Dark Horse (30 page)

Sha Umar nodded and the other men looked both interested and apprehensive.

Cantrell continued. "When the western empire began to crumble, the strongholds along the frontiers were abandoned to bring the armies closer to home. After that, the fortress was used by other tribes and a self-proclaimed king or two. In the past years, its only enemy has been time." He stopped for a moment, then his voice began a slow chant.

"Stone and timber, brick and mortar,

Blood for fastness, bones for strength,

Iron and steel and tears of mourning

Built the walls of Ab-Chakan.

Guardian of the Savon River

Fair it stood upon the mount.

Bearer of the Eagle standard

Watcher of the Dark Horse Plains.

Seven towers wrought of darkness

Bound with gold and spel s of might.

Swords of steel held fast the ramparts

Strength of heart kept safe the gates.

Distant horns called home the warriors

Empty now lie halls of stone.

Eyeless shadows watch from towers

Only wind walks on the walls."

Cantrell fell silent, letting the images of the song play through the listeners' thoughts. "It's rather archaic," he said after a time. "But that is a fragment of a song I found long ago."

Savaric stared thoughtful y into his cup. Unlike the other men, he had not traveled the eastern slopes of the Himachal Mountains and was not familiar with the ruins or the defile Cantrell mentioned.

He was reluctant to remove his clan to lands he did not know, and he had only the bard's reputation to give any value to the consideration of the fortress. "This place---Ab-Chakan---what is it now?"

"Well, the clans never had any use for a fortified garrison, so it has been abandoned for years. But the walls still stand and the defile has many caves that bore deep into the mountains." Cantrell paused, his face turned toward the chiefs around him. "For men with a little ingenuity, it could be an answer to a prayer."

Sha Umar smiled slightly. "The werods wil riot like it. Fighting within walls goes against the grain."

"So does dying needlessly at the hand of a paid mercenary," Savaric said dryly.

The Jehanan chieftain laughed. "I shal remember to tel them that."

"Lord,” said Cantrell. "I do not know if this is sound advice. Ab-Chakan may be useless to your needs, but if it fails, the defile can be defended for months by a mere handful. And Medb would not anticipate such a move. It might give you a little more time."

Savaric looked past the open tent flaps into the distance. "How far is this place?"

Cantrell pondered. "Several days journey north of Dangari Treld . . . perhaps thirty leagues from here."

"I hope that Koshyn doesn't try to get in our way," Lord Ryne spoke up. "We have few enough men as it is."

"I doubt he will," Sha Umar replied. His lean, aquiline face broke into a smile, and he gestured to Savaric with his wine cup. "Koshyn respects you even if he does try to straddle two horses at once. It's that band of exiles I'm worried about."

"Yes. They were cal ed forth five days ago. If they find us before we reach shelter, there wil be much blood spil ed," Cantrel noted.

"Then we must move fast," Savaric said, suddenly reaching his decision. He felt more hopeful than he had in days. At last there was an objective to reach for that offered a semblance of success. "Are we agreed?" he asked the others. The men nodded. "Then we wil turn north and go to this fortress." He paused and added, "Cantrell, if you wish to leave, I will provide a guide, horses, and supplies.

Unfortunately, I can ill afford to send an escort."

Cantrell waved off the suggestion. "I knew what I was walking into when I came for help. I have read the Khulinin's riddle of doom, my lord. Now I want to understand the answer."

Savaric's mouth curled up in a weary smile. "I hope you do not regret your curiosity."

* * * * *

Beyond the rim of firelight, where the herds dozed in the warm darkness, the outriders passed in silent vigil. They rode around the livestock, humming a soft song or stopping to exchange a quiet word with the sentinels around the camp.

On a low knoll near where the horse herd lay, Nara stood, darker than the night itself. Only her large eyes sparkled with faint starlight. Occasionally she swung her head to sniff the breeze or swished her tail at a mosquito. Except for these brief movements, she remained still. On the mare's back, Gabria shoved her bow aside, leaned on Nara's rump, and tried uselessly not to fidget. She was bored with the inactivity of guard duty and too anxious to sit still.

