Gabria took a sip of her wine. "What about the Fon?"
"The courtier, Ancor, and Piers told us what happened." Khan'di curled his lip in distaste. "The remains of the Fon's body were found in the throne room. She and her monstrous tools of torture were dumped in the pit. The dungeons have been emptied and sealed."
"What of Bregan?" she asked softly.
Athlone frowned. The loss of his friend still pained him deeply. He could hardly believe the old warrior was gone. "He will be buried this afternoon. He has won back his status and honor as a Khulinin warrior."
She nodded and looked away to hide the blur of tears in her eyes. "Has anyone found Branth?"
There was a long silence; Gabria guessed the answer.
"The city guard did not recognize him in time,” Khan'di said heavily. "He stole a horse and slipped out of the city. He was seen riding north."
The sorceress leaned back in her chair and stared at the far wall. Her responsibilities to Khan'di and Pra Desh were fulfilled with Branth's departure from the city. Everyone would have preferred to have him in chains and ready to face the city's judges, but despite their best efforts, the man had slipped away.
Gabria chewed her lip as she thought. She had two choices now: she could let Branth go and return home in time for the clan gathering, or she could pursue him and run the risk of missing the important council of chieftains. Her first inclination was to let Branth escape. She was tired of traveling and ready to go home. She wanted to settle her problems with Sayyed and Athlone, then attend the council and persuade the chiefs to change the laws against magic. The clan gathering was the only time in the year that al eleven chiefs met to create or change the laws that governed the clans. If she was not at the gathering this year, the chiefs could easily ignore the matter of sorcery or even vote against it.
Unfortunately her better judgment disagreed with her first inclination. The King Stallion had warned her that someone was experimenting in evil magic, and her vision had confirmed it was Branth.
Back in the caves two nights ago, when she had sensed that great terror, she felt Branth had done something horrible. But what? A fearful, nagging doubt pricked her mind, and she remembered the look of bestial cruelty on his face in the throne room. The exiled chief was gone from Pra Desh, but he stil had the Book of Matrah and was still very dangerous.
Gabria swal owed her disappointment. She rose and said to Athlone, "My lord, I have to go after him."
For a moment, the Khulinin chief did not answer. He had already guessed how she would choose.
Although he was proud of her determination and courage, a small cloud of foreboding darkened his thoughts. The feeling of terror he, too, had sensed in the cave had lodged in his mind, and he was badly frightened for Gabria. Worse, he knew that the only way he could help her against Branth was to learn sorcery himself.
To Athlone's surprise, the idea did not unsettle him. When he had watched Gabria standing alone, smothering the fire and protecting Pra Desh, he had realized that he had made a mistake. Athlone had known for a year that he had the talent to wield magic, a talent that could be used for great good, and he had ignored it.
The chieftain stood and bowed slightly to their host. "Thank you for your earlier invitation, but we will be leaving as soon as possible."
Khan'di's shrewd glance went from the chief to the woman as he said, "I did not expect anything less."
*****
They buried Bregan that afternoon in the hills above the City. The travelers and the new Fon escorted the warrior's body up the steep trail to a high peak that overlooked the grasslands far away in the purple haze.
They built a bier of logs and arrayed the warrior's body in his mail shirt, his golden clan cloak, and his finest clothes. The hearthguard laid his weapons by his side; Lord Athlone put a gold armband on his forearm as a symbol of Bregan's restored honor, and Gabria and Tam brought the bag of salt, the loaf of bread, and the water bag that the warrior would need for his journey to the realm of the dead.
They doused the bier with oil and set it ablaze. As the flames climbed toward the sun, Gabria sang the women's prayers for the dead. It took several hours for the fire to die to embers. Only then did they cover the ashes with a high mound of dirt and mark the grave with a spear and helmet as befitting an honored clan warrior.
It was almost dark when the party rode back down through the hil s, leading Bregan's horse.
