Valorian

14

By the light of a clear dawn, the people of the Clan gathered at the gates of their one town to hear the words of their chieftain. Most of them expected him to stand before them and demand that they pack immediately to leave for his new land. But he surprised them.

Instead, he looked out over the faces gathered before him—at the Clan priests and priestesses, elders, and leaders of the families in the foreground, the other men, women, and children in a quiet mass behind—and he said, “Through the summer, fall, and winter, I have tried to convince you all to leave your homes in Chadar and seek the new realm of the Ramtharin Plains. You have heard my reasons time and time again, and I still believe in them with my whole heart. But now that I’m in the position to command you, I realize that it would be wiser for you to make the decision yourselves. This journey cannot be a success if you as a whole do not accept the change and work together to bring it about.

“So, do we go or do we stay? You have heard Karez tell you that the Tarns will be placated by tribute and time. Perhaps that is so, and we can stay here as we are. However, I have met General Tyrranis. I know him to be obsessive, ruthless, and cruel beyond measure. He will not let us off so easily. The journey itself will not be easy either, and I believe Tyrranis will try to stop us. But if we can reach Wolfeared Pass, we will be through with the Tarns and their tributes forever.”

Valorian drew a deep breath before he went on. “I must ask you now to make your choice. There isn’t much time. Talk to your priests and elders and send them to me when you’re ready. I promise you that whatever decision you reach, I will do my best to defend and preserve this Clan.” Without a further word, he stepped back and withdrew to the open space by the charred ruins of Fearral’s hall to wait. ,

The clanspeople looked at one another, surprised by his move. It wasn’t a typical gesture of a Clan chieftain. Hesitantly at first, then in gathering volubility, the men and women turned to one another and talked. It was the first time in many years that the entire remaining Clan population had been together, and they had a great deal to discuss.

Mother Willa made her way out of the vocal groups of men and women. She had nothing to say to any of them, for she had made up her mind months ago, and someone else needed her more. She went instead to find her grandson, who was sitting on the ground, staring morosely at the few charred beams still standing in the ruins of the hall. He was totally alone; his guards were with the rest of the Clan, and even Hunnul was out grazing. Her faded blue eyes softened when she saw him. He looked so vulnerable at that moment, with his hands clenched together and his normally straight back slumped. His new authority was weighing heavily on his shoulders.

She walked across the stony ground where the two men had fought the day before and slowly bent her stiff joints to sit down beside him. The air was still sharp with the smell of smoke and burned wood. “Amara will be with them,” she said quietly.

His smile welcomed her words, and his back seemed to straighten; only his eyes remained pensive and distant. The two sat together in silent companionship while the morning sun grew warm and the indistinct murmur of distant voices hummed on the air around them.

All at once, a dearly familiar voice called to them from the road, and a dusty bay horse came jogging through the tents and shops. It was Aiden, still in his Chadarian clothing, his face beaming through a mask of soot and stubble. Once again he had two small goats tied in a bag behind his saddle.

Valorian bounded to his feet, and this time, it was Aiden who was nearly knocked over when he dismounted to greet his brother.

“By all the holy gods, Valorian,” Aiden asked incredulously, “what happened around here?” His gaze went flying from Valorian’s battered face to the hall’s burned remains and back again. “What’s going on? Why is everyone at the gate? I saw Linna, but she said to come talk to you.”

Valorian didn’t answer Aiden’s questions immediately. He had too many of his own. “Where have you been?” he demanded, his voice made sharper by joy, relief, and the anger of pent-up frustration. “What took you so long? Are the others with you?”

The excitement of his answers temporarily distracted I Aiden, and his face lit up with a mischievous grin. “Yes, they’re with their families. We didn’t lose one. Oh, gods, Valorian, you should have seen that fire! It was spectacular!” He clasped his brother’s arm, his gray eyes clear and sparkling through the grime on his face, and the two men sat down beside their grandmother.

Aiden rushed on. “It was the most magnificent fire I’ve ever seen! We found an old warehouse built of wood and full of bales of wool. We waited until dark, then set it alight. Whoosh!” He threw his hands up in the air and chuckled appreciatively. “It went up like an oil-soaked torch. There were people and soldiers everywhere trying to fight that blaze with buckets and shovels. They might as well have spit on it, for all the good their buckets did. The fire got so hot, it spread to several other buildings nearby.”

