Lightning's Daughter

15

Athlone and Gabria did not stop after leaving the citadel of Krath. They rode through the night, letting the Hunnuli follow the old stone road that ran south along the flanks of the Himachal Mountains. The man and woman traveled silently, each lost in his or her own thoughts and weariness.

At sunrise the Hunnuli came to the Isin River and the fortress of Ab-Chakan sitting on its ridge at the opening of the defile of Tor Wrath. The riders paused for a brief time at the edge of the valley, and their eyes turned to the crumbling old fortress and the two burial mounds nearby. The larger mound contained the bodies of the fallen clan warriors; the smaller mound was the grave of Lord Savaric.

Athlone was very quiet as he looked on his father’s mound. The memories of many words and deeds passed through his mind. When he and Gabria were ready to go, the chieftain raised his fist in salute to his dead father and rode on. For a long while after leaving Ab-Chakan, Athlone’s expression was very thoughtful.

The horses continued to follow the old road south beside the Isin River. The Isin was a natural guide to the Tir Samod and the clan gathering, and the two riders hoped to find their party somewhere along the banks. At midmorning the three Hunnuli stopped for a drink of water from the shallows under a shady tree.

Gabria and Athlone dismounted and stood staring at the water rippling by. They had not said much to each other during the journey to the citadel. Now they realized their time alone would soon be over.

They looked at one another self-consciously. They did not want to waste this precious time, but neither of them knew what to say. Athlone cleared his throat; Gabria hugged her arms to her chest.

Finally the sorceress broke the silence. “Whatever you may think of me, Athlone, I want you to know that I did not break the vows of our betrothal. Nothing happened in my tent at Jehanan Treld between Sayyed and me.”

Athlone’s heart was pounding like a drum. He put his hands behind his back and clenched his fingers hard. He felt in the core of his being that she was telling the truth. “Sayyed makes it easy to jump to conclusions,” he said. “I’m sorry. I should have trusted you more. I should have listened.”

The woman was quiet again. She remembered her vow to avoid confrontation with Athlone or Sayyed until after her quest was complete, but she could not let this chance for reconciliation go by. Athlone meant too much to her. “We still have a lot to offer one another,” she replied hesitantly, turning her armband on her arm. “I don’t want to give that up.”

He watched the sunlight glint off the gold band, and he marveled that she was still wearing his gift. “Neither do I. Your friendship is too precious to lose.”

“Perhaps if we start over again . . .”

He grinned. “If the gods will give us some time.”

Gabria glanced up at him. “Is it worth a try?”

“What about Sayyed?” “I don’t know. He is my friend, too.”

“Then we will see what happens. Many things may change in the days ahead.”

Smiling, Gabria held out her hand, and he clasped it tightly. She felt the strength of his fingers and the warmth of his skin; her heart sang with pleasure and relief.

They mounted their Hunnuli and continued south beside the rippling water. At noon Eurus and Nara saw the rest of the party on the riverbank far ahead. The Hunnuli neighed their greetings.

Sayyed, with Tam behind him, rode out to meet them. Tam jumped off the horse before Sayyed brought it to a stop and threw her arms around the colt’s neck. He whinnied in delight. The girl happily waved to Gabria and Athlone, then, to Gabria’s surprise, Tam did not reclaim her usual seat on Nara but climbed back on behind Sayyed. The Turic ruffled her hair.

“While you were gone, I acquired a new partner,” he told Gabria as the group trotted on to rejoin the other men.

The sorceress smiled. “That’s wonderful. How did it happen?”

“I’m not sure. She’s been staying close to me since I took’ her through the caves in Pra Desh, but I think she really needed someone while you were away. She seems to have stuck to me.”

Gabria looked at the girl who was hanging on to Sayyed’s waist. “Just be careful with her feelings,” she warned the Turic. “Tam has lost a lot in her short life.”

He nodded once just before they reached the other men, and any further conversation was lost in a storm of greetings, questions, and answers.

“You were right, Lord,” Secen said to Athlone after the welcomes were past. “Branth has followed the river for two days now. He’s still heading south, about a day ahead of us.”

