Dark Horse (13 page)

Piers saw the tense lines that altered the boy's face. There was a stubborn dimension to that face that showed his strength and will to survive. He had noticed it before, and now it was very apparent in the clenched jaw, the tight muscles around the mouth, and in the way the boy did not hide from the truth. It was good. Gabran would need every advantage to live to the next wintering. The healer knelt by Cor and stared at the warrior. A tremor moved beneath Cor's jaw where the blood raced under the skin, and the heat of his fever beaded into sweat on his forehead.

"The spell,” Piers said slowly, as if remembering a long forgotten passage, "is the marshaling of the different flows of energy that constitute magic into one destructive force that can penetrate most defenses. It often appears as a blue flame. It is only as strong as the person who wields it, but if it is not control ed, it can appear as an automatic reflex in times of intense emotion."

"I do not understand. Do you believe this force came from me?" Gabria asked quietly.

"It's possible that it originated from someone else in the room, but that is unlikely," he replied.

"Piers, I know nothing about this sorcery. How could I have cast a spell of any kind?" Piers looked straight at Gabria and said, "There are only two ways. If Medb did not give the ability to you, then your ancestors did."

"No, it cannot be,” Gabria cried, her voice edged with fear.

Piers gripped the stone and rubbed his chin with his free hand. "I am a stubborn old man, Gabran. I see something I do not understand and I try to force an answer because I am afraid. You are the only answer I see. If you did not use the Trymian Force, even inadvertently, than the alternative is beyond my understanding. I am not certain there was sorcery. Only this can tel us." He held up the stone to the firelight and watched the warm glow of color spread over his hands like blood.

"My master told me once the steppe clans long ago produced the greatest sorcerers because they were empathetic to the primal forces that govern magic. He believed whole heartedly that the ability to draw on that power was an inherited talent." He paused and then said, "Unfortunately, the legends of those years are hazy with time and prejudice. After the destruction of the city of Moy Tura and the persecution of the sorcerers, no one wanted to remember where the talent came from."

In Piers's hand, the large stone began to flare suddenly. For a moment, Gabria thought it was just the flicker of firelight reflected in the gem's opaque interior. But the radiance brightened, driving out the opacity until the stone shone with a scarlet luminosity and crowded out the light of day and fire. The entire tent filled with the ruddy gleam.

"Now we know. Fasten the tent flap," Piers ordered. He held the stone gingerly over Cor's face as brilliant flashes flared out of the stone in radial bursts.

Gabria limped to obey and tied the fastenings tight with trembling fingers. She moved to the healer's side and watched in fearful awe. The rays of light from the stone seemed to probe into the warrior's head. "What does that stone do? What is it?" she whispered.

Piers answered slowly. "I do not know exactly what it is, only what it does." A weak smile touched his mouth. "I have never had to use it before."

"Will it help him?"

"I hope so. My old master gave it to me before he died. He said it was a healing stone that could only be activated by the presence of magic. The stone is supposed to remove all traces of magic from an injured person."

Piers laid the stone on Cor's forehead, and they watched in silence. The direction of the light beams focused into a downward spray that danced over Cor's face. Gabria noticed in amazement that the rays did not illuminate his skin, but sank into it like bright needles. She felt she ought to be horrified by this display of blatant heresy and leave before she was tainted further, but she held back and watched the light with an unacknowledged fascination.

The stone was beautiful and, if it could heal, it was a positive good---a denial of everything she had been led to believe about magic. Maybe sorcery was more complicated and multifaceted than she had imagined, with aspects both good and evil and every shade in between. Her mind boggled at such a revelation. Sorcery was supposed to be total y evil, a dark power that corrupted men into acts of hideous cruelty and depravity. It hardly seemed possible magic could also be helpful. She pushed the uncomfortable thoughts away and wondered instead how a healer could tel when the stone had finished its work.

