"In the name of al the gods,” he shouted, his eyes on Gabria. "Where have you been?"
Before the startled woman could answer, Eurus came around behind Nara and snorted at the chieftain.
Athlone stared at the second Hunnuli, his anger retreating a little before his surprise and curiosity.
"Who is that?"
I am Eurus, brother of Boreas, the young Hunnuli replied.
By this time the members of the hearthguard and the other warriors had caught up with their lord.
They gathered close by him, their faces interested but wary. Other clan members clustered around, staring and pointing at Gabria and the two Hunnuli.
Casually, Gabria glanced at the clanspeople to gauge their welcome. She was relieved to see they showed no oven hostility, only curiosity. The priestess of Amara stood at the back of the crowd, a wise smile on her face as she nodded a welcome. Athlone seemed to be the only one disturbed by her return. This time, however, she was not troubled by his reaction. The chief was a volatile man, and Gabria sensed his anger was fed mostly by concern.
Instead of rising to meet his rage, she merely asked, "How did you know I was gone?"
Athlone tore his eyes away from Eurus. "Piers went to find you five days ago. He told me you had left. There was no sign of where you were going, when---or even if---you would return."
She smiled. "You should have known that I would return."
Athlone nodded once, sharply, unwil ing to give up his anger that easily. "Where did you go?"
"Heretic!" someone suddenly shouted from the edge of the crowd. Thalar shouldered his way through the people and planted himself in front of Nara. "Be warned. Your exile is over, but this clan wil not tolerate your evil magic!"
Nara snorted menacingly, but the furious priest ignored her and shook his fist at the young woman.
"Your presence curses us, Sorceress, and your foul heresies bring our doom. Leave us in peace!"
"Thalar!" the chieftain said sharply.
Nara, however, had had enough. Her head snaked forward, and she snapped at the priest, her teeth coming dangerously close to his head. The crowd gasped as Thalar stumbled backward, his eyes wide with shock.
"That wil be enough," Athlone demanded.
Thalar started to say something, but the Hunnuli mare flattened her ears, and he stepped hastily back. Glaring ferociously, the priest withdrew to the edge of the crowd.
The sorceress ignored him. She patted Nara and said to Athlone, "Please, Lord, could we go to the hal ? The Hunnuli are hungry, and I am very tired. I wil tell you everything over a hot meal."
The chieftain nodded and said with genuine relief, "Welcome home." He glanced back at the hall with a strange expression of regret. "There is someone else who has been waiting for you."
"Oh?" Gabria asked. She felt a tug of foreboding, but Athlone dismounted without a reply and handed his reins to a warrior. Gabria, too, slid off her horse. The mare gently nudged her rider before she and Eurus trotted back to the meadows.
Gabria watched them go. Standing beside her, Athlone studied the sorceress's features and marveled that a face capable of showing such love could also have such strength.
The crowd began to disperse to their own tents and cooking fires. Athlone, Gabria, and several hearthguard warriors walked up the hill to the entrance of the hall.
Twilight was settling into the valley. Once inside the open doors of the hall, Gabria noticed the lamps were lit and a fire was burning in the central hearth. A haunch of meat had been set to the side of the fire, ready for the chieftain, his family, and any other warrior who wanted to eat in the hall. Lady Tungoli and her serving girls were setting up the trestle tables before bringing in the meal.
Gabria said softly, "It's good to be home." The chieftain overheard her, and the quiet pleasure of her words evaporated the vestiges of his anger. He offered her his arm, and they walked into the hall together.
As Gabria and the men ate their meal and talked, Piers, Cantrell, and a stocky, ruddy-skinned man Gabria did not recognize came to join them. Other clanspeople sat close by, listening. Lady Tungoli organized her serving girls and also joined the group to hear the talk. No one bothered to introduce Gabria to the stranger in their midst.
Sitting beside Athlone's dais, Gabria told them all about her vision, her journey to Corin Treld, and the burial mound she had found there. She did not mention her own catharsis, but those who knew her wel sensed the new peace and assurance in her manner. She went on to describe the Wheel and her meeting with the Hunnuli. Her listeners sat spellbound as she told of the black horses and their king.
