Valorian

13

Valorian and Mordan saw the chieftain lurch sideways on his horse. Sick with fear, the guardsman reined his mount over and caught Fearral just as he was about to fall. Valorian came up on the other side, taking the reins from the chieftain’s motionless hands.

Fearral was still alive for the moment, but all three men knew he wouldn’t survive for long. A steady stream of blood flowed from the wound where the arrow had nicked an artery. The arrow itself, still lodged in his neck, kept the blood from spurting out. Fearral couldn’t talk; instead, he jerked his hand to motion the men away. The two ignored him. Neither of them would abandon their lord while he was still alive.

They trotted the horses forward through the gate, both men supporting Fearral. In a final gesture, Valorian half turned just outside the city walls and launched a blast of magic at the top of the gateway. The stonework exploded under the powerful blow and came tumbling down into a massive heap of rubble and debris where the gate used to be. Silence and dust settled over the wreckage. Mordan stared at the wall in awe before Valorian hurried him away with the chieftain.

Fearral’s other guards and a few warriors had slowed to stay with them. The main body of the clanspeople had galloped on ahead. As planned, the people were to follow the Miril River east for a few leagues, then split up into smaller parties and scatter into the hills to confuse the Tarnish troops who would surely follow. If all went well, the entire Clan was to meet at Stonehelm to plan their next move.

The night was growing late by the time the last of the rear guard left the river and rode for the hills. Valorian glanced back once at the distant city. He could still see the faint glow of a fire outlining Actigorium’s horizon. It was unlikely, but he hoped with all his heart that General Tyrranis was roasting in those flames. A shudder shook his frame at the memory of that horrible, helpless night in Tyrranis’s room. He didn’t think he could ever go through anything like that again. He thought, too, of Aiden down there somewhere. Aiden and three other men had volunteered to infiltrate the city, set the fires, and slip out in the confusion. They had obviously been successful with the first two objectives, and Valorian could only pray that Aiden would succeed in the third.

Weary and aching, he turned back to the task of helping Lord Fearral. The old chieftain was failing fast. Blood covered his side, and his skin was deathly pale. He could no longer hang on to his horse.

Near daybreak, the warriors with Fearral found a thick copse of trees in the fold of a hill. They took their lord into the sheltering grove, gently lifted him from his horse, and laid him on his cloak. Valorian, Mordan, and the others gathered around him. They didn’t try to remove the arrow, since that useless gesture would have only caused more pain.

He lay motionless as his life’s blood slowly trickled into the cloak. His eyes flickered once when the sun pierced the dawn sky and lit the trees with gold and green. One of Fearral’s hands groped out for another human hand, and Valorian clasped it tightly.

“The Harbingers will come soon,” he said softly in Fearral’s ear. “Do not fear them. Go in honor, my lord.”

A fleeting smile touched the old man’s mouth, and he was gone.

Valorian tilted his head. Somewhere on the furthest edges of his senses, he fancied he heard the faint pounding of hooves from the Harbingers’ steeds as they came to escort Lord Fearral to the realm of the dead.

Wordlessly the Clan warriors wrapped the body of their chief in his cloak and tied him to his horse. There was now one more dead man to take home to the Clan. Without a conscious decision, they automatically fell in behind Valorian as he and Hunnul led the way back into the Bloodiron Hills.

At noon, the sad entourage approached the massive granite dome of Stonehelm. News of Fearral’s death had obviously been passed along by the sentinels, for the entire population came out to the meet the riders. All of the raiding party and the escaped hostages, except for Aiden and his men, had arrived ahead of them, and most of the Clan families had also come to Stonehelm. They all lined the road, their faces stricken at the loss of their chieftain and awed at the sight of the man with the incredible power who had helped two families escape from a fortified city and the entire Chadarian garrison.

Fearral’s two daughters ran down the trail, their faces white with fear. When they saw their father’s body, they broke into wails of grief that were taken up by everyone present.

Through the lamenting voices, past the town he had tried to build, to the hall that was his pride, the warriors escorted their dead chieftain. They laid him out on a trestle table in front of his carved chair with his cloak spread beneath him and his weapons at his side.

