Page 17 of The Quest for Excalibur
Cei let out a disgruntled snort.
Ahead of us, a flock of sheep bolted across the plain, alarmed by our approach.
“Can we have a race?” Medraut asked, squeezing his pony between Taran and Alezan, his jaw jutting in belligerence. “Can we? Please? We haven’t had a proper gallop forsucha long time.” His voice, which was already breaking, rose an octave. He cleared his throat, cheeks flushing.
Archfedd must have overheard. “Yes, please,” she squealed, eyes alight with excitement. “I want to race too.” She patted Seren’s already sweaty neck.
“And me,” echoed Reaghan. “Melys is so fast she’s going to beat Medraut and Amhar’s ponies.”
Amhar snorted with derision. “You think? Saeth is the fastest here. She’s not called Arrow for nothing.”
Llacheu, on his dun warhorse, laughed out loud. “You’ll not beat me, little brother.”
“So, can we race? Can we?” persisted Medraut, staring up at Arthur out of determined eyes. His frowning, thick-set brows reminded me uncomfortably of his uncle Cadwy.
Arthur glanced at Cei and Merlin, a smile lighting his face. Cei shrugged, and Merlin pulled the sort of expression that said it was up to Arthur.
“Pleeease.” Amhar’s attempt at wheedling made me chuckle. Saeth, dancing sideways, had picked up her rider’s excitement.
“All of us?” asked Llacheu, a frown on his face as he eyed the two girls.
“All of us,” Arthur said, the smile becoming a grin. He enjoyed a good, carefree gallop as much as any rider.
I smiled. “You’re all ridiculously optimistic if you think any horse here can beat Alezan.”
Medraut’s face fell, turning pouty. “I’d forgotten about her. Can we have a head start?”
Arthur shook his head. “No head starts. All out war. See that line of trees over there?” He pointed. The trees lay a good mile away. “First one there’s the winner. Ready?”
Medraut dug his heels into his pony’s sides, and it sprang forward. Amhar gave a shout of fury and urged Saeth after his cousin. For just a moment, Alezan danced excitedly under my tight hold as I met Arthur’s eyes, full of the same boyish excitement as his children’s.
I didn’t wait. Giving Alezan her head, I let her bound from walk to gallop like a racehorse, as I crouched over her neck. Beside me, Arthur, Cei and Merlin did the same, switching their reins back and forth across their horses’ shoulders like whips.
However, even though I had the fastest horse here, I had no desire to beat my children. Not that I thought they should always win, but because I wasn’t all that competitive and wanted to keep an eye on the two girls.
I needn’t have bothered; both of them were hammering their galloping ponies’ sides with flapping legs, balanced in that loose, natural way children have, only their bottoms in contact with their ponies’ backs, like Pony Club mounted games riders in my old world. Melys and Seren’s short legs thundered across the close-cropped turf as they hurtled after the three boys.
A mile on a fast horse takes barely two minutes to cover. A minute and a half into the race, and three quarters of the way to the clump of trees, Arthur was keeping pace on my left and letting the boys hold onto their lead.
I glanced over my shoulder at the girls, now trailing behind us but still pounding their ponies’ sides with their heels, both of them every bit as good as any boy. And as I did so, I felt my saddle lurch precariously to the right. I swung back to face the front, unsure what was going on. And my saddle slid heart-stoppingly to the left instead.
Whoa. What was happening?
In a knee-jerk reaction, I leaned back into my right stirrup. The saddle swivelled that way instead, loose as though the girth wasn’t done up tightly enough. Or wasn’t done up at all.
But I’d done it up myself– really tight. I wasn’t an idiot. Checked it, too.
My throat constricted. I heaved on Alezan’s reins, but that only made the saddle move more, sliding forward this time, and I had nothing to brace myself against. Fighting to balance it, I leaned left again, toward Arthur.
Could the girth have come undone?
It felt as though I were astride a greasy barrel. The only thing keeping my saddle on must be the breast strap. But if it hadn’t been there, I might have been able to somehow rid myself of the slipping saddle, as I’d seen the Household Cavalry do in their display at the Horse of the Year Show, and ride bareback.
Arthur must have caught my movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head, the wind blowing his hair back. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, our eyes met. Then my saddle lurched toward him again. Only my balance was keeping it and me on Alezan’s slippery back. I gave up trying to slow her down and buried my fingers in her flying mane, hanging on in desperation.
The words of my old riding school instructor echoed in my head.Always wear a hard hat, just in case.But I had no hard hat, and the wind of our speed was whistling in my ears and yanking the long braid of my hair out behind me.
If you look down, you’ll fall down.I fought not to look.
