The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3

by Christina Ochs

  “They’ve gone right over our heads, like I said they would.” Braeden kept an encouraging tone.

  “Who’s behind us?”

  “Infantry reserve, most like. Poor devils.”

  “Can they get away?” Trisa looked pale.

  “No. They have to stand there until they’re called up, or the barrage ends.”

  “Stand there and die?”

  Braeden nodded.

  “That’s why we’re not infantry,” Franca said.

  “Thank the gods.” Trisa shook her head, her color returning.

  “Enough chit-chat,” Braeden said. “Orland’s finally up there. Remember, he’s mine.”

  Mattila’s center moved forward and another cheer rose from the Norovaean side. Perhaps King Arryk was making a counter-move. Knowing Mattila, she’d go slow and draw him in, then strike hard.

  She outnumbered Arryk in any case. It didn’t help he’d jammed up all of his reserves behind the village. It was Braeden’s job to make sure they didn’t get out.

  From what he could tell, Mattila’s right flank had already engaged. Smoke drifted over the field as the great guns kept firing at ragged intervals now, but steadier than Braeden would have liked.

  Braeden gave the signal and the hussars advanced. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Trisa keep pace with him. They walked the horses until they got closer to the enemy line. No point in using lances, since the cuirassiers would have none of their own. Their armor would be thick, so it was best to get in close. After spending their pistols, it would be saber and axe. Braeden recognized the thrill of anticipation and worries about his family moved to the back of his mind.

  These moments just before engaging were the most tense. Kazmir splashed across a creek, nearly dry from the summer heat, and Braeden spotted Arian Orland ahead, the purple plume waving from his black helmet. He raised his pistol, but knew he was still out of range. It was hard to wait. But even worse to fire too soon and miss, then have your pistols spent while the other fellow still had his.

  Braeden pushed his visor down. Orland stared straight at him before clapping his down as well. With such heavy armor, Braeden would have to get very close to deliver a killing shot. He’d get only one chance, and then he’d have to continue on to complete his mission. He urged Kazmir into a canter and hoped Trisa kept pace, since he’d lost his peripheral vision.

  Orland had a pistol raised. A page rode at his side, so he was sure to have more loaded. Braeden kept his eye on the count and raised his pistol, aimed. He fired at the purple falcon on the middle of Orland’s chest and felt a great blow on his at the same instant, knocking the wind out of him. Braeden doubled over, gasping for air and when he looked up, saw that Orland had halted as well. Braeden wondered if he’d scored his own hit. Orland seemed to recover and lifted another pistol while Braeden fumbled for his. He didn’t know what had happened to it.

  Kazmir kept up a smooth canter, and a pistol materialized in Braeden’s left hand. Trisa was right there. But when Braeden took aim, Orland had disappeared. Cuirassiers thundered past at an angle, engaging Novitny on the far left.

  He heard a far-away voice and pushed up his visor. He felt sick and needed to breathe.

  “Are you all right, sir?’ Trisa shouted in his ear. The gunfire was deafening. “Did he hit you?”

  “He did.” Braeden looked down and noticed a large dent in the middle of his cuirass. “If he’d been three feet closer I’d be dead.”

  “So would he,” Franca said, coming up on his right. “Looks like they’re moving on. Shall we make for the village?”

  It was nearly impossible to see since the little valley had filled with smoke. The guns were still blasting, but most likely, Mattila’s reserves were now out of range as they took on Orland. The hussars knew to keep an eye on their rear just in case the pike didn’t do their jobs.

  Braeden had to slow down. The ground was soft and some infantry had already fought here. Braeden wondered how long it had taken him to get here. Plenty of dead and wounded, horse and human were scattered about, some still dangerous. “Shoot anyone who moves, wounded or not,” he told Trisa. They held pistols in both hands now.

  Finally, he could see the village’s rooftops outlined in the smoke. “Hold up,” he said. There was no reason to get within musket shot. They only had to stop the reserves behind from coming forward.

