A war horn sounded from the tower. As the ancient wall reared up in front of the riders, the gate was thrown open and Nara and the Oathbreakers’ horses galloped through. Shouts of anger came from behind as the gate crashed shut and was barred. Gradually the yells and hoof beats dwindled away and a tense quiet fell over those in the fortress. Gabria lay on Nara’s neck, panting. The Oathbreakers wearily dismounted.
From out of the black shadows by the wall, a figure walked through the men to Nara’s side. The Hunnuli nickered a greeting, and Gabria looked down into Savaric’s face. She was stunned by the haggard lines on the chief’s face and the weariness that dulled his movements. She slid off the mare and saluted.
“Lord, I beg your forgiveness for leaving without your permission. I only know I felt my reasons were important and that I had little time.”
Many of the other warriors were staring at Gabria; Koshyn crossed his arms. Savaric remained quiet and deliberately examined her from head to foot, taking in her filthy, tattered clothes, her thin body, and her lack of a sword. At last, he returned her salute. “I’m certainly glad to have you back,” he said, then his eyebrow arched in disapproval. “The next time you decide to leave, tell me first.”
“Yes, Lord.” She was relieved to find that he was not angry with her, but she still had to face Athlone. And Gabria knew he would have a few things to say. She glanced around and wondered where he was.
She and the men were standing by the front gate, in the bailey between the two walls. A few torches flickered on the parapets, casting a dim light on the exhausted faces of the defenders and on the battered walls of the old fortress. Everywhere Gabria looked were signs of a hard-won battle. Broken weapons littered the ground, huge rocks and fallen masonry lay between the walls, blood stains marred the parapets. Gabria suddenly shivered. Where was Athlone?
Seth and his men walked to Savaric’s side, and the brothers greeted each other.
“Does your presence here mean the citadel has fallen?” Savaric asked.
“For now.”
“What of your library?”
Seth shook his head. “We had time to hide the most important books where Medb will never find them. But—” Seth paused and pointed to his men. “We are all that are left.”
Savaric glanced around. “There are not many left here, either. If Medb tries one more all-out assault, we’ll not be able to hold the fortress. I’m afraid you picked a poor place for a sanctuary.”
Seth shot a look at Gabria. “Not necessarily.” He looked back at his brother and for the first time noticed something in the chieftain’s face: the lines of crushing grief. Seth leaned forward and asked, “Where is Athlone?”
Gabria stiffened.
For a moment, Savaric stared into the night, his face frozen. “Athlone is dead,” he finally answered. “He took some men out last night to burn the catapults and I did not stop him. Medb’s men overwhelmed them.”
Gabria stepped back as if struck by a blow. She started to shake and her heart caught in her throat. Without a sound, she turned and fled into the fortress.
18
In the heated darkness of his tent, Lord Medb stirred on his couch. His eyes slowly opened like a bird of prey disturbed by the movement of a coming victim. A cold smile creased his face. So, he thought with satisfaction, all the prizes are gathering in the same trap. It made things much easier. Medb was not surprised that a few rats from Krath’s citadel had escaped; that warren was so full of bolt holes, even he would have had a difficult time finding them all.
What did surprise the Wylfling lord was the return of the Corin and his Hunnuli. He thought that the boy was long fled, cowering in some hole. Instead, the Corin had broken through his lines to the safety of the fortress. Medb chuckled to himself.
He knew the outcome of this siege. While it was true he had been surprised by Savaric’s move to the fortress, it would still not avail the fool. The fall of the clans was inevitable. He had let his mercenaries try their hand at cracking Ab-Chakan, and the ruin still stood. Now it was his turn. He would let the clans stew a little while longer, then he would attempt another method of breaking them that would be faster and more efficient.
A new, delightful possibility had fallen into Medb’s lap and he was pleasantly contemplating his choices. He chuckled and glanced at his unconscious prisoner, bound hand and foot to the tent poles. Medb had in mind a simple trade, after which the clans could go free with their beloved Athlone returned.
They would not realize until too late that the man was not the same independent, fiercely devoted leader he had been. But by then Athlone would be chieftain and the Khulinin would be solidly in a Wylfling grip. Of course, if the clans refused to barter, Medb would still have the pleasure of forcing them to watch as Athlone died a particularly nasty death. He leaned back on his couch and laughed.
Morning came quickly on the wings of a rising wind. The night chill fled and the heat of the sun seeped into the earth.
The clansmen and the Oathbreakers stood behind the walls and watched the sun illuminate the sorcerer’s camp. There was no sign of the bodies of Athlone, the Hunnuli, or any of the men who had gone with them. Throughout the fortress, the clansmen gripped their weapons and waited in the mounting heat and dust. They knew Medb would not hold off his attack much longer.
In the general’s palace, Piers was attending the wounded in the great hall. He had heard of Gabria’s return, but he had not seen her and was beginning to worry. By midmorning, there was still no sign of her’ and Lady Tungoli offered to go look for the Corin.
She found Nara first, in the shelter of a crumbling wall near the main road. Gabria was curled up asleep in the mare’s shadow. Tungoli gently shook her.
“Gabran,” the lady said gently. “Morning is almost gone. Piers is pacing the floor waiting for you.”
Gabria stretched her stiff muscles and looked up at the lines of grief etched on Tungoli’s face. Her own sadness tightened her throat and her heart ached. She stood up and the two of them walked slowly back toward the palace.
“I’m glad you’re back,” Tungoli said after a few steps. “Athlone was very fond of you. He was terribly upset when you left.”
The girl felt her tears burning in the back of her eyes, and she fiercely fought them back. She could not weep yet. “I’m sorry,” she said, not knowing what else to say.
A small smile touched Tungoli’s face. “I may be a foolish, wishful mother, but I don’t believe he’s dead.”
Gabria stared at the chieftain’s wife.
“It’s only an intuition, I guess,” Tungoli went on. “But I feel he is still alive. For now.” Her mouth trembled and tears sparkled on her eyelids. “I would give almost anything to have him safe.”
A small seed of hope stirred in the girl’s mind. “If you’re right, Lady, I will do everything I can to save him.”
Tungoli took her arm. “I believe you, Gabran. Thank you.” They walked on in silence to the palace.
Piers was delighted when Gabria came into the great hall. He waited beside the warrior he was tending and watched gladly as the tall, sunburned girl strode through the crowd to him. She moved with a subtle grace and wore an air of self assurance most clanswomen tried to hide.
Piers clasped her with honest warmth. “Welcome back, Gabran. Your journey was successful.” His words were a statement, for he could see the truth in her eyes.
Gabria nodded, touched by the unspoken concern in Piers’s gesture. “For what it’s worth.”