Dark Horse (32 page)

"Yes. Please tell Athlone not to worry. I will be back."

He chuckled softly. "The wer-tain will be very busy for the next few days, but I wil tell him. Please be careful. My advice is not always commendable."

"The Hunnuli will see to my safety. Farewell." She slipped away.

Piers rolled over. "So she is leaving at last."

"Yes. I only pray it does more good than harm."

"Bard, she had no choice."

Cantrell sighed. "I know. But the Woman of the Marsh can be dangerous, and she may not accept another pupil."

"It is more dangerous to have an untrained magic-wielder in our midst."

The bard relaxed into his blankets. "We wil see soon enough," he said sadly.

Piers lay back and looked up at the stars. "The gods give you speed, Gabria," he murmured to himself.

Nara was waiting for Gabria on the edge of camp. As silently as wind-blown shadows, they glided past the guards and disappeared into the darkness. For a short distance, the Hunnuli Cantered south along the path the clan had fol owed, then she veered east and stretched out into a gal op. Like a cloud scudding across the night sky, she swept over the leagues of grass, her legs thrusting forward in an endless rhythm. She can effortlessly, and the air trembled as she passed. Astride the mare's back, Gabria held fast to Nara's mane and marveled at the speed the Hunnuli held. The girl leaned forward. The wind whipped the mare's black mane into her face.

Nara felt her rider's joy and in answer, she leaped forward ever faster. Her nostrils flared, her ears tucked back, and her muscles flowed beneath her black hide. The immeasurable plains opened before them. Far ahead, a thunderstorm etched the horizon with lightning. Flinging her head high, the mare raced to meet the storm.

They swung wide to the east to avoid running afoul of Medb's army, eventual y bending their way south toward the Sea of Tannis and the marshes of the Goldrine. The storm was left behind. After a while, Gabria was lulled by the rocking of Nara's gait and she dozed on the mare's neck, watching through half-closed lids as the land flowed away beneath them in a blur. Imperceptibly the blur began to lighten and tinge with color. Once, Gabria started awake and looked up to see the sun poised on the rim of the world.

The hills flattened somewhat, rising in a slow, easy swell, and their treeless slopes soon were covered with thick grasses that formed a springy cushion under Nara's hooves.

The day quickly grew hot and the wind faded. Above, a hawk circled in the bril iant blue sky, but it was the only living thing that Gabria saw all day. Either the animals were lying low to escape the heat or had fled at the sight of the running Hunnuli. By noon, shimmering heat mirages wavered in the distance.

Gabria was stiff and thirsty, and, at last, she could feel Nara beginning to tire.

The Hunnuli found a water hole in a depression between several hills, and horse and rider rested in the shade of a small copse of trees. Gabria and Nara left again a few hours later and the mare galloped south with the wind. At dusk, they came to the edges of the Goldrine Marshes.

* * * * *

It was late in the morning before Athlone knew that Gabria was gone. The realization that he had not seen the girl or the Hunnuli for hours came gradually as he led a company of the werod ahead of the caravan. When he questioned Boreas, he learned that Gabria had left in the night, but where she was going the stallion would not say. Blazing with fury, the wer-tain galloped Boreas back to the caravan.

There were only two men who might know where the Corin went, and Athlone intended to find out what they knew.

Piers, walking by the side of his wagon, saw the wer-tain bearing down on him and spoke a soft warning to Cantrel , who was seated on the loaded bundles. The healer clucked to his old mare and began whistling nonchalantly.

"Where is that wretch of a Corin?" Athlone demanded as Boreas skidded to a halt. The clansmen around them stared curiously; Piers tried to look innocent.

"The boy wil be back soon, Wer-tain,” Cantrell answered.

Athlone's face was livid. "Where is he?" he shouted, almost forgetting to use the masculine term before the interested onlookers. Boreas pranced sideways under his rider's agitation.

The bard shrugged. His bandaged face showed no expression; his voice was calm and reasonable.

"His cause was urgent and he will return. Let us leave it at that."

"I will not leave it at that. That boy is under my care and . . . stop that infernal whistling,” he snapped at Piers. The healer gave him an aggrieved look, which Athlone ignored. "Gabran had no just reason to leave alone at this time! It's far too dangerous." His eyes suddenly narrowed. "Unless . . . he's been under Medb's sway all this time!"