Customarily the Clan buried its chieftains in burial mounds, but this time Fearral’s eldest daughter stepped up to Valorian and suggested something different.

The men around her looked shaken.

“Burn him in the hall?” Valorian asked. “Why?”

The woman lifted her chin. She was a plain, forthright young woman who had chosen to care for her widowed father instead of marrying. Her intelligence was equal only to her pride. “The hall was my father’s choice, not the Clan’s,” she answered honestly. “Now that we must leave Chadar with you, I do not wish to abandon the hall for anyone else to claim.”

“Leave Chadar!” someone exploded. “Who said anything about leaving Chadar?” Karez pushed his way through the gathering of men and thrust his bulk at the woman, as if to shove her aside.

She glared at him, refusing to budge. “It is obvious, Karez,” she said impatiently. “Our time here is over. We must move on before the Tarns finish what they began with our grandfathers.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, woman,” he bellowed. The raised voices had drawn clanspeople into a large crowd in front of the hall. They were worried, upset, and fearful of the future, and now they had no chieftain to guide them. Karez decided this was an excellent time to make his move. He pushed in front of Valorian and raised his hands to placate the anxious people.

“There will be no leaving Chadar. The Tarns are angry now, but they’ll come to their senses and see that it would be wiser to let us remain as we are,” he said.

“Why?” Valorian asked calmly. He stood, his arms crossed, his bruised and battered face impassive. He was nearly shaking with fatigue, yet he could see now very clearly where his path lay. Aiden had been right. In order to take his people to a new land, he had to become the lord chieftain—which would certainly mean confronting Karez. He had known for a long time that Karez had ambitions to be chieftain, but the reality of such an occurrence hadn’t been important until now. If Karez declared himself chief, Valorian would have to challenge him to the traditional duel. Unfortunately Karez hadn’t gone to Actigorium. He had stayed behind with a small contingent of men to help protect the families. He was rested, healthy, and as strong as a bear.

Valorian, on the other hand, had had little rest or food for over seven days. He had been severely beaten, his muscles were pulled and strained from the chains, and his strength was depleted by the magic he had used to escape from Actigorium. He knew too well that he was in no condition to fight a physical battle. Yet nothing on earth would make him back down now.

“Why?” repeated Karez, snorting at the ludicrousness of the question. “We grow the meat that feeds them and raise the horses that serve them. In our own way, we are important to them.”

“I’m tired of feeding their bellies,” a man yelled from the crowd. The others muttered among themselves, and several agreed loudly.

“We have nothing to worry about from the Tarns. This little incident will blow over,” Karez declared. “We will pay our tribute, and they will be placated.”

“Little incident!” Valorian bellowed. He came around from behind the big, burly clansman, his eyes crackling and his expression furious. “You call the murder and imprisonment of two families a ‘little incident’? What would you call the massacre of the whole Clan, a small setback? Open your eyes, Karez. Tyrranis will never let us get away with that raid on Actigorium. We’ve outlived our usefulness. We’re worth more to his prestige dead!”

“It’s you he really wants,” Karez shouted in return. “As lord chieftain, I will see that you are turned over with our tribute to General Tyrranis—dead or alive. There is no reason to sacrifice the Clan for one man.”

“What did you say?” Valorian demanded, his voice deadly cold.

Karez did not reply. Instead, he faced the people, drew his sword, and lifted it hilt first toward the sky. “Before Surgart, I claim the honor and title of lord chieftain. Let all who would challenge my claim step forward and answer before the gods.”

All eyes swiveled toward Valorian, and he didn’t disappoint them. Mordan wordlessly handed him a sword, and with equal intensity, Valorian stabbed it point down into the ground at Karez’s feet. “In the name of Amara, I challenge your claim,” he cried.

The people were startled. Men didn’t usually call on Amara, the Mother Goddess, to help in a matter such as this. But Kierla and Mother Willa weren’t surprised. Amara had supported Valorian from the day of his encounter with the lightning. They realized his challenge was just another step in his unfolding destiny.

