Dark Horse (27 page)

In moments the tent was empty, save for the Oathbreakers and the Khulinin. Savaric stared at the entrance as though trying to draw the others back. His eyes were bleak and his lean body sagged with dismay. Gabria and Athlone carefully lifted Pazric's body and carried it outside, where Nara consented to bear it back to the encampment. Savaric and the four cultists fol owed behind and stepped out into the hot afternoon sun.

Seth picked up his whip, coiling it careful y in his hands. "Our journey was for naught. It was too late to warn the council."

"I thank you for trying," Savaric replied. "Will your citadel be able to withstand Medb's attack?"

"For a while. Some of the old wards still operate, but our numbers are dwindling. In the end, it will be the same for us as for you, and Medb will have free rein in the archives."

"You could bum the books."

Seth shook his head. "It is difficult to destroy a sorcerer's tome, and we would not do it. Someone else may have need of them one day."

"Then defend them wel ." Savaric watched the people moving through the camps. Some word of the events of that afternoon had already spread, for no women were in sight and the men moved with nervous haste.

Seth spoke to his companions briefly and turned to his brother. “Take care of the Corin. And yourself.” The brothers clasped hands, then the Oathbreakers gathered their whips and disappeared among the tents.

The Khulinin and the Hunnuli silently bore Pazric back to camp.

Time confirmed Savaric's worst fears, for the gathering did not survive the night. He argued desperately with every chief except Branth that evening, trying to weld them together against Lord Medb. Unfortunately, the traditions of generations and the stubborn individuality of every clansman were too ingrained. Most of the chieftains turned deaf ears to Savaric's pleas. The lords vacillated through the night while their clans seethed with emotions. The truth of the Corin massacre and Medb's sorcery was told and retold, and the stories grew with every telling until fact and rumor were tangled in knots. Fear ran rampant through the camps.

By dawn, Lord Jol pul ed the purple banner from the council tent and moved Clan Murjik north toward home.

Lord Medb watched them go with pleasure. He was angry at himself for losing his temper and revealing his power so early. He had planned to rope the council into his control first, then wait to unmask his sorcery when the manuscripts from the Citadel of Krath were in his hands. Not that it really mattered. There was no man who could dispute his rise to overlord now, and if the clans chose to return to their own holdings rather than fight together, then so be it. It would take longer to crush them, but in the long run it would mean a more final collapse. Each clan would be brought to its knees in its own treld and each chief would have to capitulate alone.

Of the twelve clans, only seven presented problems for Medb. The sorcerer counted the clans mental y: he had regained control of the Wylfling after his accident six months ago with the combined weapons of sorcery and fear; the Corin were exterminated; the Geldring were his thanks to the treachery of Branth; Quamar had given him the Ferganan that afternoon; and Ferron would soon come crawling with the Amnok. That left only the Shadedron, Murjik, Reidhar, Dangari, Jehanan, Bahedin, and, of course, the Khulinin. If al went smoothly, the Oathbreakers would soon be eliminated and, by spring, the council of chiefs would cease to exist.

Of course, several of the chieftains were exceedingly stubborn. Lord Caurus of the Reidhar was a temperamental hothead, as well as a ferocious fighter and a man intensely devoted to his clan. And while Koshyn of the Dangari was young, he could not be treated lightly. No, what was needed was a demonstration that would break their spirits and bring the chiefs to heel, a demonstration that would also salve Medb's pride and give him intense satisfaction: the destruction of the Khulinin. With Savaric dead and the powerful Khulinin weeded down to more manageable numbers, the other chiefs would soon realize their deadly mistake.

Defeating the Khulinin would also enable Medb to finish the destruction of the Corin. That boy, Gabran, was a nuisance and a loose end. Medb did not like loose ends. He planned to have a word about that with the exile leader as soon as they arrived. Such carelessness was unforgivable.

* * * * *

The next morning, the merchants read the signs of war in the clansmen's faces, packed their goods, and quickly left. That afternoon, the Shadedron gathered their herds to depart.