Valorian’s eyes narrowed. “You were there? You were supposed to leave as soon as the fire began.”

Aiden laughed outright. “I helped in the bucket lines,” he said, showing Valorian his ash-covered clothes. “Actually, we couldn’t get out right away. The gates were kept shut until nearly midday, and when they finally opened, everyone who went through was searched from head to boot. We didn’t try to leave until last evening. Gave me some time to find some new goats for Liona. Besides, I also wanted to see General Tyrranis’s reaction.” There was a long hesitation, and the merriment died from his eyes.

“I imagine he was angry,” Valorian said to prompt the younger man.

“Tyrranis goes far beyond angry,” Aiden replied in slow and worried tones. “I really think he has gone over the edge of sanity. He had every sentinel at the north gate hanged in the market and has nailed the commander of the garrison to the city walls. A Tarn! Nailed up with a murderer and two cattle thieves. In front of the whole city.” He shook his head. “It was eerie in that city yesterday. Everyone was holding his breath and sidling into shadows whenever Tyrranis came near. He personally tore the city apart looking for you or anyone who even looked like a clansman. He hacked down one poor traveler wearing a cloak before he realized the man was only a pilgrim going south to Sar Nitina.”

“That doesn’t bode well for Karez’s hopes,” Mother Willa murmured.

Aiden looked at her curiously, then resumed his tale. “That’s not the worst of it. When we left last night, he had put out a call for all able-bodied men to report to the tower for temporary duty. He’s ordered the garrison to arm and stand by and he stripped the city of all available horses. As soon as he has enough men, he’s going to march up here and, in his own words, ‘Wipe out the vermin once and for all.’”

“Huh!” Mother Willa snorted indelicately. “Vermin. I like that, coming from him.”

Aiden cast a speculative glance at Valorian and saw that his brother was sitting motionless, his neck muscles drawn tight in unspoken tension and his head slightly cocked, as if he were listening to something far away. Aiden suddenly noticed what Valorian was listening to—the silence. The distant voices had stopped.

A slow, satisfied smile lit Mother Willa’s seamed face from the knowledge of certainty. “They have done it,” she said softly to Valorian.

“Done what?” Aiden demanded, irritated now by the lack of answers. “What is going on here?”

No one replied. Valorian straightened his back a little, his eyes on the road from the palisade.

“They understand now,” his grandmother went on. Her I voice became gentle and singsong, and she swayed slightly as if she were repeating the images of a vision. “The goddess Amara has walked among their thoughts today, reminding them of her gifts to you, her champion. At last they believe.”

Aiden was staring at her now, amazed, while Valorian watched the road. For a moment, no one moved. Then Valorian suddenly rose to his feet. Aiden turned to look, too, and saw the entire Clan walking up the road toward them. Mordan, Kierla, and Gylden were in the forefront, their faces shining. But it was Karez and the leaders of the other families who came to stand before the tall clansman and bow low before him.

“We will go, Lord Valorian,” the oldest man said.

Aiden’s jaw dropped open. “Lord Valorian?” he cried.

“Since when? Will someone please tell me what has been happening around here?” And with great pleasure, Mother Willa told him.

From that moment, Valorian took command. He explained to the gathered Clan about Aiden’s news of General Tyrranis’s plan to march into the hills, and impressed upon them the urgency of a rapid departure. .

“We must leave no later than tomorrow,” he ordered. “Every family will be responsible for packing their tents and belongings and gathering in their herds. If any of you know of someone who isn’t here, please send that person word immediately. We will not leave any clans person behind to face the wrath of the Tarns.” He went on, issuing orders and answering questions until everyone was satisfied with the immediate task ahead.

And the task was monumental. Although most of the Clan families were already prepared to spend the summer on the move, the families of Gylden and Valorian had lost all their tents, gear, and personal possessions; the people of Stonehelm had to pack the contents of a town, and none of the groups had traveled as a whole for as long as anyone could remember. The tact and work involved in supplying, organizing, and forming the large caravan was more than Valorian could have handled alone.

