She hung her shield on the saddle and ran her hand over the left side of her great helm. The repair was so well performed that she could not tell where it had been damaged. Many of the knights were wearing more open helmets because of the heat. She scanned the sky. Clouds drifted in slowly from the West. Perhaps they would bring a break from the heat.
Murielle’s great helm had originally been chosen for concealment rather than comfort or protection, she wore it for that reason this day. The heat was already growing under the helm, but it did not matter. She turned her eyes to the center phalanx. Somewhere over there was her target. When the time came, soon enough, she would go for him. No one would stand in her way. She would unhorse anyone between her and her target.
A rumble of voices