Halfway to the city, they paused while Gabria slipped off her horse and walked ahead a few paces into the twilight. She put her fingers to her lips to whistle a piercing call, but Tam's shrill call sounded before Gabria had drawn a breath.
The little girl's whistle was enough. Three Hunnuli cantered out of the darkness. They gathered around Gabria, nickering their pleasure, then Eurus went to greet Athlone and the colt trotted to Tam.
"It is safe to come to the city," Gabria told Nara. "Khan'di has granted us safe passage." She clambered up onto the mare's back and threw her arms around her neck. "I missed you," she murmured.
And I you, Nara replied. But it's not over, is it?
"No," Gabria answered sadly. "Not yet."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Two days later the travelers rode with Khan'di and an escort through Pra Desh to the outskirts of the city. They passed the guardpost at the city limits just after daybreak and stopped in front of an inn to make a final check of their baggage and to bid farewell to Khan'di.
Everyone was rested and ready to go. The packhorses were fully laden, and all of the gear had been retrieved, cleaned, and repaired.
When Piers dismounted to tighten his saddle girth, Khan'di approached him.
The new Fon looked ill-at-ease, but he came straight to the point. "I should have asked you this before, Piers. Now is my last chance. I would like you to stay in Pra Desh. I need a healer in the palace.
Please come back,”
Gabria and Athlone, overhearing the Fon, looked at one another and held their breath.
The healer did not answer immediately. He was startled by Khan'di's offer and, for just a moment, he was tempted. He had spent his three days in Pra Desh in the houses of healing, help.ing with the wounded from the fighting and the injured survivors from the fire. In that time he realized he missed the big city and all it had to offer. He had much to learn of the new medical advances the Pra Deshian healers had made in the past eleven years.
Then he thought of the clan that had become his family, of the lovely val ey where his own tent overlooked a shining river, and of the sorceress who had helped fill the aching loss left in his heart by his daughter's death. He settled his clan cloak over his shoulders and shook his head. "I can't."
Khan'di gripped his arm. "Piers, I know you're angry with me, but I did not know what the old Fon's wife was planning that night. Please believe me! I found out later that the woman had given me something to make me il in order to get you out of the way. By the time I learned of this, you were already gone from the city. I'm sorry!"
Piers clasped his old friend's hand in his own. For eleven years he had been plagued by uncertainties about Khan'di's deliberate involvement with the old Fon's murder. Hearing the truth at last healed a few more of his lingering scars. "It's not that,” he said, his thin mouth smiling. "I have finally put my daughter to rest. It's just that I have made a new home with the Khulinin. I want to go back."
Khan'di searched the healer's face, judging the sincerity of his words, then he nodded. "A few years ago I would have called you a fool to leave Pra Desh for the barbarian outlands." He shot a glance at Gabria and Athlone mounted on their Hunnuli. "Now I know better. Long life, my friend. Come visit when you can."
The nobleman stood back as the healer mounted. The clan horses shifted restlessly, pawing and sidestepping with excitement. They knew it was time to go.
Khan'di strode over to Gabria. He laced his hands behind his back and looked up at the woman with fondness. "I promised you a reward. Are you sure you won't take it?"
>
"We have no need of it. Your generous supplies are enough." She gestured to the hil s beyond the city. "Just watch over Bregan's mound, wil you?"
"With pleasure, and thank you, Sorceress. May Elaja go with you."
The woman nodded sadly. In spite of her earlier reservations, she had come to know and like this man in the two months they had traveled together. She would miss him. "And with you, Fon Kadoa."
Khan'di went to stand with his escort. "Don't forget,” he called. "Take the north fork two leagues from here. My scouts said Branth is following the river,”
Athlone raised his fist in salute to the Fon, then he waved his arm to his own party. Eurus half-reared and leaped forward. His huge hooves pounded the paving stones. Nara and the other horses fel in behind, fol owing the stal ion down the caravan road. Khan'di raised his hand in farewell and watched until the horses disappeared.