Time and again she remembered Cantrell's strange reaction to her---and his advice to seek the Woman of the Marsh. Gabria had tried to ask him to explain what he'd meant, but the days had been too hectic and at night he was too ill and tired to answer. Piers could not help her, and she didn't know who else to ask.

The marshes, as well as Gabria could remember, were southeast of the Tir Samod, where the Goldrine River, swollen with the waters of numerous tributaries, flowed down into a low, half-drowned land of reed-choked channels, pools, and treacherous mires before filtering into the Sea of Tannis. She had never heard of a woman living in the marshes. If there was such a woman, why was she important?

Why would Cantrell tell her to seek this woman? Gabria wondered if the bard sensed her inherent ability for sorcery. Perhaps that was why his response was so odd. Maybe this Woman of the Marsh had something to do with magic.

For the past few days, Gabria had been able to put aside the realization of her power in the frantic departure and the hurried march of the caravan. It was easy to ignore Piers's thoughtful looks and Cor's absence, and it had been simple to keep the truth from Nara. But here, in the darkness, the shadows and distractions were dispelled and Gabria was forced to come face to face with a self she did not know.

The girl she once had been, the girl who happily kept a tent for her father and brothers and who ran laughing through the days, had somehow become this short-haired stranger who wielded an unknown Power and set herself above clan law. She had tamed a Hunnuli, ridden with a werod, and killed a man with the Trymian Force. Gabria did not recognize herself any longer, and what she found instead was frightening.

It did not matter how Nara might reassure her or Piers might protect her; she could not shake off seventeen years of ingrained distrust of sorcery. To her, magic was a power that corrupted any soul it touched and caused nothing but grief. Lord, Medb was exactly what she expected a sorcerer to be: ruthless, deceitful, murderous, lusting for more power. If she were a true clanswoman, she would immediately turn herself over to Savaric and suffer the proper punishment before she became like Medb and threatened the welfare of the clans.

But the sense of survival that had sent Gabria walking out of Corin Treld refused to consider the notion. She would have to find a way to control her talent so she would never use it inadvertently again.

Perhaps Cantrell had told her to seek the Woman of the Marsh because he knew this woman could help her deal with this unwanted ability. If only she knew how to find her.

Nara shifted and raised her head. Her ears swiveled forward. B
oreas and his rider are coming,
she informed Gabria.

The girl sat up quickly. She stiffened her shoulders and watched the black figure of Boreas materialize out of the darkness. Noiselessly, the huge stal ion stepped up beside them and nickered softly in greeting.

The wer-tain sat silently, watching the dozing horses nearby. Gabria saw the dim sparkle of polished mail under the robe that covered him to his knees, but the glimmer of his helm was hidden beneath the hood of his cloak. She could not see the wer-tain's face in the shadows of his hood, and she hoped he could not see hers.

"Nothing stirs tonight,” Athlone said quietly.

"No." Gabria had not spoken to him since Cor's death and she was not certain she wanted to now.

She was horribly afraid that Athlone would probe into her actions and discover her power. The old threat she had once thought forgotten reared its ugly head between them.

"My father tells me we are going north."

"North," Gabria said testily. "Are we going to skulk in the mountains like thieves?"

He sighed, trying to be patient. "This caravan is too big to 'skulk.' We're going to an old stronghold called Ab-Chakan."

"I suppose that wil be better than running over the plains like frightened rabbits."

Athlone turned his head and she could feel his cold glance. "If you had a better suggestion, you should have informed Savaric."

"I do not interfere with the councils of the wise,” Gabria said huffily. She wished he would go away.

"Fine words for a woman who claims herself chieftain, disrupts an entire gathering, and threatens a sorcerer."

"And what was it worth? You let me delude myself with hopes of vengeance, then sat back and watched me make a fool of myself in front of the lords of the clans."

Athlone shook his head. "This is an old argument. I did not know he was injured so badly until I saw him the first day."

She was silent for a long while. The Hunnuli stood motionless, their ears cocked back to listen, their ebony eyes catching the light of the old moon as it thrust its horn above the hil s. Athlone waited. His face was stil shrouded in night, and his fingers picked restlessly at the folds of his robe.

