The men met his courteous nod with smiles and nods of their own. The priest had yet to appear, so one of them asked him, “Have you ever heard Father Landrus speak?”
Kendryk shook his head. “Have you?”
“Oh yes,” the man replied. “I’ve been in this congregation my whole life. But of late, as you see,” he nodded toward the crowded square, “Father Landrus speaks in the open so more can learn the truth. The people hunger for it.”
“Rumor has it that Father Landrus has interesting things to say.” Kendryk felt it was best not to mention he had only been made aware of the priest through his uncle’s enraged letters.
“Interesting and true. He is making powerful enemies, but the quality of those enemies assures me that what he is saying must be made known to all.”
“Rumor is that the Duke of Emberg doesn’t approve.” Kendryk hoped he sounded casual.
The man chuckled. “Yes, the old man has been noisy about his displeasure. Do you suppose he can silence him?”
“I think not,” Kendryk said. “In the end, it’s a matter for The High Temple, but the prince will have to decide if it goes that far.”
“Ah yes, the prince.” The man looked at Kendryk sideways. “I wonder what he’ll do if it comes to it.”
“Hard to say.” Kendryk scratched his nose and pretended to ponder. “But I reckon he’ll want to give Landrus a fair hearing before packing him off to the Imperata.”
“We can only hope,” the man said.
A buzz swept through the crowd as one of the temple’s enormous front doors opened. A man in the plainest priest’s robes came out holding a crate, which he placed on the ground. He climbed onto it and bowed his head until the crowd fell silent.
Kendryk smiled. He’d never seen a Temple official carrying his own pulpit, or indeed leaving the high altar for any reason.
Landrus raised his head. At first glance he looked rather ordinary, but even at a distance, Kendryk could see that his eyes were uncommonly intense and piercing. Unlike most priests, he wore his light hair cropped close.
“Greetings, children.” His deep voice carried across the square. “It’s raining, so I will be brief today.”
“We’re happy to hear you in the rain, Father!” someone shouted, and the crowd cheered in agreement.
“Thank you, brother.” The priest smiled, then said, “Still, I will keep my words plain and to the point. Over the past weeks, I’ve explained the differences in worship between what is written in the Holy Scrolls and what the High Temple teaches. The Scrolls make clear that each member of the Holy Family is of equal importance and must be honored in equal measure. For centuries now the High Temple has told us that Vica, the Holy Daughter, should be lifted above the others. Perhaps you are wondering why this matters. It is in truth of the highest importance and I will tell you why.
“The Scrolls speak of a great battle that the Holy Family will fight with the forces of evil. When that time comes, our gods will lose this battle because they are weakened through our neglect. And if they lose, darkness will cover the world until the end of days. The Scrolls, however, tell us how the Holy Family may be strengthened. It is something each of us can do although we are not doing it now. Worst of all, we are not doing it because of the orders of the High Temple and the Imperata herself.”
The crowd buzzed, and the men next to Kendryk muttered with it. Kendryk schooled his face into blank neutrality. This was heresy.
“These orders are evil!” The priest’s voice rang out across the square. “And the truth found within the Scrolls requires us to disobey them. If Ercos the Brother and the Holy Parents continue to be weakened because of our neglect, the gods will fall in that last battle. And that battle, my children, is closer than we think.”
The crowd roared its approval.
As the crowd quieted again, another clamor arose. From a street on Kendryk’s right were shouts of “Make way!” along with the clatter of hooves and the clang of armor. When the mounted party appeared in the square, the close-packed crowd parted.
Kendryk’s throat tightened when he saw the lead horseman. As he had guessed, it was his uncle, the Duke of Emberg, accompanied by his eldest son Balduin. The duke’s progress slowed as the crowd closer to Landrus drew into a protective huddle around him.
“Stop speaking this instant!” The duke shouted, even though Landrus was silent, standing calmly on his crate. Kendryk wondered if he’d expected something like this.
