Gabria and Athlone had little chance to bridge the rift over the next few days. Gabria felt she was in the right in their dispute over the Turic's presence and did not try to approach the chieftain with apologies or contrition. Athlone, in turn, had few opportunities to talk to her. Every time he tried, he was called away by the warriors or interrupted by Piers or Khan’di.
Sayyed did not help matters, either. The young Turic made himself at home with the company. He laughed and joked with the warriors---Secen, Keth, and Valar; helped Bregan hunt for meat; talked medicine with Piers; and discussed the merits of fabrics and spices from the South with Khan’di. But he saved the best of his attentions for Gabria. He used every chance he had to be near her, whether Athlone was there or not.
The sorceress was resting upon Nara's back one afternoon while the mare paused for a drink.
Seeing an opportunity to talk to Gabria alone, Athlone waved his men on and went to join her and the Hunnuli on the riverbank. She looked at him curiously and a little warily, as if expecting the outbreak of another argument.
"Gabria, I---" he began. Then he stopped, for it dawned on him that he real y did not know what he wanted to say to her.
"Lord Athlone!" Bregan yelled. "Secen is signaling."
The chieftain cursed under his breath and looked for the warrior, who was riding the point. Secen was atop a far hill, signaling the presence of other riders. Athlone left Gabria and hurried to investigate.
By the time he checked the two riders Secen had spotted and made sure they had not seen his party, Gabria had joined Sayyed.
The chief's face darkened with anger as he watched the two of them together. Sayyed had found some early wildflowers and had made a crown for Gabria. They were talking and laughing like old friends as she fastened the ring of flowers in her hair.
Athlone spurred his horse away so they could not see the doubt and anger on his face.
*****
On the evening of the twelfth day, Gabria and her companions reached the Tir Samod---the name given to the holy joining of the Goldrine and Isin Rivers---where the clans of Valorian had gathered every summer for countless generations. They arrived before sunset and made camp in the grove of cottonwood trees near the place where the council tent usual y stood. To the clansmen the meadows looked empty and strange without the big camps, the bustling market, the huge council tent, and the throngs of people, dogs, and horses that crowded the site every year. Except for the ripple and rush of the two rivers and the wind sweeping through the bare trees, the place was quiet and peaceful.
For the first time in several days the sky was cloudless and the sun set with the promise of another clear day. After the evening meal, the warriors settled down by the fire to clean their weapons and tack.
Piers examined his medical supplies to see if any had been spoiled by the intermittent rains of the past twelve days. Khan'di sat on his cushion and cleaned his nails.
For a short time, Gabria watched Nara and her baby as the colt frolicked in some shallow water.
Beyond the horses, the gold light of sunset il uminated the circle of standing stones on the holy island of the gods in the middle of the rivers. Gabria looked at the island and then beyond to the far banks.
Every year when the clans gathered, each one encamped on the same site. The Corins had always made their camp to the north of the island on a wide, grassy bend of the Isin.
With little thought, Gabria took off her boots and waded across the gentle rapids of the Isin to the opposite side. She climbed the low bank and meandered slowly toward the trees that identified her clan's ground. As in the treld far to the north, there was little here to mark the passing of the Corins: a few old fire pits, a refuse pile that would last only until the next flood, and some cut trees. Like the Corins' meadow, there was also a burial mound. It had been left by the Khulinin when they camped on the Corin ground the previous summer.
Gabria wandered to the mound and stood gazing at the one spear and helmet that stil adorned the single grave. The rustling of the grass alerted her to the presence of someone else in the campsite. She turned, smiling, thinking it was Athlone.
"Someone you know?" Sayyed asked.
The woman shook her head and pushed her disappointment aside. She had wanted Athlone, but Sayyed was good company, too. In the few days she had known him he had already become a close friend, someone with whom she felt comfortable and happy. She crossed her arms and said, "I didn't know him except by name. He was Pazric, second wer-tain of the Khulinin. He was the first to be deliberately murdered by sorcery in over two hundred years."
