Dark Horse (9 page)

"Indeed."

"You may not believe me,” the messenger replied stiffly, "but Lord Branth believes it to be true. The hoof prints were those of unshod horses, and we found several broken arrows with colorless feathers.

The attackers took or burned their dead."

Savaric drummed his fingers on his knee and looked thoughtful. "Branth is a minion of Lord Medb's, is he not?" he asked casual y.

The Geldring started at the unexpected question and his hand came to rest on his sword. "I do not know, Lord."

Savaric raised his hand to reassure the man. "Forgive me. That was not a fair question to you. I merely wished to know if there were other reasons besides my ignorance to warn me of the exiles'

infamy."

"I only report what I am told." The Geldring paused. "But you are not surprised about the exiles banding together and carrying weapons? It could mean more death and pillage for us all."

"Did they pillage the treld?" Athlone inquired.

Surprise overcame the young man's face as the realization dawned on him. "No. No, they did not.

They burned everything and drove off the animals."

"There were other motives for the attack besides the greed of a few brigands." Savaric suddenly looked tired. "If that is al your news, then please rest yourself and take Lord Branth my greetings."

The messenger bowed again and left. A silence dropped in the hal . In the doorway, the guards stood in the sunlight that streamed down from the west.

Finally, Savaric stirred and rose slowly to his feet. He looked as if his mind were still grappling with the meaning of the Geldring's news. "Gabran,” he said at last.

Gabria glanced up at Savaric's face. For a moment he seemed so old, as though the growing flames of tragedy and deceit that burned among the clans were more than he wanted to deal with. Then the look passed, the weariness and defeat were gone, and his eyes glittered.

Unconsciously, Gabria straightened her shoulders. "Yes, lord?"

"It seems that your story is falling into place. You were careless, though. Medb will soon know his bandits were not thorough."

"I expected he would find out one way or another, lord."

The chieftain smiled humorlessly. "True. But we must be more circumspect. You will wear the Khulinin cloak from now on. I do not wish to startle any guests."

Gabria nodded. She wanted to keep her cloak with her. It was her only link to her past and the happiness she had known. Nevertheless, she understood that wearing it would be unsafe, as well as an insult to the Khulinin who had tentatively accepted her. She would obey. For now.

"Also," Savaric continued, "you have the choice of sleeping with the other bachelors in this hall or with Athlone in his tent. He has no woman, but it would be more comfortable than the hal ."

Gabria did not even consider the choice. "I will sleep in the hall."

Savaric chuckled. It was Athlone's duty to care for his apprentice, but if the boy chose to be on his own, then so be it. The chieftain stretched his legs as he stepped off the dais. "You wil ride with the evening outriders for now."

"Yes, Lord."

"And, boy, be careful. You are the last Corin."

The smells of cooking food for the evening meal were warming the treld when Athlone took Gabria to the leader of the clan's outriders and left her in his charge. The man, a pleasant-faced warrior of thirty some years, wore his black hair bound in an intricate knot and had several gold armbands on his right arm.

He gave Gabria a pleasant smile. "My name is Jorlan. I am pleased to have the Hunnuli with us. I hope she does not mind such menial tasks as guard duty."

Nara nickered her impression of laughter and rubbed her nose on Gabria's back.

With Athlone gone, Gabria relaxed a little and enjoyed the leader's unexpected friendliness. It made it easier to ignore the hostile glances of the other outriders and the blatant gestures they made to ward off evil.

"She does not mind at all. Besides, she has to do something to earn all the grass she eats," Gabria said.

Jorlan laughed. He sent his men to their tasks, then mounted his bay horse and gestured to the meadows where the clan's herds grazed. "You wil be riding with the brood mares tonight. They are due to foal soon."

Gabria was surprised. No wonder the outriders had been so hostile. The brood mares were the most coveted herd to guard and the duty was usual y given to the favored warriors in the werod. She, as the newest warrior-in-training, should have been sent to the farthest fringes of the valley to stand sentry duty.

On the other hand, if she considered the leader's point of view, it was excellent sense to put the Hunnuli mare and her rider with the valuable brood mares. Nara was the best possible protector, combining the speed, strength, and senses of several men and their mounts. The duty was not given as a reward but for expediency.

