Too Many Princes (83 page)

IN BLOODY SQUARE

Shadow raced down the ramp, never faltering on the switchbacks. Brastigan could already pick out details in the open square below. Water washed over the cobblestones, displaced from the moat when the south wall collapsed. He could see a worse tide coming, though. Red tunics flooded into Harburg through the fallen gate, as if the city itself was bleeding.

Brastigan closed his eyes for a moment as they passed through a swirl of thick, rank smoke. Another section of wall was already tottering. He clenched his teeth with helpless rage. What could a man do, when the enemy turned his walls to sand?

“
Bras, look!
”
Lottres kicked his gelding to make it catch up with Shadow.

Brastigan drew Shadow up and glanced where his brother pointed. Farther back in the gloom came the sullen glow of the Dragon's Candle. So it was still open, still vomiting out Ysislaw's troops. He could have sworn the light hadn't been there when they came out the castle gate.

“
It wasn't,
”
Lottres said, his voice high with excitement.
“
They're here, Bras!
”

“
Who?
”
Brastigan asked.

Then he saw them, huge and black against the leaden sky. Two dragons soared over the battlefield.

“
Oh. Them,
”
Brastigan said.
“
I thought they were still in Carthell.
”

Lottres shrugged.
“
Maess
says they flew to Firice and opened the gateway for troops there.
”

“
I won't complain,
”
Brastigan assured him. He urged Shadow forward again.

Brastigan felt his heart rise. Maybe Crutham did have a chance, with those two in the fray. As the two princes approached the lower gate, the two dragons folded their wings and dove over the battlefield. Sheets of flame roared across the Silletsian lines in their wake.

Men cheered on the gate, though it was hardly likely the dragons could hear. Brastigan had to roar himself to get their attention.

“
Hey!
”
he yelled.
“
Which way did the king go?
”

The gate started to rise, and one of the soldiers made a broad gesture.
“
Bloody Square!
”

As they passed beneath the pointed teeth of the portcullis, Brastigan thought about teasing Lottres. He held the jest in.

“
Go ahead and say it,
”
Lottres said.

Brastigan grinned.
“
Who needs magic?
”

Hooves splattered in the shallow water as the two princes entered the central square. A stream of Cruthan fighters were retreating from the disaster at the South Gate. Brastigan and Lottres slipped into the traffic and let it carry them past the barricades and sentries.

Except for the soldiers, the city was completely empty. Every window and door had been barred. The citizens must be hiding, waiting for the battle to end. Brastigan hoped the precautions would do some good. One advantage to the bone men—if it was possible to find anything positive about such monstrosities—was their single-mindedness. They would follow orders and not break into looting parties.

The two dragons continued swooping over the battlefield. As Lottres and Brastigan approached the Bloody Gate, columns of black smoke rose to meet the dragons. Fires burned atop the great towers, where cauldrons of boiling oil were poured on the attackers. They also heard a repetitive, dull booming. A battering ram, most likely. Although Brastigan had to wonder why they bothered with war machines, if their magicians could make the ramparts fall apart.

“
I think it's a diversion,
”
Lottres said.
“
To keep everyone's eyes here while the south wall went down.
”

“
Could be,
”
Brastigan said.

All the barricades along the street were angled toward the Butcher's Gate, meant to repel invaders from that direction. They wouldn't be as good against attackers from the center of town. Word of the gate's collapse had reached the defenders, and men were frantically turning the defenses, though Brastigan could see it would take too long.

In the center of the barricades, just where the street met the square, he could see three things of great importance: the banner of Crutham, hanging dull and limp in the still air; Habrok's hulking figure; and a pair of dragon horns sticking up, much too close to Habrok. Brastigan drew Shadow aside for a moment, wondering if he dared approach Ysislaw so directly. But then, why not?

“
Wait,
”
Lottres whispered as Brastigan urged Shadow forward.
“
You can't just ride up to him!
”

“
He'll give himself away if he tries any magic,
”
Brastigan said.

“
But you
—
.
”
Lottres faltered.

“
Follow my lead,
”
Brastigan said.
“
While everyone is staring at me, get Habrok to safety.
”

Brastigan didn't wait for Lottres's reply. He tightened his knees and Shadow crowded through the slow stream of moving men.

“
Hail, Habrok!
”
Brastigan cried as he approached the Cruthan standard.

