Athlone held her tighter. Oh, gods, he wondered, has she given up? “What do you truly want?” he shouted at her.
Gabria was still for so long that Athlone thought he had lost her, then she stirred. Her answer was nearly lost in the roar of the whirlwind, but he heard it.
“I want to be myself.”
She wrapped her arms around Athlone and forced her will into the center of the whirling magical vortex. Then, to her everlasting joy, she felt Athlone’s mind tentatively reach out to her and offer his strength. Together, they slowed the wild whirl of broken sorcery and spread the destructive force apart until it dissipated into a mist on the morning breeze. The angry red light faded and the fire died down.
Gabria gritted her teeth against a wrenching nausea as the remnants of the spell vanished and the day snapped back to familiarity. It was over. Then she saw the burning remains of her scarlet cloak and the pent-up tears of five months flooded her eyes. She leaned against Athlone and sobbed.
For five days, Gabria and Athlone camped in a hollow by the river, spending their days along the banks and their nights in the warmth of each other’s arms. It was a time of healing for them both and, under Nara’s watchful eye, they slept a great deal and talked very little. Neither of them wanted to broach the subject of sorcery or the future until the time was right. For now they were content to be together for as long as they were allowed.
On the afternoon of the sixth day, Nara neighed a greeting to a horseman who appeared on a far hill. Athlone and Gabria exchanged lingering looks and reluctantly walked to their camp to wait for the intruder.
The young clansman, wearing a Khulinin cloak, reined his sweating horse to a halt and slid to the ground. His gaze slid past Gabria, but he saluted Athlone in undisguised relief and pleasure. “My lord, we have been looking for you for days.”
Athlone turned cold at the title. His nostrils flared and he took a step forward. “Why do you call me that, Rethe,” he demanded.
Rethe bowed his head. “That’s why we had to find you. Lord Savaric is dead.”
“How?” Athlone demanded.
“He was stabbed from behind . . . just after the fight for the camp. We think Lord Branth is responsible.”
“Where is Branth now?”
The warrior looked up unhappily. “We don’t know. The book of that accursed sorcerer is missing, too. Lord Koshyn and the Geldring’s wer-tain believe Branth took it after he murdered Lord Savaric.”
Athlone felt his grief well up. “Thank you for the message. Please leave us.”
Rethe nodded but he did not move. “My lord, Lord Koshyn has called for an immediate reconvening of the council. He asks that you bring Gabria to the council.”
“Why?” Gabria asked.
The messenger glanced past her nervously.
“Answer her,” Athlone said sharply.
Startled by Athlone’s tone, Rethe involuntarily looked at her. Gabria smiled briefly, and he relaxed a little. He and the other Khulinin could not fathom the realities of Gabria’s true sex or her ability as a sorceress. She had spent five months in close companionship with them and no one even suspected.
The clan owed its life to her and everyone knew it. Unfortunately, the debt would not erase her crimes. Rethe had no idea how the clans would react if Gabria returned with Athlone, but he doubted few people would be pleased.
“I don’t know,” Rethe answered. “I was only told to pass on the message.”
Athlone and Gabria looked at one another for a long time, their eyes locked in understanding. Finally, Gabria nodded.
“We will come,” Athlone said.
Rethe accepted the dismissal, saluted, and rode away. Athlone watched him go as Gabria slowly began to obliterate their camp and gather their meager belongings.
Athlone stood for a long while, his face blank and his back sagging. He walked out of camp and disappeared into the hills. Gabria sighed. She knew the grief he was suffering and she, too, grieved for Savaric. Nara lay down, tucking her long legs underneath her and Gabria cuddled into the haven of the mare’s warm sides.
Gabria was asleep when Athlone returned at dusk. He gently ran his finger along her jaw. His heart jumped when her eyes opened, filled with love and welcome.
The wer-tain’s voice was harsh with grief, but his hands were warm and steady as he wrapped his golden cloak around her shoulders. “I have no horse worthy to give you as a betrothal gift, so I hope you will accept this instead.”
Gabria sat for a long time, gently rubbing the gold fabric between her fingers and thinking about her family and her clan. Finally, she replied, “The Corin are dead. It is time to let them rest.” She looked up at him and smiled radiantly. “I accept your gift.”
Athlone was delighted. The smile she gave him was worth the uncertainty and difficulties of the days ahead. The warrior had no idea if the council would allow him to marry the girl, but now that he was chieftain of the Khulinin, the other lords would have to tread carefully.
“You don’t mind being with a known heretic?” Gabria asked. It was the first time either of them had spoken of the subject, and, though she remembered the Khulinin’s shocked recognition of his own talent, she was not certain how he was dealing with it.
Athlone smiled faintly. “Boreas did not mind.”
Nara snorted and nudged the new chief.
“Did you know,” Gabria asked as Athlone settled down beside her, “that Nara is carrying Boreas’s foal?”
Athlone’s smile grew as wide as the sky.
20
Two days later, just before noon, Nara paused on a high hill overlooking the valley of the Isin River. From the crest, Athlone and Gabria looked down on the army encampment spread out before the defile. Sections of the big camp had been destroyed in the battle, but other sections were teeming with people and three new camps had sprung up displaying the banners of the Murjik, the Shadedron, and the Reidhar clans. Even as Gabria and Athlone watched, an outrider galloped among the tents toward the fortress and clanspeople began to swarm to the edge of the camps. .
“They seem to be expecting us,” Athlone said dryly.
Gabria nodded. Athlone gently twisted her around to face him and looked into her eyes. “Are you certain you want to do this?”
She leaned against him. “I have nowhere else I want to go. I belong to the clans.”
“Even if the council passes a death sentence?”
Gabria smiled nervously. “Then I may change my mind.”
Nara trotted down the slope to the valley. By the time she came to the edge of the encampment, a huge crowd had gathered. The clanspeople were strangely silent, for they did not know how to deal with the heretical sorceress who had saved the clans. No one cursed or reviled Gabria, but no one welcomed her, either.
The Hunnuli stopped, her path barred by the throng. Koshyn, Ryne, and Jol of the Murjik walked through the crowd and came to stand in front of Nara.
“Greetings, Lord Athlone,” Koshyn said. “I am glad to see you are safe. Greetings to you, Gabria.”
Athlone dismounted and gave his hand to Gabria. She slid off the mare and faced the chieftains, her back straight and her eyes proud.
Athlone was about to return the greeting when Lady Tungoli came running through the clanspeople and past the chiefs. She hugged her son fiercely; laughing and crying in turn, then she turned to Gabria and without hesitation embraced the girl with the same joy and relief.
“You did everything you could to save my son,” she said softly in Gabria’s ear. “Now I will do what I can to save you.”
Gabria hugged her with gratitude.
“Athlone,” Koshyn said, “word of your coming has forewarned us. If you are willing, we are ready to convene the council in the palace.”
“My lords,” Tungoli’s clear voice rang out. “A favor. Gabria’s fate affects all the clans. I ask that this meeting be held in the open so all the clanspeople may attend.”