Gwenhwyfar_ The White Spirit - Mercedes Lackey [76]
“I have an idea in mind,” she said, finally, as the other three debated the merits of trying to haul him back with them or killing him outright. The men broke off the discussion, which was getting a little heated, and gave her silence. “I’m thinking we should take off his thumb so he’s spoiled as a warrior and turn him loose to make his way back to his lines.”
They stared at her in utter astonishment. “But—why?” Aeron asked, finally.
But Meical had the answer already. “He thinks you be a thing uncanny, lady,” the eldest of them said, slowly. “And you be wanting him to take that back with him. That King Lleudd has some terrible spirit bound to his service. Ghost, fae, witch, any or all. It doesn’t matter, the tale will grow in the telling.”
She nodded, and looked to the other two. “What say you?”
Aeron grinned broadly and spread his hands. “Peder’ll be proud, girl. He’ll wreak more havoc on his own with his tales than we could with a hundred men.”
Owain finally chuckled. “Aye. Aye. I’m for it.”
She wiped the chalk off her face with the fur of her cloak. “Right then. Take the thumb so he can’t use an ax or any other weapon. I’ll not send another fighter back to them. Cauterize the stump and that wound in his arm, and leave him with food and water enough to get back to his lines. He’ll leave a trail a blind man could follow. Aeron, you and Owain ghost after him, make sure he actually gets there, and come back to our lines when you see the Saxon army so we know where they are. Meical and I will get back to our people and report.”
Aeron gave the old Roman fist-to-shoulder salute some of the men, particularly those that had served with the High King, still used. It was the first time, however, that anyone had ever given it to her, and she felt warm inside. “As you will it, lady. ’Tis a privilege to serve you.”
That warmth stayed with her for the long miles back to the main camp, better far than any heated stone.
Chapter Twelve
“Medraut is here.”
Those were the first words to greet Gwen as she and her troop rode into the camp of the small force her father had sent with her. Aeron and Owain had caught up with her easily enough; she and Meical had been taking their time, and Aeron and Owain had made sure to harry their Saxon along by making uncanny noises at night. The wound to his arm and the loss of his thumb were both painful of course, but in the winter after being cauterized, they were unlikely to fester and were not going to slow down a seasoned fighter significantly. These Saxons were tough, and a seasoned fighter would have survived other, more serious wounds than that.
According to the men, he hadn’t even stopped to make camps; he’d make himself a warm nest with whatever he could find when it was too dark to keep going, sleep till dawn, and move on as if demons were after him. “Or as if you were,” the men had joked. He had stumbled into his own army within three days, and that was when Aeron and Owain turned back and put on all speed. The weather had remained good, and the snow was not too deep; her father’s sturdy horses made good time in it.
So they knew now where the Saxon army was and that it was waiting for word from the scouting parties—for the ones they had come across were surely not the only ones. And Gwen had done something that, she hoped, would make the night a hell of fear for any more small groups the Saxons would send out. The White Phantom was hunting them, the Fair Apparition knew them, and being unsure if she was mortal magician or fae or even some bloody-handed goddess, they would be looking for her in every shadow. It gave her great satisfaction to imagine them so. And she knew men on campaign; they were greater gossips than any girls. The tales would only grow in the telling. If the commanders were foolish enough to forbid their men to speak of the White Phantom, it would only inflame them further.