Lightnings Daughter

by Mary H. Herbert

  "You asked about Pra Desh?" His hands flew out in a grand gesture. "The queen of the East. There is no other place like it in the world. It is huge, sprawling, magnificent! It is a city of incredible squalor and unbelievable wealth; of palaces, teeming wharves, markets, bazaars, and tenements."

  Gabria stared at the healer, surprised by his sudden change of mood. She rarely saw Piers so animated.

  “Pra Desh is the center for al trade and commerce in the East, you know," he noted. "Every road, caravan route, and shipping lane leads to Pra Desh. You can find anything available in the known world in that city. There are schools of great learning, libraries, academies of art, and theaters. The city is rich with artisans, philosophers, explorers, merchants, seamen, teachers, noblemen---and overflowing with slaves, peasants, and criminals." Piers laughed. "Gabria, you have never seen anything like it."

  The girl tried to form a picture of this incredible place in her mind. "It sounds so . . . big,” she said lamely.

  "You have nothing to compare to it, nothing that could help you fathom its size. The entire population of the eleven clans would be lost in the old part of the city."

  Gabria's mouth went slack. It suddenly occurred to her that, not only was she riding into a hornet's nest, it was much bigger than she expected. How could she do anything useful in a city so big? "Wel , if they have al of those people, why do they need me?" she asked, exasperated.

  "Ask him,” Piers replied, pointing at the nobleman again. "He's the one who made the demands."

  "Khan’di!" Gabria shouted. The other men looked around in surprise, but the Pra Deshian pretended he had not heard.

  Piers looked annoyed. "I'm sorry. In Pra Desh, women must always address a man by his full name.

  To do less is to show a lack of respect."

  Gabria gritted her teeth. "Khan'di Kadoa, may I please speak with you?"

  At that, the nobleman half-turned and nodded once.

  While Nara trotted forward to join the other rider, Gabria tried to put on a pleasant and sociable expression. She knew very little about this man, and what she did know she was not certain she liked.

  He was of medium height with a stout figure turning to fat. A mustache hid his thin mouth, and his shrewd eyes were almost lost in the folds of his ruddy skin. He was often polite to the point of arrogance and had the confidence of a man who was used to being obeyed.

  Gabria could not help but wonder what his true motives were for asking her to come to Pra Desh.

  Was he setting an elaborate trap, vying for his own power and influence, or was he truly concerned for the welfare of his city? His hidden motives would not change her decision, but Gabria would be happier if she knew what to expect from him.

  Since Gabria did not know how to salute the emissary and it was difficult to bow on horseback, she inclined her head politely to the man. Khan'di looked up at the sorceress on the huge black horse and returned her greeting.

  She threw her hood back and let the wind tug at her hair. "I was talking to Piers a moment ago,"

  she said. "He told me how big your city has become."

  "It is the largest city in the Five Kingdoms, perhaps in the world," Khan'di answered proudly. "I've heard that Macar is bigger, but that was several years ago, before their tin mines began to decline. Since then their trade has fallen slightly. Pra Desh, of course, has widened its influence throughout the Sea of Tannis. Our merchant fleet is the largest and . . .”

  Gabria sighed to herself as he talked on. It was the most she had heard him say in four days. She smiled and held up her hand. "Khan'di Kadoa, excuse me, but you are speaking beyond my experience. I know little about Pra Desh or its shipping."

  "Oh, of course. Forgive me," he said. "Was there something in particular you wanted to know?"

  "I was curious," Gabria continued. "Why, in a city so large, could you find no one to remove Branth?

  Why did you ask me?"

  "Because," Khan'di said, irony edging his words, "sorcery is forbidden in Pra Desh just as it is on the plains. We do not have the clans' intense hatred for the arcane, but it was more convenient and safer to outlaw it. To outlaw such practices keeps magic-wielding foreigners from coming into the city and disrupting the trade."

  Gabria straightened and gazed at the man in surprise. "Foreigners? I thought your people could use sorcery, too."

  "No. Only the clanspeople or those with clan blood in their ancestry have the power to cast spells.

