Fall of the Titan (The Desolate Empire Book 5)

by Christina Ochs

  At every hole, Elektra peeked into the rooms. “Just in case,” she whispered. “Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  While she looked, Anton listened. Most murmurs held fear and confusion at what was happening. But at one small room at the end of the corridor, he heard something else.

  Elektra put up her hand, but Anton had already stopped.

  “I don’t know how they discovered the passage,” a woman said. “But it’s no longer safe. I’ll have to find another way.”

  “We’ll hide you,” another woman said. “Once they’ve searched everything and haven’t found you, they’ll look outside and then leave.”

  “You must be clever about it,” the first voice said. “The leader of those soldiers might be a child, but the archduchess wants to get rid of me.”

  Anton nearly snorted at being called a child, but held back at the last second.

  “We won’t let her get you,” a third, masculine voice said.

  Anton flexed his fingers around his sword hilt.

  Elektra glanced at him and nodded to her right, then continued down the passageway. They walked a little while until Elektra stopped. Her light flickered against the wall, revealing a small iron handle. She turned that and a door opened inward.

  Anton stepped past her, into another cupboard. The light followed him, showing linens arranged on shelves. Anton listened, but heard nothing. Perhaps the room he needed wasn’t so close anymore.

  Holding his sword, he opened the cupboard door a crack and peered out into the corridor. It was empty. “Let’s go,” he whispered and felt, rather than saw Elektra’s nod.

  They stepped into the corridor, which was unfortunately not carpeted. Anton stepped as softly as he could onto the shining parquet. “Where is the room?” he whispered.

  Elektra walked ahead of him down the long, empty corridor, stopping in front of a door, and pressing her ear to it. When she nodded, Anton stepped forward and turned the handle.

  “Good afternoon, Princess,” he said, holding his sword ready. At first, he wasn’t sure which one was Princess Viviane, but it had to be the one with the haughty air, staring at the two of them in horror. Elektra had entered behind him, shutting the door with a bang.

  “Hey,” a man said, drawing a rapier.

  Anton smiled. “Put that little thing down,” he said. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

  The man lunged at him, but he clearly hadn’t used a blade in some time, if ever. Anton swatted at it a few times until he knocked it out of the man’s hand.

  “Don’t kill me!” the fellow shrieked.

  “I’ll spare your life if you surrender,” Anton said, his voice deep and stern. “And turn over the princess.” He almost laughed at how fast the others backed away from the princess, and at the disgust in her eyes.

  “You shouldn’t underestimate children,” he said, “Now come along, Princess. Time to return to your cell at the temple.”

  Lennart

  Now he had the beginnings of a plan, Lennart wasted no time in carrying it out. They left Podoska at speed, making excellent time across the flatter lands of the Sanova Marches.

  Taking no chances, Lennart sent dozens of scouts east in case Franca Dura sneaked up on them. As long as she didn’t surprise him, he wouldn’t mind confronting her here, before she linked up with Balduin’s forces.

  General Vidmar had reckoned Franca led between two and three thousand heavy cavalry. With Gwynneth’s force added to his, Lennart could just match that. Out here on flatter ground his lighter troops would be at an advantage. But it was more important to reach Heidenhof quickly.

  By riding thirty leagues a day, they reached the east side of the Garsten Gap in three days. Lennart sent scouts ahead, in case it had somehow fallen to the enemy. He didn’t expect that, since the sparse local population insisted foreigners still held it, by which Lennart supposed they meant Estenorians. Still, it was best to be careful.

  Though not a peep of complaint came from Gwynneth or her children over the brutal pace of their journey, Lennart worried for their safety. During a battle there was nowhere for them to take refuge. Birkenfels Castle might have been the obvious choice, but even though Count Faris held it, a small enemy force besieged him. Lennart considered keeping them in the nearest fortified town, but that wouldn’t be safe either if the battle went badly.

