Lightnings Daughter (14 page)

Irritably, the Fon put away the makings of the spel . She hid the golden cage and the
Book of
Matrah
in a secret compartment she had constructed beneath the floor of the old storeroom. The room was forbidden to the palace inhabitants on pain of death, but she was taking no chances with her precious book or the golden cage.

As soon as Branth was completely rested they would try again. Until then, she would have to tighten her security and continue to lay her plans for the invasion of Portane, the first of the neighboring kingdoms that would fall to her might.

With a snap of her fingers, she ordered Branth to move to his pallet of straw by the wall, where his chains hung. The man ignored her, and she was forced to yank him to his feet. For just a moment, his eyes flashed hatred.

"Branth!" she said, her words cold and deadly. "Go to the wal ." The emotions snuffed out of the man's gaze. He shuffled to his place like a whipped dog. The Fon chained him with the shackles, left him some food and water, and locked the heavy door of the storeroom.

Although it was night and the palace inhabitants were probably asleep, the Fon took the precaution of using hidden passages to reach her private rooms on the third floor of the palace. With a chuckle of pleasure, she stepped out onto the balcony of her bedroom and looked down on the sprawling city of Pra Desh. The harbor was a silver crescent in the moonlight. Her glance found the reflection of the Serentine River and slowly fol owed the water's path north through the city and beyond into the rich farmlands of Calah. The river's trail vanished in the darkness, but the Fon followed it onward in her imagination, past the borders of Calah to Portane and the other lands of the Five Kingdoms.

"Soon," she whispered to herself. "Very soon."

* * * * *

"Gabria!" The shout came from a long distance behind her, its urgency clear over the sound of galloping horses.

The young woman tried to ignore the cal . She knew what the shout meant: they had been riding for hours and the men wanted her to slow down. But the memories of her dream still burned in her mind and urged her on. She had to keep going. She had to get to Branth before it was too late.

The call came again. "Gabria!"

Gabria, this road is treacherous. We must slow down,
Nara said in her thoughts.
The others cannot
keep pace with us.

"Then leave them. I don't need any of them,” the woman cried. Although Nara continued to run, Gabria could feel the mare's reluctance breaking her smooth stride.

I know the men are causing you confusion, but you cannot leave them. You need them with you.

Gabria's hands tightened on the horse's mane. She had a wretched headache from both the wine and the vision, and her thoughts were a whirlwind of frightening, half-seen dreams and tangled memories of Athlone, Sayyed, and the night before. She was angry, confused, and in no mood to be reasonable. "No. I don't need them. They're making me crazy."

Nara nickered, the sound like gentle laughter.
So I have noticed. Stil , we cannot go on like this. My
son cannot keep up.

Gabria turned to look back and saw the small, black form far behind, struggling gamely through the mud to catch up with his mother. Eurus was staying with him, and farther behind were the seven men and the other horses. She said, "Oh, Nara, I'm sorry."

The Hunnuli immediately slowed to a walk, and in a moment, Eurus and the colt cantered to her side. Their black coats were spattered with reddish mud, and their hooves were caked with the stuff.

The colt was so tired he could not even nicker his relief.

The men caught up shortly. Their horses were muddy, too, and sweating heavily. Atop his steed, Piers looked thoroughly miserable.

Athlone, who looked much less put out by the hard ride, started to say something, but Gabria glared at him, turned her back on the company, and rode ahead up the trail---this time at a more manageable pace. The men glanced at one another, yet no one spoke their thoughts. They were a very silent group as they fol owed the road north in the wake of the sorceress and her Hunnuli.

The rain ended shortly after midday, and a warm wind from the south pul ed the clouds apart and cleared the huge sky. By late afternoon, the green-gold hil s basked in the warm sun, and a verdant smell of herbs and grass rose from the damp earth.

The comfortable heat of the spring sun dried the travelers' cloaks and hoods, their packs and horses. It also warmed their spirits. Gabria slowly felt her tension and frustration melt away in the mel ow sunshine. Although her dream stil bothered her and urged her on to Pra Desh, she slowly realized that much of her inner turmoil was caused by the men. They were making her crazy.

