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

"Everything. You love him. You had him in your tent the other night. Al right! If he's the one you've chosen, then take him. I wil not hold you to our vow."

Gabria was shocked. She did not know whether to laugh or cry. Of al the things that had gone through her mind in the past few days, she had never imagined Athlone could be jealous. How could she have missed it? She stepped toward him, raising her hands to implore him. "My tent. Yes, I did---"

But he was angry beyond reason. "No. I've heard enough. Our betrothal is broken." He turned his back on her and strode swiftly into the darkness. The wind swirled his cloak like a gesture of farewell, and he was gone.

Gabria started after him. "Athlone! Wait! You haven't heard anything,” she cried, only she was too late. Her hands clenched into fists. "The gods blast that man!" she shouted with frustration and hurt. For just a moment, a pale blue aura glowed around her hands in the darkness.

Gabria, Nara warned softly.

The sorceress glanced down and saw the telltale glow, the first sign of the Trymian Force building within her. The force was a powerful spell that fused the energy within a magic-wielder into one destructive force. It could sometimes appear as an instinctive reaction in times of strong emotion.

Gabria had learned well the idiosyncrasies of the Trymian Force when she'd accidentally killed one man and almost kil ed Athlone the summer before.

Quickly she hugged her arms around herself and forced her emotions to calm. The blue aura faded and, with it, her anger. Gabria shook her head. She should have known better than to approach Athlone when he was tired and worried about their stop at Reidhar Treld. Now their situation was worse.

Athlone had exploded in one of his rages and broken their vow of betrothal. Gabria felt cold.

She pulled her cloak tightly about herself and glared at the night, toward the spot where Athlone had disappeared. She could not go on like this, with her emotions in constant turmoil. For the sake of her survival she would have to put her life in order. She would concentrate on her journey and the confrontation with Branth, and deal with Athlone and Sayyed later. As much as they meant to her, they would simply have to wait. Her survival came before the demands of her heart. Perhaps afterward, if she was still alive, she would have the freedom and the time to settle such affairs of the heart. Until then, she would avoid close confrontation with the two men. There was no other way.

With a heavy step, Gabria walked alone toward the creek. The sheltering shadows of the night gathered around her like a suit of black armor.

* * * * *

Piers was still awake, sitting alone by the fire, when Gabria came back from her walk. She knew the healer was waiting up for her, but this night she did not want to talk. Instead, she bent over his shoulder, gave him a quick hug goodnight, and slipped away to her tent.

Piers watched her go. He understood the fears she faced and the uncertainties with which she wrestled. He knew how much her love for Athlone and her friendship for Sayyed were troubling her. He just wished she would talk to him about all of it. He might not have the right advice---how could you advise a sorceress? Yet he could listen and be a friend if she needed one. He knew more about her than anyone else alive.

Piers shook his head and began to bank the fire. Perhaps he had been foolish sitting out here in the damp, waiting for her to come back to camp and talk to him. As much as he knew about Gabria, there was so much more he did not know. In the strange, difficult year since her clan's massacre, she had learned the skil of reticence, to keep her own counsel, and to do as she decided on her own. Those were traits she had acquired to survive.

The healer went to his tent and crawled into his warm coverings. No, he decided, the waiting was not wasted. His gesture told Gabria he was there if she needed him, and he knew her wel enough to realize she would be grateful for that.

* * * * *

The travelers broke camp the next morning in a haze of golden sunshine. High clouds dotted the deep blue sky, and a light wind whisked the leafing trees.

Bregan had had a restless night. The old warrior was stiff and aching from his fall, and he grumbled under his breath as he helped load the packhorses. He tried not to look grief-stricken when the other men brought in their mounts to be saddled.

Athlone watched stonily from the back of his gray stallion. His dark eyes were ringed from lack of sleep, and his mouth was drawn tight with a hidden sadness. The shadow of his morning beard made his face look gaunt.

Gabria watched him with mingled sadness and regret. The pain of their argument still ached in her mind. Yet when Sayyed, who deftly read the expression on her face, winked at her, she could not help but smile.

She looked over the rest of her companions as they mounted. The group was heavily armed, dirty, travel-worn, and weary. They looked more like a rabble of thieves and exiles than a nobleman and the finest of the powerful Khulinin clan. Gabria hoped the Reidhar were in a generous mood that day.

She pushed down her nervousness and rode Nara in behind Piers's mare. Keth, carrying Bregan behind him, and the other riders fell in line with Athlone. The travelers left the caravan road and struck northeast at an easy canter. If all went well, they would be at Reidhar Treld by