Dark Horse (24 page)

Piers watched her worriedly as she finished dressing. He wanted to say something to ease his own tension, but he could, find no words. The healer recognized the look of intensity that altered Gabria's face. Her eyes glowed with an untarnished light, and the dark circles that ringed her eyes made them look enormous. Her skin was flushed, and her movements were brief, as if she were preserving all her strength. Piers wanted to tel her, to warn her that her hopes of fighting Medb were in vain, but when he looked into her face, he could not find his voice. The girl was too withdrawn to listen. Only the sight of Medb and his crippled legs would convince her that her challenge for a duel was impossible.

Piers hoped that the realization would not break her. Gabria had survived so much and planned for so long to destroy the Wylfling lord in a duel that it might be difficult for her to see other possibilities for revenge.

When Gabria was ready, she sat silently with Piers and waited. The council was to begin at midday, so she had some time before Savaric came for her. She could not eat and she tried not to think, so she detached herself from everything except her resolution. Piers respected her solitude and simply sat with her in wordless support.

Earlier that morning, Savaric and Athlone had risen before the dawn. A messenger found them as the moon was setting and he bid them follow. To their astonishment, he carried a thin, long whip with a silver death's head crowning the butt. Only one smal group of men bore such strange weapons and they had not come to the gathering for untold years.

Bridling their curiosity, the two Khulinin belted on their swords and walked soundlessly past the guards, toward the two rivers and the sacred island. The flow of the rivers made the only sound in the cool night, and a short breeze tugged at their clothes. The messenger stopped them at the water's edge and whistled softly. Three figures detached themselves from the shadows of the standing stones and waded across the rapids. Each wore no cloak, only a simple tunic and an ankle-length robe belted with leather. They carried no visible weapons except for whips, which hung curled at their waists. Behind them, the dark gray stones waited like sentinels, watching but not listening. Athlone shivered under their gaze.

One of the men came to Savaric and held up his hand in a gesture of peace. "Good hunting, Brother,” he said. He was the same height as the Khulinin, and they eyed each other for several minutes.

Savaric tilted his head to one side. A slow smile spread across his face. "Seth. You are most welcome."

The strangers with the newcomer seemed to relax. They remained as stiff as statues, but they tucked their hands into the sleeves of their robes and moved back to give the chief and his brother more room.

Seth nodded imperceptibly. "I am glad to hear you say that. Does your hospitality extend to us all?"

The chieftain's glance swept over the four men, then returned to his brother's face. "Are all of you here?"

"No. Only the four of us. We need your help."

Savaric's eyebrows lifted. "Since when do the men of the lash need help?"

"Since the clans named us Oathbreakers. We wish to attend the council."

"What?" Athlone gasped.

Seth raised an eyebrow much like his brother. "What is the matter, Nephew? Has the council passed a law forbidding us entry to the gathering?"

Savaric put his hand on Athlone's shoulder. He shared his son's surprise. The men of the religious cult of the goddess, Krath, had shunned the gatherings for generations. Savaric wondered why, of al times, the men of the lash chose this year to come. Then he remembered that they were in sight of the guards and the camps, and he gestured to his brother. "Perhaps it would be better if we talked in my tent."

Seth agreed. He said something in a low voice to his companions and they disappeared into the darkness.

Savaric, Athlone, and Seth skirted the encampment and slipped into the chieftain's tent unseen.

Tungoli was waiting for her husband and she nodded politely, barely hiding her surprise, as Seth entered. She fetched wine before retreating behind the sleeping curtain. The three men squatted by a smal lamp and watched each other thoughtful y. In the dim' light, Athlone recognized a strong resemblance between the two brothers.

The Oathbreaker was younger than the chieftain, but years of rigorous training, self-denial, and life in wild lands had aged him. His skin was dark beneath his thick beard. His eyes were carefully deadpan.

It was said the followers of Krath could look into men's hearts and reveal the hidden evils that lurked there; they pried into secrets and opened guarded hatreds that were buried beneath facades. Because of this, few men dared to look an Oathbreaker in the eye and they themselves kept their eyelids half-closed as if to contain the horrors they had seen.

