After a long while, the fire died down and the phantoms faded from Gabria’s mind. Moving like an old woman, she stoked the fire, then curled up in her cloak. She fell asleep, borne under by the weight of utter exhaustion.
A horse neighed, strident and demanding, above the hoof beats that thundered over the frozen ground. Half-seen forms of mounted men careened past to set their torches to the felt tents. Swords flashed in the rising flames as the attackers cut down the people, and scream after scream reverberated in the mist, until they blended into one agonized wail.
Gabria started awake, her heart pounding as the cry died on her lips. She clutched her cloak tighter and shivered at the dream that still clouded her thoughts. A horse neighed again, angrily. The unexpected sound dispelled the nightmare and brought the girl fully awake. This sound was no dream. She stiffly sat up and blinked at the Hunnuli. The mare was watching her with obvious impatience. Gabria realized the sun was already riding above the plains, though its warming light had not yet dipped into the gully. The chill of the night still clung to shadows, and frost flowered everywhere, even on the mud-encrusted mane of the trapped mare.
Gabria sighed, grateful the night was gone and the wolves had not attacked again. With infinite care, she eased to her feet, convinced she would shatter at any moment. Every muscle felt as if it were petrified.
“I’m sorry,” she said to the horse. “I did not mean to sleep so long. But I feel better.” She gently stretched to work out the kinks in her joints. “Perhaps I can help you now.” The mare whinnied as if to say “I should think so,” and a wisp of a smile drifted over the girl’s face. For a moment the smile lit her pale green eyes, then it was gone and the pain that had dulled her expression for three days returned.
Sitting by a newly built fire, Gabria emptied her pack onto the ground. There was very little in it that would help her to dig a gigantic horse out of the mud trap: only a bag of food, a few pots of salve, a dagger of fine steel that had been her father’s prized possession, an extra tunic, and a few odds and ends she had salvaged from her family’s burned tent. At the moment, she would have traded it all for a stout length of rope and a digging tool.
She sat for a time, totally at a loss over what to do next. Finally, she walked around the pool and considered every possibility, while the mare kept a cautious eye on her. In the daylight, Gabria could see the mare had none of the fine-boned grace of the Harachan horses Gabria was accustomed to. The Hunnuli’s head was small in comparison to her immense neck, which curved down regally to a wide back. Her chest was broad and muscular and her shoulders were an image of power. There was granite in her bones, steel in her muscles, and fire in her blood.
“Well,” said Gabria at last, hands on hips. “There’s only one thing I can think of now. Food.”
She laid the contents of her pack on her cloak, rolled it up, and set it aside. Then, with her knife and empty pack, she went in search of grass. On the hilltop she paused to watch the sun climb the flawless sky. It was going to be a lovely day despite the early season. The wind had died, and a fresh smell of new growth rose from the warming land. A few patches of stubborn snow clung to the sheltered hillsides, but most of the winter’s snowfall was gone.
Before her the foothills fell away into the valley of the Hornguard, a broad, lush river valley and the favorite wintering place of her rival clan, the Geldring. The land rose again beyond the river’s domain into the Himachal Mountains. The small range of rugged peaks sat like an afterthought in the midst of the grasslands. From their feet the vast steppeland of Ramtharin flowed for leagues to the seas of the eastern kings. This was the land of the twelve clans of Valorian and the realm of the Harachan horses, the fleet, smaller cousins of the Hunnuli. The steppes were hot in the summer, cold in the winter, dry most of the year, and merciless to those who did not respect them. They offered little to a people beyond the wind and the immense solitude of their rolling hills, but their grass was rich and the polished dome of the sky was a greater treasure to the clans than all the palaces of the east.
Behind Gabria, the mountains of Darkhorn marched south, then bent away to the west. Somewhere beyond the curve was the valley of the Goldrine River and the Khulinin clan’s winter encampment. She looked southward, hoping to see something that would encourage her, but the landmarks she knew were lost in the purple haze. She bit her lip, thinking of the miles she still had to travel, and bent to her task.
Gabria soon had a pack full of dried grass for the mare and a few half-frozen winterberries for herself. Although the fare was meager for a horse of that size, the old prairie grass was well cured by last year’s summer sun and was rich enough. The Hunnuli would survive for a while.
The horse was watching intently for the girl to return and greeted Gabria with a resounding neigh.
“This is all I have for now,” Gabria told her. “I will bring more later.” Cautiously she laid the grass within reach of the horse. The mare tore voraciously at the proffered food, bobbing her head in her efforts to swallow quickly.
Meanwhile, Gabria tried to decide what to do next. She examined every possibility that came to mind no matter how ridiculous, but there seemed to be only one hopeful course—and the very idea of that nearly defeated her. She would have to dig the mare out.
Fortunately, the standing water had run off during the night, leaving only the deep, thick mire. The properties that made the mud so treacherous might help her in its removal. It was so thick, it stuck everywhere. Nevertheless, if the Hunnuli thrashed about or tried to fight her off, it would be impossible to get close enough to do anything.
Gabria shrugged and picked up her empty pack. She could only hope the mare would understand her attempts to help.
She walked up one of the eroded stream beds that ran into the gully and soon found what she needed. There was an abundance of loose gravel and broken shale lying in bars along the dry bed. quickly the girl filled her pack and returned to the pool. After several trips, she had a large pile of rock close to the mud hole.
Next, she went to collect broken branches, fallen logs, twigs, dead scrub, and anything that would suit her plan. In a nearby stand of pine, she cut boughs of springy needles and hauled them to the growing heap. Finally, she was ready.
Panting slightly, she spoke to the mare. “I know I have not earned the privilege to be your friend,” she said. “But you must trust me. I am going to dig you out and I cannot spend my time avoiding your teeth.”
The Hunnuli dipped her head and snorted. Taking that as a positive sign, Gabria eased to the mare’s front legs and watched the ears that flicked toward her. The mare remained still; her ears stayed perked.
Gabria knelt in front of the horse. With a long, flat rock, she began scraping the mud away from the mare’s legs. The muck was not deep by the edge and Gabria was able to reach frozen earth in several places.
“I’m going to make a ramp here for you,” she said to the horse. “So you can stand without slipping.” The Hunnuli remained still, apparently waiting.
By late morning, Gabria was drenched with sweat, and mud covered her like a second layer of clothes. She stood up, wiped her hands on her tunic, and surveyed her work. She felt a moment of pride. The mare’s front quarters were free of the clinging mud and her front hooves rested on a short ramp of logs embedded in the mud and banked on either side with rock and dead brush. The horse’s belly and hindquarters were still firmly mired, but Gabria felt a little relief and a twinge of hope.
The girl ate a quick meal and returned to work. First, she laid a narrow platform in the mud around the horse so she could work without fighting the mire herself. Scraping and digging with her rock shovel and her bare hands, she cleared away the mud from the Hunnuli’s sides, then packed in handfuls of gravel and shale to keep the walls from slipping in. It was agonizing work. Gabria’s back was soon a band of pain and her hands were sore and blistered. The mare watched her constantly, remaining motionless except for the occasional swing of her head. Only her tail twitching in the mud betrayed her controlled impatience.