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“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—
One of the soldiers pushed his horse past the leader to take the brunt of the impact. Sanglant’s lance struck him right over the heart, and the man fell to the ground. As he drew his sword, he slammed a Quman rider hard with his shield to unseat him, got his sword free, and cut at the wingless leader. Only then did he recognize the scarred and battered shield of the boy cowering before him.
“Ekkehard!” With an effort, he twisted his wrist so that the flat of the blade caught his young half brother in the helm, knocking him to the side, although the lad at least had enough horsemanship to keep his seat and ride past. His three other companions threw down their arms and yielded. Only the one lay dead, trampled by his own horse.
“Get them out of here!” he shouted before he pressed forward with Fulk and Sibold on either side and the rest of his men moving up around him as Anshelm dropped back to take care of Ekkehard. Druthmar’s banner flew proudly over to the right. Along the left flank, Lady Bertha had pushed her advantage and now swung wide to roll up the struggling Quman flank arrayed against her. Away to the right, past Druthmar, Sapientia was acquitting herself well enough, emboldened by his success.
But he knew that the Quman would not fall until their leader did. Griffin wings flashed in sunlight as the clouds scudded away on a stiff wind. With a cry of triumph, he carved his way to Bulkezu. This fight would be very different than the one six years before when the Quman begh had ruined his voice and almost taken his life.
Bulkezu turned to face him. Even through the clash of battle, Sanglant heard him laughing as they closed. Sanglant had the advantage of height—the Wendish horses were simply larger than the stolid Quman ponies. He rained blows down on Bulkezu, but the griffin warrior parried every one with shield or sword. Sparks flew as his griffin feathers notched Wendish steel. But in the end brute strength won, and a massive blow sent Bulkezu’s sword spinning from his grasp.
Bulkezu threw himself into Sanglant, punching with his shield. Grabbing hold of Sanglant’s belt, he dragged the prince from his mount. They both tumbled to the ground as the horses broke free and bolted, leaving them on foot as the battle raged around them.
Bulkezu pulled his dagger as he tried to break Sanglant’s grip, but Sanglant wrapped his shield around Bulkezu’s back and struck him in the face with his pommel. With each blow a large dent appeared in the face mask and the iron began to crack. A trickle of blood oozed from the eye slots as Sanglant struck a fourth time.
Bulkezu jerked back, twisting his shoulders to one side so that the griffin feathers cut into Sanglant’s left arm. His shield fell to the ground, its leather straps severed. Bulkezu caught his lower arm and shoved it hard, twisting all the while, to drive the sword into the ground. He thrust with his dagger at Sanglant’s head. The blow scraped gold flakes from the dragon helm. Sanglant caught the frame of a wing with his boot and shoved. The wing snapped off. They rolled on the ground. Bulkezu’s other wing snapped, shedding griffin feathers along the earth as they wrestled, each trying to get the upper hand.
Sanglant caught sight of a Quman rider bearing down and barely got hold of his sword, whipping it up to parry the blow that would have crushed his head. Bulkezu kicked him away and scrambled up, lost at once in the turbulent sea of fighting. Sanglant killed another Quman rider before Fulk cleared a space for him to remount Resuelto.
“Bulkezu?” he shouted as Resuelto pranced away from the griffin feathers, which could even cut into hooves.
Bulkezu had vanished, impossible to trace without his griffin wings. The Pechanek standard swayed and, abruptly, collapsed under a Wendish charge. A roar of triumph rose from the Wendish troops as the Quman line disintegrated. The Ungrians, rallying round, cried out Sanglant’s name.
Between one breath and the next, battle turned to rout. The bravest Quman warriors soon found themselves isolated and surrounded and in this way they perished in the midst of their enemies.
