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

Branth's move away from the heavily populated farmlands was what the chieftain had been hoping for. Branth was exiled from his people and condemned to death for the murder of Lord Savaric and the part he had played in Medb's war. Nevertheless, Athlone thought the familiarity of the plains and the lure of home would lead Branth away from the Five Kingdoms. Athlone had no authority in the kingdoms or any experience with their laws and customs. He would prefer to be in clan territory when they caught up with the renegade.

Gabria, however, accepted Branth's move west with mixed feelings. She wanted him out of the Five Kingdoms, but if he entered the Ramtharin Plains and clan jurisdiction, her use of her arcane powers would again be problematic. She could not use her sorcery without breaking her vow to the clan chiefs.

If she and her companions caught up with Branth and he fought them with his magic, she would have to dishonor her vow and face the wrath of the clan chieftains. It was not a pleasant prospect. With a sigh, she grasped Nara's mane and sat back while the big mare trotted after Eurus to find the other riders.

The travelers found Branth's trail and followed it across the farmlands and vineyards of Portane.

The trail remained clear---Branth was making no effort to hide his tracks---and it continued west to the Serentine River. At the riverbank, the tracks turned north, parallel to the river, then, at the first ford, the tracks vanished into the water. Secen checked and found the trail on the far bank. Branth had crossed the river into the plains.

The travelers forded the wide, muddy river easily, struck the trail, and hurried on. Gabria looked out over the rippling plains with pleasure. The season was ripening to summer, the time when the plains were the most beautiful. The grass that clothed the treeless hills grew thick and green. Wildflowers of yel ow, red, and white bloomed on every slope and in every hol ow. The few trees close to the creeks that wandered here and there were in full leaf, and arching above it all was a clear, glorious dome of azure.

For five days Gabria and her companions trailed Branth, drawing no closer to the elusive exile. To Secen's annoyance, the trail remained clear, but it meandered all over the region.

Branth backtracked, circled around, and wandered back and forth as if looking for something.

At one point he skirted very close to Bahedin Treld before turning northwest, Most of the Bahedin would have left for the gathering at the Tir Samod by this time of year, but the elderly and the very young often remained behind. Athlone pushed his party on without rest; they could not afford to lose Branth's trail.

After a day of running west, Branth angled north. His trail did not falter from that path, as if he had finally decided on a destination. The pursuers fol owed, but the farther north they rode, the more nervous they became.

"I don't like this, Lord Athlone," Secen said as he knelt to study the tracks left by Branth's horse. "If he keeps on this way, he'll ride straight into---"

"I know what lies to the north," Athlone interrupted sharply. "Moy Tura."

Just the name of the infamous ruined city sent a shudder down the chieftain's back. He looked north over the open plains, as if he could see across the leagues of grass to the ancient city of the sorcerers. He had heard many tales of the fabulous metropolis, and those tales were enough to keep the heartiest of clan warriors away from the place.

"How far is Moy Tura?" Sayyed asked uneasily.

"Seven leagues, perhaps. Enough distance that Branth might veer off and miss the ruins,” Secen replied.

"I hope so,” said Keth. "I don't want to find out if the tales about that place are true."

"Maybe we'll be lucky, Lord,” Secen said as he remounted. "Maybe one of those legends wil eat Branth for an evening meal."

The others laughed, and they set off again on the exile's trail, everyone hoping that the man would go anywhere but Moy Tura.

'* * * * *

Far to the north of the Khulinin hunting party, a lone rider kicked his weary horse into a trot and rode up the slope of a high tableland. "It has to be here somewhere," the gorthling hissed. He had been searching for days for the sorcerers' city and so far, had not even seen a road that might lead to it.

He cursed his vague memory. The gorthling knew Moy Tura was the center of arcane learning. All of the clan magic-wielders went there to study their craft. If any man knew who and where all the magic-wielders were, he would be in Moy Tura. The only problem was the gorthling did not know exactly where the city was located, and Branth's memories strangely did not include anything about Moy Tura.

The gorthling curled a lip. He was growing tired of this fruitless search over empty land. He wanted to find Moy Tura and its sorcerers and destroy everyone who could possibly ruin his plans. He still wanted to locate those clans who had exiled his host's body---there would be perverse pleasure in wreaking revenge on them---and there was also the mysterious magic-wielder who had kindled such hatred in Branth's memory. It would be interesting to track that one down, too. But first, he wanted to find Moy Tura.

The gorthling urged his horse on, faster and faster, until it finally reached a decent vantage point.

He reined the animal to a stop and sat looking at the view before him. There was not much to see. The huge, treeless plateau stretched away for leagues without features or landmarks to break its level expanse. The gorthling rode on. His instincts told him the city was dose by, but he could see nothing that looked like a well populated