“I know.” Gwynneth reached over and patted his hand. “Why don’t I come with you?”
The doctor threw up his hands. “I can’t have the lot of you stomping about the room.”
“We’ll be quiet.” Gwynneth pushed a plate of cheese in the doctor’s direction and watched his eyes light up. No doubt he was hungry after his exertion.
“All right.” The doctor shrugged. “But I insist on complete silence.”
“Certainly.” Gwynneth stood, then led Braeden and Devyn out of the room and down the corridor to the surgery. She didn’t want to show it, but she was just as anxious as Devyn to see how Trisa was doing.
Trystan
After a night of prayer and contemplation, Natalya had her solution. “It’s too dangerous to do this as part of a large, conspicuous group,” she told Trystan. “I just patched you up; I don’t want to risk you getting hurt again.”
“Don’t worry about me.” Trystan couldn’t keep from grinning. “It’s you I need to keep safe.”
“Let’s worry about both of us.” Natalya smiled back. “This is my idea. We’ll send your party into Kronland to catch up to Lennart, wherever he may be. The two of us will take refuge in the nearest temple.”
“You want me to come with you?”
“I prayed about it and the gods made it clear they sent you to me for a reason. It would be unwise of me to abandon you at this point.”
“I agree.” Trystan didn’t bother concealing his delight. “So we find a temple and ask for help. What happens next?”
“We disguise ourselves as a priest and a priestess, going on a pilgrimage to one of the old Allaux temples.”
“In wartime?”
“That never stops a true pilgrim. We must disguise you of course, and teach you how to act like a priest.”
Trystan couldn’t see that going well, but held his tongue. The idea of going on an adventure alone with Natalya was beyond thrilling.
So at the border with Galladium, he sent the rest of his party west into Fromenberg, with orders to find Lennart and deliver a message. In it he made clear he’d sworn to get Natalya to Allaux and that he would come as soon as he’d accomplished that.
As he and Natalya descended from the mountains, they found a village and asked for the nearest temple of any size. It was down on the plain, inside a large walled town. They arrived with no problems; it seemed the war had not yet reached these parts.
Mother Celeste, the priestess in charge, was surprised and delighted to see Natalya. “No one knew what had happened to you, Your Holiness, and we feared you were dead. Besides the war, there’s trouble of another kind. I hate to tell you, but a few greedy souls are squabbling over your seat in Allaux.”
“I'm not shocked, though I’d hoped it wouldn’t happen.” Natalya shook her head. “Well, once I return I’ll make clear who’s in charge.”
With that news, they had to move fast. Natalya insisted on getting Trystan into disguise at once.
“He doesn’t seem very clerical, does he?” Natalya looked Trystan over, but not quite in the way he wanted her to. He worried she might start laughing.
Mother Celeste, standing beside her, had been chuckling.
Trystan scowled, hoping his face wasn’t too red. “Not every priest has to look clerical. Besides, shouldn’t a Kronland priest be different anyway?” They had decided his Galladian was too accented to pretend to be anything but a foreigner.
“I suppose so.” Natalya raised her eyebrows, apparently stifling a laugh. “You just ... Oh, I don’t know. You still look like a soldier.”
“I am a soldier.” Trystan loved seeing Natalya laugh, but not at his expense. “Why can’t I be a soldier turned priest?”
“Why not indeed?” Mother Celeste smiled, her eyes understanding. Was he that transparent?
“That’s my story then.” Trystan squirmed in the scratchy woolen robes, fearing he looked ridiculous. “I was a soldier, but received a vision, or whatever you lot think—” he caught himself, but not in time.
The smile vanished from Natalya’s face. “You must learn to be more respectful of the faith, Duke.”
He hated it when she called him that. While he’d been recovering she always called him by his first name.
“Of course. I apologize.” He hated apologizing too, but didn’t want to start off wrong. “This won’t be so easy, I’m afraid.”
“Perhaps it will help if you let the Maxima do the talking,” Mother Celeste suggested.
“Good idea.” Trystan couldn’t disagree with that plan.
