Fall of the Titan (The Desolate Empire Book 5)

by Christina Ochs

  “Certainly,” Anton said, deepening his voice, flustered and a little pleased that she treated him like any other officer. She probably didn't realize he wasn’t even eighteen yet.

  After getting a few guns in place, Anton realized there was no point in him supervising, since the colonel knew what to do. So he shed his doublet and shirt and got to work, helping the gun crews tug the pieces into place with thick ropes. It was a good way to burn off the nervous energy that nearly consumed him.

  He needed to keep busy too, to stop thinking about Maryna. Remembering that last night in the stable, kissing in the straw for what felt like hours, was enough to set his face on fire.

  If he thought about it too much, he’d be tempted to drop everything, go back to Birkenfels and take her somewhere they could be alone together forever. But that could never happen.

  Anton would need to excel again in this battle, get another promotion, and even more honors from Lennart. If Princess Gwynneth saw how he was distinguishing himself, perhaps she’d change her mind about what was best for her daughter.

  Braeden

  “It'll be hot again today.” Braeden squinted at the rising sun. It hadn’t even been up an hour and he already felt the heat under his armor.

  “It’s the longest day of the year.” Lennart grinned at him. “I’ll take that as a sign from the gods. We’re sending darkness on the run, aren’t we?”

  “I hope so.” Braeden felt sluggish for the start of a battle. Normally there'd be some excitement and pent-up energy, but this morning he was flat-out tired. It had been a warm night and he didn't sleep well, tossing and turning on the hard ground, worrying about Franca. She was out there somewhere, part of the enormous mass of troops moving into position on a large plain to the south of them.

  “Guess where we’ll spend the night?” Lennart asked, drumming his fingers on an impressive-looking helmet hanging from his saddle.

  “Hopefully on softer ground.” Braeden grimaced as his injured shoulder creaked.

  “We’ll sleep inside Ebenstein Palace,” Lennart said. “It’s on the other side of Mattila’s forces. Kendryk won a big victory around here years ago. That’s a good sign too.”

  “It is.” Braeden just hoped the good signs would override his foreboding. There was no reason they shouldn’t win this battle. The forces were almost exactly matched in numbers, but Lennart held the high ground and the trump card that was Franca. Braeden knew she’d choose the right moment to turn on Mattila.

  “It’s time,” Lennart said, and an instant later, Hohenwart’s guns boomed from the two hillsides, almost simultaneously. Positioned in the middle of the wide valley, it was possible to spot tiny puffs of smoke coming from both wooded hillsides.

  “How did you know?” Braeden asked. Lennart had sent no messages that he’d seen.

  Lennart grinned. “We arranged it last night. The moment the sun came over the tops of those trees, Hohenwart was to engage.”

  “And here I thought it was magic.” Braeden felt a little better as the guns boomed again. Mattila was still advancing with no time to position hers yet.

  “Just my magic.” Lennart grinned and put his helmet on. “Per the queen’s instructions, though I’ll roast in here.”

  “The queen is right,” Braeden said, “and we’ll all roast today. But that’s better than dying.”

  “An hour of this and I’ll wish I was dead,” Lennart grumbled, a drop of sweat already rolling to the tip of his nose. “This helmet …”

  “In an hour you’ll have forgotten you’re wearing it. Are we ready?”

  Lennart nodded. “I’ll take the light cavalry forward. I want to break Mattila’s lines before she can position her guns. She doesn’t have much cavalry aside from Dura’s, so we won’t worry about it. Keep Kalstrom and his pike in reserve unless I send a message.”

  Braeden nodded, waving at Lennart as he pulled ahead, flanked by his bodyguards. Braeden had given the lot of them a stern talking-to. Lennart had a tendency to ride off on his own, leaving them behind. That must not happen today, especially with Lennart already exposed in front.

  Leyf Lofbrok stood just ahead, and Lennart spoke with him for a moment before continuing forward. A moment later, Lofbrok’s infantry flooded into the gap Lennart had left and Braeden couldn’t see him anymore. He waved at Lofbrok, who would follow Lennart with the bulk of the Estenorian infantry. Hohenwart and Orland would advance from the left, and Trystan from the right.

