Darkspell - Katharine Kerr [17]
“Wolves!”
Without thinking she was running, sword in hand, down the hill while Lypilla screamed and begged her to come back. The second Boarsman fell as she ran; the third was being mobbed by two riders; the fourth broke and ran straight up the hill, as if in his panic he was trying to reach the sanctuary of the temple that his very presence was desecrating. When he saw Gweniver racing straight for him, he hesitated, then dodged to one side as if to go around her. With a howl of unearthly laughter that sprang out of her mouth of its own will, she charged and swung, catching him across the right shoulder before he could parry. When the sword slipped from his useless fingers, she laughed again and stabbed him in the throat. Her laughter rose to a banshee’s shriek as the bright blood ran, and he fell.
“My lady!” It was Ricyn’s voice, cutting through her laugh. “Oh, by the Lord of Hell!”
The laughter vanished, leaving her sick and cold, staring at the corpse at her feet. Dimly she was aware of Ricyn dismounting and jogging toward her.
“My lady! My lady Gweniver! Do you recognize me?”
“What?” She looked up, puzzled. “Of course I do, Ricco. Haven’t I known you half my life?”
“Well, my lady, that’s not worth a pig’s fart when a man goes beserk like you just did.”
She felt as if he’d thrown icy water into her face. For a moment she stared half-witted at him while he looked her over in bemused concern. Just nineteen, her own age, Ricyn was a broad-faced, sunny-looking blond who was, according to her brothers, one of the most reliable men in the warband, if not the kingdom. It was odd to have him watching her as if she were dangerous.
“Well, that’s what it was, my lady. Ye gods, it made my blood run cold, hearing you laugh.”
“Not half as cold as it made mine. Berserk. By the Goddess Herself, that’s what I was.”
Dark-haired, slender, and perpetually grinning, Dagwyn led his horse up and made her a bow.
“Too bad they left four men behind, my lady. You could have handled two all by yourself.”
“Maybe even three,” Ricyn said. “Where’s Cam?”
“Putting his horse out of its misery. One of those scum could actually swing a sword in the right direction.”
“Well, we’ve got their horses now, and all their provisions, too.” Ricyn glanced at Gweniver. “We’ve been up in the woods, my lady, waiting to make our strike. We figured that the Boar couldn’t sit here all blasted summer. The dun’s razed, by the by. We rode back and found it.”
“I figured it would be. What of Blaeddbyr?”
“It still stands. The folk there gave us food.” Ricyn looked away, his mouth slack. “The Boar caught the warband on the road, you see. It was just dawn, and we were only half-dressed when the bastards came over the hill without so much as a challenge or the sound of a horn. They had twice as many men as we did, so Lord Avoic yells that we’re to run for our lives, but we couldn’t do it fast enough. Forgive me, my lady. I should have died there with him, but then I thought about you—well, you and all the womenfolk, I mean—so I thought it’d be better to die in the ward defending you.”
“So did we,” Dagwyn chimed in. “But we were too late. We had to be cursed careful with Boars all over the roads, and by the time we reached the dun, it was burning. And we were all half-mad, thinking you slain, but Ricco here says you could have gotten to the temple.”
“So we headed here,” Ricyn picked up. “And when we found the stinking Boar camped at the gates, we knew you had to be inside.”
“And so we were,” Gweniver said. “Well and good, then. You lads get those horses and that cart of supplies up here. There’re some huts round back for the husbands of women who come just for a day or two. You can stay there while I decide what we’ll do next.”
Although Dagwyn