Lightning's Daughter

18

“Gabria!” someone shouted. “What’s going on?”

Lord Sha Umar ran to Nara’s side and stared at the holy island where the gorthling had retreated. “What is Branth trying to do?” he asked.

“That isn’t Branth anymore,” Gabria replied wearily. “Lord Branth summoned a gorthling in Pra Desh, and the creature invaded his body.”

Sha Umar was horrified. “What’s he doing here?”

“Trying to kill magic-wielders.”

The chieftain looked over at the woman for the first time and noticed how wan and tired she appeared. “Where is Athlone?” he asked.

“North of here. Half a day’s ride.” She glanced at the sky and saw with surprise that the sun had barely risen to its midmorning height. Her battle with the gorthling had seemed interminable to her, but it had taken little time.

The island was quiet for the moment. Gabria could make out the group of prisoners huddled together in the center of the stone circle. Branth was sitting on a flat rock nearby, watching his hostages and resting. Of course, Gabria knew he was not resting completely. He was still using power to maintain the faint red force field that glimmered around the circle of Stones.

On the opposite banks of the two rivers the camps were in chaos, More people gathered on the banks, their horrified curiosity getting the better of their fear. Relatives and friends grouped around the dead and wailed their grief. Others carried the wounded to the clan healers. No one was entirely certain what was going on. There was a cacophony of frantic shouting, crying, yelling, and excited talking as everyone tried to learn what had happened.

Four other chieftains came running toward the council grove and forded the river. They met Sha Umar and Gabria with a barrage of questions.

The Jehanan chieftain deftly maneuvered them away for a moment to let Gabria collect her thoughts. The woman slipped off Nara and rested thankfully against the mare’s strong shoulder. Her moment of quiet was over in a heartbeat.

Lord Caurus pushed past Sha Umar and shook his fist under her nose. “I knew it! I knew you’d be trouble. It was only a matter of time. Two of my people are dead, and it’s your fault.”

Gabria let his anger wash around her like a wave. She understood his rage and fear, and in part, he was right. She had let the gorthling snatch the hostages and slip away.

Lord Bael, the new chieftain of the Ferganan, butted in past Caurus. “What is Branth doing here?”

“And where is Lord Athlone?” Young Lord Ryne called over the noise.

“How did you get here? I thought you went to Pra Desh?” Caurus added.

The Shahedron chief, Lord Malech, demanded, “What are you going to do about this disaster?”

Gabria answered their questions as best she could and hurriedly explained her long journey to and from Pra Desh. The men’s anger and confusion cooled somewhat as they listened. Gabria was pleasantly relieved that the chiefs heard her out with a measure of respect and concern.

The only question she avoided was Lord Malech’s. She did not know what to do about the gorthling or his hostages. Even after their battle, she was no closer to sending it out of the world than when she had started. All she had succeeded in doing was tiring herself and forcing the gorthling into a strong defensive position.

She was still trying to explain the battle to the men when Lord Jol pushed through the group and took Gabria’s arm. “Lady Corin, would you come and look at Koshyn?”

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.

“So,” Thalar said, his tone low and cold, “you, too, have succumbed to the heresy. Are you here to fight the gorthling or help it?” He glared ferociously at Athlone and stalked away from the group.

The men standing nearby stared at Athlone in amazement. “That was very interesting,” Sha Umar said.

Gabria touched Athlone’s arm. “You have been practicing,” she said reproachfully.

“A little,” he admitted. “Enough to get a feel for the way magic works.”

She turned to Sayyed. “I suppose you have, too?”

He grinned. “Of course.”

“How? You two don’t know enough to teach yourselves.”

Athlone replied, “By listening and watching you.”

“You’re lucky you did not destroy yourselves with an uncontrolled spell,” she said.

Sayyed lifted his hands and shrugged. “You can’t show us a feast and expect us to be happy with crumbs.”

Gabria was about to reply when a shadow passed over the council grove. Nervously she glanced up, but it was only a cloud passing overhead, formed by the growing afternoon heat.

