The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3

by Christina Ochs

  Things became very strange. The king’s guards allowed no one in his tent, even though scouts were arriving with news that Mattila was drawing near. Without the king to give orders, no one was in charge, so the count took the scout’s dispatches. He stood outside the king’s tent for a while, trying to get him to come out, but there was no response and he couldn’t make the guards let him in.

  “I’m sure he received news that Karsten is dead, or badly wounded.” The count shook his head. “He must pull himself together.”

  Anton wondered how well the count would pull himself together if he’d heard that Princess Gwynneth had been killed. It was true the count was tougher than King Arryk, but he would likely drink himself into a stupor, if the past was anything to go by. Maybe that’s what the king was doing right now.

  The count went on.”Mattila will be upon us by tomorrow noon at the latest and we must move into position. I’ll speak with the other officers.” He stopped and thought for a moment. “I’ll need your help with the Bernotas children. I doubt their uncle is thinking about them and I will not allow them to fall into Mattila’s hands. That would be the end of everything. You must arrange guards. Here.” He pulled off his glove and removed the signet ring he always wore. “Show this to anyone who gives you trouble. Tell them you’re authorized to arrange for the children’s safety.”

  Anton slipped the ring on his thumb, pleased to be given such responsibility. He put on his best coat and most of his armor to appear bigger and more impressive. He had Skandar saddled up with his beautiful trappings. They were very like the ones King Arryk’s battle mounts wore, so that might help impress the Norovaeans.

  It was a few leagues’ ride to the manor house where the children stayed. “Someone take this horse,” Anton said, imitating the count’s manner as he approached the guards. He jumped from Skandar’s back, pulled off a glove and showed the officer in charge the count’s signet ring. “Count Orland has sent me to arrange transport for the young duchesses and dukes.”

  “We haven’t received orders from the king,” the officer said, trying to look down his nose at Anton. It didn’t work, since Anton was just as tall.

  “The king is busy and has asked Count Orland to assist in battle preparations.” Anton lifted his chin and squeezed the words through his nose, the way the nobles liked to do it. “He wishes to see the children safely out of reach of the enemy army, which draws near.” He thought it best to say nothing about the king staying in his tent. That would be bad for morale. He held the ring under the officer’s nose and huffed impatiently.

  The officer nodded and another guard opened the front door. Anton didn’t know what to do next, but walked into the main hall as if he did. “Please announce me to the Duchess Maryna,” he said, keeping the tone he’d used outside with a liveried footman who also tried looking down his nose.

  “The duchess is at her lessons,” the footman said. “She is not to be disturbed.”

  “Disturb her. I’m here on an urgent mission from the king.” Anton let his hand slide to his sword belt. The count always did that when anyone gave him trouble.

  “Anton!” Maryna stood above him, looking down from a gallery. “What are you doing here?” She started down the stairs and Anton walked toward her.

  The footman tried to intervene, but Maryna said. “It’s all right. Master Kronek is a close personal friend of mine.”

  “No, he’s my friend,” Devyn shouted, clattering down the stairs behind his sister.

  “I’m honored to be considered friend to both of you.” Anton kept his formal tone.

  Maryna laughed. “Why are you speaking so strangely? You sound very funny.”

  “I’m here because your uncle sent me,” Anton said, remembering to talk like he usually did, now he was among friends. “The enemy is close and he wants all of you away from here as soon as possible.”

  “But I want to fight.” Devyn looked dismayed. He wore a short dagger at his belt, but he was so small it looked like a sword on him.

  “You might still have to.” Anton kept his face straight. “You might run into the enemy at any time, and your guards overrun.”

  Maryna’s eyes grew wide. “Does Uncle Arryk expect to lose the battle?” She dropped her voice, but her words still echoed through the cavernous hall.

  “Not at all.” Anton had no idea what her uncle expected, but it didn’t do to be anxious. “He expects the battle to be hard-fought. It might range all over the area, so he wants you away from the worst of it. Duke Devyn will of course keep you safe should you run into the enemy.”