The duke waved a paper. “I represent Prince Kendryk of Terragand and have come to arrest you as a rebel and a heretic. You will accompany me to Emberg Castle and await the Imperata’s justice.”
Kendryk couldn’t believe his uncle’s nerve, misrepresenting him in such a blatant fashion. He opened his mouth to protest, then realized he was without an escort of any kind. No one would recognize him from this distance and he had no way to reach his uncle or the priest.
A few angry shouts rose from the crowd and the knot around Father Landrus tightened. Kendryk’s heart hammered in his chest. If he didn’t intervene right now, Landrus could be on his way to the Imperata within hours. He knew his uncle wouldn’t bother to consult him first though he was happy enough to use his name. And with the priest turned over to Temple authority, Kendryk’s hands would be tied. He at least wanted a chance to speak with him before letting him go.
Kendryk understood his people well enough to know that if he allowed Landrus to continue teaching heresy, the situation could slip from his control in a heartbeat. And yet, something niggled at him, egging him on. He told himself he was content with his life as it was, but failed to quash a vague unease, a strong sense he had yet so much to learn and do. Perhaps the gods had sent this priest to show him what he still needed to know and light the way to some great undertaking. The part of him that always held back, that always took care to consider the consequences was defeated, at least for a moment.
He offered a silent prayer to Vica, asking for wisdom, and to give it without delay. Then he turned to the men standing near him. “Gentlemen,” he said, “I need your help.”
Janna
Kaleva, Moralta
“Have you finished that lesson, Anton?” Janna asked, doing her best to pretend this was just a normal morning in the schoolroom.
Nodding, Anton handed her his slate. His equations were a mess, although he was normally good at sums. She smiled at him and put the slate aside. “Why don’t we try again tomorrow?”
Janna hoped the worry didn’t show on her face. The strange silence that morning had been unnerving, but now there were faint sounds of gunfire and shouting. Dimir had told her the battlefield would be leagues away; far outside the city walls. He was so convinced they’d win they never talked of what to do should the fight come to them.
“Where’s Papa?” Anyezka asked.
“He’s fighting in the war,” Anton said, even though he’d promised Janna not to mention it in front of his little sister.
Janna sighed. “Anton, remember?”
He made a face and clapped his hand over his mouth.
“What’s a war, Mama?” Anyezka asked.
“It’s a big, um, meeting of soldiers,” Janna said, then broke off when she heard the front door open.
“Papa!” Anton shouted, and the two children raced to the front of the house ahead of her.
Janna stopped when she saw Dimir. His face was black with soot, his clothing torn, and there was blood on his hands. Both children had also stopped short, staring up at him.
Janna swallowed. “Anton, please take your sister to the kitchen for a minute. There are two apple cakes on the table,” she whispered as he tugged Anyezka down the corridor.
The children gone, she turned to Dimir. “You’re back so soon. Is the battle over? Did we win?”
“Oh, it’s over,” he said, breathing hard, and slumping against the door. “Don’t look so horrified. Most of the blood isn’t mine. You and the children must go right now. We’re trying to h
old them off at the gates, but they are too many. They’ll be inside the city within the hour.”
An icy wave washed over her as her hands flew to her mouth. “Go? Go where? How? You’re coming with us, aren’t you?” she choked out.
“No,” he said, taking her hands in his bloody ones. “You must take the kitchen wagon and the donkey. The neighbor boy will help you hitch it up. Take as much food as you can carry, and blankets.”
He fumbled in a pocket and pressed a key into her hand. “There’s money in the strongbox in our bedroom. Take it all. It should be enough.”
“Enough for what?”
“Enough to get you to my uncle’s farm. You remember my uncle and aunt, Dusek and Irina? They were at our wedding?”
“I think so,” Janna murmured, though she had no idea who he meant.
“Anyway, take the cart, and go now. People are already leaving and the roads are crowded. Go as quickly as you can. You must not be here when the empress’s troops break into the city.”