They decided he’d keep his first name, which was common enough across Kronland, though Natalya would have to use another.
“I’ll be Mother Marya,” she said. “My old priestess, when I was a girl in Sanova.” She turned to Trystan, smiling again, though a bit cooler now. “Are you ready to go, Father? It’s a long way to Allaux.”
They’d rested their mules and decided to take them along. “Walking is more pilgrim-like, but it’ll take too long,” Natalya explained. “If anyone questions us, I’ll say we used to be wealthy folk who gave up our riches to seek the Mother’s blessing.”
Idiots. Trystan nearly said it, but held his tongue. Somehow he’d have to understand the devout a bit better. He’d been raised going to temple once a week, but never paid much attention to its teachings. Military training had comprised most of his education and that suited him fine.
Once they were on their own, Natalya wanted to talk about religion. He’d expected her to be cynical about it all, but she wasn’t in the least.
“I wasn’t popular in Allaux,” she mused. “Especially once I started on the true reforms. I had the support of some of the clergy, but many opposed me. Bad enough I had the favor of the king, but when I changed everything at the temples, I saw open hatred in their eyes.”
Trystan wanted to know exactly how much favor the king had shown her. According to rumor, quite a bit. But he sensed Natalya didn’t care to talk about that. “Tell me about your reforms,” he said, preparing himself for a long, boring monologue.
Natalya turned to him with a half-smile. “Are you sure you want to hear about them?”
“I want to get to know you better,” Trystan said, deciding honesty wouldn’t hurt in this case. “And this is clearly important to you. So I want to learn more.”
The look on Natalya’s face told him he’d said exactly the right thing.
Maryna
When Maryna had first seen the mountains at the beginning of winter, their beauty had impressed her. By the time they left them behind in the Fromenberg foothills, she never wanted to see another snow-capped peak.
“It’s so beautiful,” she exclaimed with delight at the velvety green of the valleys and the budding trees.
“I never want to see another mountain,” Anton said, riding at her side as he usually did.
“I was thinking that exact thing.” She turned to smile at him, pleased at his answering grin. Once the excitement of the rescue and shock over her father’s death had worn off, she’d felt so dreary. It continued for weeks and didn’t get better. She felt bad for Anton, because she knew he wanted to cheer her up, and it seemed impossible. “Where do we go from here?”
It seemed Anton already had a plan. “First, I’m taking you to Princess Keylinda,” he said. “We need to spread the word that you’re alive to everyone in Kronland, and we must learn any news before I take you further. I don’t accidentally want to lead you into danger. I’ve been gone for months and a great deal may have changed.”
“I’d love to meet the princess.” Now Maryna couldn’t stop smiling. For the first time, she would meet a fellow Kronland ruler as an equal. She wished she wasn’t wearing such a ridiculous dress. When she first got it, she’d found it very quaint and pretty; white embroidery on red wool in the style of the Tirovor mountain villages.
Now she realized it made her look like a village girl and not at all a princess. Even her hair was in two simple braids,
the only style Greta knew. Perhaps Maryna could beg a real maid off of Princess Keylinda and send Greta home. She was nice enough, but treated Maryna like a little girl. Maryna was sick of it.
She dropped back to talk to Greta. “What do you think of Kronland so far?”
“So flat.” Greta wrinkled her nose, eying the rolling green hills with disdain.
“Isn’t it wonderful? Your mountains are beautiful, but I missed the forests and the green everywhere.” Maryna took in a deep breath of the cool, damp air. “Doesn’t it smell delicious here?”
Greta wrinkled her nose again, shaking her head.
“Captain Kronek just told me we’ll be stopping at the palace of Princess Keylinda Marthaler, who rules this kingdom.” Maryna paused, wanting to be tactful. “If you’ve had enough of travel, you are welcome to go home, since I’m sure the princess can give me another suitable companion.”
“With all respect, Your Grace, I promised the Maxima I’d stay by your side until I delivered you to your mother. Do you suppose she’ll be here?”
