“My thanks for your blood, sentimental one. I shall put it to good use this night.”
Qarakh sat upon the gelding he’d taken from Aajav’s abductors. The horse had been fed on one of the slain knights’ blood, so it was stronger, swifter and hardier than a normal mount. But Qarakh had no special bond with it. This steed would not anticipate his commands and respond to his moods the way one of his mares would have. He would have to remember that during the battle to come.
His force was arranged in a single line—mounted warriors in the middle, flanked on either side by those who by choice or necessity planned to fight afoot. There were no divisions, no commanders save Qarakh, and no elaborate battle plan. When the Christian force arrived, as Qarakh was certain it would, he would give the signal and the battle would begin, and the fighting would continue until one side or the other emerged victorious.
What if the other side wins? his Beast asked. What if all that is achieved here this night is mutual destruction?
“Then so be it,” Qarakh mouthed silently. His Beast practically purred at the response.
Alessandro was to Qarakh’s right. The Iberian sat upon his brown mare with an ease that the Mongol knew he didn’t feel. To his left was Karl the Blue. He kept his gaze fixed on the horizon, watching for sign of the enemy’s approach. He growled softly, perhaps without even being aware of doing so.
It felt strange to be here without the rest of his inner circle: Arnulf, Wilhelmina, Grandfather and especially Deverra. He had not seen her since the conversation in his tent. The other Telyavs were missing, too. Qarakh feared that Deverra, disapproving of the way he intended to conduct this battle, had left and taken her sorcerers with her. If so, so be it. The tribe would win this battle without the aid of witchcraft.
Still, without her here, it felt as if a part of himself was missing. The better part.
Forget her and concentrate on the fight to come, his Beast urged. Qarakh was determined to do as it said, but it wouldn’t be easy.
There was no hint of rain tonight. The sky was clear of clouds, allowing the full moon to paint the battlefield in a soft blue-white glow. For Qarakh and the other Cainites, it would be like fighting in broad daylight. Qarakh took this as a sign that Father Tengri approved of his battle plan for this night. A good omen, indeed.
“My khan, are you certain he will come?” Alessandro spoke in a whisper so as not to be overhead by the others.
Qarakh replied in a whisper as well. “He will be unable to resist.”
“I fear we are not taking the wisest course by engaging the Christian knights in a direct confrontation.”
Qarakh nearly laughed. “You might have brought this up before our army left the camp.”
“I confess that at the time I believed that there was more to your plan which you had chosen to keep hidden for your own reasons.”
“And now?”
“Now I do not. I cannot see how we can hope to defeat Alexander and his knights in head-to-head combat.”
“After last night, our numbers are more evenly matched,” Qarakh said. “We may well outnumber them now.”
“If he doesn’t bring reinforcements.”
“If Alexander could have fielded more soldiers last night, he would have. Restraint is not one of his strongest virtues.”
“It used to be one of yours,” the Iberian said, so softly that Qarakh could barely hear him above the sound of the night breeze wafting across the field.
Qarakh chose to let the comment pass without remark.
From nearby came the plaintive howl of a wolf. Karl the Blue smiled.
“The Christians draw near.” The Finnish warrior had commanded one of his men to take wolf form and act as sentry. Even now the Gangrel was no doubt speeding back on his four strong legs to rejoin Qarakh’s army.
Up and down the line, warriors made ready, drawing swords, nocking arrows or entering into the first stages of transformation to animal shape. They knew the enemy would be upon them soon. Even now Qarakh could hear the faint sounds of hundreds of horse hooves pressing down on grass, like the whisper of an incoming tide.
But when the first figures came onto the battlefield, there were only two of them, and they came from the north, and not the west as Alexander’s army would. At first, Qarakh allowed himself to hope that Deverra had changed her mind and returned. But one of the figures was too large to be her, and the other walked hunched over, occasionally dropping to all fours. It wasn’t long before the two were close enough for Qarakh to recognize—especially in this moonlight. But even if it hadn’t been so bright out, Qarakh would have been able to identify them by their scents: Arnulf and Wilhelmina.
The Goth warrior walked up to Qarakh, the Viking maid keeping up with him as best she could. Arnulf looked precisely the same as he had when he’d left the camp, but Wilhelmina bore the unmistakable signs of terrible frenzy. One of her ears was human, while the other was that of a wolf. Both eyes shone yellow with bestial cunning, but with little indication of intelligence. Her teeth were all sharp, though of varying lengths, and some had grown crookedly, jammed together or jutting out from her mouth at odd angles. Her fingers and toes ended in curved dagger-length talons so long that she had trouble walking upright. Somewhere along the way she had divested herself of armor and clothing, and she stood before her khan naked, her body half covered with patches of amber fur. Her breasts were smaller than they had been, the nipples erect in the cool night air, and she had six now instead of two, just as a she-wolf would.
“I found
