Lightning's Daughter

4

Gabria was glad to be back in Piers’s tent, lying on her own pallet and listening to the familiar sounds of the sleeping camp. Her body was tired, and her thoughts were weary of spinning over the same paths. She wanted to sleep, but she could not. A strange restlessness coursed through her mind and kept her tossing and turning. The girl could not identify the cause of her uneasiness. It did not seem to spring from her own worries. It was a vague anxiety that stirred the deepest levels of her consciousness and kept her on edge throughout the night.

It was near dawn when Gabria was brought upright by a pain that lanced through her abdomen.

“Nara!” she said aloud.

Gabria! The call came clear in her mind. Please come. It is time.

The woman paused only long enough to pull on her boots and grab her belt and dagger. She bolted from the tent and ran down to the pastures. Nara was waiting for her by the river. Gabria recognized immediately the signs of approaching delivery. The foal had dropped down toward the birthing canal, and Nara’s sides were wet with sweat from her labor.

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.

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.

Piers had told Gabria once that the latest Fon had poisoned her husband and had pinned the blame on Piers’s daughter. His daughter had been tortured and executed as a sorceress.

Sick at heart, Piers had turned his back on Calah and Pra Desh. He had never returned to his homeland or the city of his birth, and his sense of rage and injustice had been deeply buried behind a facade of resigned sadness.

Gabria studied Piers’s back as he rode ahead of her. Then she nudged Nara forward to walk beside the healer’s horse. The old brown mare nickered pleasantly to Nara, who towered over her, and the Hunnuli answered in kind.

Piers smiled wanly at Gabria. He hated getting wet. “I suppose it is too late to change my mind.”

“Not if you don’t mind a long ride back to the treld.”

He glanced over his shoulder to the dark line of storm clouds and rain that could still be seen behind them. “I don’t think so. It’s drier here.”

“For now.” Gabria studied her friend for a moment before she asked, “Piers, what is the city like?”

He grimaced, surprised by her question. “What, Pra Desh?” He gestured to Khan’di ahead of them. “Ask him.”

The old anger and grief were very clear in his voice. Gabria was startled by the intensity. “Do you know him from before?” she inquired.

“Yes, and he knows me.” Piers glared at the man’s straight back. “He is the son of one of the wealthiest merchant families in Pra Desh. He was a courtier and my good friend. He is also cunning, ambitious, and clever. He was supposed to be the Fon’s taster, but on the night the Fon was poisoned, Khan’di fell conveniently ill. I was nursing him instead of dining with the Fon.” Piers’s fingers tightened around the saddle horn. “I could have saved the Fon if I had been there.” He shook his head sadly. “I’ve always wondered if Khan’di deliberately feigned his illness.”

“I’m sorry,” Gabria said, knowing how useless that sounded.

The healer shook himself and laughed. “Why? It is I who should be sorry. I came on this journey to face those people, to remember my daughter, and to banish my inner hatred. I am off to a poor start,” He fell silent.

Gabria thought Piers had forgotten her question. She was about to repeat it when he drew out a small wineskin and took a long swallow. He slammed the stopper back in and looked up at Gabria. His pale gray eyes were twinkling.

“You asked about Pra Desh?” His hands flew out in a grand gesture. “The queen of the East. There is no other place like it in the world. It is huge, sprawling, magnificent! It is a city of incredible squalor and unbelievable wealth; of palaces, teeming wharves, markets, bazaars, and tenements.”

Gabria stared at the healer, surprised by his sudden change of mood. She rarely saw Piers so animated.

“Pra Desh is the center for all trade and commerce in the East, you know,” he noted. “Every road, caravan route, and shipping lane leads to Pra Desh. You can find anything available in the known world in that city. There are schools of great learning, libraries, academies of art, and theaters. The city is rich with artisans, philosophers, explorers, merchants, seamen, teachers, noblemen—and overflowing with slaves, peasants, and criminals.” Piers laughed. “Gabria, you have never seen anything like it.”

The girl tried to form a picture of this incredible place in her mind. “It sounds so . . . big,” she said lamely.

“You have nothing to compare to it, nothing that could help you fathom its size. The entire population of the eleven clans would be lost in the old part of the city.”

Gabria’s mouth went slack. It suddenly occurred to her that, not only was she riding into a hornet’s nest, it was much bigger than she expected. How could she do anything useful in a city so big? “Well, if they have all of those people, why do they need me?” she asked, exasperated.