Karez’s lips pulled hack in a malicious smile. His teeth gleamed against his dark heard. “You have a strange power, Valorian. How can we be sure that you won’t use it against me?” He deliberately paused, as if something had just occurred to him. “How can we ever know that you won’t turn your power against the Clan? What if you already have?” He pointed dramatically into the hall. “Was it Tarnish luck or your magic that sent that arrow into Fearral’s neck?” The onlookers gasped. Kierla drew a long, painful breath and clenched her fingers together. Valorian didn’t move.

But Mordan did. He took stepped forward beside Valorian, his stocky, muscular figure like a bulwark at the man’s side, and he touched his fingers to Karez’s chest. “You weren’t there, Karez,” he said loudly, his tone scathing with contempt. “You couldn’t know. But we who were there saw the magic that Valorian wrought. He saved our lives and was responsible for the success of our raid. There was nothing but the hands of the gods in Fearral’s death. He died with honor, Karez. Do not stain that honor with your own selfishness and stupidity.”

The rest of the chieftain’s guards, Gylden, and several other warriors who had been in the rear guard came to stand by Valorian to show their support.

Karez’s face flushed with anger. This wasn’t a good beginning for his leadership. He hadn’t anticipated the chieftain’s guards siding with Valorian.

Valorian hadn’t expected that either, and he was grateful for their acceptance of him. If he was killed and Karez became chieftain, Karez could easily dismiss them with dishonor from their favored positions or even have them executed. They were taking a big risk supporting him when he was in such poor shape, and now he knew he would have to make their risk even bigger.

He raised his hands to the sun, the light of the Mother Goddess, and he swore for all to hear: “I made a vow when I returned from the realm of the dead that I would never use my power against our people. Today I reconfirm that vow before Amara and all the gods, and before you. I give you my word that I will not use magic against my opponent. We will fight in the honored tradition of swords. Will you accept the victor as your lord chieftain?”

“Yes!” every voice answered him.

Valorian lowered his arms, satisfied. He was taking a terrible chance to fight a man like Karez with only a sword, but if he could defeat his challenger, he would win the respect and trust of the entire Clan.

By this time, nearly all the clanspeople had gathered in the large open space before the hall, almost six hundred men, women, and children of all ages. Quickly they backed up to form a big ring where the challengers would fight.

Duels to decide a new chieftain were traditional and quite practical to the minds of the clanspeople. If several men desired to be lord, they fought with only swords until all but one surrendered. That one was then considered to be the Clan chieftain, chosen by the god Surgart, until he died or was too feeble to lead his people. There were few rules for the duel. The opponents couldn’t leave the ring of battle until the duel was over, and they couldn’t have help from the spectators. They were on their own, with only the gods for their allies.

Mordan pulled his sword from the ground, cleaned the point, and was about to hand it to Valorian when Gylden came up with Valorian’s own sword. “Aiden left this with his clothes and weapons,” he said briefly to his friend. His strong, even features were dark with concern as he handed Valorian the sword and went to stand by Kierla and Linna in the crowd of spectators.

Valorian hefted the blade, pleased to have his own weapon back with its strange blackened blade. Its weight It good to his arm; its hilt fit comfortably in his hand.

Mordan nodded, satisfied. He gripped Valorian’s arm. “Your only chance is to wear him down. Let him do the chasing, and keep the sun to your back as much as possible.”

Valorian inclined his head. He returned Mordan’s grip, pleased to have this man’s concern and friendship. After a second thought, he decided to remove his tattered, filthy tunic and fight in nothing but his pants to give his opponent less to grasp. As he stripped off his shirt, he heard startled exclamations from the people around him. He saw why when he looked down at his upper body. It was a mass of bruises, purple, blue, and red—Tyrranis’s own signature of pain.

Soft fingers touched his arm, and he saw Mother Willa standing beside him, a cup in her hand. She was breathing heavily, as if she had been running. “Drink this,” she ordered and thrust the cup at him. Gratefully he drank the proffered liquid. He didn’t recognize its tart flavor, but it warmed his stomach and spread into his body with invigorating strength.

“I grow impatient, Valorian!” bellowed Karez from the center of the circle. He, too, had stripped to his coarse leggings and stood waiting, his heavy body already glistening with sweat.