  Normally, Lennart wouldn’t even worry about that, but after being caught flat-footed by Mattila at Richenbruck, he’d become a little more cautious and perhaps a trifle less confident. That he might not win was a galling prospect, but he had to consider the possibility. Occupied with these grim thoughts, the scout's arrival took Lennart by surprise.

  “Our troops are still holding the gap,” the young man said with a grin. “No enemy on the other side, either.”

  “That’s great news,” Lennart said, tossing a silver coin in the scout’s direction. “That means they’re focused on Heidenhof and likely don’t have the numbers to spread out. We can take advantage of that.”

  He felt better already, and hurried toward the encampment outside the gap, Devyn and Braeden at his side. A baby-faced blond officer commanding the small force came to meet Lennart while struggling into an ornate doublet which, judging by its creases, hadn’t seen use in quite a while.

  “Your Highness,” the captain said, “this is quite a surprise. We heard you were in Tirilis.”

  “I was,” Lennart said, dismounting. “But I learned of the trouble up here and came as quickly as possible. General Lofbrok is further south with the bulk of my forces, hopefully making life miserable for Brynhild Mattila. What’s your name?”

  “Captain Lars Kindberg. I take orders from General Kalstrom, but haven’t received word from him in some time.”

  “That’s what I worried about. He likely can’t get messages out of the city.” Lennart followed Kindberg through the camp. “How many are you here, Lars?” He always made a point of calling his soldiers by their first names.

  The young officer flushed with pleasure at the king addressing him so informally. “About two hundred,” he said. “It’s been quiet for a long time, so we wouldn’t mind seeing action soon.”

  “You might,” Lennart said, then introduced Prince Devyn and Braeden, who’d followed right on his heels. “We need to make plans.”

  “This way please, Your Highness, Your Grace,” Kindberg said, flustered, while motioning toward a table set up in front of the largest tent.

  Lennart chuckled as a soldier attempted to hide the dice that had been laying on its surface, dropped them on the ground, then had to scramble for them.

  “Nothing wrong with a bit of entertainment while you wait for trouble,” he said with a grin for the soldier. “But that’s about to change.”

  They took their seats around the table, while Kindberg’s lieutenants joined them and a servant brought refreshments.

  Lennart was about to begin when he spotted Gwynneth hurrying in their direction.

  “Thanks for waiting for me,” she said, drawing her eyebrows together, and standing rather impatiently while one lieutenant nearly fell out of his chair to offer it to her. Even in her plain riding dress, her hair pulled back in a messy knot, Gwynneth lit up the dirty, drab camp like a brilliant candelabra.

  “Gwynneth, Princess Regent of Terragand,” Lennart said, though it ought to have been obvious.

  “Thank you for joining us, Your Grace,” Captain Kindberg croaked, his fair skin bright red.

  “Hm,” Gwynneth said. “Now I’m here, shall we discuss our plans?”

  My plans, Lennart thought, but decided not to respond out loud. He’d have to have a talk with Gwynneth soon about keeping herself and her children out of danger. In the meantime she wasn’t necessary for a council of war.

  Lennart motioned for a map to be laid in front of him. “Franca Dura and several thousand of her cuirassiers are in Sanova. Count Terris knows her well, and is certain she’ll come this way. We don’t know if she’ll try the gap or go around,
but we want to slow her down if we can.”

  “I’ll be happy to do it,” Kindberg offered.

  “It won’t be easy,” Lennart said. “Her cavalry is heavily armored, experienced and disciplined. I don’t want you to take unnecessary risks, but it’s likely you’ll be outnumbered and outclassed. Through no fault of your own,” he added, seeing Kindberg’s face fall. “So I don’t want you to meet her head-on. I’ll leave a few of my fastest scouts behind so they can see when she’s coming and what her route will be. Once you know that, I want you to deliver a surprise attack, then lead her on a chase. In the meantime, I’ll break the siege at Heidenhof. Try to lead her as far away as you can.”

  “She will never see Heidenhof,” Kindberg said, a scowl distorting his boyish features. “I swear it.”

