Before long, the thunder became audible. By the time night her was full, the explosions were incessant. Lightning flared endlessly through the massive sky, pursued by the incessant rumble. Just then, lightning struck an ancient cottonwood tree by the river, splitting it to the ground. Thunder shattered the night, and the first drops of rain spattered in the dust. Gabria fled for the tent.
She sat in the darkness and listened to the tent heave in the wind, struggling against its ropes, and to the sounds of the storm just beyond the thick material. Usually she loved storms and reveled in the wildness of their passing. Tonight though, she huddled on a stool, feeling a strange sense of dread.
The fury of the storm made her nervous. She jumped at every clap of thunder and stared wildly around when lightning illuminated the tent’s interior. Finally, she crawled onto her pallet, pulled a blanket up to her chin, and lay shivering as she tried to sleep.
Sometime later, Gabria woke with a start of terror. Lying motionless and trying to control her gasping breath, she every sense to catch what had frightened her: a faint sound or movement or smell that was out of place. She realized that she had been asleep for a while, because the storm had settled down to a steady rainfall and the thunder was more subdued.
Then, in the corner of her vision she saw the half-drawn curtain move, as if nudged from behind. She gently eased her hand toward her dagger, her heart hammering madly in her throat. But before her fingers found the blade, a dark shape sprang from behind the curtain, just as lightning flashed outside. In the instant illumination, Gabria saw a man lunge her and she caught the flash of steel in his upraised hand. Her immediate thought was of Medb. He was trying to fulfill his promise with an assassin.
“No!” she screamed in fury and tried to roll off the pallet, but she was hindered by her blanket. The knife missed its mark and slashed down her right side, skittering off her ribs. The man grunted in anger and furiously pulled his weapon back for another blow. Gabria felt the wound like a firebrand as she struggled with the blanket and her tangled clothes, and her rage increased with the pain. Medb would not dispose of her this easily. She yanked off the blanket, threw it at the dark figure, and scrabbled for her dagger. The man cursed as the blanket tangled his aim, then he threw it aside.
“I’ll get you, you little coward,” he snarled and grabbed her shoulder.
Cor. It was Cor, not an agent of Medb. Gabria was so surprised, she missed her dagger and knocked it aside. The warrior dropped his weapon and yanked her around to face him. She fell with her dagger underneath her back. Gabria stopped struggling and stared at Cor’s blurred face in the darkness. The whites of his eyes glimmered and his teeth showed in a grimace of hate.
He shook her. “I knew you were a coward deep down; you won’t even fight to save your worthless skin. Well, I’ve waited a long time to do this. You thought you were so smart, turning me into half a man, useless for everything!” He leaned over her, his breath reeking of strong wine.
Gabria squirmed, trying to keep her dagger hidden behind her back. The guilt and pity she had felt for Cor died completely, and she stared back at him, matching his loathing. Cor pulled Gabria to her knees and forced her head back to expose her throat.
“I’ve been watching you and waiting. Now there’s no one to save your neck.” He pulled her head farther over his bent knee, until her spine creaked and her neck screamed in protest. “You see, with one quick snap, I could break your back and leave you dead, or better yet, just like that Wylfling,”
Before Gabria could react, Cor jerked her up and punched her in the face. His fist exploded into her eye and she fell back on the pallet in a daze of pain and surprise. She closed her eyes and swallowed convulsively. Her dagger lay beneath her buttocks.
Cor slapped her. “Look at me, you pig-faced coward. I want to see you plead before I break you.”
Gabria tossed her head up, her pain forgotten in a surge of rage and disgust at the madman who had beaten, ridiculed, insulted, and threatened her once too often. Her green eyes ignited and her hand curled over the dagger’s hilt. “Go crawl in a hole, eunuch.”
Cor snarled. His dark shape swayed, then savagely he grabbed Gabria’s throat with both hands, his dagger forgotten in the urge to kill the Corin with his bare hands. His fingers dug into her windpipe and his nails tore her skin. Gabria felt her breath burning in her lungs as she tried to wriggle her dagger out from under their thrashing bodies.
Moaning incoherently, Cor squeezed harder and grinned maliciously. Gabria tore at his iron grip with one hand. But Cor didn’t see her other hand. With desperation and fury, she lifted the blade and rammed it into his stomach. This time, there was no doubt of the presence or the origin of the blue flare.
In the darkness, Gabria saw the aura build in her arm and flow up the dagger into Cor’s body. He jerked violently and clutched at the knife, his face a mask of hate and disbelief. His eyes rolled and he sagged on top of her. Gabria gasped and fainted.
The first thing Gabria became aware of was light. A small globe of yellow light intruded through her partly open lids into her darkness and drew her from unconsciousness. The second thing she noticed was pain. Then the pain rushed into her head and down her neck and side, until every bruised muscle and laceration throbbed madly. The heaviness she remembered across her chest was gone, and she heard someone moving around her. Gabria tensed, thinking it was Cor, but someone gently raised her head and a cup was pressed to her lips. She smelled the sweetness of Piers’s own wine and relaxed. The wine warmed her bruised throat and settled gently in her stomach, where it spread with a healing heat through her body.
Gabria slowly opened her eyes—or eye since one was so swollen she could barely crack the lid. The orb of light wavered for a moment and settled into focus, revealing a small lamp hanging on its pole. She squinted at the light and looked higher into Piers’s face. The healer appeared strangely upset, and Gabria smiled weakly at him. Outside, the wind had died and the rain was falling in a steady drizzle.
Piers let the girl finish her wine and then helped her lie down on the pallet before he spoke. “The evil fortune that fell to your clan does not seem to include you.”
“Where is Cor?” she mumbled.
Piers glanced behind him. “He’s dead.” There was no condemnation in his voice, only sadness and regret that she had been forced to act.
The light and the effort of keeping her eye open was too much for Gabria, and her lids settled shut. She sighed deeply, wondering what Piers was thinking. After sharing his tent for so long, Gabria had come to like the healer and she hoped that the affection was mutual. Her hand groped for his. “I saw it, Piers. This time I saw it. As blue as Medb’s bolt that killed Pazric.”
Piers’s hand caught hers and gripped it tightly. He looked down at the girl’s battered face unhappily. She looked so young, too young to bear such burdens. The healer stood up and fetched his supplies from the wooden chest, poured more wine, and carried the things back to Gabria’s pallet. Piers carefully moved her tunic and examined the long, ragged tear down her side.
Gabria held the wine cup and listened as he worked. She was puzzled that he said nothing. Maybe this time his disapproval outweighed his acceptance of her, and he had decided not to risk his life to protect her. Gabria would not blame Piers if he exposed her: sorcery was a serious crime to conceal.
Strangely, however, Gabria did not feel horrified any more by the reality of her ability. Now that it was confirmed by her own eyes, she faced it like some incurable disease that had to be accepted if her sanity were to be preserved. A small part of her quaked in terror at the truth of being a sorceress, but she imprisoned that part behind a wall of desire for self-preservation. Gabria found it difficult to believe that she could be so callous about such a heretical ability, but perhaps the months of secret fear and debate had strengthened her for the final acceptance.