Valorian

4

Like a summons, the thundering boom echoed down the tunnel, deep and resonant, shaking the walls and causing the floor to tremble. Hunnul came to a dead stop in frightened surprise. Valorian tried to stifle his own apprehension as he calmed the nervous stallion. He stared around warily at the smooth floor, the rough-hewn walls, and the ceiling that loomed overhead. There was nothing to be seen in the glow thrown by his light. Just ahead, the blackness of the tunnelled downward into the depths of the mountain. There was no noise, no movement, no indication whatsoever of life; even the man who had entered a short time before was gone. Yet Valorian sensed the presence of something close by. There was a coldness in the air that chilled him to the bone and raised the hairs on his neck. Warily he clutched his sword and, mentally pushing his sphere of light ahead of them to show the way, kneed Hunnul forward down into the implacable darkness.

They walked slowly downward for what seemed a very long time. The tunnel ran straight for a few paces, then turned to the right and immediately curved left again. It continued its erratic course, zigzagging through the mountain until Valorian had no idea what direction they were going except down. There were no side openings or forks in the trail; it seemed to be the only way in, leading irrevocably down to some destination known only to the gods and the gorthlings.

The tunnel remained empty and silent. The only noise Valorian could hear was the soft clip-clop of Hunnul’s hooves on the floor, yet the clansman knew they were not alone. The feeling of a presence close by grew stronger by the moment. Something was watching them, he knew it. The back of his neck prickled and his body was rigid with tension while he strained every sense into the darkness surrounding them. Every now and again he half saw a whisk of movement at the farthest reaches of his light, as if something was getting out of the way of the strange magical illumination. He imagined the gorthlings, if that’s what were out there, were rather surprised by a soul entering their domain with a horse, a sword, and a sphere of magical light. He just hoped their amazement would keep them at bay for a while longer.

The cold, fetid draft was stronger now, and the mountain seemed to weigh heavily over their heads. Hunnul walked on, ever downward, his ears swiveling like a deer’s and his nostrils flaring to red cups. The stallion was so tense he was practically stepping on the tips of his hooves.

Valorian lost all track of time. He didn’t know how long they walked in the stinking, cold darkness or how far they had gone. His sense of reality shrank to a small circle of light surrounded by unseen evil and imagined horrors.

After a while, he became aware of harsh whispers in the blackness behind him. A pattering sound, like many small feet, echoed down the tunnel, and now and again there was a crashing noise as if a rock had been dislodged. Once Valorian thought he heard an agonized shriek from somewhere in the darkness, but it was impossible to tell from which direction it came, and the hideous sound was cut off almost as quickly as it began. Valorian swallowed hard and wondered where the soul of the dead man had gone—and where were the gorthlings?

Hunnul pushed on until he was almost jogging along the passage. The sound of his hooves rang around them, yet the noise didn’t hide the skittering and whispering sounds in the shaft behind them. All at once something small scooted out of the blackness and gave Hunnul’s tail a vicious yank. The stallion squealed in fury and lashed back with a foot just a moment too late. The creature was already gone into the darkness before either man or horse could see it.

Valorian cursed under his breath. This journey was growing intolerable. He could hardly bear to continue simply riding into a blind trap while an unseen menace lurked at his heels. He wanted to stand and fight, to see his enemies and drive them away. But the evil things in the darkness stayed out of sight, and all he could do was keep going.

Warily he and Hunnul continued on, winding their way downward into the mountain fastness. It wasn’t long before the creatures behind them grew bolder. Their whispers changed to malicious laughter that grated on Valorian’s already stretched self—control. Rocks flew out of the dark to land with a crash near Hunnul’s feet or strike with stinging pain on Valorian’s back. Shadows small and swift dashed maddeningly in and out of the rim of Valorian’s light.

“Come forth and fight me, you worms!” he shouted, brandishing his sword at the taunting shadows. They merely laughed at him again with harsh, maniacal voices.

Valorian had ridden what seemed a very long distance when suddenly Hunnul snorted a fierce warning. Before the man could move, three small creatures dropped from the ceiling onto his head and shoulders. They wrenched off his helmet, threw it aside, and clutched at his head. His soul quailed at their foul touch. They reeked of evil, and their tiny, powerful fingers dug into his skin and hair like burning poison. They couldn’t draw blood or seriously injure the soul, but they could inflict agonizing pain.

With an oath, Valorian dropped his sword across his legs and tried to wrench the creatures off with his hands. They clung, screeching and yowling in his ears until he was finally able to peel two of them off and fling them against the rock walls. They bounced off the stone unharmed and ran gibbering into the darkness. The third still clung to his shoulder.

The clansman looked around, and for just a moment, he stared into the wizened, depraved face of a gorthling. Its head looked like a mummified child’s; its eyes were large and depthless, like a chasm of horror and despair. With a shudder, Valorian stabbed his sword at the wicked, grinning face. The blade sliced deep into the creature’s head, knocking it off his shoulders to the ground, but the creature clambered to its feet and vanished as quick as a rat.

