City of Sorcerers (3 page)

The river was fairly shallow at either side, and it was only in the center, where the channel was deep, that Ishtak had to swim. By the time he and Kelene reached the far bank, they were both soaking wet and had passed three more horses. There were now only ten riders in front of them, including Rafnir. Four of the original twenty-six were out of the competition.

The race continued due east across the valley toward the rugged hills. The leaders picked up their pace on the level ground, hoping to put some distance between themselves and the rest of the pack before they reached the harder part of the trail.

Ishtak answered their challenge in a burst of speed that carried him past six more horses and brought him up near the leaders and Rafnir's chestnut.

Rafnir glanced over his shoulder, saw Kelene, and grinned. "What took you so long?" he yelled over the sound of the pounding hooves.

"I stopped for a walk," she retorted, feeling as if she had. The dust sticking to her wet clothes had turned to mud, and her face was streaked with river muck flung up by Ishtak's hooves.

Moments later the forerunners reached the faint trail leading up into the eroded, bleak hills that formed this section of the valley walls. The path abruptly narrowed and sloped upward, forcing the riders to go in ones and twos.

Kelene found herself directly behind Rafnir and one other rider. She tried to push Ishtak past them, but heavy rocks and brush lined the path on either side. As one group, Rafnir, a Dangari, Kelene, and a Wylfling cantered deeper into the hills.

Gradually they pulled ahead and before long were out of sight of the rest of the riders.

The trail wound up steep, rocky slopes, down into deep gullies, and around outcroppings and rock walls that towered over their heads, until finally it dropped down into a high-walled, narrow canyon that twisted through the hills like a snake's path. The sun, directly overhead by that time, poured its heat onto the red and gray rocks of the hills, turning the canyon into an oven. Kelene's clothes were baked dry, and the dampness in Ishtak's gray coat turned to dark sweat on his neck, chest, and flanks. The four riders were forced to slacken their speed over the rocky floor of the ravine.

Suddenly the two leaders pulled their mounts to a stop.

They had reached a place where several dry creek beds converged, forming a confusing three-way junction of rock walls and narrow passages. To the riders'

dismay, this section of trail had been obliterated by a recent flash flood.

"Which way?" Rafnir shouted at the man beside him.

The rider, a young Dangari in a blue tunic, looked at all three in confusion. "That way!" he cried, pointing to the left.

"No," Kelene said as Ishtak snorted and fumed at the delay. "I think it's that way."

She pointed to the right.

Rafnir shook his head. "That can't be, there's a rockfall in the way."

"Yes, but it's fresh, and I'm almost certain the path goes to the right," Kelene insisted.

Since she was the only one of the four who had raced the path before, Rafnir was inclined to follow her suggestion. But before anyone could decide, the fourth rider, a burly Wylfling on a red roan, kicked his horse past the group and turned down the left passage. Rafnir and the Dangari charged after him. Kelene hesitated long enough to look to the right, then Ishtak snatched the bit in his teeth and lunged after the other three horses. The girl did not fight him. Perhaps this was the correct way. Yet it did not feel right; the deeper they rode into the canyon, the more convinced she became that they had taken the wrong path. The walls towered over their heads, and the passage grew so narrow Kelene could touch both sides with her outstretched fingers.

She was looking for a place to turn Ishtak around when she saw the riders in front of her increase their speed. The walls opened out into a wider space that was brilliant with sunshine and carpeted with grass, vines, and small shrubs. Strangely there was an oval-shaped mound sitting crossways in their path on the otherwise level canyon floor. Its grassy sides rose more than ten feet in the air and were twice that in length.

No one paid much attention to the mound as they rode around it, they were too intent on the path ahead. The Wylfling in the lead urged his horse into a canter again toward the far end of the canyon, and the other men followed suit. It was only a minute or two before they realized their mistake. The canyon was a dead end.

The blank stone wall rising in the distance barely registered on Kelene when she heard the Wylfling's shout of anger. She yanked Ishtak around and sent him galloping back the way they had come. Since Ishtak had been in the rear of the group before, now he was in the lead. Kelene wanted to take full advantage of it to help make up for the time they had lost coming down this box canyon.

