The Burning Stone

“Go with God, young lords,” said the groom, who like many of the other servants was falling back to the baggage train.



To their relief, Prince Ekkehard rode up to the company, mounted on a bay gelding. He looked bright and lively, wearing chain mail and a polished conical helm with a bronze nasal. He had unsheathed his sword and waved it enthusiastically. “We are to take up a position on the right flank, along the north bank of the river.”



Ivar stood in his stirrups, trying to get a view of the line. The Wendish cavalry stretched across the plain in front of the hill. The Lions formed a line midway up the hill; they were flanked by other infantry. According to Ekkehard, Bayan’s and Sapientia’s heavy horse waited in reserve hidden between the hill and the river, while more lightly-armed horsemen guarded the northern flank of the hill, keeping the ford clear. Bayan himself stood with Sapientia at the top of the hill, visible to most of the army. As Ivar settled back into his saddle, both Bayan’s and Sapientia’s banners were lifted high, once, twice, and the third time held there, upraised.



Ivar felt a cool breeze pass through his hair, and it grew in strength until he had to shelter his eyes with a hand in order to keep looking up at the hill. It was a northwest wind, blowing hard toward the southeast, where the Quman approached. On the wings of that wind, the banner of Prince Bayan leaped as if it had suddenly sprung to life, and crisply snapped, so loud that Ivar thought he could hear it whip-sharp even from this distance. Through the gray clouds, a single wide ray of light shone down upon that banner and its simple device, a two-headed eagle, and upon the prince, standing in full battle gear while a groom held the reins of his horse.



All up and down the line men murmured as the column of light shone, trembled, and faded as a cloud covered the sun. Surely they had just seen a divine omen. God marched with them. Ekkehard chivvied his companions up through the loosely-spaced line of light cavalry so that they could reach the front. As Ivar came to the first rank of men armed in light mail hauberks, spears, and shields, he heard Baldwin gasp beside him. The Quman line ran like a sinewy fence over the nearest hill and down into the river valley. The contours of the land were accentuated by the long line of horsemen, which covered at least three of the visible hills.



There was only one banner in the entire Quman host, and it sagged dark and still on the center hill, a black round of cloth marked by three white slashes. The Quman waited a full two bow shots from the Wendish host. They made no move. The entire host simply sat there on their horses, their wings still. How many birds had died to make so many wings?



As Ivar scanned their line, he began to see a pattern to it. Their heavy cavalry massed in the center and left, with light troops on their right. The lighter troops had lances fixed upright along their high-backed saddles, and they held their bows at ready. The heavy troops held lance and shield. All of the riders had wings and several, spread randomly among the host, had wings that glinted as brightly as if the sun were upon them, yet no sunlight fell in the east. The Quman army was shrouded by low-hanging, dark clouds.



“There!” said Baldwin, pointing. Beside the sagging banner waited one rider without wings. Because of this, he didn’t have the spreading breadth of the other riders, but even at this distance his presence and his posture left no doubt in Ivar’s mind that this wingless rider was the fearsome Prince Bulkezu.



“What happened to his wings?” muttered Milo. His spear, with Ekkehard’s battle banner affixed just below the lugs, dipped as he shifted in the saddle. No one answered.



Both armies waited, soldiers staring across the gap in a disconcerting silence. Their nervous mounts snorted, flicking ears, stamping hooves. Horn blasts rang out at intervals, two sharp blasts that reminded the Wendish forces to hold.



Yet after every blast a flood of obscenities flowed from Lord Wichman’s mouth. He waited impatiently with his band just to the left of Ekkehard’s position.



“He thinks he knows so much,” said Ekkehard. “But Prince Bayan knows better. If he sends this line to the attack, then we’d be wrapped around by the Quman flanks and they could cut us off from the ford, and from our stoutly defended hill.”



“Will we sit out here until sunset?” Ivar demanded. The hour was late, and with the heavy cloud cover dusk would come sooner than usual. “I can’t believe the Quman would attack a defended hill at night.”



“Then we can sneak across the river and fight another day,” muttered Baldwin.



“Nay,” said Ekkehard boldly. “God have given us a sign. This day will not end without a battle, and God will show Their Hand by choosing a victor.”