The Desolate Empire Series: Books 1-3

by Christina Ochs

  A cheer went up behind him and Lennart urged his horse forward, the Estenorian standard fluttering above his head. He knew he made a nice, big target, but he didn’t worry. The gods were with him in this, he felt it now. The light wind cleared the fog ahead of him, making it easy for the enemy to see what came toward them.

  To their credit, the first ranks of the pike held firm much too long for their own good. Lennart hated seeing such stout fellows fall like that, but before long, his muskets mowed down the enemy with some regularity. Lennart kept a steady pace going forward, shouting encouragement, getting off shots with his pistols when he got a chance.

  The first big block of pike broke and fled, causing confusion as they ran into the ranks behind them. Someone smart led there, as the block broke apart in orderly fashion, let those fleeing run through, and closed up again. Lennart spotted sleeves of musketeers at the edges of the pike, but that was the wrong place for them. If the muskets had been in front, it might have been a fairer fight.

  The pike held firm, but only for a little while and by then, Lennart had ordered the cavalry forward. The remaining soldiers were already so demoralized, just the sight of mounted troops made them break and run. Lennart waded in with his saber, cutting down those who couldn’t get away. It seemed plenty in the reserve ranks made for the Kaltental road without looking back. Lennart concentrated on those he could reach, and made prisoners of all who surrendered.

  Before noon, he’d destroyed two regiments, killed one commander, and taken another prisoner. It seemed only one had gotten away, but with so few troops he was unlikely to make a stand anywhere near here.

  Lennart looked around at the carnage, pleased. “That’ll send Ensden a message. He can hide behind Kaltental’s walls for now, but I’m coming for him.”

  Braeden

  “Lennart’s made good progress.” Braeden looked up from the message left for him at Birkenfels, handing it to Trystan.

  “Why didn’t he wait for us?” Trystan asked, giving the paper back to Braeden rather than passing it on to his sister, who clearly wanted to know what was going on. “I would have enjoyed a good fight.”

  “I doubt he needed us.” Braeden noticed he wasn’t as unhappy about missing out on a battle as he used to be. “He can manage more easily if we’re not all in the same place until he’s ready to fight Ensden.”

  Trystan paced the floor of the tiny library. “What if we don’t reach him in time? What if Ensden engages him too soon?”

  Braeden moved closer to the fire, warming his frozen hands. They were aching in a way that worried him. He hated the idea of turning into an arthritic old man before he was done here. “We’ll be lucky if Ensden engages him at all, though likely Lennart will try to starve him out.”

  “Will someone tell me what’s going on?” Karolyna Martinek snapped, grabbing the message from the table.

  Braeden didn’t care for the duchess. She was a lot like Trystan in demeanor, and even a little bit in looks, with that reddish hair and odd yellow eyes. But while Trystan tempered his belligerence with humor and an admirable amount of loyalty, Karolyna possessed no such virtues. All she cared about was victory in battle.

  “To be fair, she doesn’t have much choice,” Trystan had told Braeden once. “Being the heir to Podoska means nothing if she can’t hold the throne by force. I can think of at least two brothers and a sister who’d be happy to grab it from her if they could.”

  “Doesn’t she worry they’ll take it while she’s gone, if something happens to your mother?”

  Trystan shrugged. “Even if someone tries it, Karolyna’s got the army, and no doubt she’ll get Lennart’s backing if she needs it.”

  “So why didn’t she come out to fight when you did several years ago?”

  “She was pregnant. Left to her own devices she would have gone anyway, but her husband and Mother forced her to stay. She’s never forgiven me for that.”

  “Karolyna has children?” Braeden couldn’t picture a less maternal person, except for perhaps, Teodora.

  “Three at least,” Trystan said, shaking his head. “Might be more by now. I stay far away from that lot, since she has the most awful brats.”

  “Worse than the rest of you?” Braeden hoped Trystan realized he was joking.

  “Probably not worse.” Trystan grinned and shook his head. “You make a good point.”

