Gwenhwyfar by Mercedes Lackey Read Free Book Online Page A

horses. The tension was incredible; she clasped her hands so tightly together that the knuckles hurt.
    And then Braith did the unthinkable. She leaped out onto the pole and ran up between her pair, reins wrapped loosely around her wrist, to stand between them, an arm over each neck, shouting encouragement in their ears. Behind her, the empty chariot bounced and bucked; other horses might have shied, but her team paid it no heed. From some depth within them, they found new strength and surged ahead, crossing the finish line a full chariot-and-team length ahead of the King’s. The men roared approval at this daring move, even the king whooping and clapping. Gwen’s heart was beating so fast she felt faint.
    They shot past as Braith ran back to the chariot and began, slowly, to rein her team in and turn them about.
    When they pulled up again before the crowd, Gwen hung back to keep from being noticed, but Braith was having none of that. “Young Gwenhwyfar!” she called, beckoning to her. “Come ye here.”
    Gwen started at the sound of her name, but at her age, she was supposed to obey any adult, and although her father looked surprised to see her there, he didn’t forbid it. She eased through the forest of towering men and came to the side of Braith’s chariot. The horses steamed, their sides moving strongly, although they were not heaving for breath. “Nah, my beauties have just run themselves to sweat, so what is it we do with them?” Braith asked, looking straight down at her.
    “Walk them so they do not founder nor stiffen,” Gwen said promptly.
    “And water?” Braith prompted.
    “Only a mouthful at a time.” Gwen knew all this very well; on the rare occasions that the sisters could get their fat pony to work up a sweat, she was the one left to walk him cool. Not that she minded. She just wished he was a horse, but she was fond of him, and a pony, even a shared pony, was better than no horse at all.
    “Here ye be then.” And to Gwen’s astonishment, as well as that of the rest of the crowd (including several adolescent boys who gaped at her with raw envy) Braith put the looped-up reins in her hands. “Be walking them cool, please ye.”
    Gwen didn’t hesitate. She took the reins as the two horses bent to sniff the top of her head. Then, with her heart feeling so full of happiness she thought she would burst, she began walking toward the stream, the team ambling obediently behind her, with the chariot wheels rumbling and swishing through the grass. She let them have the allotted mouthful of water when they reached the stream, then turned and began walking them back. In the distance she could see Braith talking with the king and the rest of the men. The prize was already in her hands, a pair of beautiful bridles with bronze ornaments for the team, a silver torque for her. The team’s owner got a drinking horn bound in silver, with silver feet; he seemed well pleased.
    Without being prompted, Gwen stopped short of the crowd, reached up under the nearest horse’s mane as high as she could, and felt the shoulder. He was still sweaty, so she turned back around and made another trip to the stream. Again, she let the horses have a mouthful of water, and she tried not to feel self-conscious as everyone but Braith seemed to be casting glances at her.
    This time when she returned, the horses were cool. It had only been one race, after all; this was nothing to the exertion they would get in a battle. She waited politely until Braith “noticed” her, then held up the reins.
    Braith checked the horses herself. “Well done, young Gwenhwyfar,” she said, gravely. “Now, will ye be doing me the kindness of stepping into my chariot?”
    Now totally astonished, Gwen did as she had been asked.
    “And now be running out on the pole and back.” Braith did not ask if she could do so, she simply acted as if it were just a matter of course that Gwen would be able.
    Of course she could; it wasn’t as if she hadn’t been