“Toward the gathering,” Athlone said. He shivered slightly. The thought of the gorthling loose among the unsuspecting clanspeople was appalling. The chief turned to see Gabria come up beside him. He gestured downstream. “I don’t suppose we could use magic to catch up with him or to move ourselves to the gathering ahead of that beast,”

She was startled that he would ask such a question, and it took her a moment to answer. “Unfortunately, no. It is too dangerous and uncertain to transport people by magic. Too many things could go wrong. Besides, we could lose Branth’s trail. There is no real promise that he is going to the gathering. And,” she stopped to pat Nara’s neck, “we could not move the Hunnuli. I will need Nara when I face the gorthling.”

The chieftain shaded his eyes and looked toward the south, where the green plains rolled beyond the horizon. He knew Branth was far out of sight, but an irrational hope still made him study the hills for any sign of the gorthling. At last he pulled his gaze away and ordered everyone to their horses.

The company rode for the rest of the day as fast as they could go. It was late into the evening when they finally’ stopped to eat and rest.

Immediately after their hurried meal, Athlone took Gabria a short distance away from camp to a sandy bank beside the river. For a while he said nothing, but stared thoughtfully into the water. The night gradually settled down around them, warm and comforting. rich with the sounds of crickets and the rush of the river.

At last Athlone drew a long breath and released it in a rush. “You asked me once,” he said to Gabria, “if I thought Father would have been disappointed in you and your power.”

The woman tilted her head to look at him, touched by the sadness and regret in his voice.

“And I told you that he would have been proud of your courage.” Athlone hesitated. He wanted to touch her badly, to bring her close and draw on her wonderful inner strength, but he could not do it. He knew he had to face the reality of his decision by himself or he would never be able to wield magic with the honesty and power of his own will.

He had decided in Pra Desh to use his talent, but it was not until he had passed his father’s grave at Ab-Chakan that he had fully accepted his irrevocable choice. He sensed now some of the fear and dread Gabria must have faced when she had made her decision to use her talent. Yet, even as he tried to still the cold trembling in his hands, he felt an effusive glow of elation pour out of his mind and release the heavy weight of guilt and remorse that had hung over him from that first moment when he had known of his power and had been ashamed of it. At last he was accepting the truth of his being.

“Father would have been disappointed with me,” he went on. He held up a hand to stop Gabria’s protest. “Savaric always taught me to use my strengths and abilities to my utmost.” Athlone’s teeth flashed with a grin in his dark beard. “Once he got over the shock of having a magic-wielder for a son, he would have been furious at my refusal to use my power. I want to change that, Gabria,” he said forcefully. “I am a magic-wielder. I am going to learn to use my power.”

Gabria gasped. Her breath was taken away by the conviction in his voice. Her thoughts leaped with a jolt of mixed emotions, and she clasped his hands in hers.

He held on, interlocking his fingers with hers. “I need your help, Gabria. Teach me your sorcery.”

Her fingers tightened their grip, and she swallowed hard. “No,” she replied, her voice firm.

“I have the talent. I only need to know how to use it.”

She stared at him, torn between delight and fear. She knew why he was asking now as clearly as if he had said the words; he wanted to help her fight the gorthling. Her mind cried out in protest. If she tried to teach him and Athlone battled a gorthling with untried, poorly trained powers, he would be slaughtered. On the other hand, the chieftain was a stubborn man once his mind was made up. If she did not teach him something, she knew he would try to learn on his own and probably destroy himself in the backlash of a poorly controlled spell.

“Athlone,” she cried in exasperation, “please wait! I can’t teach sorcery. I don’t know enough yet, myself.”

He let go of her hands and stepped back. “Then I’ll figure it out by myself. Is it like this?” and he snapped a command, the same words Gabria had used in the dungeon to form a globe of light. To her surprise, a soft ball of light did begin to glow just over their heads. In seconds, though, it went out of control and blazed into a furious sphere of brilliant, hot white light that hummed with unleashed magic. The two people shrank back from the heat.

