The Forsaken Crown (The Desolate Empire Book 0)

by Christina Ochs

  “You’ll receive it anyway.” Braeden gave Kronek a gentle shove to get him moving, then told his men to gather up the other wounded.

  Kaleva had a grand city hall built of gray stone, with a roof of red slate and many fussy flourishes. Most importantly for Braeden’s purpose, it had a spacious dungeon. A few pale, well-dressed, but dirty men stood blinking in the light of the corridor as they entered the building.

  “Who’re these fellows?” Franca asked, walking at his elbow. The clank of her armor echoed off the stone walls.

  “Likely the imperial governors. The rebels captured them when they overthrew the government last month.”

  “They don’t look hurt.” Franca stared at one of them as she walked past and the man shrank back.

  “No, though I wouldn’t want to stand in their boots when it comes time to account for themselves before Empress Teodora. I’m sure she’ll want to know why they surrendered instead of dying at their posts.”

  Franca snorted.

  The rebels were put into cells and arrangements made for a doctor to see to the wounded.

  “When’s the trial?” Franca asked as they walked back to their horses.

  “On the morrow, most like.” Braeden swung back into the saddle. “General Ensden will call them guilty and they’ll hang for treason. Counts and princes will go to Atlona to face the empress.”

  Franca shook her head. “I’d rather just have it over quickly.”

  “Me too,” Braeden said. “Now let’s get these looters under control. Our orders are to give them a bit of time to pick up what they can, but they’re not to set fires or kill anyone.”

  They rode down a side street away from the town hall. A shriek came from an open window above them, followed by prolonged screaming.

  “Sir, they’re killing someone right now.” Franca pulled out a pistol.

  “I don’t think so.” Braeden took care not to look her in the eye. “Rape’s allowed, but only for as long as the looting goes on.”

  Franca stared at him, her lips pressed together and her face pale under her freckles.

  “It’s a sacking, girl. I don’t make the rules. It’s how the people are punished for rebellion.”

  “You know that poor woman had nothing to do with the rebellion.” The color rose in Franca’s cheeks. “As usual, it’s the men who are idiots, starting fights they can’t win, and it’s the women who pay.”

  “You’re right. But it’s not up to us. And you’re in luck because we get to stop them now. It’ll all be over soon.”

  Franca turned her pistol around. “Where do I start, sir?”

  “With this lot.”

  A cluster of soldiers were coming out of a large building carrying clothing, food, jewelry and a few small pieces of furniture.

  “All right fellows,” Braeden shouted. “Time to head back to camp. Take what you can carry and go find your unit outside the city.” He pointed his saber at a skinny young musketeer trying to hoist a plump, shrieking maid over his shoulder, “Not the girl.”

  The boy hesitated and paid for it with a smack from the butt of Franca’s pistol, delivered with more gusto than was strictly needed.

  Kendryk

  Runewald

  The men stared at Kendryk, surprised. The one who’d spoken with him earlier glanced toward the priest and said, “It seems you’re not the only one who needs assistance.”

  “You must help me help Father Landrus, this moment, before my uncle further incites this crowd.” Kendryk watched recognition dawn on several faces.

  “But of course, Your Grace,” the man standing next to him said. “Gentlemen, I’m sure you recognize Prince Kendryk, our ruler.” There was a flurry of nods and awkward bows.

  “I need to stop the duke before he starts breaking heads.” Kendryk was relieved that the duke’s party had stalled in the square for at least a moment. “Any ideas?”

  “Perhaps Brande should use his voice,” one man said. “It’s uncommon loud.”

  “Excellent. Please shout my name and order the duke to stop.” Kendryk looked for something to stand on. For the thousandth time he wished he were just two inches taller. Then he remembered the boys on the barrel and turned to them. “I’m afraid I need to borrow this for a moment.”

  The smallest of them started to protest, but one of the older boys said, “Hurry now; it’s the prince himself!” And all three jumped down. Before Kendryk could think again, someone had boosted him up and suddenly he looked across a sea of hats.

  The man named Brande stepped forward and bellowed, “His Grace Prince Kendryk bids the Duke of Emberg attend him at once.”

  The rumbling crowd quieted while the duke and his entourage swung as one in Kendryk’s direction.

  “By the Mother, it’s Kendryk!” His cousin Balduin’s stupid face was more puzzled than usual. “Say, cuz, did you come to arrest the preacher, too?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” the duke said. “His Grace is clearly here on personal business.”

  Kendryk fought back a sudden urge to smile. It was a strange way to describe the prince of the land dressed as a merchant and standing on a barrel like an urchin at a tournament.

  “You are correct, duke.” Kendryk stayed up high for the moment. “Nevertheless, I must ask you in my official capacity to please stop. I don’t recall issuing an arrest warrant. Oh, and Balduin, please refrain from taking the Mother’s name in vain.”

  Balduin opened his mouth to protest, but closed it again upon a glance from the duke.

  The same man who’d helped Kendryk onto the barrel handed him down. Now the entire crowd turned in his direction and parted like a miracle from the Scrolls as he walked into the square.

  Kendryk had almost reached his uncle before he realized that he was not alone. Most of the men he’d been standing with were following close on his heels. He threw his shoulders back and lifted his chin a little higher.