  Devyn nodded, setting his chubby face into a fierce scowl.

  “Edric Maximus is here with us. He must come along,” Maryna said. “We can’t have any harm coming to him either. He’s far more important than any of us.”

  Anton had never known such a serious child. It was as though she already felt responsible for everyone. “Of course he’ll come along,” Anton said.

  After that, things went smoothly. Maryna fired off orders and Anton made sure they were carried out. Once the guards saw how serious both of them were, it didn’t seem to matter they were children. Not that Anton was a child anymore, being nearly fourteen and almost as tall as the count. Still, it helped to have a duchess giving orders, even if she was very small.

  Edric Maximus was helpful too, making sure all of the adults were packed and ready to go within a few hours. Little Stella’s nurse was frightened and crying, but Edric made her sit down and pray with him, and after that she was all right. By late afternoon, the three smaller children were bundled into a carriage. Devyn had first thrown a tantrum because he wanted to ride with the guards, but Anton persuaded him that he and his sword were needed inside the carriage should the guards be overcome.

  Maryna had mounted her mare, dressed in boy’s clothes, a pair of pistols holstered in her saddle. The count had made her a present of his smallest set after Anton taught her how to shoot and reload. With all that, she still looked so small and girlish Anton wanted to laugh, but her face was so set and sober he didn’t dare.

  “Will you come with us?” she asked as Anton rode up next to her.

  “I must return to the count, but I’ll escort you to the main road.” Everyone had agreed they should take the road north toward Aquianus. If Mattila’s troops were still nearby after the battle they could make for Floradias and the nearest Zeelund garrison. They would be safe there until the king or their mother came to get them.

  Maryna frowned. “I would much rather you came. I’m sure my uncle won’t mind.”

  “I can’t miss the battle. The count needs me.” Anton was torn. He was excited about the coming battle, but worried for the children. Even though they were flanked by over two hundred guards, it wouldn’t be enough if they ran into a large detachment of Mattila’s troops. That they had Edric Maximus with them made the situation that much more dangerous.

  “I suppose you’re right.” Maryna sighed heavily and gave Anton her hand in its fine leather glove. “I will pray to Ercos for your safety and that you defeat the enemy. I hope we will see each other again soon.” She blinked tears out of her eyes.

  Anton felt his own lip tremble and squeezed her hand, bowed his head, then rode off without saying another word.

  Braeden

  “Can’t say I’ve ever seen you look less happy about a battle.” Prince Novitny looked concerned.

  “I’m not happy. I doubt I’ll be much good to you,” Braeden said. “You don’t suppose I can leave?” He didn’t know why he bothered to ask, since he knew what the answer would be.

  The prince sighed. “That’s the one thing you can’t do. I already asked the general and she says you’re too valuable to spare on the morrow. Once the battle’s won, though, you can go.”

  “With any luck, it will go quickly.”

  “It ought to.” Novitny clapped him on the shoulder. “Now get a bite to eat and some rest.”

  There was no point in Braeden telling him that nei
ther one was possible. The thought of food made him sick and the pounding in his chest ensured he wouldn’t sleep. He’d never gone into battle in such a state. He almost wished he would die, but couldn’t, since he had to find out what happened to Janna and the children.

  Braeden didn’t want to imagine the worst, and it might be the worst hadn’t happened. Surely many people had survived. With any luck, the imperial troops noticed she had money and were keeping her safe until he arrived to pay them off. He didn’t care if they asked for everything he had. Plenty of wealthy people were held for ransom after sackings; it was customary. That cheered him a bit, though not enough that he could eat or sleep.

  Long after most had gone to sleep, Braeden sat by a fire and kept it burning. After a time, Trisa joined him. She would serve as his page on the morrow and he could tell she was nervous. “It’s not your first time fighting,” he said. “You know what to do.”

