Hesitantly, Gabria picked up Athlone’s gold belt and weighed the heavy metal in her hands. There must have been something that told the Hunnuli that Athlone would not or could not kill her at that time. Her hands tightened around the belt. Perhaps their intuition had something to do with the incident with Cor. Gabria had tried to forget the fight, her dream, and Piers’s accusations, but the memories replayed in her mind time and again.
A sickening feeling grew in her stomach. This incident with the wer-tain was too horribly familiar. Oh, gods, she thought, looking at Athlone, what if I have done it again? Maybe the Hunnuli knew she had a hidden defense, one that could defeat even Athlone.
That idea was more than Gabria wanted to think about then, so, for the moment, she pushed aside the fears forming in her mind and wordlessly helped Nara lift the wer-tain onto Boreas’s back. Gabria wrapped the golden cloak around Athlone’s bare back and threw away the remains of his tunic.
They traveled slowly back down the mountain, Boreas stepping carefully to keep Athlone balanced. Gabria spent the time thinking of something to tell Savaric. She wondered if she should flee before Athlone regained consciousness. Even slow starvation would be better than the death Savaric would give her for impersonating a warrior and attacking a wer-tain. Her life could be over the moment Athlone recovered, and no power on earth could save her.
But where could she go? Gabria would be permanently exiled and marked for death. Any clansman who saw her would be obligated to kill her. She would have no clan, no honor, no hope to kill Medb. Yet if she stayed, she was risking her life on the insights of two Hunnuli. Somehow, Nara and Boreas had realized that Athlone was not a danger to her. Otherwise they would not let her return to the treld. Nara had said Athlone could be her best ally. Maybe it was true.
Perhaps if Nara and Boreas supported her, she could convince Athlone to help her. The wer-tain’s willing skill and influence would be invaluable in the battle against Lord Medb.
Gabria was beginning to realize that there was far more to killing a chieftain like Medb than a simple challenge and a duel.
Athlone’s help would greatly improve her chances. Unfortunately, she doubted she would be able to convince the wer-tain before he exposed her to Savaric. The wer-tain’s rage would undoubtedly wake with him.
Give him time to think, Boreas told her, breaking her preoccupation.
Gabria started. She had the uncomfortable feeling that the Hunnuli could understand her thoughts, despite what Nara told her. “What?” she asked.
The man is not always impetuous. Give him time and he will understand.
“May I stake my life on that?” Gabria asked hopefully.
Yes. The stallion was adamant.
Gabria robbed her hand down Nara’s neck and sighed. “I hope you will move fast if Savaric orders me killed.”
Nara shook her mane. There will be no need.
An outrider saw them as they walked down the hill, and he galloped back to the treld to find Piers. Gabria watched him disappear among the distant tents ,and steeled herself to meet Savaric. She would have to control her every movement and reaction for fear of the chieftain seeing through her feeble story. She just hoped he would not look too carefully at Athlone’s wound beneath the makeshift bandages.
A crowd met them at the edge of the treld, and gentle hands lifted Athlone down and carried him to Piers’s tent. Gabria did not try to hide her relief. But other clansmen watched her with open hostility. The hearthguard came and unobtrusively circled around her. Savaric stood before her with his arms crossed. His face was expressionless.
“How did this happen?” the chief demanded.
Gabria dismounted and met his gaze levelly. “Athlone followed me this morning when I went for a swim in the stream above the Goldrine. While Nara and Boreas were grazing, he climbed a rock wall by the pool and fell on a broken branch.”
“Why?” The word was an accusation.
“I don’t know,” she said as innocently as possible. “Maybe the rocks were slippery. I only saw him fall.”
“Why did he follow you?”
She glanced at Boreas and patted the horse’s neck. Too many details could sound contrived, so she replied, “I guess he wanted to go riding.”
The chieftain looked at the two Hunnuli standing protectively beside the girl and then considered her for an excruciating moment. She could feel the eyes of the other warriors boring into her back as everyone waited for Savaric to guide them. A minute passed and Gabria quelled the desire to bolt for Nara’s back.
“Thank you for bringing him back,” Savaric said at last.
The ring of men visibly relaxed. The watching clansmen began to drift away, but Gabria still stood her ground. “It was my duty.”
Savaric smiled, a knowing lift of his thin lips that held no humor. “Sometimes duty is not taken into account.” He turned on his heel and left her, gesturing to his warriors to follow.
When she was alone with the horses, Gabria leaned back on Nara’s shoulder and took a deep breath. “That is a dangerous man. Savaric sees many things people try to hide. Even Medb would do well to stay out of his way.”
Savaric is no longer a match for the sorcerer, Nara told her.
“What?” Gabria was stunned. “That is impossible.”
Medb has powers now even he does not understand. But he is learning fast.
Gabria ground her heel into the dirt and said, “I am such a fool to think I can kill him.”
Boreas flicked an ear at her. Yet you do not give up.
“I cannot. By clan law, he owes me recompense.” She looked at both horses. “I admit, though, I need help. Will you and Boreas support my plea to Athlone?”
Nara answered, Of course. But we do not think you will need us.
The two Hunnuli trotted off to the pastures, and Gabria walked up the path toward the hall. The encampment was swarming with activity as the women began the monumental task of packing and the men made preparations for the summer trek. All signs of the celebration were gone. The Birthright was over, gone with the rain and snow of the winter. Now the plains beckoned to the camp-weary clan and the sun burned hot on their backs. They would be leaving soon for the clan gathering at the Tir Samod, the meeting place of the Isin and the Goldrine rivers.
Lord Medb and the Wylfling clan would be there, as well as Lord Branth and his Geldring and the other clans who vacillated under Medb’s increasing influence. Gabria thought that Medb would probably make a move at the council, when the chiefs of the clans were all together. One decisive attack could do irreparable damage to clan unity and reinforce his bid for supreme rule. But Gabria hoped to ruin his plan, whatever it might be, by challenging the chief to a duel. A duel to the death was her right under the rules of the weir-geld. Even if she could not kill Medb, maybe she could spoil his plots before he plunged the clans into war.
“Gabran!” Piers’s voice stopped her cold. She saw him standing by his tent and her heart lurched. His face was grim, his hand gripped the tent pole like a crutch, and his pale eyes spoke to her as clearly as his words.
Wordlessly, she followed him into the tent. Piers said quietly, “This is the second time.” He moved aside and she saw Athlone lying unconscious on the pallet. His wound had not been tended yet, and the bloody bandages lay like dark stains on his skin. She started to say something when she noticed the healing stone resting on the wer-tain’s forehead. A stray gleam of purple still flickered in the core.