“Good. The boy will need all the strength he can muster.”
“I understand Athlone is to be Gabran’s mentor,” the healer said. .
Savaric chuckled. “Of course. Athlone wished to personally handle the boy’s training.”
“Athlone can go jump in a swamp,” Gabria muttered.
The chief turned to her, his expression hard. “What did you say, boy?”
Gabria winced. She had not meant to speak so freely. She had to remember she was no longer with her own family. Her face blushed even brighter, and she stared at the ground speechlessly.
“Keep a civil tongue, Gabran,” Savaric ordered, hiding a smile as Piers winked at him. “Tomorrow, if you can ride, you will begin your duties.”
“Yes, Lord,” Gabria mumbled as Savaric strode out. She sagged on her stool and gripped her bowl to still her trembling hands.
I am an idiot! she thought to herself. First I forget to salute the chief, and then I scorn the wer-tain in front of his father. Careless mistakes like those could draw unwanted attention and expose the weaknesses of my disguise. There were too many other things to remember about behaving like a boy to be caught in some dull-witted error. I have to be more careful! Glancing sideways at Piers, Gabria stretched out her legs in a masculine manner and rested her elbows on her knees as she finished her soup.
“Your Hunnuli has been waiting. Perhaps you might walk out and reassure her,” Piers suggested when Gabria returned the bowl.
The girl nodded and stood up, waiting for the dizziness that struck before. This time, the soup steadied her and she found she was able to walk without shaking. Nara was by the tent’s entrance and nickered in delight when the girl came out.
I feared you might be ill.
“No, just weary,” Gabria said. She wound her fingers through Nara’s ebony mane. “Have you had any food?”
No, I have been waiting for you.
“Then let’s go down by the river. I need to think.”
They walked side by side through the encampment, ignoring the faces that turned to watch them and the fingers that pointed their way. No one greeted them or offered them hospitality, and no one came near. Gabria was relieved when she and Nara left the tents behind and reached the banks of the river. It was difficult to hide her weakness and walk like a Corin past the staring clansmen. Her legs were trembling again and she felt lightheaded by the time Nara found a secluded place by the water.
Gabria gratefully sat down in the long, lush grass of the treeless bank while Nara began to graze. The girl leaned back, letting the wind touch her face and tufts of grass tickle her neck as she listened to the rippling music of the river.
We are being watched.
Nara’s thought was a rude awakening. The mare still grazed in apparent disregard, but she faced away from the girl toward a bare hillock, where a lone horse stood, its head turned toward them.
Gabria glared at the distant horse, then turned away in disgust. “I’m not surprised. Where is the rider?”
There is none. That is a Hunnuli stallion.
“Athlone, the wer-tain.” Gabria pitched a pebble in the water and watched as the circles were overwhelmed by the flow of the stream. “He sent his Hunnuli to watch us so he could be sure we do not try to contact Medb—or do anything else suspicious,” she said sarcastically.
The man is cautious and has a need to be, the mare pointed out with mild reproof. He is to be trusted.
“Trusted!” Gabria cried. “He would kill me if he ever found my secret. One mistake, one little slip of my disguise, and he will spear me as neatly as a jackal.” She pulled her cloak closer and added, “Women are not permitted to be warriors among our people. But I must try to be one. Death is the only thing I can trust to receive from Athlone if I fail.”
It is too bad you feel that way. He would be a powerful ally.
“You are the only ally I need. You, my sword, and the good will of the gods.”
They remained by the river for a long time while Nara ate her fill of the rich grass and Gabria watched the meadowlarks dip above the grazing livestock. They both ignored the watching stallion.
But Gabria found that her peace had fled her. She could not relax or let her mind wander while the Hunnuli stallion guarded her every move. She was not accustomed to such distrust or being treated with dislike. In all of her seventeen years, she had never felt so alone; for Gabran, her family, and her clan had always been with her. Nothing had prepared her for the endless confusion and emptiness that had dogged her steps since the day of the massacre. She was not a Khulinin and she never would be, but she wished someone would accept her with open arms. She wanted to be warm and comfortable and welcome, not pushed out in the shadows like a thieving beggar.
The evening was growing cold when Gabria and the mare returned to the treld. Nara led the way to the healer’s tent. Piers was gone when Gabria entered, yet she found another bowl of soup warming by the fire and her pack lying on the sleeping pallet. Everything in the bag had been cleaned and mended, and a new tunic of soft linen had been added. Sleepy again, Gabria finished the soup, curled up in her cloak, and sank into another motionless sleep.
Athlone came for Gabria at dawn, when the echoes of the morning horn were fading. Astride his towering stallion, he shouted at her to come, for her apprenticeship was about to begin. She barely had time to grab a warm bun from Piers’s table, pin on her cloak, and dash out of the tent before the wer-tain was cantering off toward the meadows. Groggily, she clambered onto Nara’s back and followed, her irritation wide awake.
“Come on, boy, your duties start at sunrise,” Athlone said when Gabria had finally caught up with him. “And don’t let me catch you shirking.”
He led her to a practice field where several targets and makeshift figures were set up. “Before I can begin your training,” he stated, sliding off his horse, “I need to know what you can do.” His tone implied that he did not expect much. Then, his eyes hardened to stone. “Where are your sword and bow?”
Gabria felt her stomach fall to her knees. The day had barely begun and already she had made a careless error. No warrior left his tent without his weapons; she had not even brought her dagger. “Wer-tain, I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I do not have a bow and I . . . left my sword. . . in the tent.”
Athlone walked deliberately around the horses until he stood by Gabria’s foot. The silence crackled. “You what?” he snarled with withering scorn. “If such carelessness is characteristic of your clan, it is little wonder they were wiped out.”
Gabria stiffened as if he had struck her. Her face went livid and her hand flew to her empty belt.
Careful, Nara warned, sidling away. Keep still.
“Return with your sword,” Athlone ordered. “If you know what one looks like.”
Before Gabria could reply, Nara wheeled and cantered back to the treld. Once they were out of earshot, Gabria clenched her hands in the Hunnuli’s black mane. “That dog!” she screamed. “Insufferable pig! He just insulted an entire clan and I can do nothing.”
They came to Piers’s tent. Gabria stormed in and retrieved her short sword, the one she had taken from Gabran’s hand.
“Trust him, you said!” she raged as she flung herself back on the mare. “I’d sooner trust a viper.”
Nara deigned to ignore her. She carried the fuming girl back to the field where Athlone waited impatiently. Gabria spent the next few hours keeping her misery and anger tightly leashed. Athlone worked her at swordplay and hand-to-hand fighting. They began on horseback, where Athlone’s stallion, Boreas, could help Nara with complicated maneuvers. Then they moved to the ground. Athlone pressed Gabria to the limit of her strength and skill.