As if to answer her question, a blue haze---the remnants of the Trymian Force in Cor's body---began to form around the warrior's head. The glow was pale at first, as indistinct as cold breath, then it brightened and thickened. The red stone blazed fiercely. The bloody light spread out over the blue haze and immobilized it in a prison of beams. Gradual y, the red light began to recede into the stone's core, pul ing the haze with it. The blue force seemed to struggle, bursting through its bonds with tiny blasts of purple. The red light grew stronger, and it finally dragged the last tendrils of the blue haze into the stone. There was a flash of violet and the light snapped out.

The stone rested, dul and opaque, on Cor's forehead. His body shuddered and relaxed into sleep, and the grimace of pain on his face slackened into peace. Piers picked up the stone and gently wiped the sweat from his patient's skin.

"What happened?" Gabria breathed. She was shaken by the display. Until that moment, magic had been so vague to her, something obscure, something she could only guess at. Now, it was a tangible truth. Its power, whether good or evil, did exist.

"The stone seems to have worked,” Piers replied. He could not hide his intense relief. "Cor is resting peacefully. His fever is down, too."

Gabria abruptly sat down on the stool. She could hardly believe what had just taken place. Her throat was dry, and, without thinking, she gulped down the contents of the wine cup on the table. In just a moment, a dul heat crept out of her stomach and slowly seeped into her limbs. She grew very sleepy. She had forgotten about the poppy extract.

The girl squinted woozily at Piers. "Will Cor be all right?" she asked thickly.

"He should recover. What he needs now is sleep." Piers returned the stone to its wrapping and placed it back in the chest. "I hope I never have to use that again." He did not look at Gabria, but gathered the contents of his mortar into a small bowl and added hot water to make a tea. He gently spooned the liquid down Cor's throat. When he was satisfied with the warrior's comfort, he opened his tent flap and turned to Gabria.

Piers was surprised to see her sitting on the stool again, leaning against the center tent pole. Her legs were thrust out in front of her and her eyes were dul ed with drug and exhaustion. Without speaking, the healer eased the laces of her boot and carefully removed it. He tried not to jar the puffy flesh of her injured ankle. The joint was purple and red, and still tainted green from the original injury.

He twisted it slowly, feeling the tendons and tom muscles beneath the soft skin.

Piers glanced up at his patient's face. The drug had relaxed Gabria's muscles, so her expression was slack and unwary. At that moment, the sun came out from behind the clouds, and the bright light poured through the open tent flap and il uminated her face.

Piers's hands froze; his body stiffened. Unbelieving, he wrenched his eyes from the face to the slim ankle in his hands, and the realization hit him like a blow. Gabria was gazing into the distance and did not see his horrified recognition. The medicine had dimmed her awareness and was carrying her to sleep. She did not even remember he was there.

Piers rocked back on his heels and wondered why he, of al people, had not seen it before. This enigmatic "boy" with the uncanny talent for magic and the companionship of a Hunnuli, was now even more inexplicable. A thousand questions hid her background, and Piers was only now beginning to understand a fraction of them. He thought back upon some of their previous conversations and the information he had heard from other clan members. He marveled at her skill in acting. It was a miracle of the gods' hands, if he cared to admit it, that this girl had survived so long undetected.

The healer considered telling Savaric, even though he knew the penalty for the girl's transgressions would be death. Gabran, or whatever her name was, had committed one of the most serious crimes in clan law by entering a werod in disguise, and, if the incident of sorcery were to be known, there would be no mercy. As a Pra Deshian, however, Piers did not share the clans' hatred for magic. Nevertheless, he had lived with the clans for ten years and their laws and customs were his. If he failed to reveal this girl's crimes, he would be just as guilty as she and would suffer the same punishment.

Piers began to move toward the tent flap. There would be warriors nearby who could fetch Savaric.

In a few moments it would be over. With luck, Gabran would die before the poppy wore off. Then, the Corin would be gone, the Hunnuli would -leave, and the magic would be ended. Piers's duty to his people would be fulfilled. The healer's hand felt for the opening.

"Father?" a weak voice whispered.

Piers stopped, and he realized with surprise that he was shaking.

