“We’re not really involved,” Gwynneth said. “They’re doing the work of retrieving the prisoner while we distract the princess. She’s drawing a large number of troops inside her gates, and we ought to keep them there until we have Terris back.”
“If you say so, Your Grace.”
Destler still didn’t seem convinced, but he also didn’t seem inclined to oppose her. All she needed him to do right now was follow her and keep his troops in line. Gwynneth would do the rest.
Braeden
Even though they had him, Braeden refused to go down without a fight. He’d drawn a sword as they pulled him down, and now he put it to good use.
Father Vico still lay on the ground in an unmoving heap. Braeden didn’t know if he lived, but defended him anyway. It was as good a place as any to take a stand. He was outnumbered, but the darkness helped. He kept his back close to a large tree, so no one could outflank him.
He still worried about pistols, but for now, no one fired. They’d probably used everything they had while chasing him, and reloading in the dark, while trying to keep powder dry in the rain was too much trouble.
The first man to confront him didn’t realize he had a sword, so Braeden ran him through without the least bit of trouble. After that, the others came on more cautiously, though they were still too many. But he had time, and felt curiously refreshed.
It was nice to know he’d escaped the executioner once again, and if he died now, it would be in the open air, and during a good fight. He was ready for more, but his opponents hesitated.
So Braeden lunged at the man standing closest, swatting his sword aside. He yelped and jumped back, so Braeden moved on to the next in line. No one seemed to want to take him on, and he wondered if they were waiting for reinforcements.
Getting bored with their cowardice, he pretended to back up, then sprang forward with a roar. He clipped one fellow on the arm, but the rest backed away quickly, several slipping and falling on the uneven ground.
Braeden barreled forward into the crowd, hacking away without being able to see much.
He was just starting to enjoy himself when a familiar voice said, “Everyone stop or we’ll shoot.”
Braeden couldn’t quite place the voice, but obliged, since “we” implied more than one firearm. He backed away, still holding his sword, looking around to see the speaker. A large group made its way between the trees, torches illuminating the face of the man at their head.
It took Braeden a moment to come up with the name, but then he grinned widely. “Silberg! What in Ercos’ name are you doing here?”
“Rescuing you,” the little man said. “Though you’re not making it easy.”
“If I’d known you were coming, I’d have stayed put,” Braeden said, “but this man came to get me, so I thought I’d better go. Can you bring a torch over here?”
He hurried over to Father Vico , but by the time he’d rolled him onto his back, it was too late. The ball had gone straight through his chest, likely killing him quickly. At least Braeden hoped so.
“This man is a hero,” he told Silberg, sadness overtaking him. “He contacted Princess Galena for help, and got me out of prison himself.”
“We’ll give him a proper burial when we get a chance.” Silberg ordered a few soldiers to retrieve the body.
Other Estenorians rounded up the troops who’d pursued Braeden. They put up even less fight than they had when he was running them down.
“There’s a small army from Oltena looking for you,” Silberg added, “though I left them back on the road. Now we have you, we need to retrieve Princess Gwynneth.”
“What?” Braeden thought he hadn’t heard right. “Princess Gwynneth is in Galladium. I left her there ...” He trailed off, realizing it had been two months since he’d seen her. Perhaps Natalya had returned, and Gwynneth came here upon hearing of Kendryk’s death.
Braeden felt heavy, remembering that, then thought of facing her. He pulled himself together. “Well, let’s go get her then. And what are you doing here?” he asked Silberg as they made their way back to the road.
The major sighed. “That’s a rather long story. I was escorting the Archduchess Elektra south to—”
“Who were you escorting?” Braeden interrupted.
“The Archduchess Elektra. I believe you’re acquainted.” The major looked up at Braeden with a grin. “She insisted on coming here to learn the truth about Prince Kendryk’s death. In spite of your difficult history she didn’t believe you’d done it.”
Braeden raised his eyebrows, but wasn’t sure of what to say to that.