Fortunately he didn’t have to. Mordan worked tirelessly to organize carts, wagons, and horses for baggage and supplies. The extra animals that Hunnul had brought from the Tarnish corrals were a godsend, Mordan told Valorian.

Gylden helped the clanspeople mark their horses and stock animals not already branded and organize the herds. Everyone contributed from his own meager supplies and belongings to help the survivors of the raid of Tarn, and Aiden served as Valorian’s spokesman, easing ruffled feathers, soothing fears, and encouraging young and old with his optimistic smile.

By the time the sun lifted its rays over the mountain peaks the next day, Valorian began to believe they would be able to leave on time. Every person in the Clan was accounted for and doing what needed to be done to get ready to go. A caravan was taking shape in the fields below Stonehelm, where wagons and carts jostled for position and the herds waited in nervous expectation. People hurried everywhere, looking for lost children, fetching forgotten belongings, running for last-minute items. Dogs scurried underfoot, and the children were wild with excitement.

Valorian rode Hunnul from one end of the forming caravan to the other, helping wherever he could, full of calm and Courage. He lifted the hearts of all his people and spurred them on to greater efforts.

At noon, Mordan, at the front of the long caravan, sounded a deep, undulating signal on a ram’s horn that soared over the fields and meadows and swept through the empty buildings of Stonehelm. The Clan priests and priestesses gathered together with Valorian to call on the gods for protection and goodwill.

When the prayers were finished, Valorian stepped forward, raised his arms to the sun, and cried, “Amara, Mother of All, lead us into the hills with your truth and your light. Guide us on the path of our destiny.”

Every clansperson’s eye automatically lifted to scan the sky or the horizon for some omen that the gods were listening. Every breath was held, and the only movements in the caravan were the restless shifting of animals.

Then the omen came on the wings of a pair of rare golden eagles—the birds of Surgart, the color of Amara. They came from the west and slowly soared on the upper air currents until they were over the line of wagons. The two birds flew lazily side by side, their gleaming heads seeming to look down on the people below. In unison, the birds wheeled over the procession of carts, wagons, packhorses, and herds. When they reached Valorian, they seemed to swoop lower to let the light of their wings shine upon his, face. Finally the eagles turned south, and the clanspeople watched them until the pair vanished in the distance.

“The gods have sent their oracles to point the way!” a priest shouted into the awed silence. An uproar of cheering, whistling, and shouting broke loose from the entire Clan.

In the next moment, whips cracked, reins popped, horses neighed; gradually the train of animals and vehicles began to move. They headed south after the eagles, slowly at first, then faster as the people and the animals settled into a steady pace.

Valorian had long before decided what path they would take, should the Clan ever decide to leave, so he and a group of armed warriors rode to the front of the caravan and led the long string of herds and wagons deeper into the Bloodiron Hills. He knew it would have been easier to take the Clan to the flatter lowlands and skirt the foothills, but the Tarns would expect that and search for them there. By using the rougher, lesser known paths, the caravan would move slower, but they would stand a greater chance of evading Tyrranis and his soldiers.

As the wagons one by one crested a ridge and Stonehelm fell behind, it seemed every person turned to take one last look at the abandoned town and the large blackened spot in its center where Lord Fearral and his men rested in the ashes. In the rear guard, Aiden, too, paused to bid a silent farewell. Wordlessly he raised his hand to salute his dead chieftain. Without a regret, he turned his back on the forlorn town and followed his new chief over the ridge toward a future known only to the gods.

A haze of thickening clouds obscured the sun two days later when General Tyrranis led his mounted soldiers up the road toward Stonehelm. They made no effort to hide their approach, trotting in fully armed ranks up the hills to the town. Some resistance from the clanspeople was expected but not enough to worry the Tarnish troops, who had superior arms, training, and numbers.

What worried the soldiers more was their leader. After summarily nailing the garrison commander to the city wall by his hands and feet for his abysmal failure to prevent the Clan raid, General Tyrranis had taken over direct command of the troops himself. Before roll call the day before, he had made a vitriolic speech to the regular troops and the new draftees, telling them that they were charged with the duty of washing the hills with Clan blood. Not a single clansperson of any age was to be spared anywhere in Chadar.

