Dark Horse (38 page)

She was leaning over to say something to Nara when the mare's ears swiveled back and her nose turned to catch the breeze.

"What is it?" Gabria whispered. Her hand crept to her dagger. Without her other weapons, she felt ill at ease, and she wished that she had brought her sword.

Men are behind us. The whip carriers. They are seeking us.

Gabria drew her dagger and hid it in a fold of her cloak. If the Oathbreakers were seeking her, they would find her. When they did, no weapon---save, perhaps Nara---would save her if the men of Krath wanted her dead. But the cold, hard feel of the knife under her hand steadied Gabria as she waited quietly for the men to come.

Gabria wondered why the Oathbreakers were trailing Nara. The last she had heard, the cult was besieged in their towers by Medb's forces, and no man among them would desert his post. She shuddered. If the Citadel of Krath had fallen, Medb cultists would have all the arcane tomes, manuscripts, spells, and artifacts in his grasp. He would be able to bring the clans to their knees in a matter of days.

Just then, out of the twilight, a shrouded figure on a dark horse rode into the trees. The figure raised his hand in a sign of peace as ten other riders rode up behind him. The man threw back his hood, revealing his thin, cruel face. He nodded and said, "Hail, Corin, and well met."

Gabria inhaled sharply. It was Savaric's brother, Seth. She stared at the bloodied gash on his forehead and at the weary, blood-stained men behind him.

Seth nodded, his fury barely contained. "Yes, we are al that is left. The citadel fell yesterday. Now we ride to the fortress. Do you wish to go?"

Gabria could only nod.

Seth motioned for his men to dismount. "We wil go at midnight," the Oathbreaker said curtly.

Then, without another word, he withdrew with his men and sat down to wait.

It was an hour after midnight when Gabria and the Oathbreakers started. Hundreds of campfires burned in a broad swath across their path. Guards and squads of men patrolled among the tents.

Somewhere a drum beat endlessly, as if marking the single heartbeat of the enemy camp. Medb had not bothered to fortify his flanks, for he expected no attack from behind.

Gabria and the men, leading their horses, were able to slip past the sentries to the outskirts of the encampment unnoticed. They gathered behind several wagons near the old road and waited for the path to clear.

They only had to wait a few minutes before Seth nodded to his men. As they mounted their horses, Gabria shot a glance down the road and saw that it was clear. She mounted Nara and closed her mind to everything but the road ahead, the road to safety and the clan.

Gabria's eyes began to gleam. She leaned forward over Nara's mane and the Hunnuli instantly sprang forward. The mare's ears were flattened and her head stretched out. Her hooves rang on the stone. Behind them, Seth and the cultists galloped in a tight group, their whips uncurled and the wrath of their goddess revealed on their faces.

Horns suddenly bel owed around them; men began shouting and running toward the road. The stone path still lay empty, but through the tents came soldiers to cut them off. Nara screamed a challenge as a mass of dark-skinned Turic warriors surged toward her. Gabria answered with the Corin war cry and hung on as the Hunnuli tore into them.

Snapping and kicking with hooves deadlier than any sword, the horse plunged into the attackers with ferocious speed until the men fell back in terror. The Oathbreakers fol owed the mare closely, their whips cracking with killing force. Arrows rained down among them, and one of Seth's men fell. Still they raced on behind the fury of the Hunnuli.

Before Gabria realized it, they had passed the main camp and reached the fields and front lines.

Startled, enraged faces turned toward the riders and the horns blared again. Then Nara raced past the defenses and toward the old stone bridge. Before the mare lay the dark, littered, bloody ridge and the road to the fortress gate.

Gabria prayed fervently someone would open the gate. Already she could hear the sounds of hooves as enemy riders galloped in pursuit. The fortress remained ominously quiet. Nara neighed imperiously as she ran over the bridge and up the road, but the gate still remained closed. Gabria glanced back and, seeing the pursuing riders, she closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. Open the gates, her mind cried.

A war horn sounded from the tower. As the ancient wall reared up in front of the riders, the gate was thrown open and Nara and the Oathbreakers' horses gal oped through. Shouts of anger came from behind as the gate crashed shut and was barred. Gradually the yells and hoof beats dwindled away and a tense quiet fell over those in the fortress. Gabria lay on Nara's neck, panting. The Oathbreakers wearily dismounted.

