Gwenhwyfar_ The White Spirit - Mercedes Lackey [83]
When Gwen herself got involved, the nights got even more interesting. Since she knew Saxon—and seemed to have exceptionally keen ears—she would linger around a particular section until she had picked up on someone’s name. Then, in the middle of the night, she would utter a blood-curdling wail, ending in the words, “Horsa”—or Ordulf, or Sidric, or whoever’s name she had picked up—“Tomorrow I come for you.”
She tried to pick very common names, the better to give Fate a hand in giving her a victim. And more often than not, Fate gave her one. Where there were armed and edgy men, there were always accidents and quarrels. Where there were armed, edgy, men convinced that a supernatural agency was after them, the accidents and fights were fatal or near-fatal as often as not. A man who is sure he is going to die will do so even from a minor wound. By the time the king’s full force arrived, it was a full moon again, and Gwen had been emboldened enough to show herself.
Never for long. There was no point in risking a lucky bowshot. But by now she and her scouts knew every inch of land around the Saxon camp, and they could, in the shifting clouds and moonlight, make miraculous appearances and disappearances. So at one moment, a hilltop would be empty of all but moonlight, then suddenly a sentry would shout in fear, for the White Phantom was there, silver rider on silver horse, staring down at the camp. Then a cloud would obscure the moon, and when the Saxons looked again, she was gone.
It was very effective.
And by now there were desertions, not many, but enough to make the commanders angry, and angry commanders faced with desertions often make poor decisions regarding the treatment of their men. When you added to that the fact that those same men were not eating as well as they expected, had not had much loot, and their lords were running out of presents . . .
So it was that once King Lleudd’s men were rested and ready to deal with the Saxons, the Saxons were not nearly in as good a condition to deal with them.
The night had been an active one for Gwen and her troop; with a good moon and intermittent clouds, they had taken full advantage of the circumstances to bedevil the Saxons almost until dawn. There had been little sleep in that camp, and the lot of them had take to their bedrolls with weary satisfaction. A few more nights like this one, and the Saxons would be falling asleep on the battlefield.
She woke to hear a great commotion in the camp, and she was on her feet with her sword in her hand and her blankets cast aside before she realized that this was not the sound of an attack. Men shouted orders, but not in the tone of voice that indicated trouble; horses were clearly being brought in and picketed. It sounded as if a substantial addition to King Lleudd’s troops had arrived.
Well, any additions are welcome. She couldn’t for the moment think who would have been able to muster out winter fighters, but it didn’t matter. She would find out soon enough, since she had best pull on a good tunic and present herself to welcome them. She might not be a general, and her actual rank was low among the officers, but she was King Lleudd’s daughter, and as such, it would be an insult not to greet and thank the new arrivals.
Her servant was of the same mind, for even before she had started to shiver, he came diffidently into the small tent, prepared to wake her if need be, with her best leather trews and embroidered wool tunic in his hands. She laughed at his relief—she was not known for waking gracefully—and pulled the clothing out of his grip. “Go wake the others,” she ordered, “I’ll be ready quickly.