Dark Horse (10 page)

Suddenly, Nara tensed. Her head came up and her nostrils flared.
Gabria, there is trouble.

A stray breeze wafted down from the hills, disturbing the mares. Halle stamped nervously and whinnied a warning. The dogs sprang to their feet. Gabria reached for the horn that hung close by.

All at once, a blood-chil ing squeal tore through the night. The mares panicked. Like a storm breaking, Nara bolted up the creek, the dogs fast on her heels. Gabria hung on desperately to the Hunnuli and clutched the horn to her chest. Shouting and wild whinnying broke out ahead. Terrified mares galloped down the valley away from some horror. Nara had to swerve violently to avoid them.

The small valley narrowed, and trees crowded around the stream, making it difficult for Nara to run. The dogs surged ahead. They scrabbled over a gravel bank, came around a curve, and leaped a fallen tree into a clearing. Cor was already there, on his feet, his sword drawn, watching a cave lion crouched over the body of a dead mare. Faint moonlight gleamed on the lion's fangs and on the white blaze on the dead horse's face.

The tableau seemed to freeze for a moment as Nara and the dogs burst into the clearing, then everything shattered into a chaos of noise and motion. The dogs leaped at the snarling cat from either side and Nara drove her front hooves into the lion's head. The cat was knocked off the dead horse into a tumbling pile of snapping dogs. Gabria lifted the horn and blew peal after peal of strident notes.

During the furor, Gabria forgot about Cor. He slunk back to the trees' shadows and watched the fight, making no move to help. He studied everything for a moment, then a calculating smile tightened his -thin mouth. Without a word, he faded into the darkness.

Before long, the lion had had enough. It fought its way out from under the dogs and bolted into the underbrush with a squal of pain and rage. The dogs were about to fol ow when a whistle brought them to heel. Mounted men bearing torches and spears crowded into the clearing behind Jorlan. Their faces were grim as they looked over both the dead mare and the boy on his Hunnuli. Several men stooped over the body and studied the tracks of the lion, then they disappeared into the brush on the cat's trail.

Jorlan looked up at Gabria. "Report, Outrider."

Gabria explained as best she could what had happened. It was then she realized that Cor was gone.

Her heart sank. It was horrible enough that this hideous kil ing had happened during her first night as an outrider, but without Cor to collaborate her story, the clansmen would heap the blame, undeserved or not, upon her. The lion had found the straying mare near Cor’s position, and even Nara had not discovered its presence in time. But those were merely excuses. The Khulinin would never forgive her for the loss of the precious mare.

Gabria could see the men's faces in the flickering torchlight; it was obvious what they were thinking. Only Jorlan seemed puzzled. He had dismounted and was walking carefully around the clearing, scanning the ground.

Nara neighed as Cor walked out of the trees. He was leading his limping horse. His clothes were tom and dirty. He tried to look surprised and horrified as he saluted Jorlan.

"This was your guard position, Cor. Where were you?" the leader demanded.

"My horse bolted a while ago and fell into a gully north of here. He hurt his foreleg, as you can see.

I had a rough time getting us out of there." Cor sounded unhappy, but he could not completely hide the smugness in his voice.

Nara snorted in contempt.

Jorlan crossed his arms and raked the man with a furious glare. "While you were so conveniently absent, the cat killed a daughter of Vayer."

Cor shook his fist at Gabria. "It is the exile! His curse has brought this down on us. I tried to warn you."

The other men looked at their leader uncertainly. Al of them were unsure how to deal with this strange boy and the complicated twists of his destiny. It was easy to dump the blame for this tragedy at the Corin's feet, but the men knew Cor well and they sensed something was not quite right about his story.

Jorlan refused to respond to Cor's feigned anger. "The boy told me you were here before him, on foot, and that you made no effort to help."

"He lies!" Cor shouted.

"I don't believe so," Jorlan said. "I have seen your tracks."