Habrok turned sharply. He bellowed,
“
Where were you this morning? We had servants scouring the keep.
”

“
You didn't search Eben's tower, where I was lying in chains,
”
Brastigan answered amiably.

As he spoke, Brastigan looked past Habrok, straight into the face of the pretender. Ysislaw's eyes were brilliant and cold under the shadow of his helmet.

“
You are a fool to come here,
”
he said in Brastigan's mind.

“
I could say the same to you,
”
Brastigan smiled through gritted teeth.

“
We've no time for games,
”
Habrok scolded.
“
I've been waiting to see you test your mettle, you braggart.
”

“
You'll see that,
”
Brastigan answered,
“
but Lottres would like a word with you, brother.
”
Lottres, who rode close on his left, moved forward. Brastigan urged Shadow a bit to the right, bringing her between Habrok and the imposter. Shadow snorted, and Ysislaw stepped back slightly.

Brastigan could hear Lottres speaking quickly, in a low voice, and Habrok's startled exclamation, but Brastigan knew Lottres would need more time to convince Habrok. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the Urulai saddle's high pommel, so he could look Ysislaw in the eye.

“
You've lost,
”
Brastigan said with relish.

“
Why, brother, have you so little faith? The battle is barely begun,
”
Ysislaw replied. There was tension in his voice, though. He must be realizing that since Brastigan was here, free, Oskar must be loose, too.

“
No brother of yours,
”
Brastigan replied, pitching his voice loud enough to be heard over the battering ram and the babble of voices around them.
“
For I know well you are no man, of Crutham or any other place. You
—
.
”

Ysislaw interrupted before Brastigan could say his name with too-hearty laughter.
“
Ever the prankster, Brastigan, but I find this jest ill timed.
”

His oratory was a fair copy of Oskar's broad style, but Brastigan knew bluster when he heard it. Ysislaw's eyes darted left and right, watching the bystanders for their reactions.

Indeed, men murmured around them, as if they had only just noticed how their king's helmet obscured his features and couldn't think what it meant. Ysislaw must have been using his magic to cloud their judgment, make them accept him without question.

“
Do you call me a liar?
”
Brastigan demanded, even more loudly than before. In the corner of his left eye, he could see Lottres pulling Habrok back from the confrontation.
“
Well, I say that
you
are the liar. Aye, and traitor as well. You aren't my brother. You are a fraud!
”

“
Madness!
”
the pretender cried.
“
Fear has undone your mind!
”
Ysislaw edged backward, as if he feared for his safety. A line of men crowded near, dutifully protecting their nemesis. At that moment, Habrok broke away from Lottres.

“
If what you say is true, I will not flee from my enemy,
”
Brastigan heard him say. Habrok pushed his way forward.

“
Psh. It's easy enough to see the truth. Take off your helmet.
”
Brastigan grinned, daring Ysislaw to refuse.
“
Prove me wrong.
”

“
Aye,
”
Habrok cried. He strode around Shadow and stopped with fists planted on his hips.
“
Show your face, if you are the king!
”

Whatever reply Ysislaw might have made was lost in a rush of hot, smoky wind. Everyone turned, looking up and up and up at the enormous black dragon that had just landed on the wall.

* * *

The knife was long and serrated, the kind a serving maid might use to cut bread. Margura held it as if she knew exactly how to use it.

“
You should have just drunk the brandy.
”
The traitress spoke with something like regret.
“
I wanted this to be easier.
”

Therula felt frozen, too terrified to move. Somehow, she forced herself to rise.

“
Don't you dare,
”
she croaked, though she held to the bed post for balance.

“
Oh, I dare.
”
Margura had the nerve to laugh, brittly and without joy. Her face was chalky white, as ashen as Oskar's was, but her eyes were wild and desperate.
“
I dare this and more to pay you all back for how you've treated me. But you don't need to worry,
Princess.
”
Margura sneered, mocking Therula's heritage.
“
You're wanted alive.
”

“
I will never submit,
”
Therula said.

On the floor, Alustra groaned again. Her hands twitched against the carpet. Margura swiftly turned from Therula. She knelt and grabbed a handful of the queen's hair. She drew back the knife.

“
No!
”
Therula threw herself at Margura, trying to drag the woman away by her knife arm.
“
Mother, wake up!
”
Therula begged.
“
Run!
”