“I hope so,” Janna said. “Otherwise we must hope she gets your hair so no one notices the shape of her head.”
“What’ll we name her?” That was something they hadn’t discussed. Janna had worried about cursing herself by hoping for too much.
Braeden took a deep breath. “What was the name of the little girl you lost? If that’s not too hard.”
She realized for the first time she didn’t want to cry when thinking about her. “Anyezka. Though I don’t want to use that name again. What was your mother’s name?”
“I don’t remember,” Braeden said. “If I ever knew it. I always just called her Ma.”
Janna smiled, trying to picture a small Braeden.
There was a long silence. After that first time they’d never talked about his family. Finally he asked, “What about your mother?”
“Iryna.” Janna’s voice caught in her throat. She did her best not to think about her family, hopefully alive and well in Kaleva, since she doubted she’d ever see them again.
“Iryna. I’ve known Sanovan girls with that name too.”
“That’s perfect. Her father is a Sanova Hussar after all.”
“And maybe she will be too, someday,” Braeden said, putting his finger in little Iryna’s hand and smiling when her tiny fingers closed around his.
Teodora
“This just arrived by messenger from Kronland.” Elyse handed Teodora an unopened pouch.
Teodora pulled the message out and read it twice, then crumpled it into a ball and threw it as hard as she could.
“What is it, Your Highness?” Elyse asked.
“More bad news. It seems Duke Evard was unwise enough to run into Arian Orland and allowed himself to be taken prisoner. Is it really too much to ask for competent allies?”
“Oh dear,” Elyse said faintly, then crossed the room, picked up the balled-up sheet, opened it and started reading. She could match General Ensden for composure. It hadn’t escaped Teodora’s notice that delicate little flowers like Brytta Prosnytz made themselves scarce whenever it looked like there might be fireworks. She wondered if the other ladies-in-waiting paid Elyse in sweets or trinkets to induce her to take on the hard duties.
Teodora paced while Elyse read the letter. She was running out of options. Only one person could help her now. “Send for General Barela,” she said, and Elyse ran to do her bidding.
He took far too long to come. She must have paced the long corridor in the palace main wing at least four times before he came through a distant door. He was in half armor, sweating and breathless. He still managed a courtly bow. “I apologize, Your Highness. We were practicing maneuvers on the parade ground.”
“I see,” she said sourly, looking him over. He looked good in spite of his disheveled state, perhaps even more so than usual. He caught her eye and winked, which she found very annoying. It did no good to let a man know you found him attractive. He would exploit it relentlessly.
“Come,” she said, leading him back to her study. “Out,” she waved at Elyse, who scrambled to gather up a pile of papers before scurrying out. Once the door fell shut behind her, she sat at her desk and pointed at a chair across from it. Barela sat down, never taking his eyes off her.
“You might have heard that General Ensden has returned,” she said. He nodded and she went on. “In addition to his humiliating defeat he also lost all of his troops, down to a few hundred.”
That seemed to surprise Barela, who shook his head and made a sympathetic noise.
“That leaves me with no army at all, aside from the Sanova Hussars and you.”
“And I am merely borrowed,” he said.
“Beatryz hasn’t called you back has she?” The thought struck her like a thunderbolt and she failed to hide the panic it invoked.
“She has not. And she will not before next spring. The truce in Floradias is holding and she is bringing more troops over the mountains in the meantime. But I cannot take on Arryk and his allies alone. Where is Evard?”
“That’s the other bad news.” She told him about Evard’s defeat and imprisonment.
“Your Highness, this is an impossible situation. You must get help.”
“From you.”
“Yes, I will do what I can. I probably can defeat Faris or Falk by myself, and perhaps Orland also, but not Arryk. I am sure you know he is gathering allies in western Kronland.”
“I’d heard rumors, but I keep receiving letters from various Kronland rulers assuring me of their loyalty.”