Savaric was the first to break the silence. "Maybe now you will tell us why you have come."

Seth leaned back on his heels and wrapped his robe careful y around his knee. "Medb."

"I did not realize he took an interest in Krath's cult,” Savaric said.

"He has the
Book of Matrah
."

Athlone and Savaric were badly shaken. The wer-tain paled. He looked at his father, for the first time showing real fear.

"We suspected that he was reviving the black arts, but we never imagined he had such help." The chieftain stared into the flame of the lamp, his face grim.

"He asked us to translate passages for him," Seth continued. "The library in the Citadel of Krath contains the only sources available for such an undertaking."

"What was your answer?" Athlone's voice was harsh.

A glint of irritation escaped Seth's eyes and his mouth tightened. "We said no."

Savaric looked up. "I'm surprised. I thought Krath would have appreciated Lord Medb's methods."

"Our ways may be different from the men of horses and iron, but we do not sit lightly by when threatened by the likes of a miserable chieftain."

Savaric ignored the insult. Despite his blood kinship to an Oathbreaker, he could not understand what turned a man from the ways of the clans to the dark secrets of a bloodthirsty goddess. Seth was beyond his comprehension, and, because of that, Savaric took a perverse pleasure in cracking his brother's shell whenever possible. "You're skittish tonight, Seth,” he retorted.

The Oathbreaker's expression went deadpan again. Even after years of training, he still could not maintain complete control before his brother. "We need you to take us to the council. Clan sentiment has never been with us and, without your endorsement, we would not be permitted to enter the council," he said in strict formality.

Athlone slammed his wine cup down. "You stil haven't told us why."

"Medb promised to destroy our citadel if we do not help him."

"And you want our help defending that nest of assassins?" Athlone cried.

Seth stiffened. The mask in his eyes slipped slightly and, for a moment, Athlone fancied he saw the glow of a raging inferno in the depths of those black orbs. The wer-tain tore his gaze away and stared at the floor.

"You would do well to learn tact, Athlone. You are stirring embers that are best left alone." Seth paused. "We came to warn the council of Medb's book and his growing powers-and to ensure that he does not threaten us again."

Savaric nodded. Only the men of Krath’s cult knew what was in the library of their citadel, but if the Oathbreakers wanted to break their self-imposed exile to warn the clans, it would be best if someone listened. "You may come." He paused and smiled at Athlone. "We will have several surprises for Medb in the morning."

"I hope he has none for us,” Athlone muttered. "Father, you are not going to go through with your plan after hearing this."

"We will see. Perhaps, with the right bait, Medb will trap himself.”

Seth drained his wine and said, "Only fools believe in an easy road."

At midmoming, Nara appeared by Piers's tent to fetch Gabria. Savaric decided for appearance as well as safety to let her ride the Hunnuli. The effect would be worth a thousand words when they came to the council.

When Gabria walked out with the healer, she saw Savaric, Athlone, several of the hearthguard warriors, and the four Oathbreakers already waiting for her. She was surprised by the presence of the men of the lash, but she only gave Seth and his companions a cursory glance. Seth, on the other hand, exchanged looks with his men, and, when Nara pranced to Gabria's side, he gave his brother an appreciative shake of his head.

Athlone helped the girl mount Nara's broad back. He looked into her drawn face and recognized the fires burning her within. He squeezed her knee. When she glanced down at him, her eyes were bright and distant.

"Keep a guard on your tongue. Do not do anything to risk the lives of this parry. Do you hear me?"

Athlone demanded.

His emphatic tone drew her back to the present. She nodded with some surprise.

The Hunnuli nudged her thoughts.
He is right, Gabria. Do not challenge the man yet. You are not
ready.

Gabria was watching Athlone talk to his father. "I am more than ready. My sword thirsts for his blood," she snapped.

I do not mean swordplay.

Gabria was jolted. "What do you mean?"

But the mare said nothing more, for Savaric was gesturing at them to lead the group. Gabria did not pursue the answer. Her mind was already set on her course of action and she did not want Nara dissuading her for any reason.

The Hunnuli tilted her nose down, arching her neck into curved ebony. She snorted.

