Rise of the Storm Sneak Peek: Prologue

Birkenfels Castle, Terragand

Braeden

“She’s up there somewhere, that beautiful princess with the golden hair,” Miro sighed. “Ercos willing, we’ll make her a widow before sundown. Do you reckon she’s looking down on us?”

Braeden Terris tipped his head back as far as he could. The pointed towers of Birkenfels, perched high on the cliff over the river, emerged from the mist. “If she is, she can’t see through the fog. Stop worrying about the pretty princess and start worrying we’ll stumble onto her husband before Novitny and the rest come up. If we do, I’m sure she’d be happy to put your ugly mug on a spike over her gate.”

“One look at me, and that poor princess would forget all about that stupid prince of hers. It’s your scruffy head she’d stick up there while I stick . . .”

“There they are thank the gods,” Braeden said, as horsemen emerged from the fog. Prince Kendryk’s retreating army had burned the bridge below the castle, so the Sanova Hussars forded the river about a league downstream. In the pre-dawn gloom, Braeden lost sight of his commander and took his own vanguard to their rendezvous point. He didn’t want to stumble upon twenty thousand enemy in the fog by himself, so he was happy to see the rest of them.

Prince Novitny came up next to Braeden. “There you are Terris,” he said. “Was worried you’d gone the wrong way. Would be a shame to miss all the fun.”

“It would. About time we had a real fight.” He patted the neck of Kazmir, his charger, who snorted in agreement. “Think we’ll get it?”

“We will,” Novitny said. “He can’t go any further unless he finds a way to tunnel through those hills.”

By now all the hussars coming up from the river had fallen into formation on the road leading away from the castle. Braeden spared one more glance for the princess barricaded in it, but Birkenfels was once again shrouded in fog.

Novitny followed his gaze. “He won’t get any help from there,” he said. “At least I hope not.”

“What do you mean? There can’t be more than a skeleton garrison there.”

“It’s not the garrison that worries me. It’s that girl’s father. If word reaches him in time and he finds a way to sail up the river, we’ll have some real trouble.”

“Think he will?”

“Likely not. Still, the general’s posted scouts at least twenty leagues downriver so we should have plenty of warning if any ships come.”

The prince rode off to take his position and Braeden turned his mind to the coming battle. Pale sunlight caught thousands of spear-tips as they reached open country beyond the river valley and enormous squares of pike and musket moved into place on the right flank. Solid and slow-moving, the squares were usually in danger of being outflanked, but Bernotas didn’t have enough cavalry to be a threat. Why Arian Orland wasn’t there with his ten thousand horse was anyone’s guess.

Braeden took his place at the head of his banner on the Novitny right flank while the horses walked across long green grass trampled by thousands of feet.

Franca Dura galloped up a moment later in a spray of mud. “I’ve brought your orders, sir. You should be ready to go soon and watch out for the Bernotas guns. With any luck they’ll hit the center so we can crush the right flank straightaway and swoop down on Prince Kendryk himself.”

Braeden pulled Kazmir to a stop as he stepped into a small stream. The fog against the hills in front of them hadn’t lifted and it was hard to see directly ahead. But to his right the fog had burned off and the sun shone onto the front ranks of the Empress’s personal troops. Teodora Inferrara wore a full suit of gold plate armor and rode a magnificent white courser. A deep red cloak fell from her shoulders. She wore no helmet and her heavy black hair hung loose to her waist, lifting like a flag in the breeze.

“Phwoar,” Miro said. “Just as good close up?”

“Better. But she’s still an evil bitch. I hate fighting for her.”

“Rather fight for the loser, would you?”

“He wouldn’t be losing if we were on his side.”

“Oh, there he is!” Franca said as a sudden breeze cleared away the mist clinging to the hills.

Braeden followed her gaze. Kendryk Bernotas was directly in front of them, conferring with one of his officers. His glittering silver armor and a blue plume rising high from his helmet would make him an easy target, even in the smoke and confusion of battle. He looked quite cool, sitting his horse with the same casual grace that had first impressed Braeden. If he was bothered because his position made retreat impossible and he’d just sent his young family into that mousetrap of a castle, he didn’t show it.

Franca sighed. “Oh, he’s lovely,” she said. “I hope I’m not the one to kill him. I don’t think I could bear it.”

Braeden silently agreed and turned his attention to the enemy forces.

The backbone of the Bernotas force stood directly across from the Sanova Hussars. Veteran mercenaries of the long war in Zeelund, they formed tight, small squares of pike, with blocks of muskets in between.

“What did Novitny say about the pike?”

“Not to worry about them,” Franca said. “They’re carrying extra-long, knowing we’re here, but he reckons they haven’t had time to drill with them and will be slow. We’re to mind the muskets, though. Those are the same fellows who wiped out Rykter’s cuirassiers at Kolnard.”

“Has there been any sign of Orland’s cavalry?”

Franca shook her head. “Not a single scout saw or heard anything within a day’s ride from here, sir.”

“All right. I don’t like that we don’t know where he is, but with any luck he won’t sneak up on us today. Send word to the captains,” he told Franca and Miro. “We’ll move double-time with close ranks. The muskets will be quick on the first round. I want them smashed before they can get off a second one.” He could already see the clumsy movements of the pikemen and decided they’d be easily overrun once the muskets were out of the way.

Franca returned a few minutes later and took her place on his left. She jumped as the Imperial guns made the first report. There was smoke and shouting in the distance after the shells landed somewhere in the back of the Bernotas ranks.

The Imperial center moved forward, the black and red Inferrara standards fluttering boldly before endless ranks of shining pike and helm.

A muffled thump came from the guns on the hill straight ahead, but the shells landed well to Braeden’s right. He looked back for the last time. Novitny’s Hussars were ready, the rising breeze rustling through their black wings and black banners fluttering from their lances. Kazmir snorted and stomped in the mud

“Forward!” Braeden shouted and spurred the horse into a gallop. The pike swung into formation, but Braeden waited for musket fire. The wings rushing in his ears made it hard to hear anything else. He looked straight ahead and saw a young musketeer, eyes wide, raise his weapon as a puff of smoke came from it. His lance slid into forward position as Kazmir bore down on the bristling hedge of pike. Franca was no longer at his side, and Kazmir suddenly veered away. The pike were in place and weren’t budging.

Braeden pulled Kazmir around. “Regroup!” he called to Miro, in front of the second rank, which had not yet reached the line. With lances down, no one was prepared to shoot. In the meantime, the musketeers might have time to reload. It was about to get hot.

Braeden threw his lance away and pulled out both pistols. Miro was beside him. “Dura?” Braeden asked.

“I saw her horse go down.” His voice shook a little, and he swallowed. “I don’t know what happened to her, sir.”

Braeden swore under his breath. The pike were advancing in good order so the clumsy maneuvers had clearly been a ruse. Novitny should have been too experienced to fall for it though Braeden had been no better. “It’s time we stopped underestimating Prince Kendryk,” he said to Miro. “Get word to Novitny that everyone keep their eyes open for Arian Orland. The way things are going, he’s likely to give us trouble when we least expect it.”

He turned to the rest of his banner as Miro galloped off. “One more time,” he said, urging Kazmir into a canter and raising his pistols. “We go around the pike and take down the musketeers. All of them.”

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