  Dust rolled up in the wake of the marching troops. Even from the small height Braeden occupied, it had been difficult to make out Mattila’s forces, though he strained his eyes for the bright armor of Franca’s cuirassiers. Now he saw little but the rearmost ranks of Lennart’s troops as they marched ahead.

  Hohenwart’s guns boomed at irregular though frequent intervals now. They had to be causing Mattila serious damage, though it would take a lot to stop her. Braeden wished he could see. Reluctantly, he put his own helmet on, the kerchief he’d tied around his head already soaked.

  Bloodshed aside, it promised to be a miserable day. Although battle was joined, Braeden felt none of the usual joy. Maybe Franca was right and it was time to stop fighting. He’d have to ask Princess Gwynneth about the estate she’d given him. Maybe he’d become a gentleman wine-grower in his old age.

  Braeden commanded several regiments of infantry, along with the small cavalry he’d led when they relieved the city. It was time for them to move into place to support Lennart and Lofbrok. Mattila wouldn’t hold back long.

  Braeden looked back until he spotted Dolf Kalstrom, commanding the reserves. He waved, showing that he was moving out, and Kalstrom waved back.

  It was a shame Braeden couldn’t enjoy himself, with so many excellent generals around. Lennart had taken an already good army and made it great. With Mattila battered by her adventure in Oltena, Braeden doubted she would last long.

  The crackle of musketfire came from straight ahead. Lennart had engaged Mattila’s front lines. Braeden nudged Kazmir.

  “Time to go, old boy,” he muttered. “Let’s do this one more time before we’re done.”

  Elektra

  Elektra was so nervous, thinking about the battle and what she needed to do, she got sick right after breakfast. At least that seemed to please Mattila.

  “You and Jozef didn’t waste any time, did you? Well, after today, you can take a little time off. I want to be sure my grandchild is healthy.”

  Elektra wiped her mouth and did her best to look pregnant, which wasn’t hard, considering her nausea. It didn’t help she worried about Jozef now. If she defected, she hoped his mother wouldn’t take her anger out on him. She hadn’t breathed a word about any of it to him, so he would be as innocent as he looked. Hopefully Mattila would believe him.

  She felt a little sorry for deceiving him like this, since he’d been perfectly decent in a trying situation, but she hoped his ignorance would play to his advantage. And, if things went well, she would ask Lennart to spare him. Yes, she knew she had made the right decision.

  Before riding to the head of her troops, Elektra found Jozef, holding his newest puppy. She didn’t even know how many dogs he had. “You’re up early.” She smiled at him.

  “Can’t sleep through all this commotion.” He handed the puppy to a servant, looking at her gravely. “And I’m worried about you. You’ll be in the thick of things.”

  “I’ve been in battle before.” Elektra shrugged, hoping she sounded casual. That was true, though she had done nothing except stand next to Mattila.

  This time she hoped the general wouldn’t be able to keep an eye on her. She looked around to make sure no one stood nearby. “Your mother thinks I’m pregnant,” she whispered.

  Jozef snickered. “Well done. And all on your own too. I'll act suitably proud if she congratulates me.”

  “You’ll stay well back of the fighting, won’t you?” Elektra had to confess she worried for his safety. “And if the battle goes wrong, get on your
fastest horse and make for Isenwald as fast as you can.” She took a deep breath. “Can you make sure Aksel is ready to get away fast too? I’m sure he’s not even considered it.”

  “I’ll check on him. But don’t worry; it won’t go wrong.” Jozef’s regular grin returned. “Mother always wins. At least she’s good for that. Now come here and kiss me goodbye like a good little wife.”

  Elektra barely had time to register a few troops marching by before Jozef had scooped her into his arms, planting a rather enjoyable kiss on her lips.

  “That was much better than the first time,” she murmured, pulling back.

  “A lot more where that came from.” Jozef winked at her, then grinned shamelessly for the onlookers. “Come back safe and I’ll show you.”