“Oh, they will be loyal to you, until they are not.” He shrugged, though his gaze was sympathetic. “The king is making a good case to join him. He throws money around like you throw rose petals at the Feast of Vica. And Princess Gwynneth goes everywhere with him, looking like a pretty vision of the Holy Mother with a newborn babe in her arms, reminding everyone that Kendryk has never seen this sweet little daughter of his. They must both be stopped before they turn every kingdom against you.”
“You must do this.”
“I cannot. Believe me, I would if it were at all possible. But I know what I can do. And I cannot defeat Arryk Roussay alone.”
“Then what am I to do?”
“Send the Sanova Hussars to attack Arryk’s allies. Maybe even Arryk himself. Cavalry is excellent for hit and run. Many small attacks will wear him down, though they will have to return before winter.”
“I’ll send them right now, and if nothing else materializes, I’ll send you in the winter. For now, I’d rather keep you close by.” She cursed herself for letting this last slip out.
He smiled his dazzling smile. “I’d rather stay close by.”
Anton
The gates of Bernhausen were closed when Count Orland and Edric Maximus rode up to them, Anton right behind them. In the past few months, every town and temple had welcomed them. It had been some time since any had required the persuasion of Orland’s Cuirassiers.
Edric Maximus himself went to speak to one of the guardsmen, flanked by the count and another officer. Anton trailed behind. No one ever seemed to question his presence, which suited him well enough.
“We need no changes to our temple here,” the guard said stoutly. “We are happy with our priestess and we hold to the old teachings. Please be on your way.”
“Might I speak with the head priestess alone?” Edric Maximus asked, polite as ever.
The guard looked uncertain. Count Orland loosened a pistol in its holster and said, “We can kill you lot easily enough and ride through this gate. Better do as the Maximus asks.”
“Wait here,” the guard said, then returned a scant ten minutes later. “Mother Barra asks that the heretic come alone and she will speak with him.”
“Impossible,” the count said. “We’re not about to let him out of our sight so you can cut his throat. She can come here.”
The guard sighed and ran off again. Before he returned, a woman riding a mule approached the gate. She had a plain, kind face and looked older than the Maximus. It seemed they knew each other.
“Edric,” she said, smiling though her eyes remained serious. “It has been a long time.” She dismounted and walked right up to the Maximus, took his hand and kissed him on both cheeks.
“It is good to see you Barra,” Edric said. “Might I have a word?” He took her by the elbow and led her away from the gate.
It didn’t take long. They never raised their voices, but it seemed she would not be swayed. Edric Maximus tried to give her a copy of the Scrolls he always carried in his pocket, but she shook her head.
For the first time, he looked upset. “Please Barra,” he said, catching her sleeve as she turned to go. “It means your life and the lives of your congregation.”
“I know.” She kept walking, but slowed down a little. “Just as you risked all to defend what you believe in, I will risk the same. I am sorry.” She smiled at Edric, patted his hand and made her way back to the gate.
It happened so fast that Anton almost missed
it. The count’s saber came from nowhere, slicing across her throat with a hiss and a spray of blood. Mother Barra crumpled to the ground. There was complete silence for several seconds. Then the guards shouted and drew their weapons.
“Take the town,” the count said, brandishing the bloody saber. “Do as you wish until nightfall. Then I’ll meet with the survivors and they can tell me how they want to continue.”
By the time he’d finished speaking, the men at the gate were already dead. The rest of the troops had come forward upon a signal from an officer and streamed through the open gates. Anton drew his short sword and followed the count, but first glanced back at Edric Maximus, who still stood by the gate, next to Barra’s body. His face was set and grim, but fire burned in his pale eyes. Anton shivered and looked away.
Within the walls, all was chaos. Horses galloped in every direction, shots were fired, people screamed. The count spurred Cid forward and Anton tried to keep up. They made for the center of town and rode straight to the doors of the temple. A young man in novitiate robes stood in front of them, shaking. He held a jeweled dagger in one hand.
