Fall of the Titan (The Desolate Empire Book 5)

by Christina Ochs

  Emilya Hohenwart nodded, but said nothing.

  “Now we must regroup,” Trystan said, as briskly as if they’d all agreed with enthusiasm. “Franca Dura is dead, so we can’t count on her support. But I’m sure her troops will be demoralized and unhappy to fight for Mattila. Let’s not waste any time getting back in the fight.”

  He caught sight of Anton. “Good, you’re here. Are the enemy batteries on the left still under our control?”

  Anton nodded, still trying to absorb the fact of Dura’s death on top of Lennart’s. No wonder Braeden looked so awful.

  “Then we’ll keep blasting away at the enemy flank. I want you to return to our right and bring my infantry toward the center. We’ll need a lot of support here. Mattila herself is making sure no one retreats.”

  Anton acknowledged the order and left without another word. Lennart's death seemed impossible. He was so big, so vital, so powerful, Anton had begun to think he was invincible.

  But someone had killed him. Now he was gone and along with him all the hopes of their side, not to mention all of Anton’s dreams.

  He couldn’t think of that though. The sun already hung low in the west and the battle was far from over.

  He found the Galladian infantry, reformed after taking the enemy guns. They’d had a small break to eat and drink and were busy tending to their wounded when Anton returned. There were too many of those.

  “I’m sorry,” Anton said, “but we have to fight some more.”

  “Is it true the king is dead?” a sergeant asked.

  “Yes, it seems so.” Anton struggled to keep his voice from shaking. “But Duke Martinek has taken command of his armies. The enemy is still vulnerable and he’s vowed to chase every last one of them from the field.”

  That wasn’t quite how Trystan had put it, but the Galladians liked hearing that kind of language. Even covered in mud and blood, they lived for gallantry.

  “Then we must help him do so.” The sergeant waved over his troops, ordering them to march, and Anton led his company to where the fighting was heaviest.

  He pulled Karil from his unit and told him what had happened. By the time they reached the main fight, Trystan had made a little progress.

  Dura’s cuirassiers were back in the fight, but without their leader, they weren’t as fierce as usual. It seemed that at least some of her officers had agreed with her defection plans, because a fair number surrendered, bringing their troopers with them. Those who remained fit, Trystan put back in the battle.

  Trystan gave Anton and Karil another company to lead. Battered as their troops were, they appeared fresh compared to those who’d been fighting here for hours.

  In spite of everything, no one had yet retrieved Lennart’s body, so Anton kept an eye out as they fought. With so many bodies strewn everywhere, he didn't know how he’d recognize it.

  Mattila gave up at dusk. She’d been on the field all day, haranguing her troops, but Trystan was relentless, and at last even she could no longer stop the tide of retreating soldiers running down the road to Isenwald.

  “Shall we follow them?” Anton asked Trystan in spite of his exhaustion. He preferred to join his soldiers, dropping to the ground where they stood.

  “I’ll let the Estenorians do it.” Trystan’s eyes were colder than Anton had ever seen them. “They want revenge. You probably won’t want to be part of that, unless you enjoy murdering fleeing soldiers.”

  “I don’t,” Anton said. He wanted to protest that Lennart wouldn’t approve of this, but judging by the way the Estenorians went after the retreating army, nothing he could say would stop them.

  Elektra

  Elektra couldn’t find any of her officers. Maybe they were all dead. Every step she took, she stumbled over the dead and dying. Why was she still alive? It was so hot in her armor, she wanted to pull it off, but realized it was the only thing protecting her.

  Her horse was gone and most of her weapons with it. Her pistol belt was empty, though she had a sword and a small dagger still strapped to her leg.

  An enemy soldier ran at her, his face bright red, his mouth wide open as he screamed at her.

  Elektra screamed back, first in fear, then in anger. She would not let some common soldier kill her.

  She dodged under the sword he held high and swiped hers across his thigh. He fell, clutching at his bloody leg, dropping his sword.

  She snatched it up and ran past him. If Franca had changed sides, she needed to find her.

