Officers crowded the major’s tent, many of them already drunk, and very happy to see Anton and Susanna. Once word of Susanna’s pregnancy had gotten out, the men treated her more respectfully, but Anton was the target of endless good-natured ribbing.
Working with drunk gamblers could be boring, but tonight Anton saw a lot of high-ranking officers, so he hoped to get information about plans for the next action.
“We’ll be on the march soon, mark my words,” a mustachioed colonel said. “Lennart is only forty leagues south of here, and we already know Ensden doesn’t want us to engage him. He’ll call us north to get us out of harm’s way.”
“Why shouldn’t we engage?” Anton asked. Now he felt better, his enthusiasm for fighting was returning. Surely not every battle would be as bad as the last one.
“Ensden doesn’t want to fight Lennart if he doesn’t have to. He’s better off sitting pretty in Kaltental, while Lennart spends all of his coin and goodwill, keeping his armies fed through the winter.”
“What if Lennart wants to fight in the winter?” Anton asked, remembering what the count had said about Estenorians not being bothered by the cold.
“Then Ensden might have a problem.” Maybe it was because the colonel was drunk, but he didn’t seem too worried at the prospect. “Lennart will still need to draw him out of Kaltental, make him stand and fight. And Ensden is too experienced to respond to provocation. He’ll draw Lennart in close, then let him rot through a few months of winter. Once his army is weakened by disease and desertion, we’ll strike. Ought to be an easy win, when the time comes.” The colonel looked up at Anton and winked. “You’ll just have to cool your heels. Might be your little one will come before the next big battle.”
Anton couldn’t decide if that would be a good thing or not. He worried about Susanna, but once a baby came, he’d worry about it too. He wished he could find a spot to shelter his little family, then shuddered, thinking of how his mother had died in a place Braeden had been certain was safe.
Kendryk
The weather held, making Kendryk’s journey to Ummarvik pleasant and fast. In spite of Mattila’s unfriendliness, she did nothing to hinder his passage, so he, Count Faris and their small escort took their time crossing the kingdom. Kendryk had good reason for his leisurely pace. He was curious about how well-established Mattila was in Brandana, and wanted to learn as much as he could while he was there. He made a point of inviting himself to the homes of all the nobility on his way north, and learned from them that Mattila was both feared and unpopular.
“She collects taxes in a way Princess Floreta never did. I’m sure it’s illegal,” a countess whispered to Kendryk as they sat at dinner in her pretty manor house. Located just north of the Lera River and south of the Ummarvik border, the countess’s lands were particularly vulnerable if Princess Floreta decided to reconquer her kingdom.
Kendryk wondered why the countess was whispering. Did she expect Mattila’s spies in her own household? “I’m sure once Lennart has dealt with Teodora, he’ll set things right here,” Kendryk said, offering an encouraging smile. He was not certain of this, but if Mattila refused to ally herself with Lennart, he’d have no use for her, especially once he’d rid the empire of Teodora.
“I hope so.” The countess stared into her soup. “Everyone I know is very unhappy with Mattila. If only we could overthrow her.”
“Why can’t you? I heard Teodora left her with only a regiment.”
“It’s true.” The countess nodded, still looking around furtively. “But she’s recruited from here and there, and she’s got plenty of money, especially after bleeding us dry. So we can’t recruit, but she can.”
“How many troops does she have?” Kendryk reckoned this might be useful information for Princess Floreta, whom he expected to see when he reached Ummarvik. He hadn’t seen much military activity himself, but Mattila was unlikely to share information with him.
“It’s hard to say—she never invites me to her castle—but the Baron Kretzhof told me he counted at least eight thousand when he stopped there last month.”
“That’s not so much,” Kendryk said, thinking of the force Lennart would assemble in a few months. “I will ask Lennart to intervene as soon as possible. Aside from her illegal activity, I found Brynhild Mattila quite an unpleasant character.”
The countess shuddered. “I agree—so barbaric. She’s Moraltan, you know,” she added as if that explained everything.