“In the meantime, she learned the truth, and told Princess Gwynneth, who organized a rescue attempt. Which turned out to be unnecessary,” the major said, still grinning.
“It’s not that funny,” Braeden said, “though I appreciate the help. That lot back there were easy to kill, but I doubt I could have gotten through all of them before more came.”
“More will come, I’m sure, so it’s best we’re on our way. Princess Gwynneth has an army, and is using them to distract Princess Viviane. We must retrieve her, then leave Isenwald as quickly as possible.”
“Will they let us leave?”
“Perhaps not, though we’ll go anyway. Ah, here we are.” They’d reached the road, and Silberg seemed to know his direction in the mass of soldiery.
Braeden was rather touched that so many had come out to help him. He recognized the Oltenan commander and thanked him.
But Silberg had other ideas. “She’s here too, and will want to see you I’m sure.”
Braeden had an idea about who “she” was, but reckoned it was best to get this awkward meeting over with. He followed Silberg until he saw Elektra, looking smaller than before, surrounded by tall guards. The rain had stopped, but she was soaking wet.
“Good evening, Your Grace.” Braeden remembered well the last time he’d said those words.
She’d been watching him approach, her eyes wide and frightened. “Hello,” she said, her voice small.
He didn’t know what else to say, but figured he would call a truce for now. “Thank you for your help,” he said. “I’m grateful.”
Teodora
Teodora was comfortable in her carriage, and Sibyla rode with her, so she had someone to talk to. It was cold but clear, so she kept the windows open. It had been a while since she’d crossed the pass here, and she’d seldom done it this late in the year.
Between Rykter’s mercenaries and the militias she’d assembled, they were seven thousand strong, marching up the road sloping gently into the Galwend foothills.
Teodora had left a skeleton garrison behind to guard Atlona. That, along with the city watch ought to be sufficient until spring, since Lennart wasn’t coming over these mountains now, and neither was Mattila.
Dark clouds hung low over the mountain peaks and it began snowing as they ascended. It was still mid-afternoon when Rykter called a halt, climbing into Teodora’s carriage after giving the order.
“It’s getting dark too early,” he said, “and this is the best place to make camp before we reach the pass itself.”
“What if it doesn’t stop snowing?” Teodora would hate to make it this far only to be turned back.
“Doesn’t matter. If we leave out by mid-morning tomorrow, we’ll have plenty of time to get over in daylight, snow or not. With any luck, our baggage train will arrive from Moralta by then and meet us on the other side.”
They’d decided it would be safest to carry few supplies for this crossing and have the bulk of them come around the mountains on the Moraltan plain. That convoy had set off a week earlier, so should be near their rendezvous point.
She smiled at Rykter. “You seem to know what you’re doing.”
“I do.” He winked at her before taking his leave.
“Well, that young man acted very familiar,” Sibyla said with a disapproving frown. Since they’d been girls, she’d always tried—and usually failed—to steer Teodora a
way from inappropriate men.
“He’s not young. And his manner is a little rough, true. You know how these soldiers are.”
“Hmph,” Sibyla said.
“Oh come. I won’t do anything. I’ve learned my lesson.”
“Have you?” Sibyla looked at her hard, then climbed out of the carriage to direct the setup of Teodora’s tent.
“I have,” Teodora whispered. It was nice to be back on campaign, but it brought back so many memories. The last time she’d led her armies was the last time she’d been happy.
Teodora slept well and deeply in the crisp, thin mountain air and was ready to go early the next morning. The snow had stopped, though the clouds still looked threatening.
The carriage traversed the pass without too much trouble, since a few thousand feet and hoofs had gone ahead, packing the snow and melting it in places. Even so, it was late afternoon before the carriage rolled down the northern side of the pass.
When Teodora made camp that night, she could see far into Tirilis, spreading into the distance in the dimming light. If all went well, she’d get this land back first.
