“Gabran is dead these many days. I am Gabria, his sister, and daughter of Lord Dathlar.”
For the first time since his hands touched the Book of Matrah, Medb was deeply afraid. This girl had come out of nowhere with a knowledge of sorcery and the emblem of a magic-wielder burning in her wrist. Where had she gotten her knowledge? And the splinter. He had not been able to find one, but this girl had not only attained one but had it properly inserted. For a moment, Medb’s heart quailed and the hairs rose on the back of his neck.
Then he steadied himself. She was a difficulty he had not anticipated, but he had not struggled this far to be overcome by a girl and a riddle. She might be the “buttercup,” but she was not bearing a sword. With a silent curse, Medb swore he would end the riddle once and for all.
The girl slid off the Hunnuli and the mare backed away, leaving her alone. Gabria pushed away every doubt that might distract her, closed her eyes, and concentrated on the ancient spell the Woman of the Marsh had taught her. She lifted her right hand and pointed behind Medb. “I, Gabria, daughter of Dathlar, challenge you, Lord Medb, and by my challenge set the first wards.”
Medb’s voice purred. “I, Lord Medb, accept your challenge and, by my acceptance, set the second wards.”
Gabria opened her eyes. The spell had worked. Four scarlet pillars of light stood equidistant from each other, forming a square that enclosed Gabria and Medb in an area only twenty paces wide. A pale mist glowed between the pillars and arched overhead. The two were now surrounded by a protective wall of power that shielded the spectators. Gabria could see the clansmen watching with horrified fascination from outside the wall.
“You have unwisely challenged me,” the sorcerer sneered. “But the question is not who is stronger, but by what means I shall prove it to you.”
Medb lifted his hand and launched a sphere of Trymian Force. It was only a test, and the Corin dodged it easily. The blue ball exploded on the ward shield. He fired more at her, faster and faster, and she swayed and dipped around the bright, deadly fires as if dancing with them. The girl did not try to retaliate; she only avoided his assault and waited for his next move.
At last, Medb grew weary of playing with her. He had to be careful, for his strength was waning and he did not know how great this girl’s powers really were. He studied the Corin for a moment, then he spoke a command.
Suddenly Gabria felt a tug of wind at her feet. The strange little wind whipped abruptly into a whirlwind of vicious intensity and wrapped around Gabria in a swirling, shrieking maelstrom. Dirt and grit flailed through the dark wind, tearing at .her hair, her skin, and her clothes. She tried frantically to escape the maelstrom, but the force of the whirlwind tossed and buffeted her, ripped the breath from her body, and wrenched every bone and muscle.
Then, as quickly as it had begin, the wind died away. Gabria fell to the ground, panting and crying with pain. Her tunic was shredded and her skin was raw and bleeding.
“See how easy it is?” Medb said. “Let me show you another. You have survived the tragedies in your life well, but do you really know the terrors of your mind?”
Before Gabria could defend herself from it, a paralyzing chill froze her. She threw her hands across her face. Images crowded into her mind: her brother falling, his skull crushed by a battle axe; her father hacked by a dozen swords; Nara torn alive by wolves; Athlone hanging by shredded ligaments from a bloody pole. From a dark gray patch of earth, the rotting corpses of Clan Corin staggered out of their graves and pointed accusing fingers at her. Gabria stumbled into a desert of searing thirst and unendurable loneliness. A scream tore at her throat. Desperately she tried to rise, only to pitch forward when her legs would not respond.
Beyond the shield, Athlone struggled to his feet. He leaned against the pole, his eyes on the girl. “Fight him, Gabria,” he cried.
“Do you understand now?” Medb chuckled appreciatively. “You should have stayed at your place by the cooking fires and left the wars to those capable of handling them.”
Gabria tried to stop the chaos in her mind and bring her thoughts back under her control. She realized the visions that plagued her were fears she had known before. There was nothing that she had not already faced. A little at a time, she forced the images out of her mind and finally broke Medb’s spell. She tottered to her feet.
The Corin knew now that she could not defeat Lord Medb in a confrontation of expertise. He had been studying and conditioning his talent too long. She lacked the skill necessary to destroy him outright. Gabria had only one hope, a slim one at best: to catch him off guard. If she could survive just long enough to take him by surprise, perhaps her untried powers would be enough. Quickly she rapped a spell that exploded underneath the sorcerer’s feet and threw him to the ground in a sprawling heap.
Medb jumped up, enraged. “Enough of this!” he shouted. The Wylfling decided to use a killing spell he had already perfected. He spread his arms wide, his lips formed the harsh words, and slowly he began to bring his hands together.
For a moment, Gabria stood warily. She began to feel a pressure on all sides. There was no pain or distress, only a mild discomfort, as if she were wrapped in a heavy fur. She braced herself and tried to fend it away, but the pressure increased. Her head began to throb and her chest hurt. She was having trouble breathing. Straining to escape the pressure, Gabria clenched her teeth and used her power to form a protective shell about her body. The arcane grip grew stronger. She fought to maintain her shield, but Medb’s grip contracted with a jerk, once and then again. Her protective shield cracked and the pressure closed in around her. The pain worsened, and the Corin’s bones began to creak under the stress. Gabria moaned and her hands tore at her head.
Medb pushed his hands closer together and struggled. to break the girl’s resistance. He could feel his strength beginning to ebb, but he disregarded his growing weakness in his effort to kill the last surviving Corin.
Unseen by Gabria and Medb, Athlone began to stagger toward the arcane shield. He knew he should be horrified by what Gabria was doing, but instead he was strangely drawn to the arcane duel and his only lucid thought was to help his friend. He could not bear to see her die.
Gabria cried as Lord Medb strained harder. The pain in her body was almost overwhelming and her consciousness began to close in around her. In desperation, the girl gathered her last shreds of strength and courage into one final core of resistance. She clung tenaciously to one thought: she would never submit. Her last awareness flickered and she screamed her defiance.
Lord Medb tried desperately, but he could not crush the girl’s last opposition. Her defiance was fueled by fury and righteousness and by a will that Medb sensed was greater than his own. Surprise and a seed of doubt crept into his mind. He felt his power weakening rapidly.
All at once, Athlone shouted furiously, “Medb, no!” The wer-tain stood by the arcane shield, his face dark with rage and helplessness. He put his fist through the shield and, to Medb’s horrified surprise, the arcane wards shattered. The shield abruptly disintegrated, slamming Athlone to the ground.
Gabria felt Medb’s power fade, and in that moment, she remembered the last line of Cantrell’s riddle. Summoning every ounce of will, she wrenched loose of the sorcerer’s arcane grip. The blackness vanished and the pain eased. Her vision returned with startling clarity. She had just enough energy left.
Before Medb was aware of what she was doing, Gabria snatched her father’s dagger out of her boot and transformed it into a silver sword. The splinter in her wrist flared red with her blood as she hurled the sword at the sorcerer. It soared in a glittering arc across the space between them and plunged into Medb’s chest.