King's Dragon
4
LIATH practically slid down the ladder, she moved so fast. Splinters sliced into her left hand, but the pain was only another goad. The boys who held her horse stared after her as she sprinted toward the Dragons, whose attention was entirely on the men who stood watch above the gate.
“Let me through!” she cried. “I must speak with the prince.”
They let her by without demur. Sanglant sat his horse at the front of the line, in conference with others: an elderly militia man, a dismounted Dragon, and his chief attendant, the scarred woman.
Sanglant caught sight of Liath; perhaps he had heard her voice. He lifted a hand to silence the militia man, who was speaking.
“But my lord Sanglant!” the man protested, misunderstanding the prince’s intent. “There are too many of them! It would be foolish to sally out into such numbers. If Count Hildegard can win through, we will open the gates to receive her.” Then he saw Liath and stuttered to a halt.
“You can’t!” Liath cried. She took the reins of Sanglant’s horse out of the hands of a Dragon, as if by holding his mount’s harness she could control the prince’s decision. “Count Hildegard isn’t out there at all. It’s an illusion. There’s magic—”
Sanglant was off his horse at once. Without waiting for her or anyone, he ran to the wall and took the steep steps three at a time to the lookout over the gate. She scrambled after him. Manfred stood here with two Dragons and a cluster of city militiamen. He motioned the others aside so the prince could come forward. Liath pressed up beside Manfred; surely he would believe her, if the others could not see. There, on the parapet, protected by a timber wall covered by animal skins soaked in water, they stared out at the far shore.
She saw so clearly now. There must be more than a thousand Eika, two thousand perhaps, a vastly greater number than those who defended Gent. The barbarians jogged forward at a steady trot, the banner swaying in their midst, a prize of war. Their enormous dogs loped beside them, muzzles lifted to the wind. There was rank after rank of blue and yellow shields with their menacing red serpent blazon, the dark line of their weapons, held at the ready; their bone-white hair gleamed in the new sunlight as the fog dissipated along the shore of the river. How could anyone see this as the remnants of Count Hildegard’s army? The Eika called out, too, in words she could not understand, only that they sounded like taunts in her ears. The dogs ran silently which was, perhaps, worse. The river streamed on, oblivious. Drums beat to the time of running feet.
They came closer, and closer. Liath could make out the details in the green and white banner: a boar on a white field. She could see the long flanks of the dogs, saw their tongues lolling out. The Eika had come so close, first rank almost on the bridge itself, that the prince had possibly twenty breaths to make a choice.
“Don’t you see?” she cried.
Sanglant narrowed his eyes.
“Manfred!” She grabbed Manfred’s arm and shook him, hard. “It isn’t Count Hildegard at all! It’s only Eika! Look harder. You’re an Eagle. You must be able to see with true sight.”
“There!” called Sanglant. “In the fourth rank. There is Count Hildegard and her brother!” He pushed away from the wall.
The banner and the first of the Eika troops hit the bridge. Their footsteps sounded like the hollow tramp of doom on the stone and timber structure. A shrill keening rose from the front ranks of the Eika, as if they had caught the scent of their quarry. As if they had seen Sanglant’s dragon helm on the walkway above and knew he was waiting for them.
“The Eika are almost upon them!” cried Manfred, jerking his arm out of Liath’s grip. He shot her a single glance, as if to say he was sorry.
Sanglant looked then, piercingly, at Liath. He wavered. Clearly he did. He wanted to trust her that much. But then he looked back. Howls rang from the bridge, a chorus of them, dogs and Eika joining in strength until they deafened her. The faces of those watching, those whose faces she could see, went white with horror. Liath could no longer imagine what they saw, or what they thought they saw. She could only see the Eika army almost upon them.
“Open the gates!” Sanglant commanded.
As he pushed past her, she grabbed his arm. The Dragons nearest him swore and lunged for her. The great wheels that controlled the gate began to creak and roll, and the doors swung outward.
“Close the gates!” she yelled, but no one listened. Below, the Dragons parted, half to each side, making room for the flight of the count and her retainers into the city. “It’s an illusion. Its a trick.”