Elliott, Kate - Crown of Stars 1 (13 page)

By the time he hung the harness back on a peg and went to the stable door, he saw the guard waving one arm at a distant sight and then, in a loud voice, calling out to those below.

"They have come! The count arrives!"

The yard dissolved into a wild frenzy of activity.

Alain and Lackling found shelter at the corner of the stables, out of the way. From there they watched as the militia marched in through the gates, a lord who was obviously Count Lavastine at their head. The count rode a chestnut gelding. His kinsman Lord Geoffrey rode beside him on a roan, his fine armor betraying his status as a lord, and with them at the fore rode a young man wrapped in a cloak bearing the badge of the, King's Eagles. With them also rode the count's captain, two clerics, and a dozen mounted soldiers Alain did not recognize. Behind these riders marched the militia, led by Sergeant Fell, and after them rolled the wagons and pack mules, kicking up dust.

The count pulled up his gelding in front of the steps that led into the hall. There waited Chatelaine Dhuoda, together with her retinue and Lord Geoffrey's young bride, Aldegund, now hugely pregnant. As soon as the count dismounted, Lackling ran recklessly forward and stood shifting from one foot to the next while the count handed his reins over to his captain and then walked forward to greet his kinswomen. The captain glanced at Lackling and, with the barest nod, allowed the boy to walk beside him as he led the chestnut toward the stables.

Suddenly all the horses in the yard flung their heads back and shied. One of the clerics was thrown from his mount, and Lord Geoffrey cursed and fought his mare to a standstill. Only the chestnut, under Lackling's hands, remained calm. Howling pierced the air, accompanied by a chorus of barks and ugly growls. Count Lavastine broke away from the women and hurried down the steps.

A wagon trundled through the gate, pulled by four oxen. A stocky man walked at the head of the lead ox, a good long way away from the bed of the wagon. Six black hounds lunged, snapping, toward the soldiers and onlookers, who shouted in alarm, or cried out, or scuttled back. But with yips and angry barks the hounds were, again and again, brought up short by thick chains fastened to the undercarriage. From the bed rose a cross built of heavy wood spars. To this cross was chained . . .

Not a man.

Like everyone else, Alain drew back, but more from the sight of the prisoner than from the savage hounds.

An Eika prince. Sergeant Fell's tale of a dragon's heart and its curse suddenly seemed more believable.

Alain had seen creatures like this before: the painted beasts, worse for looking so much like men, who had murdered frail, gentle Brother Gilles and the other monks at Dragon's Tail Monastery. Garish painted swirls faded from this one's face and chest. Hard white claws thrust out from the backs of his bony hands. The creature wore an armband of beaten gold around his right arm and two of bronze, curled like snakes, around his left. He wore as well stiff trousers caked with mud and a girdle of surpassing beauty, tiny links of woven gold chain and delicate faience, belted at his narrow waist and hanging down past his hips. He was naked above the waist, and his skin, under the paint, looked more like scaled copper than flesh. Despite his savage aspect, he looked every bit an arrogant prince, with black slit eyes and coarse white hair bound into a thick braid that ended past his waist. His thin lips were pulled back in an expression that resembled the hounds' baring of teeth more than a smile. Tiny jewels studded his teeth, giving his snarl an unexpected brilliance.

Chains bound his ankles to the base of the cross, and chains shackled his wrists against the crossbeam. As the wagon lurched to a halt, he deftly balanced himself against its rocking. The hounds yelped furiously, surging around the wagon, nipping and snapping at each other in their frenzy. No one dared approach. The Eika prince stared about the yard defiantly. Certainly all of those from the town and the fortress shrank away from him. Even many of the soldiers took a few steps back, now that he stood so boldly, though chained, among them.

Lavastine turned back to speak with Dhuoda. The Eika prince threw back his head and howled.

The hounds went wild.

They scrabbled madly against their chains, drowning out even the Eika's awful howl with their own cacophonous barking. As black as a moonless night, they were frightful creatures to behold.