  Elektra wished she could, and pulled away with more than a little regret. It was a shame she was leaving just as she and Jozef were becoming more comfortable with each other. Perhaps when all of this was over she wouldn’t bother with an annulment. Jozef certainly wouldn’t make a worse consort than her own father had.

  She found her infantry unit on the left flank, already marching forward, the enemy arrayed on the upward-sloping ground ahead. Elektra swallowed her fear, remembering all she had to do was march straight into that horde, survive the first onslaught, and surrender to the first likely officer.

  To keep her mind off that terrifying plan, she decided to check on Franca Dura. She was exactly where she was supposed to be, but Elektra needed to do something to distract herself.

  “Is everything ready, Colonel?” she asked, her throat so dry she croaked.

  Franca looked unusually pale. Elektra would have expected her to be rather nonchalant about riding into battle.

  “We’re fine,” Franca said brusquely, patting her horse’s neck. She took a deep breath and motioned Elektra over. “You’re doing well, Your Grace,” she said, her green eyes more earnest than Elektra had ever seen them. “But you’re not experienced in battle. I don’t want to risk any harm coming to you.” She swallowed; maybe her throat was dry too. “If anything should happen and things go badly, there’s nothing wrong with retreating so you can live to fight again.”

  “I don’t want to retreat.” Elektra wanted to tell Franca her plans. She might not be a friend, but she must have at least considered fighting on Braeden’s side at some point.

  “I know. But sometimes you have to.” Franca frowned. “Now go, and do your best to stay out of trouble.”

  Elektra rode off, puzzled. It seemed odd to be told to retreat before the battle even started. But then it began, guns booming from the hillside to her right.

  Elektra headed for her troops, still marching forward, and joined her officers at the head. She didn't know how to do this. If she went straight for the enemy, they might well kill her before she surrendered.

  It wasn’t as though she had a choice, though. Her army bore her forward, whether she wanted to or not. At least it seemed guns weren’t aimed at her, judging by the screams and shouts on her left.

  “Enemy muskets ahead,” someone shouted.

  Elektra clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering. She pulled aside as her own musketeers got into formation, just as she’d drilled them. Then she rested her hand on a pistol in her belt. It wouldn’t do much against all those enemy muskets, but she hated this helplessness. She was sweating under her armor but glad for it at the same time.

  Her officers shouted orders as dust billowed up all around Elektra. They’d been marching across a field, but thousands of feet had ground the fledgling crop into the dry soil.

  She jumped in her saddle as muskets right beside her fired, the noise deafening. The enemy responded almost as quickly, and musketballs shrieked and thudded into Elektra’s force, many finding their mark, black smoke mingling with the dust.

  She saw her front line falter and spurred her horse forward without thinking. They shouldn’t stop yet. Straight ahead, she saw cheering enemy cavalry, led by someone wearing a lions-head helmet. The cheering continued all along the enemy line as the horses crashed into Elektra’s left flank.

  Elektra gasped. That was Lennart. She needed to get to him. By now she’d reached her front line and shouted, “Wheel left!” Her officers had seen the threat as well and echoed her orders instantly.

  Elektra spurred her horse on, racing along her column, hoping to get into a good position. She’d hang back for the first round, then make straight for Lennart. Surely he’d recognize her? She moved to push up her visor, but she’d never put it down.

  Her muskets took their positions, but not fast enough. A blast of pistol-fire came from the enemy horsemen and a rank of infantry fell. Elektra tried to pull up her horse, but it stumbled over a body, came up short, and she flew over its head.

  Blinded by smoke and dust, she hit the ground and lay flat, unable to breathe. Perhaps she was dead. But an instant later she tasted blood on her tongue and felt an ache in her back.

  She scrambled to her feet, looking for a weapon. The dust billowed around and her own troops mingled with Estenorians on horseback. Lennart had to be close.

  Elektra stumbled forward, staring into the dust, hoping to see an officer she might surrender to. So she was unprepared when Franca’s cavalry charged into her own infantry’s exposed flank. Elektra stared at a horse as it came at her.

