The bit was a wicked affair, with long, pointed steel shafts on either side. The horse reared with her, hauling her off the floor. Then it gave a nasty toss of its head. Margo lost her grip on the bridle. She came loose, falling backwards and flailing for balance. The horse eyes gleaming wickedly-raked that damned bit straight down her arm, catching her thigh for good measure on the way down.
She impacted the concrete floor with a muffled cry of pain.
Someone else snatched the trailing reins, forcing it around before it could strike with murderous hooves.
”Head it into the gate!- someone yelled.
”My God, do you know what that horse would be worth to a guide? Let me try to control him!” In a blur, Margo watched a man leap into the saddle. The horse sunfished, screaming savagely. The rider came adrift with a yell. The warhorse ended facing the pulsing gate. Someone much smarter gave the animal a mighty smack on the hind quarters. It bolted straight through and vanished into the melee beyond. The gate shrank rapidly closed within seconds.
A disturbance somewhere behind them caught Margo’s attention. She turned her head to look
Oh, shit …
That wild-eyed soldier hadn’t gone back through. Clad in woolen hose, pointed leather shoes, and a quilted leather tunic to which metal plates had been sewn, he was facing down the crowd with that heavy wooden maul of his. Blood snaked downward from his nose and a cut on his brow. An empty quiver for arrows and a bow at least five-and-a-half feet tall lay on the floor.