“I doubt it, though I have no idea where she is.” Maryna smiled at Greta. “I’m of course happy to have you along. I just worried you missed your family and village.”
“Them?” Greta stared. “I’ve never been so glad to be away from a place in my life. My family’s all right, but none of them have an adventurous bone in their body. And worse...” She looked around, dropping her voice. “They wanted to marry me off to my third cousin. He’s not only boring, but a bit slow.”
Maryna laughed at Greta’s indignant expression. “You marry cousins too? I thought only royalty did that. There aren’t enough of us to go around, it seems.”
“Same in my village,” Greta said, and then they both laughed.
Sometimes, Greta was all right, though her mouth fell open and stayed open when Princess Keylinda’s palace, Sarbrunnen, came into view.
It occurred to Maryna that she’d probably never seen a palace before. “It’s lovely, isn’t it? It reminds me a bit of the Maxima’s palace in Allaux. I suppose Fromenberg copies Galladian architecture, as so many kingdoms do now.”
“What’s architecture?” Greta asked. “And why is one little princess living in such a huge building?”
Maryna laughed again. Now they were traveling down the long, tree-lined approach to the palace. “I don’t know if she’s little. And she likely has a family, and servants of course.”
Greta shook her head and snorted, still apparently finding the idea ridiculous. “No one needs that many servants.”
“You do in a house that size.” Anton had slowed down so they could catch up to him. He smiled at both of them. “I’m looking forward to a few nights in a real bed. I need you to come up front with me, Your Grace. Otherwise I doubt the princess will let us in.”
Maryna went ahead with Anton. She hoped the princess would believe it was her.
The guard at the main gate looked at them sideways, but their party was large and Maryna put on her snootiest princess airs. He didn’t seem too impressed, but sent a message to the princess all the same.
They didn’t have to wait long before Princess Keylinda herself came out to meet them. Maryna had expected someone old, but she was not quite middle-aged, with a face as common as Greta’s.
“You must come inside, of course,” she said, her hazel eyes sweeping over the large party. “At least you, your servants and the officers. The rest might have to stay in town.”
“That’s fine, Your Grace,” Anton said, before Maryna could speak. “We only need to rest a night and get the news from you.”
“I insist you stay at least three nights,” the princess said, leading them through the great double doors. “I have so much news it will take days to tell you all of it.”
Lennart
Lennart had had nothing but trouble on his way north. Mattila appeared to be gone, but the population of Tirilis was not so obliging. In the most awful late winter storms, they’d mounted an effective guerilla attack on Lennart’s tightly massed troops as they marched up the Lantura road. The numbers he’d lost weren’t so bad, but supplies were stolen or destroyed at an alarming rate and morale was low. Lennart just wanted to get out of this gods-cursed land, but a sudden thaw turned all of the roads to mud.
The wagons traveled through it slowly, with a great deal of effort by soldiers detailed to steer them through ruts and dig them out of the deepest holes. The artillery was far worse off, and finally Lennart gave up on keeping the largest pieces with the main force. He assigned a regiment to guard them, telling the colonel in charge to just get them to Lantura where they would at least be safe from the marauding Tirilians.
He’d hated leaving Tora Isenberg behind, in charge of Richenbruck, but he couldn’t afford to abandon that important city. Especially since he wasn’t sure of Mattila’s location. It made sense she was hurrying toward Terragand, but with Lennart’s luck, she was lurking just out of sight of his scouts, waiting for a good moment to pounce on him.
But while the mud provided many opportunities, no larger force took advantage of them and Lennart finally led his ragged, exhausted force across the border into Lantura. Though he hadn’t always been the most enthusiastic ally, Prince Eldrid took him in readily enough and Lennart spent a few days recovering at his palace.
“There’s something wrong with Tirilians,” Prince Eldrid said as they sat at breakfast the first morning, motioning toward his head, as one might indicate the mentally feeble. “In my opinion, they’re barely civilized.”