Finally, Gabria slammed her fist on her knees. "What do I do now, Athlone? I've waited months to chal enge Lord Medb. Now I have no satisfaction to quiet the voices of my brothers or wash away the memories of that day. Medb has slipped out of my grasp."

"There are other ways to gain vengeance. Some more subtle than others," he said.

Gabria whipped her head around and her heart began to pound. She could not see his face to read his expression.

"There are other ways," he added, his voice level. "Some more fitting than others, to seek your revenge against a man like Medb. Sorcerer or no, he is still a man with his own weaknesses. Seek those out. Learn his greatest fears and use them against him."

"How?" she asked sarcastically. "Do I stop him in the middle of a battle and ask a few questions, or do I visit his tent at nightfall?"

"Use your wits, Corin. None of us know how the coming days will unfold. Perhaps, if you're clever, you will have weapons at hand that will be sharper than any sword."

Gabria stared at the wer-tain. Just how much did he know about her? Had he talked to Piers or was he making his own deductions? Or was he simply offering his best advice? "All right, I'll watch. But I doubt it wil do much good."

Athlone rubbed his hand down Boreas's neck. "We never know. Wars are terribly unpredictable."

He stopped, then said, "I did not tel you, but I was very glad to see you alive the other night. If Cor had succeeded, I would have personally flayed him alive."

“I'm glad you didn't have the opportunity," Gabria replied, surprised and pleased by his remark.

"How long wil you continue this charade?" he asked suddenly. "You cannot pretend to be a boy forever."

Gabria shrugged. "I hadn't thought that far ahead. I guess until Savaric finds out or Medb kills me."

Athlone's hand unconsciously gripped his sword hilt. "Medb will not kill you if I have anything to do with it," he muttered under his breath.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing. Tomorrow, you will join the outriders to search for Ab-Chakan."

She saluted. "Yes, Wer-tain." He turned to go, but she held out her hand and stopped him.

"Athlone, do you know of the Woman of the Marsh?"

Athlone stiffened. Boreas snorted as his rider leaned forward. "Where did you hear of that?"

"From Cantrell."

"Well, forget it immediately. That woman is evil and dangerous. You have no business with her. I forbid you to mention her again." He kneed Boreas, and they vanished in the dark."

"That was strange," Gabria said, astonished by his vehement reaction.

Nara nickered softly.
The man does not understand yet. He thinks as you once did about magic.

"Once did?"

Your beliefs have traveled far since you fel ed Cor the first time with magic.

"The first time,” Gabria repeated weakly.

Surely you did not think I did not know. Hunnuli are most comfortable with magic-wielders. We can
sense many things about our riders that men overlook.

"Then you know I kil ed him."

Of course. And now you know the truth.

"That I am a sorceress." Gabria sounded disgusted.

You are not a sorceress yet. Your powers are untrained, but you have much natural talent. That
should not be wasted. Especially now.

"Wel , what can I do about it?" she demanded, trying to keep her voice down. "Lord Medb would never teach me, and who else knows the forbidden arts?"

Fol ow the bard's counsel,
Nara answered.

"The Woman of the Marsh? I don't even know if she exists!" Gabria said.

The woman is there. In the great marshes. She wil help you if she feels your desires are strong
enough.

Gabria was stunned. She knew that Nara was telling the truth, and the possibilities of what the Hunnuli was saying were incredible. She sat lost in thought for some time before she broke her silence.

When at last she spoke, her voice was filled with sadness.

"Oh, Nara, these are strange days. Legends spring to life, clan fights clan, and our fates hang on the thread of a sorcerer's spel . Now I have a power I was taught to despise and I don't know what to do with it. All I can think about is Medb and magic and the look of death on my father's face." Her words failed, and she leaned despondently on Nara's neck.

The Hunnuli nickered in sympathy.
I cannot always understand men’s feelings, but I, too, have felt
loss and loneliness. When that happens, you must look for new strengths and the new pastures.

Gabria listened to the gentle words in her mind. She slipped her arms around Nara's neck. "Wil the marshes do?"