Lightnings Daughter by Mary Herbert (read me a book txt) 📕

yet no one spoke their thoughts. They were a very silent group as they fol owed the road north in the wake of the sorceress and her Hunnuli.

The rain ended shortly after midday, and a warm wind from the south pul ed the clouds apart and cleared the huge sky. By late afternoon, the green-gold hil s basked in the warm sun, and a verdant smell of herbs and grass rose from the damp earth.

The comfortable heat of the spring sun dried the travelers' cloaks and hoods, their packs and horses. It also warmed their spirits. Gabria slowly felt her tension and frustration melt away in the mel ow sunshine. Although her dream stil bothered her and urged her on to Pra Desh, she slowly realized that much of her inner turmoil was caused by the men. They were making her crazy.

She was already worried and nervous about a confrontation with Branth and the Fon. Now her emotions were being torn apart by the two men she cared for more than anyone. She still loved Athlone, but he did not seem to want her. Sayyed, on the other hand, obviously adored her, but she did not know if she wanted him. She was being pushed and pul ed in too many directions.

The other men were not much help, either. Piers, her usual counselor and supporter, was either miserable with his cold or arguing with Khan'di. For his part, the merchant was constantly urging the party to keep moving toward Calah as fast as they could go. Bregan never let Lord Athlone out of his sight long enough for Gabria to talk to the chief, and the other three warriors never said a word to her.

This journey would be enough to try the patience of Amara, Gabria noted silently. Nevertheless, she knew Nara was right.

She did need the men to help her reach Pra Desh and find Branth. Without them she would be lost.

The young woman took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. It would do little good to antagonize her companions with her bad temper. She would have to calm down and find a way to deal with her tangled feelings.

By the time the company stopped to camp by a watering hole, Gabria had rejoined the men. Her earlier frenzied anger was apparently put aside. She laughed and talked with Sayyed and Piers, chatted with Khan'di, and teased Bregan about his short-legged horse. She tried to talk with Athlone, without much luck. The chief was taciturn al evening and seemed to have his thoughts a thousand leagues away.

For the next several days the company continued on their northern route, riding fast on the heels of Gabria and the Hunnuli. She pushed them al hard, for the sense of urgency that had awakened during her dreams grew stronger by the day. They were losing precious time. They had to reach Pra Desh before Branth attempted his spell again.

Although Nara and Eurus tried to keep a pace the smaller Harachan horses could tolerate, the constant, hard traveling began to take its tol on the weaker horses.

One afternoon, four days from Jehanan Treld, Bregan's horse tripped in a rodent hole at the side of the road and fell heavily on his head. Gabria, riding beside the warrior, heard a sickening crack as the horse went down and saw Bregan thrown violently to the ground. She slid off Nara immediately and went to the warrior's side. His head was bloodied, and his eyes held a vague, dazed look. He tried once to get up before he fel back in her arms.

The other men dismounted and came running. Piers examined the injured warrior, then looked up at Athlone with obvious relief. "He's cut and bruised. He might even need stitches, but he should be al right."

"Stubs won't be,” one of the other warriors said glumly.

They turned to look at Bregan's gelding, stil struggling on the ground. The three Hunnuli were standing beside the stricken horse, their muzzles close to his to quiet and comfort him. Everyone could see the shattered, bloody end of his foreleg.

Athlone cursed. He knew how much Bregan loved his horse. Silently, Athlone drew his sword and knelt beside the gelding.

"No! Wait'" Bregan pul ed himself painfully to a sitting position. Blood poured down his face from the deep cut on his forehead. He snuggled to focus on his horse and, as the realization hit him, tears mingled with the blood on his face. Slowly he crawled to Stubs and cradled the horse's head in his lap.

The gelding nickered once and relaxed in Bregan's arms. Without a word, the old warrior gently pul ed the horse's nose up until the base of the throat was exposed. Athlone drove the point of his sword through the soft throatlatch, deep into the brain. Stubs died instantly.

Bregan, blinded by blood and tears, closed the gelding's eyes and passed out.

They removed the bridle and saddle and erected a cairn of rocks over Stubs's body. Piers and Secen gently lifted Bregan onto the healer's mare. It was almost dark by the time they rode on, so they soon stopped in a sheltered, wooded valley only half a day's travel from the winter camp of the Reidhar clan.

While the other hearthguard warriors set up the small traveling tents and Gabria starred a cooking fire, Piers tended to Bregan's injuries. The warrior had roused from unconsciousness and was muttering between his clenched teeth as the healer gently cleaned the wound on his forehead. That done, Piers began to stitch it closed with a tiny bone needle and horsehair thread. Athlone and Khan'di came to sit beside them.

"The blow to Bregan's head is serious," Piers said without preamble. "He's going to need at least a day of rest."

The chieftain glanced an inquiry at Khan'di. The nobleman rubbed his mustache and said, "There is not much time left. If the Fon stays with her original plan,