Mary Herbert: Dark Horse

“You are welcome, Gabran.”

The girl flinched at the name he used and wondered if she would ever grow used to the pain that clung to it. She stiffly climbed to her feet. Immediately, she wished she had not. Her muscles trembled, her head whirled, and dizziness shook her like an ague. She took a few faltering steps, then her ears roared and her stomach threatened to rebel. Piers wordlessly handed her a stool. She sank down gratefully and rested her head on her hands before the nausea overcame her.

“What is wrong with me?” Gabria groaned.

“Do you expect to go through all you have and not pay for it? You have used your body beyond its limits. And you have hardly eaten a thing. Give yourself time to snap back.” He gave her the soup. “Now, eat this.”

She took the bowl and sipped the meaty broth. “Thank you,” she said again, this time with more sincerity.

Piers stepped to the tent flap and summoned a passing warrior. “Tell Lord Savaric the boy is awake.” The man hurried away and within minutes, Savaric entered the tent. He was caked with dust and sweat, and a large falcon gripped his padded shoulder where his golden cloak had been pushed aside.

“The hunting was fair today, Piers,” the chieftain said, his eyes on Gabria.

She sat on her stool, staring into the distance. Lost in thought, she had forgotten her precarious disguise and did not rise to give her chieftain a warrior’s salute of fealty. Just then Gabria realized the men were looking at her and she sprang to her feet, spilling the hot soup over her leg.

“Forgive me, Lord,” she stammered.

Savaric waved off her apology. “Your forgetfulness hardly matters here. But do not lose your memory before my other warriors.”

Gabria nodded and sat down, chagrined. Her face reddened with embarrassment. Piers gave her a rag to clean the spilled soup and refilled her bowl.

“Your newest warrior will soon be ready to assume his duties,” the healer said to Savaric. “He will be tender for a day or two, but he will toughen.”

“Good. The boy will need all the strength he can muster.”

“I understand Athlone is to be Gabran’s mentor,” the healer said. .

Savaric chuckled. “Of course. Athlone wished to personally handle the boy’s training.”

“Athlone can go jump in a swamp,” Gabria muttered.

The chief turned to her, his expression hard. “What did you say, boy?”

Gabria winced. She had not meant to speak so freely. She had to remember she was no longer with her own family. Her face blushed even brighter, and she stared at the ground speechlessly.

“Keep a civil tongue, Gabran,” Savaric ordered, hiding a smile as Piers winked at him. “Tomorrow, if you can ride, you will begin your duties.”

“Yes, Lord,” Gabria mumbled as Savaric strode out. She sagged on her stool and gripped her bowl to still her trembling hands.

I am an idiot! she thought to herself. First I forget to salute the chief, and then I scorn the wer-tain in front of his father. Careless mistakes like those could draw unwanted attention and expose the weaknesses of my disguise. There were too many other things to remember about behaving like a boy to be caught in some dull-witted error. I have to be more careful! Glancing sideways at Piers, Gabria stretched out her legs in a masculine manner and rested her elbows on her knees as she finished her soup.

“Your Hunnuli has been waiting. Perhaps you might walk out and reassure her,” Piers suggested when Gabria returned the bowl.

The girl nodded and stood up, waiting for the dizziness that struck before. This time, the soup steadied her and she found she was able to walk without shaking. Nara was by the tent’s entrance and nickered in delight when the girl came out.

I feared you might be ill.

“No, just weary,” Gabria said. She wound her fingers through Nara’s ebony mane. “Have you had any food?”

No, I have been waiting for you.

“Then let’s go down by the river. I need to think.”

They walked side by side through the encampment, ignoring the faces that turned to watch them and the fingers that pointed their way. No one greeted them or offered them hospitality, and no one came near. Gabria was relieved when she and Nara left the tents behind and reached the banks of the river. It was difficult to hide her weakness and walk like a Corin past the staring clansmen. Her legs were trembling again and she felt lightheaded by the time Nara found a secluded place by the water.

Gabria gratefully sat down in the long, lush grass of the treeless bank while Nara began to graze. The girl leaned back, letting the wind touch her face and tufts of grass tickle her neck as she listened to the rippling music of the river.

We are being watched.

Nara’s thought was a rude awakening. The mare still grazed in apparent disregard, but she faced away from the girl toward a bare hillock, where a lone horse stood, its head turned toward them.

Gabria glared at the distant horse, then turned away in disgust. “I’m not surprised. Where is the rider?”

There is none. That is a Hunnuli stallion.

“Athlone, the wer-tain.” Gabria pitched a pebble in the water and watched as the circles were overwhelmed by the flow of the stream. “He sent his Hunnuli to watch us so he could be sure we do not try to contact Medb—or do anything else suspicious,” she said sarcastically.

The man is cautious and has a need to be, the mare pointed out with mild reproof. He is to be trusted.

“Trusted!” Gabria cried. “He would kill me if he ever found my secret. One mistake, one little slip of my disguise, and he will spear me as neatly as a jackal.” She pulled her cloak closer and added, “Women are not permitted to be warriors among our people. But I must try to be one. Death is the only thing I can trust to receive from Athlone if I fail.”

It is too bad you feel that way. He would be a powerful ally.

“You are the only ally I need. You, my sword, and the good will of the gods.”

They remained by the river for a long time while Nara ate her fill of the rich grass and Gabria watched the meadowlarks dip above the grazing livestock. They both ignored the watching stallion.

But Gabria found that her peace had fled her. She could not relax or let her mind wander while the Hunnuli stallion guarded her every move. She was not accustomed to such distrust or being treated with dislike. In all of her seventeen years, she had never felt so alone; for Gabran, her family, and her clan had always been with her. Nothing had prepared her for the endless confusion and emptiness that had dogged her steps since the day of the massacre. She was not a Khulinin and she never would be, but she wished someone would accept her with open arms. She wanted to be warm and comfortable and welcome, not pushed out in the shadows like a thieving beggar.

The evening was growing cold when Gabria and the mare returned to the treld. Nara led the way to the healer’s tent. Piers was gone when Gabria entered, yet she found another bowl of soup warming by the fire and her pack lying on the sleeping pallet. Everything in the bag had been cleaned and mended, and a new tunic of soft linen had been added. Sleepy again, Gabria finished the soup, curled up in her cloak, and sank into another motionless sleep.

Athlone came for Gabria at dawn, when the echoes of the morning horn were fading. Astride his towering stallion, he shouted at her to come, for her apprenticeship was about to begin. She barely had time to grab a warm bun from Piers’s table, pin on her cloak, and dash out of the tent before the wer-tain was cantering off toward the meadows. Groggily, she clambered onto Nara’s back and followed, her irritation wide awake.