With a splintering snap, part of the side board of the wagon broke off. Two hounds lunged forward. One of them pulled entirely free of the wagon and charged, leaping onto the nearest soldier. Bowling the man over, the hound went for his throat. At first, like an indrawn breath, no one moved. Then came screams. The crowd scattered as the hound, leaving a welter of blood and a still-twitching body behind him, raced on toward the count. The yard erupted with panic and at once dissolved into chaos.

But the other hound had not broken free. He yelped madly after his fellow, then, after straining forward to the limit of his new freedom, broke into a vicious growl, spun, and leaped up into the wagon to attack the captive.

To Alain it seemed an endless space during which no one apparently noticed that the Eika prince, helpless to defend himself, was being savaged. Other soldiers moved impossibly slowly toward their fallen comrade; the burly man at the head of the oxen yanked hard on the head of the lead ox, but to what end? Alain pushed himself away from the wall. He felt as if he were running in a world separate from the rest of the frantic activity in the yard: just himself, alone with the Eika prince and the savage dog.

He reached the side of the wagon. He grabbed the hind legs of the hound, bent his own knees, and tugged backward with all his might.

A new scream, shivering through him. He tumbled backward and fell. The hound landed heavily on top of him. For an instant Alain lay stunned. The hound scrabbled around, claws digging into Alain's tunic to tear at his skin. It growled deep in its throat.

Alain stared up at the maddened eyes, like dark amber, depthless. Another snarl sounded. He realized then that he had fallen within reach of one of the still-chained hounds. Saliva dripped onto his face, and he saw teeth.

His face was going to be ripped clean off by those powerful jaws.

Far away, like an echo, a man laughed.

Because he was about to die, he said, firmly, but calmly, the first thing that came to mind.

"Sit."

The hound sat, panting, on his hips. Its weight pressed his flesh into the hard ground, bruising on small stones. Saliva dripped down its incisors and wet Alain's tunic. The other hound, moving in, nuzzled him, licking his face, smothering his cheek with its wet tongue.

Abruptly, both hounds looked up and growled menacingly at the soldiers who had approached and lowered their spears but who still hesitated to come any closer, even with their weapons. Behind them, a man was alternately moaning and shrieking in pain. Another man issued orders in a curt voice, but Alain for some reason could not distinguish the words. His gaze tracked up and up and past the broad black back of the hound sitting on him and caught on the face of the Eika prince. The savage's eyes were as black as obsidian. The prince was, oddly enough, grinning down at him. His teeth had much the look of the hound's: sharp and white. The hound had ripped one trouser leg clean through, and blood seeped out through the torn cloth. A great deal of blood, as thick as a man's but with a greenish tint. If the wound pained him, he did not show it on his face.

The hound sitting on Alain lunged forward suddenly, plunging through the ring of lowered spears, and closed his jaw around the arm of a soldier. The formation vanished as the soldiers broke backward to escape. With a yelp of pain the poor soldier wrenched his arm free and staggered away. Brought up by his chain, the hound jerked back and growled. Then, content, he padded back and settled his weight on Alain's legs.

"Move back! Take those men to the infirmary. Get this wagon to the kennels. Go on, man, get those oxen moving. Hold one moment. Let the boy rise."

Count Lavastine appeared, a black hound panting beside him, his muzzle thrust into the man's palm. The Eika prince shifted his gaze to glare at his captor.

"Sorrow! Up, boy!"

The hound remained draped comfortably over Alain's legs.

"Up!" There was a tone to the count's voice that suggested he did not tolerate disobedience from his vassals. Sorrow heaved himself up and with a cursory tug at the chain tried to reach his master, then gave up.

"Get up!" said the count.

Alain suddenly realized that Count Lavastine was addressing
him.
He scrambled to his feet and barely had time to jump out of the way as the driver tugged the oxen forward and the wagon jolted on across the yard.

Alain found himself staring straight at Count Lavastine. The count was a slight man, not as tall as Alain. But he was no one to be trifled with. He examined Alain for a moment and then his gaze flicked away, seeking more important sights. The two mauled soldiers were carried away. Lord Geoffrey and the two clerics approached, pausing at a respectable distance. The hound, ears brushing Lavastine's fingertips, growled at them, but it seemed to Alain the growl now sounded more dutiful than heartfelt.