  Trystan

  Trystan ran for the inns, stopping at the first two and telling the guards on duty to be ready. Then he hurried to his own, going straight to Natalya’s room.

  “De la Tours are looking for us,” he said to the guards, while he tried catching his breath.

  “How many?” one of them asked.

  “I only counted eight, but there might be more. They’re going door-to-door.”

  “Will we fight them?” The farmer looked rather eager.

  “Only if we have to. They’re better-armed than we are.”

  “Our mission is to take the Maxima to Allaux,” the farmer said, “but not all of us have to get there. Why don’t you take her, Madame Fouret, and a few of us and leave now? The rest of us can distract the searchers.”

  Trystan hesitated, but not for long. “All right,” he said. “I’ll tell the Maxima what we’re doing. Someone get Madame Fouret.”

  Natalya was already awake, probably from the commotion at her door. She’d been sleeping in her robes and braided her hair as Trystan told her the plan. “I think you’re right,” she said, “though there’s no guarantee we won’t meet more troops on the road.”

  “I realize that,” Trystan said, “but we can’t let them stop us here.” His heart pounded. What if the de la Tours had a hundred troops out there? He didn’t know how he’d get past them. “How far to Allaux?”

  “Twelve, perhaps fifteen leagues. We can make it by afternoon if we hurry.”

  “Then let’s hurry.” Trystan offered a reassuring smile and went to his room to retrieve his few things.

  Louise already stood in the corridor, fastening her cloak. “Life has certainly become more exciting since you came along, Duke,” she said with a smile.

  Trystan had already told her exactly which duke he was, though he doubted it meant much in Galladium.

  By the time they reached the inn’s courtyard, their mounts were ready. The innkeeper was an admirer of Natalya and a devout Quadrene, so he intended to keep any de la Tours at bay.

  “I’ve already sent a few boys in all directions to let us know when they’re coming. None have reported back, so your path to the western gate is clear. Unless you see an urchin running at you for all he’s worth, then try the north gate.”

  “Good enough.” Trystan swung into the saddle and wasted no time getting into the street. Natalya and Louise rode right behind him, followed by four farmers and their scythes. He needed more guards, but wanted to leave enough people here to keep the enemy busy.

  The way was clear but for the usual folk going about their business. They passed an inn holding members of their party, and Natalya waved at the fellow leaning out the window.

  “We’ll hold ‘em off, Your Holiness,” the man shouted after them.

  Trystan hoped it wouldn’t come to a real fight. Stout as they were, the farmers had little chance against trained soldiers and he didn’t know if the temple guards were reliable.

  He glimpsed the west gate in the distance when a little boy stumbled into the street in front of him, red-faced and breathless.

  “What word?” Trystan asked, pulling his mule to a stop.

  “Armed men… at the gate…” the boy gasped. He bent over, trying to catch his breath and his little red cap fell off. He caught it, clapping it back on his head, then stood up straight.

  “How many?” Trystan pulled out a pistol.

  “Four. Scattered out, looking around, on horseback.”

  “Thanks,” Trystan said, throwing the boy a coin. “We can handle four,” he said to the men behind him.

  “‘Course we can,” one of them replied.

  “It would be best if you didn’t kill them.” Natalya spoke up. “That might cause more trouble for us in Allaux.”

  Trystan scowled. “All right then, though it’ll be harder. Knock ‘em off their horses and scatter them. It’s likely we’ll have to hurt them. I hope that’s all right at least?”

  It was hard to conceal his annoyance, but it dissipated when Natalya smiled at him.

  With that, they got going again, at a canter this time. Trystan had both pistols out. If he took down two, the others could do the rest.

  By now he recognized the armor and tabards of the de la Tours, so he spotted them long before they saw him. They stood at various points on the street, the gate behind them.

  One faced in his direction so Trystan fired at him first. He hit him in the thigh and he toppled from his horse with a shout.

  The horse bolted, and Trystan turned his attention to another man standing at some distance. He brought his horse around, but was too slow, and Trystan’s next shot took him in the shoulder, beside his light cuirass.