Cor looked sideways at Gabria and realized he had made a serious mistake. He licked his lips. "The exile should not have been guarding the mares. It is his fault this happened." He paused, sensing he was losing his credibility. The other warriors were muttering among themselves, and Jorlan was staring at the dead mare. Gabria was watching Cor from the back of the Hunnuli, as if waiting for him to trip himself. Cor's anger and embarrassment suddenly overwhelmed his common sense and he threw his sword at the Hunnuli. It missed and landed at her feet.

"All right, I was here," he shouted furiously. "My horse threw me. But that sorcerer's servant was the cause of this. He drew the lion here and was going to leave me to be kil ed, too. We cannot let him stay in this clan!. He will doom us, just like the Corin."

Jorlan strode forward, struck Cor to the ground, and stood over him. "You are a disgrace. You are relieved of all duties as an outrider and your behavior will be reported to the chieftain for further punishment." Jorlan's voice was cold with disgust.

Cor looked wildly around the dark clearing for some sign of support from the other warriors. When he saw only the disdain on their faces, he jumped to his feet and ran into the trees. No one moved to stop him.

Gabria spent the last hour of her duty in a blur. She was badly shaken by the lion's attack and by the hatred she had seen in Cor's eyes. It was al she could do to stop her hands from trembling while she helped the men bury the dead mare in the clearing. The women would come later. to bless the mound and send the dead mare's spirit to Amara, but Gabria paused long enough to whisper a quiet prayer of peace. The familiar, comforting words in her head eased her own pain a little, and when her replacement came at midnight, Gabria was able to bid good-night to the remaining men and leave the valley with a straight back.

The ride across the fields to the treld was the last quiet moment she had for the rest of the night.

News of the attack had spread rapidly through the encampment and the clan was in an uproar. A hunting parry was being organized. Groups of men clustered around the tents, discussing the import of the news while the women wept for the mare and her unborn foal. Cor had stormed into the hal and, after gulping down a flask of wine, was cursing Gabria and Jorlan at the top of his lungs, protesting his own innocence. Jorlan and most of his outriders had already returned and reported to Savaric.

Gabria and Nara stopped at the edge of the treld and watched the activity for several minutes.

Gabria slid off the horse, and the Hunnuli dipped her head and gently rubbed her nose along the girl's chest. Gabria scratched Nara's ears.

The girl wished she could borrow some of the mare's vast energy to bolster her own flagging strength. She was exhausted now, but she would have to sleep in the hal tonight with the unmarried men. She doubted she would have much rest.

I am going to the meadow. If you need me, I will come.

Gabria nodded and gave the horse a. final pat. When Nara trotted away, the girl pulled her new golden cloak tighter about her and walked wearily to the camp. The light from the torches and campfires danced around her. The black tents sat like noisy, humped creatures with their backs turned against her.

The clanspeople were busy preparing to hunt the lion, and, to Gabria's relief, no one noticed her. She passed by, a sad shadow in al the hubbub, unseen by al but one.

Athlone stood in the darkened entrance of his tent and watched as Gabria came up the path. His handsome face was hooded in darkness, so she did not see him as she went by. He waited until she was past the guards at the hall before he turned to fetch his spear from his tent.

Something stil bothered him about that boy. The nagging suspicion would not stop. Why? The Corin showed spirit and courage despite his grief, and his determination seemed unshakable. Jorlan had reported favorably about the boy and his actions during the lion attack. Neither these attributes nor his unmistakable love for the Hunnuli were the usual characteristics of an exile on the run or a spy for an ambitious chieftain.

The mare was another curious aspect of the boy. The Hunnuli had accepted him, and the horses of that breed were impeccable judges of character. Even Boreas liked the Corin, although the big horse found something humorous about the mare and her rider. If the boy was treacherous or wicked, no Hunnuli would come within smel ing distance of him.

Athlone had heard very recently that Lord Medb had tried to win a Hunnuli by capturing it and keeping it penned in a box canyon. As he understood the story, the horse had nearly kil ed Medb before throwing itself over a cliff, preferring death to serving the lord of the Wylfling clan. Athlone did not know how true the rumors were of Medb's injuries, but he was greatly saddened and not at al surprised by the Hunnuli's death.

Nevertheless, Athlone could not reconcile himself to Gabran's presence. Something was not right with the boy. There were too many little details in speech and movement that did not fit. What was he?

