luck, Prince Dristan’s troops would protect her first and ask questions later.

  “Hurry,” the major said, and Gwynneth pushed through the circle of soldiers, while those she passed hovered at her back as she looked for her guards.

  “Follow me,” she said to the first officer whose eye she caught. His were wide and frightened, but he appeared relieved at the sight of her, and beckoned the others to follow him. “We’re going into the garden,” she said. “I’ll explain later.”