"Oh? I hadn't heard about him. Tel me."
"Lord Medb killed him during a council meeting of the chiefs last summer. It was the first time Medb displayed his powers."
Sayyed stared down at the mound. "That must have been terrible," he said with sincerity.
Gabria turned away. All at once she was overwhelmed by memories of that harrowing, event-filled day---the day Pazric had died; the day she had attended the council to accuse Medb; the day Savaric had forced Lord Medb to reveal his sorcery. Her throat tightened, and she blinked as the light of sunset blurred and shimmered through sudden tears.
Quickly Sayyed put his arm around her waist. He was rather short for a Turk and Gabria was tall for a clanswoman, so their heads were level as he pulled her close. She leaned against him and drew solace from the comfort of his strong arms and the warmth of his presence.
Her sadness slowly disappeared until her mouth curved up in a faint smile. "You remind me of my brother, Gabran."
Sayyed masked a grimace with a chuckle. "Why?" he asked, hiding his disappointment. "Was your brother handsome?"
She laughed. "Yes, and kind, as strong and cunning as a wolf. He could also make me laugh." She sighed softly. "I loved him very much."
He tightened his arm around her. They stood for a long while in the afterglow of twilight, silhouetted against the pale gold luminescence that hung in the western sky.
From his place by the fire, Athlone watched the two distant figures and felt his heart grow heavy.
The Turic was intruding deeper and deeper into Gabria's life. He had only been with the travelers for seven days and already she was fascinated by him, this energetic tribesman who plainly worshiped her.
A boil of jealousy empted in Athlone's mind, fed by his pride and uncertainty.
To the chieftain, the most frustrating thing was his own confusion. His relationship with Gabria was still new to him---they never seemed to get a chance to let their feelings develop without something getting in the way. Now this Turic was with them, and Athlone was no longer sure where he stood.
Worst of all, he didn't know what to do about it! Gabria was intelligent, self-reliant, and determined. She had proven her courage and worth ten times over. If she wished to give her love to Sayyed instead of him, then Athlone felt she had earned that right. Gabria had suffered enough heartache and pain without being forced into a relationship she no longer desired. Of course, that did not mean Athlone had to like being put aside.
He slammed the sword he was cleaning into its scabbard and strode out into the darkness. It was easy to tell himself that he could let her go if she chose to leave, but the thought of losing her was tearing him apart. Without thinking, he wandered to the smal field where the horses grazed. There he stood, staring into the night, searching for the familiar shape of his old friend, Boreas.
The search was futile, and Athlone knew it; Boreas had been slain in the final battle with Medb the previous summer. That didn't lessen the chieftain's need for his old steed, though. Just as Nara was Gabria’s friend and confidant, Boreas had been his companion and advisor.
Athlone frowned and readied himself to return to camp, but something moving in the darkness stopped him. It was the great black bulk of a Hunnuli, a stallion like Boreas. The chieftain's heart leaped with hope and fear. His ghost, perhaps, returning from the dead to aid me when I most need his advice?
The Hunnuli came to his side, but it was not Athlone's long-dead steed. An unfamiliar pair of wise eyes gleamed at him, and a deep, soothing voice said, I am not Boreas, Eurus told him. But I am here.
Thankfully the man leaned against the big horse and ran his hand through the stallion's long, thick mane. He stood, stewing over his problem, his mind working like a boiling pot with bits of thought and feeling bubbling to the surface faster than he could follow them. He loved Gabria and did not want to lose her, yet he did not know how to win her back.
On the heels of those thoughts came the guilty notion that, perhaps, it would be better if he didn't win her back. She was a sorceress. She should be with other magic-wielders, people like Sayyed who would appreciate and support her talent.
Athlone was chieftain of the largest and most respected clan on the plains. Even if Gabria survived this journey and the clan chieftains changed the laws forbidding sorcery, there would always be suspicion, distrust, and hatred for magic-wielders. He was not completely sure he was ready to accept the controversy and the constant battle for acceptance.
