Lightnings Daughter (35 page)

Other clanspeople stared at the gorthling in open disbelief as he strode by. A loud, angry commotion was building in the two camps and spreading outward in ripples of outrage and disbelief as word of Branth's arrival flew from tent to tent.

The gorthling's lips curled in a wicked grin. Let them yap, he thought. Perhaps the uproar would attract the sorceress and bring her to him. He was growing impatient. Although he studied every female he saw, he did not see any that matched the description of the clan's only magic-wielder. He passed the fringes of the Dangari camp and went down to the banks of the Goldrine.

He glanced back and saw armed men advancing on him from the Dangari camp, sunlight glinting off their blades. Across the river, where the council tent stood in its grove of cottonwood trees, several clansmen were attracted by the loud commotion and gathered on the bank.

Branth hesitated, looking up and down the river where other camps were clustered along the shores. Several women were standing in the shallows nearby, staring at him, their washing hanging from their hands. He was about to turn and head for another camp, when the armed warriors jumped him.

Jubilantly they bound his hands behind his back and searched him for weapons. To their surprise, all they found was a heavy, leather-bound book in a pack slung on his shoulder. A huge crowd gathered, and many of the people shouted threats. Here at last was a scapegoat for some of their pent-up anger, grief, and resentment for the previous summer's bloodshed.

The gorthling watched them with an ugly sneer on his face. He would go along with this farce for a little while longer, just to see if these noisy humans would take him to those who commanded their tribes. Their leaders might know where the sorceress was hiding.

The Dangari warriors shoved Branth down the bank and hauled him across the river to where their chieftain stood, framed by the open entrance of the council tent. Much of the crowd fol owed, trampling through the water like a herd of horses. The Dangari brought their prisoner to stand before Lord Koshyn, Lord Sha Umar, Lord Wortan of the Geldring, old Lord Jol of the Murjik, and Wer-tain Guthlac. Together the men faced the bound prisoner while the crowd pushed around in a shouting, gesturing ring.

Lord Koshyn held up his hand for silence. The onlookers gradually fell quiet as their curiosity got the better of their hostility.

Koshyn studied the man before him and tried to quel a growing uneasiness. He did not like Branth's strange arrival. No exiled man under penalty of death just wanders into a clan gathering without a powerful reason. Then, too, if Athlone went to Pra Desh to find Branth and Branth appeared at the Tic Samod---what did that say of Lord Athlone's fate? The Dangari narrowed his eyes. There was a strange aura of menace about the prisoner that made the hairs rise on Koshyn's neck. Something about Branth was very different.

The chieftain turned to his men. "Was he armed?"

"No, Lord. He only had this with him." One of the warriors handed the leather bag to the chief.

Koshyn felt his hands grow cold when he looked in the bag. “The
Book of Matrah
," he said aloud.

His uneasiness boiled into full alarm.

Lord Jol drew a sharp breath and edged away from the book. The other chiefs looked at one another with mixed expressions of suspicion and confusion.

After he handed the bag back to his warrior, Koshyn squared his shoulders. "You are under penalty of death,” he said to Branth. "Why did you come back?"

The gorthling sneered. Death? That was a joke. He drew himself up to Branth's ful height and stared out over the crowd, looking for the sorceress. He still wanted to find her before he blasted these annoying mortals to burned bits.

"Branth," Sha Umar said sharply, "you are condemned to die for conspiracy, treason, and murder.

You can choose your own manner of death if you answer the question. Why are you here?"

The gorthling had had enough of their questions. He turned his inhuman glance on the chieftains.

"To be your master!" he said with cold, deliberate malice.

The clanspeople reacted immediately. They surged closer, jostling and grabbing at the prisoner. The Dangari warriors struggled to keep them away until the chiefs could decide what to do.

Koshyn's face flushed with rage. Yet even as his fury mounted, a warning cry sounded in his head.

Branth had had the
Book of Matrah
in his possession for almost a year---plenty of time to learn sorcery.

If that was the case, then the only way they could render him defenseless was to kill him, or at least knock him unconscious. While he could think, he could cast spel s; someone would have to deal with him, and quickly.