From out of the black shadows by the wall, a figure walked through the men to Nara's side. The Hunnuli nickered a greeting, and Gabria looked down into Savaric's face. She was stunned by the haggard lines on the chief's face and the weariness that dulled his movements. She slid off the mare and saluted.

"Lord, I beg your forgiveness for leaving without your permission. I only know I felt my reasons were important and that I had little time."

Many of the other warriors were staring at Gabria; Koshyn crossed his arms. Savaric remained quiet and deliberately examined her from head to foot, taking in her filthy, tattered clothes, her thin body, and her lack of a sword. At last, he returned her salute. "I'm certainly glad to have you back," he said, then his eyebrow arched in disapproval. "The next time you decide to leave, tell me first."

"Yes, Lord." She was relieved to find that he was not angry with her, but she still had to face Athlone. And Gabria knew he would have a few things to say. She glanced around and wondered where he was.

She and the men were standing by the front gate, in the bailey between the two wal s. A few torches flickered on the parapets, casting a dim light on the exhausted faces of the defenders and on the battered walls of the old fortress. Everywhere Gabria looked were signs of a hard-won battle. Broken weapons littered the ground, huge rocks and fallen masonry lay between the walls, blood stains marred the parapets. Gabria suddenly shivered. Where was Athlone?

Seth and his men walked to Savaric's side, and the brothers greeted each other.

"Does your presence here mean the citadel has fal en?" Savaric asked.

"For now."

"What of your library?"

Seth shook his head. "We had time to hide the most important books where Medb wil never find them. But---" Seth paused and pointed to his men. "We are all that are left."

Savaric glanced around. "There are not many left here, either. If Medb tries one more all-out assault, we'll not be able to hold the fortress. I'm afraid you picked a poor place for a sanctuary."

Seth shot a look at Gabria. "Not necessarily." He looked back at his brother and for the first time noticed something in the chieftain's face: the lines of crushing grief. Seth leaned forward and asked,

"Where is Athlone?"

Gabria stiffened.

For a moment, Savaric stared into the night, his face frozen. "Athlone is dead," he final y answered.

"He took some men out last night to burn the catapults and I did not stop him. Medb's men overwhelmed them."

Gabria stepped back as if struck by a blow. She started to shake and her heart caught in her throat.

Without a sound, she turned and fled into the fortress.

In the heated darkness of his tent, Lord Medb stirred on his couch. His eyes slowly opened like a bird of prey disturbed by the movement of a coming victim. A cold smile creased his face. So, he thought with satisfaction, all the prizes are gathering in the same trap. It made things much easier. Medb was not surprised that a few rats from Krath’s citadel had escaped; that warren was so full of bolt holes, even he would have had a difficult time finding them all.

What did surprise the Wylfling lord was the return of the Corin and his Hunnuli. He thought that the boy was long fled, cowering in some hole. Instead, the Corin had broken through his lines to the safety of the fortress. Medb chuckled to himself.

He knew the outcome of this siege. While it was true he had been surprised by Savaric's move to the fortress, it would still not avail the fool. The fall of the clans was inevitable. He had let his mercenaries try their hand at cracking Ab-Chakan, and the ruin still stood. Now it was his turn. He would let the clans stew a little while longer, then he would attempt another method of breaking them that would be faster and more efficient.

A new, delightful possibility had fallen into Medb's lap and he was pleasantly contemplating his choices. He chuckled and glanced at his unconscious prisoner, bound hand and foot to the tent poles.

Medb had in mind a simple trade, after which the clans could go free with their beloved Athlone returned.

They would not realize until too late that the man was not the same independent, fiercely devoted leader he had been. But by then Athlone would be chieftain and the Khulinin would be solidly in a Wylfling grip. Of course, if the clans refused to barter, Medb would still have the pleasure of forcing them to watch as Athlone died a particularly nasty death. He leaned back on his couch and laughed.

* * * * *

Morning came quickly on the wings of a rising wind. The night chil fled and the heat of the sun seeped into the earth.

The clansmen and the Oathbreakers stood behind the wal s and watched the sun il uminate the sorcerer's camp. There was no sign of the bodies of Athlone, the Hunnuli, or any of the men who had gone with them. Throughout the fortress, the clansmen gripped their weapons and waited in the mounting heat and dust. They knew Medb would not hold off his attack much longer.

