Child of Flame (Crown of Stars 4)

and found herself back on the marble stairs of Aturna, almost at the top. Bow and arrow were gone. She was naked, alone; she had nothing, except herself.

The realm of the fixed stars blazed before her, white hot, as terrible as a firestorm.

But they were waiting for her, clustered at the lower limit of the border: spirits with wings of flame and eyes as brilliant as knives. Their gaze fell like the strike of lightning. Their bodies were not bodies like those known on Earth but rather the conjoining of fire and wind, the breath of incandescent stars coalesced into mind and will. The sound of their wings unfurling in pitiless splendor boomed and echoed off the curving gleam of Aturna’s sphere. Far below, the golden wheels spun madly, powered by that fiery wind that is the soul’s breath of the stars.

She recognized their voice.

“Child,” they said as she climbed the last step and without hesitation walked into their joyous embrace. “You have come home.”

3

THE Quman resisted the heavy charge at first, holding firm under the leadership of their prince, who rode with them. But the sheer weight of the Wendish cavalry at either flank and the Ungrian mass in the center broke them at last.

Zacharias watched, exulting, as first the left flank and then portions of the center sagged and gave way, as the infamous Quman soldiers, hardened and grim, began to turn their horses and flee. If Zacharias had believed in God, he would have offered up a prayer at that moment. He mopped his brow instead. Thunder pealed behind them. He smelled rain, although it was impossible to hear much of anything over the cacophony of battle that raged on the river plain before him. He waited at the rear with Bayan’s command group and the prince’s adviser, Brother Breschius. Prince Bayan had ridden forward with the charge, but he disengaged from the line and rode back to them, calling for a messenger.

“Ride to the Wendish banners. My wife must now pull back from the fighting. The day is won, and it makes no matter for her to keep fighting. In the rout, this is when folk may come unexpectedly to grief.” The messenger rode off at a gallop. Bayan called for water. Loosening the straps of his helmet, he tipped it back so that he could drink. “Brother Zacharias, what will Bulkezu do next? Surely you know him best of all of us.”

Zacharias chuckled nervously, not liking the way everyone was looking at him. “Bulkezu is as clever as he is mad. I cannot know his mind.”

“I pray you, Your Highness, put your helmet back on,” said Brother Breschius. “A stray arrow might come from anywhere.”

Bayan grunted, finished his drink, and pulled his helmet back down. For a quiet moment, such as could be had watching over the battle as the Quman line retreated even farther and began to break up all along its length, he watched, measuring the movement of the various units, their strengths and weaknesses, commenting now and again to his captains and sending messengers or receiving them. Princess Sapientia had not yet disengaged from the fray.

“Damn,” swore Bayan, swatting at his helm. With a curse, he undid the straps of his helmet again. “Damn hornet.” He pulled it up, exposing his face as he tried to bat away something Zacharias could not see. “It stung me!”

The arrow, coming out of nowhere, took him in the throat.

Without a sound, he slid neatly from his horse. His blood drenched the ground.

And the world stopped breathing.

No man spoke. The air snapped, stung—and screamed, like a woman’s voice. No person ought ever to have to hear a woman scream like that, naked grief, raw pain. Thunder boomed directly over them. Wind howled out of the east, flattening Zacharias. The horses spooked, bucking in fright, and he actually fell right back over the rump of his mount and hit the ground hard while around him Ungrian captains and lords fought to control their horses. He cowered under the fury of the storm while Bayan’s life’s blood trickled across the ground to paint Zacharias’ fingers red.

As abruptly as the storm had hit, it ceased. Leaves fluttered through the air, stilled, and fell. A deadly quiet shrouded the land. Below, the conjoined armies seemed to pause.

As though Bulkezu had been waiting for this moment, the griffin-winged rider called for the advance, and the fleeing Quman gathered themselves together and struck hard at the faltering Wendish and Ungrian line. Princess Sapientia’s banner was driven back as if before the lash.

“Oh, Lord, I beseech you, spare his life,” said Brother Breschius, dismounting to kneel beside the prince. He took hold of the prince’s limp hand, touched a finger to gray lips, then wept. “My good lord Bayan is dead.”

Just like that, the command group disintegrated. The cries and ululations of the Ungrian lords resounded off the hilltop. They had lost their prince, their luck, their commander; for them, the battle was over. The double-headed eagle banner was furled, and along the center of the army, as Ungrian soldiers caught sight of the furled banner, the center bowed backward as they retreated.

“Ai!” cried Zacharias, scrambling up. Blood dripped from his hand. He caught sight of his mount galloping away toward the woods. He was trapped on the rise, easy prey for Bulkezu. With a groan of despair, he threw himself back down on the ground. “We are lost!”

Horns belled in the distance. A great shout of triumph rose from the rear lines as the gold banner of Prince Sanglant burst out of the trees at the head of his troop of horsemen, many hundreds strong.

Sanglant recognized a line about to break, and he knew what to do about it. With one comprehensive glance, he took in the situation on the field: Bayan’s furled banner, the retreating Ungrian troops, Sapientia’s wavering troops on the flanks. Only Lady Bertha’s Austrans, on the left flank, were holding their own. That would change if the rest of the army lost heart.

Was Bayan wounded, or even dead?

No time to consider. He lifted his hand. Fulk raised the horn to his lips and blew the charge. Drums rolled in time to hoofbeats.

The noise deafened him, but even so he shouted, letting his voice ring out. “For Wendar!”

Urging Resuelto forward, Sanglant led the charge. The discouraged Ungrians parted before them. At the sight of his banner, they rallied, falling in to form up behind his soldiers. With Sibold at his right hand and Fulk, Malbert, and Anshelm around him, he slammed into the forefront of the Quman line. It broke, riders falling, the press of the Quman disintegrating. Yet another line of enemy riders closed from the second rank. He set his lance and directed his charge for a small group of wingless riders, Wendishmen perhaps, traitors seduced by the promise of gold and slaves. Something about their shields—

o;Ride to the Wendish banners. My wife must now pull back from the fighting. The day is won, and it makes no matter for her to keep fighting. In the rout, this is when folk may come unexpectedly to grief.” The messenger rode off at a gallop. Bayan called for water. Loosening the straps of his helmet, he tipped it back so that he could drink. “Brother Zacharias, what will Bulkezu do next? Surely you know him best of all of us.”

Zacharias chuckled nervously, not liking the way everyone was looking at him. “Bulkezu is as clever as he is mad. I cannot know his mind.”