“Will he listen?”
“From what I have heard, probably not.”
“So he might already be in Kronland.”
“Very possibly. But even if he has succeeded in landing a force during the winter storms, they are untested and untrained troops. Norovaea has not been at war for twenty years and Arryk is an inexperienced commander. Until now, he’s spent all of his time hunting and wenching. Not a serious person.”
“Indeed.” Teodora looked up as a maid brought in a tray and some wine. “He doesn’t need to be serious to cause me a great deal of trouble.”
“No he does not.” Barela’s face was grave. “I think Count Ensden will stop him for now, as long as he is alone.”
“But will he be alone?” Teodora stabbed at a piece of meat with her fork. “I worry he will gather allies in Kronland.”
“Perhaps. The Kronlanders are angry with you about the way you’ve treated Prince Kendryk.”
“I was within my rights!”
“Of course. But they all now worry it could happen to them. Their charters torn up, they themselves replaced by more cooperative family members.”
“I want them to worry, but not enough to rebel. Enough to cooperate.”
“It’s hard to find that balance, is it not? I do not envy you, my love.”
“I must strengthen my forces.” She had lost her appetite but none of her determination. “What if Arryk invades and all of Kronland rallies behind him? Ensden must stay at Birkenfels and you are not enough to meet the rest, brilliant as you are.”
“I know that. I am also temporary. Queen Beatryz might call me back to Floradias at any time.”
“I don’t think I could bear it.” Teodora burst out before she could stop herself.
“You can. You are the strongest person I know.” He sat down next to her, then took her hand. “But you needn’t be strong tonight.” He kissed her palm.
Teodora felt herself going soft inside, but yanked her hand away before it got worse. “I always have to be strong, especially with you,” she snapped, standing and pacing to the far side of the room.
He stood as well, but didn’t follow her. “You don’t, my love.” His voice was soft. “But I understand if you don’t believe me. Perhaps it will be better if I showed you.”
She stayed in the shadows, willing herself not to move from the spot. But when he came to her and pulled her into his arms, she didn’t fight him.
Arryk
“There’s a storm coming,” Larisa said, standing next to Arryk on the Helvundala beach. The clouds were black, and rolling in fast. “You should bring the rest tomorrow.”
They had sailed from Arenberg right after dawn with slightly over half of Arryk’s forces. Even though it was still winter, it had been calm and sunny, and the Maximus said all omens showed that Ercos smiled upon this day and Arryk’s mission.
The wind that had been merely brisk onshore was much stronger at sea and the sun soon disappeared behind high clouds. A crossing that should have taken five hours took nearly eight instead. It was early afternoon before they first set foot in Kronland.
Arryk watched boats ferrying soldiers ashore. Horses were led through chest-high waves that seemed to grow in strength and height. “A storm won’t blow over by tomorrow, or the next day. It could last a week. I can’t delay that long.”
“Stupid,” Larisa said.
“It’s Your Highness.” Arryk smiled at her. He didn’t stop until he got a half-smile back. “I need your help, please.”
She sighed. “Let me return with you. I’ll be anxious.”
“You’ll worry about me?” As concerned as he was about the weather, he still felt light enough he thought he might float away whenever he remembered she was in love with him.
“Yes. I’m a worse idiot than you are.”
“It’s a good thing, too.” He couldn’t stop smiling. “But no, I need you here. Hansen will oversee getting everyone organized and making camp. They’ll stay here until I’ve brought over the rest.”
“Will one trip do it?”
“I think so. I counted a little over nine thousand here, so less than half remain in Arenberg. In the meantime I have a mission only you can carry out.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“No, it’s true. No one else can handle a cranky prince as well as you.”
That brought a smile. “You’re right. I have some experience with cranky princes. What must I do?”
“Take twenty soldiers and ride for Prince Bronson’s seat at Oberfeld. It shouldn’t be over fifteen leagues.”
