Prince of Dogs

As she reached the top, it hit her as the sound swirled around her like a breath of distant wind off the river. It was not thunder or the pound of feet but rather the sound of Eika drums. How could she hear them from this distance—unless the battle had already been joined?

Captain Ulric and his two companions knelt on the ridge, looking eastward, all of them in identical postures: hands flung up to shade their eyes from the glare of the rising sun. At their feet, the hill dropped away precipitously to the river plain. Eastward, bright as a string of jewels, lay the river, but although Liath knew where Gent must lie, the blinding glance of the sun concealed it.

“Look, there,” said Erkanwulf, pointing southeast. “Do you see that hill?”

That hill: It lay somewhat south of their position and a short way out on the river plain. It looked from this height more like a tumulus than a hill, treeless and bare at the height except for banners and a handful of bright pavilions.

“That’s the Lavas banner, and the tower of Autun,” said Erkanwulf.

“You’re sure?” demanded Ulric, rising now.

“Who else could it be? I’ve keen sight, you know that, Captain.”

“Thank God, then,” breathed the captain.

The hill lay close enough that although the figures swarming round it looked small, she could clearly see the earthworks, like a fallen coronet, that ringed it halfway down the slope. Lavastine’s camp lay a good league west-southwest of Gent. Now, as the sun rose higher, she could see the city itself and the river winding past it, tiny boats like children’s toys beached along the eastern shore.

“Thank God that they’re still here,” she asked, “or that they’re here at all?” Liath shaded her eyes. The drums pounded in her ears like distant surf threatening storm, like the beat of the army’s heart.

Ulric chuckled. “Thank God that Lavastine hasn’t taken the city without us. Else he’d get all the glory, and the city’s taxes for a tithe as his reward, no doubt.”

Erkanwulf let out a sigh. “I’d feared worse. I thought we’d be as like to see the army lying dead on the—”

“Hush, boy,” broke in Ulric, drawing the Circle at his breast. “It’s ill luck to speak of such things.”

“It’s a peaceful day, at least,” retorted Erkanwulf. “You can’t have expected that.”

“The quiet before the storm,” said Ulrich ominously.

“More like the thunder before the storm!” said Liath.

No one said anything more. They all looked at her, puzzled, and then at the clear sky above.

“You don’t hear it,” she said suddenly.

“Hear what?”

“The drums!”

“Drums?”

None of them heard and none of them saw: In distant Gent, a league away, ants swarmed out of the gates of the city. Except those weren’t ants.

In that moment she shut her eyes, swept by such a sickening tide of foreboding that she staggered under its flood. Erkanwulf caught her by the elbow, and she opened her eyes, shook him off, and spoke fiercely to the captain.

“By my Eagle’s sight, I swear to you, Captain, that I see what you cannot. The Eika are marching out of their city even now to attack Lavastine’s army. We must ride to warn the count. Now!”

Perhaps it was her tone of voice. Perhaps it was the stories they had heard at Steleshame of the horrific illusions that had marched alongside the Eika soldiers when the savages had attacked the holding. Perhaps they had heard her own story of the fall of Gent, retold endless times.

No one argued, though Erkanwulf stared and stared eastward trying to see what she saw until Ulric grabbed him by the arm and yanked him back.

“Come, boy! You heard the Eagle!”

No one heard the drums. No one saw the Eika coming. No one but her. She was the only one who could warn Lavastine—and make him believe.

XV

THE FURY OF THE EIKA

1

ALAIN woke at dawn and scrambled outside to find his father sitting at his ease under the awning, sipping wine. The count had unchained Terror, and the old hound rested his head on Lavastine’s knee and gazed adoringly at his master.

“Did you rest well?” Lavastine offered Alain the cup.

“Well enough.” The wine hit Alain’s stomach with a bracing flood of warmth. Rage whined, scenting eastward.

“Did you dream?”

“Just nightmares of the Eika arming. Like locusts, swarming everywhere. But Fifth Son did not leave the cathedral.”

“It seems the Eika intend no attack, then. Not this morning, at least. All lies at peace.”