Valorian strode to meet him. They rapped their sword points together in salute, and without further ceremony, the combat was joined. Valorian saw Karez’s sword rise and fall even before his own had moved into a defensive position. He managed to parry the wicked blow and duck out of Karez’s way by a hairbreadth.

The big man bulled by him, carried by his own momentum, then quickly turned with a grunt and brought his sword around in a murderous arc that would have cut Valorian in half.

Valorian dodged sideways and leaped back, every muscle protesting. He noticed immediately that Karez was using his sword more like a club, swinging great hammer like blows at Valorian’s head and torso with little thought of skill or finesse. The man was relying on his larger bulk and brute strength to overwhelm his weaker opponent.

Like a bull ready to crush his foe, Karez roared and stamped after Valorian again. His sword flashed in the sunlight. Valorian gave way before him, his own blade his only shield from Karez’s violent slashes.

Valorian knew he couldn’t hope to meet Karez’s attack blow for blow, so he deliberately lured the big man along and enticed him to make the powerful moves and the mighty swings with his heavy sword, while Valorian moved only as much as necessary and did little to push an offensive attack.

The duel settled into a steady sort of rhythm of thrust and swing, swipe and dodge. Time and again Karez charged at Valorian, and each time Valorian just barely slipped out of reach at the last moment. When their two blades did meet, the clash was heard all through the village. Back and forth the two men moved across the ring, their fierce struggle fought in the deadly silence of concentration. The crowd, meanwhile, yelled and cheered and offered advice, but the combatants didn’t hear a word.

Gradually Valorian’s breathing grew heavy and labored. His movements began to drag. It wasn’t long before his muscles had turned to liquid fire. He couldn’t move his sword without shooting pains in his arms, and he had to hold it with both hands just to ward off Karez’s violent Swings. His legs, too, were weakening fast and slowing his reactions.

He tried grimly to force his limbs to keep moving, but then he stumbled trying to parry one of Karez’s jabs and the passing edge of the sword caught his ribs. The blade slashed through the skin to the bone in a long, jagged line.

Karez grinned maliciously as Valorian staggered and nearly fell. The big clansman lunged forward to press his attack. With a sudden spurt of desperate strength, Valorian regained his feet. Instead of dodging out of Karez’s way, he slipped under the hacking cut of the sword and jabbed his own weapon blindly toward Karez’s big body as he went y. The keen blade cut deep into fleshy thigh.

Karez roared in pain and fury. Both men fell back, breathing hoarsely and shaking with their exertion. Their blood mingled with the sweat and dirt on their bodies to form’ muddy rivulets down their skins.

Valorian leaned forward a moment to prop his shaking hands on his knees. His breath burned in his lungs, and he had never been so exhausted. A troubled doubt rose in his mind at his ability to endure much more of this. He knew he could defeat Karez with one simple spell, but the price of such a betrayal was too high. On the other hand, he couldn’t fight like this much longer. He had gone beyond the reserves of his strength and was relying on sheer willpower alone. Mother Willa’s drink had helped for a while until it, too, had worn off. If he kept on fighting as he was, the price of his honor would surely be defeat or death.

He could tell the battle was finally taking its toll on Karez as well. The man’s movements had slowed considerably, his body was drenched in sweat, and his face was flushed dark red. And yet it wasn’t enough. Karez had started fresh and healthy; he still had stamina to burn.

Then another thought intruded into Valorian’s mind. It began like a tiny seed that takes root and grows into a magnificent flower. It was a vision of the Ramtharin Plains, green with spring grass and blue with open sky. The vision was so clear he could see the yellow butterflies in the wildflowers and smell the freshness of the wind that swept from a distant sea.

A sudden, powerful desire swept through him to see that land and claim it for his sons. He wanted to ride Hunnul forever over its rolling hills and pitch his tent beside its clear running streams. He wanted that land with every fiber in his being, and the only thing standing in his way was that fat, glistening man with the ugly face.

Valorian straightened slowly, his expression a mask of ferocity. From some buried place in his mind, a final reservoir of strength poured into his arms and legs. A challenging roar of fury burst from his lips.

Karez looked startled at the change in his hitherto half dead adversary. He lifted his sword just as Valorian launched himself across the space between them.