  On his right, there was pandemonium. He caught glimpses of Mattila’s standards, and none of Arryk’s. Had it turned into a rout already? If so, those in the village didn’t know. Some tried to break out, but by now the hussars were there in force and it wasn’t an even contest.

  A rising wind blew the smoke around and from time to time Braeden spotted the pike formations behind the village. Then he looked once again and they were gone. All that remained now were those in the village, and they would run out of shot and powder soon enough at the rate they’d been firing.

  Braeden waited for orders to start the cleanup.

  Gwynneth

  Gwynneth left Sanova over land, accompanied by a hundred Sanovan guards headed by Count Tarka. “We can’t have you captured, now you’ve gone to all this trouble,” Queen Ottilya said. Gwynneth felt as though they had nearly become friends. Ottilya also replenished her supply of coin, depleted after many visits to couturiers and paid out in bribes for her new friends.

  Gwynneth regretted no longer being able to travel on the Rusa incognito, but she needed to get her children and worried going by ship would take too long. She insisted on traveling on horseback and covering at least thirty leagues a day. The weather was bad, the roads muddy, but they managed it most of the time.

  She approached the Terragand border with her heart in her mouth, worried she would see devastation everywhere. To her surprise, things were calm. There’d been fighting in the south, but all was quiet further north. “We’ll go to Birkenfels,” Gwynneth told Count Tarka. “It’s out of our way, but I might find messages from my brother there.”

  She had hoped Arryk would keep her informed while she traveled, but he’d never been a good correspondent. Besides, it would be nice to see the castle again. Her heart ached when she thought of Birkenhof’s blackened ruins, but she understood why Kendryk had done it. She told herself they would rebuild a nicer palace when all of this was over and they were together again. She had to believe they would be or she couldn’t go on.

  It was a dark, gloomy day when they approached Birkenfels, and the towers didn’t emerge from the mist until they reached the ruined village. It had never been rebuilt. Gwynneth hoped its inhabitants had been able to start over in Runewald.

  As they neared the drawbridge a small armed party clattered across to approach them. Gwynneth rode ahead and was happy to see Merton’s friendly face. He was pleased, and astonished. “Your Grace! Is all well? We had thought you with King Arryk.”

  “Well enough, considering.” She fell in beside him as they crossed the bridge and explained what she’d been doing. “Is Count Faris here?” she asked.

  “Just returned a few days ago,” Merton said frowning. “I’m afraid there’s bad news from your brother.”

  “Oh gods.” Gwynneth felt herself turn pale. “Is he all right? Did Mattila kill him?”

  Count Faris hurried to meet her as she entered the courtyard. “It’s why I’m here,” he said, his face grim. He had aged a great deal since Gwynneth last saw him. His hair and beard were white, he walked with a terrible limp and needed a cane. He was accompanied by Trystan Martinek, a sharp-faced youth with dark red hair falling to his shoulders and unsettling green-gold eyes.

  “Tell me,” she said, taking a seat across from his desk, the same one Edric had occupied years before. She did her best to ignore Martinek’s strange stare.

  “I have little information,” Faris said. “But I do know Mattila defeated Arryk in battle, although it seems he survived.”

  “Thank the gods,” Gwynneth said, unable to keep her voice from trembling. But she couldn’t worry abo
ut her brother just now. “I’m afraid to ask. What about my children? Did my brother send them to safety before the battle?”

  “I’m not sure.” Faris looked sympathetic. “I have no news of them, though I’m sure we would have heard something had Mattila captured them. So as far as we know, they are safe, though I don’t know where.”

  It wasn’t the worst news, but it wasn’t good. “I have to find them. I must take them to Galladium with me.”

  “Of course.” Faris looked sympathetic. “We will help you in any way we can.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t quite understand why you’re here. Didn’t Arryk send for you before the battle?”

  Faris sighed. “I was in Lantura, trying to get Daciana Tomescu away from Seward Kurant’s army. Tomescu’s numbers are increased to several thousand irregulars. We’re not sure where they came from, but it’s said Teodora has been paying unemployed soldiers to join Tomescu’s ranks.”

