Lightnings Daughter (11 page)

He ignored the other men, who were watching him with varying degrees of curiosity and wariness, and dismounted from his horse. He came to stand by Gabria's foot. "You are Gabria of Clan Corin,” he stated, looking into her face. "I know it. I am Sayyed Raid-Ja, seventh son of Dultar of Sharja. I, too, am a magic-wielder. I would like to travel with you and learn your sorcery."

Gabria felt her jaw drop.

"Absolutely not!" Athlone thundered.

"Why not?" Sayyed asked reasonably, turning to the chief for the first time. "Lord Athlone, forgive me. I was so pleased to find the sorceress that I forgot my duty to you. Greetings!"

Athlone nodded curtly. He had taken an instant dislike to this man, and he did not appreciate the way the Turic was looking at Gabria. "Good day to you, son of Dultar. Please stand aside. We must be on our way."

"That's impossible," Gabria mumbled.

"What?" Sayyed and Athlone said at once.

The woman quickly gathered her wits and turned to the tribesman. "How can you be a magic-wielder? Only clan blood carries that talent."

Sayyed flashed a grin at her. "My mother was of Clan Ferganan. She was captured one day near a waterhole by my father. He sought a slave to sell in the market that day, but it was he who became a slave to a wife and twelve children."

"You are half-clan?" Piers exclaimed.

Khan'di shrugged. "It is enough."

"How do you know you are a magic-wielder?" Athlone demanded.

A mischievous twinkle danced in Sayyed's glance. He stooped down, picked up a handful of dirt, and tossed it into the air. The earth and stones flew high, then exploded into a cloud of shimmering blue butterflies.

The unexpected fluttering startled Khan'di's gelding. It snorted in fear, spun around, and slammed into Athlone's stal ion. The Harachan horses picked up the gelding's panic and leaped into a frenzied attempt to escape.

"Of all the stupid things to do,” Athlone yelled from the back of his bucking stallion. "Get rid of those things!"

Sayyed spoke a command and the butterflies vanished. He tried to look contrite as the riders calmed their mounts.

He is a magic-wielder,
Nara told Gabria,
though how much use butterflies wil be against Branth I
cannot say.

"All right,” Gabria said, trying not to laugh. "You are who you say you are. Why do you want to come with me?"

Sayyed threw his arms wide in excitement. "To learn! My father has enough sons to bother with, so I can do what I want. I want you to teach me about sorcery."

"It looks like you know enough already,” Khan'di remarked dryly.

"Only a trifle I have learned by accident. I want to know more."

"No,” Gabria said. She was thoroughly taken aback. "I can't teach you, I hardly know enough myself."

"Well, then, I might help you. They told me at Khulinin Treld that you are going to battle another sorcerer. Let me come. If you can't teach me, maybe I can help."

"I don't think . . ." Gabria began.

"Isn't sorcery forbidden by the Turic?" Athlone interrupted in annoyance.

Sayyed locked his gaze with Athlone's and said, "Yes. And since I have been outlawed from my people, I decided that I should die doing what I was born to do."

His words and their obvious sincerity touched Gabria to the core, stirring the similar feelings she had about magic. To hear another person state a desire for sorcery so honestly was all she needed to win her trust. The King Stallion had advised her to take other humans with her. Why not another magic-wielder?

She held out her hand palm up. "Come, Sayyed Raid-Ja. If you're so certain, maybe I can use your help."

"No!" Athlone snarled, but his protest was lost in Sayyed's shout of glee as he clasped Gabria's hand to seal the deal.

Nara began to move, and the whole party fel in beside her, leaving Athlone fuming on his mount.

The chieftain kicked his horse forward and caught up with Gabria. To him, her expression looked maddeningly pleased.

The chief gritted his teeth. Unless the Turic changed his mind and left, it looked like they were stuck with him. The man had already swung his horse in behind Nara and was whistling a tune to himself.

Short of driving him off at swordpoint, there was nothing Athlone could do about him.

"What possessed you to invite him along?" Athlone said coldly to Gabria. "You don't need his help.

And we don't have time to mol ycoddle an irresponsible boy."

Gabria was stung. Her eyes £lashing dangerously, she leaned over and snapped, "The King Stal ion told me to bring others with me. I am following his advice."