When Kendryk reached Ummarvik, he was greeted coolly by its ruler Prince Ossian—who turned over a pile of letters from Gwynneth—and rather sentimentally by old Princess Floreta, who wanted to spend hours with Kendryk, commiserating over the loss of their kingdoms.
But Kendryk had no time for that. He left the princess with polite assurances, then went in search of Tora Isenberg. He found the general camped near the coast with a large force. After her defeat at Ensden’s hands, she’d replenished her army with troops recruited in Zeelund and a mercenary force recently arrived from Anglana.
“I have at least fifteen thousand here,” she told Kendryk as they toured the vast camp. “Though I’d be happy to take on more if you can convince Prince Ossian to help.”
“I’ll try if you like,” Kendryk said. “Though he seems intimidated by Brynhild Mattila.”
“Ridiculous,” Isenberg said, turning away from camp, and striding down a path leading to the beach. Kendryk had to hurry to keep up. Isenberg was no taller than he was, but had long legs, moving rapidly everywhere she went. “Mattila is no threat to us right now, even if she won’t support us. She will sit there and see how things go, before throwing her weight on the winning side.”
“That might be bad,” Kendryk said.
“Not if we’re the winning side.” Isenberg grinned at him. She walked out onto the beach, then stopped. Though the sun was warm, a chill wind blew and the beach was deserted, but for a few soldiers digging for clams, or checking traps set for crab and lobster. Not too far out, eight warships lay at anchor. “If the weather holds, they’ll take us to Terragand.” Isenberg nodded in their direction.
“And if it doesn’t?”
“Quite the optimist, aren’t you?”
Kendryk had to smile. “Can you blame me?”
Isenberg chuckled. “No, I don’t blame you. But you must expect things to get better from now on.”
“Will Lennart take on Ensden before winter?” Kendryk stared at the ships, thinking he’d enjoy a short journey on one of them.
“I hope so. He knows Ensden doesn’t want a fight, but Lennart will do his best to provoke him.”
“Ensden won’t fall for that,” Kendryk said.
“Might not.” Isenberg shrugged. “But Lennart might get lucky. He often does.”
“That’s true,” Kendryk said, remembering his aunt’s coup in Helvundala. “I wish him all the luck in the world.”
Rather than enjoy Prince Ossian’s chilly hospitality, Kendryk stayed with a cousin of his, Duke Arvus Dahlby, who lived in an old castle not far from Isenberg’s camp. He wanted to become better acquainted with Isenberg’s force, while trying to wring a few thousand troops out of Prince Ossian.
“My cousin is a fool,” Arvus sniffed. “It’s obvious Lennart will win this war, and those who support him now will benefit the most.”
“Would you be willing to send an army of your own?” Kendryk asked.
“I’d be willing all right.” The duke grinned. He and Prince Ossian shared long, craggy faces, but while the prince wore a permanently dour expression, the duke’s eyes were merry, and frequent laughter traced the lines on his face. He sighed. “But I can’t send any of my troops overseas without Ossian’s permission.”
“Terragand is hardly overseas,” Kendryk said. He’d be willing to march the duke’s forces overland if the technicality helped him.
Arvus shook his head. “I know it’s not. But my cousin has forbidden any of us to take troops beyond Ummarvik’s borders without his permission.”
“I’ll try to get it then,” Kendryk said, sounding more confident than he felt.
He took his first chance to read Gwynneth’s letters, and as he worked through the bundle, ordered by date, felt a growing sense of dread. In an hour’s reading, Natalya went from difficult to sinister, while Gwynneth had agreed to undertake a delicate mission for Gauvain.
Kendryk had endless faith in his wife’s abilities, but feared her running afoul of Natalya. Gwynneth had been vague as to the nature of her mission, but Kendryk could guess at it. He didn’t want Galladium at war with Maladena either, but even more, he wanted Gwynneth and his children safe. It was all he could do to stop himself from dropping everything and going straight to Allaux.