“Halt, in the name of Vica,” he quavered.
“Step aside.” The count lifted his saber. “I won’t ask again.”
The man scrambled out of the way and Cid reared up and kicked the enormous doors open. The temple was empty, though tapers burned at the high altar in front of the icon of Vica and incense hung heavy in the air.
“Pull it down,” the count said, turning to Anton.
Anton hesitated. He wasn’t on the best terms with the gods, considering what they’d let happen to his family, but he knew better than to desecrate holy places. It was bad enough he had ridden his horse straight into a temple, as if it were a stable.
“Now,” the count said, raising his saber again.
Anton spurred Skandar forward, up the three stairs to the altar, then puzzled over how to bring down the enormous icon. It hung from the rafters on heavy silk bands. While he looked up, another young officer joined him.
“On my shoulders,” he said.
Anton jumped onto the back of his horse first, then climbed onto his shoulders. By wedging his feet between pauldrons and neck-guard he had a steady foothold. He took his sword with both hands and swung at the bands, just overhead now. Two separated completely and a third tore loudly. That left two on the other side.
The officer didn’t need to be asked. He walked his horse to the other side of the altar, now wide open, its glittering contents already being scooped into bags by soldiers swarming all around. There was screaming in the distance, but Anton felt heady from the incense and his height and his extreme daring and it didn’t seem real to him.
He swung at the other two bands, and the great icon of Vica crashed into the altar below. Anton jumped to the floor and sprang back onto Skandar. The count laughed and slashed at the icon with his bloody saber. Even though nothing had happened yet, Anton was a little worried that Holy Vica might punish them right this moment. But nothing had happened when the count killed her priestess and nothing happened now.
The count grinned at Anton. “Well done. Let’s burn it now, and go see what other treasures await us. I’ve heard this is a rich town.”
As they trotted out of the temple, smoke and flames already rising from the wall hangings, the count said, “There’s a wagon full of sacks in the square. Grab a few and fill them up with all you can carry. Take any girls you want too, for now or later.”
Anton shook his head. He doubted he could find a girl who could help him reload or was good with horses. Gold or jewelry would be better.
By the time he reached the main square, the chaos had increased. A few houses were on fire and people and soldiers ran everywhere. There were occasional screams, but most soldiers were busy getting what they could out of the houses.
“Picked over,” the young officer said. He still rode beside Anton. “Let’s find another neighborhood.” His horse trotted to the left and Anton followed him.
A few streets away from the main square, it was much quieter. There was no one on the street and the doors of the tall houses were shut and Anton supposed, firmly barred as well.
“They won’t open if we knock, will they?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound too much a novice.
The officer laughed. “The way I knock, they will.” He rode up to a door decorated with elaborate carvings, drew his pistol, shot at the latch and kicked the door open. It took Anton a moment to recover from the noise, but he tied Skandar to a post and went in.
“You start at the top,” the officer said. “I’ll start at the bottom. If you see a pretty girl, drag her down here.”
Anton made for the stairs. This was a merchant’s house, much like the one he had grown up in, so he knew the layout. The stairs were of dark, polished wood, with a thick carpet over them. Anton ran up them soundlessly, his sword drawn. He wondered if the people who lived here were hiding or if they’d run off.
Servant’s quarters were on the top floor. There wouldn’t be anything good there, so he started on the next floor. One room was a nursery, with a terrified old woman holding a baby, sitting in a rocking chair. He darted into the next room without saying a word. This was probably the master’s bedchamber and more likely to hold something worthwhile.
Anton opened the drawers of a tall bureau and started rummaging. Sure enough, they had tried to quickly hide the jewelry amongst the clothes. Nothing too fancy, but nice, heavy gold chains and a few pretty pendants of semi-precious stones. Anton pocketed them and looked for a strongbox. If he found one box full of gold and silver coins he’d consider the day a success.