When she repeated the King Stal ion's warning about Branth, the stranger sucked in a breath through his teeth. "Lord Athlone, I---" he began.
The chieftain waved him to silence. "A moment, please, Khan'di." He turned back to Gabria. "You haven't told us yet why you have a second Hunnuli."
Gabria lingered over her cup of wine for a moment before answering. "The King Stallion sent him."
"Why?"
"He thought you needed a mount befitting your abilities."
Athlone looked up at the ceiling, the lines on his face taut. "I have a good mount. One befitting a chieftain."
The warriors around him stared at their chief in surprise. Any among them would have traded their swordarms for a Hunnuli to ride, but Gabria looked into Athlone's face and understood his refusal. She sipped her wine and let the subject drop. The King Stal ion's advice was wise. She would let Athlone and Eurus work out their difficulties.
Athlone, meanwhile, settled back into his seat and acquiesced to her silence. He had no wish to push the subject further. Instead he poured more wine into his cup and passed the silver ewer to the stranger. "Khan'di Kadoa, now you know why we have been unable to find Lady Gabria," the chieftain said with a twist of wry humor. "Perhaps now you would tell her why you are here."
Gabria final y got a good look at the stranger when he rose from the table and bowed to her. She guessed he was about fifty years old, for his short-cropped hair was gray and his heavy face was deeply lined around the mouth and forehead.
He was dressed simply in a pair of leggings and a knee-length hooded shirt, but there was nothing simple about the massive gold seal ring on his index finger. He met her scrutiny with a sharp, interested gaze of his own, and Gabria recognized immediately that this man was no fool.
"Lady, I am Khan'di Kadoa, a nobleman and merchant from the great city of Pra Desh, capital of the kingdom of Calah," he said smoothly. "I have come to talk to you about this exile, Branth. As I have told your chieftain, Branth has been in Pra Desh over six months now and has been causing nothing but trouble."
Gabria shifted in her seat. "What has he been doing?"
"He has an old book of spells and the ability, however feeble, to use them." The man leaned forward, his dark eyes piercing under a line of bushy eyebrows. "When he first arrived, he ignored our laws forbidding sorcery and tried to sell his services. Then, he simply stole or conjured what he wanted.
Before long he had the entice city in an uproar. He became such a problem that the city guards tried to arrest him. He killed them all. Then the ruler of our city, the Fon, captured him."
A note of suppressed rage hardened the nobleman's voice. "The Fon is an ambitious woman. She not only wants to rule Pra Desh, but Calah and the other Five Kingdoms, as well. She has already laid her plans to take over the rest of the country and invade our neighbor, Portane, in just two months' time.
Somehow, she has coerced this Branth into serving her. She uses his book and his power to strip our fine city, all to build her armies. She will lay waste to Pra Desh just to satisfy her insatiable lust for power."
Khan'di paused. When he spoke again his voice was calmer.
"Lady Gabria, Branth's presence has become intolerable. I beg of you, please come to Pra Desh and remove this man before the Fon fulfills her plans. I know I am asking a great deal, but if you could just take him away, the peop
le of Pra Desh---nay, of all Calah---would rise up and deal with the Fon themselves."
The hal went very quiet as the clansmen waited for a response. Gabria looked at Athlone's stony face, then at the splinter of the Fal en Star, the mark of a magic-wielder, glowing redly just under the skin of her wrist.
Sadly, she touched the bright spot. After the Hunnuli's warning and this news from the Pra Deshian, Gabria felt that she had no choice. She would have to try to find Branth before he wrecked havoc on the city or returned to the clans to take Medb's place. She knew, too, what she would have to postpone her marriage to Athlone. It wouldn't be right, beginning their life as husband and wife under such difficult circumstances.
"Athlone," she said into the silence. "He's right. I must go to Pra Desh as soon as possible."
At first the chief did not respond. He sat and stared into the fire for several long moments, his expression showing no trace of the conflict that warred within him. Finally he seemed to reach a decision, for he tossed out the dregs of his wine and slammed his cup on the arm of the stone seat. He did not notice that the horn cup split from the force of the blow.
