Anton had been trying to count the guards Vega had at his back, but the shadows in the narrow chasm made it impossible to tell. They might have been ten, or a hundred. He was certain there wouldn’t be many. He and Trystan had counted all the guards in the village, besides Vega’s small Maladene escort and found no more than forty-five. The fighting might be fierce, but their larger force would win through.
The main problem was trying to keep Maryna and Natalya safe in the middle of it. There was nowhere for them to take shelter.
“Enough,” Vega said with a laugh. “The villagers were happy enough to join me, in exchange for keeping their burgomaster alive. She’s a popular lady, though I doubt she’ll be the same after this experience.”
“The villagers would never follow you,” Trystan scoffed, though judging by the sounds of fighting behind them, Anton wasn’t so sure. He hoped Karil was all right.
“They’ll do it for tonight, which is all I need. You’re not exactly loved by them, you know, bringing such trouble to their peaceful little town.”
“You’re the one who’s brought the trouble. And besides they hate the empress and you’re her toady. They’ll thank me for getting rid of you.”
“You’re quite the talker.” Vega slid his blade along his thigh. “Perhaps we should see if you are as good at fighting.” He paused, so everyone heard the sounds of combat behind them. It was impossible to tell how it was going, and Anton wasn’t able to see that far back. “You have no choice but to go forward.”
At that moment a pistol-shot rang out over Anton’s head, and someone behind him fell from their mule with a loud thud. Natalya, calm as Anton remembered her, grabbed the reins of Maryna’s mule, pulling it close to the cliff wall. Sheer stone rose on both sides, but as far as Anton knew, soldiers could only take a position on one side. They should have put their own there first.
Anton backed up and craned his neck, though he saw nothing. Bright as the moonlight was, he hoped to spot a silhouette next time someone fired. That happened almost immediately and someone else fell beside him. Huddled against the cliffside, Maryna and Natalya were safe for the moment, as long as there was no ricochet.
Thought he saw no one, Anton fired upwards anyway. That brought down a hail of bullets, and a horrendous shrieking and scuffling as several mules and humans were hit.
“Stop!” Trystan roared above the din. “Call off your soldiers and we’ll talk,” he said to Vega.
Vega waved his hand and the shooting stopped. “I can’t stop those behind you but perhaps you’ll have surrendered before they reach us.”
“I’m not surrendering,” Trystan said, his voice firm. “I’m challenging you to a duel.”
At that, Vega laughed a long time. “Brave of you,” he said, “but foolish too. Do you realize I’ve killed over twenty men in duels?”
“I doubt that.” Trystan’s voice dripped condescension. Anton was glad he was doing the talking, since he’d never be able to stay so calm. “I have no need to brag. How about this? The two of us fight to first blood, or death, whichever you prefer. If I win, you let us go. If you win, I turn the captives over to you.”
Even as Maryna whimpered again, Anton looked at her and shook his head. “It won’t happen,” he said softly. “Trystan will win, but if he doesn’t, I’m not going along with this.”
“Normally I’d say first blood, but you’ve annoyed me,” Vega said. “So this will end in your death.”
“We’ll see,” Trystan said, throwing off his cloak. “Shall we fight on foot?”
“It would be my pleasure.” Vega dismounted. He was shorter than Trystan by half a head, and not nearly as broad, but something about the way he moved and the gleam in his eye made Anton worry. He couldn’t even bear to look at Maryna, the panic in her eyes was so plain.
“It’ll be all right,” he murmured, mostly to himself.
Lennart
This wasn’t how Lennart preferred to do it, but Mattila left him no choice if he wanted to save the city and those it sheltered. Even without her guns in position, she would likely still have infantry holding the Obenstein. Lennart ignored it for the time being and focused his efforts on Mattila’s forces arranged on the flat ground in front of the city.
Unfortunately, the ridge he held was too far from the enemy to make it an effective gun position, so he’d have to move his smaller field pieces into place at once. There was no chance of pulling off any of this in secret.