  Trisa frowned and chewed on the end of her braid while staring into the fire. “It’s just different when it’s a really big battle. I’ve never stood against an army of that size before. Or those big guns.” She shuddered.

  “You needn’t worry about the guns. Even if we’re in range, we won’t be for long. Where we’ll be sitting, on the left flank, there won’t be any friendly infantry in our way. We can go forward as fast as we like.”

  “Will we be facing Orland’s cuirassiers?”

  “Most likely. He’s done well with them. It should be a good fight, though they’re outnumbered.”

  “I hope we get him this time.” Trisa poked the fire with a stick and sparks shot into the dark sky. “I’m still sorry that I stopped you right before you had him.”

  “Don’t be. Even if I’d gotten him, the bridge would’ve blown up with me on it. Or I’d have chased him across and been on the wrong side when it went. Either way, I wouldn’t be here now.” Braeden attempted a grin and almost managed it.

  When her eyes drooped, Braeden sent Trisa to the tent. She’d taken over Janna’s corner, though she was considerably noisier and messier. Braeden didn’t mind. It was better than having no one but Gergo. Once he had the girls again, he’d never make the mistake of leaving them somewhere. The tent might be crowded, but at least they’d be here.

  He woke up in front of the cold fire, the sky turning gray as the camp came to life. Franca clanked by, pulling on armor as she went. “The Norovaeans are already in the field, sir, Orland’s lot grouping up on their right. Better get to it.”

  For an instant, the usual excitement before a battle rose inside him, the feeling that anything could happen, the heightening of the senses, knowing there was a chance of never seeing, hearing or smelling all that was familiar again. But as soon as he stood still, as soon as Gergo and Trisa started strapping on his armor and he had a moment to think, it all came back. His limbs were already so heavy he wondered if armor was a good idea.

  “Are you all right Sir?” Trisa asked. Her eyes were wide and her face pale.

  “I’m fine. You?” He winked at her and she managed a small smile.

  “I think I’m scared.”

  “You should be. It’s only natural. You’ll be fine once the action gets started.” He knew that was always true. At least it always had been true in the past and he hoped it would be today.

  By the time they were mounted and reached the field, the sun had risen. Braeden saw Orland’s purple banners dead ahead, but there was no sign of the count himself. Braeden left Reno in charge and cantered to the center where Mattila and her staff stood on a small rise overlooking the valley and her front lines.

  “Seen Orland?” she asked the moment she spotted Braeden.

  “No, though it looks like his force is in place.” He nodded at the archduchess, mounted on a stallion that was too big for her, though the bright gold armor suited her well enough. To her credit, Elektra looked nervous, but not frightened. Braeden felt a small pang, realizing she must be about Trisa’s age, and decided he’d be no better than Teodora if he harmed a little girl.

  “Odd.” Mattila frowned. “There’s no sign of King Arryk, either. Best we can tell, there’s a colonel in charge and he’s already mucked things up.”

  “Oh?” Braeden took the glass Mattila handed him and focused on the center. Several small streams criss-crossed the narrow valley floor and a village stood at the base of a hill. The streams were no obstacle, but the village offered the enemy some cover. Pike bristled between the houses and there were likely muskets at every window.

  “See his problem?” Mattila asked.

  Braeden chuckled and handed back the glass. “We can’t get in there, but he can’t get out.”

  “Exactly. I want you to move on it from the left as soon as you can. If Orland gets around you, let him. He’ll run into my reserves and give them something to do. I want you on that side of the village and stop any of Arryk’s reserves from getting through. It shouldn’t take much.”

  “I agree. Think they’ll fight without the king?”

  Mattila shrugged. “Not well. Why would they? It seems Teodora was right for once and she’s managed to stop him.”

  “Poor devil.” Braeden was probably more sympathetic than he should have been. “She likely sent him a message telling him how she killed his girl and that knocked the stuffing right out of him.” Perhaps everyone would be better off if they called a truce while Braeden and the king drowned their sorrows in a jug of wine.