Elektra
The moment Elektra realized she was trapped, all she could think about was saving her army. “Fall back!” she shouted, wheeling her horse, and riding along the ranks. “They were waiting for us,” she explained to Major Linser when he appeared at her side. “We’ve got to get away.”
“We can try.” The major was breathing hard. “A second enemy force is outflanking us. They’ll be upon our rear in a few minutes.”
Elektra stared at the major in confusion. “How will we escape?”
“We won’t all,” the major said. “Although you must. Take the cavalry and the dragoons, and make for Arcius. Princess Zelenka will help you.”
“But the infantry,” Elektra wailed. They were her pride and joy, though not much longer, judging by the sounds coming from the camp.
“I will try to save as many as I can,” the major said, already turning away. “Those of us who survive will follow, and meet you in Arcius. Now go, before someone catches you. The enemy knows you’re here. I heard one of their officers call out that he wanted you alive.”
Elektra’s heart fell into her feet. Who besides her mother might want to take her alive? The answer came to her in a panicked rush. She didn’t know why Braeden Terris would be here, but now her mind had turned to him, she certainly sensed his presence. He would have known exactly how she’d deploy her infantry, and she’d held her small cavalry back just as he’d explained it to her and Karil, one evening around the fire.
She put the spurs to her horse, looking around wildly, seeing Braeden’s massive form in every shadow. If he caught her, there was no telling what he might do. She forced her horse to gallop in spite of the dark and uneven forest trail. Falling off and breaking her neck was still better than being caught by a man who had to want revenge for what she’d done.
On her left, the enemy engaged her company of dragoons. “Fall back, fall back!” she screeched. “Follow me.” She turned without waiting to see if anyone did, then hurried toward the cavalry, standing restlessly on her right. No one had given them the order to engage, and now she was glad of it.
Branches whipping against her face had opened her cheek, and the wound stung as sweat rolled into it. She wiped at it, blood smearing her glove. “We must return to the road,” she said to a cavalry captain who’d come forward, his eyes wide and worried. “The battle is lost, and we have to get out of here.”
“How? Where? Are you sure?”
Elektra didn’t like being questioned, especially right now. Her heart thumped madly, and she could hardly breathe. Was it possible to die of fear? Losing the battle and dying that way wasn’t as bad as Braeden catching her; she mustn’t give him a chance to do it. “We’re leaving.” She gasped it out between panicked breaths. “We get onto the road south, turn east at the crossroads, and make for Arcius.” She pulled her horse around, and headed for the road, hoping the others would follow. If they were smart, they would. It was obvious by now that things weren’t going their way.
By the time she reached the road, dragoons pounded down it, trying to get away from the outflanking enemy troops.
“Are they following you?” she asked an officer as she drew level with him.
“Doesn’t look like it, thank the gods,” the officer said, though he looked over his shoulder as he rode. “They did their best to push us toward their camp and I wasn’t having it.”
“Good man,” Elektra said, hoping more of her troops showed such sense. She slowed down a little and looked back, relieved that most of her cavalry had joined her. Then she urged her horse on, and it bounded eagerly down the smoother road. The moon shed little light, but she was glad of it, since that would make her a less clear target. She remembered Braeden’s charger Kazmir, and shuddered. She doubted her horse could outrun him.
Everything depended on her head start, so she let her horse gallop for a time, but as the panic subsided, she pulled back. Arcius was still a long way off, and she needed to spare him.
Several officers she barely knew now flanked her, probably waiting for orders. She’d only become friendly with the infantry officers, and a sob caught in her throat as she wondered if she’d see any of them again. She cantered until they reached the crossroads, then pulled to a stop and faced the officers. “We’ll turn east here, but won’t rest until we reach Kersenstadt.”
“What if they pursue us there?” someone asked.
Elektra licked her dry lips. “If their commander is who I think, they won’t come within ten leagues of that place.”