  Many wise men have studied this unusual inherited trait, but no one has discovered why only the clans have such power." He lifted his hand eloquently. "To put it bluntly, you were the only one available."

  "Wonderful," Gabria muttered. “All right. If I am to go to Pra Desh as a sorceress, what guarantees do I have for a safe passage? Will I face Branth with my magic, only to be put in prison if I win?"

  Khan'di reached into his saddle bag and pulled out a scroll sealed with the stamp of his family. He held it up. "The Fon rules the roads of Calah, but within Pra Desh, I am patron of the powerful merchants' guild and head of the most respected and influential family in the city. If you are successful in routing Branth, you wil be paid handsomely from my treasury and escorted with honor back to the borders of Calah. I give you my word as a Kadoa."

  Gabria was skeptical. "What of your Fon? She will not be pleased to lose her personal sorcerer."

  Khan'di laughed once, a sharp, bitter bark. "Leave her to me."

  Gabria studied him for a long moment. It was still possible the Pra Deshian was leading her into a trap. If not for the warning of the King Stallion, she might not have accepted Khan'di's plea so readily.

  Now, as she examined his fleshy face and watched the way his hands tightened around the reins in suppressed anger, she thought that he was probably telling the truth, at least as he saw it.

  "That will have to do,” she finally answered. "Do not go back on your word." She plucked the scrol out of his fingers, nodded once again, and turned Nara away.

  The man watched her go, his mouth pul ed tight. The woman was ignorant, but she was not stupid.

  He would have to tread careful y with her. And her Hunnuli. Khan'di could not swear to it, but just before the big mare turned, he thought he saw an almost human glint of warning in her dark eyes.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  For five days the party followed the Goldrine River as it flowed northeast then east across the grasslands of Ramtharin, toward its junction with the Isin River.

  Ignoring the cold winds and incessant rains, the riders traveled fast from dawn to dusk, stopping only at noon to eat and rest the horses. True to Nara's word, the foal had no trouble keeping up with the other horses and seemed to thrive on his mother's milk and the constant exercise. The people slowly settled into the routine of the trail, too, as their muscles adjusted to the long hours of riding and their minds grew accustomed to each other's constant company.

  Gabria divided her time between Athlone, Piers, and Khan'di. Although she did not care for the nobleman from Pra Desh, he enjoyed talking to her and was a fountain of information and advice. While Piers told her about Pra Desh's history, culture, and society, Khan'di fil ed her in on the changes that had been taking place in the government, economy, and politics during the past few years.

  "The kingdom of Calah is ruled by a king,” he explained one afternoon, "but the capital city, Pra Desh, is ruled by the Fon."

  "The king allows that?" Gabria asked in surprise.

  Khan'di chuckled. "He usual y doesn't have much choice. The Fon controls the vast flow of goods to and from the Five Kingdoms, so he or she holds more wealth and power than the king. It is not the easiest of situations. There has been constant feuding between the king and the Fon for generations."

  "Where is your king now?"

  The nobleman's brow lowered in anger. "About eleven years ago, the king of Calah died in a mysterious accident, leaving a son too young to rule. Fast on the heels of that disaster, the Fon was poisoned. His body
wasn't even cold when his wife snatched control of the city and the kingdom. She stil holds them both---in the name of the young prince, of course."

  "Why hasn't the prince reclaimed his throne?"

  "No one knows where he is. The Fon held him prisoner for a few years, but we have not seen him recently. I'm afraid she may have disposed of him." The nobleman fell silent after that and rode with his expression frozen and his eyes as hard as rock.

  The next day, during another talk, he told Gabria more about Branth's arrival in Pra Desh.

  "The man was a fool," Khan'di said in disgust. "He ensconced himself in a big house in one of the wealthiest districts of the city and began flaunting himself in the highest social circles. He made no secret of his talent as a magic-wielder, but he was smart enough not to use his power openly. Then odd things began to happen. Gold was stolen out of locked safes, gem shipments disappeared, and ships sank in the harbor for no apparent reason. Men who angered Branth were financially ruined." Khan'di shook his head. "By the time someone tied the crimes to Branth it was too late. The Fon sent a detachment of her own guards to arrest him, but he'd had plenty of time to set up his defenses. His house was fortified and his power too great to overcome. He blasted the captain of the guard with a strange blue fire."