She was already worried and nervous about a confrontation with Branth and the Fon. Now her emotions were being torn apart by the two men she cared for more than anyone. She still loved Athlone, but he did not seem to want her. Sayyed, on the other hand, obviously adored her, but she did not know if she wanted him. She was being pushed and pul ed in too many directions.

The other men were not much help, either. Piers, her usual counselor and supporter, was either miserable with his cold or arguing with Khan'di. For his part, the merchant was constantly urging the party to keep moving toward Calah as fast as they could go. Bregan never let Lord Athlone out of his sight long enough for Gabria to talk to the chief, and the other three warriors never said a word to her.

This journey would be enough to try the patience of Amara, Gabria noted silently. Nevertheless, she knew Nara was right.

She did need the men to help her reach Pra Desh and find Branth. Without them she would be lost.

The young woman took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. It would do little good to antagonize her companions with her bad temper. She would have to calm down and find a way to deal with her tangled feelings.

By the time the company stopped to camp by a watering hole, Gabria had rejoined the men. Her earlier frenzied anger was apparently put aside. She laughed and talked with Sayyed and Piers, chatted with Khan'di, and teased Bregan about his short-legged horse. She tried to talk with Athlone, without much luck. The chief was taciturn al evening and seemed to have his thoughts a thousand leagues away.

For the next several days the company continued on their northern route, riding fast on the heels of Gabria and the Hunnuli. She pushed them al hard, for the sense of urgency that had awakened during her dreams grew stronger by the day. They were losing precious time. They had to reach Pra Desh before Branth attempted his spell again.

Although Nara and Eurus tried to keep a pace the smaller Harachan horses could tolerate, the constant, hard traveling began to take its tol on the weaker horses.

One afternoon, four days from Jehanan Treld, Bregan's horse tripped in a rodent hole at the side of the road and fell heavily on his head. Gabria, riding beside the warrior, heard a sickening crack as the horse went down and saw Bregan thrown violently to the ground. She slid off Nara immediately and went to the warrior's side. His head was bloodied, and his eyes held a vague, dazed look. He tried once to get up before he fel back in her arms.

The other men dismounted and came running. Piers examined the injured warrior, then looked up at Athlone with obvious relief. "He's cut and bruised. He might even need stitches, but he should be al right."

"Stubs won't be,” one of the other warriors said glumly.

They turned to look at Bregan's gelding, stil struggling on the ground. The three Hunnuli were standing beside the stricken horse, their muzzles close to his to quiet and comfort him. Everyone could see the shattered, bloody end of his foreleg.

Athlone cursed. He knew how much Bregan loved his horse. Silently, Athlone drew his sword and knelt beside the gelding.

"No! Wait'" Bregan pul ed himself painfully to a sitting position. Blood poured down his face from the deep cut on his forehead. He snuggled to focus on his horse and, as the realization hit him, tears mingled with the blood on his face. Slowly he crawled to Stubs and cradled the horse's head in his lap.

The gelding nickered once and relaxed in Bregan's arms. Without a word, the old warrior gently pul ed the horse's nose up until the base of the throat was exposed. Athlone drove the point of his sword through the soft throatlatch, deep into the brain. Stubs died instantly.

Bregan, blinded by blood and tears, closed the gelding's eyes and passed out.

They removed the bridle and saddle and erected a cairn of rocks over Stubs's body. Piers and Secen gently lifted Bregan onto the healer's mare. It was almost dark by the time they rode on, so they soon stopped in a sheltered, wooded valley only half a day's travel from the winter camp of the Reidhar clan.

While the other hearthguard warriors set up the small traveling tents and Gabria starred a cooking fire, Piers tended to Bregan's injuries. The warrior had roused from unconsciousness and was muttering between his clenched teeth as the healer gently cleaned the wound on his forehead. That done, Piers began to stitch it closed with a tiny bone needle and horsehair thread. Athlone and Khan'di came to sit beside them.

"The blow to Bregan's head is serious," Piers said without preamble. "He's going to need at least a day of rest."

The chieftain glanced an inquiry at Khan'di. The nobleman rubbed his mustache and said, "There is not much time left. If the Fon stays with her original plan, she will invade Portane in fifteen days."

