saddle. Longbows not much use on horseback anyway.
"She called her horse; it came. Carried both of us till we got to camp, my remount."
He fell silent. At last Anne spoke.
"And afterwards? What happened to the brave Lady? Did you see her again?"
"As to the fate of the Lady Leonora, you must put that question to His Majesty. He has seen the Lady Commander more recently than I."
Anne's face went white. Harald stood up, stumbled a little on stiff legs, and in the silence walked out of the orchard.
Bird On the Wing
A small hut of one's own is better,
A man is his master at home.
The next morning he woke late and heavy headed, both due to a late evening of drink and gossip in the guard barracks. While helping himself to what was left of breakfast in the great hall, he heard the King's voice and looked up.
"Your Excellency. Today my lords and I hunt in the woods and meadows south of here. Will you join us? I have heard tales of your skill with the bow."
"What does Your Majesty hunt?"
"Deer."
"Hard to miss; rabbits are a better test. But I'll come."
Returned to his room he considered the matter, stripped to his under tunic, pulled on the mail shirt he commonly wore under his war coat, a second tunic over that. In the stable he saddled his mare, slid bowcase and quiver over their hooks and tied them down, pulled sword and belt from the middle of one long bundle, wrapped the belt around his waist—despite some days of the King's hospitality it still fit—drew the blade out a few inches, slid it back, and rode out to join the gathering company. With the lords were several ladies also mounted, Anne not among them, and a small crowd of servants.
Two miles south the woods were open, the land mostly level. The King planted his banner in a meadow; the servants set to putting up tables, building fires, while lords and ladies went in search of game. Some followed the dogs and their keepers, others, Harald among them, in other directions.
He was sitting his horse in solitude, watching the bushes for movement, when a stag came out of the woods at a full run. It vanished into the woods ahead. Harald reached for his bow, urged his horse ahead with voice and knees, leaned forward.
He was out of the saddle, the world spinning around him, hit the ground rolling, a sharp pain in his right arm, up again, back to a tree. Out of the corner of his eye, movement. He put his right hand on his sword hilt, ignoring the pain, turned. A man was coming out of the woods, a long staff in his hand, a second man behind him.
"My damn horse threw me and ran. A silver penny if you find him for me."
The man looked at him, hesitated, turned, spoke to his companion. The two turned and disappeared back into the woods.
He put two fingers of his left hand in his mouth, whistled. Again. A moment later the horse came out of the trees, reins trailing; Harald saw that she was favoring her left forefoot. He steadied himself against the horse, looked down. Six inches above the hoof a red line, sharp as if drawn by a ruler. He reached down with his good hand, felt the leg; no break. At least one of them had been lucky. He mounted.
In the middle of the clearing was a dead pine tree. Harald walked the horse over, reached up, broke off a short length of branch with his left hand. Right arm across his lap, he laid the stick along it, reached under the saddle skirt for a leather thong.
It took ten uncomfortable minutes to roughly splint the broken arm with lengths of branch. He reached behind him, drew out the dagger that rested crossways in the small of his back, cut a long strip from the lower edge of his tunic. He wrapped it around sticks and arm, drew it tight, cut a slit in the front of his tunic, slid in the right arm, tied it to his body with another thong, using hand and teeth to make the knot. Gerda would be unhappy at the state of his clothing, but that was nothing new. More unhappy if he didn't come back to her.
The world faded
"She called her horse; it came. Carried both of us till we got to camp, my remount."
He fell silent. At last Anne spoke.
"And afterwards? What happened to the brave Lady? Did you see her again?"
"As to the fate of the Lady Leonora, you must put that question to His Majesty. He has seen the Lady Commander more recently than I."
Anne's face went white. Harald stood up, stumbled a little on stiff legs, and in the silence walked out of the orchard.
Bird On the Wing
A small hut of one's own is better,
A man is his master at home.
The next morning he woke late and heavy headed, both due to a late evening of drink and gossip in the guard barracks. While helping himself to what was left of breakfast in the great hall, he heard the King's voice and looked up.
"Your Excellency. Today my lords and I hunt in the woods and meadows south of here. Will you join us? I have heard tales of your skill with the bow."
"What does Your Majesty hunt?"
"Deer."
"Hard to miss; rabbits are a better test. But I'll come."
Returned to his room he considered the matter, stripped to his under tunic, pulled on the mail shirt he commonly wore under his war coat, a second tunic over that. In the stable he saddled his mare, slid bowcase and quiver over their hooks and tied them down, pulled sword and belt from the middle of one long bundle, wrapped the belt around his waist—despite some days of the King's hospitality it still fit—drew the blade out a few inches, slid it back, and rode out to join the gathering company. With the lords were several ladies also mounted, Anne not among them, and a small crowd of servants.
Two miles south the woods were open, the land mostly level. The King planted his banner in a meadow; the servants set to putting up tables, building fires, while lords and ladies went in search of game. Some followed the dogs and their keepers, others, Harald among them, in other directions.
He was sitting his horse in solitude, watching the bushes for movement, when a stag came out of the woods at a full run. It vanished into the woods ahead. Harald reached for his bow, urged his horse ahead with voice and knees, leaned forward.
He was out of the saddle, the world spinning around him, hit the ground rolling, a sharp pain in his right arm, up again, back to a tree. Out of the corner of his eye, movement. He put his right hand on his sword hilt, ignoring the pain, turned. A man was coming out of the woods, a long staff in his hand, a second man behind him.
"My damn horse threw me and ran. A silver penny if you find him for me."
The man looked at him, hesitated, turned, spoke to his companion. The two turned and disappeared back into the woods.
He put two fingers of his left hand in his mouth, whistled. Again. A moment later the horse came out of the trees, reins trailing; Harald saw that she was favoring her left forefoot. He steadied himself against the horse, looked down. Six inches above the hoof a red line, sharp as if drawn by a ruler. He reached down with his good hand, felt the leg; no break. At least one of them had been lucky. He mounted.
In the middle of the clearing was a dead pine tree. Harald walked the horse over, reached up, broke off a short length of branch with his left hand. Right arm across his lap, he laid the stick along it, reached under the saddle skirt for a leather thong.
It took ten uncomfortable minutes to roughly splint the broken arm with lengths of branch. He reached behind him, drew out the dagger that rested crossways in the small of his back, cut a long strip from the lower edge of his tunic. He wrapped it around sticks and arm, drew it tight, cut a slit in the front of his tunic, slid in the right arm, tied it to his body with another thong, using hand and teeth to make the knot. Gerda would be unhappy at the state of his clothing, but that was nothing new. More unhappy if he didn't come back to her.
The world faded
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