Koshyn! She had forgotten about him. She broke off and hurried after the old Murjik chieftain. The others followed silently in their wake.
Sha Umar and Jol had laid the Dangari in the big council, tent after the gorthling had left the grove. The chief was resting, unconscious, on his blue cloak. Three of Koshyn’s hearthguard were dead, but two others stood by their lord, their faces showing their concern.
Gabria knelt down beside the wounded chieftain. Koshyn had suffered no obvious external injury from Branth’s torturous spell, yet everyone could see there was something dreadfully wrong within him. He twitched and writhed and moaned in pain; his muscles jerked spasmodically, and his hands were clenched in knotted fists. When Gabria touched him, his skin was hot with fever.
“There is nothing I can do,” Gabria said sadly. “Only our healer, Piers, can help. He has a stone of healing that will remove the harmful magic from Lord Koshyn’s body.”
The Dangari exchanged glances. “Where is your healer, Lady?” one of them asked.
“He will be coming soon, I hope.” She glanced out the open tent flap. “Lord Koshyn is not the only one who will need the stone of healing. There are other people who were sorely injured, too.”
At that instant, Nara spoke gladly in her mind. Gabria, the men are coming!
To the chiefs’ mutual amazement, the sorceress jumped to her feet and dashed outside. She ran out to the edge of the trees and saw them coming. Athlone and Sayyed were doubled on Eurus, and the Hunnuli was galloping across the valley toward the gathering.
At that moment Gabria did not know which of her emotions was stronger, her dismay that they had come when the gorthling was still a danger or her joy at their arrival. She knew she had disappointed them by leaving, but they had come to her aid anyway.
Gabria yelled and waved. They saw her and veered toward her. Athlone nearly fell off the big Hunnuli in his haste to reach the woman. His anger and worry were abruptly doused in the flood of relief that swept through him when he saw her alive and well. He caught her in his arms, crushing her close.
She said nothing, just wrapped her arms around him and held tightly.
Athlone did not say anything, either. He let her go, and she turned to greet Sayyed. The Turic, too, hugged her fiercely.
“I’m glad you’re safe,” he said, somewhere between laughter and tears.
“Where are Piers and the others?” she asked.
“On their way. The other horses could not keep up with Eurus.” Sayyed flashed his charming smile. “I was nearly left behind, too.”
The other chiefs caught up with the three just then, and they greeted Athlone with undisguised relief. They immediately bombarded him with questions and several versions of the events of the morning. He talked with them just long enough to hear them out and answer a few of their questions, then he excused himself and went to join Gabria and Sayyed.
As Gabria looked into Athlone’s eyes, she could not trust herself to speak. She had tried to decide the men’s fate by leaving them, convinced that the fight with the gorthling was hers alone. She knew now that she had been wrong. The creature was too strong for her to face by herself. She had to admit that she needed the help and the support of these two men.
However, the decision to use their untrained sorcery in a battle against a much stronger foe was theirs to make. She was still desperately afraid for them, but she had to let them choose their own path.
“I will say only one thing before we talk about the gorthling,” Athlone said. He cupped his hands around Gabria’s face, and his brown eyes bored into hers. “Don’t ever leave me like that again.”
The intensity of his quiet words meant more to her than anything he could have said in anger or any statement of his concern for her safety. Warmed to the center of her being, Gabria raised her hand palm up and said, “I promise.”
His fingers interlaced with hers, and the vow was made. They stood in the shade of the tree near the council tent, and Gabria told the two men what had happened from the moment she arrived. They could hear the noise still going on in the camps; the voices of some of the chiefs rose above the cacophony as they tried to assess the damage and calm their people. The council grove bustled with activity, but Gabria, Athlone, and Sayyed were left strictly alone.
Suddenly they heard a voice close by. “I demand to see Lord Athlone. My right as a Khulinin cannot be denied.”
The chieftain groaned when he saw Thalar, the clan priest. Lord Sha Umar was trying to distract the priest, but Thalar grew louder and more insistent by the moment.
“I will not leave,” Thalar shouted, “until I speak with my chieftain!” Athlone nodded to Sha Umar, and the Jehanan stood aside. The priest came striding over. “What is it, Thalar?” the chieftain asked, the irritation clear in his voice.
The priest ignored his tone and planted himself before his chief. “Lord Athlone! You have finally come. I’ll have you know that the gods-cursed heretic, Branth, has invaded the holy island, destroyed the sanctity of the gods’ temple, and slaughtered people of our clans. I demand that you remove him from the sacred ring before the gods curse us for allowing this sacrilege to occur.”
Lord Athlone tried to hold his temper. Although the priests and priestesses of a clan did not have as much authority as the chieftain, even the chiefs did not deliberately insult or antagonize a representative of the gods. Thalar, however, made self-control difficult.
“We’re trying to—” Athlone began, but Thalar turned away before he could complete the sentence.
The priest faced Gabria, and his color turned as red as a beet. “As for her,” he shouted, pointing a trembling finger at the woman, “that evil-tainted sorceress has destroyed this gathering! The moment she appeared, all the fury of Sorh broke loose.”
Gabria tried to stifle a smile. Thalar did not know the truth of the gorthling’s identity, so he had little idea how close he was to the truth.
Unfortunately the priest noticed her half-hidden expression and misread it for ridicule. “See how she laughs? Does she care that six people lie dead, that many more are injured, that nine are hostage, including a chief and your own wer-tain? Does she care for the sacrilege that is being done to our holy temple? Lord Athlone, that woman is a menace, and I demand that you banish her from this camp before she destroys us all.”
“No,” Athlone replied simply.
Thalar rose to his full height and bellowed, “Then kill her! Root out her evil!” His voice thundered across the grove. Anyone nearby who was not already listening to the harangue turned to watch. “Put an end to this vile stain of magic or by Surgart, I swear I will bring down the wrath of the gods upon this clan. I will—”
He went no further. Lord Athlone had had enough. The chief raised his hand, spoke a single word, and the priest’s voice caught in his throat. Thalar’s face turned from red to a sickly white, and his eyes bulged as he attempted to speak. Sha Umar and Sayyed grinned; the other chiefs looked stunned.
“No,” said Athlone calmly. “As you can see, the stain of magic is spreading.” Thalar gasped and gagged with a mighty effort to say something, but the words would not come.
“You will listen now,” Athlone ordered, a bite of steel in his tone. “I am a magic-wielder, too. I intend to help Lady Gabria as best I can to remove that gorthling.”
Thalar abruptly stilled, and his body stiffened.
The chieftain saw his reaction and pushed the point home. “That’s right. That creature is not Branth, but a beast of Sorh, and Lady Gabria was trying to save the clans from its evil. Do you understand?” Thalar nodded, his eyes narrowed.
“Good. If you wish to remain with the Khulinin, I suggest you think about your position on sorcery. There are two sides to every argument.” Athlone spoke a second command, and the priest put his hand to his throat. He cleared it a few times to make certain that he could speak again.