This time Valorian didn’t try to stay away from Karez. He threw himself into the fight like a berserker, using every ounce of skill he had to thrust and parry past Karez’s heavy swings. He knew he couldn’t beat down the bigger man, but the fury of his offensive was enough to keep Karez’s weapon from inflicting serious injury and to force the man to give ground. Valorian was nicked and cut on his arms and thighs, while his own sword drew blood from Karez’s arms, shoulders, and chest.

The burly man was beginning to look dumbfounded, and under his heavy lids was the rising shadow of fear.

Valorian pressed harder. He couldn’t overpower Karez’s stronger defense, so he tried to outmaneuver the bigger man. Stroke after stroke, he forced Karez around until the sun was behind his back. He felt its warmth on his skin, as if Amara herself were standing behind him, looking on with approval.

The bright light shone full into Karez’s eyes. Valorian saw him squint and saw his sword falter for the briefest moment. His teeth bared, Valorian struck. Before Karez realized what was happening, Valorian drove his sword past Karez’s guard, slashed his arm, and knocked his weapon flying to the rocky ground.

A cold, bloody point pressed into Karez’s throat. Trembling, the warrior stared into Valorian’s ice-cold eyes and saw the fierce, merciless glare of a hunting eagle. For a moment, his own bearlike pride refused to admit defeat, and his lips pulled back in a snarling grimace.

Valorian pushed the point of his black sword against the skin of his antagonist’s neck until blood dripped down the tip. “Well?” he growled.

Karez’s eyes bulged. “I surrender,” he finally said bitterly, words heavy with disappointment and defeat.

“Who am I?” hissed Valorian.

Painfully Karez knelt on the rocky ground and paid his homage. “Lord chieftain of the Clan,” he muttered.

Valorian raised his sword to salute the sun. The Clan roared its approval. He staggered slightly, for the surge of strength that had brought him this far was beginning to fade, leaving him dizzy and sick. Then he felt a warm, soft muzzle touch his shoulder. Hunnul had trotted through the crowd and was standing there, waiting for his master.

It took every vestige of Valorian’s willpower to hoist himself onto the black stallion’s back. Once he did, however, Hunnul’s own vast warmth and energy sustained him. The stallion pranced around the ring, his neck arched and his muscles flowing under his black coat. Valorian straightened, threw his head back, and shouted the Clan’s ancient war cry until it echoed throughout Stonehelm. His people picked up the cry and sent it soaring through the Bloodiron Hills.

At last he drew Hunnul even with Fearral’s daughters, and he dismounted before them. “We will do your will,” he said simply.

Taking her sister’s hand, the eldest marched into the big hall. Together they removed some important items: several old relics, a few personal belongings, and the banner of the lord chieftain, piling them safely outside the hall. The clanspeople watched them for a few moments before, one by one, they moved to help. Only Valorian and Karez stood back while the hall was emptied of its few valuables and the wooden walls were soaked with oil.

The Clan priests began to chant the songs of the dead. At the request of relatives, the fallen warriors brought back from Actigorium were laid by Fearral’s side. His daughters carefully laid the Tarnish tapestry over his body, then everyone left the hall to stand outside.

Fearral’s daughters lit the funeral fire by touching burning brands to the oil-drenched walls. The fire surged up toward the roof, and in a short time, the hall was a roaring inferno.

As Valorian watched the flames destroy the hall and the bodies of the honored dead, Kierla gently touched his wounded side. Looking at his pinched face, she said softly, “It will be evening before that fire burns down. Come. Rest while you can.”

Valorian felt his exhaustion down to the bone. Without a second thought, he nodded and left with her to find a place to sleep.

It was very dark when Valorian came awake. He woke slowly, dragged out of his rest by an urgent hand. With him woke his memories, so he wasn’t confused to see the interior of Mordan’s tent where he had come to sleep or have the odd feeling of exhilaration and nervousness that sparked in his mind when he remembered the events of . . . when?

His senses told him it was late night, but of what day? He felt as if he had been asleep for months.

“When?” he mumbled to the hand that kept shaking him. “What day?”

