Darkspell - Katharine Kerr [59]
“Cerrmor men, are you?” the Boar yelled. “But I see Wolf blazons with you.”
“You do, because the Wolves have appealed to the true king to defend their ancestral lands.”
“Hah! The true king in Dun Deverry has awarded me these lands by right of blood feud.”
“It all comes down to king against king, doesn’t it?” Dannyn gave a good-humored laugh. “You piss-proud excuse for a noble swine.”
With a howl Burcan hurled his javelin straight at him. Dannyn calmly bounced it off his shield into the dirt. Shouting, screaming, the Boarsmen charged as javelins arched up and whistled in the sun. As she spurred her horse forward, Gweniver drew her sword. She wanted Burcan himself, curse him, and curse Dannyn, too, who was trading blows with the lord in the midst of the battle. The lines met, the men peeling off, whirling around each other in a hacking, shouting mob of single combats. Gweniver’s laughter started as she cut and slashed her way through. Just as she reached Dannyn’s side, the hidden warband broke free of the trees and plunged onto the Boar’s rear. A shout went up, but there was no way that the Boarsmen could escape the trap.
“Gwen!” Dannyn shouted. “He’s yours!”
Guarding himself with a fling of his shield, Dannyn wrenched his horse round and let her close with Burcan. She heard her hatred well out of her mouth in a long laugh as she caught his swing on her shield and thrust in, only to have him parry with his blade. For a moment their swords hung locked as she stared him in the face and laughed. She saw him turn pale with fear, and as always, the sight of cowardice drove her into a red fury. She broke free, thrust again, and realized that everything had turned very slow.
Slowly she glided her sword round to cut up from below; slowly Burcan’s blade drifted toward hers and turned it back, just as if they moved in a dance—some courtly grave circling that made every movement, every moment, preternaturally sharp—so they traded blows. A noise like wind swept over them, a dark night wind howling and sweeping the battle sound away. When Burcan made a clumsy thrust that she blocked on her shield, she realized that he was out of time to the dance. Ever so slowly his horse tossed its head and blocked its master’s thrust. Urging her horse with her knees, she leaned and crept round to the flank position. Before he could turn, she struck in a leisurely drift. Her blade floated down onto his shield arm so slowly, so lightly, that it seemed unbelievable when he swore, swayed, and dropped the shield. The wind whined and moaned as she thrust forward, her arm and sword like a single spear biting into his side. With a choking scream of pain, he wrenched his horse’s head around as if to flee, but again he misjudged the dance.
She was there to block his way. Leaning in the saddle, clutching the peak with both hands, he stared at her while blood oozed ever so slowly down his side.
“Mercy,” he whispered. “I’ll cede your claim.”
Gweniver hesitated, but she saw her father, riding next to her and watching with sorrowful eyes. With a straight cut she slashed the Boar across the eyes, heard him scream, slashed back from the other and saw him fall, sliding off his horse, hitting the ground hard as around them horses reared and bucked to avoid trampling him. Her father saluted her with a shadowy sword, then disappeared. At that same instant the world came back, the wind turning into the screaming, shouting battle noise.
“Gweniver!” It was Ricyn’s voice. “To Gweniver!”
Suddenly her men were all around her, fighting hard, yelling, driving back the Boarsmen who were on the verge of mobbing her. Silver horns sang out as the enemy line broke and fled in rout with Dannyn’s men charging after.
“Well played, my lady!” Ricyn crowed. “Oh, well played!