King's Dragon (Crown of Stars 1)

“I have much to think about,” she said. He was too well mannered to press her.

2

THAT night they celebrated the Feast of St. Susannah, a saint beloved by cobblers and goldsmiths and jewelers. The king’s retinue filled up the old monastery’s guest houses and half the villages within an hour’s walk of the cloister, in addition to those who stayed in tents pitched in the surrounding pastures. The brother cellarer, in charge of provisioning the monastery, was actually heard to mutter that the king’s retainers were too many and too fond of their food and wine.

Henry presented a sober face to the assembly. Only Rosvita and Villam knew why she had spoken to the old hermit. Only Rosvita knew the content of that interview and Henry’s reaction to it when she had told him the whole.

He had thought for a long time while she stood, patient and silent, beside him. Although Father Bardo had offered his own study to Henry, to use as bedchamber and receiving room, Henry chose the upstairs room in the chief guest house. The room was spacious but boasted no ornamentation.

Here, with both shutters open to the spring air, she and King Henry were alone for a brief time.

Except on formal occasions, Henry always dressed in the style of his people, if more richly than most: knee-length tunic trimmed with gold braid; leggings and; at this time of year, soft leather boots worked with eagles and lions and dragons, the three pillars on which his power was built. The Eagles were his messengers, the Lions his faithful foot soldiers, and the Dragons his heavy cavalry, the pride of his army. But these were only his personal weapons.

His power as king of all Wendar and Varre rested on the submission of the great princes of the realm to his overlordship.

His black leather belt was embossed with the sigils of the six dukedoms, painted in gold: a dragon for Saony, a lion for Avaria, an eagle for Fesse, a guivre for Arconia, a stallion for Varingia, where horses were bred, and a hawk for Wayland.

He wore four gold rings, one for each of the march-lords: Helmut Villam, Judith of Olsatia and Austra, and Werinhar of Westfall. The margrave of Eastfall was dead now and the ring she had received in her turn from Henry lost on the battlefield or stolen away by looters to adorn some Quman lord out on the grasslands.

A fifth ring, bearing the seal of his sovereignty, he wore on a golden chain around his neck.

He wore no crown. It traveled, along with his robe of state, his scepter, and the Holy Lance of St. Perpetua, Lady of Battles, in an oak chest carved with griffins and dragons grappling in eternal war.

He listened to Rosvita’s account of her interview with Brother Fidelis. He considered it while she waited. In his youth he had been more impetuous, blurting out his first thoughts. Now, eighteen years after his election to the throne of Wendar and Varre, he had mastered the skill of sitting still.

“But Taillefer did not himself designate one of those illegitimate sons as his heir,” he had said finally. “I need only look at my own family. Sabella was found unfit to rule, just as I would have been, had I not proven myself capable. In that case my father would have designated one of my sisters, or my brother Benedict, as heir. But he chose to present me to the dukes and margraves for their affirmation after my heir’s progress. Taillefer did not single out any child, bastard or otherwise. If he had, events might have fallen out differently.”

Rosvita was left none the wiser, for though she asked circumspectly, he offered no more insight into what he meant to do. His daughters Sapientia and Theophanu sat on either side of him at the great feast that night. His young son Ekkehard was prevailed upon to sing, accompanying himself on the lute; the child truly did have a sweet voice. If Henry chose to put Ekkehard in the church, his would be a fine voice raised in prayer to heaven.

At midmorning the next day two Eagles rode in, covered with dust, travel-worn and weary. They brought grave news.

“Gent is besieged,” said the senior of the two women, a grim woman who favored her left leg. She was not reticent in addressing King Henry. “We were five Eagles, riding to Gent to see the truth of these rumors for ourselves. Within sight of the city but outside the walls, we were set upon by Eika. I was wounded in the attack. So my comrade—” Here she indicated the other woman, who was young, perhaps the age of Berthold or Theophanu. “—and I fled west to carry this news to you, Your Majesty. We rode part of the way with a company of Dragons. They escorted a deacon and a holy relic to safety. The rest of the Dragons, including Prince Sanglant, remain besieged within Gent.”

“You say it is a raiding party?” asked Henry quietly.

She shook her head. “Not according to the Dragons who escorted us, Your Majesty. At last count there were fifty-two Eika ships.”

Henry was sitting on a bench in the unicorn courtyard, attended by his companions and courtiers. This information sent up a murmur, quickly stilled when Henry lifted a hand to quiet them. “Do you think they mean to invade?”

“According to Sturm—he was the commander of the company we rode with—the Eika want the bridges that connect Gent to the east and west shore of the river thrown down. That way they can raid upriver at their leisure.”

“And this Commander Sturm, where is he now?”

“He returned to the vicinity of Gent. He and his men hope to harry the Eika outside the walls, to aid their brethren trapped within.”

Henry glanced to his right, where Helmut Villam stood. “Gent lies within the lands administered by Count Hildegard, does it not?”

Villam nodded.

“What of her forces?” the king asked.

“I do not know,” admitted the Eagle. “They are not within the city. Certainly she must have news of the siege by now.”

The king gestured, and a servant brought him a cup of wine. He sipped at it thoughtfully. “You said there were five Eagles?”

The woman nodded. Her companion, already pale, began to look quite white, the look of a person who has spent many sleepless hours in fruitless worrying; she had the light complexion that betrayed northern blood, light blue eyes and coarse wheat-blonde hair twisted into braids. The older woman betrayed neither anger nor grief. “The others rode on. I don’t know if they got into the city safely, but I believe they did.”

“You did not see them enter within the walls?”