“It’s almost dawn, Lord Valorian. I’m sorry to awaken you, but you’ve got to see this.” It was Gylden’s voice, and he sounded strangely elated.

Valorian smiled to himself. Even in his excitement, Gylden had easily and naturally called him lord. It was an incredible feeling to hear that. Stiff and sore, he hauled himself off his pallet and pulled on the clean tunic Kierla had retrieved from the belongings he had left at Stonehelm those many days before. His wife was awake beside him, so she bundled the sleeping baby into her carrying sling and swiftly rose to join the men. The three hurried out of Mordan’s tent. Valorian stifled another pleased grin when two of the chieftain’s guards fell in behind him.

Gylden led them to the road out of town and down the smooth stone slopes of the outcropping to the fields below. The camps of the Clan families were scattered around the open grassy areas, their tents like dark, hulking animals curled up asleep in the night. In the east, a pale rim of light tinted the horizon and heralded the coming of Amara’s sun.

Gylden went on through the grass heavy with dew to the pasture where the brood mares had been separated from the herd recovered at Actigorium and left to rest and graze.

Valorian was surprised to see a large crowd of people gathered on the gentle hill and staring down at something in the herd.

“You’re not going to believe this,” Gylden resumed breathlessly. “I found them just a little while ago.”

“Found what?” Kierla asked. She felt her own anticipation flutter in her stomach, for she could see by Gylden’s smiling face that something wonderful had happened.

“It must have been the excitement of the run from Actigorium that started them. They’re just a little early,” Gylden replied, without actually answering her question. He reached the crowd, and the people made way for their chief. At the front of the curious onlookers stood Mother Willa, looking down the hill as if in a daze.

The herd of mares was just a short distance away, the horses scattered along the base of the hill, peacefully grazing. Valorian didn’t see anything remarkable at first, but then Kierla made a small exclamation and pointed. There, in the brightening dawn light, he saw them by their dams’ sides. There were three of them, newborn, still slightly damp, all long legs and heads and wispy tails. One of them was lying down, while the other two tottered about their mothers.

They were obviously healthy, well-formed foals, but the most remarkable thing about them was that they were all black—and all had a white lightning mark emblazoned on their right shoulders.

Valorian clenched his jaw to fight down the intense joy and wonder that threatened to overwhelm him. He looked inquiringly at Gylden, even though he already knew the answer.

His friend nodded, beaming. “They are all Hunnul’s foals.”

He gestured to the big herd and added, “I’ve never seen I anything like this. Three identical foals from the same sire!”

Mother Willa suddenly started and flung open her arms to the eastern sky where the rising sun gleamed behind the mountain peaks. Her face was bright and her voice sang in a prayer of thanksgiving. “Oh Mother of All, in your gratitude and graciousness, you sent your champion back to life with a great gift to lead his people out of tyranny. By your blessings, he has prospered, and now his beloved stallion is blessed as well. By his seed will a new breed of horse be granted to the Clan, a horse that will always bear his color and his lightning mark of honor. May they forever run with the wind of your grace!”

The people in the crowd around her heard her words. Their stares swung over to the new lord chieftain, and their voices rose in murmuring excitement at the incredible possibilities. A new breed of horse, from one stallion.

“Praise Amara!” Kierla said, and her hand came to rest on her abdomen where her second son waited for his chance at life. In her sling, Khulinar woke with happy gurgles. His hand reached out of the leather sling, groping for his mother’s long, unbound hair.

Valorian looked from the foals to his son, and his heart echoed Kierla’s words of praise. Even with his magic, he couldn’t see into the future, yet he didn’t need to, to recognize the union of the destinies of these black horses and his sons. Through the Mother Goddess’s grace and benediction, they would ride together as he rode Hunnul to be leaders of the Clan’s new future.

He would have stayed to watch the foals and daydream all morning if a sharp, cold gust of wind hadn’t suddenly brought him out of his musings. He laughed ruefully at himself. The distant future was still a long time away, and what was to come was not yet born. He had to deal with the immediate future if he were going to save something for his offspring.

He turned to the people beside him. “Come,” he called to everyone. “Bring your families to the gates of Stonehelm. It is time we decide our destiny.”