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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.
2
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.
There, Liath saw them, the red eagle banner of Fesse with a small knot of soldiers surrounding Lady Amalia, all striking furiously around themselves as, one by one, their horses staggered and collapsed or they themselves were dragged from their mounts. Her black horse raised and kicked at Eika and dog alike, Lady Amalia seated firmly on its back. She had lost both lance and shield and now cut so fiercely to either side with her sword that her attack itself was her shield.
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?”
, Liath saw them, the red eagle banner of Fesse with a small knot of soldiers surrounding Lady Amalia, all striking furiously around themselves as, one by one, their horses staggered and collapsed or they themselves were dragged from their mounts. Her black horse raised and kicked at Eika and dog alike, Lady Amalia seated firmly on its back. She had lost both lance and shield and now cut so fiercely to either side with her sword that her attack itself was her shield.