"Father, don't go. I'm so afraid." The voice came again like a frightened child. A familiar echo of grief and despair woke memories Piers thought he had banished. Aching, he turned around, half expecting to see another girl with long blond hair and pale blue eyes, instead of a tall, dirty figure slumped on the stool. Gabria's eyes were closed and her head had fallen forward. Her cloak was on the floor, and her bare foot looked incongruous against the rest of her clothing. She was shivering.

"Father, what is all this blood?" she whimpered. Her fingers twitched as if she had touched something repulsive. "It is al over everything. Father, please don't leave me!" –

Piers picked up the cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders. She cuddled into it and sighed. "I'm so cold. Where is Gabran?"

The healer listened sadly as she mumbled on, about her family and the scenes she remembered of their murders. The images of their deaths mingled with his own memories of another painful death.

Long ago he had run away from Pra Desh, carrying his unpurged grief and rage with him-and the guilt that he had failed his own daughter. He looked down at the girl, the last Corin in the clans, and wondered if he was being given a chance to atone for his failures. Ten years ago, he had been weak and had followed his lord's command, against his better judgment. As a result, his daughter had died, and he had done nothing to save her. Now he had a chance to save this girl.

He picked her up and laid her gently on his mat behind the curtains. He bound her ankle in cold cloths and went to heat water for a hot pack. Piers could understand why the Khulinin had accepted the exile, despite their reluctance. There were too many conflicting sides to the Corin's tale. Now, he added his own motives. The girl was an outcast, like himself, yet she had survived so much with courage and intelligence. She deserved a chance, not a betrayal. He would simply take his chances with Savaric's wrath if-no, when-the Khulinin discovered the girl's secret.

* * * * *

It was late in the afternoon when Gabria awoke. She lay on the warm bed, feeling more comfortable and peaceful than she had in many days.

Then she heard pots rattling, and she opened her eyes. Cream curtains met her startled gaze. The memories of the past days returned in a deluge. It was all true-the massacre, the search for the Khulinin, Nara, the death of the mare, and the fight with Cor were all painfully real. She sighed.

"Piers?" Gabria called.

The curtains were thrown back and the healer stood beside her. "Good afternoon, Gabran," Piers said, his face carefully masked.

Gabria's eyes widened. "Afternoon? How long have I slept?"

"Only a few hours."

"Oh, no. Lady Tungoli---"

"She is the one who ordered me to let you sleep as long as necessary. Athlone led another hunting party after the lion."

Gabria carefully sat up and gingerly moved her ankle. It was tightly bound, but the swelling was noticeably less and she could move it some without pain. Piers gave her a hand and she stood up. She hobbled to the stool. The healer gave her soup, bread, and cheese. The girl inhaled the rich smell of the soup and suddenly realized how hungry she was.

When Gabria was finished eating, she pushed the plates away and relaxed with a ful stomach. She looked over to the pallet to see Cor still sleeping comfortably under the blankets. His face seemed free of pain, and there was no sign of the incredible magic that had invaded his body.

"How is Cor?" she finally asked.

Piers was cutting a slice of bread for himself and he glanced over at the warrior. "I am sure he will live, but he wil never take a wife." He felt pity for the young man. The blow from Gabran's bow and the arcane force had probably ruined Cor's sexual manhood. The man was an ill-tempered fool, but he did not deserve the stigma of impotency.

Gabria stared at the ground for a long while. She had so many thoughts and memories and emotions raging inside her mind, she could not think. She had no idea what to do next.

After a time, Piers came over and sat on another stool by the table. Gabria looked up at him. "What will you tell Savaric?" she asked, trying to keep her voice level.

The healer's long hands played with a crust of bread. His face looked old and tired. "I have been trying to think all afternoon of what I will say."

Gabria was pale, for she knew at this moment her life was in the healer's hands. By law, Piers must accuse her of sorcery to the clan chieftain and leave her fate to the chief and his elders. But if he did so, Piers would risk himself, for he had used the magic in the healing stone. It was a ticklish decision, and Gabria could not even guess what the healer would do. "Have you thought of something?" she inquired as calmly as possible.

"At the moment, I will simply tell him Cor was ill from complications of his injury from the fight, but that he is recovering now." Piers lifted an eyebrow. "Will that be sufficient?"