"Are you ready, Gabran? It is time," Savaric said.

In answer for her rider, Nara threw her head high and neighed a challenge that reverberated through the camps. Boreas answered her from a distant meadow, and other horses neighed in return until the meadow echoed. The mare pranced forward, and the men fell in behind her. Gabria straightened her back. The girl flipped the edges of her cloak back until it lay neatly over the Hunnuli's haunches and flowed in a crimson tide to her boots. Behind her, the men walked, silently admiring the horse and her rider. Clan Khulinin gathered to watch them leave.

Gabria knew the effect the red cloak would have on people who did not know a Corin still existed, but she was not prepared for the impact her arrival made on the volatile atmosphere of the gathering.

Nara's neigh had stirred the camps like a stick in a wasp nest. Hundreds of people were crowding the riverbank, staring toward the Khulinin tents. The chieftains, who were waiting for Savaric at the council tent, went outside as word of the Corin's coming spread through the gathering.

When the Hunnuli and her escort crossed the Isin, a babble of voices broke out. A wall of clansmen stood on the riverbank, blocking the way to the council tent. For a moment, Gabria wondered if they would let her pass. Confusion, fear, and amazement were on every face. The crowd shifted and grew.

There were many people she recognized, but they seemed like strangers to her. Several people shouted at her; a few cursed her. Everyone now realized one Corin still remained, and they were bitterly reminded of their own negligence in honoring the memory of Clan Corin. Gabria ignored them all and raised her eyes to the banners flying above the council tent.

They reached the edge of the crowd. For the space of a breath, no one moved. Then Nara neighed again, imperiously. Immediately, the mob's attention focused on the mare, and a sigh drifted through the press. They moved aside, forming a corridor. Nara pranced forward, just as a short gust of wind unfurled Gabria's scarlet cloak like a chieftain's banner. Every eye followed the horse and her rider. Few noticed the Khulinin chieftain behind the Hunnuli, or the Oathbreakers who walked beside him. When Nara came to the council tent, Gabria dismounted. The chieftains met her at the entrance. Only Medb remained inside.

"My lords." She bowed to the other nine chiefs as Savaric joined her. "You may not remember me; I am Gabran of the Clan Corin. I would like permission to attend the council."

The nine looked at one another uneasily. Koshyn caught Savaric's eye and smiled with a twist of irony.

Malech, the Shadedron chief, said dubiously, "No uninitiated warrior is permitted to enter without his chieftain."

"I am the son of Dathlar and the only Corin, so by rights of the survival,
I
am chieftain," Gabria said coolly.

Athlone choked at her audacity and looked away. The lords any talked among themselves for a moment, and Savaric held back to al ow the chiefs to make their own choice. Around the tent, men from every clan watched and waited and held their own council.

Final y, Malech nodded and gestured to the tent. "You may join us, Gabran."

Before anyone moved, Savaric stepped forward. "Lords, I have given permission for a high priest and three members of the Cult of the Lash to attend the council as my guests. They have several important matters to discuss with us."

The chieftains suddenly noticed the four strangers with the Khulinin. Noise broke out anew as the men presented themselves. Several chiefs blanched and every clansman seemed to move back, away from the hated black whips.

"Treacherous filth,” Caurus, the red-haired chieftain of the Reidhar, snapped. "Leave this gathering at once."

The others murmured in agreement. The members of the cult had forsaken their vows of fealty to the clans and the chiefs, rightly earning the title "Oathbreakers." They were not specifically banned from the gathering, but they were certainly not welcome.

A dark cloak of fear hung on the Oathbreakers' shoulders, a fear born of whispered rumors and stories of heinous deeds. Few men knew the secrets of Krath's fol owers because few survived who broached the confines of the Citadel of Krath. Only the Oathbreakers' reputation as highly trained killers and their aversion to metal were known to al . Because they used metal, their only weapons were their bodies, their whips, and their finely crafted killing instruments of leather or stone. It was said an Oathbreaker could snap a man's neck with bare hands or remove a head with a flick of a vicious black whip. Their religious goal was to perform the perfect kill in the service of their demanding mistress.