Child of Flame (Crown of Stars #4)

Child of Flame (Crown of Stars #4) Page 270

“Which I have not done, Sister.” Like an ill-trained hunting dog, Sapientia kept veering back to the already gnawed bone instead of forging forward on the trail of fresh meat. “Yet he has served me well. I might never have found you and Bayan if not for his Eagle’s sight.”

“Dearly bought,” she retorted, “if it means losing Father’s trust.”

“How much trust can any of us place in the words of an outlaw?” demanded Lady Brigida, Sapientia’s favorite, a florid woman with, Heribert had murmured, more hair than sense.

The lords standing at Sapientia’s back murmured in agreement with Brigida’s complaint. Even Thiadbold, the scarred, redheaded captain of the two cohorts of Lions who marched with the princess, nodded his head uneasily.

“Yet I wonder what news Father gains of us in Aosta?” mused Sapientia. “Surely he has reached Darre safely by now. Can’t your Eagle tell you that?”

“His army has come to Darre, so it seems. No Eagle’s sight is perfect, and there are certain glamours and amulets that can veil that sight.”

Murmurs rose from the assembly, hearing of such witchcraft.

“Nor have we heard from Princess Theophanu,” interposed Lady Bertha, who despite being Hugh of Austra’s half sister seemed to Sanglant the most sensible of the nobles traveling in Sapientia’s train. “None of her messengers have gotten through to us, if indeed she has been able to send any.”

“All the more reason to return to this matter of Bulkezu’s army.” Sanglant hoisted his cup and found, to his annoyance, that he had drained it. Bayan’s Ungrian servants, two of them eunuchs, were as well trained as Bayan’s Ungrian soldiers. A smooth-cheeked man hurried up with a pitcher of wine, a strong vintage that had already begun to make Sanglant’s head swim. The Ungrians didn’t cut their wine with water.

“If Bulkezu does intend to march on Osterburg,” said Sapientia, “he’ll be trapped for months in a siege.”

Sanglant sighed, and for the first time he looked directly, and beseechingly, at Bayan, who had spoken not one word since the council began.

“If it is true,” said Bayan finally. He paused. Every soul fell silent. It was easy to see who really commanded the army, although by every right and privilege the Wendish folk, at least, belonged to Sapientia. “If it is true we can trust this Eagle’s sight, who says to us that for months there lies a cloud of sorcery over the land that hides Bulkezu. But I know the power of magic. None better than I! Maybe now the cloud parts and the Eagle gets a look. So. If it is true Bulkezu rides north along the Veser, then what prevents him from swinging wide, around this city, and going on his merry way, as Prince Sanglant says? Bulkezu can leave a force of small size camped outside the walls, and with this force he can trick Duchess Rotrudis so she will believe he sets a siege at her gates. Then, if she so believes, she will not harry him until for her and for Saony it is too late.”

“And he can do as much damage as he likes,” agreed Sanglant. “Or he could strike west before he even reaches Osterburg and go for Kassel or the Rhowne heartlands near Autun. The best we could hope for in that case would be that he drives all the way to the western sea and spends his fury laying waste to Salia.”

“What do you think we should do, Prince Sanglant?” asked Captain Thiadbold from where he stood behind the seated ladies and lords.

“I say we march hard and try to reach Osterburg before he does.”

“Impossible,” protested Lady Brigida. She giggled, as she was wont to do when she became nervous.

Lamps lit the interior of the spacious tent. By their fitful light, Sanglant saw the faces of the others, most of them regarding him with interest and mounting excitement. On the table around which they sat the leavings of their evening’s feast congealed on platters of brass and pewter: chicken and goose bones; an eviscerated bread pudding with only the crusty sides and burned bottom left; fried griddle breads; small, sweet honey cakes; and berries flavored with a mint sauce—the kind of things easily prepared on the march. “Then even if Bulkezu strikes west, we’ll still be in position to pursue him no matter where he rides before autumn rain and winter snows make the roads impassable.”

Soldiers nodded. Lords and ladies murmured noises of assent.

Bayan coughed, clearing his throat. “I have to piss,” he said cheerfully, standing, “but how I hate to piss alone! Prince Sanglant, will you join me?”

Sanglant laughed. “Ah, my friend, what man could turn down such a proposal?” He rose, drained his cup, and only staggered slightly as he made his way through the assembled crowd in Bayan’s wake.