In the general's palace, Piers was attending the wounded in the great hall. He had heard of Gabria's return, but he had not seen her and was beginning to worry. By midmorning, there was stil no sign of her' and Lady TungoIi offered to go look for the Corin.

She found Nara first, in the shelter of a crumbling wall near the main road. Gabria was curled up asleep in the mare's shadow. TungoIi gently shook her.

"Gabran,” the lady said gently. "Morning is almost gone. Piers is pacing the floor waiting for you."

Gabria stretched her stiff muscles and looked up at the lines of grief etched on TungoIi's face. Her own sadness tightened her throat and her heart ached. She stood up and the two of them walked slowly back toward the palace.

"I'm glad you're back," Tungoli said after a few steps. "Athlone was very fond of you. He was terribly upset when you left."

The girl felt her tears burning in the back of her eyes, and she fiercely fought them back. She could not weep yet. "I'm sorry," she said, not knowing what else to say.

A small smile touched Tungoli's face. "I may be a foolish, wishful mother, but I don't believe he's dead."

Gabria stared at the chieftain's wife.

"It's only an intuition, I guess," Tungoli went on. "But I feel he is still alive. For now." Her mouth trembled and tears sparkled on her eyelids. "I would give almost anything to have him safe."

A small seed of hope stirred in the girl's mind. "If you're right, Lady, I will do everything I can to save him."

Tungoli took her arm. "I believe you, Gabran. Thank you." They walked on in silence to the palace.

Piers was delighted when Gabria came into the great hall. He waited beside the warrior he was tending and watched gladly as the tal , sunburned girl strode through the crowd to him. She moved with a subtle grace and wore an air of self assurance most clanswomen tried to hide.

Piers clasped her with honest warmth. "Welcome back, Gabran. Your journey was successful." His words were a statement, for he could see the truth in her eyes.

Gabria nodded, touched by the unspoken concern in Piers's gesture. "For what it's worth."

The healer understood much of what she did not say. "Choices are often hard," he said softly. "But don't you think yours was already made?"

"I guess there never was a choice. I ride the only way left open for me." She smiled a little weakly.

"Sometimes though, it seems to me I am very unfit for this task. Why would the gods lay so careful a trail and spend so little time preparing the one who must follow it?"

"That is the paradox of some of our best tales, Corin," Cantrell said behind her.

Gabria turned and greeted the blind bard. "I doubt anyone will sing tales of my deeds. Everything I've done has been unlawful."

"It is the ending of the tale that often decides that," he replied.

Seth came through the palace doors and saw Gabria. He came to join them. "Corin, I need to see you. Are you done here?"

Piers looked at the cultist in obvious distaste. "Go ahead, Gabran. We'll talk later."

Seth strode out the doors, expecting Gabria to fol ow. She hesitated. Her eyes met Piers's, and she saw his unmistakable support and affection. Comforted, she ran to catch up with Seth.

* * * * *

The silence was the first thing Gabria noticed when she and Seth passed the last building and came into sight of the inner wall. They slowed and Gabria stared around with a growing suspicion that something was wrong. There was no one by the inner wal , so they walked through the first gate to the bailey.

On the battlements above, Savaric, Koshyn, Ryne, and a crowd of warriors were leaning against the stone parapets, staring down at the fields. No one moved. Beyond the fortress wall everything was quiet. There was no sound or sense of movement in the val ey below.

Following Seth, Gabria picked her way over the trampled dirt and tumbled stone to the stairs. They joined the chiefs on the parapet and looked over the wall to the fields. The sorcerer's army was in full array; the men stood in stiff ranks in a large crescent around the mouth of the valley. Everything was totally still.

Lord Koshyn suddenly stirred and pointed. "Look."

A large wagon carrying a number of men and pul ed by four horses rol ed out of the ranks of men toward the fortress. The defenders watched in growing suspicion as it crossed the bridge and stopped by the remains of the catapults. It turned ponderously around, and the men on board heaved off something large and black. As the wagon pulled away, a gasp and a moan of anger rose from the watching warriors. It was Boreas, the spear still protruding from his chest.