"My lord, I . . . Ouch!" Bregan flinched away from Piers's needle.

"That's what happens when you move! You're worse than a child,” the healer admonished. He pushed Bregan's head around so he could see the gash better in the firelight.

"If you were about to say that you don't need the rest,” Athlone told the old warrior, "forget it. All of us could use a respite from the road." A look of concern crossed his face. "We could also use several new horses and some supplies."

Piers looked sharply at the chieftain. "Do you intend to stop at Reidhar Treld? Is that a good idea?"

"No. But they're close, and we have little choice."

Khan'di asked, "What is wrong with the Reidhar?"

"There's nothing particularly wrong with the clan,” said Piers, tying off a stitch on Bregan's forehead. "The trouble is their chieftain, Lord Caurus. He hates sorcery, and he's suspicious of the Khulinin's wealth and influence. Last summer, when Medb threatened the clans with war, Lord Caurus would not side with Medb, but he wouldn't side with Lord Savaric either. He took his clan back to their lands and waited to see what would happen."

"I don't know what he expected to do there,” Bregan commented. "His clan would never have survived an attack by Lord Medb if the sorcerer had survived the battle at Ab-Chakan."

Athlone chuckled. "Caurus stil can't believe my father and Gabria destroyed Lord Medb without his help."

"He won't be happy to see us,” Bregan said, frowning.

"He will abide by clan hospitality," Athlone stated flatly. "We wil receive the supplies we need to continue."

Piers finished the stitching and began to put away his tools. "Wil he include Gabria in that hospitality?" he asked carefully.

Khan'di turned to watch the sorceress as she helped Sayyed fix the evening meal. "She travels with us. Doesn't clan law make it clear that she must be included?"

"Caurus might not pay attention to the details of the law, but I don't intend to give him a choice."

Athlone replied.

Bregan and Piers exchanged glances at the stone-cold tone of the chieftain's voice. "I hope you're right." Piers said. "Gabria needs rest more than any of us."

There was a pause. The chief shifted slightly and said, "Why?"

"I think this confrontation with Branth is affecting her more than we realize. She has been pushing herself too hard."

Athlone's eyebrows went up. His cold, dark eyes softened a little, and he nodded once to himself.

"We have al been pushing her,” he said quietly. He slapped Piers on the shoulder and went back to work.

After the meal, Athlone passed the word of their destination to the rest of the parry. Gabria's heart sank. She did not like Lord Caurus. He was loud, arrogant, and very unpleasant to anyone who annoyed him. He had also made it clear last summer that he despised sorcery---an attitude he had impressed upon his clan.

While the men settled down for the night, Gabria went for a long walk beside the creek that meandered through the val ey. She took only her thoughts with her and tried to find solace in the solitude of the spring night. She did not have much success.

On her way back to camp, she passed the meadow where the horses grazed and saw Athlone standing in the grass with Eurus. The chieftain was brushing the Hunnuli's ebony coat with a steady, unconscious stroke.

For a time the young woman stood in the shadows and watched the chieftain. She wanted to talk to him, to ask him what was wrong, to learn if he still loved her. But an uncomfortable reluctance to know the truth made her hesitate.

Her heart pounding, Gabria final y walked out of the trees to Eurus's side. The big horse nickered a welcome, and Athlone started, dropping his brush. To hide his nervousness, he slowly leaned over to retrieve it, then took the time to clean it of din.

Nara came to join them, and Gabria leaned gratefully against the mare's warm side. "Athlone, I . . ."

The chief did not seem to hear her. He resumed brushing Eurus and immediately said, "Tomorrow, when we ride to the Reidhar camp, I want you to wear your skirts. Put your sword away and keep quiet."

Gabria straightened and felt her face begin to burn. "I had already planned to do so,” she replied, her words frosted with anger.

"Good. We need the Reidhar's cooperation. And another thing,” he went on, "al of us have been expecting a great deal from you. Too much, I think, and our feelings have only been getting in the way.

We need to remember the priorities of our journey."

Athlone glanced at her form in the shadow of the Hunnuli. It was too dark to see her face or the hurt confusion in her eyes.