Prince of Dogs

“Eagle!” Erkanwulf called to her from the door. “You must run! We’re sore outnumbered, and we’re to retreat through the tunnel!”

“Down!” she screamed as she drew—Erkanwulf dropped to his hands and knees—and shot the Eika who loomed behind the lad. The Eika fell with a surprised grunt and tumbled backward down the stairs. She ran, tugged Erkanwulf to his feet, and drew her sword, keeping Seeker of Hearts in her left hand.

“After me,” she said. They had to clamber over the dead Eika soldier to get down the curve of the stairs. She did not know what awaited them below, but as they came around the last curve before the door that let onto the nave her nose caught a whiff of it.

Just beyond the open door, Lavastine and his men had formed up. A line of Eika waited beyond among the litter that carpeted the vast nave, but no one moved. They made a broad curve to cut off access to the cathedral doors as well as leaving Lavastine and his men no room to maneuver out in the expanse of the nave itself.

Next to the door the creature that was Sanglant beat back five dogs, cuffing them until they lay down, whining, and bared their throats to him. Blood from their gorging dripped from their muzzles.

The prince stank. There was no kinder way to put it; the reek hit her like a tangible substance, something you could put your hands into. He started back at her appearance in the door. Blood rimed his lips. His clothes, or what remained of them, hung in tatters on him, cloth pressed into mail, stiff with grime; she had seen poor folk and beggars aplenty in her travels but never anyone as wretched as this. It was hard to believe he was a man, still, or to recall that he had ever been one. He was so foul that she had to look away, but even so she caught a glimpse of his expression. Whatever he was, now, he was ashamed of it.

“God have mercy,” whispered Erkanwulf, behind her. “What is it?”

“Hush.” She slipped out the door.

The dogs growled at her but kept their distance, nipping at Erkanwulf as he dodged past. Sanglant slapped them down but said nothing. Could he even speak?

“We retreat,” said Lavastine. “There are a hundred or more of them beyond the door. But Captain Ulric and his group got out ahead of me. We must hope they win through to the gates.”

“Bloodheart is dead,” said Liath.

Lavastine only nodded curtly. “Make ready to move,” he said to his men. Already she noticed three faces missing, but she could not see beyond the Eika line to count them among those who had fallen in the initial skirmish. “Prince Sanglant, you must go first, with the Eagle. We must get you to safety.”

The Eika line stirred and parted to reveal the Eika princeling who wore the Circle. In the harsh tongue of the Eika, he barked an order and the line faded back by several steps as the princeling stepped forward into the gap.

Erkanwulf handed Liath another arrow from her quiver and she drew on the princeling, sighting at his heart.

He spoke again, still in the Eika language, and the Eika soldiers began an orderly withdrawal from the cathedral. Liath stared, utterly bewildered.

Slowly, cautiously, Lavastine took one step forward.

“Both of you I have seen in Alain’s dreams,” said the princeling in perfect Wendish, pointing with the tip of his spear first at Lavastine and then at Liath.

“Fifth Son!” breathed Lavastine.

“You captured me once—but he freed me. For that reason, I spare your life now.” He set the butt of the spear on the flagstones and canted his head arrogantly, or as at a sudden and compelling thought. Compared to Sanglant, he was a glorious beast, not handsome—for Liath supposed she would never be able to find beauty in their sharp, metal-bright faces—but striking. His eyes had the clarity of obsidian. Gold armbands curled around his arms like snakes. He grinned at them, jewels winking in his teeth, and with each least shifting of his weight the mail girdle he wore made a faint shimmering like distant high bells whispering secrets. “Tell me, Count of Lavas. Did Alain lie to me? King Henry did not come, nor did you intend to wait for him as you told him you meant to.”

Lavastine hesitated, but he did, after all, owe the Eika princeling something in return for their lives. “Visions can’t lie. I did not tell him everything I intended.”

“Ah.” Fifth Son whistled and his dogs bounded over to crowd at his heels. They, too, had been feasting on the corpses, perhaps even on Bloodheart. Scraps of clothing stuck to their tongues, and the saliva dripping from their jaws had an ocherous tint. Most of his soldiers had cleared the cathedral, leaving it empty except for the ravaged corpses. “You’re a wise foe, Count of Lavas. Alas for you that Henry’s army did not come sooner.”