Kelene was so intent on reaching the narrow defile first, she did not see the Wylfling turn his horse and spur it up the slope of the strange mound in an effort to cut her off. She was aware only of the trail ahead and Rafnir's chestnut pounding close behind. She didn't know that just as the Wylfling's horse crested the mound, the animal suddenly pitched forward and crashed to the ground with bone-smashing force.

* * * * *

From a vantage point on a low hill near the finish line, Gabria snapped upright from her husband's side, her face as pale as ice.

Startled, Lord Athlone leaned forward, steadying her in his arms. "What is it?" he asked, deeply concerned.

She took a ragged breath, too stunned for a moment to speak. They were sitting on a rug in the grass, sharing a midday meal with Sayyed and Tam while they waited for the race to end. Gabria was still a little unsettled by her vision of the day before, but she had never felt anything like the powerful jolt of dread that had just shocked through her. "I don't know," she replied shakily. "It was as if something cold and repulsive touched my mind. It was horrible!"

Sayyed looked at her questioningly, and she shook her head. "No, it was not like yesterday," she told him.

"What happened yesterday?" Athlone demanded.

"I had another vision of the Corin massacre."

Athlone was shocked. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Gabria pulled away so she could turn and face him. "I wanted to think about it first. The vision was different this time. I felt as if Gabran were trying to warn me about something, but I don't know what or why."

Sayyed asked, "Do you think it had any connection to this strange feeling you just had?"

"I wish I knew!"

"Are the children all right?" Tam asked quietly.

Gabria looked startled at the question. "Yes, I think so. This wasn't a sense of disaster; it was something else. Something almost wicked."

"Wicked?" Sayyed and Athlone said together.

She nodded. "I know that's no help. I can't explain it any better. "

"But I didn't feel anything," Athlone said.

"You don't have visions either," Sayyed pointed out. "That seems to be Gabria's special ability."

The sorceress smiled dryly. "I never thought of that. So what does it mean?"

Sayyed rolled his eyes heavenward. "Your gods only know."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Gabria murmured.

* * * * *

Unaware of the disaster behind her, Kelene slowed Ishtak to a trot and sent him clattering between the high stone walls of the narrow canyon trail. Rafnir missed the Wylfling's accident, too. He trotted his chestnut into the defile right behind the girl and her gray.

Only the young Dangari saw the horse thrashing in agony and the Wylfling rider lying unconscious on the grassy slope. Regretfully he reined his horse to a stop and dismounted to see what he could do to help.

Kelene meanwhile rode on, her eyes on the trail ahead and her ears listening to the ringing of hooves echoing between the rocky walls. When Ishtak reached the three-way fork in the canyon, the girl did not hesitate or bother to check for tracks but sent her horse clambering over the lowest section of the rockfall in the right fork. To her relief, Ishtak scrambled over the tumbled rocks without much difficulty. There on the other side, Kelene saw the hoofprints of at least six or seven horses. They were on the right trail.

Hard on her heels came Rafnir, joined by three other racers. Kelene risked one quick glance back and saw Rafnir and the horsemen coming up behind her. It never occurred to her that the Dangari and the Wylfling were no longer there. She leaned low over Ishtak's tossing mane and urged the gray down the dry creek bed.

The canyon continued for a short distance, then the trail led up again, out of the rocks and onto the slopes of the hills. Kelene felt Ishtak gather himself with a surge of his powerful muscles.

She moved forward on his shoulders and ran a hand down his wet coat. The gelding was drenched with sweat, but he did not seem to be tiring. He galloped forward furiously, passing two horses who were going at a slower pace, their riders saving their animals' strength for the last few leagues.

Kelene tried to ease Ishtak back a little. But the gelding only pulled at his bit and ran as he desired down the steep incline toward the smoother floor of the valley.

As soon as he left the last slope and reached the level ground, Ishtak extended his body and flew over the grass with long, even strides. Four horses were still in front of him, and Kelene could hear the drumming of many hooves behind. She smiled into the wind, her heart singing with the exhilaration of the race.

