Child of Flame

Page 271

Bayan’s boisterous humor vanished as soon as they got outside. His faithful Ungrian guards, the kind of hard, hearty men who would rousingly toast you with a beaker of strong ale one moment and beat you to a pulp the next if you offended their master, kept watch as Bayan strode over to the horse lines. He did his business quickly and waited, whistling softly under his breath, until Sanglant was done as well.
“Now, my friend,” he said quietly, “we must have the talk.”
“Ah, the talk. Which talk is that?”
“You are not a fool, my good friend. So I will not insult you with lies, but I will speak the truth.”
“You’re scaring me, Bayan. Are you going to tell me I have to sleep with Lady Brigida lest she take her retinue and ride home in a rage? I’d sooner sleep with Bulkezu than with her. Or maybe with her warhorse.”
Bayan snorted, amused, but he shook his head and paced down toward the end of the horse lines, Sanglant following alongside, careful not to step in any fresh manure. The night was cloudy, although comfortably warm, lit only by sentry fires, the dozen lamps hung around the periphery of the royal tent, and the distant reddish flare of a bonfire burning away the remains of the dead at Machteburg. South, Sanglant could see the scattered fires of the merchants’ camp up on the rise where the ancient ring fort lay.
“So.” Bayan hadn’t Sanglant’s height but he was as broad through the shoulders, not at all gone to fat as some noblemen his age often did. He turned to face Sanglant squarely. In this dim light Sanglant could not make out his expression. “Do we agree that Bulkezu threatens Wendar?”
“Of course.”
“This other cataclysm you have mentioned. But I cannot see it. The fire of Bulkezu’s army burns too brightly before me. What does it matter if your sorcerers intrigue if we all are heads dangling from Quman belts?”
“True enough. What did you bring me out here to tell me?”
“Let us speak bluntly. She has not your charisma. She has not your prowess on the field, and not your intelligence. But you are a bastard, and I am Sapientia’s husband. Henry named her as his heir, not you. What if you raise your sword and demand to lead the army? Maybe even you have no intention to cause her soldiers to stand behind your banner, but if you do so, then you shame her. If you shame her, she will have no choice except to withdraw. And so, my friend, will I.”
“I’m not accustomed to being commanded by anyone except the king.”
Bayan shrugged. “So. If there is to be no agreement between us, then we must split our armies.”
“We have a better chance of defeating Bulkezu if we hit him with our forces combined. You know that as well as I do.”
“So I do.”
“And you know our wisest course, if what the Eagle says is true, is to ride west to Osterburg and use it as our base to hunt down Bulkezu’s army.”
“So I do. But I am the one who married the heir to Wendar and Varre. I did not marry her so that it falls to me to stand back and allow a bastard to command me. I mean no offense to your mother or yourself, you understand. I give you the truth because I respect you. I am knowing you well, Sanglant. You will do what is best for your father’s realm.”
The heady courage given him by too much strong wine made him reckless. “Do you know, Bayan, that my father wished me to marry Adelheid of Aosta and take the king’s crown in Darre?”
“Your father is a wise man. You would have done well to heed him instead of running off after a witch. Then you would have been fighting in Aosta and Henry would stand here to drive out the Quman.”
“Nay, my friend, it’s not as simple as that. It’s but a small step from reigning as king in Aosta to reigning as heir to the Holy Dariyan Emperor.”
“This is only a story, I think. You are not married to Adelheid. Your father is. You are not in Aosta, taking the king’s crown. Your father is. That still leaves you and me out here, on this fine summer’s night, taking a piss by the horses.” He neatly sidestepped a pile of stinking manure, as graceful as ever. Bayan was not a man, Sanglant reflected, to challenge to a drinking contest. “Tell me what you intend, Sanglant. Will you contest your sister’s authority? Or will you yield to her?”
“Ai, God! You ask too much!”
They had walked far enough that a nearby sentry fire illuminated Bayan’s face as he smiled wryly, with the barest edge of anger, carefully honed. “Wendish pride.”
A rent in the clouds revealed the quarter moon rising along the treetops. The charnel smell from the funeral pyre tainted the air as the wind shifted, then died. Sanglant shook his head, but as much as he fought to remember what it had been like to be the King’s Dragon, whose life was forfeit for Wendar’s safety, he just could not go back, not anymore. “There’s sense in what you say, but you ask too much. Am I to bow my head when I’ve never bowed before any person but my father? Not even for you, Bayan, and there’s few people in this world I respect as well as I respect you.”