Page 20 of The Queen's Huntsman
He moved behind her to shield her back and Gwendolyn bent low over the horse’s withers, grasping desperately at its mane to lie as flat as she dared. But even as she did so, another missile flew by.And then another.
And another.
At her back, she heard Beryan yelp in pain. “Ride!” he demanded. “Don’t stop!”
Fear sent thunder bolts through Gwendolyn’s heart. But she still couldn’t see where the arrows were coming from. But if one struck Beryan in the back, they must have come from behind. Peering over her shoulder, she found the old warrior keeping pace, tugging an arrow from his shoulder. Giving the mare another heel, she prayed the horses wouldn’t protest after such a long night. Already, it was past time to rest.
Another barrage of missiles flew by, and once more, Beryan yelped, though he somehow kept his saddle.
Gwendolyn’s mind raced with every recourse. If they veered into the woods, their pace would slow. If they ran alongside the river, they would remain viable targets.
If only these were Brigantes, she could stop and try to barter with them, but she knew they were not.
A rumble of hooves shook the land, approaching faster, closer, closer—so close she could feel the thunder of their hooves leap up into her heart.
“Agh!” Beryan grunted, and this time, she didn’t have to look back to know he’d fallen.
This time, she heard his body tumble from his horse, and the animal surged forward out of fear, saddle empty, keeping pace beside her.
Another arrow struck Gwendolyn’s horse in the rear, and she felt the beast’s hooves leave the ground, preparing to buck her. Smelling blood, it grew frenzied and confused.
One more bolt in the backside, and it did rear.
Gwendolyn heard the scream of pain and knew she hadn’t seconds to lose.
But all was not lost. She wasn’t merely a good horsewoman. She was an excellent horsewoman. Wasn’t this what she told everyone?
Her heart twisting with as much grief as fear, she seized Beryan’s reins, then stood in her own saddle, struggling for balance. Despite having lost its rider, Beryan’s horse was steadier than hers. She leapt into his empty saddle, even as another missile struck her animal’s flank.
Her horse went down in the stinking river and didn’t again rise. Gwendolyn’s heart wrenched to hear its scream of pain. But she didn’t stop.
Settling herself atop Beryan’s mount, she snapped the reins, giving it a knee and veering sharply into the adjacent woods, hoping to lose her pursuers amidst the trees and low-lying limbs. If this animal was worth half its weight, it would know how to read her cues, and Gwendolyn rode best under extraordinary circumstances.
Behind her, she could hear her pursuers gaining ground. She urged her mount to ride faster.
Her hand slid back across the animal’s flank to assess the situation behind her and came away with a greasy coat of blood.
Gods. Oh, Gods.
Beryan’s horse was bleeding, too.
The animal’s sides heaved, exhausted.
There was nowhere to go.
Once more, she scanned the woods, seeing no escape, and her heart squeezed painfully. No one could anticipate the fear that rose in the throes of battle. This was her first taste of it; it was sharp and tinny.
Her heart tripped violently as the horse tripped, losing its footing in the soft bracken, stumbling to its knees, spilling Gwendolyn rudely onto a bed of rotted leaves.
The horse groaned, and tears brimmed in Gwendolyn’s eyes, hearing the stamp of hooves behind her and knowing they were done for at last.
The shouts grew louder, and now she could hear the hounds snarling as well. One barked excitedly, having caught her scent, and Gwendolyn scrambled to her knees and then to her feet and ran, not caring that every low-lying limb slapped her full in the face.
I am done!she thought.This is how it ends!
She would die fighting, or by Loc’s hand. Worse, if he returned to the palace, his mother would put a dagger through her heart as easily as she had betrayed her son. Knowing this, Gwendolyn summoned the last of her reserves and ran faster than she thought she could.
She ran for her life.