  But it seemed impossible. She saw the cuirassiers, but they galloped back and forth, shooting into a cloud of dust, so she didn't know whose side they were on.

  Shots flew all around, and something metallic clanged off of Elektra’s helmet. Now she was glad she’d kept it on in spite of the heat.

  Elektra staggered forward, holding the two swords, vowing to surrender to the first Estenorian officer she saw. She hoped they’d give her a chance.

  She also kept an eye out for Franca. She’d be easier to see than anyone else.

  Suddenly, Elektra caught sight of the lion-head helmet Lennart had been wearing. Had he already pushed so far into Mattila’s lines?

  Elektra ran forward. “Your Highness,” she shouted, waving one sword high.

  The helmet turned toward her, but the person wearing it was stocky and shorter than Elektra. She remembered how Lennart had loomed over her, at least two heads taller. She nearly dropped the sword as the visor came up and a laughing face she didn’t recognize appeared.

  “He’s over there. Doesn’t look so good now.” The visor went back down and the helmet disappeared into a crowd ahead.

  Elektra swallowed, and approached cautiously. She wished she understood what was happening.

  She shoved into the crowd and several people made way for her. One of her officer said, “Look at that, Your Grace.”

  Someone lay on the ground, but it was hard to tell who it was, the head was so bloody. Soldiers yanked at the golden armor, then strapped it on themselves, the pieces too big for most of them.

  “Careful, Your Grace.” The officer took her by the elbow. “The Estenorians are trying to get him, though we won’t let them. Best you move out of the way.”

  “Who is that?” Elektra whispered, though she already knew.

  “It’s King Lennart.” The officer chuckled. “What’s left of him, at least.”

  Elektra whimpered, pulled her arm away and ran back. She got sick again, falling to her knees, retching into the dust.

  “Oh come, Your Grace, surely you’ve seen dead bodies before?” That was Mattila’s voice.

  Elektra stared at the general’s boots, then struggled to her feet. She nodded. “Just not feeling so good.” Now she was grateful for the pregnancy lie.

  “Of course not.” Mattila put an arm around her shoulder. “I shouldn’t have let you go into battle in your condition.”

  “I’m fine.” Elektra gasped. She had to find Franca, or she'd never reach the other side now. Even if Lennart was dead, perhaps Braeden or Princess Gwynneth would help her. “I need to keep fighting.”

  Mattila chuckled. “It’ll be over soon. With their king dead, they’ll soon lose heart. We’ve lost Franca Dura, which is a pity, but her second-in-command is rallying her troops. They’ll be back in the fight before long.”

  “Lost Dura?” What did that mean? Had Franca succeeded in defecting?

  “She’s dead.” Mattila chuckled. “I’ll explain later. Nothing you need worry about now. Are you sure you’re all right?”

  Elektra's breath came hard. No matter what had gone wrong, she couldn’t give herself away. She had to survive until she got another chance.

  Though with Lennart dead, there'd be no chance. Her mother and Mattila would win, and the Quadrene faith would die.

  “Please,” she whispered. “Let me get back to my troops.” It would be best if she just died here, before anyone realized she was a traitor.

  “All right.” Mattila smiled at her, though it didn�
��t reach her eyes. “I’m proud of you. Later I’ll tell you about the battle I fought while pregnant with Jozef. Trust me, someday you’ll remember this experience fondly.”

  Elektra didn’t think so. By the time she got back to what remained of her troops, Magda Bartnik had pulled the cuirassiers together and led them into Lennart’s left flank. Elektra’s troops followed and for a time it looked like the Estenorians might falter.

  But as the sun sank low in the west, they rallied. Almost too tired to stand, Elektra watched as Bartnik fell, taken by a shot through the neck, the remnants of the cavalry scattering across the field.

  Elektra made a half-hearted effort to rally her troops, but it was no use. It occurred to her to surrender, but she took a glance at the Estenorian officer charging at her, grief mingled with rage on his face, and decided she’d better run, along with all the others.