Some of the men didn’t like the idea of slaughtering innocent women, children or elders, but no one could look into the brutally cold darkness of Tyrranis’s eyes and suggest otherwise. They would rather face a cornered pack of clansmen or a murdered pile of corpses than draw the attention of his merciless fury.

The troops were silent as they rode, unchallenged, into Stonehelm. Their eyes flicked nervously from the empty, abandoned buildings to their general’s face, and they waited in ranks, holding their breath for his reaction.

Tyrranis said nothing at first. Irritably he looked over the burned ruins of Fearral’s hall, the lifeless paths, and the empty corrals before reining his horse around. He rode to the gate of the palisade, pulled off his helmet, and studied the churned-up fields below. His skin seemed to tighten across his hard face as his mouth tightened into a grimace of anger.

“So,” he murmured under his breath like the hiss of a snake, “the quarry has flown.” With his eyes, he followed the the trail of hoof prints and wagon ruts leading out of the valley. “No matter. They cannot go far.”

A sudden, violent feeling of hatred and rage stabbed through his self-control at the thought of Valorian and his people. Never in his successful and perfectly ordered career had Tyrranis ever been so deceived and humiliated. A worthless clansman had tricked him and ruined his prestige throughout the provinces. When word of this got back to Tarnow and the emperor’s ears, his reputation could well be stained beyond redemption. He would never be able to gather the support and funds necessary for his bid for the throne.

His only hope of repairing the damage and taking his revenge for this insult dealt to his self-respect was to slaughter the clanspeople to a man. They were useless anyway; their tribute was pitiful, and their horses could survive just as well without them. Only their deaths had any value now.

Tyrranis’s hands tightened unconsciously on the reins and until his horse jigged its head in pain and shied sideways to escape the brutal pressure on the bit in its mouth. The general angrily lashed it to a trembling standstill. When the horse was quiet again, Tyrranis slowly forced his emotions back under control. Fury and hatred were exhausting if allowed to burn freely. He would save his strength for the day that his troops cornered Valorian and the people who followed him; then he would release his rage and cool it in Clan blood. Only Valorian would live, just long enough to impart the secret of his magic. Tyrranis had no idea how Valorian had suffered through the night of torture without revealing his power, but the general swore that wouldn’t happen again. If he had to tear apart every member of Valorian’s family with his bare hands to get the man’s secret of magic, he was prepared to do so.

“Maxum Lucius!” he snapped.

The man now second-in-command of the Actigorium garrison rode forward hurriedly and saluted.

“Raze this pitiful village to the ground. I want nothing left of it!” ordered the general. “Then dispatch scouts to all known Clan camps. Search every hiding place in these hills until you find those people. The rest of the force will come with me to follow their trail.” His eyes suddenly narrowed, and the veins bulged dangerously in his neck. “If any those clanspeople escape, I will personally send you to copper mines of Scartha. I will not tolerate any more incompetence. Is that understood?”

Keeping his face unreadable, the Tarnish officer saluted and moved to obey his commands. After a few brief orders, the ranks of legionnaires broke into groups and set about their duty with a vengeance. With ruthless efficiency, they tore down every standing building, corral, shed, shop, and pen, and piled the debris on the blackened remains of the burned hall. They scattered salt over the plowed fields and small gardens, demolished the shrine to the Clan gods, poisoned the well, and killed every stray dog and abandoned animal they found. The palisades were broken to pieces heaped on the growing pile of shattered ruins. Nothing was left standing.

When the town was completely leveled, the soldiers stood back while several of their number soaked the huge heap with oil and set it aflame. The fire burst into light with a hungry roar, consuming the remains of the Clan village in a searing bonfire that sent clouds of black smoke billowing high over Stonehelm.

Tyrranis looked on in grim satisfaction. When nothing remained but a few bare patches and the blackened stone where the coals of the pile were still smoldering, the Tarns remounted and rode down from Stonehelm. They, too, trotted over the ridge and disappeared to the south on the trail of the Clan.