The sorceress was still gazing at the sky when an agonized scream tore through the camps. Everyone within hearing froze in their tracks. As the scream died away, Gabria, Athlone, and the others ran to the riverbank and stared at the island where the gorthling was standing. He had dissolved his force field and had dragged a woman out of the circle of standing stones to the graveled bank. The other eight hostages still huddled in the ring.

“Sorceress!” Branth yelled. He yanked his prisoner to her feet and held her out at arm’s length. “Come to me or this female dies!” He shook the young woman viciously to make her scream again.

“Let her go!” Gabria shouted. “Let them all go, and I will come.”

“You come now!” he screamed. “I will not wait.” So saying, he shoved the sobbing woman toward the water. She ran frantically to escape, but the gorthling’s spell caught her before she had taken five steps. The magic seared through her. The creature did not kill her with a quick, explosive burst of Trymian Force. Instead, he used an agonizing power that arched through the woman’s body in a slow, massive, disintegrating wave.

Scream after scream ripped from her throat as she thrashed and writhed in the shallow water. The clanspeople watched, motionless with horror. The woman gave a final shriek, then sagged face-first into the water. The current tugged gently at her lifeless body and swirled her fair hair.

Branth did not give the clanspeople time to react. Instantly he shouted a command, and the nearest hostage in the circle stumbled to his feet and began to walk helplessly toward the gorthling. It was Guthlac, the Khulinin wer-tain.

Gabria’s eyes blazed with green fury. “Athlone . . .” she began to say, but something interrupted her.

A man stepped off the council grove riverbank into the water. His robes swirled around his short legs, and his face was red with righteous fury. He held his priest’s staff over his head like a spear pointed at the gorthling.

“Begone, foul heretic! Beast of Sorh, leave this holy place!” Thalar shouted with all his rage and indignation as he waded toward the island.

“Thalar!” Athlone yelled. “Get back here.”

The priest did not hear him. His mind was focused on driving the evil from the blessed island. The Tir Samod was the gods’ holy temple, the sanctuary of the priests and the sacred heart of the clans, not a hiding hole for a creature of profane powers. If no one else was going to rid the island of this evil, Thalar swore he would do it himself.

He raised his staff higher. “Go, you gods-cursed worm. By the power of Surgart, I command you to leave.”

The gorthling laughed and, without a word, struck the priest with a brilliant blue bolt of Trymian Force. Thalar shrieked once, threw his arms up, and toppled into the river. The rippling water caught his scorched body and carried him gently downstream.

“That’s two, Sorceress,” the gorthling yelled. “Do you want more bodies to clog the river?”

Gabria spun on her heel and whistled for Nara. Both Hunnuli came at her summons. “That beast must be stopped,” she said as she sprang to Nara’s back.

Athlone immediately mounted Eurus, and the big stallion blocked Nara’s way. “We’re going with you,” the chieftain said calmly.

Gabria looked from Athlone to Sayyed and saw the same look of determination on both faces. She could not leave them behind this time, even if she wanted to. She inclined her head once in gratitude and shoved her fear for them out of the way. Now, however, she hesitated, for she was uncertain how to mount an attack that would use the skills of the two men. Sayyed had no mount, and neither man was very proficient with the Trymian Force.

She was still trying to think of a way when Nara perked up her ears. Eurus lifted his head high, and his nostrils flared. On the edge of her senses, Gabria felt something, a faint vibration like distant thunder, or . . . horses’ hooves. She raised herself up on Nara’s back and saw a plume of dust on the ridge of hills to the west. The vibrations grew louder. A dark form appeared on the horizon, then another, then many more. Nara and Eurus suddenly neighed a joyful greeting that pealed through e gathering and was echoed by every horse in the valley.

A herd of horses galloped down the hills and across the valley, then black coats shining in the sun. A small rider on a little Hunnuli ran just behind their leader. The clanspeople saw them, shouted in awe and delight, and stood aside to let them pass.

