The red eagle banner faltered and crumpled, drowned by the flood, and a great roar of triumph rose from the Eika host. Beyond, the gold lion of Saony was never still as Wichman and his men broke through the small openings between the Eika bands, slaying as they rode, and then turned and charged again into their midst to rescue the red eagle.

Lavastine had brought his riders through and now they regrouped. Behind them, Lord Dedi, in a black tabard and beneath the standard of the raven tower, led a charge through the ranks of those Eika who struggled to form back up, faltering as the weight of the horses drove them again into disorder.

Lacking armor, Liath stayed out of the thick of the fight. A few Eika charged her, perhaps thinking an archer easy prey, but all fell pierced through the chest.

To the east Gent sat silent. Its gates stood closed, shut tight, and she felt from within the watchful eye, the gloating trimphant heart, of Bloodheart. The Eika standards that bobbed upon the field were not his; he did not walk this bloody ground. She knew it. He waited, and watched through his magic, while his Eika fought for him. What need had he to test his strength on the field? He had already killed Prince Sanglant, the best among them. These were but nuisances, rats to smash beneath his heel while he waited for his real prey to arrive: the king.

A movement flashed to her right. She shook off these disheartening thoughts and quickly nocked, drew, and shot a charging Eika. Was this more of his magic, to dishearten his foes as they felt him gloating over his imminent triumph? Wasn’t that all illusion was, the power to project your own will upon others, to make them see what you wished them to see?

Upon the hill the host of Eika massed thickest. She saw no trace of Alain or his guard except the infantry standard which still commanded the height of the hill. Ai, Lord! Eika swarmed the ramparts. The cavalry had not broken the back of the Eika charge, only stemmed it in places. Even as Lavastine gave the signal to charge back through, she knew the impetus of their attack had gone, that no help could be given to those trapped on the hill.

The charge lumbered forward, gained speed, and Liath hunkered down as they thundered through the back ranks. Ahead, a countercharge by Lord Dedi had cleared an opening, and for this opening Lavastine rode with his cousin at his side and his men hard behind him.

The banner of Fesse had vanished beneath the churning sea of Eika. Beyond, the gold lion of Saony regrouped and charged again only to withdraw swiftly, regroup and change position, and charge again, slowly working ever eastward until the banner stood between the Eika and the city.

The standard of Lavas together with Lord Geoffrey and Liath and most of the men finally reached the open ground, but as Liath turned to look behind she gasped. Lavastine, perhaps unwilling, perhaps trapped by the press, remained behind with a half dozen of his men, striking wildly about himself. Lord Geoffrey called out to him, but his voice made no more sound amidst the tumult than the pouring of water from a cup against the booming reverberation of a waterfall.

An Eika dog charged under Lavastine’s mount, ripping at its underbelly, and the horse leaped into the air only to be struck by three spears in its chest. Lavastine sank beneath the waves.

Without hesitation Geoffrey and his men charged headlong into the Eika, their onslaught so irresistible that the outermost rank of Eika were trampled beneath them. The Eika surrounding Lavastine, intent on their prey, went down under a furious wave of cuts and jabs.

Liath stared with an arrow loose in her hand as Geoffrey caught his cousin up behind him and rode back to safety. Lavastine’s helmet bore two deep dents. Lavastine slid off the back of the horse, struggled with his helm, then yanked it from his head and threw it with disgust to the ground. He coughed, sucking in air. On the left side of his face, where his mail coif covered his cheek, rivulets of blood ran and the metal rings had crushed into his skin from the heat of a blow.

A soldier brought a riderless mount, and the count swung on.

Lord Dedi, already regrouped, rode up. “Count Lavastine! Lord have mercy, I thought they had you.”

Two troops of Eika formed into units under their dreadful banners and set out at a trot after the retreating horsemen.

Lavastine’s gaze swept the field. “Where is Bloodheart?” he demanded. Anger flared in his expression, then damped down to furious concentration as he surveyed the chaos beyond. Of the cavalry, only the two groups with him now and the distant standard of Saony still rode. “Ai, Lord,” he breathed. “Does my banner yet fly upon the hill?”

All of them, Liath, Lord Geoffrey, Lord Dedi, the men surrounding them, and last of all Lavastine, wiping blood from his eyes, turned. High up on the height of the hill, the banner pole above his pavilion snapped at that moment and fell amid an Eika assault.

Lord Geoffrey leaned forward. “Cousin, the day belongs to Bloodheart. Let us gather our forces and retreat to join with Henry. We can prevent a rout of the men who yet remain on the hill and screen their westward retreat if we move in on the western side.”

“Where is Bloodheart?” demanded Lavastine again, and he looked at Liath.

She pointed to Gent.

“That the day is lost is an illusion,” he said hoarsely. “An illusion cast by Bloodheart, who is an enchanter.” Blood streamed from his head, matting his hair, and one of his hands was streaked with blood trickling from a wound on his arm. “We must have faith.”

“Faith!” Geoffrey cried. “Prudence would have served us better! If only we had waited for the king at Steleshame!”

“For how long? With what provisions? Our supplies run low, and this land is exhausted by war and neglect. Nay, Geoffrey, I took the course that seemed wisest to me then. Now we must take the only course open to us. We must strike from behind or all is lost, including that which is most precious to me.” He glanced again at the hill, where the fighting ran thick and the standard was lost, then deliberately away as if to shut it out of his thoughts. Only by that small gesture could Liath see how much his son meant to him. Lord Geoffrey flinched back as at a rebuke.

“Lord Dedi,” continued Lavastine. His voice had the brisk confidence of a man without a care in the world—and no time to waste. “Take your men and ride ’round to join with Saony. Do not allow the Eika to return to the gates of Gent. Geoffrey, take half the men of Lavas, the standard, and those of Fesse that you can muster and join Lord Dedi. The rest, with me.” His gaze, taut, like a bowstring strung tight, met Liath’s. “Eagle, how long must they keep the Eika at bay for us to take the gates from within?”

She glanced at the sky, judging the height of the sun. “To midday, at least.”

“So be it. Watch for us at the gates. If we do not appear, then save those you can and join with Henry. God be with you.”

The sound of the riders shifting to their new order rushed around her like the flow of the river that night on the Veser.

“Eagle,” said Lavastine. Blood mottled his face and hair. Bruises stood out on the sharp plane of his cheek. Behind, the pound of the drums throbbed over the field while the clash of arms and the wail and shout of men and Eika alike rose like an unholy, intangible wraith off the battleground. The count lifted a hand to ready his troops, those splitting off with him, but he did not take his gaze from Liath. “Lead on, Eagle. To your sight we now entrust our victory.”

3

SOON after midday a message eddied down through the column that was Henry’s army, and in its trail ran an audible buzz of excitement and fear.

Tags: Kate Elliott Crown of Stars Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net