King's Dragon (Crown of Stars 1)

“Not even Master Rodlin can handle them hounds. None but his lordship can, or his heir, if he had one.”

“I thought he’d kill them all after what they did to his child—”

“Hush. Don’t go speaking of that.”

“It’s unholy. Devil’s blood, it is. My papa told me that those hounds will only tolerate the count or his heir, or those in whom they can smell devil’s blood. Them hounds were bred by elvish kind.”

Alain fixed his gaze on the ground and pretended not to hear. A furious chorus of barking splintered his thoughts. He passed through a palisade and came to the low stockade that enclosed the kennels.

Dirt swirled under the feet of the hounds chained to the wagon. They yanked at their chains and nipped at Master Rodlin and his two assistants, who wore padding bound around their arms and legs. The Eika prince, blood still weeping from his torn thigh, watched the spectacle with cool scorn.

“Go,” said Alain in what he hoped was an authoritative voice, shoving the hound toward the gate that led into the enclosure. But the wagon had not yet gone in, though the oxen had been unharnessed and led away, and Rage dragged against Alain, pulling the wrong way, eager to fling herself into the fray. The knot of soldiers had drifted after Alain. Evidently they were the Eika prince’s ostensible guards, although they were clearly more interested in watching the efforts of Rodlin and his dog-handlers as they attempted to unchain the hounds and get them into the kennel without being torn to bits.

Alain sighed and tugged the ungrateful Rage to the gate. “Go! Go in!” Rage went, whimpering an apology. Alain hurried back to the wagon. Sorrow had gotten hold of the leg of one of the handlers and was worrying at the padding, trying to rip through it to the tender flesh beneath.

“Stop that! Sit!” Alain grabbed the hound by his collar. Sorrow whined and then, sitting abruptly, released the man’s leg. The man limped back, out of reach, and sat down heavily. Master Rodlin and the other handler backed out of range swiftly enough. They eyed Alain and the hounds uneasily.

They were as afraid of him as they were of the hounds. Ai, Lord and Lady, what had he ever done to deserve this?

“Come on, boy,” he said to Sorrow. “In you go.” One by one he led Sorrow and then the other four hounds into the stockade. Four other hounds, brought in a separate cage, had already been chained inside. He sat with them to one side, holding them back by word and once by main force as the soldiers skittishly rolled the wagon in and installed the Eika prince in an open-sided, barred shed that had been built by Chatelaine Dhuoda’s order in the very center of the kennel. If the Eika prince somehow broke free of his chains, and then his cage, he would have the hounds to contend with.

“He’ll need that wound looked at,” said Master Rodlin, eyeing the prince from a watch platform built on stilts against the stockade, “but I daresay he’ll be as likely to bite the healer as the hounds would.”

The prince watched them. Blood still leaked from the wound although he seemed oblivious to it.

A cleric appeared, peering first nervously in at the kennel gate, first at the hounds, then at the Eika. “Master Rodlin. Begging your pardon, Master,” he cried, finally finding the man above him. “His lordship wishes to see you and the boy.”

“Which boy?” asked Master Rodlin. At once everyone else, and belatedly Rodlin himself, looked toward Alain. A moment later even the Eika prince turned his stare on Alain. Alain fidgeted. Rage and Sorrow, sitting at his feet, growled.

“Everyone out,” said Rodlin. The haste with which the soldiers and handlers retreated brought a contemptuous grin to the Eika’s lips, a savage baring of his sharp teeth. “Come with me, Alain.” Rodlin disappeared down the stairs that led from the platform to the ground. Alain let go of the hounds. They bolted away and began to race around the kennel, barking. Rage and Sorrow followed him to the gate, but he rubbed their great heads roughly and promised them he would be back. Then he slipped outside and shut the gate. The handlers chained it tightly closed.

“Follow me,” said Rodlin curtly. They walked together in silence, the cleric padding before them, into the hall.

Alain had never been permitted past the great hall where everyone ate. Rodlin led him out through a door that opened onto a tiny courtyard alive with color and fragrant with herbs and flowers, then up a curving staircase that led to a circular chamber in the stone tower. The chamber had been whitewashed, and a magnificent painted glass window depicting St. Lavrentius’ martyrdom let light stream into the room. There was, amazingly, a second window in the chamber, though this one had no glass; its shutters were open wide to admit light and air. Count Lavastine sat behind a table, attended by Chatelaine Dhuoda, Lord Geoffrey, Frater Agius, and the captain of the Lavas guard.

Count Lavastine glanced up from some documents as Rodlin and Alain entered the room. The cleric crossed the chamber to take his station beside Lord Geoffrey. Rodlin bent one knee in a brief but clear obeisance, and Alain copied him, shaking in the knees.

But Lavastine looked away and returned to his other business. “I believe we are free of the threat for this season,” he said to Lord Geoffrey. “I have no further need for you and your men-at-arms. You may return to your wife’s estates when you are ready.”

“Yes, cousin.” Lord Geoffrey nodded. Though a good head taller and quite a bit heavier than his kinsman, Geoffrey seemed hopelessly overawed by his elder cousin, Lavastine. “But we hope you will suffer our presence a month or two more. My precious Aldegund is young and this her first confinement. It would be well—”

“Yes, yes!” Lavastine tapped his fingers impatiently on the table. “Of course you must not leave until Lady Aldegund has given birth and she and the child gained strength for the fiveday’s journey.” His lips thinned as he gave Lord Geoffrey what might have been intended as a smile. “It is this child, is it not, if it is granted life and health by God’s hand, who will be named heir to my lands.”

“Unless you marry again,” said Geoffrey gravely. But even Alain knew that as kindly and evidently unambitious a man as Lord Geoffrey might harbor ambitions for his children. The Lavas lands were considerable.

Count Lavastine made a sudden sign as if against the evil eye or a bad omen.

“I beg your pardon,” said Geoffrey quickly. “I did not—”

o;Stop that! Sit!” Alain grabbed the hound by his collar. Sorrow whined and then, sitting abruptly, released the man’s leg. The man limped back, out of reach, and sat down heavily. Master Rodlin and the other handler backed out of range swiftly enough. They eyed Alain and the hounds uneasily.

They were as afraid of him as they were of the hounds. Ai, Lord and Lady, what had he ever done to deserve this?

“Come on, boy,” he said to Sorrow. “In you go.” One by one he led Sorrow and then the other four hounds into the stockade. Four other hounds, brought in a separate cage, had already been chained inside. He sat with them to one side, holding them back by word and once by main force as the soldiers skittishly rolled the wagon in and installed the Eika prince in an open-sided, barred shed that had been built by Chatelaine Dhuoda’s order in the very center of the kennel. If the Eika prince somehow broke free of his chains, and then his cage, he would have the hounds to contend with.

“He’ll need that wound looked at,” said Master Rodlin, eyeing the prince from a watch platform built on stilts against the stockade, “but I daresay he’ll be as likely to bite the healer as the hounds would.”

The prince watched them. Blood still leaked from the wound although he seemed oblivious to it.