The sorceress smiled. “That’s wonderful. How did it happen?”
“I’m not sure. She’s been staying close to me since I took’ her through the caves in Pra Desh, but I think she really needed someone while you were away. She seems to have stuck to me.”
Gabria looked at the girl who was hanging on to Sayyed’s waist. “Just be careful with her feelings,” she warned the Turic. “Tam has lost a lot in her short life.”
He nodded once just before they reached the other men, and any further conversation was lost in a storm of greetings, questions, and answers.
“You were right, Lord,” Secen said to Athlone after the welcomes were past. “Branth has followed the river for two days now. He’s still heading south, about a day ahead of us.”
“Toward the gathering,” Athlone said. He shivered slightly. The thought of the gorthling loose among the unsuspecting clanspeople was appalling. The chief turned to see Gabria come up beside him. He gestured downstream. “I don’t suppose we could use magic to catch up with him or to move ourselves to the gathering ahead of that beast,”
She was startled that he would ask such a question, and it took her a moment to answer. “Unfortunately, no. It is too dangerous and uncertain to transport people by magic. Too many things could go wrong. Besides, we could lose Branth’s trail. There is no real promise that he is going to the gathering. And,” she stopped to pat Nara’s neck, “we could not move the Hunnuli. I will need Nara when I face the gorthling.”
The chieftain shaded his eyes and looked toward the south, where the green plains rolled beyond the horizon. He knew Branth was far out of sight, but an irrational hope still made him study the hills for any sign of the gorthling. At last he pulled his gaze away and ordered everyone to their horses.
The company rode for the rest of the day as fast as they could go. It was late into the evening when they finally’ stopped to eat and rest.
Immediately after their hurried meal, Athlone took Gabria a short distance away from camp to a sandy bank beside the river. For a while he said nothing, but stared thoughtfully into the water. The night gradually settled down around them, warm and comforting. rich with the sounds of crickets and the rush of the river.
At last Athlone drew a long breath and released it in a rush. “You asked me once,” he said to Gabria, “if I thought Father would have been disappointed in you and your power.”
The woman tilted her head to look at him, touched by the sadness and regret in his voice.
“And I told you that he would have been proud of your courage.” Athlone hesitated. He wanted to touch her badly, to bring her close and draw on her wonderful inner strength, but he could not do it. He knew he had to face the reality of his decision by himself or he would never be able to wield magic with the honesty and power of his own will.
He had decided in Pra Desh to use his talent, but it was not until he had passed his father’s grave at Ab-Chakan that he had fully accepted his irrevocable choice. He sensed now some of the fear and dread Gabria must have faced when she had made her decision to use her talent. Yet, even as he tried to still the cold trembling in his hands, he felt an effusive glow of elation pour out of his mind and release the heavy weight of guilt and remorse that had hung over him from that first moment when he had known of his power and had been ashamed of it. At last he was accepting the truth of his being.
“Father would have been disappointed with me,” he went on. He held up a hand to stop Gabria’s protest. “Savaric always taught me to use my strengths and abilities to my utmost.” Athlone’s teeth flashed with a grin in his dark beard. “Once he got over the shock of having a magic-wielder for a son, he would have been furious at my refusal to use my power. I want to change that, Gabria,” he said forcefully. “I am a magic-wielder. I am going to learn to use my power.”
Gabria gasped. Her breath was taken away by the conviction in his voice. Her thoughts leaped with a jolt of mixed emotions, and she clasped his hands in hers.
He held on, interlocking his fingers with hers. “I need your help, Gabria. Teach me your sorcery.”
Her fingers tightened their grip, and she swallowed hard. “No,” she replied, her voice firm.
“I have the talent. I only need to know how to use it.”
She stared at him, torn between delight and fear. She knew why he was asking now as clearly as if he had said the words; he wanted to help her fight the gorthling. Her mind cried out in protest. If she tried to teach him and Athlone battled a gorthling with untried, poorly trained powers, he would be slaughtered. On the other hand, the chieftain was a stubborn man once his mind was made up. If she did not teach him something, she knew he would try to learn on his own and probably destroy himself in the backlash of a poorly controlled spell.
“Athlone,” she cried in exasperation, “please wait! I can’t teach sorcery. I don’t know enough yet, myself.”
He let go of her hands and stepped back. “Then I’ll figure it out by myself. Is it like this?” and he snapped a command, the same words Gabria had used in the dungeon to form a globe of light. To her surprise, a soft ball of light did begin to glow just over their heads. In seconds, though, it went out of control and blazed into a furious sphere of brilliant, hot white light that hummed with unleashed magic. The two people shrank back from the heat.
Gabria heard shouts from the other men, but she ignored them and kept her attention fastened on the light. “All right,” she cried. “I’ll teach you what I can.”
“Good,” he yelled. “Then would you show me how to put this thing out?”
The woman sighed. She could put it out herself, but if he really wanted to learn, this was as good a time as any to start. “Concentrate on your spell,” she shouted to him over the rising noise of the globe. “Fix your purpose in your mind, then speak the words of your command.” She watched the chieftain while he closed his eyes and lifted his hand toward the sphere. The blazing ball wavered, dimmed, then it flared again brighter than before.
“Concentrate!” Gabria demanded. “Feel the power within you. Bend the magic to your bidding.”
Athlone tried again. A sheen of perspiration glistened on his forehead, and his face went rigid from his effort. This time, instead of thinking about the sphere and wishing it would go out, he concentrated on the feel of the power that surged within him. He had felt that power before, when he had rescued Gabria from the Woman of the Marsh and when he had fought the duel with Gringold. However, in those two instances, the magic had flowed through him uncontrolled and unconsciously. Now he drew it forth willingly and shaped it. When at last he stopped and opened his eyes, the light was gone and Gabria was smiling.
“I did it!” He grinned like a small boy and picked up Gabria by her waist and whirled her around.
The other men appeared out of the darkness, their swords drawn. “What’s going on? Are you all right?” they asked as one.
The chieftain waved his men to a stop. “We’re fine.”
“What was that light?” Sayyed demanded.
Athlone did not hesitate. He had made his decision to wield his power no matter how his clan would react, but he badly wanted his companions’ support. The healer and the warriors were his first and most important test of the clan’s willingness to be ruled by a chieftain-sorcerer. He cocked an eyebrow and said, “I tried a spell to create a globe of light. It went a little wild.”
Piers did not seem surprised. He nodded in approval. The three warriors looked at their lord speechlessly. Secen glanced at Gabria, then back at Athlone. Both his and his fellows’ jaws hung slack.
Valar cleared his throat and said slowly, “But Lord, the laws forbidding sorcery have not been removed. What if you are exiled or put to death?”
The Khulinin chieftain replied, “I have thought about that and about many things. I realize I am endangering my position as ruler, but I can no longer turn my back on this power I was born with. The time is coming when we will have to face the gorthling’s threat to the clans, and swords will not be enough.”