“I can lock the door,” Janna said. She tried to think, but her mind wasn’t working. “We can hide until it’s over.”
“No you can’t. I’m sorry sweetheart, but you do not understand what it’s like when a city is sacked, and I’d rather you not find out.”
She nodded. “All right, I’ll get ready to go. But you must come with us. I don’t know the way.”
“It’s simple. Follow the main road east for a day, then turn north at the big crossroads for Sanova. Another half-day of travel and you’ll reach the town of Nitrany, and from there you ask for the Kronek farm. People will know.”
“But why can’t you come?”
Dimir sighed. “I helped start this. I can’t run away.”
“Of course you can,” Janna said. “You’re already gone; no one will notice if you don’t come back.”
“I’ll notice. Besides, the more of us there are holding the gate, the more time our families have to get away. We can’t win, but we can give you that. Now don’t waste it. Go!” He gave her a gentle push.
“All right,” The blood roared in Janna’s ears and she couldn’t speak until it stopped. “We’ll go. And we’ll wait for you at your uncle’s farm.”
He attempted a smile. “That’s a good girl. Now come here.” He pulled her into his arms and held her close for a moment, then kissed her while she fought to keep the tears back. “Tell the children goodbye for me. It’s better if I just go now.”
Janna nodded and forced a smile onto her face as he went out. She stood in the doorway and watched him go down the street toward the western gate. When he was out of sight, she closed the door and locked it. She looked around, saw a small chest standing in the hallway and pushed that against the door. If they ran out of time, she didn’t want enemy troops strolling into the house.
Next, she went to the kitchen, trying to slow her breathing before she got there. She couldn’t fall apart in front of the children.
“Where’s Papa?” Anyezka asked.
“Papa had to go,” Janna said. “He wants us to go on a trip and wait for him in the country.”
“A trip?” Anton frowned. “What about the war?”
“He has to finish fighting in the war. He wants us to go to his aunt and uncle until it’s over.”
“I don’t want to go to the country,” Anton said. “It’s boring there.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.” Janna tried to sound brisk and cheerful all while pushing down the terror that threatened to overwhelm her. “There will be all kinds of animals. We’ll be on a farm. But I’ll tell you about it on the way. Can you both help me get ready?”
Anton jumped up. He always liked to help.
“Run next door and get Karel. Ask him to help you hitch the donkey to the wagon.” He was out the door before she could say anything else.
“I want to help, too,” Anyezka said in a small voice.
“Good,” Janna said. “Do you know Papa’s box up in our bedroom?”
The little girl nodded. The box was a forbidden object that the children loved to look at and guess what was inside. Sometimes Dimir would let them touch its flower carvings and bright brass latches.
“Can you bring it to me as fast as you can?”
Anyezka nodded again and ran off.
Janna turned to the larder. She emptied a few large baskets and refilled them with anything that would travel well. There was bread and cheese, sausage, and a few sacks of nuts and dried fruit. She also took a small sack of flour. If the journey ended up taking longer than a few days, she might have to learn how to bake or cook something. She hoped there would be people on the road who could help her.
Anyezka returned with the box, and when Janna opened it, she saw a few folded papers and what looked like a small fortune in coin. She would probably need the papers if she came back, so she put them in her pocket without reading them. She laid the coins out on the table and tried to smile as she said, “If I had time, I’d sew these into our clothes.”
“Why?”
“My old nurse told me a story about how she ran away from Sanovan raiders when she was little, but kept tripping because the coins sewed into her skirt hem were so heavy.”
“That’s a funny story.”
“Yes, I used to think so too.” She put the copper coins in her pocket, then sent Anyezka back to her bedroom to get a purse for the rest.
Janna walked out the back door to the courtyard. Anton was telling Karel, a dull-looking boy of thirteen, that they were going on an adventure to Sanova. “Thank you for helping, Karel.” She tucked a copper into his hand. “Go tell your mother you should leave the city now. Enemy soldiers will be here soon.”
