Lightnings Daughter, Mary Herbert [year 7 reading list .TXT] 📗

this journey wil 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 usual y 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 tel 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 foothil s and came out into the open country. A light rain began to fal , 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 rol ed 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