*****
From the shadows of a deep copse of trees, the gorthling watched the farm through Branth's eyes, his anticipation growing with each passing moment. It was one of the large communal farms that were common throughout the Five Kingdoms.
Early morning sunlight washed the three white-walled cottages and their outbuildings in a pale golden light. Smoke rose from the chimneys, and chickens clucked around the yard.
As far as the gorthling could see, all of the men had gone to the fields, leaving four women, a girl, and several children in the houses. He licked his lips. For five days now he had avoided human contact while he learned the uses of his new body and studied the basic spells in the Book of Matrah. His ruined hand still bothered him, but it was healing well. Now he was ready to try out his new skills.
The door opened in one of the cottages, and a slender young woman walked out, carrying a bucket.
The gorthling felt the bloodlust stir his thoughts and his body. He avidly watched the woman carry her bucket to the well and lower it down to fill it. The stirring grew to an urgent desire, and he stepped out of the shadows. His eyes began to glow with a vicious red gleam as he slid his dagger into his sleeve and began to walk toward the farm.
* * * * *
Gabria watched the plumes of smoke rise from the smoldering ruins of the farmhouse and tried not to look at the scorched bodies lying in a row under the apple tree. She was horribly shaken by this destruction. This was the third communal farm along the river that she and her companions had found in this state. The first farm in Calah had been appal ing. There had been four men and a boy murdered by what Gabria immediately recognized was the Trymian Force. The horribly mutilated body of a woman was dumped in a wagon, and neighbors located the remains of the rest of the three families in the burned and gutted cottages. Even the outbuildings had been put to the torch.
Since that afternoon six days ago, the travelers had tracked Branth out of Calah and through neighboring Portane from one destroyed farm to another. They had ridden as fast as possible, but Branth stayed tantalizingly out of reach. Secen, one of the best trackers in the Khulinin, estimated the exile was only a day in front of them. However, Branth stole a horse whenever he needed a fresh one, and he never stopped long enough for anyone to catch up with him.
Gabria leaned forward to rest her arms on Nara's mane and let her head drop. She was tired and felt wretched. She could hear Athlone nearby, talking to the farmers who had found the smoking ruin earlier that morning. Piers and Tam were waiting by the road, while Sayyed, Treader, and the warriors searched the surrounding fields for some sign of Branth.
The woman let her eyes wander toward the charred cottage. It looked so hideously incongruous against the backdrop of the flowering orchard and the warm, bright spring day.
Athlone returned to her side. "It's the same as the first two," he said grimly. "No one saw anything.
They think it happened late last night, but they don't know how or why. There is sign of only one man, and no one can believe only one man could do al this." The chief began to pace angrily between the two Hunnuli. "That's what I don't understand. I can believe Branth would steal a horse, food, or gold, and he would kill a man or two who stood in his way. He is a vindictive, arrogant brute, but he never did anything violent that did not serve his own ambitions." Athlone gestured at the ruins. "This kind of cruel, senseless destruction is not like him."
Gabria agreed. "Something happened to him in Pra Desh," she said. "Something changed him,”
"Any ideas?"
"I wish I knew."
Athlone turned on his heel and mounted Eurus. "We'd better find him before he burns every farm in Portane,”
Just then they heard a shout, and Secen came running toward them from the fields north of the burned barn. "Lord Athlone," he yel ed, "we found his trail.”
"Still heading for Rivenforge?"
"No, he's turned west. He's going toward the river."
"Sacred gods," Athlone cried, "please lead him to the plains!"
Branth's move away from the heavily populated farmlands was what the chieftain had been hoping for. Branth was exiled from his people and condemned to death for the murder of Lord Savaric and the part he had played in Medb's war. Nevertheless, Athlone thought the familiarity of the plains and the lure of home would lead Branth away from the Five Kingdoms. Athlone had no authority in the kingdoms or any experience with their laws and customs. He would prefer to be in clan territory when they caught up with the renegade.
