Lady Ilena by Patricia Malone

Faolan continues. “Accept your bride gifts and your destiny. Save your people and mine from the bloody wounds of war.”
    I swallow hard. I do not wish to marry Faolan, but I do not want my people harmed on my account.
    Belert senses my hesitation and reaches out to hold Rol's rein. “Do not waver, Daughter. You know of his treachery.
    He would force Dun Alyn to bow to Saxons, and Dreug, and the others would fall without us.”
    Gillis urges his horse forward. He moves down onto the riverbank on our side and raises his voice until all in both front ranks can hear him. “I am Gillis, Druid of Dun Alyn. I warn you that the gods favor Arthur and his followers. If you attack us, you abandon the gods who have cared for Britons for ages past, and you anger the true God who is above them all.”
    A team of black horses pulls a chariot forward, and the woman in it steps up beside her driver, leaving a man standing alone behind them. She wears a war helmet, but her black hair streams out around it; her arm, brandishing her sword over her head, is muscular and browned from the sun. She speaks loudly above the noise of the river and the stamp of horses and the clank of battle gear. “Gillis, I know well that you have forsaken the old ways. The gods of our ancestors lead us to make peace with the Saxons and to resist the southern traitor, Arthur.”
    Belert leans closer to me and says, “Andrina!”
    Faolan points to the trees that line the river. “The Morrigan have gathered.” Ravens have settled onto branches throughout the area, and more are arriving in waves overhead. “They wait for the feast that simmers for them.”
    “It is you, Faolan, who have called them,” Belert shouts.
    Gillis returns to us and takes his place beside me; I am on Belert's right and Spusscio is on his left. Our best warriorspush forward to circle us. Perr is swept off into the center of his own troops.
    I breathe a prayer for our protection and for my own courage as the front line of Dun Struan's forces plunges into the river to meet our front line with a great clash of swords and spears. Battle cries from both sides rise above the din.
    I snatch my sword into my left hand to wipe my palm against my leather vest, then grasp the hilt again with my right hand. Faolan, with Andrina's chariot beside him, has crossed the river and is pushing through our ring of warriors toward us.
    “Now, Faolan,” I mutter, “we face each other again.” My fear has retreated and a cold rage at the man who brings this threat against us has taken its place. I urge Rol forward to intercept him.
    Faolan swerves out of my path, and Andrina's chariot rushes toward me. As she approaches, the driver turns so that I am heading straight for the warrior who stands beside her.
    The sounds of battle blur as I recognize Durant.
    Rol stops abruptly and rears upward. I can hear myself screaming Durant's name again and again as the chariot thunders past us and disappears into the midst of Dun Struan's warriors.
    I sit motionless, staring after them, while the fight swirls around me. When I come to my senses, the front line of battle has moved into the river, and I am far behind with the foot troops pressing around me.
    “Belert!” Where is he? “Belert!” Shock and shame overcome me. I have abandoned my chief.
    A warrior can commit no greater sin.
    I hold Rol still for a moment, hoping that somehow I can disappear—be spirited by some otherworldly force up and away from this place. I see Rory battling a Northern warrior; the two of them move back and forth over a slick patch of mud at the river's edge. Suddenly Rory slips and stumbles off balance. As he tries to recover his footing, I break free of my trance.
    I raise my sword and urge Rol toward the river, reaching Rory just as he falls to one knee. My sword stroke severs his opponent's head, and Rol's charge carries me out into the river. We plunge into a group of Northmen who surround four warriors from Dun Dreug. I leave