"Right now, I wil take you to the meadows to meet the meara," Jorlan added.

They fol owed the well-worn track down the hil to the extensive meadows that filled the valley. To the north, where the fields were protected from the winter winds by the backbone of Marakor, the Harachan horses were divided into several herds, each led by a stallion or mare of high rank. The largest herd was the work horses, the second was the yearlings and young horses in training, and the third was the brood mares.

Over all reigned the meara, the greatest stallion in eminence and rank. Each clan had a meara, which was chosen from their herds for the finest blood and ability, and these stallions were the pride and heart of their clans. No man dared lay a hand on one, save the chieftain, and to kill a meara was a crime punishable by the most hideous death. In the summer, the meara fought for his rank against selected males. If he was victorious, he was honored for another year; if he failed, he was returned with gratitude to the goddess, Amara, and the new meara ruled the herds.

The Khulinin meara was named Vayer. He was standing on a small hillock near the river, a mounted outrider with him. Even from a distance, Gabria would have recognized the horse as the meara. She had never seen a Harachan stallion to compare with him in form, beauty, or strength. He was a large chestnut with a golden mane falling from his high arched neck, and the gleam of fire in his hide.

Although the Harachan horses did not have the size or intelligence of the Hunnuli, this stallion was wise from years of experience, and he carried his nobility like he carried his tail, as boldly as a king's banner in battle.

When Jorlan and Gabria reached the hillock, Vayer neighed a greeting. As Jorlan spoke to him, Gabria looked closer and saw the horse's muzzle was hoary with age, and scars from many battles marred his red hide. Still, his muscles were solid and his regal courage blazed in his golden eyes.

Vayer gravely sniffed Nara and snorted. She neighed imperiously in answer. The stallion, obviously satisfied, nickered to the men and trotted away. The outriders watched him go.

Jorlan and the rider talked for a moment longer, while Gabria looked over the herd of young horses nearby. They were a strong and healthy group, and they had wintered wel . Their long coats had not shed yet and were stil thick and shaggy. It would be a few more weeks before their sleek beauty was revealed.

The colts reminded Gabria of the Corin's horses. She wondered what had become of the brood mares, the yearlings, and the stallions. Had the exiles stolen most of them, or had the horses wandered onto the steppes and been taken into wild herds? Perhaps some of them had found their way to other clans. One horse she would have liked to have back was the Corin meara, Balor. He had been her father's pride and joy.

"We had a good yearling herd this year," Jorlan commented to Gabria.

Gabria nodded absently, her mind still on the lost stallion. "Amara should bless you with another rich Foaling ," she said.

Both warriors stared at her in angry astonishment. Men did not speak of Amara and the Foaling in the same breath for fear of incurring bad luck. Amara was a woman's deity.

"Your fortunes have been bad," Jorlan snapped. "Do not cast any of it on us."

Gabria winced at the reproof. It was well deserved, for she had spoken thoughtlessly.

I should keep my mouth shut,
Gabria decided, but it was too easy for her to slip back into her old habits. To make matters worse, she had forgotten what Jorlan reminded her of: she still carried the stigma of exile and death. Most people would refuse to look beyond that, and if anything unfortunate happened, especially a poor Foaling, they would find some way to blame her. She was an easy scapegoat---particularly if the clan discovered she was not a boy.

Jorlan said no more to Gabria and, after bidding farewell to the outrider, guided her to the brood mare herd.

The mares were pastured in a smal val ey at the edge of the mountains, where a creek flowed out of the hills to join the Goldrine River. Cottonwood, willow, and birch shaded the creek banks, and grass, herbs, and shrubs grew thick on the val ey floor.

Spring was not wel advanced, but already the fodder was green and lush, and the trees were bursting with budding leaves. There was a delicate, almost tangible essence of anticipation in the valley, as if the rising life in the trees and grasses and the stream had combined with the sunlight to bless the mares and their unborn foals. Almost fifty horses grazed contentedly among the trees, while the lead mare, Halle, kept a close watch on them all.

