King's Dragon (Crown of Stars 1)

Alain resisted the urge to bring the rose out, to show its bloom, to make Agius smell its fragrance. It was not the season for roses, certainly, but the count had a small garden protected from the winds, open to the sun and often warmed by braziers; roses there bloomed early and late. What if Agius, not believing his tale of the visitation of the Lady of Battles, accused him of stealing it?

Or, worse, what if Agius believed him? What if Agius decided that Alain’s destiny was something that he, Agius, must manage?

“No,” Alain said finally, humbly, bowing his head. “I know nothing of sorcery except the stories any child hears and the tales told by our deacon.”

Agius made a gesture of dismissal, turning the conversation away from this discussion of sorcery. “You must wait and see, Alain. But in any case, these matters no longer touch me. I will remain here at Lavas Holding to continue my preaching.”

“You’re not coming with us?” At once, guiltily, he recalled Sorrow’s bite; had he managed the hounds better, Agius would not be injured.

But Agius made no mention of the wound. “I am a frater, bound by my oath to serve Our Lady. Though I have stopped at this holding for a while, I do not serve the count, not as you do. As you must.”

Sorrow, sitting patiently by the door, whined. Alain was reminded of his duties: Master Rodlin would be waiting for him. He rose.

“But, Brother Agius, what if Count Lavastine orders you to follow in his train?”

Agius smiled thinly. “Lavastine cannot order me, Alain. Nor will he try.”

Nor, to Alain’s surprise, did he try. They marched out on St. Isidora’s Day soon after dawn, twenty mounted soldiers and eighty on foot with a train of twenty wagons. Frater Agius did not march with them. Chatelaine Dhuoda also remained behind to tend to Lavas stronghold.

Alain could not be sure whether he was sick at heart or terribly excited. Everything he knew he now left behind. Though he had not seen Osna town for over a year, still, it did not seem in his heart too far away; it was four days’ journey in good weather and was part of familiar lands. Now, familiar lands vanished behind him, setting west. They crossed the Vennu River and marched east through unknown fields and strange hills.

He swung back and forth between these two emotions, dread and excitement, all that first day. But by the third day the intermittent drizzle and the slogging pace of the march dampened his spirits and left him with a persistent cough and a constantly dripping nose. His boots were caked in mud, and by the end of each day his feet and hands were chilled through.

Only during the day, if the sun came out while they were marching, did he feel comfortable. He and the hounds slept under a wagon at night, just outside the tent that was always pitched for the count. This way, at least, he stayed dry. Many of the other men-at-arms weren’t so lucky, and they grumbled.

On the fourth day of the march, while he was watering the hounds at a stream, someone threw a stone at him from the bushes that grew in profusion along the stream’s edge. The stone hit hard enough to bruise his shoulder. He yelped, and there came a snickering from the dense thicket. Then, of course, the hounds surged out of the stream and, growling and yipping, made for the bushes. By the time Alain restrained them, his tormenters had gone, shrieking and scattering away into the wood. He did not see their faces, only their backs; there were three of them.

After that he was mostly left alone, although now and again a dead rat would turn up in his porridge. But because Agius was not there, he had no one to talk to, not really. Master Rodlin treated him politely but coldly, and for the rest, they either avoided him or were too important to notice him. Count Lavastine spoke to no one, except to issue curt orders. Care of the hounds was left to Alain and though the hounds were good companions— and increasingly obedient to his commands—Alain was pretty much miserable through and through by the time they arrived at the stronghold where Lord Geoffrey and Lady Aldegund made their home.

Lord Geoffrey was surprised to see his kinsman, but he came out from the stronghold with the household clerics and his wife’s chatelaine and various of her kin to greet Count Lavastine on the last stretch of road. They walked out on foot, as was customary. Lavastine did not dismount to embrace his cousin.

The bluff Lord Geoffrey looked taken aback. “I beg your pardon,” he said, struggling for words as he examined Lavastine with alarm. “My dear Aldegund is in bed with a fever, but as all the children have had the affliction and recovered from it we do not fear for her. There is a healer with her.” He hesitated on the word healer, as if he meant to substitute a different word and had thought better of it, then went on. “But the babe born at Lavas Holding is a fine healthy child, almost six months in age now, and has celebrated her first Penitire. There we anointed her with the holy water and gave her the name Lavrentia, as we promised you. What brings you to this holding, cousin? Have you come to celebrate the Feast of St. Sormas with us? And with such a retinue?”

For no one could overlook Lavastine’s entourage. Even Sabella and her great retinue, when Alain had first seen them, had not appeared so obviously battle-ready and intended for war.

“I have come to get your pledge, your person, and your men-at-arms, to join with Sabella.”

Lord Geoffrey started visibly. To Alain, this was confirmation of his own belief that Lavastine was ensorcelled. Surely Geoffrey knew his cousin’s mind on this matter better than any other person might. “T-to join Lady Sabella?” he stammered.

“So I said,” snapped Lavastine.

“But that is treason against King Henry.”

“It is treason not to take up Sabella’s cause against Henry. She is the elder child, the named heir. Her mother was queen of Varre in her own right.”

“But by right of fertility—” protested Geoffrey.

“Sabella has a daughter, born of her womb. By what right does Henry claim the throne? By the right given him by a bastard child born to a creature who cannot even be called a true woman? Is it imagined this creature’s oath, before the assembled biscops, is worthy of being called truth? How can we know Henry got the child on her? How can we trust the male line at all? It is only through the female line we can be sure.”

Geoffrey appeared staggered by this argument. “B—but, cousin. Your own line, your own father … Lavas has for three generations passed its inheritance through the male line.”

“Do you stand with me?” asked Lavastine without apparent emotion. “Or against me?” He raised a hand, calling his troops to order. His captain actually hesitated, he was so surprised by this command.

“I—I—I must have time to think!”

“There is no time to think! You must choose!”

Lavastine urged his horse forward and drew his sword. Joy and Fear loped beside him. Geoffrey was too stunned even to shy aside as the count bore down on him, sword aloft. But Geoffrey’s clerics and retainers were not so slow-witted. Several threw themselves in front of their lord, so that when Lavastine cut down, it was a man in wool tunic and leggings who took the blow meant for his lord; Geoffrey merely cried out in shock.