  After that, Braeden tried to see Karolyna differently, although he had to admit his knowledge didn’t make her any more pleasant or friendly. Mostly, Karolyna seemed to think Braeden was so far beneath her he didn’t exist, and she only addressed him if he stood directly in her way.

  Karolyna read the message, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it on the floor. “Wonderful.” She stomped around the room while Trystan joined Braeden at the fire, rolling his eyes. “This is dated nearly a month ago. Lennart is probably at the gates of Kaltental by now.”

  “Probably,” Trystan said. “We’d better join him as soon as we can then.”

  Braeden was silent, thinking. Something bothered him about the whole plan.

  He was silent long enough that Trystan noticed. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m not sure,” Braeden said. “Just a hunch. I understand Lennart needs us at Kaltental, but I’m worried.”

  “There’s no one else to worry about,” Karolyna said with a snort.

  “Elektra’s out there,” Braeden said.

  “With a few hundred troops,” Trystan said.

  Braeden still couldn’t shake the feeling. “It’s probably not her, but it might be someone else. Or maybe it’s nothing.”

  Trystan frowned. “Your instincts are better than anyone’s. We shouldn’t disregard them.”

  “Well, I will,” Karolyna said loudly. “This is ridiculous. Lennart needs our numbers at Kaltental and has ordered us to go, so we’re leaving now.”

  Braeden was inclined to agree, but still didn’t feel good about it. He went ahead with his preparations, but Trystan was far too perceptive. “You won’t rest until you’re certain the archduchess is no longer a threat.”

  “I doubt it’s her,” Braeden shook his head. “I worry that Terragand is vulnerable, with all of Lennart’s forces concentrated so far north. It’s the perfect time for Teodora to make a grab.”

  “If she can. All of her resources are tied up with Ensden, and Lennart will trap him.”

  “As far as we know. That’s the part that bothers me.” Braeden appreciated Trystan’s trust, but wished he had something more concrete than a hunch to offer him. “And there’s something else. I’m sure the Sanova hussars serve Ensden now, but it makes little sense he’d keep them up there, trapped inside the city. He’d make better use of them sending them around to outflank us.”

  Trystan’s eyes lit up. “That makes a great deal of sense. They’ll wait until we all head north, then block us up in the Velta valley, just like Lennart is doing to the enemy right now. Fall on our rear while we’re busy with Ensden.” He paused for a moment then said. “I agree with you and think we should make provision for it. Lennart will understand and no doubt approve.”

  “Will he? His orders were exacting.”

  “They are, but I’m sure he hasn’t considered this. Why don’t we do this: you’ll take most of the cavalry and patrol this area. We still hold the Garsten Gap, so no one will get through there. But if anyone else tries the route we took, you’ll find out and be able to meet them. Even if you aren’t enough to stop them, you can slow them down and let the rest of us know what’s coming.”

  “Are you sure?” Braeden asked. “Your sister won’t like it.”

  “This isn’t her decision,” Trystan said, a gleam in his eye. “You needn’t take any of Podoska’s troops, but you can have the Lantura cavalry and I’ll offer all of mine. That’ll give you nearly a thousand. It’s not enough to stop a big force, but will be more than enough for a smaller one. What do you say?”

  “I say that sounds like a good plan.”

&n
bsp; Teodora

  “I don’t understand what’s taking so long.” Teodora regarded Livilla sharply. “You promised Aksel would be converted soon, but it’s been months and nothing has happened. Perhaps I need to use more forceful methods.”

  “He’s difficult to persuade,” Livilla said. “I haven’t talked to Father Marcus in some time, so I will see how things are going, and if we must, make adjustments. But there’s no rush, since Elektra isn’t here and likely won’t be for awhile.”

  Teodora ground her teeth. After escaping Princess Zelenka’s ineffective clutches, Elektra crossed the Sanovan border and disappeared. Teodora’s angry letters to her brother and his wife, Queen Ottilya, went unanswered, as usual. That they might harbor Elektra filled her with unease. On her own, Elektra wasn’t much of a threat. But what if she persuaded her uncle and the queen to back her against Teodora? With Sanova no longer at war, they might put considerable resources behind her. “I’ll get that girl back here, one way or another.”

