Gwenhwyfar_ The White Spirit - Mercedes Lackey [91]
Gwen, however, was good. After all, she had reasoned, if Braith and some of the warriors she led could hit a man from a moving chariot with a spear, enough practice and a horse you could guide with your knees should make such a thing possible for a rider with a bow. Peder and the man following him more or less marked their target, a big Saxon with a russet shield. It was fairly obvious who they were shooting at, as two men near him screamed or went down. Gwen shoved her reins in her mouth, guided the horse in daringly close to the line, aimed quickly, and fired.
It was all luck, of course. She was aiming for the broader target of his chest, since he’d dropped his shield to gawp. She got him in the eye.
She kneed her horse, heeling him over to follow in Peder’s wake, taking control of the reins again. A shout of rage followed her from the Saxon lines.
She didn’t look back.
They gathered again at their first position, and only then did she wheel her horse to see the results of the attack.
“Well, they are not charging yet,” Peder observed.
“Aye. But they aren’t happy.”
In truth, that was an understatement. The Saxons were outraged. Gwen smirked as she made out some of what they were saying. “They are calling us dogs without honor,” she said. Peder laughed.
“They’re welcome to chase us,” he suggested. Gwen’s smile turned into a smirk. The scouts were not mutton-headed bull-men whose idea of “honor” overrode the need to win battles. They couldn’t be. All of them were small and wiry, and to stand and bash at one of those Saxon boars would have been suicide, and from the time they had gotten their full growth, it was very clear that they would never be the sort of fighters that won champions’ battles and got songs written about them. While this turned some away from the warrior’s path, this lot had become pragmatic. Let other men worry about gaining honor and glory. They would become clever and invaluable. And if no one sang about them, well, the war chiefs knew their value, and they were well rewarded with gifts and loot.
“Well, the cursed Saxons can throw whatever names about they care to. We might get a song out of this from our side,” Gwen observed.
But Peder was already setting his horse for another part of the line, and a moment later, the second run began.
It took four before the Saxons’ temper broke. Gwen was never again lucky enough to take her man down, but she forced the leaders to duck behind shields like nervous maidens, and that infuriated them. Finally one of Gwen’s targets had enough. His face purple with anger, he waved his sword over his head and charged after her, roaring.
That was her signal to send her tiring horse not for the side, but uphill, straight for the Square.
The front line of the Square opened up to let her and the men behind her through, then closed behind them. She pulled up her horse to a trot and joined Peder, waiting for the rest. She didn’t look back; the clash of arms and the shouts and screams from the front of the Square said everything that needed to be said.
With every nerve afire now with excitement, once the rest were gathered up, she made a chopping motion with her hand and pointed to either side of the Square. They split into two groups, one led by her, and one by Peder, trotting off to either side, first to scout for any hidden reinforcements, then to harry the Saxon flanks and rear.
They already knew the likeliest places to look, and on horseback, even in the snow, Gwen and her group moved swiftly across the landscape, finding nothing. She could see from their faces that they were as impatient to return to the battle as she was. It was with relief that she sent her horse homing for the noise in the middle distance. As they pushed over the last hill, the smoke from a dozen fires rose blackly to their left. Gwen laughed when she saw it. Peder’s men had fired the Saxon camp. Victorious or defeated,