“Oh?” Gabria asked. She felt a tug of foreboding, but Athlone dismounted without a reply and handed his reins to a warrior. Gabria, too, slid off her horse. The mare gently nudged her rider before she and Eurus trotted back to the meadows.
Gabria watched them go. Standing beside her, Athlone studied the sorceress’s features and marveled that a face capable of showing such love could also have such strength.
The crowd began to disperse to their own tents and cooking fires. Athlone, Gabria, and several hearthguard warriors walked up the hill to the entrance of the hall.
Twilight was settling into the valley. Once inside the open doors of the hall, Gabria noticed the lamps were lit and a fire was burning in the central hearth. A haunch of meat had been set to the side of the fire, ready for the chieftain, his family, and any other warrior who wanted to eat in the hall. Lady Tungoli and her serving girls were setting up the trestle tables before bringing in the meal.
Gabria said softly, “It’s good to be home.” The chieftain overheard her, and the quiet pleasure of her words evaporated the vestiges of his anger. He offered her his arm, and they walked into the hall together.
As Gabria and the men ate their meal and talked, Piers, Cantrell, and a stocky, ruddy-skinned man Gabria did not recognize came to join them. Other clanspeople sat close by, listening. Lady Tungoli organized her serving girls and also joined the group to hear the talk. No one bothered to introduce Gabria to the stranger in their midst.
Sitting beside Athlone’s dais, Gabria told them all about her vision, her journey to Corin Treld, and the burial mound she had found there. She did not mention her own catharsis, but those who knew her well sensed the new peace and assurance in her manner. She went on to describe the Wheel and her meeting with the Hunnuli. Her listeners sat spellbound as she told of the black horses and their king.
When she repeated the King Stallion’s warning about Branth, the stranger sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Lord Athlone, I—” he began.
The chieftain waved him to silence. “A moment, please, Khan’di.” He turned back to Gabria. “You haven’t told us yet why you have a second Hunnuli.”
Gabria lingered over her cup of wine for a moment before answering. “The King Stallion sent him.”
“Why?”
“He thought you needed a mount befitting your abilities.”
Athlone looked up at the ceiling, the lines on his face taut. “I have a good mount. One befitting a chieftain.”
The warriors around him stared at their chief in surprise. Any among them would have traded their swordarms for a Hunnuli to ride, but Gabria looked into Athlone’s face and understood his refusal. She sipped her wine and let the subject drop. The King Stallion’s advice was wise. She would let Athlone and Eurus work out their difficulties.
Athlone, meanwhile, settled back into his seat and acquiesced to her silence. He had no wish to push the subject further. Instead he poured more wine into his cup and passed the silver ewer to the stranger. “Khan’di Kadoa, now you know why we have been unable to find Lady Gabria,” the chieftain said with a twist of wry humor. “Perhaps now you would tell her why you are here.”
Gabria finally got a good look at the stranger when he rose from the table and bowed to her. She guessed he was about fifty years old, for his short-cropped hair was gray and his heavy face was deeply lined around the mouth and forehead.
He was dressed simply in a pair of leggings and a knee-length hooded shirt, but there was nothing simple about the massive gold seal ring on his index finger. He met her scrutiny with a sharp, interested gaze of his own, and Gabria recognized immediately that this man was no fool.
“Lady, I am Khan’di Kadoa, a nobleman and merchant from the great city of Pra Desh, capital of the kingdom of Calah,” he said smoothly. “I have come to talk to you about this exile, Branth. As I have told your chieftain, Branth has been in Pra Desh over six months now and has been causing nothing but trouble.”
Gabria shifted in her seat. “What has he been doing?”
“He has an old book of spells and the ability, however feeble, to use them.” The man leaned forward, his dark eyes piercing under a line of bushy eyebrows. “When he first arrived, he ignored our laws forbidding sorcery and tried to sell his services. Then, he simply stole or conjured what he wanted. Before long he had the entice city in an uproar. He became such a problem that the city guards tried to arrest him. He killed them all. Then the ruler of our city, the Fon, captured him.”
A note of suppressed rage hardened the nobleman’s voice. “The Fon is an ambitious woman. She not only wants to rule Pra Desh, but Calah and the other Five Kingdoms, as well. She has already laid her plans to take over the rest of the country and invade our neighbor, Portane, in just two months’ time. Somehow, she has coerced this Branth into serving her. She uses his book and his power to strip our fine city, all to build her armies. She will lay waste to Pra Desh just to satisfy her insatiable lust for power.” Khan’di paused. When he spoke again his voice was calmer.
“Lady Gabria, Branth’s presence has become intolerable. I beg of you, please come to Pra Desh and remove this man before the Fon fulfills her plans. I know I am asking a great deal, but if you could just take him away, the people of Pra Desh—nay, of all Calah—would rise up and deal with the Fon themselves.”
The hall went very quiet as the clansmen waited for a response. Gabria looked at Athlone’s stony face, then at the splinter of the Fallen Star, the mark of a magic-wielder, glowing redly just under the skin of her wrist.
Sadly, she touched the bright spot. After the Hunnuli’s warning and this news from the Pra Deshian, Gabria felt that she had no choice. She would have to try to find Branth before he wrecked havoc on the city or returned to the clans to take Medb’s place. She knew, too, what she would have to postpone her marriage to Athlone. It wouldn’t be right, beginning their life as husband and wife under such difficult circumstances.
“Athlone,” she said into the silence. “He’s right. I must go to Pra Desh as soon as possible.”
At first the chief did not respond. He sat and stared into the fire for several long moments, his expression showing no trace of the conflict that warred within him. Finally he seemed to reach a decision, for he tossed out the dregs of his wine and slammed his cup on the arm of the stone seat. He did not notice that the horn cup split from the force of the blow.
Rising, he said tersely to the men around him, “It is late. We will make plans for the journey tomorrow. Gabria will go to Pra Desh.”
His companions were startled by the abruptness of his dismissal. They stood and began to leave the hall.
“Bregan,” Athlone called to one of the warriors. “Stay. I need to talk to you.”
Gabria gazed at the chief’s back, trying to hide her hurt. He had accepted her decision without a word; perhaps he didn’t care after all. Since her return from the temple, she had found Athlone to be angry, irritable, and interested only in the news she could give. She began to wonder if she had misread him earlier. He was not worried that she was missing, simply angry that she had disobeyed his command by leaving the temple to go to Corin Treld. Perhaps in six months he had already changed his mind about her. She rose to go, her heart heavy. She looked up when Piers touched her sleeve.
The healer read the look in her eyes and understood.
“Don’t take his rudeness to heart. The responsibilities of a chieftain weigh heavily on him tonight,” he said gently.
She looked up at her old friend and squeezed his arm. “It’s not very often you defend Athlone.” The healer’s pale eyes met hers with sympathy and caring.
“I’m fond of you both. Don’t worry. Athlone will come around as soon as he straightens out his own thoughts.”