Gwenhwyfar_ The White Spirit - Mercedes Lackey [51]
Through the reins, her hands told the team fast but steady. Through the reins, the team told her they would give what she asked for. She glanced to either side; the team that had almost collided with hers was ahead by more than a full length, but she recognized them with some satisfaction, for the driver was older than she by several years, and the team younger than hers, about two years into their prime. She was running second; in third, a length behind her, was another team driven by a boy with more experience and younger horses. His horses were laboring; hers were good for much more than just the run to the finish. If this had been a battlefield and not a race, he would be no good after this run.
She could hear the cheers; so could her horses. Their ears pricked forward. Steady, her hands told them. We are, they told her back. They stretched out their necks, though, determined to make the leader win his prize
And then they were across, and she was pulling them up, as the spectators swarmed the winner. But as she jumped out of the chariot and went to the horses’ heads to take their halters and begin walking them to cool them, a smaller group was heading for her in a more leisurely fashion. Braith, Braith’s lord, her father, and three of the warriors that were her teachers.
“I told you not to bet against her,” Braith was admonishing her lord, as that worthy handed over to the king a fine silver bracelet.
“And you said she wouldn’t even place, with horses that old, and young as she is,” the king crowed. He pulled Gwen into a hard embrace, laughing. “Well done, daughter! Second place, and your team still ready for another charge! First place isn’t everything.”
“Not when you bring your team to the finish line heaving and winded, King,” said Braith, a broad grin on her brown face. “Someone had better teach that boy in third that he’s training for battles, not for sprints.”
Gwen said nothing, but she felt as if she were glowing. She’d done it; she’d made Braith and her father proud.
“What are the prizes, my lord King?” someone called from the crowd around the winner.
“For first place, a silver brooch!” the king called back. “For third, a fine, fat duck and a flagon of wine from the king’s table! And for second—” He looked down at Gwen, his eyes twinkling. “—For second, a tun of ale and the boar meant for the king’s table!”
“Then let my prize be served among all the drivers!” she called out, her high voice ringing clearly out before the cheering could start again. “For surely all have earned a share!”
Any grumbling that might have started among the others that the king’s daughter had surely had some secret aid was erased in that moment, as the cheering started all over again.
Gwen looked up again at her father, and saw him mouth the words “well done” before he turned back to his guests to escort them to dinner.
But better even than the accolade from her father was the one from Braith, who winked, and mouthed the same.
The tables and benches had been set up outside, around the three hearths where all the cooking had been done. There were so many guests at a Midsummer gathering that the Great Hall would have been stifling hot, and you’d scarcely be able to cram them all in there anyway. There was great rejoicing at the table set aside for the squires who had driven in the race as they squabbled good-naturedly over the best parts of the boar, stuffing themselves with both hands, their faces shiny with the rich fat. Gwen, however, was just as happy back at her place behind the Merlin, serving him. For one thing, she already had the acclaim of the two who mattered to her; for another, her gesture—and her insistence on returning to duty—had favorably impressed her father’s guests, the Merlin included. The old man gazed on her for a very long moment as she took her place, and it wasn’t the sort of look he gave Gynath, but the sort of measuring he was bestowing on her father’s chiefs. It was a look that said I underestimated