Lennart
“Ensden can’t put you off forever,” Alona Brynner said. “Kaltental is large, but it can’t possibly support an army of his size through the winter. And now you hold this end of the river, he can’t get more supplies that way.”
“Maladena can send them by sea,” Tavio Sora said. His large, mournful dark eyes nearly swallowed his face. By now Lennart realized that Sora would never see the bright side of things, but that viewpoint could sometimes be more useful than an optimistic one.
“Surely Norovaea won’t let them pass the straits.” Geffrey Manier frowned as he looked at the map spread out on the table. Lennart had reclaimed Birkenfels as his headquarters for the time being. Once his allies were gathered, it would be an easy matter to march up both sides of the river to Kaltental.
“Norovaea must let them pass,” Sora said. “King Arryk’s treaty dictates that he must not interfere with any imperial activities. As long as Queen Beatryz supports Teodora in this war, Maladena is considered an imperial ally.”
‘You’re correct,” Lennart said. “And I won’t blame Arryk for keeping his nose clean. He must do what’s best for his country.”
“Maladena will send many ships,” Sora said. “Great warships to accompany those carrying supplies. Your fleet cannot hold them.”
“Perhaps not.” Lennart stared at the map. The strait separating Norovaea from Kronland was narrow. He wondered if his few ships might at least harry the Maladenes, and then he thought of something better. “That’s it,” he said. “A blockade. My twenty ships will be more than enough, and we needn’t put Arryk in an awkward position.”
“Do you have any idea when Maladena might send those ships?” Manier asked Sora.
“I’m sure they’ve already sailed. They will try to get in and out of Kaltental, and be clear of the Anglana straits before the weather turns.”
“We can’t let them get through,” Lennart said, wishing he had a bigger navy. It had been enough to deal with Sanova, but the Maladene navy was larger, and one of the finest in the world. “I’ll write to my admiral, and tell him to prepare for blockade. And I’ll tell Meldahl to see the ships are well-supplied with armaments. I’ll leave the details to General Lofbrok.”
Lennart stared at the map, his elbows propped on the table while the others were silent, waiting for his orders. He had enough to march on Ensden now, even before Braeden and Trystan returned with reinforcements. Kendryk had already written that Mattila wouldn’t cooperate, though Lennart had half expected that.
Lennart slid his index finger up the map, tracing the river north. “My scouts tell me there are three enemy regiments here,” he said. “They’ll join Ensden soon, though they’re likely living off the land right now. We could march on
them, and maybe draw Ensden out before he gets settled in even further.”
“He won’t come out,” Brynner said. “He’ll sacrifice those three regiments instead. Knowing him, he’d sacrifice five or more.”
“Then we should let him make that sacrifice,” Lennart said, standing. “We’ll go now. We’ll take out these regiments, then keep moving north, show Ensden we mean business. Any other allies can catch up to us later.” Securing southern Terragand had been strategically useful, but Lennart was getting the uncomfortable impression that Ensden might think he was shying away from a fight. Lennart planned to disabuse him of that notion.
Gwynneth
Gwynneth awoke with a start as the coach came to an abrupt stop. She heard loud voices, and peered out the window. It seemed they were near the top of the mountain, with the border straight ahead. Perhaps someone was meeting them.
Gwynneth sat back in her seat, patting her hair. That was more an impulse than anything; she doubted she’d need to impress a border official as long as she had the king’s seal. The door opened with a brief knock, and a tall man climbed in, pulling off his hat as he entered.
“Good afternoon, Your Grace,” he said in Galladian.
Gwynneth stared at him as he sat on the bench across from her, Catrin scrambling to make way.
“And you are?” Gwynneth asked.
“Count Peryn LaFontant.” He fixed a hard, dark-eyed gaze on Gwynneth. “In personal service to His Majesty, King Gauvain Brevard.”
Gwynneth’s breath caught, her first thought for her children. “What’s happened?” she whispered.
The count reached inside his doublet, and pulled out a letter. Gwynneth recognized the king’s seal, and broke it with trembling hands.
The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3 Page 133