Rising, he said tersely to the men around him, "It is late. We will make plans for the journey tomorrow. Gabria will go to Pra Desh."
His companions were startled by the abruptness of his dismissal. They stood and began to leave the hall.
"Bregan," Athlone called to one of the warriors. "Stay. I need to talk to you."
Gabria gazed at the chief's back, trying to hide her hurt. He had accepted her decision without a word; perhaps he didn't care after al . Since her return from the temple, she had found Athlone to be angry, irritable, and interested only in the news she could give. She began to wonder if she had misread him earlier. He was not worried that she was missing, simply angry that she had disobeyed his command by leaving the temple to go to Corin Treld. Perhaps in six months he had already changed his mind about her. She rose to go, her heart heavy. She looked up when Piers touched her sleeve.
The healer read the look in her eyes and understood.
"Don't take his rudeness to heart. The responsibilities of a chieftain weigh heavily on him tonight,”
he said gently.
She looked up at her old friend and squeezed his arm. "It's not very often you defend Athlone." The healer's pale eyes met hers with sympathy and caring.
"I'm fond of you both. Don't worry. Athlone wil come around as soon as he straightens out his own thoughts."
Wearily she nodded, more hope than conviction in her heart, and the healer took her arm. "Come,”
he said. "I have your old sleeping place ready for you." He led Gabria out of the hall and down the path toward his tent. She looked back at the hall entrance, hoping Athlone would cal to her, but the lord was talking to a warrior and did not even seem to notice she had left. She bowed her head and hurried on with Piers.
In the hal , Lord Athlone paced back and forth by the fire pit. The hall was momentarily empty, save for Bregan. The warrior was standing silently by the dais, waiting for his chieftain to speak.
Bregan was twenty years older than Athlone and a handspan shorter. His dark hair, worn short, was graying, and a black and silver beard trimmed his square face. He was dressed in a warm tunic and pants with none of the ornamentation or gold jewelry that was the privilege of a warrior of his experience. His features were well-defined, but in the past winter a deep sadness had left permanent lines on his forehead and face. Bregan watched his lord despondently, for he knew what Athlone was going to ask him and what he would have to answer.
Lord Athlone final y stopped pacing and said, "Bregan, I have asked you twice to be wer-tain and both times you refused. I have to ask you again. I need you as commander of my warriors."
Bregan shifted uncomfortably. "Lord, you know I can't."
Athlone held up his hand. "Before you refuse again, hear me out. I am going to Pra Desh with Lady Gabria."
The warrior did not look surprised. "Good. Branth must die,” he said flatly.
"And Gabria must not," Athlone muttered. He put his hands on the older man's shoulders. "I understand how you feel, but I am chieftain now and I must leave this clan in capable hands. The journey wil take months. You have the wisdom to rule in my stead, and you stil hold the respect of the werod. There is no one else I trust as much."
"Lord, you do me great honor, but please choose another! I cannot go back on my vow."
Athlone studied the man before him and saw the adamant refusal in Bregan's eyes. Of Lord Savaric's five hearthguard warriors who had been with him the day of his murder, only two still survived.
Two of the warriors had chosen suicide instead of facing the shame and dishonor of their failure. One warrior had died of an illness on the way back to Khulinin Treld---some said he had lost the will to live.
The fourth withdrew from the werod and each day drank himself into a stupor.
Only Bregan remained a warrior. After Savaric's death, he voluntarily stripped himself of his status and the gifts he had won for distinguished service, then placed himself in the bottom rank with the young warriors in training. He would begin again, he had told Athlone, and work to regain his lost honor.
The chief shook his head. He could respect Bregan's choice, but it did not help him solve his dilemma. He had not yet chosen a wer-tain for the clan in the hope that Bregan would eventually accept. Now he had to decide on someone else quickly. He dropped his hands from Bregan's shoulders and resumed pacing.
"Do you have any suggestions?" he asked.
"Guthlac would serve you well."