“Gorthlings!” Valorian spat with loathing. Somewhere in the tunnel, a harsh, evil laugh sounded out of the unseen depths.

The man and horse didn’t wait for another attack. They hurried on, breathless and frightened, while dry, guttural voices snarled and mocked them.

“Foolish mortal,” the voices hissed. “You play your games, but you are ours.”

“They’re testing us, Hunnul,” Valorian said harshly. “They’re not yet sure what we can do.” All at once he noticed his sphere of light had dimmed during their fight with the gorthlings. He quickly concentrated on it, channeling the unfamiliar magic through his mind and into the light. To his vast relief, it flared, bright and reassuring, once more.

At that moment, he caught a glimpse of something at the edge of the renewed light. A mass of small, gibbering forms was crowding into the tunnel behind them, gathering to attack. If that many creatures caught them, he and Hunnul would never be able to fend them off.

An image of Amara’s lightning bolt flashed into his mind, and quickly Valorian raised his hand and sent a small blue bolt of his own burning into the midst of the creatures. The mass fell apart, screaming in furious surprise.

“Run!” he shouted to Hunnul.

The stallion raced forward down the tunnel, his eyes rolling white with fear. Valorian ducked his head and clung desperately to the galloping horse. He could only pray there were no sudden drop—offs or blind walls ahead. His light kept pace with them through the dark tunnel like a guiding star, and Valorian thanked his goddess at every step for the power she had given him.

Behind them, he could hear the gorthlings yowling and screeching as they chased the horse down the underground path. The man knew the creatures wouldn’t be too worried about his momentary escape, for he and Hunnul were trapped in Gormoth. The gorthlings had all of eternity to catch and subdue them.

Valorian stifled a shiver and shoved that thought out of his mind. Let the gorthlings think he and Hunnul would never escape. Perhaps then he could catch them off guard. All he and the black stallion had to do was stay out of their clutches long enough to find the crown and a way out.

Unfortunately, that didn’t look as if it were going to be easy. The tunnel’s quick turns and sharp curves made it difficult for a running horse to maintain a fast pace. Hunnul had to slow down to keep from crashing headlong into the stone walls or losing his balance. The gorthlings behind were gaining at every turn. The creatures were small, but they were fast and very familiar with the black tunnel.

Then, without warning, a hail of stones crashed down on the man and the running horse. Hunnul stumbled, and his sudden movement pitched Valorian over his head. The clansman crashed into the rock floor and lay dazed while stones fell all around them. Gorthlings laughed from the ceiling above.

One particularly large chunk just missed Valorian’s head, and the loud crack of stone on stone brought him to his senses. Desperately he scrambled back into his saddle. He was about to urge Hunnul on when several of the swiftest gorthlings caught up with them. The creatures swarmed up the horse’s back legs and attacked Valorian like vicious wildcats.

Once again he had to sheath his sword and fend them off with his hands. Three gorthlings clung to his back, so Valorian quickly yanked off his cloak, wrapped it around them, and hurled it as far as he could. Hunnul, meanwhile, had recovered his footing and cantered forward. Another gorthling was still hanging to Valorian’s arm, trying to snatch the sword. It scrabbled up his forearm, hissing as he reached for it.

Valorian was about to grab its leg when, to his surprise, the gorthling shrieked in pain and flinched away from him.

Without further attack, it dropped off and ran crying into the tunnel.

Valorian stared in amazement at his arm. What in the name of Sorh had hurt that gorthling? Nothing he or Hunnul had done had harmed it. Why did this one flee? He studied his arm as best he could with the erratic movements of his horse, but he could see nothing unusual.

Except maybe one thing. In the folds of his heavy winter tunic glittered the gold armband his wife had given him on their betrothal. It was his most precious personal possession and one he wore on his upper arm at all times. When he had pulled his cloak off, the armband had been exposed, and the gorthling had touched it. Could it be that the gorthlings were afraid of gold?

If this were true, Valorian wished he had a whole chest of gold. One small armband wasn’t going to help much against a swarm of gorthlings. Still, it was a fact worth remembering.

While the man was thinking of gold, the horse continued to canter down the tunnel. The path seemed straighter now, but steeper, forcing the black to slow down again. They both could hear the gorthlings following them, for the harsh voices reverberated through the hollow darkness.

Moments later, Valorian noticed the passageway ahead was growing lighter. The brightness didn’t come from his sphere, nor was it the clear light of day. The light was yellowish and uneven—more like firelight. The air had changed, too, becoming warmer and more heavy with the smell of superheated rock.

The clansman had only a moment to wonder about it before Hunnul galloped through an archway and into a large grotto. The light immediately intensified; the stench of molten rock struck their nostrils like a blow. Valorian took one horrified look and brought Hunnul to a sliding stop.

Before them, the path continued on through a giant cavern, except now it was no more than a narrow ledge that wound along the wall on the left side of the cavern. About twenty feet directly below the trail was a wide, slow-flowing river of lava that was moving downward toward the center of the mountain. Valorian had never seen molten rock before, and’ its heat and ponderous, deadly current staggered him. He didn’t need an explanation to know that it would be agony to fall into that river of liquid stone.