  After Livilla had gone, Teodora decided she didn’t want to wait any longer. She left her study and went straight to the family wing of the palace. She paused outside the old nursery, hearing a hissing noise and lively chatter through the door. Teodora opened it and swept in.

  Aksel and a dark-haired young man stood at a table, staring intently at a yellowish liquid which smoked, bubbled, and made a dreadful noise in a beaker. Aksel looked up as Teodora entered. “Your Highness?” The question in his voice was no doubt because of her deteriorated appearance. Teodora had forgotten that he hadn’t seen her in some months.

  “Don’t mind me,” she said, then nearly choked on a foul smell rising from the beaker.

  “We’d better stop,” Aksel said. “Can you put it away?” he asked the young man as he came toward Teodora. “What is it, Your Highness? Is it the archduchess?”

  It took an instant for Teodora to realize he was asking about Elektra. It was possible he knew nothing about what had happened to her in the past several months. “Oh, she’s fine. With the army, somewhere in… well, I’m not exactly sure where she is right now.”

  “I was worried,” Aksel said. “She never said goodbye or wrote. I wondered if I’d offended her.”

  “Oh, she just had to leave in a hurry. Come, let’s take a little walk.” Teodora took Aksel by the arm and steered him into the corridor. She was about to choke on the terrible fumes clogging the room.

  “All right. Be sure you seal that bottle, Marcus,” Aksel called over his shoulder. “And open a window.”

  “So you’re finding Father Marcus a help to you?” Teodora asked as they walked down the long corridor. It wasn’t the ideal place for a chat, but at least she didn’t need to worry about eavesdroppers.

  “Oh yes,” Aksel said, eyes all aglow. “He’s a marvelous scientist, but so knowledgeable about many other things. Our conversations are fascinating.”

  “Do you discuss religion?” Teodora looked at Aksel out of the corner of her eye.

  To her surprise, Aksel flushed. “Well, as it turns out, religion is an area where I know more than he does.”

  Teodora laughed. “That’s impossible, since Father Marcus was trained by the League of Aeternos. Surely no one would be better versed in religion.”

  “The League training is excellent; I agree.” Aksel stopped in the middle of the corridor and turned to face Teodora, hands clasped behind his back. She wondered if he always stood that way when he was about to embark on a tedious lecture. “But it’s still lacking. Those of us following the Quadrene Creed have had a few years’ head start in studying the Scrolls. I’d like to think Marcus has perhaps learned more from me than I have from him.”

  Teodora stared at him. “Surely you’re not saying Marcus believes your views are even a tiny bit correct.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying. In fact, of late he’s been reading the sermons of Edric Maximus and has found them very enlightening.” Aksel’s blue eyes behind the spectacles were so guileless, it occurred to Teodora he didn’t realize what he’d just admitted.

  Perhaps she could lead him further. “Is that so?” she asked, trying to sound innocent. “It sounds like you’ve nearly turned Father Marcus into a Quadrene.”

  “I don’t know about that.” Aksel flushed modestly. “But I like to think I’ve at least persuaded him to understand why I believe the way I do. If he comes to the true faith, it will be through the guidance of the gods, not because of my efforts.”

  Teodora was dumbfounded. It sounded like Aksel had nearly succeeded in a conversion when it was supposed to be the other way around. Teodora would need to get rid of Marcus before he turned heretic himself. “That’s very, hm … interesting,” she managed. “You ought to be congratulated.” She rounded on him then, and Aksel’s eyes grew wide. “You’ve led a League cleric into heresy. Few do that and live to tell about it. Of course, Father Marcus will not.”

  It seemed what he had done had finally dawned on Aksel. “Your Highness, please. Don’t punish Marcus for this. We’ve only been talking; I’m sure his faith remains as firm as ever.” There was no question of the panic in his eyes.

  “We’ll see about that.” Teodora folded her arms and looked up at Aksel, smiling. “I’m afraid he must explain himself to the temple interrogators.”