"Athlone, read your heart,” Cantrell said. "You know that is not true."

"Then why did he leave? And why did you let him go?" Athlone shouted at both men.

"We had no say in Gabran's decision," Piers replied. "But we would not have stopped him."

Boreas spoke gently in Athlone's mind,
Nara went with Gabria, Athlone. They wil return soon.

The Wer-tain calmed down a fraction. "I hope to the gods that boy does return,” he said with feeling. "Because if Medb or the marauders don't kill him, I just might." Boreas spun around and galloped off, leaving Piers and Cantrell relieved.

"Have you noticed," Piers said, "that the wer-tain appears to care for the Corin more than he realizes?"

Cantrell nodded. "Interesting, isn't it? But the tragic paradox is if she kil s Medb to save the Khulinin, clan law will order her death for using magic. Athlone, as wer-tain of her adopted clan, will have to fulfill that edict."

"Is that her doom?" Piers asked sadly.

"Only if she can find the answer to Medb's riddle."

"And if she does not. . ."

Cantrell finished the sentence for him. "None of us need worry about difficulties with clan law."

High, hazy clouds drifted in during the afternoon and obscured the sun with a half-hearted veil.

Word passed down through the ranks that the fortress was only a few miles distant, and those with sharp eyes could already discern the black towers like tiny teeth against the reddish bluffs. The caravan was heartened by the news. Forcing their weary legs to move faster, they pushed on, hoping to reach the stronghold by dusk.

Suddenly there was a commotion at the rear of the caravan. It spread up the line like wildfire as a Khulinin, a crude, bloodied bandage on his shoulder, gal oped by on a lathered horse. Two outriders rode at his side. Voices raised in consternation, for the Khulinin recognized him as one of the trackers sent to observe Medb's forces. The clanspeople watched as he halted before the chiefs at the head of the caravan. Many heads turned to look behind them, expecting to see the sorcerer's army bearing down on them. Many hands reached for weapons.

The tracker leaned wearily on his saddle and saluted his chieftain. His face was grimy with dust and sweat, and his brow was creased with pain. "They are close, Lord," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "Three days at the most."

The men broke out in exclamations. Savaric cut them off. "Where?"

"They were moving toward Khulinin Treld, but they turned after us several days ago."

"I see. Have you seen the band of exiles?"

The tracker nodded angrily. "They chased us for a while. An arrow kil ed the other scout, Dorlan."

Savaric cursed under his breath. "Where are they now?"

"Harassing the Dangari. The blue cloaks are coming behind us, too."

Savaric's smile was dry. "I wonder who will reach us first."

* * * * *

Built during the reign of the eighth Tarn Emperor, the fortress, Ab-Chakan, was the culmination of one architect's dreams and skills. The builder had chosen his site midway in the Himachal Mountains, where the val ey of the Isin opened out onto the plains. At the head of the val ey, the hil s closed in, forming a deep defile that wound inward to the heart of the mountains, where the cliffs rose in impregnable buttresses and the river sprang from the lightless roots of the mountains.

At the mouth of the gorge, where the river flowed out into the val ey, the slopes ended abruptly in high bluffs. There, the emperor's architect had built Ab-Chakan on a small ridge of rock that thrust out from the southern cliffs and partially blocked the entrance to the defile.

The builder had constructed an octagonal fortress with black towers at each corner. Walls thirty feet high and so thick two horses could walk abreast along the top united the towers. The battlements had overhanging parapets and crenellations through which archers could shoot. The great stones of the wal were set with such skil that no wedge could be driven between their joints.

Realizing the value of the defile behind the fortress, the men of old also constructed a thick wall from the corner of Ab-Chakan over to the northern cliff, barring the entrance to the gorge. The Isin passed beneath the wall through a culvert. The river's current was too strong to swim or dam, and as it curled around the foot of the fortress, the Isin itself provided another natural defense for Ab-Chakan.

It was nearly dark when the wagons finally reached the crossroads, where a wide, well-paved road intersected their road and went up to the main gates of the fortress. The Caravan halted and every eye turned to the hulking, dark mass above them. Its blank walls and windowless towers were eerie and seemed to loom over the clans in the twilight.

