Qarakh knew the Goth warrior would never apologize for leaving. It wouldn’t even occur to him to do so. Still, he had returned, which could not have been an easy thing for a creature of his pride.
Qarakh was still considering how to respond when Wilhelmina opened her mouth, and with an animal’s tongue and throat said, “‘eeeeeaaaaase?”
She was almost impossible to understand, but Qarakh nevertheless knew what she’d meant: please.
She’s an abomination. Put her down and be done with it!
Qarakh ignored his Beast. He remembered something he had told Rikard:
Like any good father, I would miss my children, should they stray from the camp. Miss them so much, in fact, that I would hunt them across all the lands of the earth until I had found them again. And do you know what I would do once we were reunited? I would clasp them in my arms and say, “The tribe misses you… I miss you. Come home.”
“It is good to see you both,” Qarakh said. “Take your places alongside Alessandro.”
“And my oath?”
“When this battle is over, you are released, free once more to run alone.”
Arnulf nodded and Wilhelmina’s mouth twisted in what Qarakh assumed was intended to be a smile. The two then walked to the other side of Alessandro, and the line of tribesmen adjusted to make room for them.
It was then that Qarakh caught sight of Alexander’s army.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The Christian knights rode in a single line, one next to the other, standards flying. All were on horseback, and Alexander rode upon a large black stallion in the exact middle of the line.
Many of the tribesmen and women growled at the sight—Wilhelmina one of the loudest—but Alessandro said, “Steady now,” and they held their places.
Alexander led his knights to within fifty feet of Qarakh’s force, then softly commanded them to halt. The knights brought their mounts to an immediate stop, and Qarakh knew the knights were tightly under the prince’s thrall. So much the better; the expenditure of power would leave him all the weaker.
“Good evening, Qarakh. It’s a splendid night for crushing one’s enemy, is it not?”
“Yes.” Qarakh noted that the German knight did not ride next to Alexander as expected. Had the Cainite been slain in last night’s battle, or was he elsewhere, perhaps leading a separate group of knights intent on executing a surprise attack, despite the Ventrue’s agreement to fight a straightforward battle?
What if Alexander is planning to break his word? Would that truly be a surprise?
“No,” Qarakh answered his Beast in a whisper.
“Not to insult your honor,” Alexander said, “but I find it difficult to believe that you intend to forgo the aid of your sorcerous allies. If I possessed such an advantage, I would not willingly give it up.”
“That is because you are not one of us.”
The tribe cheered, snarled and howled in approval of its khan’s reply.
Alexander smiled. “And praise be to Enoch’s first childe for that. But enough of this banter. We have all come here to fight, not talk. Shall we begin?”
Qarakh nodded. “When you are ready.”
Alexander cracked his reins, and his ebon stallion leaped forward. The knights let forth a battle cry, drew their swords and urged their mounts to follow their leader.
“Archers, fire!” Alessandro ordered, and a hail of arrows flew at the advancing enemy, striking knights and horses alike. A number of ghoul and mortal knights went down, arrows protruding from the throats and eye sockets. Many Cainites were similarly wounded, but they remained in the saddle, swords held tight, ignoring the pain of their injuries.
As planned, Alessandro himself targeted the Ventrue prince. His first arrow was aimed at Alexander’s right eye, but the ancient Cainite dodged it easily. The first arrow had only been meant as a distraction, though. As soon as he’d let it fly, Alessandro drew, nocked and released another with blinding speed. This one struck Alexander’s mount in the chest, piercing the stallion’s heart. The horse whinnied in pain and went down on its front legs, causing Alexander to tumble out of the saddle and fly over the steed’s head.
“Tchoo! Tchoo!” Qarakh urged, though his new mount had not been trained to respond to the Mongolian signal. He snapped the reins and dug his heels into the animal’s sides, and the gelding bounded forward. Qarakh drew his saber and rode hard toward the Ventrue ancient, who was only just getting to his feet. He intended to lop off the prince’s head with a single stroke and end this battle before it had truly gotten started.
Qarakh heard Alessandro call out behind him. “Archers, with me!” The Iberian would lead the bowmen away from the main fighting so they could fire from a safer distance and have more time to choose their targets. The remaining tribesmen charged, swords, axes and claws held high, all of them wild to spill the blood of their enemies.
As Qarakh rode toward Alexander, he felt a sense of rightness. This was the way it was supposed to be. This was true harmony with the Beast.
Alexander rolled onto his feet, sword in hand, ready to meet Qarakh’s charge. Qarakh swung his saber as fast and as hard as he could, but Alexander spun to the side, and the saber only managed to nick his shoulder, tearing the Ventrue’s tabard and taking a small chink out of his mail vest.
As Alexander came back around, he chopped at the gelding’s front legs, shearing them cleanly in two. The horse went down at once, but Qarakh launched himself from the saddle and landed nimbly on his feet in front of Alexander. His Beast