“Is he friendly?” Larisa frowned, pulling on riding gloves and shouting for her horse. Arryk had already seen the beautiful gray—a gift from him on her last birthday—come off the ship.
“He ought to be. His wife is Kendryk’s aunt, and he’s been a vocal supporter of the religious reform. With any luck, he’ll join us on the march south.”
“What do I say to him?”
“Send my greetings and give him this.” Arryk handed her a letter. He’d had Classen help him compose it. It was a formal appeal for Prince Bronson’s aid in removing imperial interference from northern Kronland once and for all. “Come back as quickly as you can with his reply. If he doesn’t agree, ask if we might at least receive peaceful passage through Helvundala. We should have enough supplies to make Terragand without his help.”
“He’ll help,” Larisa said, putting the letter in a pocket inside her coat. “I’ll use my feminine wiles,” she joked.
“Ercos save us all.” Arryk nearly kissed her, but caught himself, and performed an awkward salute instead, which made her laugh, then turned back to the ships.
Gwynneth
Gwynneth read all day, every day, for two weeks. She hadn’t realized how long the Holy Scrolls were. She’d never cared before. Maryna sat next to her, reading each page as her mother finished. When Gwynneth put the last page down, her head ached and her eyes watered. But she sensed something else. A tightness inside her had relaxed. Maybe she no longer felt so alone, and that the gods were looking down on her, even caring about her.
Then a wave of sorrow washed over her as she carried a sleeping Maryna to the nursery. She would give anything to talk to Kendryk right now. He would have been thrilled at her interest and help her understand what she had just read. She went to her room and sent her maid to bed. Gwynneth wondered if she’d be able to sleep tonight. She pulled her chair close to the hearth and stared into the dwindling flames.
From childhood she had learned that the Holy Scrolls were dictated by the gods themselves to Teodora the Holy and her followers many centuries ago. But the words of the Ancient Tongue intoned by clerics were different from those she’d just read on the page. She knew they were the same words, since she didn’t doubt the accuracy of Edric’s work, but reading them herself was both comforting and unsettling. She wondered if praying would help her understand.
The fire burned down to coals, but Gwynneth stayed motionless in her chair. She closed her eyes. Praying was harder than she expected. This was so different from the formal prayers of the temple and memorized words recited at bedtime. This was a conversation with the gods and she wondered if she was good enough to talk to them directly.
Her eyes flew open. She shivered and reached for the heavy woolen shawl draped over the back of her chair, pulling it around her shoulders. Gwynneth had never been humble, but for the first time in her life she felt inadequate. She didn’t like it.
And yet, something tugged at her mind and wouldn’t let her rest. She had the strong impression she wouldn’t until she at least tried to communicate with the gods. It was tempting to shake off the sensation, to dismiss it as superstition brought on by fatigue or the overwrought emotions of a difficult pregnancy. But she couldn’t fool herself. She would have to try.
Even though the room was dark, Gwynneth closed her eyes. “Holy Vica, please help me,” she whispered.
To her surprise, help did come, as
she realized who she could talk to now. It was long after midnight, but she went upstairs anyway.
She found Edric still in his study, scribbling away on some new project.
“I can come back if it’s too late,” Gwynneth said, peeking around the door.
“No, please, come in.”
She took her usual seat, relieved that a fire still burned in here. She had nearly frozen in her cold bedroom. “What you’ve done is incredible. I wish to apologize.”
“Whatever for?” Edric put down his quill.
“For assuming this was nonsense that didn’t matter. For not having faith.”
A broad smile transformed his stern face. “You have faith now?”
“More than I did. Perhaps not as completely as you’d like, but you’ve changed my mind.” Gwynneth twisted her hands in her lap. “Also, I prayed just now. I’ve prayed before of course, but this was different. I did as the Scrolls said and talked to the gods.”
“And it worked.” He was still smiling.
