“Send them back where?” Athlone asked.
“A gorthling cannot be destroyed or killed, it must be sent back to Sorh in the realm of the dead.”
“How?” Gabria cried in exasperation.
Seth’s reply was chilling. “I don’t know how. The only ones who ever summoned a gorthling successfully were Matrah and Valorian. Matrah’s spells are probably in his tome.”
Gabria sighed. “That doesn’t help us much.”
“What about Valorian?” Athlone suggested.
“Valorian never wrote anything down. He did not wish those spells concerning the gorthlings to be remembered.”
The chieftain threw his hands up and paced restlessly to the shelves. “So now we are stuck with a bloodthirsty creature bent on destroying Gabria, and we have no hope of getting rid of it.”
Seth turned his basilisk stare on his nephew. “I did not say there was no hope. The gorthling’s human body is vulnerable like any other flesh, and its ability to use sorcery is limited by its own knowledge and its body’s weaknesses. It can be destroyed, but you will need strength, ingenuity, and courage.”
“A few words of instruction would be better,” Gabria muttered. She half-turned to say something to Athlone when the heavy weight of the bag banged against her leg. She remembered the mask. “Perhaps you could tell me what this is,” she said, unwrapping the mask and laying it on the table before her.
Seth’s cold expression did not change, but he reached out and touched the gold surface. “Where did you get this?”
“I found it in Moy Tura.” The priest’s head snapped up, and he stared at Gabria.
“You were in Moy Tura? Is the Korg still there?”
“Yes,” she replied with a half-smile. “It was because of him that we found the mask. It was hidden in a temple.”
“The gods were leading your steps,” Seth declared.
“Do you know what that is?” Athlone asked.
“It is the death mask of Valorian.” The high priest studied the gold mask on the table. “If anything could help you fight the gorthling, this mask might.”
“How?” Gabria demanded.
“The mask was once a powerful talisman. It was used in secret ceremonies for the worship of Valorian. When the clans destroyed Moy Tura and the magic-wielders, the mask and everyone who had used it disappeared.”
Athlone crossed his arms. “How do you know about it?”
Seth gestured to the books. “It was described in those several times.”
“But you don’t know how to use the mask’s power,” Gabria said.
“Unfortunately, no. That was a secret that was only passed on to the priests of Valorian. Nevertheless, if the magic is still viable, you might be able to discover the artifact’s purpose and put it to your own use.”
Gabria nodded half-heartedly. She was very disappointed. The high priest had not given her much useful information, only puzzles, hints, and more questions.
Seth, sensing her frustration, wrapped the mask in its cloth and gave it back to her. “I am sorry I cannot be much help, Sorceress. Yet you should not abandon your quest. The gorthling is powerful, even more so housed in a human body endowed with magic. It must be sent back or it will wreak havoc in this world.”
The sorceress nodded again, without reply. There was nothing more to say. Silently the priest led his two guests back to the main hall and escorted them to the front door. Despite the rain and the darkness he did not invite them to stay, and they did not ask.
Before Gabria walked down the steps toward the waiting Hunnuli, the high priest stopped her.
“If you are successful in defeating the beast, sorceress, come back. We have other books and relics from Moy Tura. They belong to the heirs of magic. I will teach you how to use them.”
“Thank you, High Priest,” she answered. “I will.”
Under the wary gaze of the hidden cultists, Gabria and Athlone mounted their Hunnuli and rode out of the citadel to rejoin the hunt for Branth.
15
Athlone and Gabria did not stop after leaving the citadel of Krath. They rode through the night, letting the Hunnuli follow the old stone road that ran south along the flanks of the Himachal Mountains. The man and woman traveled silently, each lost in his or her own thoughts and weariness.
At sunrise the Hunnuli came to the Isin River and the fortress of Ab-Chakan sitting on its ridge at the opening of the defile of Tor Wrath. The riders paused for a brief time at the edge of the valley, and their eyes turned to the crumbling old fortress and the two burial mounds nearby. The larger mound contained the bodies of the fallen clan warriors; the smaller mound was the grave of Lord Savaric.
Athlone was very quiet as he looked on his father’s mound. The memories of many words and deeds passed through his mind. When he and Gabria were ready to go, the chieftain raised his fist in salute to his dead father and rode on. For a long while after leaving Ab-Chakan, Athlone’s expression was very thoughtful.
The horses continued to follow the old road south beside the Isin River. The Isin was a natural guide to the Tir Samod and the clan gathering, and the two riders hoped to find their party somewhere along the banks. At midmorning the three Hunnuli stopped for a drink of water from the shallows under a shady tree.
Gabria and Athlone dismounted and stood staring at the water rippling by. They had not said much to each other during the journey to the citadel. Now they realized their time alone would soon be over.
They looked at one another self-consciously. They did not want to waste this precious time, but neither of them knew what to say. Athlone cleared his throat; Gabria hugged her arms to her chest.
Finally the sorceress broke the silence. “Whatever you may think of me, Athlone, I want you to know that I did not break the vows of our betrothal. Nothing happened in my tent at Jehanan Treld between Sayyed and me.”
Athlone’s heart was pounding like a drum. He put his hands behind his back and clenched his fingers hard. He felt in the core of his being that she was telling the truth. “Sayyed makes it easy to jump to conclusions,” he said. “I’m sorry. I should have trusted you more. I should have listened.”
The woman was quiet again. She remembered her vow to avoid confrontation with Athlone or Sayyed until after her quest was complete, but she could not let this chance for reconciliation go by. Athlone meant too much to her. “We still have a lot to offer one another,” she replied hesitantly, turning her armband on her arm. “I don’t want to give that up.”
He watched the sunlight glint off the gold band, and he marveled that she was still wearing his gift. “Neither do I. Your friendship is too precious to lose.”
“Perhaps if we start over again . . .”
He grinned. “If the gods will give us some time.”
Gabria glanced up at him. “Is it worth a try?”
“What about Sayyed?” “I don’t know. He is my friend, too.”
“Then we will see what happens. Many things may change in the days ahead.”
Smiling, Gabria held out her hand, and he clasped it tightly. She felt the strength of his fingers and the warmth of his skin; her heart sang with pleasure and relief.
They mounted their Hunnuli and continued south beside the rippling water. At noon Eurus and Nara saw the rest of the party on the riverbank far ahead. The Hunnuli neighed their greetings.
Sayyed, with Tam behind him, rode out to meet them. Tam jumped off the horse before Sayyed brought it to a stop and threw her arms around the colt’s neck. He whinnied in delight. The girl happily waved to Gabria and Athlone, then, to Gabria’s surprise, Tam did not reclaim her usual seat on Nara but climbed back on behind Sayyed. The Turic ruffled her hair.
“While you were gone, I acquired a new partner,” he told Gabria as the group trotted on to rejoin the other men.