Dark Horse (2 page)

something unusual for a seemingly healthy horse. Then she realized what it was.

Oh, no, Gabria thought. So that is why the Hunnuli was trapped so easily. She is a mare and heavy with foal.

There was no alternative now. Gabria knew she would have to extricate the Hunnuli or die trying.

She glanced up at the horse's head and saw the mare staring intently at her. Their eyes met and the meeting was so intense Gabria was rocked back on her heels. Never had she seen such eyes in any creature. They were like orbs of illuminated night, sparkling with starlight and brimming with incredible intelligence. They were gazing at her with a mixture of surprise, suspicion, and an almost human glint of impatience.

"How did you get caught like this?" Gabria breathed softly, her voice mingled with awe.

The mare snorted in disgust.

' I'm sorry, it was unfair of me to ask. I'm going to find firewood. I'll return."

It was normal for her to talk to a horse like another human being, but this time the girl had the oddest feeling the mare understood.

Gabria put her cloak around her shoulders, for the air was turning bitterly cold, and went to find her pack. She found a dead tree on her way back and broke off enough wood to last the night. As an afterthought, she dragged the dead wolves out of the gul y and left them downwind of her camp.

She lit a small fire in the shelter of the cliff wall, where the horse could see her, and set most of the fuel aside for an emergency. There was only stale bread and dried meat for a meal, but Gabria ate it gratefully. For the first time since she fled the devastation at Corin Treld, she was hungry.

She sat silently for a while, staring at the horse. In the darkness, it loomed as an even darker obscurity on the edge of the firelight. Every now and then it would shift slightly and the flames would reflect in its eyes. Gabria shuddered. The blackness in her mind began to creep insidiously over her thoughts.

Fires licked in her memory and the phantoms of things remembered grew out of the shadows. The flames rose and fel and ran with blood. There was blood everywhere. Her hands, her clothes, and even her scarlet cloak was stained with blood and reeked of death.

The girl stared at her hands, at the stains she could not remove. Her hands would never be clean.

She frantically wiped her palms on her leggings and moaned like a wounded animal. The tears burned in her head, but her eyes remained dry as she stared glassily at the ground. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs.

"Father, I'm sorry," she cried. Above her, the moon followed its unseeing path and a damp, chill wind swept through the hil s. Beyond the gul y came the sounds of bickering wolves from where they were tearing at the bodies of their dead.

After a long while, the fire died down and the phantoms faded from Gabria's mind. Moving like an old woman, she stoked the fire, then curled up in her cloak. She fel asleep, borne under by the weight of utter exhaustion.

* * * * *

A horse neighed, strident and demanding, above the hoof beats that thundered over the frozen ground. Half-seen forms of mounted men careened past to set their torches to the felt tents. Swords flashed in the rising flames as the attackers cut down the people, and scream after scream reverberated in the mist, until they blended into one agonized wail.

Gabria started awake, her heart pounding as the cry died on her lips. She clutched her cloak tighter and shivered at the dream that stil clouded her thoughts. A horse neighed again, angrily. The unexpected sound dispel ed the nightmare and brought the girl ful y awake. This sound was no dream.

She stiffly sat up and blinked at the Hunnuli. The mare was watching her with obvious impatience.

Gabria realized the sun was already riding above the plains, though its warming light had not yet dipped into the gul y. The chil of the night stil clung to shadows, and frost flowered everywhere, even on the mud-encrusted mane of the trapped mare.

Gabria sighed, grateful the night was gone and the wolves had not attacked again. With infinite care, she eased to her feet, convinced she would shatter at any moment. Every muscle felt as if it were petrified.

"I'm sorry," she said to the horse. "I did not mean to sleep so long. But I feel better." She gently stretched to work out the kinks in her joints. "Perhaps I can help you now." The mare whinnied as if to say "I should think so," and a wisp of a smile drifted over the girl's face. For a moment the smile lit her pale green eyes, then it was gone and the pain that had dul ed her expression for three days returned.

Sitting by a newly built fire, Gabria emptied her pack onto the ground. There was very little in it that would help her to dig a gigantic horse out of the mud trap: only a bag of food, a few pots of salve, a dagger of fine steel that had been her father's prized possession, an extra tunic, and a few odds and ends she had salvaged from her family's burned tent. At the moment, she would have traded it al for a stout length of rope and a digging tool.

