Gwenhwyfar_ The White Spirit - Mercedes Lackey [69]
And that was when Gwen’s own abilities became apparent. “Ye’ll never be a giant,” was Peder’s shrewd assessment. “They tell me for size ye be the spit image of yer grammar and granther on king’s side. Except the hair. Otherwise, small and fast and sleekit, not tall, like the queen. Braith was right. Epona put her stamp on ye. And the best place for ye, bodyguard to yer kin and scout. Cavalry or chariot an’ ye must, but I’d sooner see ye scoutin’. Ye’ve got the way of movin’ quiet and not being seen that it bain’t possible to teach. That’s not be from the king’s blood.”
Now this was a revelation to Gwen, but it occurred to her immediately that this was true: She did have a knack for getting around without people noticing her when she didn’t want to be noticed. It had worried her that she was so little and would have to go up against much larger and stronger men. But Peder had found the right place for her, and it was something no one else would have been as well suited to, and she felt suddenly as if everything was right.
Meanwhile, Gynath had made up with Bronwyn, and part of her day was spent in learning more of Women’s Magic, so that she could try scrying as soon as Bronwyn thought she had the strength for it. In fact, Bronwyn heartily approved of the planned attempt. None of the other women had so much magic in them, and the mere fact that Gynath was going to at least try to see what was happening with their men made them all encourage her and look to her.
On the afternoon when Gynath was going to make her first attempt, Gwen found herself at a variation of her old chore taking goose feathers that she herself must have cleaned and carefully stripping the vanes, so that the fletcher could use them to feather his arrows. Of all of those who were left, she was the best at it, perhaps because she had cleaned so many and knew how to handle them. She spoiled very few; most were so perfect that the fletcher had very little to do but trim them to fit and glue them in place.
Her thoughts drifted to Gynath, wondering if she had begun . . . wondering what it felt like to be the center of a circle of Power . . . and that was when the feathers vanished from her hands, and she found herself . . . elsewhere.
On the top of a mountain? It seemed so, but this was not like standing on any real mountain, for she could see everything below her as clearly as if she stood within arm’s length. A battle was about to begin.
A battle not between men but between two armies of animals.
On the one side, boars, an army of boars. Huge, brutish creatures, with greedy eyes and long, vicious tusks, with ravens circling above them. Leading them, a white dragon.
On the other side, another army, of mixed beasts: hounds, stags, keen-eyed wolves, with falcons on-watch above, and a great bear leading. Beside the bear, a noble white stallion.
She had only time enough to take this all in before the two forces leaped at each others’ throats.
She had no experience of human wars, to know if this was more or less bloody, noisy, confusing, and chaotic. She wanted to look away, sickened by the slaughter, but she could not.
It seemed to go on forever. And then, at last, the boars began to lose. The mixed army drove them back over a field slick with blood and thick with fallen bodies. The white dragon turned tail and ran, leaving the boars alone.
Then it happened; pressing eagerly ahead, the white stallion stumbled over the corpse of a boar. Another, its tusks dripping with the blood of its victims, saw the chance, and leaped for him. Other animals saw what was