"Take Rage to the kennels as well," said the count, grasping the hound's broken chain and handing it without further ado to Alain. The broken links felt cold, their iron seaming rough, in Alain's hands. Lavastine turned away and walked over to Lord Geoffrey, and then, as if nothing untoward had happened, he returned to his chatelaine and they vanished into the hall.

Alain stared down at Rage. Rage snuffled at Alain's feet, then at his knees. Then the hound took Alain's hand between her teeth and held it there, and whined.

By this time, those few people who had not fled from the yard stared at him, safe in doorways or behind fencing, or protected by weapons, even if only a pitchfork. Rage wagged her whipcord tail, thumping it hard against Alain's thigh. Gingerly, Alain pulled his hand out of the hound's mouth. Red marks showed where Rage's teeth had pressed into but not broken the skin.

Alain grasped the chain a little more tightly and took in a deep breath.

"Come, girl," he said and began to walk even as he braced for the hound's resistance. But Rage padded alongside obediently enough, pausing only to snarl and bare her teeth at anyone who moved toward them. On the steps, Prater Agius stared somberly at them, hand poised to draw a Circle at his breast. Alain shuddered. It was like that first moment in the old ruins, on Midsummer's Eve, when he had realized he had somehow stepped outside the world as he knew it. It was bad enough to have everyone staring at him, to know that everyone would be talking of this incident for days, but to have Agius mark him ...

Alain had never cared for the militant gleam in Prater Agius' eyes, one so at odds with the peaceful serenity that had invested Brother Gilles' expression and, indeed, his entire being.

He passed around the corner of the hall, leading the hound past a knot of soldiers, who stepped away from him although they were not particularly close by. They drew the Circle at their breasts as though to avert evil. He heard them muttering.

"It's uncanny, it is."

"Not even Master Rodlin can handle them hounds. None but his lordship can, or his heir, if he had one."

"I thought he'd kill them all after what they did to his child-

"Hush. Don't go speaking of that."

"It's unholy. Devil's blood, it is. My papa told me that those hounds will only tolerate the count or his heir, or those in whom they can smell devil's blood. Them hounds were bred by elvish kind."

Alain fixed his gaze on the ground and pretended not to hear. A furious chorus of barking splintered his thoughts. He passed through a palisade and came to the low stockade that enclosed the kennels.

Dirt swirled under the feet of the hounds chained to the wagon. They yanked at their chains and nipped at

Master Rodlin and his two assistants, who wore padding bound around their arms and legs. The Eika prince, blood still weeping from his torn thigh, watched the spectacle with cool scorn.

"Go," said Alain in what he hoped was an authoritative voice, shoving the hound toward the gate that led into the enclosure. But the wagon had not yet gone in, though the oxen had been unharnessed and led away, and Rage dragged against Alain, pulling the wrong way, eager to fling herself into the fray. The knot of soldiers had drifted after Alain. Evidently they were the Eika prince's ostensible guards, although they were clearly more interested in watching the efforts of Rodlin and his dog-handlers as they attempted to unchain the hounds and get them into the kennel without being torn to bits.

Alain sighed and tugged the ungrateful Rage to the gate. "Go! Go in!" Rage went, whimpering an apology. Alain hurried back to the wagon. Sorrow had gotten hold of the leg of one of the handlers and was worrying at the padding, trying to rip through it to the tender flesh beneath.

"Stop that! Sit!" Alain grabbed the hound by his collar. Sorrow whined and then, sitting abruptly, released the man's leg. The man limped back, out of reach, and sat down heavily. Master Rodlin and the other handler backed out of range swiftly enough. They eyed Alain and the hounds uneasily.

They were as afraid of him as they were of the hounds. Ai, Lord and Lady, what had he ever done to deserve
thisl
"Come on, boy," he said to Sorrow. "In you go." One by one he led Sorrow and then the other four hounds into the stockade. Four other hounds, brought in a separate cage, had already been chained inside. He sat with them to one side, holding them back by word and once by main force as the soldiers skittishly rolled the wagon in and installed the Eika prince in an open-sided, barred shed that had been built by Chatelaine Dhuoda's order in the very center of the kennel. If the Eika prince