Gwenhwyfar_ The White Spirit - Mercedes Lackey [20]
“Pardon, Father, Mother?” Cataruna, Gwen’s eldest sister, paused in fetching away the precious silver-rimmed drinking horns for safe-keeping. “Gwen is the one that always takes first care of the pony. And he never kicks or bites her, which is more than I can claim. Ask your horse keeper, he knows.”
The Queen sucked her lower lip in a little. “I suppose there’s no harm in it. But Little Gwen will want a horse and training too . . .”
The king began to roll his eyes, but then, narrowed them. “Then she shall have them. And when the horse is left neglected and her nurse has to march her down to the stable to tend him, or she cries because he’s too tall, and pouts because she got a bruising, or because it stepped on her foot, you shall make her beg you to let her off.”
Eleri the queen nodded, then looked past the king at Gwen. “And you will do none of these things,” she said to Gwen, who nodded solemnly at what was clearly an order. “Very well then. Let it be as you wish. She has some years before she will go to the Ladies, at any rate, and I suppose no harm ever came of a girl getting warrior training before she went to the Cauldron Keepers.”
“Exactly what Braith said,” the king replied, with open relief. He sprang to his feet. “Then, by your leave, I’ll have her with me for the rest of the races. She can’t see too much of them, and perhaps she can make herself useful with the boys.”
“Wait—” The queen beckoned to Mag. “Put Gwen into a good tunic and short kirtle, or trews if you can find them to fit her. She’s to help with the racers by the king’s command.”
“I’ll help you look!” Gwen exclaimed, her cauldron of happiness overflowing. She pulled up her skirts and ran back to the castle.
Gwen spent the remainder of the day at her father’s side, being quiet, obedient, doing exactly what she was told, even though what she wanted to do was to poke her nose into everything. She was occasionally allowed to lead horses to cool them as she had for Braith, but most of the time she kept strictly in her father’s shadow and said nothing at all unless it was “Aye, sir” or “No, sir.” And even though she got hungry and thirsty, she didn’t run back to the tables, not even when the wind brought aromas that made her stomach growl. She kept her ears open too, to the opinions of the owners and drivers about various pairs or horse and rider. The races made her forget her growling stomach, even if they weren’t as exciting as Braith’s were, and she tried to see what it was that others had talked about as the horses thundered down to the turn and back again. As the afternoon went on, the horses pounded the grass on the improvised track to fragments, and raised more and more dust every time they ran. The horses were covered in a fine coat of the stuff, which streaked as they worked up a sweat. The King’s grays would have looked a sad sight if they’d still been racing.
There were prizes for every race, but Gwen came to understand that the one that Braith had won was very special and had been arranged far, far ahead of time: the king’s two pairs against the two finest pairs of those of his war chiefs who cared to match him. The rest were races among whoever brought a team and cared to challenge.
Finally the ridden races were over, and the best four pairs of all battled for the prize of the day: for the horses, silver bridle and harness ornaments; for the driver, a silver torque like the one Braith had won and a plain silver cloak-brooch; for the owner, if he was not the driver, a cloak-brooch worked in the image of Epona in her White Horse aspect, with a gemstone for an eye. Truly fine prizes, and there were many comments of admiration as they were passed around.
Gwen expected Braith to race for these as well, but to her surprise, the warrior was nowhere to be seen, and her horses must have been taken away for they were no longer at the picket line.
“I am surprised Braith is not here,” said one of the war chiefs, echoing Gwen’s surprise.
“I asked