“Piers?” Gabria called.
The curtains were thrown back and the healer stood beside her. “Good afternoon, Gabran,” Piers said, his face carefully masked.
Gabria’s eyes widened. “Afternoon? How long have I slept?”
“Only a few hours.”
“Oh, no. Lady Tungoli—”
“She is the one who ordered me to let you sleep as long as necessary. Athlone led another hunting party after the lion.”
Gabria carefully sat up and gingerly moved her ankle. It was tightly bound, but the swelling was noticeably less and she could move it some without pain. Piers gave her a hand and she stood up. She hobbled to the stool. The healer gave her soup, bread, and cheese. The girl inhaled the rich smell of the soup and suddenly realized how hungry she was.
When Gabria was finished eating, she pushed the plates away and relaxed with a full stomach. She looked over to the pallet to see Cor still sleeping comfortably under the blankets. His face seemed free of pain, and there was no sign of the incredible magic that had invaded his body.
“How is Cor?” she finally asked.
Piers was cutting a slice of bread for himself and he glanced over at the warrior. “I am sure he will live, but he will never take a wife.” He felt pity for the young man. The blow from Gabran’s bow and the arcane force had probably ruined Cor’s sexual manhood. The man was an ill-tempered fool, but he did not deserve the stigma of impotency.
Gabria stared at the ground for a long while. She had so many thoughts and memories and emotions raging inside her mind, she could not think. She had no idea what to do next.
After a time, Piers came over and sat on another stool by the table. Gabria looked up at him. “What will you tell Savaric?” she asked, trying to keep her voice level.
The healer’s long hands played with a crust of bread. His face looked old and tired. “I have been trying to think all afternoon of what I will say.”
Gabria was pale, for she knew at this moment her life was in the healer’s hands. By law, Piers must accuse her of sorcery to the clan chieftain and leave her fate to the chief and his elders. But if he did so, Piers would risk himself, for he had used the magic in the healing stone. It was a ticklish decision, and Gabria could not even guess what the healer would do. “Have you thought of something?” she inquired as calmly as possible.
“At the moment, I will simply tell him Cor was ill from complications of his injury from the fight, but that he is recovering now.” Piers lifted an eyebrow. “Will that be sufficient?”
A faint sigh escaped Gabria’s lips. She nodded quickly. “Thank you.”
Piers leaned forward, his hands on the table edge. “But we still have to face the fact that Cor was struck by a magic power.”
Gabria tensed. “I know!” she said. “I agree he was injured by something more than my bow. But you have no proof! did it! I do not know where the power came from and neither do you.”
“I know, but—”
Gabria jumped up, knocking over the stool. Her fears and emotions crowded in on her until she wanted to scream. She had to get out of the tent, go somewhere and collect her wits. She had to think. “No. Enough. Whatever happened, it will never happen again.”
Piers came around the table and grasped her arm. “You don’t know that,” he exclaimed. “If you have this talent for sorcery, it will not go away. It will always be there, waiting for some spark to set it off again.”
“If. You only say if,” Gabria shouted. “You do not know for I certain. Even if I had this ability, what could I do about it?” She limped to the entrance, hoping to escape before the healer could say any more.
“Gabran,” Piers said quietly.
Gabria cut him short. “Thank you for your help, Healer. I am grateful.” Then she ducked out and fled.
The rain had stopped some time earlier, and the clouds were breaking into huge, fluffy islands. The sun poured through every rent and covered the hills with moving patches of light I and shadow. A fresh breeze blew up to Gabria from the steppes beyond Khulinin Treld. She took a deep breath. The invigorating coolness relaxed her a little and helped her sort out her thoughts enough to know what she wanted to do that moment. She wanted to find Nara.
The girl pushed her shorn hair back and hobbled down the path between the big tents, toward the far pastures. Nara was probably out there, grazing, and Gabria wanted desperately to be near the comforting strength of the Hunnuli.
Most of the men were gone from the treld, hunting the lion, but many of the women were out of the tents, enjoying the bright sun. No one acknowledged Gabria as she passed, so she I hurried on, trying not to feel the loneliness and self-pity that reared up inside of her.
By the time she reached the picket lines at the edge of the treld, she was limping badly again. She stopped to rest. In the fields before her, several men were training young horses. Another group of warriors was practicing archery. Gabria balked at the thought of crossing to the pastures, because she would need agility and speed to pass through all of the activity without getting in the way. At the moment, she had neither.
She watched the archers for a moment as they sent their mounts in a full gallop across the grass. As one, they roared a ferocious cry, wheeled their horses, fired a barrage of arrows over their backs at a target, and retreated, whooping with glee, to the starting point. Gabria watched the strange maneuver in surprise. It was a difficult one, requiring skill with horse and bow, and timing. The warriors had performed it flawlessly, and the target was riddled, witnessing to their accuracy.
“They are getting good,” someone said behind her.
Gabria turned her head and saw Jorlan, the night commander of the outriders, standing beside the farrier’s tent a few paces away. He was holding the halter of a snappish filly. The farrier, a burley man with huge hands, had the filly’s foreleg clamped between his thighs and was trimming a hoof.
“Where did they learn to do that?” she asked.
“It is part of some new tactics Athlone is teaching. He learned it from the Turic raiders, who are masters of the hit and run,” Jorlan replied.
Gabria glanced back at the archers who were lining up for another run. “Why should a clan this size have to worry about raiding tactics?”
Jorlan pursed his lips and patted the filly’s neck. “Lord Medb is growing very powerful. He is pulling other clans to him or dealing with them as he did the Corin. We are not invincible. Before summer is out, I believe there will be war.”
The farrier snorted, a sound not unlike his horses’. “Lord Medb is a fool. He cannot hope to control the entire grasslands or the clans. He will burn out soon.”
“Maybe,” Jorlan said thoughtfully. “As long as he does not scorch us in his passing.”
The farrier laughed, startling the filly. “Stand still, you girl,” he soothed. “You fret more than my wife.”
“Have you seen the Hunnuli?” Gabria asked. She did not want to discuss Medb. The treld was closing in on her and she wanted to run.
Jorlan gestured to the river. “I think she is by the river. You did well last night. I am sorry about Cor,” he added as an afterthought.
“So am I,” Gabria shot back, irritated by the reminder of that incident. She did not want to think about last night until she was clear of the treld. She swung around, put her fingers to her lips, and gave a piercing whistle. She waited for a moment wondering if Nara had heard.
Then came a thundering neigh in answer to her summons. The call reverberated through Khulinin Treld like the horns of a battle charge. Everyone in the treld paused in their tasks and listened again for the neigh of joy and pride. Movement ceased in the fields. Men and horses alike watched as Nara appeared on the crest of a distant hill. She neighed again, this time in greeting, and Gabria, feeling the mare’s delight, laughed in pleasure.
The girl whistled once more. Nara leaped down the hill, her tail unfurled, and galloped toward the treld. Her mane whipped out like grass before a tornado; her hooves flashed as she flung her legs forward. Like a black cornet, she burst onto the crowded field and swept through the men and horses. They parted before her power and grandeur. She thundered up the slope and skidded to a halt, inches away from Gabria. The mare snorted delicately.