The gorthling, too, stared at the approaching horses, and for the first time since he had taken his mortal guise, he felt a pang of apprehension.

The herd thundered down to the river and plunged in with a tremendous, sparkling splash. They ran through the water as easily as air until the entire herd had encircled the island, cutting off the gorthling from the clans. Then the Hunnuli stopped, their heads turned toward the island. Sunlight glistened on their wet coats; their lightning marks gleamed on their shoulders. They pawed the water and snorted in anger.

Five of the horses charged toward the island, their hooves flashing, and their teeth bared. The gorthling clasped his hostage in front of him like a shield. He backed away to the shelter of the temple just as the enraged Hunnuli burst up on the shore, then swiftly revived his protective shield of magical energy. The five horses circled the temple warily and waited for their Icing’s command.

Finally the King Stallion cantered up to Gabria on the riverbank, his deep, wise eyes glowing with a golden light. He bowed his head to her. Sorceress, you needed us, so we have come.

For a moment Gabria was utterly speechless. She gazed up at the magnificent old stallion, then transferred her amazement to the beaming, dark-haired girl sitting astride Nara’s colt.

“I won’t ask now how you did this, Tam,” Gabria said softly. “You can tell me later, but I am deeply grateful.”

The little girl blushed under her tan, and her shy grin grew even wider. Sayyed strode over and pulled Tam off the colt into a huge hug of relief and pride. Tam wrapped her arms around his neck.

The King Stallion snorted angrily. Tam has told us a gorthling has been released in the world.

Gabria gestured to the island where the gorthling was pacing back and forth within his defense shield, studying the new arrivals. “Do you know of any way to send him back?”

Sadly, no. That knowledge was never passed on to us. The King Stallion swung his massive head toward his herd. His magic cannot affect us, however. We will try to keep him confined to the island so he does not harm any more of your people. The rest you must do yourself.

Gabria was disappointed that even the King Stallion did not know how to dispel a gorthling, but she appreciated his help enormously. She would not have to worry about the clans with the Hunnuli herd to protect them.

I see that you have one sorcerer unhorsed. That will not do. The King Stallion neighed and another stallion left the ring of Hunnuli. The new horse came to stand in front of Sayyed. He stretched out his muzzle to gravely sniff the Turic.

This is Afer. He will be your mount for this confrontation, the King Stallion told Sayyed.

For once the young Turic was nonplussed. He was torn between delight and awe as he ran his hand down the big Hunnuli’s nose. Gingerly he mounted the stallion and settled down on the broad back.

Gabria nodded her thanks to the King Stallion before she turned to the two men. “Remember, Eurus and Afer are immune to magic,” she said rapidly. “Stay on them at all times. If you need protection, form a shield between you and the gorthling.” After a pause, she added, “Please try to use spells as little as possible. I will attack the gorthling, but I’ll need you two, distract him. We will try to wear him down until he is too weak to use his power.”

“What about the prisoners?” Sayyed asked.

“If we can cut the gorthling off from them and keep him occupied, maybe they’ll escape on their own. Perhaps the Hunnuli will help them.”

“Have you tried the mask yet?” Athlone wanted to know.

Gabria shook her head. “I still don’t know what to do with it.”

“Sorceress!” the gorthling suddenly yelled. “I see you brought some help,” He laughed maliciously, “These useless beasts will avail you not. Come. I grow tired of waiting. You or these mortals must die!”

Gabria curled her lip in a feral grimace. “We will find a way to destroy him.” She turned and called, “Lord Sha Umar, the Hunnuli will try to protect the people from any destructive magic, but please keep the warriors and priests away from the island. Will you also watch over Tam?”

“With pleasure, Lady Gabria,” the Jehanan answered, coming forward to stand beside the little girl. “The gods go with you.”

Gabria turned away so quickly she did not see the stricken look pass over Tam’s face. The sorceress signaled to Athlone and Sayyed, and the three magic-wielders rode down into the river. The gorthling laughed with glee as they came.