Athlone felt his heart grow sick.
The lightning's brightness burned your eyes.
"Will they heal?" Gabria asked with more hope than conviction.
The stal ion snorted softly. Perhaps. In time.
She nodded once and changed the subject. "What about Afer? Is there anything we can do?"
At that the King Stal ion bowed his head. We Hunnuli can withstand the greatest arcane powers in the universe, but we are as vulnerable to bodily injury as any other horse. Your magic wil not affect him, for good or il , and your healers cannot mend a horse's broken leg.
Gabria felt her voice choke, and she had to force herself to ask, "Then we must put him out of his misery?"
"No!" Sayyed's cry echoed through the circle of stones. The tribesman, a rag tied to his bleeding head, was trying to put a temporary splint on the stallion's broken leg.
Tam quickly went to help her friend as he stepped forward in front of the horse.
"You can't kill him,” Sayyed said forcefully.
"Sayyed, his leg is broken,” Athlone said, trying not to be harsh. "You know no horse can recover from that."
"One has! My father's prize mare. She broke a leg in a race, and my father could not bear to kill her. He suspended her body from a sling until her leg healed enough to bear her weight. It's not easy, but it can be done. Please,” Sayyed cried, "give him a chance."
They were silent for a long moment as they thought about the enormity of that task. However, to Gabria and Sayyed, the effort was worth the chance if it would save a Hunnuli.
"We'll try it,” Gabria said.
Thank you, Sorceress. Then we wil gladly leave Afer in your care. The King Stallion lifted his head and neighed a call that rang to the hills and shook the stones of the temple. He lifted his massive body up high to paw the air in a salute of honor to the magic-wielders. The other Hunnuli reared also. Every human watching thril ed to see the majestic Hunnuli at the height of their pride and glory.
As one, the black horses fol owed the king up out of the river and west toward their home in the mountains. The thunder of their passing faded away into the storm, but the wonder of their presence stayed with the clanspeople for many days to come. Nara, Eurus, and the colt neighed a long farewell.
Gabria's fingers clenched her pantleg, and tears slipped out of the corners of her closed eyes. She could not see the Hunnuli leave, yet she felt the aching loss of their disappearance.
Abruptly she shook her head to clear her mind. The pain shot through her eyes, and she gasped.
"What is it?" Athlone asked, the worry plain in his words. "Are you truly blind?"
Gabria tried to push the pain aside and smile. "For the moment. It should pass. Can you ride?"
He looked up at her and was not reassured by her off-hand reply. He decided not to push her and merely answered her question. "Yes."
"Then, come. Tam, Sayyed, you come too. We have to face the clans."
The others obeyed. Athlone quickly understood what Gabria was trying to accomplish, and he helped Sayyed onto Nara's back with no further questions. He mounted Eurus, with some difficulty, and waited while Tam scrambled onto the colt. Afer hopped painfully over the short distance to stand between Eurus and Nara.
"Priestess,” Gabria called. "Will you bring the mask?"
The priestess of Amara went to find the death mask of Valorian. At the same time, the eight hostages stopped in front of the magic-wielders. Guthlac saluted his chieftain with respect; Lord Wortan stepped forward and blinked into the rain to look up at Gabria.
"Thank you, Lady,” he said with sincerity. "Is it all right if we go?"
She nodded in his direction.
The eight clanspeople gratefully started out for the river. They walked at first, then their joy and relief broke loose and they ran through the muddy water to the far bank where the crowd of onlookers and their families welcomed them back with open arms.
The priestess of Amara found the golden mask of Valorian lying on the stony ground of the temple, its handsome face still and lifeless. Her hands trembled as she picked up the heavy gold mask. She carried it to where the magic-wielders waited and stopped before Gabria.
"Truly,” she said, her voice ringing with gladness and respect, "you are the blessed of Amara. Go now, Sorceress. The clans are waiting." The priestess raised the golden mask high above her head and began to sing a hymn of praise to the Mother Goddess. Her song reached out to the watching people on the riverbanks and stirred their hearts with a strange feeling of reassurance.
The watching clanspeople did not understand exactly what had happened on the island. They had seen and heard many strange things, things both wonderful and horrifying. Now it seemed that Branth, or whatever he had been, was gone; there were four magic-wielders instead of one, all apparently alive and wel ; the entire Hunnuli herd had honored them before al the clans; the hostages were free; and a priestess of the Mother Goddess was offering her oblation of song to praise their deeds.
The clanspeople did not know what to think. This spectacle of good and evil, courage and cruelty, honor and treachery was hardly what they had expected from magic. Magic was supposed to be entirely evil, corrupting, and heretical. Many people had been willing to accept. Gabria as an aberration. Yet here were three other magic-wielders, two men and a child, who had the same decency and courage and the willingness to lay down their lives for their companions and their people. That was not supposed to be the way of magic.
Emotions were mixed as the four riders and the four Hunnuli waded across the river. The group came very slowly, for Nara and
