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

enough to carry the girl. After you have awakened the men, take 'Bun toward the mountains and seek the King Hunnuli. The two of you together can call him. Ask him to come. The sorceress needs his help.

The colt nickered softly in reply, his broom tail whisking in excitement.

Unaware of the Hunnuli's thoughts, Gabria bid farewell to Eurus and the colt. Like a shadow, Nara moved out of the trees and turned south toward the Tir Samod. As soon as she was out of earshot from the camp, she broke into her smooth canter, and she and Gabria vanished into the darkness.

Athlone stirred in his blankets. A Strange feeling of alarm disturbed his exhausted sleep, and he tossed and turned. Something was not right; he could sense it even in his sleep, something was missing.

He was on the verge of waking when something warm and soft nudged his face. Athlone bolted upright with a yell, grabbed his sword, and came nose to nose with the Hunnuli colt.

Gabria is gone, the young horse told him.

Athlone was on his feet and yel ing for Eurus before the other men awakened and realized what was happening.

"Where is she?" the chief demanded when the stallion came to his side.

She left to find the gorthling alone.

"Why didn't you stop her?"

The other men were climbing to their feet, looking confused. "What is it, Lord Athlone?" Sayyed asked. He looked around. "Where is Gabria?"

Athlone snarled, "She's left without us. I'm going after her." He sprang to Eurus's back.

Before the Hunnuli could move, Sayyed ran in front of the big horse. "Not without us, you're not."

"Get out of the way!" the chief yelled. "I've got to get to her before she attacks that beast alone."

"I'm going with you!"

"Your horse can't keep up with a Hunnuli.”

"He can try! You cannot go alone,” Sayyed insisted.

Piers stepped forward, his demeanor calm. "Athlone, he's right. You and Gabria will need him. Take him on Eurus, and the warriors and I will follow."

Athlone looked down at the old healer, and something in his friend's quiet, reasonable voice calmed his wild impulse. Some of his father's cool, deliberate cunning surfaced in the chief's mind, and he nodded. "Al right, Sayyed. You ride with me."

The Turic whooped with relief and went to col ect his weapons and burnoose.

As the Turic and the chief were about to leave, the three hearthguard warriors stepped up to Eurus.

They were not happy about being left behind, even though they understood the reasons. Nevertheless, they looked up at Athlone and gravely saluted. There was a short pause as they glanced at one another, then Keth said, "Be careful, Lord. The clans need you back."

Athlone said nothing. His hand tightened on Eurus's mane in expectation.

Secen, his strong, plain face clear in the moonlight, said quietly, "We were afraid at first when you told us that you were going to wield magic. But Lady Gabria's mask reminded us that Lord Valorian had once been a chieftain and a sorcerer. If his people could accept that, so can we."

"We'll support you before the clans, too,” Valar added.

Lord Athlone raised his fist and returned his warriors' salute. He was proud of his men and vastly relieved for himself. Their acceptance would give him strength in the days of controversy ahead---

provided, of course, that he survived until then. "Come as fast as you can," he ordered.

With Sayyed behind him on Eurus's back, Athlone yel ed the Khulinin war cry and urged the Hunnuli into a canter. The two men and the stal ion were gone from sight in the blink of an eye.

During that moment of departure, no one noticed that Tam quietly slipped onto the colt's back, and she, the colt, and Treader trotted away into the night.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The sun rose orange above the plains into a cloudless sky. Its early heat baked the dust, stirred the flies, and gave the promise of a hot day ahead. In the camps of the eleven clans, the people rose early to take advantage of the cool morning before the day turned uncomfortable.

The food vendors selling meat pies and fruit rolls did a thriving business. The bazaar merchants pulled aside their curtains and opened their booths to the women who came early to haggle. Several bards in the camps brought out their instruments to practice for the storytelling competition to be held before the clans that evening. Children ran and played among the tents. Some of the older boys went out to hunt, while others rode their horses along the river. Five of the chieftains met under the trees by the council tent to enjoy a cup of ale and discuss the possibility of starting the council without Athlone.

No one paid attention to the lone man, wearing a Bahedin cloak, who walked across the fields past the empty site where Clan Corin once camped, and sauntered into the market. For a while he walked aimlessly about, simply looking at the women and the booths. His hood was pul ed up to hide his face-a common enough practice on a hot, sunny day. He did not stop to talk to anyone, and no one bothered him.

After a time, the stranger wandered over to the river. Every year the clansmen and the merchants erected a simple, temporary bridge across the shallows of the lower Goldrine River to simplify the crossing from many of the camps to the bazaar. The stranger crossed the bridge easily and walked up a path between the Bahedin and the Dangari camps, heading toward the shady point of land where the council tent stood.

He was about to pass the Bahedin camp when he realized someone was behind him. He walked faster, but the clansman caught up with him and put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. The stranger's fingers curled in anger.

"Excuse me,” a man's voice said. "Have you seen . . .” The speaker hesitated as the stranger turned