She sat for a time, totally at a loss over what to do next. Finally, she walked around the pool and considered every possibility, while the mare kept a cautious eye on her. In the daylight, Gabria could see the mare had none of the fine-boned grace of the Harachan horses Gabria was accustomed to. The Hunnuli's head was smal in comparison to her immense neck, which curved down regal y to a wide back. Her chest was broad and muscular and her shoulders were an image of power. There was granite in her bones, steel in her muscles, and fire in her blood.

"Well," said Gabria at last, hands on hips. "There's only one thing I can think of now. Food."

She laid the contents of her pack on her cloak, rol ed it up, and set it aside. Then, with her knife and empty pack, she went in search of grass. On the hil top she paused to watch the sun climb the flawless sky. It was going to be a lovely day despite the early season. The wind had died, and a fresh smell of new growth rose from the warming land. A few patches of stubborn snow clung to the sheltered hil sides, but most of the winter's snowfall was gone.

Before her the foothills fell away into the valley of the Hornguard, a broad, lush river valley and the favorite wintering place of her rival clan, the Geldring. The land rose again beyond the river's domain into the Himachal Mountains. The smal range of rugged peaks sat like an afterthought in the midst of the grasslands. From their feet the vast steppeland of Ramtharin flowed for leagues to the seas of the eastern kings. This was the land of the twelve clans of Valorian and the realm of the Harachan horses, the fleet, smal er cousins of the Hunnuli. The steppes were hot in the summer, cold in the winter, dry most of the year, and merciless to those who did not respect them. They offered little to a people beyond the wind and the immense solitude of their rolling hills, but their grass was rich and the polished dome of the sky was a greater treasure to the clans than all the palaces of the east.

Behind Gabria, the mountains of Darkhorn marched south, then bent away to the west.

Somewhere beyond the curve was the val ey of the Goldrine River and the Khulinin clan's winter encampment. She looked southward, hoping to see something that would encourage her, but the landmarks she knew were lost in the purple haze. She bit her lip, thinking of the miles she still had to travel, and bent to her task.

Gabria soon had a pack full of dried grass for the mare and a few half-frozen winterberries for herself. Although the fare was meager for a horse of that size, the old prairie grass was well cured by last year's summer sun and was rich enough. The Hunnuli would survive for a while.

The horse was watching intently for the girl to return and greeted Gabria with a resounding neigh.

"This is all I have for now," Gabria told her. "I will bring more later." Cautiously she laid the grass within reach of the horse. The mare tore voraciously at the proffered food, bobbing her head in her efforts to swallow quickly.

Meanwhile, Gabria tried to decide what to do next. She examined every possibility that came to mind no matter how ridiculous, but there seemed to be only one hopeful course---and the very idea of that nearly defeated her. She would have to dig the mare out.

Fortunately, the standing water had run off during the night, leaving only the deep, thick mire. The properties that made the mud so treacherous might help her in its removal. It was so thick, it stuck everywhere. Nevertheless, if the Hunnuli thrashed about or tried to fight her off, it would be impossible to get close enough to do anything.

Gabria shrugged and picked up her empty pack. She could only hope the mare would understand her attempts to help.

She walked up one of the eroded stream beds that ran into the gul y and soon found what she needed. There was an abundance of loose gravel and broken shale lying in bars along the dry bed.

quickly the girl filled her pack and returned to the pool. After several trips, she had a large pile of rock close to the mud hole.

Next, she went to col ect broken branches, fal en logs, twigs, dead scrub, and anything that would suit her plan. In a nearby stand of pine, she cut boughs of springy needles and hauled them to the growing heap. Finally, she was ready.

Panting slightly, she spoke to the mare. "I know I have not earned the privilege to be your friend,"

she said. "But you must trust me. I am going to dig you out and I cannot spend my time avoiding your teeth."

The Hunnuli dipped her head and snorted. Taking that as a positive sign, Gabria eased to the mare's front legs and watched the ears that flicked toward her. The mare remained still; her ears stayed perked.

