of men clustered around the tents, discussing the import of the news while the women wept for the mare and her unborn foal. Cor had stormed into the hal and, after gulping down a flask of wine, was cursing Gabria and Jorlan at the top of his lungs, protesting his own innocence. Jorlan and most of his outriders had already returned and reported to Savaric.
Gabria and Nara stopped at the edge of the treld and watched the activity for several minutes.
Gabria slid off the horse, and the Hunnuli dipped her head and gently rubbed her nose along the girl's chest. Gabria scratched Nara's ears.
The girl wished she could borrow some of the mare's vast energy to bolster her own flagging strength. She was exhausted now, but she would have to sleep in the hal tonight with the unmarried men. She doubted she would have much rest.
I am going to the meadow. If you need me, I will come.
Gabria nodded and gave the horse a. final pat. When Nara trotted away, the girl pulled her new golden cloak tighter about her and walked wearily to the camp. The light from the torches and campfires danced around her. The black tents sat like noisy, humped creatures with their backs turned against her.
The clanspeople were busy preparing to hunt the lion, and, to Gabria's relief, no one noticed her. She passed by, a sad shadow in al the hubbub, unseen by al but one.
Athlone stood in the darkened entrance of his tent and watched as Gabria came up the path. His handsome face was hooded in darkness, so she did not see him as she went by. He waited until she was past the guards at the hall before he turned to fetch his spear from his tent.
Something stil bothered him about that boy. The nagging suspicion would not stop. Why? The Corin showed spirit and courage despite his grief, and his determination seemed unshakable. Jorlan had reported favorably about the boy and his actions during the lion attack. Neither these attributes nor his unmistakable love for the Hunnuli were the usual characteristics of an exile on the run or a spy for an ambitious chieftain.
The mare was another curious aspect of the boy. The Hunnuli had accepted him, and the horses of that breed were impeccable judges of character. Even Boreas liked the Corin, although the big horse found something humorous about the mare and her rider. If the boy was treacherous or wicked, no Hunnuli would come within smel ing distance of him.
Athlone had heard very recently that Lord Medb had tried to win a Hunnuli by capturing it and keeping it penned in a box canyon. As he understood the story, the horse had nearly kil ed Medb before throwing itself over a cliff, preferring death to serving the lord of the Wylfling clan. Athlone did not know how true the rumors were of Medb's injuries, but he was greatly saddened and not at al surprised by the Hunnuli's death.
Nevertheless, Athlone could not reconcile himself to Gabran's presence. Something was not right with the boy. There were too many little details in speech and movement that did not fit. What was he?
For a fleeting second, Athlone remembered the Shape Changers, the sorcerers of ancient legend who had learned shape changing to avoid punishment for practicing magic. He shuddered. But that was long ago. The heretical magic was dead and its followers died with it. It did not matter, though. The boy was no magician, simply a clansman with a secret that might prove dangerous to all.
Athlone found his spear and walked out of his tent to join the hunt for the lion. He could only hope that he would discover what the boy's secret was before it proved fatal for someone in the clan.
* * * * *
The huge doors of the hal were stil open when Gabria returned from the fields. She entered the hall reluctantly and stood blinking at the sudden light. A fire was burning low in the pit and a few lamps stil glowed from the ceiling beams. As she became accustomed to the light, the girl saw her pack and the new bow lying by the nearest pillar. Looking up, she saw
Gabria and Nara stopped at the edge of the treld and watched the activity for several minutes.
Gabria slid off the horse, and the Hunnuli dipped her head and gently rubbed her nose along the girl's chest. Gabria scratched Nara's ears.
The girl wished she could borrow some of the mare's vast energy to bolster her own flagging strength. She was exhausted now, but she would have to sleep in the hal tonight with the unmarried men. She doubted she would have much rest.
I am going to the meadow. If you need me, I will come.
Gabria nodded and gave the horse a. final pat. When Nara trotted away, the girl pulled her new golden cloak tighter about her and walked wearily to the camp. The light from the torches and campfires danced around her. The black tents sat like noisy, humped creatures with their backs turned against her.
The clanspeople were busy preparing to hunt the lion, and, to Gabria's relief, no one noticed her. She passed by, a sad shadow in al the hubbub, unseen by al but one.
Athlone stood in the darkened entrance of his tent and watched as Gabria came up the path. His handsome face was hooded in darkness, so she did not see him as she went by. He waited until she was past the guards at the hall before he turned to fetch his spear from his tent.
Something stil bothered him about that boy. The nagging suspicion would not stop. Why? The Corin showed spirit and courage despite his grief, and his determination seemed unshakable. Jorlan had reported favorably about the boy and his actions during the lion attack. Neither these attributes nor his unmistakable love for the Hunnuli were the usual characteristics of an exile on the run or a spy for an ambitious chieftain.
The mare was another curious aspect of the boy. The Hunnuli had accepted him, and the horses of that breed were impeccable judges of character. Even Boreas liked the Corin, although the big horse found something humorous about the mare and her rider. If the boy was treacherous or wicked, no Hunnuli would come within smel ing distance of him.
Athlone had heard very recently that Lord Medb had tried to win a Hunnuli by capturing it and keeping it penned in a box canyon. As he understood the story, the horse had nearly kil ed Medb before throwing itself over a cliff, preferring death to serving the lord of the Wylfling clan. Athlone did not know how true the rumors were of Medb's injuries, but he was greatly saddened and not at al surprised by the Hunnuli's death.
Nevertheless, Athlone could not reconcile himself to Gabran's presence. Something was not right with the boy. There were too many little details in speech and movement that did not fit. What was he?
For a fleeting second, Athlone remembered the Shape Changers, the sorcerers of ancient legend who had learned shape changing to avoid punishment for practicing magic. He shuddered. But that was long ago. The heretical magic was dead and its followers died with it. It did not matter, though. The boy was no magician, simply a clansman with a secret that might prove dangerous to all.
Athlone found his spear and walked out of his tent to join the hunt for the lion. He could only hope that he would discover what the boy's secret was before it proved fatal for someone in the clan.
* * * * *
The huge doors of the hal were stil open when Gabria returned from the fields. She entered the hall reluctantly and stood blinking at the sudden light. A fire was burning low in the pit and a few lamps stil glowed from the ceiling beams. As she became accustomed to the light, the girl saw her pack and the new bow lying by the nearest pillar. Looking up, she saw
Similar Books
