Prince of Dogs (Crown of Stars 2)

“There!” Alain cried as a hole opened in the eastern defense, but the captain was already in motion sending reserves in to plug the gap. Was there nothing he could do? Only watch as others fought, and bled, and died?

Along the north wall, held by what remained of Lord Wichman’s infantry, an able sergeant with a long spear stayed close to the gate. His standard bearer leaped to and fro shouting encouraging words of scripture and at one point dropped the standard over the face of an Eika to confuse it as others set upon it with axes and swords.

It seemed an eternity that Alain sat there, restraining himself. His father had told him to wait until the time was right. If he acted too soon, there would be no reserve for when it was truly needed. It was worse to stand and watch. If these men who were dying in order to protect him knew that he could not strike a blow in battle and that in war he was a coward, would they so willingly lay down their lives under his banner? Did he deserve their respect and confidence?

From the east rampart the sound of splintering wood signaled the breaking of the stockade wall. Many logs, weakened by strokes of ax and sword or pulled up by Eika, split or gave way as the weight of the Eika charge pushed into camp. On the south the line still held, but on the north slope the wagons blocking the gate had been shattered. A pack of Eika dogs bounded through the breach and over those men who now formed a shield wall as they attempted to close the gap.

Two dogs charged the gold lion banner of Saony. The standard bearer dropped the standard to make a spear of it, and with a mace in his right hand he countercharged, but one dog dodged nimbly aside and bowled the man over while the other grabbed the standard in its teeth and shook it viciously. Still the man refused to yield the standard. Splayed with his left hand gripping the banner-pole and the right arm fending off attack, he lay helpless.

“Lord Alain.” The captain jumped up to the platform. Alain’s horse—his father’s favorite gray gelding Graymane—waited patiently beside. “Take your men to the north gate. I’ll drive them off the east.”

At last a decision had been made. Alain mounted and raised a hand, the only way to communicate over the roar of battle surrounding them. He charged, two dozen men and seven hounds behind him.

At the north gate the weight of the Eika broke the line of shields. Men stumbled back to leave a wide gap thick with Eika and their dogs. There came an Eika, grinning up at Alain in a battle fury, his teeth studded with gems and his bone-white hair braided into a thick rope. Alain leveled his lance and rode in, but it was like play, like a dream with no fury, no fire; he charged for the sake of his men who died holding back the Eika, nothing more, nothing less.

The Eika stood its ground and at the last instant batted the lance aside and drove in toward the gelding’s neck with its stone-tipped spear.

Alain reined sharply aside and the spearpoint passed through Graymane’s mane, striking Alain’s mailed right shoulder. The shaft of the spear splintered. The shock sent Alain tumbling, his shield slapping into the Eika’s face as he fell. He struck earth with a slam, air driven from his lungs. A pack of dogs leaped on him, biting, ripping at his shield, clawing and jumping over him. Only his mail saved him. He tried to reach for his sword, but it lay twisted beneath him. He tried to roll, but a huge slavering dog landed on his chest, slamming him back down, and lunged for his throat.

Sorrow arrived first. His weight at full run slammed the Eika dog sideways, and Sorrow pressed on, biting and clawing, heedless of a gash opened on his great black head. Then Rage swept in, silent and deadly, and the Eika dog fell to lie twitching, hide opened in a dozen places, its life bleeding away onto the dirt.

Sorrow had already clamped down on the throat of another dog, twisting his massive neck back and forth until the Eika dog died with a spasm.

Then the other hounds charged in, a mass of black fur and fierce fighting that clouded Alain’s vision. He struggled up to his feet, drawing his sword. Tears streaked his face beneath his helmet.

“Lady of Battles, forsake me not, I beg you.”

He had never been so afraid in his life. Terror barked an alarm and Alain barely turned, rising from his knees, in time to catch a blow from an Eika ax upon his shield—but it drove him back down to his knees. A spear stabbed past him, from behind, thrusting in the Eika’s face, shattering its gem-studded teeth. They came, his guard, forming up around him, crying out to each other, calling Alain back. With an ax-blow one of the men severed an Eika’s hand at the wrist, and though the creature tried to retreat, howling in pain, the press of his shield brothers forced him forward straight into Alain.

Alain struck feebly at him, more reflex, more for his own defense. Ai, Lady, the savage was helpless, disarmed now with foul greenish blood pumping from the wound. The spearman struck again, catching the Eika at the throat and finishing him. As he fell, blood gushing at Alain’s feet, two more pushed forward. Alain could only fend off blows, hold hard against the rush of Eika while his men with spears and axes did damage around him.

“Back, Lord Alain!” they cried. “Back behind us!”

Weeping with shame, he stumbled backward, the hounds following in among the legs of his guard. The shield wall parted to let him into their ranks.

All along the north face the line at the rampart gave in toward the center, and throughout the camp Lavastine’s troops gave way from the wall to stand shoulder to shoulder against the Eika tide.

Alain prayed that his father would arrive soon.

THE heavy cavalry formed up in three open ranks, twenty paces between, with Lavastine and his banner in the center of the lead rank. A line nearly a hundred horsemen wide swung around the hill. Liath rode behind Lavastine. At first they advanced around the north side of the hill at a trot. As the enemy came into full view, the first rank broke into a charge followed by the second and third ranks.

The banner of Lavas drove all the way into the back ranks of the Eika. The lances struck high, hitting shields and heads, breaking through the Eika line in a hundred places. Lavastine himself at the front bore onward, the steel of his sword winking in the morning sun as he raised it between strokes. The second and third ranks thundered through behind him, slaying the now disorganized Eika who had received the first charge. Liath followed Lavastine and his guard and, as his charge slowed, she sheathed her sword and drew her bow. Few of the horsemen fell at first, but as their charge slowed, the Eika began to mass around any horseman who had become separated from his companions in the press, and these poor souls were dragged off their mounts to disappear into the claws of the howling Eika.

Lord Wichman forged ahead, having learned this lesson from the Eika. Small pockets of his men, under the banner of Saony, pressed on ever forward until they came around the east side of the hill. Lady Amalia and her standard bearer had also pushed on deep into the Eika forces, but as the troops from Fesse ground to a halt against stiff resistance, she and her standard pressed on until they struggled alone, an island amidst a sea of Eika.

st a decision had been made. Alain mounted and raised a hand, the only way to communicate over the roar of battle surrounding them. He charged, two dozen men and seven hounds behind him.

The Eika stood its ground and at the last instant batted the lance aside and drove in toward the gelding’s neck with its stone-tipped spear.

Sorrow had already clamped down on the throat of another dog, twisting his massive neck back and forth until the Eika dog died with a spasm.

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