"Why him? He's a Turic. He'l just be in the way,” Athlone replied, his fury mounting.

Gabria glared at him, hurt and angry. On this journey she needed al the support and trust Athlone could give her. She could not understand why he was being so vehement about this stranger. "Because he sought me out. Because he cares about what he is. Because he is a magic-wielder and I may need him!" Her last word broke off sharply, and she lapsed into silence.

Athlone studied her for a long time, watching the way her blond hair curled around her ear, how her smal nose turned up slightly at the end, and how the freckles on her cheeks stood out when she was angry. She was so lovely it made his heart sing and yet, sometimes she was so strange and distant to him; he did not know how to reach her. Al he could do was try to understand, but that hardly seemed enough.

The chieftain let out a long breath. "Perhaps you're right,” he told Gabria, his voice still sharp with anger. "Not all magic-wielders are wil ing to use their powers. One like the Turic might be useful."

"You have the talent, too, Athlone," she said quietly.

"And no desire to use it." The chief shifted his weight and kicked his horse forward. For the rest of the afternoon he rode the point, well ahead of Gabria, Sayyed, and the others.

Gabria and Athlone had little chance to bridge the rift over the next few days. Gabria felt she was in the right in their dispute over the Turic's presence and did not try to approach the chieftain with apologies or contrition. Athlone, in turn, had few opportunities to talk to her. Every time he tried, he was called away by the warriors or interrupted by Piers or Khan’di.

Sayyed did not help matters, either. The young Turic made himself at home with the company. He laughed and joked with the warriors---Secen, Keth, and Valar; helped Bregan hunt for meat; talked medicine with Piers; and discussed the merits of fabrics and spices from the South with Khan’di. But he saved the best of his attentions for Gabria. He used every chance he had to be near her, whether Athlone was there or not.

The sorceress was resting upon Nara's back one afternoon while the mare paused for a drink.

Seeing an opportunity to talk to Gabria alone, Athlone waved his men on and went to join her and the Hunnuli on the riverbank. She looked at him curiously and a little warily, as if expecting the outbreak of another argument.

"Gabria, I---" he began. Then he stopped, for it dawned on him that he real y did not know what he wanted to say to her.

"Lord Athlone!" Bregan yelled. "Secen is signaling."

The chieftain cursed under his breath and looked for the warrior, who was riding the point. Secen was atop a far hill, signaling the presence of other riders. Athlone left Gabria and hurried to investigate.

By the time he checked the two riders Secen had spotted and made sure they had not seen his party, Gabria had joined Sayyed.

The chief's face darkened with anger as he watched the two of them together. Sayyed had found some early wildflowers and had made a crown for Gabria. They were talking and laughing like old friends as she fastened the ring of flowers in her hair.

Athlone spurred his horse away so they could not see the doubt and anger on his face.

*****

On the evening of the twelfth day, Gabria and her companions reached the Tir Samod---the name given to the holy joining of the Goldrine and Isin Rivers---where the clans of Valorian had gathered every summer for countless generations. They arrived before sunset and made camp in the grove of cottonwood trees near the place where the council tent usual y stood. To the clansmen the meadows looked empty and strange without the big camps, the bustling market, the huge council tent, and the throngs of people, dogs, and horses that crowded the site every year. Except for the ripple and rush of the two rivers and the wind sweeping through the bare trees, the place was quiet and peaceful.

For the first time in several days the sky was cloudless and the sun set with the promise of another clear day. After the evening meal, the warriors settled down by the fire to clean their weapons and tack.

Piers examined his medical supplies to see if any had been spoiled by the intermittent rains of the past twelve days. Khan'di sat on his cushion and cleaned his nails.

For a short time, Gabria watched Nara and her baby as the colt frolicked in some shallow water.

Beyond the horses, the gold light of sunset il uminated the circle of standing stones on the holy island of the gods in the middle of the rivers. Gabria looked at the island and then beyond to the far banks.

Every year when the clans gathered, each one encamped on the same site. The Corins had always made their camp to the north of the island on a wide, grassy bend of the Isin.