Gabria heard shouts from the other men, but she ignored them and kept her attention fastened on the light. “All right,” she cried. “I’ll teach you what I can.”

“Good,” he yelled. “Then would you show me how to put this thing out?”

The woman sighed. She could put it out herself, but if he really wanted to learn, this was as good a time as any to start. “Concentrate on your spell,” she shouted to him over the rising noise of the globe. “Fix your purpose in your mind, then speak the words of your command.” She watched the chieftain while he closed his eyes and lifted his hand toward the sphere. The blazing ball wavered, dimmed, then it flared again brighter than before.

“Concentrate!” Gabria demanded. “Feel the power within you. Bend the magic to your bidding.”

Athlone tried again. A sheen of perspiration glistened on his forehead, and his face went rigid from his effort. This time, instead of thinking about the sphere and wishing it would go out, he concentrated on the feel of the power that surged within him. He had felt that power before, when he had rescued Gabria from the Woman of the Marsh and when he had fought the duel with Gringold. However, in those two instances, the magic had flowed through him uncontrolled and unconsciously. Now he drew it forth willingly and shaped it. When at last he stopped and opened his eyes, the light was gone and Gabria was smiling.

“I did it!” He grinned like a small boy and picked up Gabria by her waist and whirled her around.

The other men appeared out of the darkness, their swords drawn. “What’s going on? Are you all right?” they asked as one.

The chieftain waved his men to a stop. “We’re fine.”

“What was that light?” Sayyed demanded.

Athlone did not hesitate. He had made his decision to wield his power no matter how his clan would react, but he badly wanted his companions’ support. The healer and the warriors were his first and most important test of the clan’s willingness to be ruled by a chieftain-sorcerer. He cocked an eyebrow and said, “I tried a spell to create a globe of light. It went a little wild.”

Piers did not seem surprised. He nodded in approval. The three warriors looked at their lord speechlessly. Secen glanced at Gabria, then back at Athlone. Both his and his fellows’ jaws hung slack.

Valar cleared his throat and said slowly, “But Lord, the laws forbidding sorcery have not been removed. What if you are exiled or put to death?”

The Khulinin chieftain replied, “I have thought about that and about many things. I realize I am endangering my position as ruler, but I can no longer turn my back on this power I was born with. The time is coming when we will have to face the gorthling’s threat to the clans, and swords will not be enough.”

The three warriors stared at him for a long, painful minute until, one by one, they sheathed their weapons and turned back to camp.

Athlone watched them go. They had not jumped into an instant acclamation of his decision, but they had not condemned him, either. He released his breath in a long, silent sigh. It was one thing to demand obedience from a warrior on the field of battle, but Athlone could not in good conscience order his men to accept his talent as a sorcerer. He could only hope their loyalty and respect for him as a chieftain would eventually win them over. Their acceptance would mean a great deal to the rest of the clan.

Sayyed had been watching the exchange with deep interest. He was very aware of the significance of Athlone’s decision to wield magic. He slid his sword back into its leather scabbard and stood arms akimbo, his body tight with anticipation. “Good! Gabria, you can teach us both to use our powers.”

“Not now,” she said hastily. “The night is late.”

“This is as good a time as any to start,” Athlone said.

Gabria groaned inwardly. She could hardly bear to teach Athlone for fear of what he wanted to do. Now she had to include Sayyed. The men were watching her expectantly, so she gritted her teeth and marched back to camp. Athlone and Sayyed were not going to let her wiggle out of this; it was clear she would have to teach them something—a few of the basic premises she had learned from the Woman of the Marsh. Perhaps if they knew more of the dangers of wielding magic they would have enough sense to leave the gorthling alone when they found it.

Gabria settled down by the fire and waited while Sayyed and Athlone came to join her. Tam came, too, and curled up beside Sayyed, her large eyes glittering in the firelight with a strange excitement. The other men went to their own tasks, but Gabria noticed they stayed close enough to hear her voice.

She paused briefly and cast her mind back to the mangrove tree in the swamp and the ancient sorceress whose rasping voice still spoke clearly in her memory.

