Dark Horse (40 page)

The girl slid off the Hunnuli and the mare backed away, leaving her alone. Gabria pushed away every doubt that might distract her, closed her eyes, and concentrated on the ancient spell the Woman of the Marsh had taught her. She lifted her right hand and pointed behind Medb. "I, Gabria, daughter of Dathlar, challenge you, Lord Medb, and by my challenge set the first wards."

Medb's voice purred. "I, Lord Medb, accept your chal enge and, by my acceptance, set the second wards."

Gabria opened her eyes. The spell had worked. Four scarlet pillars of light stood equidistant from each other, forming a square that enclosed Gabria and Medb in an area only twenty paces wide. A pale mist glowed between the pil ars and arched overhead. The two were now surrounded by a protective wal of power that shielded the spectators. Gabria could see the clansmen watching with horrified fascination from outside the wall.

"You have unwisely chal enged me,” the sorcerer sneered. "But the question is not who is stronger, but by what means I shall prove it to you."

Medb lifted his hand and launched a sphere of Trymian Force. It was only a test, and the Corin dodged it easily. The blue ball exploded on the ward shield. He fired more at her, faster and faster, and she swayed and dipped around the bright, deadly fires as if dancing with them. The girl did not try to retaliate; she only avoided his assault and waited for his next move.

At last, Medb grew weary of playing with her. He had to be careful, for his strength was waning and he did not know how great this girl's powers real y were. He studied the Corin for a moment, then he spoke a command.

Suddenly Gabria felt a tug of wind at her feet. The strange little wind whipped abruptly into a whirlwind of vicious intensity and wrapped around Gabria in a swirling, shrieking maelstrom. Dirt and grit flailed through the dark wind, tearing at .her hair, her skin, and her clothes. She tried frantically to escape the maelstrom, but the force of the whirlwind tossed and buffeted her, ripped the breath from her body, and wrenched every bone and muscle.

Then, as quickly as it had begin, the wind died away. Gabria fel to the ground, panting and crying with pain. Her tunic was shredded and her skin was raw and bleeding.

"See how easy it is?" Medb said. "Let me show you another. You have survived the tragedies in your life well, but do you really know the terrors of your mind?"

Before Gabria could defend herself from it, a paralyzing chill froze her. She threw her hands across her face. Images crowded into her mind: her brother fal ing, his skul crushed by a battle axe; her father hacked by a dozen swords; Nara torn alive by wolves; Athlone hanging by shredded ligaments from a bloody pole. From a dark gray patch of earth, the rotting corpses of Clan Corin staggered out of their graves and pointed accusing fingers at her. Gabria stumbled into a desert of searing thirst and unendurable loneliness. A scream tore at her throat. Desperately she tried to rise, only to pitch forward when her legs would not respond.

Beyond the shield, Athlone struggled to his feet. He leaned against the pole, his eyes on the girl.

"Fight him, Gabria," he cried.

"Do you understand now?" Medb chuckled appreciatively. "You should have stayed at your place by the cooking fires and left the wars to those capable of handling them."

Gabria tried to stop the chaos in her mind and bring her thoughts back under her control. She realized the visions that plagued her were fears she had known before. There was nothing that she had not already faced. A little at a time, she forced the images out of her mind and finally broke Medb's spell. She tottered to her feet.

The Corin knew now that she could not defeat Lord Medb in a confrontation of expertise. He had been studying and conditioning his talent too long. She lacked the skil necessary to destroy him outright. Gabria had only one hope, a slim one at best: to catch him off guard. If she could survive just long enough to take him by surprise, perhaps her untried powers would be enough. Quickly she rapped a spel that exploded underneath the sorcerer's feet and threw him to the ground in a sprawling heap.

Medb jumped up, enraged. "Enough of this!" he shouted. The Wylfling decided to use a killing spell he had already perfected. He spread his arms wide, his lips formed the harsh words, and slowly he began to bring his hands together.

For a moment, Gabria stood warily. She began to feel a pressure on all sides. There was no pain or distress, only a mild discomfort, as if she were wrapped in a heavy fur. She braced herself and tried to fend it away, but the pressure increased. Her head began to throb and her chest hurt. She was having trouble breathing. Straining to escape the pressure, Gabria clenched her teeth and used her power to form a protective shell about her body. The arcane grip grew stronger. She fought to maintain her shield, but Medb's grip contracted with a jerk, once and then again. Her protective shield cracked and the pressure closed in around her. The pain worsened, and the Corin's bones began to creak under the stress. Gabria moaned and her hands tore at her head.