Everyone's attention was on Branth, and the gorthling's attention appeared to be on the Dangari warriors that crowded around him. Without warning, Koshyn snatched a battle axe from the belt of a warrior beside him and brought it swinging toward Branth's head.

It never landed.

The gorthling saw the blurred movement out of the corner of his eye, then barked a spell that froze the chieftain in mid- motion. The clanspeople around them fell still, their eyes strained wide, their faces caught in expressions of disbelief and shock. The silence spread outward into the crowd until the entire council grove was quiet.

The gorthling laughed and snapped the bonds around his wrists. "Now, worthless little man,” he hissed to Koshyn, "perhaps you can tel me where the sorceress is." He raised his hand and sent a powerful burst of energy sizzling into Koshyn's body.

The excruciating pain ripped through the young Dangari. He screamed and fel to the ground in a writhing heap, unable to fight the torturous magic.

The sight of the vicious arcane spell broke the crowded clanspeople's stunned lethargy. They backed away to put a wide space between themselves and Branth. The chieftains, even Lord Jol, drew their swords, and they and the Dangari warriors leaped in to try to save the young lord. The gorthling blasted them aside as easily as swatting flies, killing three of the warriors. He continued to torture Koshyn.

"The sorceress!" Branth shouted furiously. "Where is she?"

"She's not here,” Lord Sha Umar answered desperately. He picked himself up from the ground, his eyes pinned on Koshyn's writhing body.

The gorthling's face twisted into a frightening mask of delight, hate, and rage that sickened the watchers. "Where is she?" He made a jabbing motion with his hand, and Koshyn screamed in agony.

Sha Umar stepped forward, his hand raised in a pleading gesture. "We don't know. She went to look for you.”

"She went to Pra Desh to find you,” Lord Jol cried. The old chief was on the verge of panic. "But she'll be here soon."

Branth pounced on Jol's words. "Soon? When!"

Wer-tain Guthlac spoke up. "No one knows."

"Tell me, you worms, or this man dies!" Branth screamed. "I want the sorceress."

"Then look behind you," a new voice cal ed from the edge of the grove.

The men started in surprise.

The gorthling whirled around and saw a young woman sitting astride a great black Hunnuli. He forgot about the men around him. His cruel mouth laughed in triumph, and his eyes began to glow red as the horse slowly paced toward him.

Without hesitation Sha Umar and Guthlac grabbed Koshyn's arms and dragged the chieftain's body out of sight, behind the council tent. The other clanspeople fled hastily out of the way. In the chaos, no one remembered the ancient tome in its brown leather bag lying in front of the council tent among the fallen stools, the scattered personal belongings, and the three dead Dangari warriors.

The gorthling sneered. "I've been looking for you, Sorceress.”

"And I you,” Gabria replied. Nara stopped twenty paces away, and the woman and the gorthling studied each other. Even in the warm morning Gabria felt a chill. The man before her looked like Branth physically: tall, brown hair, muscular build, everything perfectly normal and human. Only his presence was different. There was a cold glint of merciless cruelty in his eyes and an aura of hostility in his every move.

"We don't want you in this world,” Gabria said.

The gorthling smirked. "Some people did."

"Go back to your own realm,” she retorted. "You don't belong here."

"It's too late, Sorceress. I am here to stay." Even as the words left his mouth, the gorthling fired a bolt of the Trymian Force at the woman.

It came so fast Gabria was taken by surprise. However, the Hunnuli had been waiting for just such a move, and she reared high to protect her rider. The blue bolt struck her full on her chest, burst in a cloud of sparks, and evaporated harmlessly in the air.

The mare snorted.

Shaken, Gabria patted Nara in thanks and quickly formed an oblong clan battle shield with her arcane power. The magic shield was not as effective as a full force field, but it needed much less energy to maintain and would provide some protection. The gorthling came at her again and fired another bolt.

This time she caught the force with the shield. Again and again Branth attacked, his barrage of sizzling blue blasts almost constant. He circled the Hunnuli to catch the woman from every angle, but either she or the mare blocked each blow.