For a fleeting second, Athlone remembered the Shape Changers, the sorcerers of ancient legend who had learned shape changing to avoid punishment for practicing magic. He shuddered. But that was long ago. The heretical magic was dead and its followers died with it. It did not matter, though. The boy was no magician, simply a clansman with a secret that might prove dangerous to all.

Athlone found his spear and walked out of his tent to join the hunt for the lion. He could only hope that he would discover what the boy's secret was before it proved fatal for someone in the clan.

* * * * *

The huge doors of the hal were stil open when Gabria returned from the fields. She entered the hall reluctantly and stood blinking at the sudden light. A fire was burning low in the pit and a few lamps stil glowed from the ceiling beams. As she became accustomed to the light, the girl saw her pack and the new bow lying by the nearest pillar. Looking up, she saw several men already asleep on blankets and furs along the right-hand wall, beneath the colorful tapestries of Valorian's adventures. The storerooms were closed and the heavy curtain was drawn over the entrance to Savaric's private quarters. Four other men were sitting on the opposite side of the fire at a trestle table. Two were playing chess, one was watching, and the fourth was slumped over a wine flask.

Every clansman was entitled to a tent of his own once he reached manhood. The huge, black felt tents were made by the man's family and presented to him at the initiation of his warrior status.

However, the tents were difficult to maintain, and it was usual y the women who kept the fires burning, patched the holes, and kept the tents neat and pleasant. Most bachelors, therefore, chose to sleep in the hal . It was warm, relatively comfortable, and did not have to be packed every time they moved.

They could eat there and entertain themselves long into the night without disturbing the treld.

Yet, despite the freedom and convenience of the hall, most men did not stay there long. Marriage and the tents, even with their numerous problems, were preferable to the conditions of bachelorhood.

A man needed a woman, his own hearth, and the privacy of the felt walls. The clans survived because of unity and cooperation, but they retained their identity because each man valued his own individuality and the strength drawn from his home, even one that was packed into a cart every summer.

Gabria certainly did not feel at home in the strange, pillared hal . She was nervous being with these men in such close and intimate quarters. She could see at least one of the sleeping men was wearing nothing beneath his blankets. With her own family that would not have bothered her, for she was used to seeing men in various stages of undress. But here she had no brothers to defend her, no chieftain's quarters for security, and no protection as the chief’s daughter. She had nothing but a disguise--and a flimsy one at that.

Quietly, she slipped along to the right-hand wall to the gloomiest corner, away from the sleeping men. Gabria fervently hoped no one would notice her. If she could curl up in the blanket Piers had given her, perhaps they would not realize she was there.

"We have a new member in our illustrious ranks," a voice called out in a raucous tone. "Take note of him, men, a boy who has barely left his mother's breast and already he has lost his clan and killed our mares."

Gabria cringed at the words. Slowly she turned and stared at the speaker. It was Cor. He was sitting at the table, waving a wine cup in her direction. The other three men had previously ignored him, but now they watched in anticipation of some entertainment. Gabria turned her back on them and tried to disregard Cor's sniggers. Cor was swaying gently, but his voice was not broken or slurred.

"He sits on his great black horse and spits on us while he deafens the lords with his whining and pleas of innocence." Cor staggered toward the girl as the others watched in interest. Gabria listened apprehensively.

"But I know you. I can see what you keep hidden beneath your bold face,"

Gabria stiffened and her eyes widened.

"You are a coward!" he hissed. He was so close to Gabria, his breath brushed her neck. "A spineless pile of sheep dung who fled his clan instead of standing and fighting. Or did you lead the attackers to the camp? You are so brave when you are sitting on that black horse, but how brave are you, worm, when you are low to the ground on two puny legs?" Viciously, Cor grabbed Gabria's shoulder and spun her around.

The girl stepped back against the wall, too terrified by the drunken rage that distorted Cor's features to run. The other warriors cheered them both and taunted Cor with bets and jibes. No one moved to help Gabria. Disgruntled yells came from the men who had been awakened. The shouts, jeers, and insults crashed together into an unnerving cacophony. Gabria threw her head back.