  It was Franca. “Get down,” she screeched, waving a saber over her head.

  Elektra fell to the ground, rolling out of the way just in time. What was happening? Franca was supposed to go forward, outflanking the enemy infantry. Why had she attacked Elektra instead?

  In the confusion, her brain wasn't able to grasp the possibilities, but Elektra hoped that what she suspected was true. Maybe she didn’t have to surrender. She would just follow Franca over to Lennart’s side.

  Lennart

  Lennart spurred Broga on, leading his light cavalry into Mattila’s infantry in the center. Sounds of fighting rose on his right. That must be Trystan, hopefully overrunning Mattila’s gun batteries. At any moment now, Franca would make her move, turning the tide.

  He pushed into another rank of muskets, his sword slashing down any who stood in his way. Mattila hadn’t had time to dig in, but took advantage of a shallow ditch running alongside a country road, filling it with musketeers.

  The ranks retreating before him fell back behind the ditch, and Lennart pulled Broga to a halt. Lennart had to dislodge these troops before continuing.

  Mattila’s muskets fired regularly, and it got worse once those retreating regrouped. In the distance, Lennart made out a tall figure on horseback, riding back and forth, shouting at the troops. That would be the general herself. If Lennart got over the ditch and through a few ranks in front of him, he might reach her and end the battle right now.

  Musketballs flew, and from somewhere in the distance, big guns crashed. Lennart hoped Trystan was winning through. As usual, he’d given him the hardest task. Lennart waved his troops forward, though they already knew what to do.

  His cavalry charged, firing into the ditch, before moving aside for the muskets directly behind them. They fired fast, rank upon rank, and before long, everyone in the ditch was dead, or scrambling to get out of it.

  Lennart smiled, raised his visor and wiped the sweat pouring down his face. Braeden had been right. Hot as it was, he’d forgotten all about it until now. He clapped his visor back down. He had to find Mattila.

  Broga jumped the ditch, and one of Lennart’s bodyguards shouted at him to wait.

  “Come on,” Lennart called over his shoulder. It wasn’t his fault they weren't keeping up.

  Mattila’s right flank had stopped moving forward, likely because Franca wasn’t pushing ahead like she was supposed to. Lennart wished he could find her, but between the dust and the sweat pouring into his eyes, he struggled to see much of anything. At least, the enemy would be just as incapacitated.

  Enemy infantry moved in on Lennart from the right trying to fill the hole in the
middle. Lennart turned his attention to them, and it was then that Franca made her move.

  The rear ranks of infantry wavered, then dissolved into the gap, using the space to retreat. Lennart grinned. Perfect timing.

  The front ranks, trapped between Lennart and Franca, didn’t give up. They fell in great numbers, officers on horseback and footsoldiers alike, piling up on the ground, their blood soaking the dust.

  Lennart had to admire their resolve, since there was no reason they shouldn’t surrender to him. Everyone knew he treated prisoners fairly, always offering employment to the able-bodied and taking care of the wounded.

  A moment later he saw why they weren’t surrendering. Mattila was there, two ranks back, shouting, waving a sword with one hand and brandishing a pistol with the other. Wherever she went, her soldiers stood.

  Now Lennart worried about Franca. If Mattila understood what was happening, she’d be a target. He needed to find Franca and get her to safety.

  Eyes blurring with the sweat pouring into them, Lennart yanked up his visor and wiped his face again. Marvelous as the helmet was, it made it difficult to see and hear.

  He fixed his eyes on Mattila, nearly within range. She’d turned to her right, firing her pistol. From this angle she made a marvelous target, and Lennart raised his own pistol. It was worth a try.

  Keeping one eye on enemy troops regrouping in front of him, Lennart aimed at Mattila. A cloud of smoke billowed up just as he fired, and when he was able to see again, Mattila was galloping off in another direction. He’d missed.

  He needed to find Franca. Her cuirassiers milled around in confusion on his left. No doubt she hadn’t explained her plans to all of them, though hopefully they’d follow her all the same.

  Lennart turned Broga around and looked for his suite. His bodyguards were still near, but he needed other officers.