Prince of Dogs (Crown of Stars 2)

He broke away before he reached Lavastine and his men, as if he didn’t want to get too close, and came to the huge, open doors of the cathedral. There, he stopped short as if chains had brought him up. As if he dared to go no farther.

“Come,” said Lavastine to the prince as he led his party up beside—but not too close to—the dogs. A few of the men held their hands up over their noses, those who could reach them under the nasals of their helms. The count crossed out onto the steps that fronted the cathedral. The square beyond lay empty under the hazy afternoon sunlight. “We must make haste. My son—”

But he broke off, unable to speak further. In the far distance, Liath heard the sound of horns and the frenzied shouting of Eika.

That Sanglant had stepped out from the shelter of the cathedral she knew without looking, because of the stench. But now he spoke. His voice was hoarse, as if it had grown rusty from disuse—but then, his voice had always sounded like that.

“The horns,” he said, head flung back to listen. “They belong to the king.”

2

STROKE after stroke felled the Eika. As the Lady cleaved through them, some looked into Alain’s eyes, sensing the doom that came upon them, and others simply dropped their weapons and fled. Even their savage fury could not stand long before the Lady’s wrath—and surely not without the throbbing beat of the drums, now silent.

But there were yet more of them, even in disorder, than remained of Alain’s contingent. When an Eika princeling rallied his forces and drove his soldiers back into the remaining wedge of infantry, she pursued that princeling through the thick of fighting and slew him. His forces faltered and broke and ran from her while Alain’s men howled in glee and set back to their work, but even so, Eika kept coming on, and on. There were so many, and their scaly skin so tough to penetrate.

We can’t hope to win through.

Then the call came, resounding from the last rank higher up upon the hill.

“Fesse! the banner of Fesse!”

And then they heard the horns and the thunder of cavalry.

“Henry!” cried another man, and they let out a great cheer: “The king! The king!”

With new spirit they pressed forward, cleaving and hacking at the Eika. Eika banners wavered and retreated—or fell. Eika soldiers hesitated. Some withdrew in an orderly fashion, some fought on, but slowly the hill cleared of them, and Alain struggled free of the press and got to higher ground.

It was true! There, sweeping across the field, came the banner of Fesse and the personal standard of Duchess Liutgard herself. Farther, a line of cavalry under the standard of Princess Sapientia cut wide toward the east, retreating toward the river’s shore pursued by those Eika who fled to their ships. Long shadows from the afternoon sun hatched the western road. Yet another mass of soldiers emerged from the forest under King Henry’s banner.

Alain’s legs gave out from under him and he staggered, dropped, and was only caught by the sudden flurry of hounds that pressed against him, licking him, whining. He slipped on a clod of dirt and fell hard on his rump.

“My lord Alain.” A soldier gripped his arm and bent with concern over him. “My lord! Here, here! Water for our lord!”

They swarmed around him and for once the hounds sat quiet and allowed the soldiers to bring Alain water, to slide his helm off and wipe his face in cool liquid.

“I never saw a man fight so fiercely!” cried one of his soldiers.

“Aye, we would have been dead if not for you, my lord. You shone with the battle lust, you did!”

He winced and thrust himself up.

“A victory!” they cried, celebrating around him with their cheers. Alain squinted, but most of the fighting was now out of his view. The Eika were routed.

And the Lady of Battles had vanished.

“Come,” he said to the hounds. He began the hike to the top.

“Victory!” sang his soldiers as the horns sounded distantly to announce the king’s arrival on the field.

Eika corpses littered the hillside, but for every Eika who lay dead, one of his own men did, too.

Some few lived, some stirred, groaning, and some few would be dead soon enough, not having been granted the mercy of a quick passage out of life. His hounds pressed round him, Sorrow, Rage, Terror, Steadfast, Ardent, Bliss, and Fear; battered and bloody, they yet lived when so many others had perished, including poor Good Cheer.

He gained the height of the hill at last to find the camp in utter carnage, tents torn down and ripped by the passage of feet and the swell and ebb of uncaring battle, chests burst open, bags whose contents lay strewn across corpses and churned-up ground alike. Nothing remained of Lavastine’s pavilion. Of the rough wooden observing platform, constructed so hastily yesterday, only a few logs still stood. Alain clambered up on them.

From this vantage place at the top of the hill, Alain could see the banners of Henry’s armies, but none from among those which had marched out beside Lavastine at dawn.

“I pray you, come down from there, my lord!” called one of the soldiers. “There are still Eika lurking, and they have bows.”