Lennart’s scouts had already tangled with Mattila’s outriders, and others were visible in the distance, likely spying on every one of his positions. In fact, she had so many scouts around, Lennart’s own hadn’t been able to get closer than a half-league to her positions. At least he could get an overview from the ridge.
Lennart never went back to bed, and spent the rest of the night ordering the artillery into position, then planning the assault.
“Mattila likes staying on the defensive,” Lofbrok said as they huddled over a map in Lennart’s tent, along with the rest of his staff. “Even without the Obenstein, she’s in a good position. She’ll use her artillery to soften us up as we advance, then move her infantry in those deep ranks she likes to use. They’re not as strong as the big squares, but they’ll maneuver quickly.”
“What if we don’t advance?” Lennart asked. “Let her come to us?”
“Then there won’t be a fight.” Lofbrok shook his head. “At least not until she gets her guns in place and bombards the city. And that won’t be anything you could call a fight either.”
“So we have to attack, and do it in a place of her choosing.” Lennart felt like swearing. This was no one’s fault but his own. He should have stayed close to Richenbruck and waited Mattila out, rather than go running all over the countryside looking for her. “Best to just go straight in then, don’t you think? We’ll stay wide so she can’t outflank us. What’s her cavalry looking like?”
“Bad for us too,” Lofbrok said. “She has Orician light cavalry, but much worse for us will be Dura’s Cuirassiers.”
“That is bad,” Lennart said. “We don’t have anyone who can match that hellion.” He stared at the map for a moment while he thought of what to do. He could trust his muskets to repel most cavalry but from what he’d seen of Franca Dura at the battle of Kaltental, she wasn’t most cavalry. He wished he hadn’t let Trystan take so much of his horse to Isenwald. “Let’s find out as soon as we can where she’ll be positioned. I’ll guess on one of our flanks, but it doesn’t matter. Wherever she is, we bring artillery to face her.”
He turned to his artillery colonel, Friberg, already scribbling down notes. “Take the smallest field pieces and have them ready to move anywhere on the battlefield as soon as you get word from me.”
“Consider it done,” Friberg said, a smile playing over his lips. He always enjoyed interesting problems. Lennart hoped he would solve this one.
By the time he’d made all his plans, dawn was not far off, and Lennart went back to his tent to put on his armor. He took a few moments to pray at a small, makeshift altar. Since he’d come to Kronland, the gods had given him easy victories. He knew they wanted him here. He didn’t feel right asking for ease yet again, but he prayed that they’d spare as many of his soldiers as they could. Mattila was tough and had little regard for her own troops, so he doubted she’d extend much mercy to his. He prayed for their protection and for his own.
By the time he left his tent, it was light enough to see, though overcast. Lennart took one more look from the ridge. A swarm of people were busy on the slopes of the Obenstein hill, while the great blocks of infantry had already moved into position on the plain in front of the city.
Lennart swept the glass around, looking for cavalry. He saw none, except for what looked like a small, light unit on the right flank. Not what he was looking for. He handed the glass to an adjutant. “Stay here,” he said, “and keep an eye out for Franca Dura and her cuirassiers. If you spot any heavy cavalry, send a message to me and
to Colonel Friberg. He’ll know what to do.”
The adjutant nodded, taking the glass and Lennart left. It bothered him they knew Dura was here, had a plan to stop her, but now she was nowhere to be found. Mattila no doubt had a trick up her sleeve.
A light snow fell as he rode out to head his army. The van of Mattila’s forces had been visible in the distance, but now the snow and a light fog obscured them. Not that it mattered. They were straight ahead and unlikely to move until Lennart got there.
Gwynneth
“He’s right.” Gwynneth turned her gaze on Braeden. She’d already known he’d prefer to call the whole thing off and get her out of here. She didn’t disagree entirely, but also wanted to consider this unique opportunity. “This is a gift from the gods: Teodora out of her strong city, on this side of the mountains, sitting in Princess Viviane’s palace. We’ve taken it once; we can take it again.”