Gabria, however, accepted Branth's move west with mixed feelings. She wanted him out of the Five Kingdoms, but if he entered the Ramtharin Plains and clan jurisdiction, her use of her arcane powers would again be problematic. She could not use her sorcery without breaking her vow to the clan chiefs.
If she and her companions caught up with Branth and he fought them with his magic, she would have to dishonor her vow and face the wrath of the clan chieftains. It was not a pleasant prospect. With a sigh, she grasped Nara's mane and sat back while the big mare trotted after Eurus to find the other riders.
The travelers found Branth's trail and followed it across the farmlands and vineyards of Portane.
The trail remained clear---Branth was making no effort to hide his tracks---and it continued west to the Serentine River. At the riverbank, the tracks turned north, parallel to the river, then, at the first ford, the tracks vanished into the water. Secen checked and found the trail on the far bank. Branth had crossed the river into the plains.
The travelers forded the wide, muddy river easily, struck the trail, and hurried on. Gabria looked out over the rippling plains with pleasure. The season was ripening to summer, the time when the plains were the most beautiful. The grass that clothed the treeless hills grew thick and green. Wildflowers of yel ow, red, and white bloomed on every slope and in every hol ow. The few trees close to the creeks that wandered here and there were in full leaf, and arching above it all was a clear, glorious dome of azure.
For five days Gabria and her companions trailed Branth, drawing no closer to the elusive exile. To Secen's annoyance, the trail remained clear, but it meandered all over the region.
Branth backtracked, circled around, and wandered back and forth as if looking for something.
At one point he skirted very close to Bahedin Treld before turning northwest, Most of the Bahedin would have left for the gathering at the Tir Samod by this time of year, but the elderly and the very young often remained behind. Athlone pushed his party on without rest; they could not afford to lose Branth's trail.
After a day of running west, Branth angled north. His trail did not falter from that path, as if he had finally decided on a destination. The pursuers fol owed, but the farther north they rode, the more nervous they became.
"I don't like this, Lord Athlone," Secen said as he knelt to study the tracks left by Branth's horse. "If he keeps on this way, he'll ride straight into---"
"I know what lies to the north," Athlone interrupted sharply. "Moy Tura."
Just the name of the infamous ruined city sent a shudder down the chieftain's back.
He looked north over the open plains, as if he could see across the leagues of grass to the ancient city of the sorcerers. He had heard many tales of the fabulous metropolis, and those tales were enough to keep the heartiest of clan warriors away from the place.
"How far is Moy Tura?" Sayyed asked uneasily.
"Seven leagues, perhaps. Enough distance that Branth might veer off and miss the ruins,” Secen replied.
"I hope so,” said Keth. "I don't want to find out if the tales about that place are true."
"Maybe we'll be lucky, Lord,” Secen said as he remounted. "Maybe one of those legends wil eat Branth for an evening meal."
The others laughed, and they set off again on the exile's trail, everyone hoping that the man would go anywhere but Moy Tura.
'* * * * *
Far to the north of the Khulinin hunting party, a lone rider kicked his weary horse into a trot and rode up the slope of a high tableland. "It has to be here somewhere," the gorthling hissed. He had been searching for days for the sorcerers' city and so far, had not even seen a road that might lead to it.
He cursed his vague memory. The gorthling knew Moy Tura was the center of arcane learning. All of the clan magic-wielders went there to study their craft. If any man knew who and where all the magic-wielders were, he would be in Moy Tura. The only problem was the gorthling did not know exactly where the city was located, and Branth's memories strangely did not include anything about Moy Tura.
The gorthling curled a lip. He was growing tired of this fruitless search over empty land. He wanted to find Moy Tura and its sorcerers and destroy everyone who could possibly ruin his plans. He still wanted to locate those clans who had exiled his host's body---there would be perverse pleasure in wreaking revenge on them---and there was also the mysterious magic-wielder who had kindled such hatred in Branth's memory. It would be interesting to track that one down, too. But first, he wanted to find Moy Tura.
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