He ransacked the rest of the bureau and wardrobe and found nothing. Dropping to his knees to look under the bed, he stared straight into the frightened face of a girl a little older than he was. She held the box in her arms.
“Give it here,” Anton whispered, forgetting to pull out his sword.
She swallowed hard and shook her head.
He heard heavy footsteps on the floor below. “Give it here,” he said, “and I won’t tell anyone you’re here, or the little one upstairs.” By now, she’d heard the footsteps, too, and whimpered.
“Hurry,” Anton said, putting out his hand. She put the box in it. It was gratifyingly heavy. “Now be quiet,” he whispered, before standing and heading to the door.
He was just in time. The officer met him on the stairs. “Anything good?”
“A few trinkets.” Anton shrugged, noting the bag bulging with a silver service the man dragged behind him. “Seems no one is home. I didn’t bother about the servants.”
“Just as well. Let’s go.”
Anton was relieved to find Skandar where he’d left him. When they rode off, he noticed a few other broken-down doors and wondered if anyone else would go into the house.
What he saw next made him forget all about it. Two men were pulling a young woman out of the house next door by her hair. She shrieked and struggled, but was obviously overpowered. Anton looked down at her, saw a small pale face, enormous eyes, dark hair.
“Mama?” he asked, stunned. Then he blinked. It couldn’t have been, she was much too young.
It took only seconds for his confusion to turn to anger and by then they had her pinned up against the wall of the house. One man held her by the arms while another tried to push up her skirts. She’d stopped screaming and struggling and was crying quietly.
“You leave her alone,” Anton said, drawing his sword.
“What?” the man pulling at her skirts looked around. “Get in line, sprout. You can have her shortly.”
“Leave her alone.” Anton pointed his sword at the man.
“Put that little thing away.” The man laughed. “And get out of here. There’s plenty more in this town.”
Anton slashed wildly at his face and the other man reached for Skandar’s reins. Skandar reared up and kicked out, just as Anton had trained him, and the man flew against the wall with groan. The
other man kept coming at him.
“Go,” Anton said. “Run.” And with one look back at him, the girl ran. No, definitely not his mother. He swallowed down the grief that threatened to choke him and slashed at the man one more time, bloodying his arm. Then he wheeled Skandar around and spurred him down the street as fast as he could go.
Braeden
“This ought to be fun.” Prince Novitny looked pleased. Braeden suspected he’d gotten bored all these months in Atlona. “Our orders are to venture into Kronland as far as we can with the goal of harassing Arryk Roussay’s allies. There aren’t enough of us to take him on in a pitched engagement, but we can find other ways to make his life miserable.” He opened a rolled-up map and spread it across the table. All the officers of the Sanova Hussars were gathered in the dining room of an inn the prince had taken over as his headquarters.
Braeden leaned forward so he could see. He wasn’t keen on leaving the girls so soon after Iryna’s birth, but couldn’t deny he’d enjoy some action.
“Last we heard, King Arryk himself was in Lantura, trying to form an alliance with Prince Benda. If he’s succeeded, which is likely, we think he’ll go west to Fromenberg next. We won’t try to stop him.
“I really want to get Ruso Faris. We pummeled him good at Birkenfels, but he’s back. And judging by how he’s taken out Ensden, he’s stronger than ever. He’s the one we need to wear down and keep from meeting up with Arryk if we can. Arryk will need his pike and artillery if he wants any hope of taking Teodora on directly.”
“What about Arian Orland?” Braeden asked. He’d been more than a little disappointed that he’d been absent when they fought Kendryk at Birkenfels.
“Too far away for now. Last we heard, he was causing trouble in Brandana, taking that heretic priest to all the towns there. If he comes our way though, I’ll be happy to give him a friendly welcome. No, our best chance for action right now is Faris. If we don’t run into him, we can go north where Bronson Falk is doing gods-knows-what in Terragand.”
The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3 Page 58