Medb pushed his hands closer together and struggled. to break the girl's resistance. He could feel his strength beginning to ebb, but he disregarded his growing weakness in his effort to kill the last surviving Corin.

Unseen by Gabria and Medb, Athlone began to stagger toward the arcane shield. He knew he should be horrified by what Gabria was doing, but instead he was strangely drawn to the arcane duel and his only lucid thought was to help his friend. He could not bear to see her die.

Gabria cried as Lord Medb strained harder. The pain in her body was almost overwhelming and her consciousness began to close in around her. In desperation, the girl gathered her last shreds of strength and courage into one final core of resistance. She clung tenaciously to one thought: she would never submit. Her last awareness flickered and she screamed her defiance.

Lord Medb tried desperately, but he could not crush the girl's last opposition. Her defiance was fueled by fury and righteousness and by a wil that Medb sensed was greater than his own. Surprise and a seed of doubt crept into his mind. He felt his power weakening rapidly.

Al at once, Athlone shouted furiously, "Medb, no!" The wer-tain stood by the arcane shield, his face dark with rage and helplessness. He put his fist through the shield and, to Medb's horrified surprise, the arcane wards shattered. The shield abruptly disintegrated, slamming Athlone to the ground.

Gabria felt Medb's power fade, and in that moment, she remembered the last line of Cantrell's riddle. Summoning every ounce of will, she wrenched loose of the sorcerer's arcane grip. The blackness vanished and the pain eased. Her vision returned with startling clarity. She had just enough energy left.

Before Medb was aware of what she was doing, Gabria snatched her father's dagger out of her boot and transformed it into a silver sword. The splinter in her wrist flared red with her blood as she hurled the sword at the sorcerer. It soared in a glittering arc across the space between them and plunged into Medb's chest.

A great cry shook the fortress. Medb jerked, contorted by pain, and his cruel mouth shaped one last curse. Then he collapsed backward, impaled by the silver sword.

Gabria shivered uncontrol ably. The world fel away and she sank to the ground. But as the edge of consciousness darkened, a vision came of a hollow tree and an old woman who waited for her. Before the pain finally drowned her, Gabria clawed the air, trying to answer to the strange summons that beckoned her to the marsh.

Lord Savaric did not hesitate after the sorcerer fell. With a wild shout he called to his warriors and raced through the gates toward Medb's army, which stood in stunned silence in the fields. The Khulinin were fast on their chief’s heels. Lord Koshyn, Lord Ryne, and the clansmen raised their voices into battle cries that shook the towers, and the four clans sprang after the enemy.

Clan Amnok broke immediately. They had wanted no part of Medb's treachery, but had been swept along by Lord Ferron, their cowed chieftain, and trapped by the sorcerer's tyranny.

Now, without Medb's arcane goad to force them on, they turned and ran. The Geldring, too, were reluctant to fight; despite Branth's ravings, they fled with their wer-tain to the camp. The Ferganan simply threw down their weapons and refused to fight. Only the mercenaries, well paid and eager for battle, the exiles, and the Wylfling drew their swords and faced the charging clans.

The four clans roared joyfully. The sorcerer was dead, the enemy forces were cut in half, and Athlone had been saved. Now they were running to something they understood. As they charged across the fields, they beat their shields with their weapons and shouted their chal enge across the plains. Their running feet raised clouds of dust, and, through the thick air, the sunlight glistened on their helms and their swords. With one will, both sides met in a deafening crash.

The tumult rattled through the fortress. Seth, from atop the wal , watched the battle for several minutes before walking down to the ground. His icy, remote eyes revealed no feelings as he felt Athlone's wrist and laid the unconscious man in a more comfortable position. Then he turned to Gabria.

She was lying in a heap, her face pale and her golden hair dirty with sweat and dust. The Hunnuli stood over her.

"Tell her we stil guard the most treasured books of the old sorcerers. She may have need of them one day."