“Not the same way,” Braeden said. “And you seriously think we can take them on with our numbers?”
“We ought to have a good amount,” Florian said. “I reckon I can round up at least two thousand peasants, especially now word is out that Teodora is near. She’s never been popular here. And folk will be furious at Princess Viviane being back in charge. Will your army join us?” he turned to Gwynneth.
“I hope so.” She looked at Braeden.
“Destler will follow you to the gates of hell,” he said, “though he’s with me in just wanting to get you safe to Terragand.”
“Won’t happen.” Florian’s eyes grew hard. “We have a deal, and just because a few little things changed doesn’t mean it’s off.”
“Teodora showing up and turning the kingdom upside down is no little thing,” Braeden said.
“No, it’s not.” Florian’s eyes brightened. “The princess is right—this is a unique opportunity. If we strike within the next few days, we only must contend with the force Teodora brought and whatever the archduchess scraped together while you were away.”
“We know nothing about those,” Braeden said.
“We’ll find out.” Florian shrugged. He seemed rather calm, but Gwynneth detected a light in his eye that hadn’t been there before. Maybe it was the prospect of killing Teodora.
Gwynneth didn’t blame him. That prospect made her rather giddy, to be honest. She hadn’t considered taking on Teodora in person, at least not anytime soon. But she was more vulnerable here than she’d been in a long time. Her end would also mean the end of the war, and Gwynneth hardly dared hope for that.
Florian went on. “My people are in Kronfels and inside the palace. They’ll learn what’s happening and report back.”
“How will they find us?” Braeden asked.
“We arranged it long ago in case of an emergency. I didn’t want to use this place since it’s so close to my parents’ estate, but I’m sure our other locations are compromised. We won’t be here long.”
“Good,” Gwynneth said. “Though I’ll want a better place to keep the children while all of this is happening.”
“There isn’t one,” Florian said. “I’m sorry. I’ll leave them as well-guarded as I can. I’ll tell my mother they’re here and she can look in on them.”
“I don’t like it.” Braeden shook his head.
“It can’t be helped.”
Gwynneth remembered Braeden saying something about a price on their heads, but something in his manner made her decide to talk about it later. Once Florian left them to discuss matters with his people in the kitchen, Gwynneth made her way to Braeden’s side.
“How are we going to do this?” Gwynneth asked.
“No idea.” Braeden shook his head. “I doubt we’ll succeed with such long odds.” Coming from the man who’d rescued Kendryk from the Arnfels, that was saying something. Braeden looked around, then dropped his voice. “I need to get you out of here. It’s only a matter of time before word gets out that Teodora is paying big money for our heads.”
Gwynneth hadn’t considered all the implications. “You think people here would turn us in? For money?” She didn’t want to believe it, but supposed she ought to.
Braeden sighed. “It’s not just money. Anyone involved in the revolt will get a pardon, along with the prize.”
“Oh gods.” Gwynneth had to take a deep breath to calm herself. “I’m sure Florian won’t do it. His aim is to overthrow everything, not be pardoned by the empress.”
“Unless the news from Kronfels is discouraging and he has a change of heart.”
“I doubt that.” Gwynneth couldn’t bear any further betrayals, even from renegade noblemen she had no particular reason to trust.
“I hope not.” Braeden looked grave. “But those around him might not be as committed. We need to stay alert, and it there’s a chance to get out of here, we ought to take it.”
“We’ll never make it to Terragand without being caught.” Gwynneth clenched her fists. She couldn’t let Braeden deviate from their mission right now. “We can’t have everyone after us. No, we must at least try this. I’m certain we’ll outnumber Teodora’s forces, we know the palace and Florian knows the city.”
“Teodora will have brought a lot of troops. Well-trained, disciplined ones,” Braeden said. “Destler will manage well enough against them, but a peasant rabble?” He gave a short laugh. “You can’t blame me for lacking in confidence.”