Even Athlone was reluctant to broach the hidden secrets of the fortress at night, so the clans decided to spend the night in the relative safety of the defile. Another road led to a crumbled gateway in the river wall. The travelers carefully picked their way over the remains of the road and into the gorge.

The noise of the tumbling river seemed horribly loud in the canyon, and the wind-haunted walls of rock reared over them like prison towers. The floor of the defile was uneven and rocky. The meager path was often blocked with stony debris, but the clans pushed on deeper into the gorge, until they found a wide, grassy area free of broken boulders. There they set up camp and waited anxiously for morning.

Light came slowly in the deep gorge, but the chiefs and their clans set to work long before the sun rode over the river wall. They found caves near the mouth of the river, and they hid their wagons and supplies. The herds were left under such guard as could be spared. The women went to work gathering what food could be found, baking unleavened bread, fil ing the water skins, and gathering wood. The armorers set up their small forges to repair weapons and make arrows and spear points. The children were sent to cut fodder for the animals.

Savaric, meanwhile, put the men to work on the river wall. It had stood for centuries, but floods and time had taken their tol . The warriors put aside their horses and swords to carry stone and shift earth. They spent the day strengthening the gate and fil ing in the ruinous gaps in the stones.

Athlone was still angered at Gabria's disappearance, so he threw himself into the unfamiliar labor.

His men watched him and wondered, but they were heartened by his tireless strength and they worked long into the night without complaint or slacking. Above them, the massive shape of Ab-Chakan sat in forbidding vigilance.

When night came, the three clans were pleased with their progress. The women and children had gathered a large store of food, water, and firewood. The river wall was patched and the gate was shored up against attack. Few expected the wal to survive a prolonged siege, particularly if the guardian fortress fell. But while its stones stood and defenders survived, the wall would help protect the herds and act as a last defense if the clans had to retreat into the defile.

The clanspeople went back to their camp bone-tired and, although they had done a major task, they al knew that the primary work had to be done tomorrow on the fortress. So the clanspeople treated their blisters with salves, rubbed their weary muscles, and prayed for more time-time to strengthen Ab-Chakan and to learn its secrets, time for the Dangari to arrive.

Savaric knew that Koshyn would keep his promise to come, but somewhere between Dangari Treld and Ab-Chakan was the band of marauders, and behind the Dangari was Medb's army. If anything went wrong, Koshyn's clan would be slaughtered. Savaric considered sending messengers to the Dangari to urge them on; instead, he settled for posting watchers on the bluffs. It would do no good to tel Koshyn something he already knew.

Nevertheless, Savaric could not keep his eyes from wandering to the south, where he hoped to see the dust of an approaching clan. Or of a Hunnuli. Athlone had told him of Gabran's disappearance and, although he was distressed at the boy's danger, he sensed Gabran had an important reason for leaving.

If the gods al owed, the boy would soon return.

The next day, the clansmen broached the fortress. The three chiefs, along with Cantrell, Athlone, and a picked force of warriors, trod the ancient road to the main gates. The stone road that began in the valley crossed the river on a crumbling bridge and climbed the face of the short hill.

When the men reached the top of the hil , they stood on a broad, smooth ramp that led through the wal into the fortress. On either side were two of the eight towers, and, at their base, the walls molded into the natural rock and fell away to the valley floor. Before the men, the main gate stood partially open.

Two bronze doors, now weathered to a dingy brown, hung in the huge archway of the front entrance. Fifteen feet tall or more, they rose above the men's heads to a curved lintel carved with strange beasts and letters. On each door a bronze lion's head glared down at the interlopers. The lions, guardians of the gate, were worn and grimy, but their topaz eyes still glittered fiercely in the rising sun.

Within the gate, the men glimpsed another wal and red colored buildings, dark doorways and patches of thick weeds.

The abandoned wal s towered above them, and the wind moaned in the empty towers. The men paused at the entrance and stared nervously inside. The huge, echoing fortress held only shadows, but the enclosed, lifeless confines were almost more frightening to the free-roaming clansmen than all the armies of Medb's host. Warriors with gleaming swords were a tangible danger. These strange, old ruins were beyond their knowledge. Stil , the clans' survival depended upon this stronghold and upon learning how to exploit its advantages.