  Once he stood before the duke he put on his haughtiest expression. “The warrant, please.” Kendryk made no move to reach for it, forcing the duke to dismount. It would have been a severe breach of etiquette for him to lean over his sovereign.

  The duke handed him the document with the barest hint of a bow.

  “This bears neither my seal nor my signature.” Kendryk scarcely glanced at it before handing it back.

  “I planned to get your signature later.” The duke’s left eyelid quivered. “I knew you would approve.”

  “If you had first presented me with the facts surrounding Father Landrus, I might have.” Kendryk felt the need to sound as stern as possible. “As it is, I will conduct my own investigation before any further action is taken.”

  “If you wish. Although I’m sure this rabble-rouser is not worth your time. His guilt is beyond question. Dozens of people witnessed him accusing the Imperata of deception. How dare a common priest think he knows the truth of such matters?” The duke’s voice rose to a shout. “We must stop this sort of insolence now and make an example of him.”

  Heat flooded Kendryk’s face. Perhaps his uncle needed to be reminded once again that he hadn’t been regent for over five years. He decided to save that for a more private occasion, but didn’t bother hiding his impatience. “As yet, I am not convinced of his guilt. I will look into this myself and decide based on what I learn. You are free to go.”

  The duke slowly turned purple, but seemed to realize he couldn’t lose his temper with Kendryk in public. He bit his lip hard, turned away and remounted his horse. Balduin snickered.

  Kendryk didn’t wait for his uncle’s party to leave. He turned on his heel and walked toward Father Landrus, who had come down off his box, and stood waiting, a slight smile on his face.

  Gwynneth

  Birkenhof Palace, Terragand

  There was a soft knock on the library door as it opened.

  “What is it, Edson?” Gwynneth put down her quill. She was writing a lengthy letter to a Galladian duke of her acquaintance, explaining the reasons for T
erragand’s dissatisfaction with Empress Teodora.

  “I am very sorry to interrupt you, Your Grace,” the footman said. “But it’s the Duke of Emberg. He insists on seeing Count Faris at once. I told him the count was busy, but he won’t be put off.”

  “Count Faris is always too busy to see the duke. Show him into the drawing room and I’ll meet him there.” The door closed again.

  “You may as well copy what I have so far.” Gwynneth handed the letter to her secretary, a slim bespectacled young man seated at a small desk in the corner. “I’ll send the same thing to Sanova and Cesiano.”

  She turned to the window and watched the rain run down the glass and dull the bright green of the gardens. Then she looked at herself in a long, gilt-edged mirror, pushed a stray hair into place, smoothed her skirts, and turned to her ladies, waiting by the door. “Shall we go?”

  Her heels tapped on the polished parquet of the long hallway as they made their way to the front of the palace. She glanced up at one of the portraits of Kendryk’s ancestors hanging high on the walls. “I wonder if the duke is so ill-tempered because he and his son both got old Princess Lyonet’s dreadful chin and ears?”

  Linette giggled, but Avaron, who at thirty, fancied herself senior and more mature said, “The poor man. It’s not nice to laugh. Bad enough about the looks, but that Kendryk got those and everything else must be terrible for him.”

  “Hush now,” Gwynneth said at the drawing room door. She swept through as Avaron opened it and fixed an insincere smile on her face. “Uncle!” She put out both hands, forcing him to take them.

  “Princess.” He touched the tips of her fingers and bowed as briefly as protocol required.

  “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting. I’m afraid you caught me quite unaware.”

  The duke straightened. “I only wished to speak to Count Faris for a moment.”

  “Oh, the count is out on business,” Gwynneth said, although he was just down the corridor, toiling away in Kendryk’s study. “Please, sit while I send for refreshments. Would you like a hot drink? Or maybe something stronger? Or both?” She nodded at Linette, who pulled the ornate bell rope before taking her place in the corner with Avaron.

  “Nothing for me, thank you.” The duke looked around, snorted, then sat on a tiny embroidered chair.

  A maid bustled in.

  “Tea, and those little honey cakes, if we still have them,” Gwynneth ordered, then sank onto a dainty velvet settee, her skirts billowing around her. “I’m afraid Uncle, that Prince Kendryk is out as well. With the weather so dreadful though, I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”

  “Hmph.” The duke scowled at the rain streaming down the windows. “I’d prefer to wait until Count Faris returns.”

  “It might be hours.” Gwynneth pushed back her irritation. It could be impossible to get rid of the duke. “He told us not to wait for him for dinner, but of course, you’re welcome to join us.” She hoped the duke understood this was a polite lie. He was often oblivious to the niceties and far too literal.

  The duke grunted something negative, and then the maid returned with tea. He waved her away, but Gwynneth took a cup and a tiny cake on a delicate little plate. She stabbed at it a few times with a dainty silver fork, then leaned back.

  She smiled over her teacup. “Perhaps I can help you somehow?”

  “I doubt it. Your husband has been making a mess of things. I was hoping to speak with a person of sense.”