With little thought, Gabria took off her boots and waded across the gentle rapids of the Isin to the opposite side. She climbed the low bank and meandered slowly toward the trees that identified her clan's ground. As in the treld far to the north, there was little here to mark the passing of the Corins: a few old fire pits, a refuse pile that would last only until the next flood, and some cut trees. Like the Corins' meadow, there was also a burial mound. It had been left by the Khulinin when they camped on the Corin ground the previous summer.

Gabria wandered to the mound and stood gazing at the one spear and helmet that stil adorned the single grave. The rustling of the grass alerted her to the presence of someone else in the campsite. She turned, smiling, thinking it was Athlone.

"Someone you know?" Sayyed asked.

The woman shook her head and pushed her disappointment aside. She had wanted Athlone, but Sayyed was good company, too. In the few days she had known him he had already become a close friend, someone with whom she felt comfortable and happy. She crossed her arms and said, "I didn't know him except by name. He was Pazric, second wer-tain of the Khulinin. He was the first to be deliberately murdered by sorcery in over two hundred years."

"Oh? I hadn't heard about him. Tel me."

"Lord Medb killed him during a council meeting of the chiefs last summer. It was the first time Medb displayed his powers."

Sayyed stared down at the mound. "That must have been terrible," he said with sincerity.

Gabria turned away. All at once she was overwhelmed by memories of that harrowing, event-filled day---the day Pazric had died; the day she had attended the council to accuse Medb; the day Savaric had forced Lord Medb to reveal his sorcery. Her throat tightened, and she blinked as the light of sunset blurred and shimmered through sudden tears.

Quickly Sayyed put his arm around her waist. He was rather short for a Turk and Gabria was tall for a clanswoman, so their heads were level as he pulled her close. She leaned against him and drew solace from the comfort of his strong arms and the warmth of his presence.

Her sadness slowly disappeared until her mouth curved up in a faint smile. "You remind me of my brother, Gabran."

Sayyed masked a grimace with a chuckle. "Why?" he asked, hiding his disappointment. "Was your brother handsome?"

She laughed. "Yes, and kind, as strong and cunning as a wolf. He could also make me laugh." She sighed softly. "I loved him very much."

He tightened his arm around her. They stood for a long while in the afterglow of twilight, silhouetted against the pale gold luminescence that hung in the western sky.

From his place by the fire, Athlone watched the two distant figures and felt his heart grow heavy.

The Turic was intruding deeper and deeper into Gabria's life. He had only been with the travelers for seven days and already she was fascinated by him, this energetic tribesman who plainly worshiped her.

A boil of jealousy empted in Athlone's mind, fed by his pride and uncertainty.

To the chieftain, the most frustrating thing was his own confusion. His relationship with Gabria was still new to him---they never seemed to get a chance to let their feelings develop without something getting in the way. Now this Turic was with them, and Athlone was no longer sure where he stood.

Worst of all, he didn't know what to do about it! Gabria was intelligent, self-reliant, and determined. She had proven her courage and worth ten times over. If she wished to give her love to Sayyed instead of him, then Athlone felt she had earned that right. Gabria had suffered enough heartache and pain without being forced into a relationship she no longer desired. Of course, that did not mean Athlone had to like being put aside.

He slammed the sword he was cleaning into its scabbard and strode out into the darkness. It was easy to tell himself that he could let her go if she chose to leave, but the thought of losing her was tearing him apart. Without thinking, he wandered to the smal field where the horses grazed. There he stood, staring into the night, searching for the familiar shape of his old friend, Boreas.

The search was futile, and Athlone knew it; Boreas had been slain in the final battle with Medb the previous summer. That didn't lessen the chieftain's need for his old steed, though. Just as Nara was Gabria’s friend and confidant, Boreas had been his companion and advisor.

Athlone frowned and readied himself to return to camp, but something moving in the darkness stopped him. It was the great black bulk of a Hunnuli, a stallion like Boreas. The chieftain's heart leaped with hope and fear. His ghost, perhaps, returning from the dead to aid me when I most need his advice?

The Hunnuli came to his side, but it was not Athlone's long-dead steed. An unfamiliar pair of wise eyes gleamed at him, and a deep, soothing voice said,
I am not Boreas,
Eurus told him.
But I am here.