In the back of her mind Gabria prayed that a stray bolt would not hit some of the clanspeople hiding among the trees of the council grove or any of the onlookers across the rivers. The uproar of the battle had brought people running from all directions. They were crowding on the banks of both rivers and watching Gabria and the gorthling with mixed amazement and horror. Many of them had never seen an arcane battle before. Fortunately for Gabria, no one dared cross the river to the council grove, and those people who hid among the trees and around the tent stayed very low.

Gabria made no move to take the offensive. She knew the gorthling's ability to enhance human powers would make him a formidable opponent, a sorcerer far stronger than Lord Medb. She hoped that by letting him expend his strength in this attack on her, she could wear him down enough so her powers would have an effect on him. Until then, she and Nara had to stay alert.

Strangely, the gorthling had so far only used the Trymian Force against her. Either he was too arrogant to bother with other spel s, or he had not had enough time to study the more complicated spel s in the
Book of Matrah
. Gabria prayed his reason was the latter.

The gorthling hurled bolts of the Trymian Force at Gabria and Nara, but he soon grew weary of the attack. He seemed to realize Gabria's intent was to simply avoid him, for he suddenly changed tactics.

Instead of bolts that the woman could easily deflect with her shield, he threw balls of fire at the mare's feet that set the grass ablaze. Then he launched a spell that wrenched deep, wide cracks in the earth all around the horse.

Nara was forced toward the gorthling while Gabria frantically tried to put out the fires and seal the cracks. Before she had time to snuff out all the flames, the gorthling fired at her again with the Trymian Force.

Nara reared and caught one blast, barely avoiding a huge crack at her feet. The second hit Gabria's shield at a bad angle and nearly blew her off the mare.

Out of desperation, the sorceress formed a complete protective shield around herself and Nara just long enough to recover her seat and get the mare away from the fires. To Gabria's relief, the gorthling did not try immediately to shatter her defense. He had hesitated and seemed to be breathing heavily.

Gabria wondered if he was tiring at last.

"What do I do?" she whispered frantically to Nara. "I can't hold this shield much longer."

The big mare leaped over a crack in the ground and angled around Branth to safer ground.
He is
immortal, but his body is human. He is most vulnerable there,
the mare suggested.
He may not know all
of his weaknesses.

Gabria thought fast. Perhaps she could use his human frailties to destroy the gorthling's human body. If he was separated from Branth, it might be easier to trap or banish him. When the gorthling raised his arm to attack her again, she dissolved the arcane shield and formed her spel .

Not knowing the intricacies of the human body, the gorthling had no defense against her magic.

Black boils suddenly erupted on his flesh. The gorthling hesitated; a peculiar expression came over his face. His skin faded to a bilious yellow, and he doubled over in excruciating pain. "Sorceress,” he bellowed. "What is this?"

Gabria did not answer. She breathed deeply to relax and regain her strength. Now it was her turn to use the Trymian Force. She drew the power from within herself and fired a searing blow at the gorthling.

He was so sick and weakened by the unfamiliar fever that he barely avoided her blow. Time and again Gabria carefully attacked him with the Trymian Force and other missiles--- daggers, fire, rocks---

anything she could think of to make him move and react and use up his strength.

Final y the gorthling understood the sickness she had given him and cured his symptoms one by one. He staggered to his feet, his human face full of wrath.

Gabria hesitated. She did not think another sickness spell would be effective, because the gorthling was beginning to understand how the il ness affected him. He would be better able to defend himself against a second attempt. But now she was at a loss over what to do next.

During that brief pause Gabria and Branth faced each other. The creature curled his lip and said,

"You are better than I believed, Sorceress. You have withstood the usual battle spells I use." He raised his hands. "Now try this one."

Gabria stiffened to face the blow, but when it came, it took her completely by surprise. Her mind went abruptly blank. Then the world seemed to explode into a fiery maelstrom of whirling winds and searing heat. She felt herself being pulled helplessly into a giant vortex of tornadic winds and swirling fire.

She rol ed and tumbled in the funnel of air and fire, screaming in pain, helplessness, and beneath it all, fury. The heat charred her skin, the winds flayed her face and limbs.