The pack-pony ahead reared, squealing, a black-feathered arrow quivering in its neck. Bera clutched at the mane of her own mount as it came to a plunging halt, hind legs scrabbling for purchase on the narrow trail. From the cliff above came the harsh ululation of a war cry and more arrows. She saw one of the men who was supposed to guard the caravan fall.
Scots raiders! Bera realized, fighting to keep her horse under control. They had chosen the perfect place to ambush the plodding line of traders and ponies; just past the village, where the trail wound along the edge of the gorge.
Another arrow snicked past, grazing the flank of Alfhelm's pony and sending it snorting across the slope. She could see the boy still hanging on as the animal crashed through a stand of broom and disappeared. The traders were fighting back now. As their arrows flew, a body wrapped in tattered plaid tumbled down the slope and into the gorge.
Bera's horse lurched forward as the beasts scattered across the more level ground ahead. Only the traders had managed to stay together, shooting back when they glimpsed a foe. She saw Devorgilla with Alfhild on the saddle before her heading into the trees. Achtlan followed, and Bera booted her own mount after them.
"The northern trail will be safer," the traders had told them. "If raiders come so late in the season, they'll not look for us there!"
And I believed them, Bera thought grimly. A fine seeress I am, not to have seen what could go wrong! But even a Voelva trained in Norway could not answer the question no one had thought to ask.
"Are you all right?" she called as she came up with the others. Behind her, swords clanged as three of the attackers held the traders at bay while the others began to round up the laden ponies.
"I am, but they've got our chest!" exclaimed Achtlan, her eyes blazing with the passion of Ireland's warrior queens. Bera could feel the great brown bear who was her inner ally snarling with rage, but the kinds of magic she and Achtlan had been trained to use could not help them now.
Bera grabbed for the Irishwoman's rein. "Never mind our baggage--we're carrying our silver, and even if these wretches don't take slaves, they'll strip us bare!"
"But Alfhelm's gone--" cried Devorgilla.
"We cannot help him if we're raped and robbed here! Come on!" She was the smallest and youngest of the three women, and all of them were strangers in this land, but Bera had brought them here, and they were her responsibility. She forced her way past and the other horses caught the panic and followed.
)