  “Oh please, no.” Aksel’s voice trembled. “Please. This is all my fault. Please punish me instead.”

  It seemed the idiot really cared about his friend. Teodora wondered how she could put that to use. She needed leverage over her daughter and she needed it soon. “I have the perfect solution,” she said, her smile sweet. “First, we will meet with Livilla Maxima and you will dedicate yourself to the true faith.”

  Aksel made a choking noise. “I can’t—”

  “I’m sure the gods will understand you’re doing it to spare your friend’s life.”

  “Surely, Your Highness, there must be—” Aksel’s face was the picture of anguish.

  “There is no other way,” Teodora said, enjoying her victory. “You will convert now, or Father Marcus will die. Die horribly, I might add.”

  “My brother was right—you are a monster. I’m sure you realize the gods will condemn you for this, along with your other atrocities.”

  “You needn’t worry about my relationship with the gods. Now come, let’s go to the temple and when we’re done there, I’ll help you write Elektra a letter, telling her about your newfound faith.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand.” Aksel was flushed, still trembling with anger.

  “Come along now.” Teodora took Aksel’s arm and dragged him down the corridor while he cast anxious glances toward the nursery. Naturally his friend would be gone by the time he came back. “Elektra will be pleased to learn you’re no longer a heretic.”

  Anton

  During the attack, they abandoned everything except for Susanna’s cart.

  “As long as we keep it, we can start over,” she insisted, when Anton suggested leaving it behind so they could escape more quickly. Kaltental was still far away, the cart was heavy, and the roads terrible.

  Once it became clear that Lennart was unstoppable, Count Michalek himself ordered his regiment’s retreat. As a result, he was the only commander who survived the attack, along with most of his soldiers.

  They didn’t get far before realizing that the greater danger came not from the enemy, but from the elements. The shortest day of the year passed, and with it came a blizzard that never seemed to end. With no tent and no blankets, Anton didn’t know how he’d keep the two of them alive.

  “We’ll need these things later,” Susanna said, tears in her eyes, when Anton suggested trading their goods for warmer clothes, maybe even shelter somewhere.

  “We won’t need them at all if we’re dead,” Anton said, worried at Susanna’s blue lips. “People are desperate for food and liquor; I’ll drive a hard bargain.”

  She finally agreed and Anton crawled out of their little burrow, dug into
a hillside, facing away from the wind. If they stayed huddled together, they might not freeze to death. It was daylight, but still dark as the wind drove snow sideways. Anton tucked a cheese and a bottle under one arm, and pulled his cloak tighter with the other. He knew where to start.

  He struggled through deep snow and what passed for a camp. Almost everyone used what little equipment they’d salvaged to dig little caves like Anton and Susanna’s. The highest-ranking officers had the good fortune to live in the huts of an abandoned village nearby. Anton saw smoke coming from a chimney, so he tried that door first.

  He pounded on the door and heard “Go away,” from inside.

  Anton grinned, recognizing the count’s voice. “I’ve got liquor,” he shouted.

  After some grumbling and rustling the door opened. Count Michalek looked a sight, his hair disheveled, his eyes blood-shot, a dirty blanket wrapped around his shoulders. “Oh, it’s you,” he said. “Don’t remember your name, but I do remember that you’ve usually got liquor. And a pretty wife, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “Yes to both,” Anton said, brushing the snow off his cloak before stepping inside. The one-room hut was crowded, with at least four other officers and two dogs lounging against the walls. A pot bubbled over the fire and the air was steamy. “I’ve got excellent Sanova brandy,” Anton said, “and I can get more, but I’ll want something in return.”

  “Cheeky, aren’t you?” the count grumbled. “Though it’s true I ran out of liquor two days ago and I’m not feeling so great. What do you want?”

  “Shelter,” Anton said, “And a few blankets.”

  “You won’t fit in here,” the count said, looking around the crowded room.

  “I don’t want to stay in here,” Anton said, thinking he didn’t want Susanna surrounded by officers who might be inclined to take liberties. “Where are your horses?”