King's Dragon (Crown of Stars 1)

What they left behind them was terrible to see, one man with a hand bitten clean off, others with flesh torn to expose bone. One poor lad, the banner bearer, had his throat ripped open. Lord Geoffrey had a number of bites, but he could stand. He swayed; Alain could not tell whether he staggered from the shock of his wounds or from the shock of his cousin’s attack.

To be attacked by one’s own kinsman was the worst kind of betrayal.

Was this the kind of war the Lady of Battles intended him for?

It could not be. Lavastine had always walked the middle road. Hadn’t the count understood that a war between Sabella and Henry would be the worst possible thing that could happen?

At that moment, Alain knew that Lavastine no longer moved and thought under his own free will, whatever Agius might say. Even Frater Agius would have been stunned by this unprovoked attack on Lord Geoffrey, whom everyone knew was Lavastine’s most favored kinsman. Lackling’s blood and Lackling’s life had been stolen in order to give Biscop Antonia the power to steal Lavastine’s heart and will.

“I will stay with him,” Alain murmured to himself, half embarrassed by his own arrogance in stating such a thing. “Someone must protect him.” Even if that someone was a common boy, who was nothing, who had nothing—except a rose that never ceased blooming.

Sergeant Fell sent half of his men ahead to the stronghold, but the brief flurry of shouts and cries that had erupted from inside the palisade walls had already faded. With his other men, Fell cleaned up from the skirmish.

He appeared profoundly uncomfortable as he placed Lord Geoffrey in custody; a frater known to have healing skills hurried forward from Lavastine’s train to attend to the wounded men.

“Hai, you! Lad!” Sergeant Fell caught sight of Alain. “Go on, then. Go on. You must fetch them hounds and tie them up. Think of the children in there.”

Several of the men-at-arms quickly, reflexively, drew the circle at their breasts. For who among them could forget that those very hounds had killed Lavastine’s wife and child? The full story Alain had never heard, since no person in Lavas Holding would speak of it.

“Go!” ordered Fell.

“My wife!” gasped Lord Geoffrey. “The baby!”

Had Alain waited ten breaths longer he would have been too late. It was easy to follow the path of the hound pack: Alain counted two dead men and eleven wounded ones strewn in a ragged line across the broad courtyard. Servants cowered by the well, protected by five of Lavastine’s soldiers.

tine rode on past Geoffrey and the knot of men clustered around him, leaving them to the mercies of his men-at-arms. He passed the dying frater. His captain spurred his own mount forward, calling to the other mounted soldiers to follow, and they galloped after Lavastine. Ahead, at the palisade gateway someone was trying to get the gate shut.

“Hai! Hai!” shouted Sergeant Fell, running forward along the line of foot soldiers. “Form up and drive forward at a trot!”

What happened next happened so quickly that afterward Alain could never entirely make sense of it. He surged forward with the other men-at-arms. He could not help but do so. The hounds barked and nipped at the air, scenting battle. Some he restrained, but three more broke away and these tore after Lavastine.

A struggle had erupted around Lord Geoffrey, though Geoffrey’s few retainers could scarcely hope for victory. But they beat about themselves with hands and sticks and their ceremonial spears, even with the lance that held the banner of Lady Aldegund’s kin, a white hart running against a background colored the deep blue of the twilight sky.

Lavastine, backed by his mounted soldiers, reached the gates. What resistance they met there was cursory. How could Geoffrey’s soldiers have ever imagined their lord’s cousin would attack them? But one man had kept his wits about him. One man remained in the lookout tower with crossbow in hand.

Perhaps he meant to shoot Lavastine and his hand wavered. Perhaps he meant exactly what happened. Alain knew of it only because when the crossbow quarrel hit Joy and pierced her heart, the other hounds went wild.

Not even Alain could control them.

Lavastine had vanished into the stronghold. Alain ran. He ran in the wake of the hounds and did not even have to shove his way past Sergeant Fell and through the other men-at-arms; they had scattered when the hounds raged through and began to ravage Lord Geoffrey and his men, the closest targets.

With his spear, Alain beat them back, though in their madness the hounds bit at him. Some of the men he could not save, but he straddled one poor frater with his feet and knocked the hounds away from Lord Geoffrey ten times at least before they growled even at him and then turned and ran toward the stronghold. Their eyes were wild, red-rimmed with the battle madness. Blood and saliva dripped down their muzzles.

What they left behind them was terrible to see, one man with a hand bitten clean off, others with flesh torn to expose bone. One poor lad, the banner bearer, had his throat ripped open. Lord Geoffrey had a number of bites, but he could stand. He swayed; Alain could not tell whether he staggered from the shock of his wounds or from the shock of his cousin’s attack.

To be attacked by one’s own kinsman was the worst kind of betrayal.

Was this the kind of war the Lady of Battles intended him for?

It could not be. Lavastine had always walked the middle road. Hadn’t the count understood that a war between Sabella and Henry would be the worst possible thing that could happen?

At that moment, Alain knew that Lavastine no longer moved and thought under his own free will, whatever Agius might say. Even Frater Agius would have been stunned by this unprovoked attack on Lord Geoffrey, whom everyone knew was Lavastine’s most favored kinsman. Lackling’s blood and Lackling’s life had been stolen in order to give Biscop Antonia the power to steal Lavastine’s heart and will.

“I will stay with him,” Alain murmured to himself, half embarrassed by his own arrogance in stating such a thing. “Someone must protect him.” Even if that someone was a common boy, who was nothing, who had nothing—except a rose that never ceased blooming.

Sergeant Fell sent half of his men ahead to the stronghold, but the brief flurry of shouts and cries that had erupted from inside the palisade walls had already faded. With his other men, Fell cleaned up from the skirmish.

He appeared profoundly uncomfortable as he placed Lord Geoffrey in custody; a frater known to have healing skills hurried forward from Lavastine’s train to attend to the wounded men.