With a prayer to Amara, she fell asleep.
Like huge butterflies, the black tents of the treld began to fold their wings and disappear. Wrapped around their poles and ropes, the tents were bundled onto large, brightly painted wagons pulled by oxen or horses. Each family’s possessions were packed beneath the tents and protected by carpets. After generations of practice, a clan could often dismantle their treld in a few days and their trail camp in a few hours. Packing the encampment was a fine art, and the women prided themselves on their expertise and speed.
The morning the Khulinin left their treld, the day dawned cloudless and hot. The faint dew quickly dried in the breeze and dust billowed everywhere. The first breaking of camp always took longer than usual, so the clan rose before sunrise to bring down the remaining tents, close the hall, saddle the horses, and bid farewell to those few who elected to remain behind. When the horn sounded at dawn, the caravan was already forming in the work field as each family took its position.
The old people, the sick, and those who remained to care for the empty treld watched sadly and helped as best they could to send the clan on its way. The bachelors of the werod gathered the livestock. The three Harachan herds were mingled into one since mating would begin soon, and those horses that were not being ridden or worked were moved to the entrance of the valley. The mares, foals, and yearlings trotted about excitedly, but the stallion, Vayer, stood at the foot of Marakor and sniffed the wind that blew from the steppes and listened quietly for the signal of the horns.
Savaric himself closed the great doors of his hall and took down the golden banner. He passed it on to Athlone, who held it high and galloped Boreas down the path to the fields where the caravan waited. A shout of joy rose from every throat and echoed through the valley. Horses neighed in reply; the dogs barked frantically in excitement. The chaos of people and animals slowly shifted into a vague pattern of order. Forgotten items were retrieved, last minute good-byes were said, wandering children were found, and the ropes on the carts and pack animals were checked and rechecked.
Finally, when all was ready, two outriders carrying horns rode to the mouth of the valley. A silence of anticipation fell over the caravan. Then, in unison, each horn bearer lifted his horn to his lips and blew a great note of music that soared out over the empty plains like a cry of triumph and welcome. The clanspeople roared their approval. Savaric, riding beneath the huge golden banner, lifted his sword to the sky as Vayer neighed.
Like a giant snake, the caravan crawled forward. Gabria sat on Nara’s back and watched with awe-tinged respect as the Khulinin moved out of their valley. It was a sight she would always remember.
From the moment Valorian taught the first clansman the joy of mounting a horse, the clans had been nomads with the wind of the steppes in their faces and the dust of the trail on their clothes. Although the clans had slowed down over many generations and were unknowingly growing roots in the places they had chosen for winter camps, they were still nomads at heart. Wintering was fine for the cold months when the blizzards froze the land, but when the freshness of spring gave way to summer, the clans returned to the old ways and left the trelds behind.
For Gabria and her clan, the packing and preparations for the trek had always been simple. With only twenty-five families, the Corin had been able to move often and with little fuss. They had been more nomadic than the Khulinin and sometimes never bothered to winter in their treld. But this trek fascinated Gabria. The Khulinin, with their numerous families, huge herds, and powerful werod, moved ponderously out of the treld in a wondrously noisy cavalcade.
At the head of the caravan rode the hearthguard and the chieftain. Behind them was the main body of the clan in a procession of wagons, carts, pack animals, people on horseback or on foot, and a vociferous crowd of excited dogs and children. The livestock came next, and in the rear was another troop of warriors. The werod was spread out along the flanks of the caravan, and five outriders kept the horse herd off to the side to prevent mishaps. Gabria marveled at the organization that kept each man in his place and prevented tempers from exploding, but she could not help but wonder how the tremendous caravan traveled very far in a day. At the rate they were moving now, the gathering would be long over before the Khulinin arrived.
To her surprise, the caravan slowly increased its momentum until it was moving at a fair pace along the banks of the river.
Before long, the rich green foliage of the foothills’ brush and trees was left behind. Instead, deep-rooted herbs and grasses, already maturing to a golden green, stretched to the horizon. Old, thickly matted growth cushioned the travelers’ steps as the caravan wove across the grasslands. Beside them, the Goldrine River grew from a foaming, bouncing headstream to a staid, contemplative river that meandered through gravel bars and basked silently in the sun. Ahead of the clan, several outriders rode the point to keep watch for marauders or game. Raiders rarely bothered a clan the size of the Khulinin, but this year Savaric took no chances.
Medb’s emissary rode with them, having blandly explained that the Wylfling were already on their way to the gathering; he would meet them just as fast as if he traveled with Savaric’s clan. Both Athlone and Savaric knew the real reason the agent stayed, and they made a point of waging frequent arguments while Savaric wore the star brooch. Because of the man’s presence, Gabria was forced to ride with the outriders in the caravan’s rearguard.
The days passed quickly under the open skies as the clan traveled east to the gathering at the Tir Samod, the holy meeting of the Goldrine and the Isin rivers. Breaking camp became a habit again and muscles adapted to walking and riding. The heavy winter cloaks were exchanged for lighter, linen cloaks with long hoods that were worn as the occasion demanded: either draped around the head for protection against the sun and wind, or drawn across the face for battle. Clouds rarely marred the boundless expanse of the sky, except for an occasional afternoon thunderstorm.
The summer heat increased and with it, as the time to the gathering shortened, the tensions in the clan grew heavier. Savaric’s eyes constantly roved the horizon as if he were expecting a yelling horde to sweep over his caravan. Arguments flared among the warriors, and even Medb’s emissary lost his aplomb at times and was snappish to the men he was supposed to charm. Messengers, who were usually numerous as the clans grew closer together, were strangely absent this year. No word came from anyone.
Athlone had Gabria relieved of her duties and spent the warm evenings sharpening her skills with the sword, out of sight of the clan. Most of the warriors ignored Athlone’s curious attention to the outsider, but Cor still nursed his hatred for Gabria. Before the trek, he had been too busy to deal with her as he wanted. Now, he followed her constantly, looking for excuses to repot her to Jorlan or humiliating and insulting her before other clansmen. He pulled petty tricks on her and dogged her like a jackal waiting for a meal. He avoided her when Athlone was near, but the wer-tain was constantly occupied during the day and Gabria was too proud to tell him of the wretched man’s tormenting. She began to detest the sight of Cor.
Gabria tried to reconcile herself to Cor’s hateful presence since she could not avoid him, but his murky eyes and his twisted sneer grated on her and his jibes cut with increasing irritation. There was nowhere she could go during the day to escape him. At night she dreamed of his rude laugh. She slipped around the camp, looking over her shoulder and wincing every time someone laughed. Even with Athlone, she was distracted and nervous. She could only hope to ignore Cor until they reached the gathering. Then, everyone would have more on their minds than petty vendettas.