Teodora also planned to spend time in Arcius, the kingdom next door. Princess Alarys Zelenka had had it far too easy lately, presiding over one of the few Kronland kingdoms untouched by war.
She had grown lax, letting an incompetent little girl like Elektra get away, and Teodora intended to bring her in line. She could start by sharing the supplies she likely had in abundance.
The next day brought them onto the Tirilis plain, and the first signs of trouble. Rykter had sent scouts ahead, and they soon ran into Estenorian outposts.
“It seems Lennart’s gone, likely to Terragand. Most of his army is still here though,” he reported to Teodora. “The locals we’ve questioned say Tora Isenberg still holds Richenbruck with a considerable force.”
“I don’t want Richenbruck,” Teodora said. “At least not yet. Let’s clear the rest of the area first. I’m sure the people here would like their country back. Are the Estenorians quartered on the villages?”
“They are now,” Rykter said. “Seems they camped for as long as the weather held, but now it’s turned nasty, they’ve moved into houses.”
“I doubt the locals like that very much.”
“My ears ache from all the complaining I’ve heard today,” Rykter said with a laugh.
“Good. Then let’s see how many complainers we can recruit to our cause.”
“What are we offering?”
“Help in getting rid of the foreign invader.”
Rykter shook his head. “That’s all very nice, but the folk here are more practical. They’ll likely want promises of coin or goods. We can manage without providing either for a time, but not forever.”
“You know, I was just thinking about someone who ought to have plenty of both. I wanted to pay her a visit later, but maybe I’ll do it now.”
“She’ll be happy to help?”
“She owes me a favor.”
That wasn’t strictly true, but Princess Alarys did surely owe Teodora something for letting Elektra escape when Teodora had forbidden it. The punishment for failing to follow orders could be costly.
Teodora smiled at Rykter. “Besides, she’s always talked a good story about how much she loves me, the empire, the faith, and how she would do anything to help. I’ll see she does.”
“Then I wish you luck,” Rykter said, with a flirtatious wink.
“That is not proper behavior in front of your empress,” Sibyla said. She’d been keeping quiet in the corner, but apparently he’d crossed the line.
“Sorry,” Rykter said, though he didn’t look sorry at all. “I will put together a guard detail for you, Your Highness. When do you wish to leave?”
“I ought to go tomorrow, if you can manage it. The sooner I can bring back the goods, the sooner we’ll have allies. I’m sure you can sweet talk them in the meantime.”
Gwynneth
“You must let me do the talking,” Gwynneth said to Devyn. “You’ll help the most by standing there and looking fearsome.”
“Do I really look fearsome?” he asked. In spite of his princely bearing, Gwynneth could tell he was nervous.
“Very much.” She smiled at him. “And so grown up. It was kind of Prince Dristan to give you that armor.” And a pity he’d soon outgrow it, though she didn’t say that out loud.
They weren’t far from the palace, and Gwynneth had Colonel Destler order each company to light and carry torches, hoping that would make the best impression. She was grateful for the darkness which obscured her now bedraggled appearance, but wanted to be certain Princess Viviane understood she was dealing with a sizable force.
On their way, they ran into a few clumps of soldiers making their way to the palace, but they scattered into the ditch in the face of the much larger, organized, well-equipped force.
When they reached the gate, Gwynneth looked for the highest-ranking officer and beckoned him to her. “Please go to the palace and tell Princess Viviane I must speak with her at once.”
The man had been looking to challenge her, but she’d wrong-footed him. A puzzled look crossed his face, but he said, “Very well,” after only a second’s hesitation, and waved over a messenger.
He turned back to Gwynneth. “Won’t you come inside?”
“Only if I can bring all of them.” She glanced at her army, coming closer now in rank upon impressive rank.
“Hm, no, that won’t do,” the officer said. “I’m sure the princess will be happy to meet you here.”
Seeing how anxious he looked, Gwynneth said, “I’m not looking for a fight, in case you’re wondering. I need to clear a few things up with the princess.” Never mind it needed to be done in the middle of a stormy night, and quite removed from any comfortable, ornate palace receiving room.
