Footsteps sounded lightly behind the girl, breaking her distraction, and she whirled in alarm to come face to face with Tungoli. The lady’s arms were full of rugs. “Gabran, I am sorry to startle you. Jorlan is looking for you.” Gabria’s eyes flew to the doors where the evening sun was setting beyond the rim of the plain. “Oh! I didn’t know it was so late.” She dashed to the entrance, thankfully leaving her thoughts behind. “Thank you, Lady,” she called and was gone.
9
Gabria rode guard duty that night and, after she had bid good-night to Nara, trudged to Piers’s tent for some welcome sleep. Savaric visited them briefly and told her that the “argument” had gone as planned, with Athlone playing the impatient, disgruntled heir. The next morning passed uneventfully while the clan continued to pack for their summer trek. Savaric acted the congenial host to Medb’s emissary, and Gabria stayed out of sight in Piers’s tent.
The chieftain made no mention of the mock disagreement with his son to anyone to be sure that Medb could have only learned of it through the stone—providing Gabria was right about the spell.
At nightfall, Gabria left for her duties. When she returned, Piers told her that Athlone had requested her for another game in his tent. She went with a curious foreboding in her heart and a chill in her fingers. She found Athlone and Savaric both waiting for her. From the quiet triumph on their faces, she knew she had been right.
“Come in, boy,” Savaric said. “You have not only proved to me that Medb is resurrecting sorcery, but your quick wits have saved us much grief.”
Gabria sat down heavily on a stool and hugged her knees. She was horribly afraid her wits had nothing to do with it.
Athlone removed the sling from his arm and paced back and forth across the deep carpets. He grinned. “Medb heard our fight, every last word of it, and he went for it like a weasel after a mouse.”
“Good,” Gabria said, trying to sound enthusiastic. “Is he trying to unseat you?”
Her question was to Savaric, and he answered with a dry laugh. “He offered the world to Athlone in return for my death and the loyalty of the second most powerful clan.” He lapsed into silence and stared at the floor.
Gabria realized that Savaric had moved into a deeper concentration. He was absorbed in his thoughts and his muscles wasted no effort in pacing or excess motion. Only a pan of his mind was answering her, while the greater part wrestled with the problems posed by Medb.
“The world is a large order, even for Medb. Will Athlone be able to control that much holding?” Gabria asked with mild sarcasm.
“Medb plans not, I am sure,” Athlone replied. “We are too close to Wylfling Treld for Medb’s comfort. He will probably try to dispatch both Father and me. Then, with Pazric missing, Medb could put a man of his own over the Khulinin. Only then will his back be safe.”
The three of them fell silent, busy with their own thoughts. Savaric sat on his stool like a priest in contemplation, while Athlone paced noiselessly and Gabria twisted the light fabric of her pants between her fingers and imagined Medb in his tent, congratulating himself for putting a wedge into the all-powerful Khulinin.
Gabria shook her head. This feigned division of father and son was the only leverage they had at the moment, and it was a poor one, for it would only last until Medb put pressure on the Khulinin to accept his rule or he discovered Savaric’s deception. Gabria had found the secret of the jewel, and the gem might help them mislead Medb for a while to gain time, but it would not tell Savaric and Athlone how the other clans received Medb’s ploys or how strong the Wylfling werod was-or how powerful Medb’s arcane skills had grown. The stone would not help Savaric many days hence when the Khulinin were given their ultimatum and had their backs to a cliff.
Gabria knew, as surely as Savaric must, that the clans were being swept into war. Like a game master, Medb had leashed each clan and was drawing them into a confrontation that would tear them apart. If Medb forged his empire, the clans as they had endured for centuries would cease to exist. Instead of autonomous entities of a similar tradition and ancestry, they would become scattered pieces of a monarchy, ruled by one man and bound by one man’s desires.
Yet, even if the clans defeated Medb, Gabria realized that the clanspeople would still lose a great deal. In a war between’ brothers, complacency dies fast, fury burns hot and the flames take longer to cool. The girl couldn’t imagine how the clans would survive the conflagration of this war or what their lives would be like when peace fell on the steppes. She sighed softly, regretting the changes that were coming.
Savaric heard Gabria’s almost soundless breath and raised his gaze to her face. Their eyes met and locked in understanding. Like Piers before him, Savaric recognized the strength behind Gabria’s look. Until that moment, he had only considered his friend’s child to be a stubborn boy, who, like any young, hot-tempered adolescent, demanded to fight for his clan’s revenge because of an overdeveloped sense of outrage. But as he looked into those green eyes, Savaric suddenly understood that Gabria’s determination went far beyond adolescent eagerness, to a calculated, controlled obsession. He knew without a doubt that “Gabran” would do anything to bring down Lord Medb. Inexplicably, the thought frightened him. He was not certain what a boy could do against a chieftain and a professed sorcerer, yet it occurred to him with a great deal of surprise that “Gabran” might succeed. Savaric remembered Piers’s words the night the boy rode into camp and set the clan back on its ear. The healer said that the boy might be the key to unlocking Medb’s doom. Maybe he was right.
“Well, Father,” Athlone said, startling both the girl and the chieftain. “Now, at least, we know the rumors of Medb’s heresies are true.” He glanced oddly at Gabria, but continued. “What do we do now that we have him on the wrong trail?”
Savaric broke off his stare and looked at his son. “Keep him there for as long as we can. It will not hurt us to let him think the Khulinin will fall into his grasp.”
“What did he offer you, Wer-tain?” Gabria asked. She was feeling very tired and wanted to return to Piers’s tent, but she wondered what the Khulinin were worth to Medb.
“That crow of an agent came to see me this evening.” Athlone paused and looked thoughtful. “I would like to know how Medb contacted him so fast. Maybe he has a seeing stone, too. He offered me, in Medb’s name, men, gold, land, and the chieftainship in return for obedience and my father’s head.”
Savaric chuckled. “I hope you will not be too free with either.”
“Nothing is worth that price.”
Gabria listened to the brief exchange with a little envy. Despite their differences, the two men were devoted as a father and son and even closer as friends. Only her brother, Gabran, had been that close to Gabria, and his death left a void that would never be filled. Nara helped heal some of the wounds in her soul, but there were a few hollows no one would ever find, hollows still filled with unshed tears. Gabria closed her eyes and turned away. It was still too soon to cry.
Savaric noticed her movement and said, “Daylight will be here soon and we have much to do.”
They said good-night, and the chieftain walked with Gabria as far as Piers’s tent. He hesitated as if he were going to speak, then he changed his mind, nodded, and left. Gabria watched Savaric until he disappeared between the tents. She felt closer to him that night than ever before, and she had the impression something had altered his thoughts about her. The way he looked at her in Athlone’s tent-it was as if he had stripped away everything but her basic strengths and weaknesses and had accepted what he found. She was pleased by his understanding and relieved, too. She had no living family left, and she was beginning to appreciate how much Savaric and his family meant to her. Gabria closed the tent flap behind her.