The last rays of sunlight were streaking the pink western sky when the Clan finally reached the meadows below the ridge where Valorian had been struck by lightning a year before. The wagons creaked to a halt, the footsore animals fell to grazing, and the clanspeople heaved a mutual sigh of relief. They had been traveling almost constantly for six days, and they were exhausted.

Valorian had been pushing them hard over rugged terrain, for he knew Tyrranis’s troops could move faster than laden wagons and herds of livestock, and he wanted to put as much distance between them and the Tarns as possible.

This night, however, he allowed the caravan to stop a little early. He had sent out scouts several days before; and they were to rejoin the Clan here at what everyone had started calling Lightning Ridge. He didn’t really want to wait, but he badly needed the scouts’ information, and the weary clanspeople needed the rest.

Through the dwindling daylight hours, the people bedded down the herds of horses and livestock, set up shelters, and found food for everyone before collapsing on their blankets for some much needed sleep.

Valorian thought several times about riding Hunnul up to the top of the ridge, but there was no real reason to do so and too much to do to get the Clan camped for the night. Being responsible for about six hundred people was quite different from leading a small family of fifty.

In the past few days, Valorian had come to truly appreciate the awesome responsibilities of his position as lord chieftain. Not only did he have to lead a large caravan over difficult trails, but he also had to elude the Tarns, see to the people’s everyday needs, settle minor disputes, and make countless decisions about everything from whether to send someone to search for a lost goat and how to punish a young woman who stole food, to which men should ride in the rear guard. In order to preserve his strength, he refused to use his magic for anything but emergencies, and he delegated some of the duties to Mordan, who was increasingly becoming his invaluable friend and right-hand man, and to the other heads of the families. But the brunt of the work and the ultimate responsibility were still his.

Despite it all, Valorian wouldn’t have exchanged places with anyone. He relished his new authority and gave his people his full attention. His constant optimism and his evident pleasure at being on this journey were infectious to all who were with him. He gave hope and purpose to everyone during the long and difficult days of travel.

Perhaps because of their new hope and anticipation, the people had traveled faster and harder than Valorian expected. They had put aside their major differences and were working together to achieve their common goal. No one knew for certain if Tyrranis and the Tarnish soldiers were coming after them yet; they only knew their decision to leave Chadar had been irrevocably made, and they were on their way to a new home.

Late that night, however, the first of the scouts returned, and the Clan learned the truth that Valorian had feared.

“They’ve found our trail again,” the young man wearily told Valorian and the few other men who had awakened when he arrived. “We lost them for a while, but they’re catching up now. About a day behind.”

Valorian nodded, hardly surprised. “Is Tyrranis with them?”

“Yes, lord. But not the full garrison. I only counted about two hundred men.”

“Interesting,” Mordan said, stifling a yawn. “Either the Tarns are incredibly arrogant, or they’re not going to try to stop us.”

The chieftain scratched his jaw thoughtfully. His expression was unreadable in the darkness. “I can’t believe. . .” he said half aloud, then he paused and said to those around him, “We’ll wait to see what Ranulf has found. But with the Tarns so close behind us, we cannot wait here for him. We will have to leave at daybreak.”

The others agreed.

Valorian didn’t go back to his blankets after that. Worry weighed heavily on his mind, so instead of futilely trying to sleep, he went to check the brood mares. All of the Clan’s precious brood mares were together in one herd, faithfully tended by Gylden and a flock of enthusiastic boys. In the past seven nights, twenty more black foals had been born, all with the white lightning mark of their sire. To the delight of everyone, Hunnul’s foals were already showing signs of being stronger and more intelligent than the other new foals born on the trail. No one had the slightest doubt that the black foals were another blessing and omen sent by the goddess Amara.

Valorian stopped to speak to Gylden, who was taking his turn at guard duty, and sent him back to bed. Then he rode up the slopes among the peaceful horses. Hunnul found a quiet place near the herd and stopped to watch over his mares. Stiffly the chieftain rubbed a healing bruise on his arm and leaned back on the stallion’s rump. He spent the remaining hours until dawn wondering what Tyrranis was planning to do and how long he would have to wait to hear from Ranulf.

It turned out that Valorian didn’t have to wait long at all.