  "The Trymian Force," Gabria said softly.

  "The what?"

  "It's a force drawn from the magic-wielder's own energy." She grimaced. "It can be very deadly."

  Khan'di nodded. "It certainly was. Branth wiped out an entire company of heavily armed men with it."

  "How did the Fon finally capture him?"

  "The way she takes anything---through guile. She played on Branth's vanities and lured him to the palace with the promise of an alliance." The man broke off and surprised Gabria by glancing over his shoulder at Piers riding behind him. She thought for just a moment there was a flicker of regret in his dark eyes.

  "I suppose the healer told you," Khan'di continued, "that the Fon is an expert at poison?"

  "He mentioned it," she replied carefully.

  "Well, she used a special poison of her own concoction to gain control of Branth's mind and render him helpless. He still has his talent, but she has the book and controls his actions."

  Gabria looked pale. She despised Branth, but it was hard to imagine the powerful, ambitious chieftain trapped in the grip of an insidious poison. It gave her the shivers. "Can she make him do anything?"

  "The man is a total prisoner."

  "What will happen to him if we take him away from the Fon and her poisons? Will he regain his will?"

  "I don't know or care. Just remove him or kill him." Khan’di twisted his mustache, a habit that showed when he was agitated. "We must get him away from the Fon before she invades Portane. If she attempts that, the entire Alardarian Alliance will shatter. Pra Desh will be ruined! I---"

  Nara suddenly tossed her head, interrupting him. Gabria, someone comes. The mare whirled and faced a hill they had just passed. Eurus neighed a warning to the men, and the party drew in close to Nara and came to a halt.

  At that moment, a lone horseman appeared on the crest of the hil and waved to them in apparent excitement. He was too far away to recognize, yet they all saw he was not a clansman. He was a Turic tribesman from the southern desert. Gabria glanced worriedly at Athlone, and the hearthguard gathered around their lord, their hands resting on their swords.

  The horse came toward them at a full gallop, his ears pinned back and his tail flying. The man leaned back in his stirrups and greeted the party with a wild, high-pitched ululation. The afternoon sun glittered on the great curved sword by his side, and the burnoose he wore flew out behind him like a flag.

  He reined his horse to a snorting, prancing stop directly in front of Nara and Gabria and swept off his hood. "Sorceress!" he cried. "I have been looking everywhere for you!"

  Gabria was so surprised she could only stare down at the man. He was young and lean, with the dark skin and brown eyes common to Turic tribesman. His black hair was worn in an intricate knot behind his head. His face was clean-shaven, revealing the strong, narrow lines of his jaw and cheekbones. Gabria thought he was compel ingly handsome, and he met her confused stare with a bold, masculine look of pleasure.

  He ignored the other men, who were watching him with varying degrees of curiosity and wariness, and dismounted from his horse. He came to stand by Gabria's foot. "You are Gabria of Clan Corin,” he stated, looking into her face. "I know it. I am Sayyed Raid-Ja, seventh son of Dultar of Sharja. I, too, am a magic-wielder. I would like to travel with you and learn your sorcery."

  Gabria felt her jaw drop.

  "Absolutely not!" Athlone thundered.

  "Why not?" Sayyed asked reasonably, turning to the chief for the first time. "Lord Athlone, forgive me. I was so pleased to find the sorceress that I forgot my duty to you. Greetings!"

  Athlone nodded curtly. He had taken an instant dislike to this man, and he did not appreciate the way the Turic was looking at Gabria. "Good day to you, son of Dultar. Please stand aside. We must be on our way."

  "That's impossible," Gabria mumbled.

  "What?" Sayyed and Athlone said at once.

  The woman quickly gathered her wits and turned to the tribesman. "How can you be a magic-wielder? Only clan blood carries that talent."

  Sayyed flashed a grin at her. "My mother was of Clan Ferganan. She was captured one day near a waterhole by my father. He sought a slave to sell in the market that day, but it was he who became a slave to a wife and twelve children."

  "You are half-clan?" Piers exclaimed.

