Koshyn looked at Ryne and Jol, then Athlone. They all nodded. “So be it,” the Dangari said. “We’ll meet in the courtyard.” A murmur of approval swept through the watching crowd.
With one hand resting on Nara’s neck and the other hand on Athlone’s arm, Gabria walked up the stone road to the fortress. The crowd parted before her and followed close behind, as the girl, the Hunnuli, and the chiefs went through the fortress and gathered in the wide courtyard before the general’s palace.
The remaining chiefs had already arrived and were waiting on the palace steps. Lord Sha Umar leaned shakily against a pillar, his arm in a sling from his arrow wound. Lord Caurus of the Reidhar and Malech of the Shadedron stood side by side, looking ill at ease, but there was no sign of Medb’s old allies, Ferron and Quamar.
Koshyn quickly explained the change of the council to the other lords, and they, too, agreed. Seats were brought for the chiefs and they made themselves comfortable at the top of the steps, under the arched portico.
Athlone held Gabria close for just a moment before he went to join the lords. The girl stayed at the foot of the steps, her fingers twined in the Hunnuli’s mane. Tungoli stayed with her. The other clanspeople crowded into the courtyard until the area was packed.
Lord Koshyn rose. As the oldest, healthiest surviving chieftain of the four triumphant clans, he had assumed some authority the past eight days. He stood now and took control of the council. “Lord Athlone, we welcome you. We are deeply stricken by the death of your father.”
Athlone nodded his thanks, for he did not trust himself to speak at that moment. He was still not used to the title of ‘lord’ or the aching grief that filled him whenever he thought of his father.
Koshyn went on. “I will tell you now what has happened since you left,” He gestured to the five other chiefs. “We are all that is left of the original council. Branth has fled, as you know. Lord Ferron killed himself shortly after the battle, and Lord Quamar of the Ferganan has already stepped down. Of the sorcerer’s army, the exiles and the mercenaries are either dead or scattered. The Wylfling await the punishment of the council.
“As for the three clans that joined Medb, they did so at the instigation of their lords and they did not fight in the final battle. Only the werods came with the army, their families still wait at the Tir Samod for some word of their fate. If you agree, Athlone, we have decided to suspend their punishment. We believe it is the only way to begin reuniting the clans.”
Athlone rose from his seat. “I agree with the council’s decision. There has been enough hatred and bloodshed.”
Koshyn nodded once, then he looked down at the young woman standing quietly beside her Hunnuli. He was dismayed by the closeness he had seen between Athlone and Gabria. He had no idea what this council would decide, but he did not want Athlone to be forced to kill someone he obviously loved.
“Now we have to face the most difficult decision of all. Gabria, you have saved our clans and our way of life from destruction. For that, we owe you endless gratitude. But in doing so, you used a heretical power that is forbidden on pain of death.”
“You have thrown us into quite a quandary,” Sha Umar spoke up. “If we follow our laws and put you to death, we bring dishonor on the clans for rejecting our debt of gratitude, but if we ignore our laws and allow you to live, we open the door for any magic-wielder who wants to practice sorcery.”
“Perhaps it’s time we did,” a voice called from the palace. The crowd stirred and muttered among themselves, for everyone recognized the rich voice of Cantrell.
The blind bard walked out of the palace doors accompanied by Piers. Cantrell’s step was firm and unhesitating as he came to stand beside Koshyn. “We have tried to ignore magic for two hundred years, and look where our fears took us. The clans were nearly destroyed by a man who abused the arts of sorcery. If our people had learned from their mistakes and regulated sorcery instead of turning their backs on it, this war with Medb would not have happened.”
“But magic is a perversion!” a priest shouted from the crowd. He was supported by yells of agreement.
“That is what our ancestors wanted to believe, and they stuffed their lies down our throats in every tale, prayer, and law. But I tell you,” Cantrell said as he rose to his full height and spread his hands out to include every person there, “magic is as natural as the air we breathe. It is only as dangerous as the person who wields it. If Medb had not had magic at his use, he would have simply used other weapons to conquer us.” The bard pointed to Nara. “Look at the Hunnuli. We all believe in the inherent goodness of such horses. They were gifts to us from Valorian. A Hunnuli nearly killed Medb, yet another stands here beside Gabria. If magic were evil as we have been taught, would the Hunnuli stay with the girl?”
The large crowd began talking and arguing amongst themselves. They had never heard or seen anything like this.
Lord Jol stood up. The old chief was shaken by Cantrell’s words, but he did not like change and stubbornly clung to the safety of the laws. “This girl broke clan law!” he shouted, “She impersonated a warrior, joined a werod, attended a council meeting, and claimed herself chieftain. For those crimes alone she should be put to death.”
Athlone came to his feet, his face dark with anger. “Those crimes occurred while Gabria was with my clan. As her chieftain, it is my responsibility to deal with her punishment. This council need only concern itself with her use of sorcery.”
Koshyn nodded in agreement and held up his hands to calm the two men. “Today we only need to decide what to do about Gabria’s sorcery. We have to remember,” he said with an ironic twist of his mouth, “if we have her put to death, we are killing the last of the Corin. Another great dishonor for our clans.”
The lords were quiet for a time, some of them looking at Gabria, others looking anywhere else but at the girl. The onlookers continued debating loudly with each other. Gabria remained still, her stomach twisted in knots. She was terrified of this meeting, but she had known from the moment she broke the Woman of the Marsh’s magic that she would have to face the council.
Cantrell took a deep breath and walked with Piers to the edge of the steps. “My lords,” the bard said, his voice ringing through the courtyard, “if you kill the girl, Gabria, for using magic, then you shall have to put me to death, too, for I, also, have the talent to use magic.”
The noise around the palace abruptly stopped as every person stared at the venerable bard in shock.
Cantrell cocked his head at the silence. “I try not to use my talent, but it inadvertently comes out in my riddles.”
Piers looked at the stunned faces around him and said, “My lords, you will have to kill me as well. I, too, have used magic. I do not have the talent to wield it, but I have a stone of healing that works by a magic spell and has healed several people in my clan.”
Athlone shook his head. He should have known Piers was mixed up somehow with Gabria and the sorcery. He glanced at the other lords. Lord Jol was slack-jawed and Malech of the Reidhar was looking distressed; Koshyn had a faint smile on his face. Sha Umar simply looked fascinated.
Slowly, Athlone stood up and his movement drew everyone’s attention. He motioned toward Cantrell and Piers. “I seem to have a talent to wield magic, too. I have only known for a few days, but in that time I have learned a great deal.” He went down a step and held out his hand to Gabria. Proudly she walked up to stand beside him.
“I believe it is time to change the laws,” Athlone continued. “Not only to save Gabria, but to save ourselves. Even if we kill her and wash our hands of this incident, another person with the talent will come forward, perhaps to destroy us. For our own survival, we need to learn the ways of magic again and to regulate it. I beg you, lords, change the laws. I do not wish to die, but I will stand with Gabria.”