  “Surely that wouldn’t keep him from fighting?” Mattila shook her head. “If it were me, I would be eager for revenge. I might not be Teodora, but I’m here.” She grinned, an unsettling, wolfish smile ill-suited to her otherwise grim features.

  “Might be he’s in shock.” Or maybe his limbs felt heavy like Braeden’s did and putting on armor was too much altogether. He’d heard the king was on the slender side.

  “There he is,” the archduchess said, as a cheer went up from the Norovaean troops.

  “Orland too,” said an officer who’d been watching through a glass the whole time. “Though he’s continuing on to the right flank.”

  “Time for me to go then. Best watch yourself, General,” Braeden said. “The king might come for you after all.”

  “Oh, I hope so.”

  Arryk

  It was dark and quiet inside the tent and Arryk lay on his cot, burrowing into the blankets and staring at the wall. He craved oblivion. From time to time, he heard noises outside his tent, voices raised in anger or fear, but they always went away again. Most sounded familiar, but he couldn’t identify them and he didn’t care. It was over. There was no point in fighting anymore. He’d done what he came to do, and freed Gwynneth, but he should have gone home right after. Then Larisa would still be alive and none of this would have happened.

  He took comfort in knowing that if the coming battle was the last one, it would soon be over. Even if he was the ruler prophesied, he had to do nothing but stay right here for the end to come all the more quickly. He tried mustering up sympathy for the many who would die, but it was better for them this way, even if they didn’t realize it yet. The numbness he felt was better than the pain and horror that had nearly overwhelmed him earlier. Still, he reckoned death would be even better.

  Suddenly there was shouting outside and then light flooded the tent. It was Count Orland, his page close on his heels.

  “Help him with his armor,” Orland said to the boy, who started sorting through a pile on the floor.

  “I’m not fighting,” Arryk said.

  “You are.” Orland drew his sword.

  “You can’t threaten me.”

  “I’m not threatening you. I’m making you do your duty.”

  “There’s no point.” Arryk lifted his head. “She’s dead. The empress killed her.”

  “I’m very sorry,” Orland said, though he didn’t sound sorry. “But do you think she would want you to sit here while your troops fight and die? Do you think it’s what she would do if she were in your place?”
<
br />   That hurt.

  Arryk sat up, even though his limbs were so very heavy. “You’re right. She would never falter.” He pictured Larisa here now, laughing about something as she strapped on her armor. He stood. “But she was always so much stronger than me. I can’t do it without her.” He sat down again.

  Orland hauled him back up by his collar, and Arryk was too tired to protest. “You’re stronger than you know. You might not have her, but thousands of men and women out there followed you all this way and they will die if you don’t lead them.”

  Arryk didn’t know what to say to that, so he nodded, then let Orland and the boy get his armor on him. His eyes wouldn’t focus and he felt listless. Someone brought bread and wine and Orland nearly forced it down his throat. Arryk was sure he’d be sick, but it all stayed down.

  The two of them shoved him out of the tent and onto his horse. His vanguard was waiting for him and a cheer went up when he appeared. He lifted his hand and attempted a smile. Maybe Orland was right and he shouldn’t let down his brave troops. He saw Larisa’s bright eyes regarding him. “Stop being such an idiot,” she would have said.

  He took a deep breath. He would do this for her. Teodora would love to think she had broken him, but he wouldn’t let her.

  The sky grew light in the east and there were the first reports of the big guns. The gods were with him and he would find a way to win.

  Braeden

  He’d given his troops Mattila’s instructions and passed the word to Prince Novitny. Now Braeden waited for the battle to start. A puff of smoke appeared in a line from the top of a small hill opposite them and an instant later cannonballs shrieked overhead. Trisa started, but stayed put. It helped that her experienced horse didn’t mind the noise.