Nara whinnied a greeting when Jorlan led them into the valley. Halle returned her call and every mare close by replied with a ringing cry of welcome. The mares trotted over to greet the Hunnuli. Their bel ies were distended and they moved ponderously, yet their heads swung graceful y as they sniffed the Hunnuli and her rider.

Another rider hailed Jorlan from the creek and came splashing down the stream to meet them. "Ye gods, she is a beauty,” he cal ed. His mount bounded up the bank. "I heard there was a Hunnuli in the treld, but I could not believe it." He ignored Gabria and stared at the great black horse. He was a tall, deceptively languid man with muddy eyes and an unconscious curl in his lip.

Gabria disliked him immediately.

"Cor," Jorlan called over the heads of the mares. "This is Gabran. He and the Hunnuli will be riding with you tonight."

The young warrior's pleasure abruptly vanished and anger darkened his face. "No, Jorlan. That boy is an exile. He cannot ride with the mares or his evil will destroy the foals."

Gabria clenched her hands on her thighs and stared unhappily at the ground.

"As you so aptly noticed, the boy rides a Hunnuli. You know ful wel the mare would tolerate no evil near her,” Jorlan replied. His voice was edged with sarcasm and irritation, and Gabria wondered if he, too, had doubts about her effect on the mares.

Cor shook his head forcefully. "I will not ride with him. Let me have the Hunnuli. I can handle her.

But the exile must go."

"Cor, I appreciate your concern, but the boy and the Hunnuli wil stay."

Cor pushed his horse closer to Jorlan's mount and shouted, "Why should that boy be al owed to ride guard on the mares just because he has a Hunnuli? Why can't he earn the duty like the rest of us?"

Jorlan's patience was at an end. "One more outburst from you,” he said tightly, "and you will be relieved. Your disobedience and insolence are intolerable. I have warned you before about your behavior.”

Cor's face paled and the muscles around his eyes tightened in anger. "Sir, the exile will blight the mares. It's not right!"

"He is a member of the clan, not an exile."

The outrider slammed his fist on the scabbard of his sword. He wanted to say more, but the look on Jorlan's face stopped him. . .

"Return to your duties," Jorlan snarled. His tone left no room for argument.

Something swirled in the silty depths of Cor's eyes like the flick of a pike's tail. He snapped a look of fury at Gabria, reined his horse away, and sullenly rode back up the valley.

"Sir. . .” Gabria started to say.

"Gabran, you will learn that I will not tolerate such arrogance or questioning of my orders."

"You do not believe I will bring evil luck to the mares?"

"What I believe does not matter. Lord Savaric gave me his orders." Then Jorlan glanced at Gabria's face and his tone softened. "Do not be concerned about Cor. He has received several warnings about his vindictiveness and bad temper. If he gets warned again, he loses his duty as outrider. He is probably more worried about himself than the mares."

Gabria glanced at him in gratitude. It was a relief to know Cor's attitude was not entirely her fault.

Jorlan whistled sharply and two large hounds bounded through the undergrowth. He tossed them some meat scraps from a small bag at his belt.

"The Hunnuli can guard the herd better than our men, but stay close to these dogs. The hunters found signs of a lion in the hills nearby." Jorlan started to leave, then came back. "If you need help, there is a horn hanging in that tree by the creek. Your replacement wil be here about midnight.” Jorlan left, cantering his horse back toward the treld.

Gabria was relieved to be left alone with Nara and the mares for a while. She could relax in their undemanding company and enjoy the peace of the evening. The evening was a lovely one, clear and mild, and the twilight gently lingered into night. The wind was cool and the stars glittered overhead in glorious sprays. The night was full of sounds familiar to Gabria: the ripple of the creek, the rustle of the trees, and the sounds of contented horses. She hummed a tune to herself while she rode Nara along the creek and scouted the surrounding hil s, keeping watch for a mare in trouble or a hunting predator. The hounds padded silently beside her.

She only saw Cor a few times in the course of their duty. He remained near the head of-the little valley and stayed to himself.

The moon, now waning, rose near the end of Gabria's watch. She and Nara stood under the trees at the mouth of the val ey with the mare, Hal e. The night was quiet; the dogs sprawled on the ground, panting.