Knight's Blood by Julianne Lee Page B

caught her interest, and she stared hard. He was too far away to see clearly, but the way he moved, the shape of his frame and the long, long hair that lifted in the breeze made her stare to know who he was. His identity eluded her, and she began to think she was imagining the familiarity. When An Reubair raised his hand in farewell to the man and rode toward his gathered men, she shook off the curiosity and attended to the job at hand. Distraction would get her killed; Alex had told her that often enough, and she trusted him in all things martial. So she focused, steadied her breath, and waited for the signal to charge.
     
    An Reubair said only, “Go.”
     
    The hundred or so men and Lindsay kicked their horses to a gallop, and when they were in earshot of the town a roar went up from them to put fear into the hearts of their targets. Men ran from houses, bearing whatever weapon or farm tool was at hand. Women screamed to their children. Children stood and stared at the oncoming riders.
     
    Lindsay chose an opponent and rode down on him, but one of her compatriots beat her to him and engaged the local man with his sword. Lindsay swerved off to pick out another defender, and hauled back her sword to lay on. The man was on foot and defended with a sickle. He was surprisingly deft with it and knew how to catch her sword with the curve of his blade. Crowding him with her horse only got her mount stabbed in the haunch, so she wheeled to take advantage of her longer weapon. She swung hard and beat him back. Then another quick swing and she caught his face hard with the tip of her blade. His head jerked backward and blood flew. He dropped his sickle and grabbed his bleeding wound, screaming. His eye was gone and a deep gash split his face from ear to forehead. She moved onward, knowing that though this guy might live, he wasn’t going to fight any more that day. Hope rose that she might yet prove herself to her employer without having to kill anyone for now.
     
    A woman came at her with a rod of some kind, and Lindsay swung her blade at it. “Get away!” she shouted at the fool. It was a piece of wood. The nitwit woman was going to get herself killed. “Go! Hide!”
     
    But the woman screamed at her and tried to whack her with the pole again. Lindsay wheeled her horse to crowd her. “Get away, you idiot!” But the woman wouldn’t. Lindsay’s horse, trained to battle, reared to strike at the combatant on foot. The woman went down, and the horse trampled her. Lindsay reined off to the side and rode away. There was no point in looking back to see if the woman would get up; Lindsay had other more important business to handle. A man with a bow was shooting into the fray, and she went after him.
     
    It was a small hunting bow, not the longbows used in battle, but it was putting a dent in the attackers. In a fury, Lindsay rode down on him from behind and took a long, leisurely swing at the back of his head as she passed. He went down like a bag of rocks, and the bow clattered to the ground beside him.
     
    Lindsay knew the man was dead. No point in thinking about that now; she needed to stay alive herself. Several of the raiders were on foot now, engaged with local swords-men. Lindsay picked out one of the defenders and rode past to knock him on his helmet. Her blow didn’t kill him, but it dazed him enough for her compatriot to finish him off easily. She wheeled and rode back to the fray, this time choosing another defender. Again she enabled her fellow raider to prevail. Twice more she did that, and about that time the fighting began to dwindle. The clash of weapons stilled, and soon only the sounds of weeping women and crying children were left. Some survivors ran from the village, across tilled fields, and into a forest to the south. The men of An Reubair began the job of gathering the spoils.
     
    Lindsay dismounted to help gather the livestock from pens and barns. Others would deal with the surrendered people; she