Lord Malech's shoulders slumped as he brought down his black banner, and he glanced apologetically at Savaric. Without a word or gesture of farewell, he mounted his horse and led the Shadedron south. Lord Ferron only waited until dark before slipping fearfully into the Wylfling encampment and kneeling before Medb, giving the oath of fealty for the Amnok clan.

By dawn of the second day after the splintering of the council, the remaining clans had separated into armed camps, bristling with suspicion and anger. The Khulinin remained isolated on the far bank of the Isin. Only Athlone and Savaric crossed the river to talk with the other clansmen. They tried desperately to convince Caurus, Sha Umar, Babur, and Koshyn to ally with them, for with the addition of clan Amnok, Medb's forces were overwhelming. Already there were rumors that Medb was bringing more men to his camp, including the band of exiles.

But Caurus was secretly Jealous of Savaric s wealth and authority. He did not trust the Khulinin to lead the combined forces, nor did he want the responsibility himself. Medb’s magic terrified Caurus more than he cared to admit. Eventually, he too, gathered his caravan, and the Reidhar clan sought ay the familiarity of their own holdings near the Inland Sea of Tannis.

Koshyn refused to commit himself one way or the other. He had only recently become chief, and he could not decide what was best for his clan. He listened and watched and waited for the final lines to be drawn.

Lord Babur, too, vacillated between Savaric's pleas and Medb's threats. His illness had grown worse, and he knew didn't have the strength to fight a long war. But that night he died, some said by his own hand. His young son, Ryne, immediately threw Medb's emissary out of his tent and went to join the Khulinin. Sha Umar, a long-time friend of the Bahedin chieftains, came with Ryne and pledged the aid of the Jehanan to Savaric.

Even with the promised help of two clans, the days were long and bitter for Savaric and Athlone, and the stress began to tell on the whole clan. Pazric was sent to the Hal of the Dead on a funeral pyre, which Savaric lit at night to ensure the entire gathering would witness it. After a violent argument with Athlone about his negligence in telling her about Lord Medb’s crippled legs, Gabria spent most of her time sitting on the banks of the Isin River.

Cor, on the other hand, thrived on the tense atmosphere of the camp, and his verbal attacks on Gabria grew vicious and more cunning. Only Nara kept him at bay, and Gabria wondered how long it would be before he gathered enough courage to change his weapon from his tongue to a sword. It would not be difficult to kill her in the night and blame it on an agent of Medb. She kept her dagger close to her side and stayed within Piers's tent after dark.

During the day, Gabria had little to do, and time dragged interminably. She lay for hours on the grassy bank of the, in the hot sun and tried to order her thoughts. The shock and disappointment of losing her chance to duel Medb had not diminished and Gabria found herself examining more and more the possibilities of sorcery. Half a year ago, she would have been aghast at the mere suggestion of the arcane, but that short time she had lost her clan and been exposed to more sorcery than she ever dreamed possible. It had gone a long way to changing her views of magic---as evidenced by her willingness to even consider it.

Still, whether or not she had a real talent for sorcery was inconclusive in her mind. Piers had his theories and Gabria had been lucky in guessing the truth of the brooch, but nothing had given her absolute proof. And if she did have a talent, what could she do about it? There was no one to teach her and he she did not have the knowledge to use the
Book of Matrah
or the manuscripts in the archives of Krath's citadel. She might have an inherent ability, but if it could not be honed it was useless. Piers could not help her---he knew too little---and Nara was untrained in the rules of sorcery and could only protect her from others. The problem was like a sword in the hands of a woman. Gabria laughed at that analogy; she could handle a sword quite wel .

Gabria was still debating the dilemma when she and Nara walked back to the camp for the evening meal. Cor had disappeared, and Gabria was happy for the reprieve as she trudged toward the tents. The camp was unnatural y quiet that evening, and people seemed to move with one eye over their shoulders. Smoke from the cooking fires rose sluggishly and hung overhead in the breathless air. Dogs lay in the tents' shadows and panted.

To the east, in the distance, two massive thunderheads piled against the hills and rose like twin battlements before a wall of strained steel-gray cloud. The setting sun etched the snowy heads of the thunderclouds with gold crowns and mantles of rose, pearl, and lavender. Deep in the clouds' cores, lightning flickered endlessly, warning of the violence of the coming storm.