“Will is at the center of sorcery,” Gabria forced herself to say. “With every spell you create, you are attempting to impose your will on the fabric of our world. Magic is a natural force that is in every creature, stone, or plant. When you alter that force, even with the smallest spell, you must be strong enough to control the effect and the consequences. The forces of magic can destroy you if you cannot control them,” she told her fascinated listeners. “The strength of will is the most important trait of a magic-wielder. Therefore, you must know yourself, every measure and degree of your own soul so you can recognize your limitations and know when the sorcery has begun to leach strength from your being.”

“Is that what happened to Branth?” Athlone asked.

Gabria nodded. “I think so. I think the Fon pushed him too far and his mind was not clear enough to recognize his danger. All magic-wielders must be very careful not to overextend their powers.”

“What else does a magic-wielder need?” Sayyed demanded.

“Desire, concentration, and imagination,” the sorceress continued. “Not all spells are rigidly defined. You can often create your own. The reason you need spells is to clarify your intent in your mind. The words help you focus your powers on the magic. You must know exactly what you want to do or the magic will go awry.”

“Like my sphere,” Athlone said.

“Exactly.”

Sayyed leaned forward. “What about the Trymian Force?”

“The force is drawn from the power within the wielder. You can use it at will and change its intensity, but you must be careful not to overuse it or it will seriously weaken you.”

“Can you show us how to control it?” he requested, his excitement sparkling in his eyes.

Alarmed, Gabria shook her head. “No. It’s too soon. You nearly got us killed when you tried to use the force against the Korg.”

“But Gabria,” Sayyed protested. “How can we help you fight the gorthling if you don’t show us how to use our power?”

All at once, Gabria’s fear and reluctance broke loose, and she rushed to her feet. “Don’t you see?” she said forcefully. “You can’t help me. There isn’t enough time to teach you to defend yourselves, let alone fight something as powerful and evil as the gorthling. You will be killed if you try. So don’t learn. Don’t try. Let me fight it, and if I win, I will teach you later, when there’s time.”

“And if you don’t win?” Athlone asked quietly.

“Then you’ll have to find another teacher.”

Sayyed sprang to his feet, his long black hair flying like a stallion’s mane. “Gabria, you are being unreasonable! You can’t fight that thing alone.”

“I most certainly can,” she cried. “I won’t be responsible for your deaths.”

Athlone looked up at her, his voice cold with anger. “You will jeopardize the clans and endanger yourself.”

“I’ll endanger myself far more by taking two unskilled sorcerers into an arcane battle they have no chance of surviving. Without you, I won’t be distracted, worried, or terrified for your safety. No! No more. Stay out of this, all of you.” She swept her cloak onto her shoulders and strode out of the firelight.

Athlone and Sayyed looked at one another, and for once their thoughts were in perfect accord.

“She is not going to fight it alone,” Sayyed muttered.

“No.” Athlone arched an eyebrow. “If we work together, perhaps we can learn enough to surprise her.”

Sayyed held out his hand, and the Khulinin clasped it to seal the vow.

Tam watched them with her bright, eager eyes and, unbeknownst to the men, she made her own vow to herself. They’ were not going to leave her out of this.

Meanwhile, Gabria hurried into the darkness. The night was warm and dry, so she went to sit on a nearby hill. Long after the distant campfire had burned out, she sat on the grassy slope while her thoughts spun through her mind. She was frightened of meeting the gorthling alone, but she was terrified of losing Athlone or Sayyed to the beast through their lack of skill or hers. She knew she could never forgive herself if they died in a situation they had no business being in at all.

“No,” Gabria whispered to the stars, “they must not fight. It is my duty, not theirs.” Within her heart she vowed to fight alone, even if it meant leaving her companions and seeking the gorthling herself. Athlone would be furious, but at least he would be alive.

At one point a doubt crept into her mind: what if they were right? Was she being arrogant and selfish to think she could handle the gorthling alone? What would the clans do if the creatures did kill her? Gabria immediately banished those doubts. She could think of no other way to destroy the gorthling. The creature had to be fought with magic, and she was the only one who had any hope of succeeding.