Mary Herbert: Dark Horse

Gabria grasped her bag and followed the otter down the tangled roots to the small boat that bobbed on the tugging tide. The wind whirled past her head and yanked at her cloak, but she ignored it just as she ignored the rain. Only one thought prayed on her mind: How long had she been gone?

The journey back through the marshes was long and tedious. Gabria poled the boat with quiet desperation while the otter led her through the labyrinth of reeds and channels. Unerringly the animal found the river’s main current and followed it laboriously upstream. The rain fell incessantly; the clouds moved sluggishly inland, pushing the tide ahead.

Fortunately, the otter had taken a shorter route through the marshes to find solid ground. Gabria had approached the marshes from the north, where the delta encroached farther inland. By following one of the main channels west, the otter cut off many miles of their journey.

A few hours after sunset, the rain stopped, and, for the first time, Gabria saw an end to the rushes and marsh grass. The river had swung away from her to the north in a great loop that eventually turned west again. Not far from Gabria, the marshes ended abruptly in a bold scarp of arid hills that were the last bastion before the great plains.

Gabria poled the boat ashore near the fringes of the reeds. The channels had dried to shallow pools and stagnant meres, making it difficult to travel by boat. The girl tugged the craft up onto the bank and stood gratefully on solid ground.

The otter glided to her feet and sat up, its round eyes glistening. It chirped and waved a paw at her. Then, with a flick of its tail, it dove into the water and was gone.

“Wait!” Gabria lunged after it, but the otter had vanished. The girl slid to a stop before she fell in the water and looked dolefully at the marsh. She had hoped the sorceress’s guide would lead her back to Nara.

Water dripped into Gabria’s eyes as she scanned the marshes to find her bearings. Although the rain had stopped, the impenetrably inky clouds were a solid, sinking roof. She was cold, wet, and miserable. Gabria knew vaguely where she was, for the hills that began near her feet stopped the southern encroachment of the delta. However, she had to go north. Nara waited for her on the northern edge of the marshes; now, between them, lay the silt-laden Goldrine River.

Gabria started walking. It was very difficult going; since she could only see a few paces in front of her; she could not choose the best path through the heavy brush and boggy ground. Several times, Gabria tripped over unseen roots or fell into a sink where the mud stank and the water was slimy. She struggled on for hours until her muscles were limp and her nostrils were deadened to the rank smells.

Finally Gabria stopped. It was still quite dark and she bleakly looked around and admitted to herself that she was totally lost. She had no idea which way to go and precious time was being wasted. She needed Nara.

The Hunnuli had told her once to whistle if help was needed. Gabria knew that it was impossible for the mare to hear her, and yet, she thought that, maybe if she used her new powers, she could reach the mare with her need. A slim chance at best. Gabria decided to try it. There was nothing to lose by whistling in the dark. She closed her mind to everything but Nara, inhaled deeply, and whistled, bending her will to the mare with all the urgency she could muster.

The night was silent for a long moment, then, astonishingly, Gabria heard a horse neigh, as if from many miles away. She whistled a second time and hoped desperately she had not heard amiss. The call came again, joyfully and much closer this time.

“Nara!” she shouted. The Hunnuli was coming. Gabria turned to face the direction from which she heard the sound of hoof beats, and the giant black horse burst out of the darkness. The mare skidded to a halt in front of the girl and reared, her head thrown back and her mane flying.

Gabria gasped, “Nara.”

The mare settled down and her breath steamed in a snort. Truly you have learned your art well.

The girl’s mind whirled in happiness, confusion, and wonder. “How did you come so fast?” she blurted.

The sorceress sent a message to tell me to come south, but your call led me here.

“How long have I been gone?”

The sun has set four times since we parted.

Gabria mentally counted the days. That did not seem right. If Nara was correct, she had only spent two days with the marsh woman. It seemed like years. She leaned gratefully against Nara’s warm shoulders and ran her hand down the livid white streak.

“Let’s go home,” Gabria said.

With the girl on her back, Nara trotted westward through the failing edges of the marsh, toward the hills where the ground was firmer for a horse’s hooves. Once on the dry slopes, she ran with the speed of the wind. Behind them, an orange glow fired the east as the clouds broke before the rising sun.

Gabria and Nara came to Ab-Chakan before sunset, riding in from the south along the flanks of the foothills, in the shelter of the trees. Nara eased silently through the undergrowth to the edge of the broad valley. In the thickening darkness they saw the fires and torches of Medb’s army. Gabria’s heart sank.

She had seen the Wylfling werod in full array, but even the tales of added forces had not prepared her for the vast fields of tents, wagons, horses, and piles of supplies she saw. She would never make it through that camp to the fortress. Medb’s forces were spread out in a semicircle at least a half-mile wide. Not even a Hunnuli could bolt through those ranks alone.

Gabria dropped her head. She was too late. It had not occurred to her that she might not be able to reach the Khulinin, and now that possibility was all too real.

Suddenly a horn sounded on the walls of the fortress. Clear and proud, its notes soared over the valley. Gabria stared at the fortress with pride and she felt her crumbling will revive. Behind those alien walls of stone, the four clans were still adhering to tradition with the horn call to sunset. She noticed angrily that the sorcerer’s army had not bothered to reply. They had sunk so deeply into conquest that they had abandoned the traditions of the clans.

She was leaning over to say something to Nara when the mare’s ears swiveled back and her nose turned to catch the breeze.

“What is it?” Gabria whispered. Her hand crept to her dagger. Without her other weapons, she felt ill at ease, and she wished that she had brought her sword.

Men are behind us. The whip carriers. They are seeking us.

Gabria drew her dagger and hid it in a fold of her cloak. If the Oathbreakers were seeking her, they would find her. When they did, no weapon—save, perhaps Nara—would save her if the men of Krath wanted her dead. But the cold, hard feel of the knife under her hand steadied Gabria as she waited quietly for the men to come.

Gabria wondered why the Oathbreakers were trailing Nara. The last she had heard, the cult was besieged in their towers by Medb’s forces, and no man among them would desert his post. She shuddered. If the Citadel of Krath had fallen, Medb cultists would have all the arcane tomes, manuscripts, spells, and artifacts in his grasp. He would be able to bring the clans to their knees in a matter of days.

Just then, out of the twilight, a shrouded figure on a dark horse rode into the trees. The figure raised his hand in a sign of peace as ten other riders rode up behind him. The man threw back his hood, revealing his thin, cruel face. He nodded and said, “Hail, Corin, and well met.”

Gabria inhaled sharply. It was Savaric’s brother, Seth. She stared at the bloodied gash on his forehead and at the weary, blood-stained men behind him.