“They sure didn’t act civilized.” Lennart felt like he’d been traveling for months, though it had taken him merely eight days to get here from Richenbruck. Normally, the journey took less than three. “But they had cause to be angry with me.” He told Prince Eldrid about fighting Mattila’s fires with fire.
The prince frowned. “I can’t say I approve of driving folk from their homes, but she’s worse than anyone. At least you drove them toward food and shelter, even if they didn’t much like it. I had an awful time with her during King Arryk’s war. Destroyed half the kingdom. Fortunately for me this last time, she crossed without causing the least bit of trouble.”
“So she crossed Lantura recently?” Lennart asked eagerly.
“She did. Even sent me a somewhat polite message informing me of the fact. Told me not to get involved.” Prince Eldrid turned a beady gaze on Lennart. “Not that I was going to anyway.”
“I wouldn’t want you to try, at least not on your own.” Lennart hoped he sounded reassuring. “You’ve probably heard what’s happened in Terragand. Did Mattila say she was headed that way?”
“Didn’t say. Though it makes sense. Mattila strikes from the south, Teodora from the west.”
Lennart’s mouth went dry, though he’d thought of nothing else for the past weeks. “I’ll stop both of them somehow. I hope Mattila tries marching through Podoska. Princess Edyta won’t stand for that.”
“No, she won’t.” An amused grin played at the corners of the prince’s toothless mouth. “That’s why I reckon she’ll go through Oltena.”
“Princess Galena won’t stand for that either.”
“Maybe not. But she doesn’t have much to throw in Mattila’s way. If she’s lucky, she’ll get a polite letter, and if she’s smart, she’ll step aside.”
“She might at least try to slow her down.” Lennart grumbled. Whatever Mattila did, he couldn’t linger here. He’d scrape off the mud, give his cavalry a day’s rest, then they’d have to head north as fast as possible.
Though Prince Eldrid claimed to have no troops to spare, and Lennart was in too big a hurry to press the issue, he provided Lennart with everything he needed by way of supplies and repairs. Getting all the wagons and artillery carriages back in shape would take at least a week, much longer than Lennart had planned. He couldn’t wait for them.
“I’m taking the horse and going ahead,” he told Leyf Lofbrok. “You follow with everyone else as soon as you’re ready.
Leave behind anything that can’t be fixed in the next few days.”
“You don’t want to attack Mattila in Oltena?”
“I want to, but I can’t. I can’t catch up to her with all of the infantry and artillery, but I can’t take her on without them.” Lennart had to stop himself from stamping his foot in frustration. “But I reckon I can get around her, maybe through Podoska, and reach Heidenhof before she does.”
“Then you’d better go,” Lofbrok said. “I’ll pray for Mattila to get stuck in the mud, and follow as fast as I can.”
Lennart left out early the next morning with all the cavalry and dragoons he could gather on fresh horses bought from Prince Eldrid. At this rate, the prince was earning a pretty penny from all of the armies marching politely across his land, paying inflated prices to horse dealers and wheelwrights.
He’d ridden north a half day when a scout came galloping up. “Messenger from Oltena, Your Highness,” he said. “Just up ahead.”
At that, Lennart spurred his own horse to a gallop, hoping to meet the messenger more quickly. “What’s the word?” he shouted as soon as the mud-spattered, exhausted young man came into view.
“You’re to come to Oltena at once.” The man fumbled with a leather pouch, handing the letter inside to Lennart. “Princess Gwynneth needs you to accompany her to Terragand.”
Lennart took the letter. “Princess Gwynneth?” He read, swearing under his breath. He was glad that Gwynneth, Braeden and the two children had turned up again, but now he had to stop Mattila from overrunning them at Delsenhof.
Anton
Princess Keylinda hadn’t been joking about the news. Anton and Maryna sat across from her in her drawing room, both their mouths open, though Anton remembered to close his at some point.
“So you’re saying,” he began when the princess paused for breath, “you’re saying that Princess Gwynneth joined the peasant revolt and then Teodora defeated her?”
Fall of the Titan (The Desolate Empire Book 5) Page 4
