A little opening showed on her right. Though she could not see the ground
before her, she took the risk and swung her horse into the breach. His
forefeet came down upon the body of a fallen man, but it was too late to draw
back. Gripping her lip in her teeth, she spurred him on. The man turned over
with a yell, and used his one unbroken arm to thrust upward his broken sword.
The blade cut her leg to the bone, and she shrieked with the pain; but her
startled horse had no thought of stopping. Making his way with plunges and
leaps, he carried her out of the press sooner than she could have guided him
out. Once on the edge, he broke into a run. The agony of the shaken wound was
unbearable. Shrieking and moaning, she twisted her hands in the lines and
tried to stop him. But her strength was ebbing from her with her blood. By and
by she dropped the rein altogether and clung to the saddle-bow.
They reached the woods at last, cool and sweet and hushed in holy peace. The
frantic horse plunged into one of the arching lanes, and the din of the hunt
died behind her; silence fell like a curtain at their heels; even the thudding
hoof-beats were softened on the leafy ground. Randalin lay along the horse's
neck now, and her senses had begun to slip away from her like the tide from
the shore. It occurred to her that she was dying, and that the Valkyrias could
not find her if she should be carried too far away from the battle-field.
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