“Ask him,” Piers replied, pointing at the nobleman again. “He’s the one who made the demands.”

“Khan’di!” Gabria shouted. The other men looked around in surprise, but the Pra Deshian pretended he had not heard.

Piers looked annoyed. “I’m sorry. In Pra Desh, women must always address a man by his full name. To do less is to show a lack of respect.”

Gabria gritted her teeth. “Khan’di Kadoa, may I please speak with you?”

At that, the nobleman half-turned and nodded once.

While Nara trotted forward to join the other rider, Gabria tried to put on a pleasant and sociable expression. She knew very little about this man, and what she did know she was not certain she liked. He was of medium height with a stout figure turning to fat. A mustache hid his thin mouth, and his shrewd eyes were almost lost in the folds of his ruddy skin. He was often polite to the point of arrogance and had the confidence of a man who was used to being obeyed.

Gabria could not help but wonder what his true motives were for asking her to come to Pra Desh. Was he setting an elaborate trap, vying for his own power and influence, or was he truly concerned for the welfare of his city? His hidden motives would not change her decision, but Gabria would be happier if she knew what to expect from him.

Since Gabria did not know how to salute the emissary and it was difficult to bow on horseback, she inclined her head politely to the man. Khan’di looked up at the sorceress on the huge black horse and returned her greeting.

She threw her hood back and let the wind tug at her hair. “I was talking to Piers a moment ago,” she said. “He told me how big your city has become.”

“It is the largest city in the Five Kingdoms, perhaps in the world,” Khan’di answered proudly. “I’ve heard that Macar is bigger, but that was several years ago, before their tin mines began to decline. Since then their trade has fallen slightly. Pra Desh, of course, has widened its influence throughout the Sea of Tannis. Our merchant fleet is the largest and . . .”

Gabria sighed to herself as he talked on. It was the most she had heard him say in four days. She smiled and held up her hand. “Khan’di Kadoa, excuse me, but you are speaking beyond my experience. I know little about Pra Desh or its shipping.”

“Oh, of course. Forgive me,” he said. “Was there something in particular you wanted to know?”

“I was curious,” Gabria continued. “Why, in a city so large, could you find no one to remove Branth? Why did you ask me?”

“Because,” Khan’di said, irony edging his words, “sorcery is forbidden in Pra Desh just as it is on the plains. We do not have the clans’ intense hatred for the arcane, but it was more convenient and safer to outlaw it. To outlaw such practices keeps magic-wielding foreigners from coming into the city and disrupting the trade.”

Gabria straightened and gazed at the man in surprise. “Foreigners? I thought your people could use sorcery, too.”

“No. Only the clanspeople or those with clan blood in their ancestry have the power to cast spells. Many wise men have studied this unusual inherited trait, but no one has discovered why only the clans have such power.” He lifted his hand eloquently. “To put it bluntly, you were the only one available.”

“Wonderful,” Gabria muttered. “All right. If I am to go to Pra Desh as a sorceress, what guarantees do I have for a safe passage? Will I face Branth with my magic, only to be put in prison if I win?”

Khan’di reached into his saddle bag and pulled out a scroll sealed with the stamp of his family. He held it up. “The Fon rules the roads of Calah, but within Pra Desh, I am patron of the powerful merchants’ guild and head of the most respected and influential family in the city. If you are successful in routing Branth, you will be paid handsomely from my treasury and escorted with honor back to the borders of Calah. I give you my word as a Kadoa.”

Gabria was skeptical. “What of your Fon? She will not be pleased to lose her personal sorcerer.”

Khan’di laughed once, a sharp, bitter bark. “Leave her to me.”

Gabria studied him for a long moment. It was still possible the Pra Deshian was leading her into a trap. If not for the warning of the King Stallion, she might not have accepted Khan’di’s plea so readily. Now, as she examined his fleshy face and watched the way his hands tightened around the reins in suppressed anger, she thought that he was probably telling the truth, at least as he saw it.

“That will have to do,” she finally answered. “Do not go back on your word.” She plucked the scroll out of his fingers, nodded once again, and turned Nara away.

The man watched her go, his mouth pulled tight. The woman was ignorant, but she was not stupid. He would have to tread carefully with her. And her Hunnuli. Khan’di could not swear to it, but just before the big mare turned, he thought he saw an almost human glint of warning in her dark eyes.