Extra outriders were posted that evening, and the herds were moved closer to the shelter of the valley ridges. Other men tightened tent ropes and checked the stakes. After the evening meal, the fires were putout. As the dusk deepened, the storm front moved closer and the lightning became visible in brilliant flashes or wicked streaks that cracked like an at Oathbreakers whip.

Gabria sat restlessly on the ground before Piers's tent and watched the approaching storm. Piers was in another part of camp, helping a woman in labor; Savaric was with Koshyn; and Athlone rode with the outriders. Gabria wished that she were out there with the men rather than sitting in camp. Anything would be better than her edgy, frustrating loneliness. The wind sprang fitfully and rugged at her hair.

Abruptly, the breeze died.

Before long, the thunder became audible. By the time night her was ful , the explosions were incessant. Lightning flared endlessly through the massive sky, pursued by the incessant rumble. Just then, lightning struck an ancient cottonwood tree by the river, splitting it to the ground. Thunder shattered the night, and the first drops of rain spattered in the dust. Gabria fled for the tent.

She sat in the darkness and listened to the tent heave in the wind, struggling against its ropes, and to the sounds of the storm just beyond the thick material. Usual y she loved storms and reveled in the wildness of their passing. Tonight though, she huddled on a stool, feeling a strange sense of dread.

The fury of the storm made her nervous. She jumped at every clap of thunder and stared wildly around when lightning il uminated the tent's interior. Final y, she crawled onto her pallet, pulled a blanket up to her chin, and lay shivering as she tried to sleep.

Sometime later, Gabria woke with a start of terror. Lying motionless and trying to control her gasping breath, she every sense to catch what had frightened her: a faint sound or movement or smel that was out of place. She realized that she had been asleep for a while, because the storm had settled down to a steady rainfal and the thunder was more subdued.

Then, in the corner of her vision she saw the half-drawn curtain move, as if nudged from behind.

She gently eased her hand toward her dagger, her heart hammering madly in her throat. But before her fingers found the blade, a dark shape sprang from behind the curtain, just as lightning flashed outside. In the instant illumination, Gabria saw a man lunge her and she caught the flash of steel in his upraised hand. Her immediate thought was of Medb. He was trying to fulfill his promise with an assassin.

"No!" she screamed in fury and tried to rol off the pal et, but she was hindered by her blanket. The knife missed its mark and slashed down her right side, skittering off her ribs. The man grunted in anger and furiously pulled his weapon back for another blow. Gabria felt the wound like a firebrand as she struggled with the blanket and her tangled clothes, and her rage increased with the pain. Medb would not dispose of her this easily. She yanked off the blanket, threw it at the dark figure, and scrabbled for her dagger. The man cursed as the blanket tangled his aim, then he threw it aside.

“I’l get you, you little coward," he snarled and grabbed her shoulder.

Cor. It was Cor, not an agent of Medb. Gabria was so surprised, she missed her dagger and knocked it aside. The warrior dropped his weapon and yanked her around to face him. She fell with her dagger underneath her back. Gabria stopped struggling and stared at Cor's blurred face in the darkness. The whites of his eyes glimmered and his teeth showed in a grimace of hate.

He shook her. "I knew you were a coward deep down; you won't even fight to save your worthless skin. Well, I've waited a long time to do this. You thought you were so smart, turning me into half a man, useless for everything!" He leaned over her, his breath reeking of strong wine.

Gabria squirmed, trying to keep her dagger hidden behind her back. The guilt and pity she had felt for Cor died completely, and she stared back at him, matching his loathing. Cor pulled Gabria to her knees and forced her head back to expose her throat.

“I've been watching you and waiting. Now there's no one to save your neck." He pul ed her head farther over his bent knee, until her spine creaked and her neck screamed in protest. "You see, with one quick snap, I could break your back and leave you dead, or better yet, just like that Wylfling,”

Before Gabria could react, Cor jerked her up and punched her in the face. His fist exploded into her eye and she fell back on the pallet in a daze of pain and surprise. She closed her eyes and swallowed convulsively. Her dagger lay beneath her buttocks.

Cor slapped her. "Look at me, you pig-faced coward. I want to see you plead before I break you."