“Of course,” the officer said, “perfectly understandable. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d better ...” He nodded toward the soldiers inside the gates, milling around in uneasy, disorganized groups.
“Certainly.” Gwynneth offered a dazzling smile. “I’m sure you’ll want to shape them up before the princess arrives.”
It was heartening to see that, while there might have been considerable numbers gathered here, they came nowhere near approaching the quality of Gwynneth’s borrowed army. Based on what she could see, the only ones likely to pose any real threat were the palace guards themselves, and there couldn’t have been more than a few hundred of them.
The rain had stopped for now, but the wind rose, setting Gwynneth’s teeth to chattering in her wet clothes. She hoped Princess Viviane would hurry.
She was quite frozen by the time Princess Viviane arrived. She’d taken the time to bundle up well, in a fabulous fur cloak and matching hat, while assembling an equally impressive-looking escort. If she was upset or intimidated by what had happened that day, she didn’t show it.
“Haven’t you done enough?” she snapped without greeting or preamble.
“I’ve done nothing,” Gwynneth said. “You’re the one who has some explaining to do. For instance, why were you entertaining a known friend to the empress when you’d signed a treaty of alliance with King Lennart?”
The princes huffed, but remained silent, her nose in the air.
Gwynneth went on. “Or, why was my husband murdered in your private study, under your nose, and you did nothing to stop it?”
“I could hardly stop a trained and hardened killer like Braeden Terris,” the princess said, disdain dripping from her voice.
“You might as well stop lying,” Gwynneth said. “I know as well as you he didn’t do it, though I would love to know why you want to make it appear that he did.”
“I don’t have to listen to this,” the princess spat. “How can you believe an untrustworthy character like the archduchess, who came here under false pretenses, I might add? What do you want?”
“I was hoping you’d ask.” Gwynneth smiled. “I’d like Countess
Biaram. I believe she’s responsible for my husband’s death and wish to question her further.”
“That’s impossible,” the princess snapped. “I have no authority over her.”
“You had no authority over Braeden Terris, and yet you had no trouble imprisoning him when it suited you.”
“Braeden Terris is a nobody.”
Gwynneth heard Trisa snort on Devyn’s other side, and had to conceal a smile. “You are wrong about that. He has the confidence of many influential people, including me and King Lennart himself.”
“He betrayed his rightful ruler,” the princess said.
“Teodora?” Gwynneth had to laugh, and judging by the horrified expression on the princess’s face, she hadn’t meant to say that. “It’s been a long time since anyone in Isenwald considered Teodora their rightful ruler. I’m beginning to worry that you’ve changed your mind about supporting our cause.”
“Not at all. The Countess Biaram claimed to be threatened by the empress. As far as I knew, I was offering shelter to a rebel, not an imperial spy.”
“Well, in that case, why not give her to me? If she’s a rebel, I’ll learn the truth soon enough, and if she’s a spy then I’ll be happy to deliver justice for my husband’s death. Surely she means nothing to you.”
“Impossible.” The princess tossed her head. “If you want her, you must get past me and all of my forces.”
So the countess mattered to her in some way. That was all she needed to know. Gwynneth took a long look back at her army. When she faced the princess again she said, “Are you sure that’s what you want? I’d hate to put you in danger, or cause any harm to your lovely palace.”
Privately, Gwynneth hated damaging the palace far more than risking harm to a treacherous princess.
“I’ll risk it,” Princess Viviane said.
Gwynneth admired her nerve, even though she hated everything else about her. But she wasn’t ready to go on the offensive just yet, and decided to give Major Silberg a few more minutes.
“That is too bad,” she said. “Come, be reasonable. I’m sure you can see I have a superior force, and while I won’t hesitate to use it, I want to give you a chance, since you’re a fellow Kronland ruler.”
Winter of the Wolf (The Desolate Empire Book 4) Page 31