“I don’t. But we must do what we can.” She sighed. “Tell you what. If word comes that Teodora has over three thousand, let’s see if we can convince Florian to call it off. But if she has less than that, we have a chance and I don’t want to miss it. Please?” She gave Braeden her best pleading look, the one that worked on most men. It worked on him too.
Maryna
Maryna couldn’t stop shaking, and it wasn’t from the cold. She had a terrible feeling about all of this. Count Vega was rather small, but she already knew he was clever and dangerous. Somehow she believed him when he said he’d already killed twenty men.
Anton was unbelievably calm. While the duelists postured and swaggered before getting started, he pushed her and Natalya even closer to the shelter of the cliff, then ordered ten soldiers to form a circle around them. “No matter how the duel goes,” he told the men, “we’re not turning these ladies over. Is that understood?” He glared at each man looking very grown-up and fierce. No one made a peep in protest and Maryna felt safer already.
She turned her mule to face forward to watch the duel. A bright half moon stood straight overhead, flooding the narrow road with light. Duke Trystan looked very strong, and held a huge sword, but Count Vega moved like a panther, and his little sword seemed quick and sharp. Neither one wore much armor.
“I’m sure Count Vega is an excellent fighter,” Maryna murmured to Anton, though she didn’t know what good telling him would do.
“So is Trystan.” Anton offered her a confident smile. “He’s one of King Lennart’s most successful generals and mostly responsible for his big victory at Kaltental.”
“Impressive,” Natalya said. “Let’s hope he’s as good with that sword as he is at leading armies.”
Maryna thought she might be implying they weren’t the same skill, but didn’t want to think that way. Trystan must succeed.
“He is,” Anton said, as if it were obvious.
Maryna took a deep breath and held it as the fight began.
Trystan attacked first, putting his considerable strength behind the big sword. Vega didn’t block it with his little one, but stepped aside, getting behind Trystan and going on the attack in one fluid movement.
But Trystan was faster than he looked and whirled around quickly, catching Vega’s blade as it bore down on him. Maryna didn’t know when she’d be able to breathe again.
They broke apart and circled each other for a moment. This time, Trystan waited for Vega to come to him.
Vega feinted at his head and when Trystan lifted his blade to block it, got under his defenses, delivering a sharp slash to his leg. Trystan w
ore tall leather boots, but the cut started above the knee, slashing the heavy wool of his breeches and drawing blood.
Maryna gasped and looked away. But that was unbearable too, so she forced herself to look again. A dark wetness gathered above Trystan’s knee, but he seemed unbothered.
“My little sister’s done worse to me while playing,” he said, looking down his nose, then lunged at Vega fast enough to catch his sleeve at the elbow.
That made Vega stagger as he backed away, though he recovered quickly enough. Trystan pressed his small advantage, lunging forward again.
This time Vega caught him on his upper arm, below the pauldron, though Maryna didn’t see if he’d drawn blood. At this rate, he’d kill Trystan with a hundred tiny cuts.
Trystan shook his head and snorted, as if angry with himself. Maryna wondered if he could still fight with his right arm hurt, but he kept holding his sword as if it were nothing. That was probably how he’d grown so strong, swinging that huge thing around all the time.
He lunged at Vega again, but he jumped away, coming around Trystan’s side, slicing his right arm again. This time there was blood.
“I can’t bear it,” Maryna whispered. Count Vega was too fast and too experienced.
Trystan winced and huffed for a moment, catching his breath.
Vega didn’t stop and came at him straight and low, going for the unarmored spot right below Trystan’s light cuirass. Trystan batted that blow aside, but Vega recovered fast, catching him on the other leg.
Maryna held her breath again. Trystan was reacting much more slowly now; he was hurt.
He kept swatting Vega’s blows away, but Vega came faster and faster, never letting up, never letting Trystan catch his breath again.
Blood ran down Trystan’s arm now, and down his right boot. Maryna wondered how he kept fighting back. Vega was so fast, at some point Trystan would make the wrong move and it would be over.
Winter of the Wolf (The Desolate Empire Book 4) Page 53