With that thought, a bubble of remorse boiled out of his mind. He was a magic-wielder, too. But it was so much easier to ignore that truth, to let Gabria go, and to live peacefully as a mere chieftain with his clan-like his father and his father's father before him.
Athlone twisted the black mane into his fingers. He knew ful well he couldn't take that path and live with himself. No, winning Gabria's heart was the important thing; somehow he would have to find a way to reconcile himself with his talent. If only he knew what to do.
He shook his head in frustration and pushed himself away from the Hunnuli.
The black horse nudged Athlone's chest. Sometimes the heart speaks dearer than the mind, lord chieftain.
Athlone laughed humorlessly. "And sometimes they argue unmerciful y." He patted the horse and went back to the camp. After a word with the sentry, he retired to his smal traveling tent. For Athlone, it was a very long night.
CHAPTER SIX
Gabria and Nara stood in rippling grass on the point of a high bluff and looked down on the green plains below. The woman shielded her eyes from the noon sun and peered downhil to the caravan trail that wound over the rol ing grasslands like a giant snake. The route was not like the stone road near the fortress of Ab-Chakan. It was really nothing more than a dirt path worn into the ground by years of constant use. Nevertheless, it was wide and well marked, and the hooves of countless pack animals had pounded the surface to a rock-hard consistency. In some places the wagons and traders' carts had cut wheel ruts several handspans deep.
Even now, as Gabria looked up the road, she could see the dust kicked up by a distant merchant caravan heading north toward Pra Desh. She glanced toward the south. The semi-arid high plains had gradual y dropped down in elevation as Gabria's party had journeyed east, and the rough grasses and shrubs had given way to lush meadows, scattered copses of trees, and small sparkling streams.
Coming up beside her, Bregan sat back in his saddle and stretched his legs. "It's good to see that road,” he commented. "We should be about half way to Calah."
"We are,” Khan'di noted as he joined them. "But we need to be closer. We've got to get to Pra Desh within twenty days."
"Are you tiring of our journey already?" Piers asked in an icy tone.
Gabria glanced irritably at the healer as the rest of the men came up the hill. Piers and Khan’di had remained bitterly polite to each other, but their poorly hidden animosity was beginning to annoy her.
She sighed and leaned her arms on Nara's mane. After twenty days of constant traveling they all needed a change---especially Athlone. Gabria shot a look at the chieftain.
It was obvious something was bothering him. He was cool and distant to her, spoke to Sayyed only when he had to, and was short to everyone else. Gabria had tried several times to talk to him, but it was difficult to find time for privacy on the trail, and Athlone seemed to avoid her in night camp. After days of being ignored, Gabria was hurt and confused. It was much easier to deal with Sayyed. He was always there, warm and comforting with his ready smile and his easy wit.
Gabria could not help but wonder if Athlone had decided at last that he did not want her. The thought made her half-il with dread. She had given him time to make up his mind, but deep in her heart she had always believed he would finally come to accept her for everything she was. Now she was not so certain. She fought down the queasy feeling in her stomach and tried to dredge up some hope.
The one good thing to come out of the journey was Athlone's friendship with Eurus. Little by little, the man was spending more time with the horse, grooming him, feeding him special tidbits, or just talking to him late at night. The special bond between a Hunnuli and its rider was beginning to form.
Gabria was pleased for Athlone's sake. She decided it would be better if she did not interfere. Eurus knew what he was doing.
She pul ed her cloak closer about her shoulders. The sun was shining, but the early spring winds were cold and damp with approaching rain. Far to the northwest a gray line of clouds was forming along a storm front that would bring rain by nightfall.
Piers looked at the clouds and shivered. He had a bad cold, despite all of his precautions. "I wish we had time to stop at Jehanan Treld. I would like to be under a real tent before that rain hits,” he muttered.
The company urged their horses downhill and joined the great caravan route to the north. With luck, Gabria thought, we will be in Pra Desh in another fifteen to twenty days.