Gabria knelt in front of the horse. With a long, flat rock, she began scraping the mud away from the mare's legs. The muck was not deep by the edge and Gabria was able to reach frozen earth in several places.

"I'm going to make a ramp here for you," she said to the horse. "So you can stand without slipping."

The Hunnuli remained still, apparently waiting.

By late morning, Gabria was drenched with sweat, and mud covered her like a second layer of clothes. She stood up, wiped her hands on her tunic, and surveyed her work. She felt a moment of pride.

The mare's front quarters were free of the clinging mud and her front hooves rested on a short ramp of logs embedded in the mud and banked on either side with rock and dead brush. The horse's bel y and hindquarters were still firmly mired, but Gabria felt a little relief and a twinge of hope.

The girl ate a quick meal and returned to work. First, she laid a narrow platform in the mud around the horse so she could work without fighting the mire herself. Scraping and digging with her rock shovel and her bare hands, she cleared away the mud from the Hunnuli's sides, then packed in handfuls of gravel and shale to keep the walls from slipping in. It was agonizing work. Gabria's back was soon a band of pain and her hands were sore and blistered. The mare watched her constantly, remaining motionless except for the occasional swing of her head. Only her tail twitching in the mud betrayed her controlled impatience.

The first stars were glimmering in the darkening sky when Gabria stopped digging. She looked at the trapped mare in dismay and said, "I'm sorry, it will be another day before I can get you out." She groaned and staggered to her feet. "The digging's going so much slower than I expected."

In the long afternoon's work, she had only cleared away a distressingly small area of mud surrounding the huge horse. At the pace she was going, it might be several days before the mare was free. Weary and depressed, Gabria collected more grass for the horse and rubbed down her front legs to stave off swelling. She was rewarded with a soft nicker.

She looked at the Hunnuli in wonder. The mare returned her gaze calmly, her eyes glowing like black pearls. Impulsively, Gabria leaned over and buried her face in the Hunnuli's thick mane. It did not seem possible she could feel something after the destruction of her home and family. She thought every emotion had withered within her when she looked on the mutilated bodies of her brothers. Only revenge had remained to hold her together and fill her heart. Yet, this trapped horse awoke a feeling of kinship in her, and the battered remnants of her old self reached out desperately for comfort. Perhaps, she thought with a frantic yearning, this great horse would accept her as a friend. If so, that friendship was worth a lifetime of labor.

But after a while she stood up and rubbed her face, chiding herself for her fantasies. Hunnuli only accepted warriors and old sorcerers, not exiled girls. It was ridiculous to even imagine. She cleaned herself off as best she could and rekindled her fire. She ate some bread and was asleep before the flames died to embers.

The next morning came with a dismal dawn and a brief but heavy snow. The mountains were veiled behind a raiment of gray and silver clouds, and the wind gusted through the val eys.

Gabria woke with a groan. She was 15adly chilled and so sore she could barely move without pain stabbing somewhere in her body. Her shoulders and back ached and her arms felt petrified from her exertions of the day before. Closer inspection showed her ankle was still swollen. She moaned irritably and pul ed her boot back on. Much more of this, she thought, shaking the snow off her cloak, and the wolves wil have two meals. She decided to wrap her ankle for better support and hoped the rest of her abused body would gradual y lose its kinks.

The Hunnuli was watching her as she ate her meal, showing none of the impatience of the previous day. The snowfall had patterned the horse's black coat like a bank of stars in a midnight sky, yet she did not bother to shake it off. Gabria glanced at her worriedly and wondered if something was wrong. The wild horse seemed abnormal y subdued.

The girl became more alarmed when the Hunnuli ignored a fresh armload of grass. The horse's eyes were withdrawn and dull, as if the light of their glance was turned inward.

"Please, tell me it's not true," Gabria said, sick at the realization that dawned on her. The mare moved restlessly in the mire and turned to nose at her belly. It was difficult to tell under all the mud, but some of the signs were apparent. If Gabria was right, the mare would foal soon. The trauma of the attack and the two days in the mud hole had probably triggered the labor prematurely. Gabria looked at the mare's bulging sides and wondered how far along she actually was.