  She worried that Mattila might see her, but by the time she reached the baggage train, the retreat turned into a flood, and she heard someone say they’d seen the general’s carriage hurrying along the Isenwald road.

  Elektra didn’t know if she could go much farther. She had no horse, had dropped all of her weapons, and the Estenorians weren’t far behind. From the sound of it, they were taking no prisoners. Maybe she’d die today after all.

  It grew dark and she trudged down the road with everyone else, too tired to run. When she dared to glance over her shoulder, the Estenorian's torches came ever closer.

  Behind Elektra, Mattila’s troops surrendered, but it did no good. The Estenorian’s revenge for their dead king knew no bounds.

  Elektra stumbled to the side of the road and fell to her knees, vowing she’d go to her death as a good Quadrene, though she’d failed in everything else. She screwed her eyes shut, closed her ears to the awful sounds behind her and prayed.

  She’d gotten through the first one, to Ercos, and started praying to the Mother, when someone scooped her off the ground.

  She screamed, thinking the Estenorians had reached her. But when she opened her eyes, she looked up into Jozef’s face.

  “Come on,” he said, heaving her into the saddle and jumping up behind her. “We have to hurry before they get to us.”

  Maryna

  The messenger came in the early hours of the morning. Maryna had been sleeping, though not well. Trapped in the castle, with no way of knowing when the battle was, or how it was going, made it hard to relax.

  She awoke to her mother shaking her. “You must get up. There’s a message from the battlefield.”

  Maryna sprang out of bed, awake before her feet hit the cold stone floor. She threw on a dressing gown, then followed her mother down the winding staircase of the tower and into the library.

  Count Faris already sat there, along with the messenger, a young Estenorian woman with long blonde hair.

  When she saw the looks on their faces, Maryna stopped in the doorway.

  “Did we lose?” she asked, the knot that settled in her stomach days ago suddenly rising, threatening to choke her.

  Count Faris shook his head. “Please sit down, Your Grace.” He turned to the messenger, whose face was gray with exhaustion. “Now please tell us all of it again, from the beginning.”

  The messenger took a deep shaky breath. “First of all, you needn’t fear for your safety. The battle is won.”

  “Thank the gods,” Gwynneth murmured, though she still looked anxious.

  Maryna moved her chair closer to her mother and grabbed her ice-cold hand. “Go on,” she said. Clearly the messenger had more news, likely nothing good. She’d expected to hear of many casualties, but now the reality that her friends could be among them hit her. If something had happened to Anton she doubted she’d be able to keep it together in front of everyone.

  The messenger’s lip trembled. “The king is dead.” Her voice was husky now. “Taken by a musketball to the head.”

  There was a long, shocked silence as Gwynneth squeezed Maryna’s hand hard. “I don’t understand. This happened after the battle was won?”

  “No.” The messenger had regained at least some of her composure. “It happened rather early, right around noon. The enemy captured his body, but we fought hard and got it back at the end of the day. Duke Trystan Martinek rallied our armies and pulled out a significant victory.

  “Mattila and all of her troops fled the field, leaving their artillery and most of their supplies behind. She returned the next day, but Duke Trystan occupied the field with his remaining troops. As far as we know, she’s returned to Isenwald.”

  “Remaining ...” That was the last word Maryna heard. She licked her dry lips. “How many casualties? And those of significance among them?”

  “They’ll count the dead and wounded for the next several days, with so many on both sides. Besides the king, our side lost Duke Aidan Orland—” The messenger paused as Gwynneth made a strangled sound.

  Maryna looked at her mother. She hadn’t realized that she and the duke were on good terms, let alone friendly. “What a terrible loss for our side,” Maryna said. The duke had always been a staunch supporter of her family and they would feel his absence. She doubted his heir would be so helpful.

  The messenger continued. “Franca Dura was also killed while trying to defect to our side.”

  “Oh no,” Gwynneth murmured. “Poor Braeden.”

  “General Leyf Lofbrok was badly wounded and it’s uncertain if he’ll recover.”

  Maryna felt depressed and she hadn’t even heard all of it yet. “Who else?”