A few hours later, the party was riding through a narrow creek bed lined with eroded gullies and budding trees. Bregan suddenly held up his hand and brought the party to a stop. Athlone cantered his horse forward. The others stayed back and watched as Bregan pointed to a far hill where a group of horsemen were coming down the slope. The chieftain rode back, smiling for the first time in days.
"We have visitors,” he told them cheerful y.
Bregan trotted ahead to meet the seven riders cantering toward the road. They were led by a horseman holding aloft the dark red banner of the Jehanan chieftain, Sha Umar.
The two groups met along the road. Sha Umar and Athlone greeted each other like old friends while the Jehanan warriors accompanying their lord saluted the Khulinin and stared in surprised awe at the three Hunnuli.
Lord Sha Umar grinned through his neatly trimmed beard at Gabria and saluted her. "Greetings, fair lady. I see you have increased your number of black horses."
The sorceress returned his smile. She had always liked the Jehanan chief, for he had been one of the few lords to support her at the chiefs' council after Medb's death. She noticed his arm was still stiff from the wound he had received in the battle at the fortress, but his strong, tanned face was as healthy as ever, and his robust voice left no doubt as to his power and authority.
"Athlone,” he boomed. "You should have sent word you were coming! When one of my outriders told me he had spotted you on the road, I didn't believe him. I had to come out here to see for myself."
Athlone laughed. "My apologies, Sha Umar, but we're traveling fast. We hadn't planned to stop."
"At least stay the night. The treld is not far. Besides," he pointed to the sky "there's a storm coming."
The Khulinin chief fol owed his gesture to the dark clouds.
"I suppose we could use some supplies and a good night's sleep."
"Done!" Sha Umar exclaimed. He beamed with pleasure. "We don't have time for a feast, but I can promise you a good meal and a dry tent. Come."
The two chiefs rode ahead, side by side, and the others fel in behind.
Sha Umar lowered his voice so only Athlone could hear. "You are riding fast and without your cloaks. Your mission must be important."
"Yes," Athlone stated flatly.
"Would it have anything to do with Branth?"
Athlone assessed his friend for a moment before he answered. "Perhaps. But we do not want our journey to become common
news."
"That's what I thought. Good. We can't leave Branth loose with Medb's old tome."
Athlone agreed. "The clans couldn't stand another war."
"Exactly. What can we do about that blasted book?"
"What do you mean?" the Khulinin asked carefully.
Sha Umar slapped the horn of his saddle. "That tome! It's caused nothing but trouble from the day it was found. What if you take it away from Branth and someone else gets his hands on it?" He paused as if embarrassed. "What would Gabria do if she had it?"
Athlone froze. "What are you implying?" he demanded, his voice harsh.
"Magic can corrupt, Athlone. It's simply a fact of human nature. That much power could lead even the purest to stray into greed, selfishness, cruelty, or vanity. Gabria is controlling her powers now, but what if that book of knowledge fel into her hands? How would she react? What would she do?" He looked at his friend. "More to the point, what would you do?”
Athlone was silent for a long while. When he finally answered, his voice was deeply troubled. "By the gods, I don't know."
"You'd better think about that on your way to find Branth,” said Sha Umar.
The Khulinin chief looked away, and the two men, without another word, left the road and led the party east toward Jehanan Treld. The winter camp of Clan Jehanan was only a few leagues away, sheltered in a wide, green valley not far from the Sea of Tannis. The Jehanan numbered several hundred, and their clan was rich in pride and tradition. Although their treld was close to the sea and they often fished and gathered food in its waters, they remained stock breeders and horsemen who followed their herds across the plains in the summer. They were fiercely loyal to their chieftain, devoted to each other, and hospitable to guests.
The Jehanan happily greeted Athlone and his companions, and they recognized Gabria from the summer before. Because of their gratitude to her for their survival, they stifled their fears and suspicions of her powers and welcomed her as befitted the lady of Clan Corin. They gave her the finest guest tent and a serving girl to tend to her needs. A bag of the clan's best oats was their gift for Nara. They were all amazed by the black colt and clustered around him in a distant but admiring circle.
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