  “Why not hire them for her own army?”

  “Oh, these are the dregs. Mercenaries who can’t keep a job because they drink too much, or are too stupid or stubborn to follow orders. They’ll work for cheap and are well-suited to Tomescu’s methods. They’re easy enough to defeat out in the open, but it’s hard to get them to fight there. We had some luck when we could take them by surprise, but Tomescu is too smart to let that happen more than a time or two. In any event, she fell upon Kurant before he reached your brother, killed him and scattered his army.”

  “Oh dear,” Gwynneth said, though she didn’t give a fig for Kurant. Anxiety for her brother and her children threatened to overwhelm her, and she gripped the arms of her chair until her hands ached. She couldn’t fall apart right now, not in front of these two, Kendryk’s last remaining allies.

  “After that, I prepared to join your brother. Duke Trystan has rounded up the remnants of Kurant’s force and plans to regroup from here. But by the time I reached the border with Lantura, I received word that Mattila had engaged your brother and defeated him.”

  Gwynneth couldn’t speak for a moment. “But surely,” she said. “Surely Arryk has some troops left. He can regroup.”

  Faris shook his head. “It was a complete rout, and your brother is making for the Ummarvik ports, hopefully before Mattila catches him and finishes him altogether.”

  “What about Hohenwart and Orland? Can’t they help fend her off?”

  “Orland is gone, probably to Tirovor, and Hohenwart was picked off before the big battle and is licking her wounds in Floradias.”

  Gwynneth silently cursed Orland for the treacherous dog he was, for all the good it did. But she reminded herself that all was not lost and told Faris and Martinek what she had been doing.

  Duke Trystan brightened. “That’s excellent news,” he said. “I have great faith in Lennart Ostberg’s capabilities. We must hope he can mobilize before Mattila overruns everything.”

  “He thought it might take more than a year.”

  “That might be too late,” Faris said grimly. “But in the meantime, let’s try to find the children. We can assume they are with your brother, unless you left instructions for him to send them elsewhere.”

  “I didn’t,” she said miserably. “Though I should have. I didn’t expect to be gone so long. I should have left Maryna in Galladium and sent the little ones after her.” In fact, it would have been wiser altogether to have sent them to the safety of Norovaea when the war first started, but Gwynneth had been certain that would look like admitting defeat. And there was no question the children had been helpful in raising the soldiers’ morale. She resolved to stop blaming herself until she found out what had happened to them.

  “You couldn’t have known how it would turn out,” Faris said. “Things looked much rosier when you first left.”

  “Yes, they did. I must go right now if I’m to catch Arryk before he reaches the ports. If he can’t find enough ships there Mattila will catch him and that will be the end of it.”

  “Stay tonight and rest, Your Grace. You can leave at first light. I will send a few scouts out at once to ride ahead and find your brother. In the morning, you can leave.”

  “I must send my escort back to Sanova.” She had promised the queen she would return them as soon as she gained her own troops in Terragand. “Can you spare a few guards? I want to travel fast and light.”

  “I understand, but the way is dangerous, so I insist you take at least three hundred. I can spare that and more since we had few casualties in the south.”

  “Thank you.” It was lovely to deal with Faris again, so competent and efficient after Arryk’s endless dithering. “Might I take Merton along? We’ve always worked well together.”

  “Certainly. I’m sure he’ll want to.”

  Gwynneth took a deep breath and told herself all would be well. Just to make sure, she spent the hour before bedtime praying to the Mother to keep her children safe until she could find them.

  Braeden

  “I can’t ask you to come along, any of you.” Braeden’s throat was still raw from the smoke of the battlefield. “I don’t know how long I’ll be there or what I might find.”

  “Novitny said any of us who want can go with you,” Reno said. He, Senta and Franca stood with Braeden while servants took down his tent and packed a small bag for him. He would travel light and sleep in the saddle. Trisa was getting Kazmir saddled. “Of course we’re coming.”