“Something did. I don’t understand what happened, but I’m different now. I learned so many new things as I read the Scrolls, I’m sure I don’t even comprehend them all. It changed me somehow, I’m certain of it.” Gwynneth ended with a whisper.
“I’m so pleased, Your Grace. I’ve long prayed for this moment.”
“Thank you.” Gwynneth had to pause and stop the quiver in her voice. It was bad enough she had to admit she’d been wrong about this. To weep in front of Edric, kind as he was, would have been the worst. “I hope it’s all right that I still have a lot of questions. And many doubts, I’m afraid.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that. We all of us start with a mere kernel of faith. With study, prayer, and the help of the gods that kernel will grow into a mighty tree with roots so deep it cannot be shaken. But that can take years.”
Gwynneth smiled. “A kernel describes rather well the amount of my faith. But even that seems like a miracle.”
“The gods did that. That’s why everyone needs to read the Scrolls for themselves.”
“Yes, you are right. At last I understand why Kendryk was so excited about your work. How will we get the Scrolls to anyone outside these walls?”
“I must make more copies. Even if we remain trapped here, there might be a way to get some out. I am sure many in Ensden’s camp hunger for the truth.”
“We have no printing press and no way to get one, but I’ll send you everyone in the castle who can write. We’ll make copies until we run out of ink.” She jumped up and paced the room, more excited than she’d been since before the war. “You know,” she said, turning to look at Edric, “I believe we will receive help soon. The gods will make it possible.”
“I agree. Help might be taking so long because I needed time to finish this work.”
“You may be right.” She took both Edric’s hands in hers. “Thank you for being patient with me. I will do everything I can to see that your teachings are spread everywhere when we get out of here. I swear it.”
Arryk
By the time Arryk reached Arenberg to retrieve the rest of his army, he felt lucky to be alive. The wind and seas had risen, making the return journey terrifying. Arryk had been at sea often, but never on one this high and rough. He didn’t know what to do. He needed to return to Helvundala today or it might be weeks before they could try again.
“Your Highness,” the captain said, as he readied to disembark and gather the rest of his army. “A storm is moving in fast. I doubt we’ll make it back ahead of it.”
“We have to,” Arryk said. “We can’t delay any longer; half my army is over there.”
“As you say,” the man said unhappily. “Just wanted to say for certain I’m not in favor.”
“Don’t worry,” Arryk said glumly. “There’s no question who’s responsible if this goes wrong.” He hated this part of being king. At first, he enjoyed doing whatever he wanted but he’d soon learned that the problems were his as well. And there were so many problems.
In spite of the terrible weather, his officers loaded the ships quickly. Most of the soldiers had stood shivering on the docks for hours, so didn’t mind being packed onto crowded decks for a change.
Though wet, tired and hungry, Arryk didn’t rest until he’d accounted for every person, horse and barrel. Then he boarded the last ship sailing out of the harbor. It was growing dark, and the wind howled through the sails. The captain shouted orders and sailors took in most of the canvas. Arryk decided he’d give every man who climbed the rigging in that gale a silver coin upon their safe arrival.
Arryk saw that the ships ahead of them had done the same. Now the wind might blow them anywhere. At the moment it pushed them in a southerly direction, but that meant they wouldn’t make landfall with the rest of his army. He would worry about that later. First, he wanted to get everyone onto dry land safely.
As the dark gray sky grew black, the waves rose higher. The ship pitched into deep troughs and back out again. Every now and again, on the crest, Arryk spotted other ships. He tried to close his ears to the panicked shrieks of the horses below decks and the moans and vomiting of the troops above. This was bad, he told himself, but nothing like a battlefield. He’d never been in battle, but knew it must be worse than this. If he had any hope of saving his sister, he would have to bear this without fear or complaint.