"He's too young."
Bregan's mouth lifted in a slight smile. "He is several years older than you were when you became wer-tain."
Athlone stopped pacing, his face thoughtful. "I wil think about it."
"He is a good warrior, and the others approve of him. He has been an excellent mentor for the younger men."
"Isn't he also your cousin?" Athlone asked, his eyebrow arched. The older man smiled, then the chieftain found himself mirroring the expression. "I wil think about it,” he repeated.
Bregan stepped forward. "Lord, wil you consider something else?" Athlone turned slightly, surprised by the note of pleading in the warrior's voice.
"Allow me to come with you," Bregan said. "I failed your father, but I swear by my life I will not fail you. You wil need guards. Let me be one of them."
"This will not be an easy journey. Gabria goes to face a sorcerer."
"I know that. Lady Gabria will need protection, too."
"Pack your gear,” Athlone ordered.
"Thank you, Lord." Bregan saluted the chief and withdrew, leaving Athlone in the chaos of his own thoughts. The young lord paced for a few more minutes, then left the hal and walked up a path to the top of the hill overlooking the camp. A large, flat rock lay among some scrubby bushes at the edge of the slope. It was Athlone's favorite place, for it afforded a view of the entire valley.
He gathered his cloak close against the night wind, sat on the rock, and studied the glorious clouds and patterns of stars breaking the monotony of the black sky. In front of him, a ful moon sailed high above the plains. He looked down on the encampment. The black tents melted into the darkness, but here and there pools of firelight gave shape to the sleeping camp.
Usually this view of Khulinin Treld gave Athlone solace and strengthened his sense of purpose.
Tonight, it only made his confusion more acute. Duty to his clan had always been his sole obligation.
When his father had been alive and Athlone was only wer-tain, that duty was clear and simple: defend the chieftain and the clan with his strength of arms and his battle-wit. Now he was chieftain and his sense of duty was split. He stil had to care for and defend the Khulinin, but he also had to avenge his father's murder, sustain the honor of the clan, and struggle to maintain peace with the other clans on the plains. To make matters more complicated, he loved a heretical sorceress more than life itself and fea
red for her safety. He Was still ambivalent about sorcery, especially his own talent, yet his love for Gabria was undeniable.
Athlone looked up at the deep black firmament and prayed he had made the right decision to go to Pra Desh. He would choose Guthlac to serve as wer-tain while he was gone. Hopefully the clan gods would watch over the Khulinin until he could return.
The chieftain shook his head and stood up. The decision was made; nothing could be served by worrying the matter to death. There were problems to settle, plans to make, and a journey to begin. For good or ill, he was going to Pra Desh with Gabria.
Calmer now, he strode back down the hil and returned to his quarters in the hal . He thought about going to Piers's tent to see Gabria, but the night was late and she had suffered from the long journey. He decided to wait until morning, when she was rested. He knew he hadn't given her a very pleasant welcome that evening; in the morning he would - apologize and make up for his bad temper.
With a yawn, Athlone laid his sword by the bed and settled down on the wool-stuffed mattress. He was asleep in moments, dreaming of Gabria.
CHAPTER FOUR
Gabria was glad to be back in Piers's tent, lying on her own pallet and listening to the familiar sounds of the sleeping camp. Her body was tired, and her thoughts were weary of spinning over the same paths. She wanted to sleep, but she could not. A strange restlessness coursed through her mind and kept her tossing and turning. The girl could not identify the cause of her uneasiness. It did not seem to spring from her own worries. It was a vague anxiety that stirred the deepest levels of her consciousness and kept her on edge throughout the night.
It was near dawn when Gabria was brought upright by a pain that lanced through her abdomen.
"Nara!" she said aloud.
Gabria! The call came clear in her mind. Please come. It is time.
The woman paused only long enough to pul on her boots and grab her belt and dagger. She bolted from the tent and ran down to the pastures. Nara was waiting for her by the river. Gabria recognized immediately the signs of approaching delivery. The foal had dropped down toward the birthing canal, and Nara's sides were wet with sweat from her labor.
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