As the horses streaked toward the Isin River, Ishtak cut the lead of the front-runners. Nostrils flaring in exertion, he passed three horses until only one ran before him toward the finish. But Kelene knew Rafnir was very close. From the corner of her eye, she could see his red chestnut just to her left.

The racers reached the Isin River and made a broad turn to the south. Kelene, Rafnir, and another rider---an orange-clad Bahedin---were almost neck and neck as they swept along the bank toward the Tir Samod. On either side clansmen galloped, shouting and yelling encouragement, while the people lining the riverbank cheered on their favorites.

Like a hitched team, the three leading horses raced past the tents of Clan Murjik, past the nearly empty bazaar, and turned right toward the ford in the river. On the far bank crowds of clanspeople lined the raceway all the way to the finish.

"Come on, boy!" Kelene urged her gelding through clenched teeth. "Come on!"

The gray gelding responded with a surge of speed that began to carry him past the two horses on either side.

Thundering, the three horses charged down the bank into the shallow river ford.

Water exploded beneath their hooves, drenching them. Cheering erupted all around as the horses burst out on the western bank and entered the path to the finish line.

The Bahedin was still with Rafnir and Kelene, bur his bay was tiring and falling behind. For a minute the two Khulinin were side by side, their horses matched in stride, then Ishtak began to pull ahead, and his nose stretched our past the chestnut's muzzle.

They were almost there---the finish line and the clan judges were just ahead.

Then Kelene saw something that made her blood turn to ice: Rafnir pulled a crop from his belt and raised it high to fan his horse.

Crops were not illegal in the race, and Kelene had nothing against them. But Ishtak did. He loathed crops and whips with a passion bordering on mania, and he was too close to Rafnir to miss that one. He saw the crop at the edge of his vision and went wild.

With a scream of fury, he whipped his head toward Rafnir in an attempt to attack the hated crop, jerking the reins from Kelene's hands. In that horrible instant, the gelding lost his balance, pitched into Rafnir's mount, and sent them both crashing to the ground in a pile of thrashing legs and bodies.

The two riders, thrown clear by the impetus of their speed, lay bruised and stunned in the dirt while the Bahedin jubilantly crossed the finish line. There was a shocked pause as the crowd stared in amazement, then the Bahedin wildly cheered their hero, and a few Khulinin ran forward to get the fallen horses and riders our of the way of the remaining racers.

Two men helped Ishtak and Kelene limp through the crowd to the shade of a tree.

Two others brought Rafnir and his chestnut.

"Are you all right?" one man asked Kelene. At her nod the men left her alone to check on Rafnir's injuries. Kelene sank slowly to the ground by her gelding's front feet and stared in shocked disbelief at the dirt. She was filthy, disheveled, and she hurt in every bone in her body. But none of her aches and bruises could compare to the pain of defeat. For the second year in a row she had lost the Induran in an accident.

She looked up and saw Sayyed, Tam, and her parents hurrying toward her.

Kelene pulled herself to her feet and faced her mother, but the ache in her heart proved too much for her self-control. Tears trickled down her cheeks. Gabria opened her arms, and Kelene did not turn away. She felt herself gathered into her mother's embrace and held close while she cried out her pain and disappointment.

"Is he hurt, Mother?" Kelene murmured after a while. "He fell so hard."

Gabria knew full well who Kelene meant. The girl wouldn't care a fig for Rafnir's well-being. She glanced inquiringly at Tam, who was talking in quiet tones to Ishtak.

Rafnir's mother understood the question, too, and gently squeezed Kelene's arm.

"He is bruised and hurting and very, very tired. He is lucky nothing is broken," she said with a soft smile. "Rub his legs with liniment and rest him. He will be bucking again in a few days."

"Thank you," Kelene said to both women. She stiffened to her full height, threw back her head, and stepped away from Gabria. The tears were gone now. She had no more time for sadness; Ishtak needed her help. She forced her feelings back under control, unaware that as she did so, her face assumed a blank, almost cold expression.

She went back to her horse and gathered his reins.

Behind Kelene, Gabria sighed to herself and let her arms drop. She knew that expression of Kelene's all too well. She had seen it more and more the past few years-