The ship’s pitching increased as the night blackened. A few lamps were lit, and some cold food served, although most were too nauseous to eat. Arryk had a sailor’s stomach, but anxiety gnawed at him, making his heart pound and his head sweat under the woolen cap someone gave him. He offered some vague prayers to Ercos, but couldn’t remember the right words. He doubted the gods cared anyway. These ships that looked so magnificent in harbor were only toys to them.
The ship creaked alarmingly but held. Surely it had survived much worse. After an eternity, a cry came from the mast. The lookout had spotted land, or rather, lights on shore. Arryk hoped the lights were those of his soldiers’ camp. He also hoped they weren’t warnings of rocks. Earlier, they had landed on a five-league-long stretch of smooth beach, but he knew of a few rocky areas to the east. He hoped they hadn’t been blown that far off-course.
The lights came closer; perhaps they would drop anchor soon and launch the small boats in the morning.
Suddenly, there was a sharp lurch and a terrible cracking noise. A wave washed over the deck before the ship righted itself and Arryk felt his feet slide out from under him, the water dragging him back toward the sea. He flung his arms out, grasping for anything he could get hold of, and caught the rail. He held on tight as the water smashed him against it, but it didn’t carry him off. Someone shrieked nearby and he hoped they hadn’t gone overboard.
When he found his footing again, he looked for the captain, who shouted, “Rocks!” with a wild look in his eyes.
Arryk cursed under his breath as the captain shouted urgent orders. He doubted anyone heard them above the howling wind and the horrific tearing noises of the ship coming apart.
Arryk gripped the rail, frozen. He knew he needed to do something, but didn’t know what that should be. Others looked to him to give orders or set some sort of example, but even a king wasn’t able to keep a ship from sinking.
Someone plucked at his sleeve. “Your Highness.” It was a young trooper he recognized, but whose name he didn’t remember. “We must jump before the ship is destroyed.”
“Jump?” Arryk stared at the boy. “I can’t leave the ship,” he said lamely.
“You must,” the boy said. He looked like Aksel, though taller and without spectacles. Arryk remembered now his name was Magnus something-or-other. “If you are lost, all of us are. It’s no good to sacrifice yourself.”
He saw the sense in that, though it seemed so unheroic. The deck was pandemonium, barrels and people sliding everywhere while many jumped overboard.
“We must swim away from the lights,” Magnus said. “Away from the rocks.”
Arryk nodded and walked to the other rail. He spotted the captain again, still gripping the wheel. “Come,” he shouted at him. “The ship is lost. You must come.”
The captain stared at him blankly.
“I’m ordering you,” Arryk shouted, shaking off Magnus tugging at him again. “Abandon ship!”
And then someone shoved him over the side. He hit the water feet first. The ship was halfway submerged already. Horses swam out from a great hole in the hull, crowding the area around the ship and making it even harder to swim. The freezing water teemed with soldiers and went up Arryk’s nose when a wave came from nowhere. He started swimming. He kept bumping into horses and hadn’t gone far when he heard a huge cracking shriek as the ship came apart completely.
Arryk swam harder and tried to ignore the nightmare around him. Most of those in the water couldn’t swim, but he didn’t know what to do for them. He forced himself to tread water until he oriented himself, finding the lights on shore and striking out to the right of them.
Next to him, someone shouted and flailed. He took them around the neck, as he’d been taught and swam toward what he hoped was the shore. The waves were so strong and the water so cold he feared he wouldn’t survive long enough to reach land. He could only use the one arm because he refused to let go of the person he was holding. That slowed him down, but as his panic subsided, he realized the thought of being unable to save even one of his soldiers was unbearable.
He breathed slowly, settled into a rhythm, letting the waves pull him along, praying they would carry him to land before he died.
Kendryk
Someone had noticed that Kendryk hadn’t touched the small amount of food or water they put into his cell twice a day. He’d hoped they’d let him fade away, but wasn’t that lucky. The torchlight burned his eyes as the two guards dragged him out. He could barely walk and the fact he hadn’t eaten made him even weaker.
The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3 Page 52