  Gwynneth’s smile disappeared. “You forget yourself, Uncle. Prince Kendryk is the final authority on all matters concerning Terragand.” She smiled again, but less broadly. “I’m afraid I’m the only one here, so you might as well tell me your problem.”

  “The problem is that a dangerous revolutionary is at large, and Prince Kendryk refuses to stop him.”

  “Goodness! That’s quite a story.”

  “It’s no story,” the duke snapped. “I saw him with my own eyes. He defended this man and refused to let me do my duty.”

  “He must have had good reason.”

  “What reason could he have? This man spoke openly against the Imperata and the Temple.”

  “Shocking.”

  “It certainly is.” The duke was as immune to irony as ever. “Worse, this fellow is preaching heresy at the Runewald Temple, and the people are swallowing it like the fools they are.”

  “I am surprised. I think we both know how Kendryk feels about heretics.”

  The duke nodded. “Yet here was this man, spewing his poison without shame, while Prince Kendryk refused to let me arrest him.”

  Gwynneth shrugged. “You may not approve, but he had the right to act as he did.”

  “I shall require an explanation!” A vein pulsed in his temple.

  Gwynneth raised an eyebrow. “He does not need to explain himself to anyone, and especially not to you.”

  “The Temple is clear about how these types should be dealt with. The Maxima will hear of this.”

  “I’m sure she will. You know as well as I do that she has no authority over Kendryk. I’m afraid you must take this up with the empress.” She stood, so the duke had to stand as well. “And I suggest you take no action in that direction.” She looked straight at him, unsmiling. “You may not like it, but Prince Kendryk is your sovereign lord and you must obey him. Your agreement isn’t necessary.”

  The door opened and Edson appeared. “Edson, please show the duke out. Good day Uncle, I’ll tell Count Faris you wished to speak with him.”

  The duke, too angry to speak, turned on his heel and stormed out. A second later, the front door slammed.

  ******

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  Lieutenant Sonya Vidmar, an officer in an Orician mercenary unit

  Count General Ruso Faris, commander of a mercenary army fighting for Sanova

  Captain Katyuska Vondran, Sonya’s commanding officer

  Sergeant Faber, serving under Sonya

  Ensign Irena Tchernak, serving under Sonya

  Major Igor Kolnikov, Brianski officer

  Bela Rad, headman of Village of Tesk

  Captain Andrei Danko, imperial cavalry officer

  Archduchess Teodora Inferrara, second in line to the Olvisyan imperial throne

  Daciana Tomescu, a marauder and friend to the Archduchess Teodora

  Count Yvan Mikula, a friend to Count Faris

  Zita, his daughter

  Adryena Torner, Sonya’s older sister

  Dominyk Torner, Sonya’s younger brother

  Helga, Dominyk’s wife

  Konrad Torner, Sonya’s father, a Terragand farmer

  Fritz Hayder, a temple guard

  Countess Belsar, a retired Terragand officer

  Gabryela Kolnitz, a young cavalry officer

  Marko Alsfelder, a young cavalry officer

  Kendryk Bernotas, Prince of Terragand

  Duke Desmond Balkunus, Kendryk’s regent, ruling until he comes of age

  Renata Sebesta-Bernotas, Princess of Terragand, co-regent

  Baroness Betta Engler, Renata’s companion

  Edwyn Bernotas, Kendryk’s father (deceased)

  Lukan Bernotas, Kendryk’s brother (deceased)

  Duke Evard Bernotas, Kendryk’s uncle and co-regent

  Arvus, Kendryk’s servant

  Count Wirtenberg, Terragand minister of finance

  Baron Oberdorf, Terragand minister of military

  Count Emrick, Terragand minister of agriculture

  Georg Kasler, Kendryk’s university friend

  Acon Benet, Galladian theologian and Kendryk’s mentor

  Prince Gauvain Brevard of Galladium, Kendryk’s friend

  Oskar, a palace guard

  Mother Luysa, a priestess

  Father Wilfred, Kendryk’s former priest

  Julia, Maxima of Terragand

  Becker, captain of the Heidenhof g
arrison

  Sergeant Schmitt, of the Heidenhof garrison

  Count Alden Balkunus, Desmond’s son

  Duchess Ora Balkunus, Desmond’s wife

  Christina Ochs is the author of historical fantasy novels Rise of the Storm, Valley of the Shadow, Hammer of the Gods and Winter of the Wolf. Her first series, The Desolate Empire, is based upon the events of the Protestant Reformation and the Thirty Years War (1618-48). Many of her characters are also based on historical figures.

  With a bachelor's degree in History and an MBA, Christina uses her writing to indulge her passion for reading and research. Publishing as an indie author provides an outlet for her entrepreneurial side and she is an avid supporter of fellow authors, both independent and traditionally published.

  Christina lives in a semi truck full time, traveling the United States with her truck driver husband and two cats, Phoenix and Nashville.

  You can learn more about her at her blog: http://christinaochs.com or follow her on twitter @therollinwriter

  The Forsaken Crown

  Copyright © 2016 by Christina Ochs

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means including photocopying, recording, or information storage and retrieval without permission in writing from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  First Edition

  Cover design by Amygdaladesign.net

  Lujin Press

  Nashville, Tennessee

  2016