  “Many officers of Kronland, Galladium and Estenor.” The messenger fished a note out of her pocket.

  Maryna grabbed it rather unceremoniously and read down the list, looking for Anton’s name. She didn’t see it, though she recognized too many other familiar names. She’d have to read it more closely later and bestow honors upon the families of those who’d died.

  Gwynneth dismissed the messenger to get food and rest, the rest of them stayed in the library, silent for a long time.

  In her anxiety for Anton, Maryna somehow hadn’t registered that Lennart was dead. “Oh gods,” she said when the reality hit her. She wanted to cry, but tears wouldn’t come. Her mind still hadn’t grasped the enormity of it.

  In her experience, kings rarely died, unless they were ancient. That someone as young and vigorous as Lennart was suddenly gone was too much to take in. “Oh, his poor wife,” Maryna said, thinking of the gentle, lovely Raysa and her little daughter, now the new queen of Estenor.

  “I know,” Gwynneth said softly. “I must be the one to tell her.”

  “You needn’t.” Count Faris spoke up at last. “Edric Maximus will do it kindly.”

  “I know he will.” Gwynneth’s voice shook. “But I’m the one who understands what it’s like to lose the person you love most in the world to violence. I must go to her.” She stood.

  Maryna jumped up. “I’m coming with you.” With Lennart gone, she began to understand that no one was in charge here. By the time his generals returned to Heidenhof, she had to make it clear she was now the power in Terragand. She knew none of them well, so had no idea as to their intentions. Would they want to stay and fight? Was there any fighting left to do? With Mattila completely defeated and Teodora captive, perhaps the war would end soon.

  Either way, Maryna had to establish a seat of power in Heidenhof. In the carriage on the way there, she wanted to ask her mother what they should do next, but the look on Gwynneth’s face gave her pause.

  “Are you all right, Mama?” she asked instead.

  “I will be.” Gwynneth shook her head and blinked a few times. “Did you realize I first met Lennart when I was just a little older than you? He’s been part of my life for a long time. I still can’t believe he’s gone.”

  “I can’t believe it either.” Maryna left it at that, worried her mother was about to cry.

  When they reached Edric’s palace, she let her mother go straight to the queen, then asked to see the Maxi
mus privately. Hopefully he would help her figure out what to do next.

  Elektra

  Jozef’s fast horse soon pulled away from the shuffling crowd of doomed soldiers. He held Elektra so firmly, she sagged against his chest without worrying about falling off.

  “All these people will die if we don’t help them,” she said.

  “I know.” Jozef sounded angrier than she’d ever heard him. “I’ve spent the last hour shouting at Mother, trying to make her send help, since I was sure you were out there somewhere. But she wouldn’t do it. She actually said preserving what’s left of her army is more important than the life of one little archduchess. Can you believe that?”

  “I can.” Even in her weariness, Elektra was touched by Jozef’s indignation on her behalf. “She’s probably right.”

  “She isn’t.” Jozef rested his cheek on Elektra’s hair for just a moment. “You’re not only my wife, but a great person. I can’t let anything happen to you.”

  “Thank you for coming to get me.” Elektra leaned against him and turned to smile up at him, though she was sure she looked ghastly. “You saved my life. I’d just given up.”

  “I’m glad I could do something useful for once.”

  Elektra didn’t know what to say to that and they rode in silence for at least ten more leagues, and in time Elektra dozed.

  It was near midnight when they reached Mattila’s camp, a sad affair, with most of the supplies left behind on the battlefield and many of the survivors grieving their fallen comrades.

  Fortunately the night was warm, and sleeping outside would be pleasant enough. Jozef led Elektra to his corner of the camp where food and blankets awaited them.

  Now she’d slept a little, she was starving. To her surprise, she discovered fresh bread, butter, cold meat and an enormous cheese.

  “Where did you get this?” she asked, settling down on a blanket, a small lamp lighting the feast.

  Jozef grimaced. “I traded a horse for all the food a local farmer could give me. It seemed ridiculous you should have to eat this horrible porridge, which is all they’ve got around here.”