So be it.
He had only one course of action left. Already the sun sank quickly toward the west. Night would come, but Henry would not wait for dusk to make his final move.
The griffin shrieked a warning and landed with a rattling thump. Horses bolted; soldiers ducked; the impact shook him so hard that he slid, slipped, and tumbled to the ground. As soon as his weight was off her, she launched herself back into the air with a whuff.
Fulk came running, helmet off and hair matted to his head with sweat and grime. Blood streaked his right hand, and as Sanglant got to his feet, Fulk turned and joyously signed toward a soldier coated with dust. It took Sanglant a moment to recognize Sibold through the filth. The young soldier whooped out loud, seeing the prince, and hoisted up the black dragon banner, torn, bloody, and stained, but not lost. A ragged cheer went up from the defenders. His troops pressed forward with renewed vigor.
“My lord prince! We thought you were lost!” cried Hathui, weeping, coming up in Fulk’s wake. She handed him a square cloth so that he could wipe the dust and blood out of his eyes.
His palms and hands were sticky with blood. He was cut everywhere mail had not protected his skin, cloth torn and tattered, but the gashes were shallow, a mere nuisance. He bent down and carefully picked up two gleaming griffin feathers. Shoving his knife between boot and leggings, he thrust the feathers into its sheath, although the leather showed signs of splitting where their edges sliced.
“How many of my men returned?” he asked.
Hathui stepped back to let Fulk approach. “None, my lord,” said the captain, “except Sibold, who took the banner out of Chustaffus’ dead hand.”
There was no time for grief. Later, sorrow would stalk him, but he had to act now.
“What news?” Blood spattered the dirt around him. His tabard was in ribbons. Malbert ran up and offered him a full wineskin. Taking a swig, he rinsed his mouth and spat before swallowing an even larger mouthful.
“The men are falling back as we arranged, to hold the siege line. I’ve thrown Lord Druthmar in at the hinge where the streambed meets the river. Bands of Aostan light cavalry had broken past and were harrying the camp. One group of Bwr has lent support to the center.”
The captain in charge of the centaurs, a big, stocky mare whose cream coat and blue-black hair made her stand out from a distance, galloped up to him. “My lord prince.” She had been designated captain in part, Sanglant supposed, by reason of age and seniority, in the manner of mares, and in part because she could speak Ungrian. “We thought you lost.”
“I am not, Capi’ra, as you see. How many of your folk have yet to be committed to the field?”
She stamped one hoof. “Two centuries wait.” She indicated the Bwr reserve just visible behind the clouds of dust that marked the field of battle.
“Ride with me to the wood. Fulk, I’ll need a new mount. Fest, if you have him close by.”
The bay gelding was being held in reserve, and when he was brought forward, Capi’ra eyed him sidelong. Like the other centaurs she had unusually mobile, elongated ears, which she flicked now, but he could not discern emotion in her bland expression. “Have you no pura to ride?”
“No.” He said it more sharply than he intended.
“What is your plan, my lord prince?” Fulk asked.
He took a last swig of wine. “We must hold our line on this field at whatever cost. Adelheid’s forces will attack at a prearranged signal, so be on your guard against it. I think they will wait until Liutgard can flank us. That will be the crux of the battle. Right now her forces are strung out through the woods. We must rout them there before Henry can catch up to them. I need a shield.”
“Your Highness.” Hathui stepped forward. “Would it not be better for you to command from the rear? Send someone else?”
Sanglant’s mood changed and he laughed. “Nay, Eagle. I trust Fulk for his steadiness, and steadiness is what is needed on the field. If we’re not quick, we’ll be engulfed. As well, there is a chance I may meet my father in the woods.”
He took the shield Malbert brought, and as soon as the captain called her troops in, they rode, the centaurs falling in behind him and Capi’ra.
“We must rout Liutgard’s forces quickly and turn back to support the Quman left,” he told her.
The centaurs had exceptional stamina, and the heat did not seem to bother them as much as it did him and Fest. They raced up along the western side of the river to the bluff, moving in among the trees below the western slopes. Their pace slowed once they were in the wood, where shade gave relief from the sun. It was now the hottest part of the afternoon and Sanglant knew that as many men would fall to the heat as to the enemy.