Karel scurried off and Anton tugged at her sleeve. “I thought Papa and the army would stop the enemy.” His face was white.
“Not yet,” Janna said, hoping her voice sounded strong. “He wants us to be safe, just in case. Finish tying up the donkey and then come with me. We have a lot to carry out.” She sent him upstairs to pull all the blankets off the beds and put them in the cart then went to see how Anyezka was faring. She was back in the kitchen with Janna’s purse.
Janna took it, filled it with the remaining coins, then tied it around her waist and under her apron.
They weren’t as quick as she would have liked, but in less than an hour since Dimir had gone, the cart trundled out onto the street. They joined a flood of people and wagons streaming to the east. The shouts and explosions seemed much closer now. Janna hoped they weren’t too late.
Braeden
Kaleva, Moralta
The line of muskets crumpled and Braeden found himself behind the enemy. He pulled Kazmir up hard, turned around, then herded the defeated troops toward his men at arms.
“Round them up,” he said. “We’re going to the gates.” It had taken just a few ugly casualties to shake the inexperienced troops, and once they saw the Sanova Hussars thundering down on them, wings shrieking, they broke and ran.
Franca Dura, his youngest trooper, rode up next to him. “You could hardly call that a battle.” It was her first big engagement and he couldn’t blame her for being disappointed.
“You could hardly call them soldiers. Townspeople and farmers with a few weeks of training. The nobility didn’t bring enough to matter. What were they thinking?”
“They thought we wouldn’t come.” Franca looked at the bodies strewn on the field. “I wonder if they left the best to defend the gates.”
“I doubt it.” Braeden nodded at the men and horses disappearing into the distant woods. “Their best troops came with their nobles and ran away with them.”
“Should we chase them?”
“No, our orders are to take the city. We’ll get to the rest later.”
By now they were behind the imperial troops gathered at Kaleva’s western gate. The city walls were stout enough, but there wasn’t much left of the gate. It had taken a few shots from one small gun to turn it to splinters. Men on the walls fired into
the troops gathered below, but their aim was poor and most of the attackers wore helmets.
“What happens when we get in?” Franca hadn’t yet been party to a sacking.
“We round up what rebels who still live,” Braeden said. “Then we restore order. The foot-soldiers have a few hours to get what they can, but the general doesn’t want the city destroyed. We might have to break a few heads if they get into the liquor.”
The gate’s last timbers separated with a crash and soldiers flooded into the city. More hussars had gathered behind Braeden, and he gave the order to go ahead. The rebels hadn’t stopped fighting but now they were exposed and badly outnumbered. By the time Braeden came inside the walls it was over. Most of the defenders were dead and the few who had surrendered were wounded.
Braeden pushed through the clustered soldiers. “Make way,” he bellowed. “By order of the empress, these people are to be taken prisoner.” The soldiers moved aside, eager to get into the city with its promised rich shops and homes.
Braeden dismounted and walked to the small group of rebels that remained.”Who is the leader here?” he asked in Moraltan, pulling off his helmet.
“It seems I am.” A tall, lanky fellow with graying dark hair and red-rimmed eyes in a blackened face stepped forward. Blood streamed from a wound in his arm.
“Your name?”
“Dimir Kronek. Do you want me to surrender?”
“You don’t have to.” Braeden looked around and beckoned a young trooper forward. “Bind up Master Kronek’s arm. I don’t want him bleeding to death.”
Kronek barked a laugh. “So you can kill me later?”
“Won’t be me,” Braeden said, “For now, we’ll take you to the city jail. Your wounds will be seen to and you’ll stay there until you can receive a trial.”
“A trial?” Kronek winced as the soldier bandaged his arm. “Sham justice from a sham empress is no justice at all.”
The Forsaken Crown (The Desolate Empire Book 0) Page 24