The young man sent to scout the trail ahead for Tarnish patrols came galloping into camp at dawn as the clanspeople were harnessing their horses and packing their gear. Disheveled and worried, he was met by Valorian, Mordan, Karez, and several other men at the head of the forming caravan.

His words came tumbling out even before he saluted the chieftain. “There’s a big force of Tarns, Lord Valorian,” he excitedly. “They’re ahead of us on the trail around the great canyon.”

The chief’s mouth tightened into a grim line. “How many?” he asked.

“About four hundred, as close as I can count,” Ranulf replied. “They just arrived there yesterday. They must have force-marched down the lowlands to cut us off.”

Mordan folded his arms. “Tyrranis probably knows where we’re going by now. I’d say he’s going to try to trap us between a sword and a shield.”

“He’s picked a good place to do it,” Valorian said, his concern plain on his face.

The other men with him looked mystified by their chief’s grave reaction to the news. Few clanspeople had ever traveled this far south, so they weren’t familiar with the territory. “Why can’t we just go around through the hills?” asked a Clan priest.

Picking up a stick, Valorian scratched a crude map of the lands just to the south of their position. “The Darkhorns run in a fairly even line north and south of Lightning Ridge, except right here,” and he stabbed the stick at the place in his drawing. “The mountains bulge out there in high bluffs on either side of a very deep canyon. We can’t take the wagons and carts across the canyon and we can’t go around it to the east because the canyon is too long. We can only drop down to the lower hills to the west to pass around it—”

“And the Tarns are waiting for us there,” one of the men finished for him. The truth of their predicament became all too clear.

“By Surgart’s sword,” Karez suddenly snarled. He jabbed his bandaged arm at Valorian. “You’re the one with the magic in your grasp. Use it to wipe out our enemies once and for all!”

Mordan rolled his eyes. “Don’t you pay attention? Lord Valorian will not use his power to massacre other men.”

“I say that’s ridiculous!” Karez roared in reply. “What about us? Are we to be slaughtered because our chief is too squeamish to slay a few Tarns?”

Several of the listening clansmen nodded in agreement and watched Valorian expectantly.

The new chieftain felt his anger flare at the big clansman. Karez hadn’t changed a bit after his defeat. He was as arrogant and abrasive as ever. Valorian bit off a sharp remark and decided he shouldn’t lose his temper now. “Ridiculous or not, that is my vow,” he said adamantly. For the benefit of his other companions, he added, “Even with my power, I cannot defeat half a legion alone. We must get past Tyrranis’s army to reach the Bendwater River. Once we’re over that, we’re out of his jurisdiction. He wouldn’t dare bring his armed troops into Sarcithia without Governor Antonine’s permission.”

Karez spat at the ground. “And just how do you propose to elude the Tarns? Do we fly like birds?”

Something in Karez’s snide words triggered a sudden inspiration. “No,” Valorian said in a voice tinged with satisfaction. “We’ll tunnel like Carrocks!”

The effect of that statement was everything Valorian could have wanted. Karez was effectively silenced with surprise, and the others stared at their chieftain as if he had suddenly lost his sanity.

“Tell the people to make torches and to gather all the firewood they can carry. Fill the water bags, too. If all goes well, we should be underground about three days.” He turned on his heel and quickly mounted Hunnul to hide the shadow of doubt creeping into his own face. “I’ll ride ahead to the cave entrance to contact the Carrocks. Aiden, you and Ranulf bring the caravan as soon as it is ready.”

Hunnul cantered away before they could respond and headed toward the valley and the cave not far away where Valorian and his friends had come out of the Carrocks’ underworld last winter. The chieftain groaned inwardly as they left the Clan behind. He had blurted out his nebulous idea without any consideration, and now he was stuck with hadn’t thought about how he was going to contact the Carrocks or how they would react to an invasion of people and animals into their realm. What if they didn’t agree? Then what would he do?

If his plan worked, however, the Clan would save several days of travel and come out of the caverns south of the Tarns’ position, only a day or two from the Bendwater River. That alone would be worth the risk of taking such a large caravan through the subterranean passages. But only if the Carrocks agreed. Without their willingness to tolerate the intrusion, the clanspeople would be in even worse trouble.