  “I’ll follow as soon as the wagon is packed,” Senta said. “I can be there a few days behind you with your things, so everything is ready when you find them. I’m sure you will need me to help.” Senta refused to accept anything except that Janna and the children were fine and waiting for Braeden, though they might be a bit hungry. He loved her for that optimism. It gave him hope.

  Novitny had taken most of the hussars to chase Orland south. After engaging the Sanovans, Orland’s cavalry tussled briefly with Mattila’s infantry, but turned tail and ran as soon as the extent of Arryk’s defeat became clear. Braeden didn’t blame him. No point in sacrificing his force in a hopeless cause. Mattila had gone after Arryk, who’d taken the remnants of his army north, headed for the Ummarvik sea ports.

  But now Braeden couldn’t think of anything but Kersenstadt. The small party rode fast and reached the outskirts after nightfall the next evening. It was dark and impossible to see the city. Braeden smelled smoke, but it seemed stale. Perhaps people were conserving fuel and not lighting lamps after dark. Braeden needed to get light and someone to help him find his way, but had no idea where to begin. All he knew was that he would kill Teodora if he ran into her. As it turned out, she had returned to Atlona with Count Ensden, so Reno led them to Demario Barela’s encampment instead, asking for the general’s headquarters.

  The camp was in appalling shape, with drunken soldiers everywhere and no sign of military discipline. The stench was unthinkable. Any troops still sober wandered aimlessly, looking sad or surly. Strange for a victorious army.

  They asked an officer on duty to notify Barela and he came out of his tent at once. Braeden was shocked at how much he had changed. His normally merry dark eyes were flat, his face thin and haggard and covered by a scraggly beard.

  “Please, come in,” he said to Braeden. He snapped his fingers for an adjutant and said, “Take the others to the colonel’s tent and get them something to eat and drink.” He looked at Reno and the girls. “I don’t wish to be rude, but I must speak with Commander Terris alone. You will join us later.”

  Braeden knew this couldn’t be good and laid a hand on Trisa’s shoulder when she made a small noise of distress. Reno took her away and then Braeden and the general were alone.

  “What happened here? You’ve taken the city, haven’t you?”

  Barela shook his head and waved Braeden to a chair, then seated himself. “We did. But someone blew the munitions depots.”

  “I heard about that.”

  Barela looked at Braeden, then reached for a bottle of something, poured two gla
sses and pushed one at Braeden.

  “I don’t want it.” Braeden shoved it away, sloshing golden liquid onto the table.

  “You need it.” The general knocked back his glass, poured himself another and topped off Braeden’s. “Trust me. You need it.”

  Braeden sighed, then drank it down. He didn’t want to argue; he needed to find out what had happened. He expected the drink to burn, but it was deliciously smooth. He’d never tasted anything like it.

  A pleasant warmth spread through Braeden’s chest, loosening up some of the tightness he’d felt around his heart for the past several days. It became a little easier to breathe.

  Barela poured more, and waited for Braeden to drink that too before speaking. “It got worse. The fire spread, or others were set. We still don’t know and we never might. The city is destroyed, all of it.” Barela clenched his teeth. “There is no building left undamaged and most are destroyed altogether. I am very sorry.”

  “What happened to all of the people?” Braeden had to keep his teeth from chattering. If he hadn’t been sitting, his knees would have buckled.

  “Dead.” Barela poured himself another drink, and another for Braeden. “Drink. Please. It’s the only way I can bring myself to tell you this.”

  Braeden obeyed. He wondered if the drink was causing the numbness, or something else.

  Barela drank again, then took a deep breath. “I sent a party of soldiers to look for your house and secure it, but they never returned. I even went myself once I could get away from Teodora but was driven back by the fire. Afterward, we found a few survivors, but very few. I have interviewed each of them, but haven’t found your wife. Those who made it were dragged out by my troops who intended to ransom them. They just happened to escape before the flames spread.”

  “I’d hoped maybe …” Braeden’s tongue felt too large. “I’d hoped someone would see the size of the house and try to ransom her.”