  Khan'di shrugged. "It is enough."

  "How do you know you are a magic-wielder?" Athlone demanded.

  A mischievous twinkle danced in Sayyed's glance. He stooped down, picked up a handful of dirt, and tossed it into the air. The earth and stones flew high, then exploded into a cloud of shimmering blue butterflies.

  The unexpected fluttering startled Khan'di's gelding. It snorted in fear, spun around, and slammed into Athlone's stal ion. The Harachan horses picked up the gelding's panic and leaped into a frenzied attempt to escape.

  "Of all the stupid things to do,” Athlone yelled from the back of his bucking stallion. "Get rid of those things!"

  Sayyed spoke a command and the butterflies vanished. He tried to look contrite as the riders calmed their mounts.

  He is a magic-wielder, Nara told Gabria, though how much use butterflies wil be against Branth I cannot say.

  "All right,” Gabria said, trying not to laugh. "You are who you say you are. Why do you want to come with me?"

  Sayyed threw his arms wide in excitement. "To learn! My father has enough sons to bother with, so I can do what I want. I want you to teach me about sorcery."

  "It looks like you know enough already,” Khan'di remarked dryly.

  "Only a trifle I have learned by accident. I want to know more."

  "No,” Gabria said. She was thoroughly taken aback. "I can't teach you, I hardly know enough myself."

  "Well, then, I might help you. They told me at Khulinin Treld that you are going to battle another sorcerer. Let me come. If you can't teach me, maybe I can help."

  "I don't think . . ." Gabria began.

  "Isn't sorcery forbidden by the Turic?" Athlone interrupted in annoyance.

  Sayyed locked his gaze with Athlone's and said, "Yes. And since I have been outlawed from my people, I decided that I should die doing what I was born to do."

  His words and their obvious sincerity touched Gabria to the core, stirring the similar feelings she had about magic. To hear another person state a desire for sorcery so honestly was all she needed to win her trust. The King Stallion had advised her to take other humans with her. Why not another magic-wielder?

  She held out her hand palm up. "Come, Sayyed Raid-Ja. If you're so certain, maybe I can use your help."

  "No!" Athlone snarled, but his protest was lost in Sayyed's shout of glee as he clasped Gabria's hand to seal t
he deal.

  Nara began to move, and the whole party fel in beside her, leaving Athlone fuming on his mount.

  The chieftain kicked his horse forward and caught up with Gabria. To him, her expression looked maddeningly pleased.

  The chief gritted his teeth. Unless the Turic changed his mind and left, it looked like they were stuck with him. The man had already swung his horse in behind Nara and was whistling a tune to himself.

  Short of driving him off at swordpoint, there was nothing Athlone could do about him.

  "What possessed you to invite him along?" Athlone said coldly to Gabria. "You don't need his help.

  And we don't have time to mol ycoddle an irresponsible boy."

  Gabria was stung. Her eyes £lashing dangerously, she leaned over and snapped, "The King Stal ion told me to bring others with me. I am following his advice."

  "Why him? He's a Turic. He'l just be in the way,” Athlone replied, his fury mounting.

  Gabria glared at him, hurt and angry. On this journey she needed al the support and trust Athlone could give her. She could not understand why he was being so vehement about this stranger. "Because he sought me out. Because he cares about what he is. Because he is a magic-wielder and I may need him!" Her last word broke off sharply, and she lapsed into silence.

  Athlone studied her for a long time, watching the way her blond hair curled around her ear, how her smal nose turned up slightly at the end, and how the freckles on her cheeks stood out when she was angry. She was so lovely it made his heart sing and yet, sometimes she was so strange and distant to him; he did not know how to reach her. Al he could do was try to understand, but that hardly seemed enough.

  The chieftain let out a long breath. "Perhaps you're right,” he told Gabria, his voice still sharp with anger. "Not all magic-wielders are wil ing to use their powers. One like the Turic might be useful."

  "You have the talent, too, Athlone," she said quietly.

  "And no desire to use it." The chief shifted his weight and kicked his horse forward. For the rest of the afternoon he rode the point, well ahead of Gabria, Sayyed, and the others.