Athlone was the first to know of their coming. He was talking to Piers about supplies for the journey when he suddenly stiffened. “Eurus?” he gasped. His eyes went wide, and his handsome face broke into a grin.
“Piers,” he cried in delight. “She’s coming back. Eurus told me. Nara has had her foal!”
The two men ran through the camp just as an outrider came, from the edge of the treld, shouting the news. Clanspeople gathered in the fields to see Gabria, Nara, and the long legged foal come out of the hills and cross the meadows. Never in the recent memory of the Khulinin had anyone seen a baby Hunnuli.
The foal stared wide-eyed at the crowds, his small ears perked and his whisk-tail twitching. He trotted forward to sniff noses with Eurus. The stallion nickered gently; the foal whinnied in reply. As the three Hunnuli gathered around Gabria and walked with her to the camp, the clan watched, caught up in the wonder of the moment.
Athlone met them on the training field. He swept Gabria into his arms and kissed her soundly. “Don’t ever leave me again without telling me where you’re going.”
Happily she hugged him. “Hello to you, too.”
“And you!” the chieftain said, turning to Eurus. “Why didn’t you tell me where they were?” The stallion tossed his head.
You did not ask.
Gabria laughed. “You’ll have to get used to having a Hunnuli around again, Athlone.”
The chieftain chose to ignore her remark. He stood with Gabria as the three Hunnuli trotted off to the river and the crowd of excited clanspeople slowly dispersed.
“We’re going to leave in a day’s time,” Athlone said after a while. “Is the foal strong enough to travel?”
Gabria looked at him sharply. “We?”
“I am going with you. So is Piers.”
“Piers, too? Blessed be Amara!” She grinned, the relief plain on her face. “Thank you, Athlone. I was afraid I’d have to go alone.”
“You’ve been alone long enough,” Athlone replied.
“But what about the council this summer?”
“If Branth and the Fon do not cause too much trouble, we’ll have enough time to return for gathering at the Tir Samod.” He hesitated, then he drew Gabria close. “Will you marry me before we go?”
She leaned into him, her eyes almost level with his. Her finger gently traced the strong line of his jaw. She had been dreading this question. “Not yet, Athlone. I love you so much. But this journey will be long and dangerous. I’d rather begin our marriage on happier omens. Besides, I want you to be certain of your choice. You are chieftain of the most powerful clan on the plains. I am a convicted sorceress. This journey’ may give you a chance to know who I really am.” Gabria felt her fingers trembling, and she clasped them together tightly behind Athlone’s back. “You might change your mind by the time we reach Pra Desh. You should have that chance.”
“I know who you are,” he protested.
“Are you certain you can spend your life with magic and all of the uncertainty, hatred, and suspicion that go with it?” Gabria asked quietly. Her face was pale and set.
Athlone hesitated, and in that moment Gabria saw the faint shadow of doubt in his eyes. Although she hated to wait, she was glad now she had made that decision.
He looked away, aware that she had seen his doubt. “All right,” he said. “I’ll wait. If only to satisfy you.”
She hugged him again, and the two walked through the camp toward Piers’s tent. “What about the colt?” Athlone asked when they stopped by the tent flap.
“I wondered about that, too. He is premature, but Nara says he can easily keep up with your Harachan horses. She insists on going with me.”
Athlone glanced away, trying to be casual. “What about Eurus?”
“Oh, he’s coming, too,” Gabria said, hiding a smile.
“Good. He can help look after that foal. Does the colt have a name?”
“Not yet. Nara told me the foal will name himself when he is ready.”
“A son of Boreas,” Athlone said with a proud grin. “I can hardly believe it.”
The woman looked up into his smiling face, and her hand reached out for his. They went into Piers’s tent for the rest of the afternoon.
Clouds were moving in from the northwest and the wind was freshening on the morning Gabria and her party left Khulinin Treld. They gathered in the training field just after daybreak to bid farewell to the clan. Khan’di astride his chestnut arrived first, then Pierson his favorite brown mare and Gabria with the three Hunnuli. The chieftain and his four hearthguard warriors came last with the pack horses. Bregan rode his gelding, Stubs, and Athlone was mounted on his gray Harachan stallion.
Every member of the Party was dressed in plain, unadorned clothing and cloaks of undyed wool. Khan’di had stressed the importance of secrecy, warning the chief that the Fon’s spies must not learn of Gabria’s journey to Pra Desh. Athlone agreed, for he knew how fast news could travel on the plains.
Even the golden banner that usually went with the chieftain whenever he ventured from the treld was left behind.
When the travelers were gathered together, the entire clan came to see them off. Only Thalar was conspicuous by his absence, though the priest of Sorh and the priestess of Amara came to bless the people leaving the treld.
Lord Athlone rode before the Khulinin and raised his arms until the crowd fell quiet. In the customary speech to the clan, he reminded them of Savaric’s murder and his duty as Savaric’s son to seek weir-geld, or blood money, for the murder of his father. Since he wanted to minimize the taint of sorcery on his journey and leave his people in a propitious mood, he told the clan only of the fabulous city he would be visiting and of the tales he would have to tell when he returned. No mention was made of the Book of Matrah or Branth’s more recent crimes.
Cantrell stepped forward and sang a boisterous song of leave-taking that had the Khulinin singing and clapping as the party rode out of the valley. Many of the men rode with them for a time, calling out their farewells, while the rest of the clan stayed behind and cheered them on their way.
Before long, the travelers passed the last of the foothills and came out into the open country. A light rain began to fall, and the accompanying riders turned back for home. The party pushed on in single file, their cloaks pulled tight against the cold wind and rain. The pleasant leave-taking was behind them, and each person was lost in his or her own thoughts of the journey ahead.
By afternoon the rain eased, and the clouds raced south across the sky. Gently sloping hills, clad in gray-green grass, unfolded under the horses’ hooves and rolled endlessly beyond the horizon. The riders shook out their cloaks and relaxed a little on their mounts.
They were riding northeast, following the Goldrine River.
They planned to parallel the Goldrine as far as its junction with the Isin River, then strike east to intersect the old caravan route that ran north along the Sea of Tannis.
The caravan route ran north and south, and dated back to the days before the clans roamed the plains. It had been made by the invading armies of the Eagle, the same men who had built the fortress, Ab-Chakan. It was still used as a major overland route between the clans’ trelds, the Turic tribes in the south, and the Five Kingdoms in the north.” At the end of the road lay the golden city of Pra Desh.
Gabria had never been to Pra Desh, though she had heard about the city from her father, who had visited there once, and from Piers. She knew that Pra Desh was the capital city of Calah, one of the Five Kingdoms in the Alardarian Alliance and that a person titled “the Fon” ruled the city’s government. She knew little else.