must get in past it somehow. She must draw blood. Closer and closer, Terrwyn galloped. She would wait for Ironfist’s sidestep, then she would lean low over her horse’s neck and swing her sword down and around, slashing beneath the shield, opening up his belly and spilling his guts!
But Ironfist did not sidestep this time. He stood unmoving in Terrwyn’s path, his feet braced, the white shield up to his ice-blue eye.
Too late, Branwen realized what was happening. At the last moment she yanked on the reins, trying to turn Terrwyn aside. But her brave steed’s momentum carried him forward on to the white shield.
Ironfist withstood the charge as a hale old forest oak might withstand the futile butting of a young roe deer. Terrwyn was brought to a halt by the shield’s power, and as he tumbled sideways, his hooves flailing and his mouth open wide in a scream of pain, Branwen was flung out of the saddle.
Ironfist slashed upwards at her as she was hurled through the air. The blow went wild, but she felt the point of his blade cut her upper arm, quick and shallow, as she was tossed on the wind.
She came crashing to the ground among a pile of the dead. For a few moments she was too stunned even to draw breath. Pain flooded her like black water. She could hardly close her fingers around her sword hilt. She could hardly move for the agony.
But a warrior’s instinct took over. She turned painfully on to her side and thence to her hands and knees, still holding her shield on her arm, still gripping her sword.
Terrwyn was lying still, maybe killed by the impact. Ironfist was stamping towards her through the ranks of the dead.
‘What’s this?’ he howled. ‘Still awake, pretty maiden? Then let me sing you to sleep!’ He came at her faster now, the white shield up, his sword spinning in his hand.
Branwen forced herself on to her feet.
She tried to remember what Gavan ap Huw had taught her in the forest outside Doeth Palas when she had been green and impetuous and foolish. She tried to recall all that she had learned since, in a hundred battles, a hundred victories.
She dared not let Ironfist come upon her flat-footed. She had to bring the fight to him. Weight for weight, he could wear her down and crush her, even without the aid of the white shield. She had to rely on speed and agility.
She sprang forward, focused on the coming conflict, blotting out pain and fear, ignoring the snow that flew into her face, paying no attention to the slither of blood and gore under her feet or the congregation of dead eyes that stared up at her.
The white shield came up to Ironfist’s eye as she darted forward. She brought her weight down on her left foot, feigning a blow that drew his shield instinctively to block her sword. But she changed her balance, coming in close, striking around his shield to the right, hoping to bite into flesh.
But he was too skilled a fighter to be caught out so easily. He twisted into her blow, cracking down on her sword with his shield and almost cutting her with a sharp swing of his sword to her neck. She sprang back out of danger, her shield to her eyes, the upper rim angled outwards, her sword arm lifted and bent so the sword ran along her back, ready for her to unleash all the power of her arm and shoulder when the moment was right.
‘Good! Good!’ crowed Ironfist, his single eye glinting. ‘There’s little to savour in a swift victory! Fight well, witch girl! Fight for your life!’
He threw himself at her, his sword bearing down on to her left shoulder. But she ducked, fending the blow off with her shield and bringing her own blade up to sweep his aside. His weight crashed against her, shield to shield, and she stumbled back. Again his sword flew to her shoulder, again she blocked it, dancing back and to one side, trying to sneak in under his shield arm, her aching leg muscles taut as she bobbed and wove, stabbing and withdrawing, stabbing and withdrawing.
She moved to the left then jinked to the right, bouncing on her feet, drawing him first one way and then the other, waiting for the moment when she could angle her sword in past his defences and score a hit. But always the white shield blocked her,