Prince of Dogs (Crown of Stars #2)

Prince of Dogs (Crown of Stars #2) Page 62

“To hunt in Thurin Forest, no doubt!”

“Yes, my lady.”

“While my villages burn under the raids of the Eika! Ah, well, no doubt he’ll claim he must meet and trouble every southern lord in order to get them to pledge troops for next summer’s war. A war every summer, that is Henry for you.” She put out her hand and her cupbearer placed the gold cup in her hand. The duchess examined its contents, then frowned. “Here, child, my cup is empty.” A boy dressed in a neat white linen tunic rushed over, took the cup away, and returned with a full one. A cleric leaned over and whispered into the duchess’ ear.

Liath wished the noble lords would think of placing carpets or pillows down in front of their chairs so that her knees might have some respite.

“True enough,” commented Rotrudis to the cleric before returning her attention to Liath. “Tell Henry that I expect more help from him. These Eika are like flies swarming around fresh meat. What if I can’t wait for next summer?”

“I have no further message from the king, my lady. But—” She hesitated.

“But? But! Go on. I’m no fool to think Eagles don’t notice that which others might miss.”

“It’s true, my lady, that Henry’s forces were badly hurt at Kassel. His complement of Lions went from perhaps two hundred men to a bare sixty, and though he has sent for more centuries from the marchlands, there is no guarantee those men can march so far so fast or that the marchlords will be able to let them go.”

“Huh. The Quman haven’t raided for years. I think there’s no threat there. But go on. What of the Varren lords?”

“They, too, suffered at Kassel, though under Sabella’s banner. But the king has collected levies from them and expects more to be sent in the spring.”

“That isn’t good enough! I’ve had to send my own son Wichman and his band of reckless young gadflies to Steleshame to restore order. What has Henry risked?”

This was too much. Furious, Liath lifted her gaze to stare straight at the duchess. “King Henry lost his son at Gent!”

Courtiers murmured, shocked at her tone, but the duchess only laughed. “Here’s fire for you! Well then, it’s true enough that Prince Sanglant died at Gent together with the Dragons, but that’s what the poor boy was bred for, wasn’t it?”

“Bred for?” said Liath, appalled.

“Quiet! You have spoken enough. Now you will listen to my words and carry them faithfully back to my dear brother. I need more help, and I need it soon. According to my reports, there’s not a village left standing within a day’s ride of Gent, and half the livestock stolen from the villages within three days’ walk likewise and my people slaughtered, frightened, and running with a scant harvest to feed them this winter and no chance to sow in the spring, if the Eika aren’t driven out. These Eika raid up the Veser as they wish, although winter’s ice may dull their oars in the water, and none of the waterways are safe—nor will they be after the thaw come spring. Tell Henry this: I know where our royal sister Sabella is. If he cannot help me, then she will—and bring me those lords who pledged loyalty to her, if Henry can’t.”

She paused, sipped wine, winced as she shifted her foot on the stool. “Now then, have you understood it all?”

Liath could barely speak, she was so astounded at the reference to Sabella. “That’s the message you wish me to take back to King Henry?”

“Would I have spoken it if it were not what I wished delivered to him? Your duty is not to question, Eagle. Yours is to ride. Go on, then. I am done with you.”

Liath rose, backed away, and retreated to the farthest corner of the hall. Was she meant to ride out immediately into the twilight? Where anything might await her? But a steward led her to a table placed in the back of the hall while the nobles began their evening’s feast. Here, with some of the other servants, she was fed royally, a fine meal of goose, partridge, fish braised in a tart sauce, mince pie, and as much bread as she could eat together with a sharp cider. The nobles’ feast went on forever, what with singing and dancing and tales, and even when the last platter of food was taken away, they still drank so heavily that Liath was surprised they hadn’t emptied the cellars.

She crept away from the table at last and curled up in the corner, and yet woke intermittently throughout the long night, roused by their laughter, each time seeing through the haze of smoke and torchlight the nobles still drinking, singing, wrestling among the young men, and boasting while they paced the floor and drank again. Only at dawn, when she struggled to her feet and made ready to ride, had they at last given up the night’s carousing and themselves gone to their beds.