The Hunnuli did not answer, as he expected, but she flicked her head in understanding. Gabria stirred as the noise of the battle finally drew her awake. Seth put a skin of water to her lips; she drank thirstily and struggled to her feet. He watched her impassively.

The girl looked around at Medb's body, at the furious fighting that raged in the fields, and at Athlone lying nearby. For just a second, her gaze softened as she looked at the wer-tain. At last she met Seth's eyes.

He nodded to acknowledge her. "It was said in tales long ignored that sorcery would one day be found in the hands of a woman."

Gabria didn't answer. She was tired beyond exhaustion, but she could not rest. The strange image of the Woman of the Marsh remained in her mind, compel ing her to come. She hauled herself up onto Nara's back and put on her cloak.

Seth kept his stare pinned on her. "You are leaving?"

"I have to," she said curtly.

At Gabria's command, Nara wheeled and cantered south down the old road. The girl did not watch the fighting as they passed or look back at the fortress. The noise of the battle receded, and before long they were alone.

"Please take me back to the marshes, Nara," Gabria said, her voice indistinct and empty.

Nara's thoughts were worried
. What have you left to say to this woman?

"Don't be concerned. I need to see her."

Nara asked Gabria nothing else, but a foreboding chilled her.

Her rider was so remote. The girl's unresponsiveness could not be explained simply by weariness or distress. There was something different, an unnatural sense of urgency that precluded everything else.

The mare settled into a gal op. There was little she could do but comply until they reached the marshes and she could learn the real purpose behind their journey.

* * * * *

Like a wild tide, the four clans swept through the remaining forces of the sorcerer's army, until the ground was littered with dead and the earth was stained with blood. The Wylfling and their mercenaries fought bravely, but by the close of day they were defeated. Most of the exiles were cut down, except for a few who escaped to the hills. The Geldring, Ferganan, and Amnok clans had already surrendered, preferring the punishment of the council to annihilation by the enraged, triumphant Khulinin, and they stood aside while Savaric tore down Medb's banner.

The fighting was still going on in the valley when Athlone regained consciousness. For a moment, he thought he had drunk too much, because his stomach was queasy and his thoughts were a jumble of bad dreams and unfamiliar pain. Then he opened his eyes and saw that he was lying beside several other wounded men by the gates of the fortress. Piers was tending a warrior close by. The memories flooded back with all their griefs and furies.

The wer-tain's moan brought Piers to his side. The healer helped him sit up, then forced a cup into his hands. Athlone stared numbly down the hil at the body of Boreas while he drank the liquid.

Whatever Piers had given him burned in his stomach with revitalizing warmth, and, after a few minutes, he was able to stand. When he saw Medb's body, his jaw clenched.

"Why did she have to do that?" he groaned.

Piers said quietly, "Gabria had no choice, Wer-tain. She had to use the weapons at hand."

"The weapons at hand," Athlone repeated ironical y. He could remember using the same words to Gabria. "Where is she?" he asked after a while.

Piers's face clouded with worry. "She and Nara went south. I think she is returning to the Woman of the Marsh."

"Returning!" Athlone cried. He threw the cup to the ground and ran for the nearest horse.

Piers yelled angrily, "Athlone! You'll never catch a Hunnuli on that."

The wer-tain ignored him, grabbed the bridle of an escaped mount and swung up in the saddle. He savagely reined the animal around and kicked it into a gallop.

* * * * *

A day later, Athlone's horse fell and did not rise again. No Harachan could catch a Hunnuli or even keep pace with one, yet Athlone, his heart sick with fear and confusion, had urged the horse on until it had dropped. Now he was on foot and farther from Gabria than ever. In the hours he had ridden like a -

madman, he had given no thought to anything but keeping to Nara's trail and finding Gabria. But that day, as he trudged southeast in the hot sun, he had too much time to think and his emotions twisted inside him.

Athlone could hardly believe Gabria had killed the sorcerer with magic. He guessed she had learned sorcery from the marsh woman, but why had the girl decided to use magic as her weapon against Medb? Gabria had never shown any sign of using sorcery . . . or had she? As Athlone jogged along, he began to remember things that had seemed odd to him: her fight with Cor and the man's Strange il ness; Cor's later death at her hand; and even the fight Gabria had had with him at the pool, when she had felled him with a mere shoulder wound.