Gwenhwyfar_ The White Spirit - Mercedes Lackey [85]
Inside the great table had been set up and the hide maps that she and her scouts had drawn up laid over it. All of the war chiefs and generals had gathered about this table, and all of them were listening with rapt attention to a young man not much older than she.
He had plainly come straight off his horse and into this meeting; there was horsehair no servant had yet brushed off clinging to his cloak, and his dark hair was all sweaty and askew from the helmet he had taken off and set aside. He was still in armor too, chestnut-colored leather breast- and back-plate over softly gleaming chain mail that she immediately craved in a way that she had never craved fine gowns. He was not handsome, his face being too craggy for beauty, but it was full of intelligence and character, and his voice was as worth listening to as that of any bard.
“. . . and obviously, as I am sure you have already seen, we want to find a way to force them up this slope,” he was saying, as he arrayed handfuls of wooden counters representing the Saxons onto the map. “It’s not so steep they’ll even think twice about charging it, but every time we force them to charge, they’ll be laboring against not only the snow but also the slope. We’ll tire them further.”
“The trick will be to get our men to hold and not answer their taunts,” Urien replied with a frown. He was a big man, looming over the newcomer, and yet his posture bespoke willing subservience. Whoever the young man was, Urien was giving him pride of place without in the least resenting it. As dark as Urien was, and as bearded, he looked like a great bear in his fur cloak. “The good gods know I favor Roman tactics, but our men are not Roman soldiers . . .” He looked up, spotted Gwen standing diffidently in the door, and motioned to her to come forward. “Lancelin, this is Princess Gwenhwyfar, daughter of King Lleudd.”
The young man looked up, and Gwen found herself the focus of a pair of the bluest eyes she had ever seen in her life. He had the direct gaze of a hawk, with a challenge in it that melted away when he smiled.
“My lady.” He came from around the table, and bowed to her. “Your reputation precedes you.”
She flushed, but she did not look down as a “maidenly” girl would; no point in giving him any reason at all to discount her. “Your courtesy seems equaled by your grasp of strategy, sir,” she replied, with an enquiring look at Urien. “If you can hold War Chief Urien’s full attention, you must be cunning indeed.”
“Gwen, this is Lancelin, the High King’s best strategist,” Urien replied in immediate answer to that look. He beamed. Gwen blinked a bit in surprise. Urien must feel that the young man’s mere presence was a kind of honor.
“Arthur sent me, in place of himself,” Lancelin added. A shadow of something—disapproval? Uncertainty? Passed over his face. “And as many of his cavalry as could be mounted and sent in haste. This is an unprecedented push, and the High King wants a decisive blow struck against the Saxons, one that they will not forget soon. Arthur himself . . .” he trailed off. It was Urien who laughed coarsely and completed what Lancelin would not say.
“Arthur is trying to replace his heirs, having already replaced his queen,” Urien said with just the hint of a leer. “Another Gwenhwyfar, can you believe it? Gwenhwyfar, daughter of Gwythyr son of Greidiawl. I suppose having had such luck as to get twins with one Fair Apparition, he decided to try another.”
The rest of the men chuckled as well, and Gwen made an amused and