The crowd silently watched as the horses angled toward the cluster of chieftains gathered at the tip of the council grove. At the edge of the shore in front of the lords and warriors, the Hunnuli stopped. They stood before the wall of men, their fetlocks deep in the swirling brown water and their manes hanging limp with rain.
There was an uncomfortable pause as the chieftains looked up at one of their own peers and at the woman who had captured the lightning. Quiet hung over the camps while the people waited and watched to see their lords’ reactions. Thunder rumbled far to the east, the wind slowed to wayward gusts, and the heavy rain faltered to a drizzle.
Gabria saw nothing of the gathering around her, but she sensed the tension and confusion as surely as if she could see the peoples’ faces. She had hoped to influence the clan chieftains to change the laws against sorcery, but she had never thought to go so far.
She heard the men shift reluctantly, then a voice said, “Welcome to the gathering, Lord Athlone. I did not get a chance see you earlier.” It was Lord Hildor, the chieftain of the Wylfling.
His pleasant words and genuine welcome broke the tense stand-off. The chiefs stood aside to allow room for the four Hunnuli to pass, and every lord came forward to voice his greetings to the magic-wielders. The crowds of people broke apart too, into talking and wondering groups that made no move to go back to their camps.
With a sigh of relief, Lord Sha Umar came to Nara’s side and helped Gabria dismount. Like the others, he wondered at her closed eyes, but he made no comment. He only put her hand on his arm and led her to the council tent. The others followed.
Secen, Valar, and Keth had already arrived and were waiting at the tent. The three warriors saluted the magic-wielders with obvious pleasure and relief. Secen told Gabria that Piers was already at work with his healing stone.
Athlone watched while his hearthguard raised his golden banner beside the other chiefs’ flags above the tent. He had to swallow hard to fight down the strange mix of relief, pride, and nervousness that rose within him.
The battle with the gorthling was won, but the battle for the survival of sorcery would continue. Athlone and Gabria both knew the clanspeople were too stubborn and their beliefs were too ingrained to be wiped out in a short time. They might be grateful for the defeat of the gorthling, but they were not going to forget two hundred years of hatred and suspicion.
At the entrance to the council tent, Lord Sha Umar, the chieftains’ council leader for the year, raised his hand and shouted for attention. “Tomorrow, if Lord Koshyn and Lord Athlone are able to attend, we will begin the council of chieftains. My lords, we have a great deal to discuss this year.”
A loud murmur of assent met his suggestion.
He continued. “If all of you are willing, I would like to call a special meeting in the afternoon to learn more about sorcery. Lady Gabria, the Turic, and the girl, Tam, should be allowed to attend.”
The other chiefs readily agreed, and so it was decided. Gabria felt weak with relief. She curled her arm up around Nara’s throat and pressed her face into the mare’s warm cheek.
She nearly jumped when someone said beside her, “Lady Gabria? Lord Koshyn asked me to find this and give it to you. He thought you would need it.”
She felt a heavy leather bag being pressed into her hand. “He’s awake?” she asked, feeling into the bag.
“Only a short time ago. Healer Piers says he will be . . .” The Dangari warrior’s voice faded away at the expression of disbelief and rueful dismay that settled on the sorceress’s face.
Gabria began to laugh. She did not need her vision to recognize the old, faded smell, the heavy leather binding, or the faint tingle of power that tickled her fingers from the ancient tome. Now, when she could use it the least, the Book of Matrah was in her hands.
The chieftains recognized the book, too, and they stared at her apprehensively. That book had been the cause of strife and death. They wondered what Gabria would do with it.
“Thank you,” the sorceress said gently to the warrior. “Would you please give this to Lord Sha Umar until the chiefs can decide what to do with it?”
Sha Umar met Athlone’s grin with a shrug and a chuckle of relief. He put the book under guard for safekeeping.
Shortly after the Book of Matrah had been passed to Sha Umar, Gabria went to find Piers. She found the healer among the people stricken by the gorthling’s arcane blow. He had just finished using the healing stone on the last victim and was talking to the overjoyed relatives when he saw Gabria. He took one look at her, bustled her off to his newly erected tent, and put her to bed.
For that night, the next day, and the following night Gabria slumbered in a peaceful, recuperative rest that not even the uproar in the camps around her could disturb. When she woke in the afternoon of the second day, her first reaction was fear. The world was still completely dark. Her hands flew to her eyes and grabbed at a cloth bound around her head.
“Easy. It’s all right,” Pier’s calm voice soothed her panic. His hands took hers and gently laid them aside. “I’ve bandaged your eyes for now to let them rest.”
She drew a long breath and slowly relaxed. “Is it possible my eyes will heal?”
“I really don’t know if you will see again,” he told her sadly. “I’ve never had any experience with this kind of blindness.” Piers frowned. He did not like being so unsure about something so important. “I have examined your eyes and I can find no damage. We’ll just have to wait.”
“I hear voices,” someone called outside. “Is she awake?” Sayyed sauntered in, bringing in the smells of sun, wind, and horses. He smiled at Piers, then strode over to Gabria’s pallet. “I was beginning to wonder if you were going to sleep through the whole gathering,” he said, sitting beside her.
“Before you two talk all day, I have something for Gabria to drink.” Piers handed her a cup. “Nara said it is for strength and healing.”
The sorceress sat up and raised the cup to her lips. She smiled. The cup was full of the Hunnuli mare’s rich, warm milk. Gabria drank every drop and felt her energy flooding back. “What has been happening?”
With pleasure Sayyed and Piers told her everything that had occurred the past two and a half days. Sayyed immediately began with Afer, and with delight in his voice said, “No one expected my idea to work.” He laughed. “They kept saying no horse would tolerate being slung by his belly for days on end. They didn’t take into account the intelligence of a Hunnuli. We have him supported in a special framework under the cottonwood trees. His leg is splinted, and Tam is spoiling him with treats and handpicked grass. He seems to be doing very well. Even your herdmasters are shaking their heads and saying the sling just might work.”
Gabria was delighted to hear that news. The men went on, telling her that Lord Koshyn and the clanspeople Piers had treated with the healing stone were doing well. The chieftains’ council had met as planned, and Lord Athlone had explained the details of the gorthling’s vicious nature to them all.
“I don’t think they fully comprehended what we were fighting until Lord Athlone told them about the massacre of the Bahedin,” Sayyed told her. “When they came out of the council tent yesterday, every man among them was as white as the moon.” He slapped his knee. “I wish you could have been in the camps last night. The tales of Branth, the gorthling, and our journey to Pra Desh spread from one end of the gathering to the other.”
Piers chuckled. “Hardly anyone but you slept last night. They were too busy talking.”
“And gawking. The Priestess of Amara and Athlone put the mask of Valorian on display. Every man, woman, and child stood in line to see it.” Sayyed shook his head. “No one quite knows what to make of all this—a gorthling, arcane battles, Valorian’s mask, the Hunnuli herd—your people have enough to keep them thinking for years.”