Hunnul slowed to a trot over the rocky trail and passed by a huge old pine with a double trunk. Valorian remembered that tree, and he counted five hills to the valley where the cave opened out of the mountains. They topped the slope of the fifth hill to drop sharply down into a valley strewn with small trees and early spring flowers. The cave opening was about half a league into the valley, disguised by a grove of scrub oak, cedar, and pine. Valorian found its entrance by memory and sent Hunnul clattering into the cool, dim interior.

How will you find the Carrocks, master? Hunnul asked in Valorian’s mind. The sound of the stallion’s hooves echoed in the hollow spaces.

“I don’t think I can,” Valorian answered. “They will have to find me.”

They rode deeper into the cavern until the light from the entrance was a mere pinprick and Valorian was forced to form a sphere of glowing light. In its pale illumination, he stopped Hunnul and let the silence settle around them. After a thoughtful pause, he drew more magic to his bidding, armed a spell, and raised his hands to his mouth. Loud and strong: carried on the power of his magic, his call rang down into the depths like a pealing bell to summon the denizens of the eternal rock and endless night.

He waited for a long time while his hands and feet grew cold and his doubts hardened. After what seemed an endless wait, he called again and continued to listen in the darkness. Hunnul relaxed a hind leg and let his neck droop. Only his ears pointing toward the black passage indicated his alert awareness.

Valorian was considering riding deeper into the tunnel when Hunnul raised his head, his nostrils flaring at a familiar scent. They come, he told his master silently.

Somewhere deep down in the passage, a heavy grating sound grumbled out of the darkness. Valorian’s stomach lurched, and his hands tightened on Hunnul’s mane. He could see only the small area lit by his sphere, but he sensed several large beings moving slowly along the tunnel toward him.

They stopped somewhere out of his sight. “Us you called, magic-wielder. Come have we,” a strange, hard voice said.

Valorian sat back in relief. “Thank you!” he cried. “I did not wish to disturb you, but I must ask for your help.” He quickly explained the Clan’s danger and his wish to travel through the Carrocks’ caverns. “I would not ask this of you if it weren’t desperately important. We are seeking to leave this land, and if we are successful, we will never bother you again.”

A different stony voice responded, “And if successful you are not?” Valorian gave a dry chuckle. “There won’t be any of us left to worry about.”

There was a lengthy pause. No sound or movement disturbed the earth’s silence. Then the first grating voice said, “Come, magic-wielder. For the sake of the Mother, pass may your people. But beware you must! Stray not from the path nor touch the works of the Carrocks. Watch we will!”

The heavy sound of stone moving on stone came again and vanished, leaving the tunnel in emptiness.

Valorian leaned his arms on Hunnul’s neck as his breath slipped away in a ragged sigh. There was barely time to savor his relief before Aiden, Ranulf, and the vanguard of armed warriors came trotting into the cave. Valorian turned back to meet them.

He was surprised to see the afternoon sun shining into the valley, for he hadn’t realized so much time had passed. The long procession of wagons, carts, and riders was already winding its way up toward the cave entrance.

“We have permission to pass,” Valorian called to Aiden. His triumphant smile spoke more than words to his young brother, who raised his fist in a victory salute.

The chieftain quickly joined his leaders and explained the length of the trail, a brief description of things to expect, and the reasons for his drastic plan. “Pass on my words,” he commanded, “but don’t let anyone slow down to think or balk. Keep the wagons and herds moving! Also warn everyone not to stray from the trail or touch anything beside the trail. We must obey the Carrocks.”

One of the family leaders rolled his eyes at the dark tunnel and exclaimed, “Gods above! The Carrocks really exist?”

“Yes!” Aiden replied, the respect from his previous experience with them still strong in his voice. “Believe me, you do not want to anger these beings.”

At that moment, the first of the laden wagons rolled into the entrance, and the driver automatically hauled back on his reins, confused by the idea of entering a cavern.

“I’ll keep them moving,” Aiden said to Valorian.

The chieftain nodded his thanks, and with the vanguard at his side, he grinned at the wagon driver, grabbed the bridle of the harnessed horse, and personally led the first wagon into the cave and down into the buried gloom.