  He didn’t fall off, but Trystan charged at him, slapping his horse on the rump with the flat of his sword. It galloped off down a side street, its bleeding rider vainly trying to slow it down.

  Trystan turned to make sure Natalya and Louise were all right. Two of the farmers had pulled them up against the wall of a house and stood between them and the street. The other two had gone after the remaining soldiers. Trystan didn’t have time to reload, but he could still help.

  One farmer didn’t need it, whirling his scythe around as though he’d practiced with it for years. Maybe that’s what he did during the long winter months.

  The other was having more trouble, trying to fight a rough horseback duel against a fellow who clearly outclassed him. But only until Trystan got there.

  He urged his mule straight on, and the soldier turned to meet Trystan, at which point the farmer brought the scythe down onto the soldier’s leg. It wasn’t a deep cut, but it was long, and the soldier let go the reins to clutch at the wound. Trystan gave him a good shove, sending him to the ground, then shouted at the horse, which ran off down an alleyway.

  The other farmer had unhorsed the last soldier, so their way was clear, at least for now. Trystan resolved not to spare the horses. They cleared the gate and Trystan looked back. No one followed.

  “Now we ride as fast as we can,” he said. “We’ll make Allaux in a few hours.”

  Maryna

  Maryna took her time, changing into a nice dress, a cast-off from one of Princess Keylinda’s daughters, but the best she had right now. Then she had Greta arrange her hair. She still was only able to do braids, but a lady’s maid in Fromenberg had shown her how to pin them up so they looked more elegant.

  With her hair piled up, Maryna felt rather grownup. She hoped her nerves weren’t showing. She’d have to be very commanding to convince the leader of the coming army to follow her.

  Maryna cleared her throat and stared into the tiny mirror, hoping she wouldn’t have to wait so long she’d lose her courage. She also tried to distract herself from picturing the danger Anton might be in.

  Maryna was composing a little speech in her mind and whispering it to herself when there was a pounding on the door. She jumped, thinking a Maximus’s guard ought to be more polite. Now the pounding came again and louder, while foreboding lurched into Maryna’s stomach. “Stay back, “ she whispered to Greta, as she approached the door.

  Greta nodded and pressed herself against the wall. With the door open, no one would see her.<
br />
  Maryna opened it and shrieked as rough hands pulled her into the tiny corridor.

  “You’re coming with us, girl,” a guard growled, pulling her along by one arm.

  Maryna swallowed down her horror and managed to say, “Have you lost your mind? Let me go this instant, or I’ll tell the archduchess.”

  The man chuckled and dragged her to the hatch, shoving her toward the ladder. “Up you go,” he said, lifting her onto the first rung.

  Maryna hesitated, but a hand reached down from above, grabbing her by the hair.

  She screamed and yanked her head away, a braid coming loose and falling over her shoulder. But the man behind her kept pushing, and she finally climbed up the ladder to make him stop.

  As soon as her shoulders reached the top, someone picked her up and put her on deck. She raised her eyes to see the captain of the guard standing before her.

  “How dare you,” she gasped. “You will let me go or the Maximus will hear of it.”

  The man laughed. “He will. You’re his prisoner, heretic bitch.”

  No one had ever insulted Maryna like that in her life, and she was unable to respond. She stared at the captain wide-eyed while realization dawned. She had assumed the Maximus would be a Quadrene, but Teodora had last been in charge here. She'd had more than enough time to install her own follower in the temple.

  It was unbelievable that Maryna had overlooked the possibility and wondered why Elektra had said nothing. In fact, Elektra had indicated these troops supported her, which meant she knew about the Maximus ...

  Maryna shook her head, refusing to believe in such a betrayal, and prayed to all the gods that Anton had finished his business and would be on his way back soon. Surely enough time had gone by?

  In the meantime though, she would not snivel. She could speak to the Maximus like a civilized person. Even if he felt she was the wrong faith, her position still warranted a certain amount of respect.