Without a word, the two walked out of camp and into the hills. They found shelter in a small glade at the bottom of a wooded valley.
Gabria rubbed the black horse’s neck and spoke quietly to her as the labor progressed. “The baby is early,” the woman said after a while.
Nara breathed deeply before replying, By a turn of the moon. I should not go running in the mountains before my time. She trembled while a long contraction rippled through her body. .
Gabria’s fingers tightened on the black mane as the tremors of pain reached her. “Is it all right?” she asked.
I think so.
They lapsed into silence again, waiting for the natural progression of life. Just before the sun lifted over the hills, Nara laid on the ground. Unlike her first pregnancy, there was no difficulty with the birth. A small, black colt slid neatly out of, his mother and lay squirming in his wet sac. Gabria cleared the birthing sac away from his body, wiped out his nostrils, and cut and tied the umbilical cord. Nara climbed to her feet and began to lick him vigorously.
Gabria stood back, tears streaming down her face, and watched in sheer delight as the black foal began to struggle to his feet. The sun rose over the hill, and sunlight poured through the trees. Its warmth invigorated the baby Hunnuli. He tottered to his feet and nuzzled close to his mother for his first breakfast.
Gabria cleaned the glade and went away to bury the remains of the birth and to give Nara time alone with her baby. She smiled to herself as she worked. The baby was alive and Nara was well! The words sang in Gabria’s mind. She had not realized how strong her worry had been until it was gone. Happily she returned to the glade. She was so tired, she decided to lie down for just a moment. The woman was asleep in a heartbeat.
In the treld not far away, the horn bearers blew their welcome to the morning sun and the clanspeople began another day. Athlone, dressed in his finest shirt, over tunic, and pants strode down the path to the healer’s tent. He jingled the small bells that hung by the entrance.
“Come!” Piers shouted from within. The healer was struggling with a pan of fresh bread when the chieftain entered. Muttering, Piers fumbled the hot pan to the table and dumped a heavy, flat loaf onto a wooden plate. The bread tipped off and fell to the floor.
Laughing, Athlone picked the loaf off the carpet and dropped it back on the plate.
“Thank you,” Piers said. He poked at his handiwork. “Look at that. It would break teeth. I will never learn the knack of baking.”
Athlone sat on a stool, still chuckling, and said, “You need a woman of your own.”
The healer grimaced. “I’ve had one. They’re more trouble than baking my own bread.”
The younger man nodded vaguely as his eyes searched the tent for Gabria. Piers took one look at Athlone’s gaze and the finery he wore, and realized immediately that this was not a casual visit. He turned back to his hearth and tried to appear natural as he spooned some porridge into a bowl.
“Where is she?” the chief asked.
Piers cast a worried glance at the chief. He poured two cups of ale, brought his bowl to the table, and sat down before he answered. “I don’t know. She left in the middle of the night.”
Athlone slammed his fist on the table. “Someone is going to have to nail that girl’s foot to the ground!”
Piers picked up a spoon and dipped it in his porridge. “Her gear is still here.”
“Well, maybe she’ll come back for that,” Athlone replied, glaring at his ale.
Piers glanced up at him. “She always comes back.”
“Hmmm. I just wish she’d tell me once in a while where she was going.” He sat morosely and watched Piers eat his meal. He was always fascinated at the neat, almost ritualistic way the healer consumed his food. His eating habits and his social manners were the only two things that Piers had not left- behind when he had fled Pra Desh eleven years ago. Athlone had never been to the great city, and he had the feeling there was a lot to learn about the people and their customs before he arrived there.
Piers looked up and caught Athlone’s eyes. Deliberately he put his spoon down and straightened his thin shoulders. “I have a favor to ask,” he said with some effort. “I would like to go with you.”
The chief was astonished. “You have sworn more times than there are hairs on a horse’s back that you would never return to the city,”
Piers nodded. “I know. However, I think yow gods would forgive me if I changed my mind. Gabria may need my help. Besides. . ,” He shrugged and looked away. “She has taught me a thing or two about facing memories. It is time I go back.”
Athlone leaned forward, stunned. As far as he knew, Piers had never told anyone, except perhaps Savaric, why he had left Pra Desh. He had appeared at a clan gathering one summer and followed the Khulinin home. They had been happy to have the skilled healer in their clan and had not pried into his past.
“What about the clan? They will need a healer while you are gone,” Athlone said.
“I will ask the healer of the Dangari to send one of his apprentices. He has a man ready to pass his rites.”
Athlone stood and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “All right. You are welcome to come with us,” He paused. “How did you know I was going?”
“You could not do otherwise.”
Athlone snorted. “And what of the clan I am leaving behind, O wise sage?”
“They will be fine,” Piers replied. “It is us I would worry about.”
The chieftain laughed without humor and went to the entrance. “We will leave in two days. . . provided Gabria returns in time.” He turned and strode out.
Piers watched him go. He missed his friend, Savaric, very much, yet through Gabria he had found some common ground with Athlone. Now the son was becoming as good a friend as the father. The old healer sighed to himself. He could hardly believe he had asked to go to Pra Desh. Even after eleven years he was not certain he was up to facing the old memories and emotions. At least Gabria and Athlone would be with him. He would not have to endure the ordeal alone. He forced down his rising apprehension and went to find a rider willing to take a message to Dangari Treld.
In the meantime, Athlone returned to the hall and the business of planning for the journey. He met with the elders and warriors and told them of his decision. A few were concerned about his leaving, but the majority understood the necessity of finding Branth and avenging the murder of Lord Savaric. Quite a few men volunteered to go with him. He chose Bregan and three other seasoned warriors as an escort and ordered the remainder to stay and obey Guthlac, who he named wer-tain.
As the meeting continued, Athlone and the elders discussed clan problems. They made plans for the approaching birthing season, when the herds would be having their young, and for the Khulinin’s departure for the Tir Samod. Guthlac made several astute suggestions, and Athlone was relieved to see the elders and the warriors listened to the new wer-tain with respect. At least, the chieftain thought, I can feel secure about leaving the clan in Guthlac’s capable hands.
By late afternoon, die entire clan knew that their lord was going on a long journey and that Gabria was missing again. Everyone was buzzing about Pra Desh, magic, Branth, and the absent girl. The priest, Thalar, stole from group to group, trying to convince the clanspeople that Gabria’s evil was spreading and that she was going to destroy their chief. But the priest’s lies were overshadowed by the tale of Gabria’s meeting with the King Stallion. Those who had heard the tale the day before spread it all over camp, embellishing the story with every telling. People flocked to the meadows to stare in awe at Eurus, who contentedly grazed before his audience. The speculation grew that Gabria had left to see the Hunnuli herd again. Perhaps, the people said to one another, she would return with more of the horses.
The truth became clear late that afternoon in a way no one quite expected. The clanspeople had not known of Nara’s pregnancy before Gabria was banished and had seen little of the mare since her return, so they had not noticed her bulging sides. Thus it was that the news of Gabria and Nara’s return swept through the camp like a whirlwind.