On the other hand, he and Hunnul couldn’t stand around and wait for the gorthlings to catch them. They had to keep going. Swiftly Valorian dismounted and, after a few reassuring words to his horse, led Hunnul onto the thin, crumbling ledge.

The trail was barely wide enough for the big horse. Hunnul had to pick his way very carefully along the cracked and cluttered ledge with his barrel rubbing along the stone wall and his hooves bare inches from the drop—off. He nickered nervously, and Valorian reached back to rub his nose.

It was that movement that saved the clansman from the torment of the lava, for just as Valorian turned to comfort his horse, a blob of molten rock splattered against the wall by his head.

Valorian instinctively spun to face the danger. There, running along the surface of the lava river, were five gorthlings. They didn’t seem to be bothered by the heat or the fluidity of the lava but ran over the surface as if it were solid ground. One scooped up a handful of the stuff and lobbed it toward the path above.

At that moment, the pursuing group of about fifteen or twenty gorthlings emerged from the tunnel. They whooped with glee when they saw the man and the horse on the ledge and the gorthling reinforcements on the river. With incredible agility, they scampered like wizened monkeys along the trail after their quarry.

“You can run, nag-rider,” the gorthlings on the river called rudely, “but you haven’t got much farther you can go!”

“Let’s see you jump, you useless heap of guts,” one of the gorthlings on the ledge taunted. It flung a rock at Valorian to punctuate his point. The rest of the creatures followed suit, hurling a tormenting rain of stones, lava blobs, and insults.

Valorian and Hunnul frantically forced their way along the trail in an effort to escape the merciless barrage. They had only taken a few steps when two rocks struck Hunnul on the rump, and at the same time a handful of lava splattered around Valorian’s legs. The clansman cried out and tried to shake the burning blobs from his leggings. The molten rock didn’t actually burn his skin, but the pain was there as real and terrible as in life. The stallion squealed, leaped forward, and nearly plowed the man off the ledge.

Valorian, clenching his teeth to ward off the pain, held on to Hunnul’s mane with every ounce of his strength. Panic rose like bile in his throat. He tried to think through the jumble of pain and fear in his mind. He had to do something fast before one or both of them fell off the ledge into the lava or were overwhelmed by the gorthlings. What he needed was a shield, or better yet, a shelter. Then, like a little spark, a coherent thought clicked in his mind, and Amara’s words sprang out of his memory. He could use his power as a weapon or as a shield.

Immediately he closed his eyes and tried to imagine a shelter around himself and Hunnul, a tent perhaps, clear, so he could see through it, permeable so they could breathe, and impervious to any kind of weapon. He concentrated, ignoring the pain, the falling stones, the frightened horse, and the gorthlings. He felt the power of magic flow through him, a little unsteadily at first, then warm and increasingly more comfortable. Slowly he raised his hands, lifting them over his head and down in the shape of a domed tent.

Something seemed to be happening around him, for the stones were no longer hitting him, and the gorthlings seemed to be howling in rage.

Valorian felt Hunnul stop his terrified prancing. Slowly he opened his eyes. He and Hunnul were completely surrounded by a pale red tent of glowing energy, while just outside, the gorthlings leaped and yelled in frustration as their missiles bounced harmlessly off the magical walls.

Valorian took a deep breath. He brushed off the last of the cooling splattered lava from his legs and took a moment to examine Hunnul. The stallion seemed to be well enough. He had calmed down and was standing on the ledge, his eyes warily watching the gorthlings outside.

“Come on, boy,” Valorian said softly. “Let’s try this again.”

Step by step they walked forward along the path, the shelter moving with them like a faintly glowing shield. The gorthlings surrounded them on both sides of the trail and followed their every step. The creatures attacked the shelter in a frenzy of rage, but their attempts to break it with their fists and hurled stones were useless.

The man studied his attackers as he led Hunnul along the trail. The gorthlings were small, vicious, evil, and had dominion over the souls that entered Gormoth. But unlike the Harbingers, they hadn’t yet shown any power of their own to wield magic. Valorian thanked the gods for that blessing. Despite his luck with his spells thus far, he realized he was barely tapping the surface of the vast reservoirs of magic. He would be in serious trouble if he had to face an opponent who was skilled in using the power.

He was also beginning to notice that wielding magic could be tiring. He and Hunnul were only halfway along the treacherous trail through the cavern, and already he was feeling the effort of maintaining the shelter. It took more concentration and mental willpower than he expected.

To help conserve his strength, he banished the sphere of light and struggled along the trail, leading Hunnul by the flickering glow of the lava river. Ahead, at the opposite end of the cavern, he could see where the trail entered the rock wall once more. Valorian focused on that black hole while he struggled to hold his shelter intact. As his strength slowly drained away, the tent of energy started to fade.

Twenty paces from the tunnel entrance, the trail began to widen. Valorian hauled himself onto Hunnul’s back. He was so weary he knew he would have to stop using his shield.

The gorthlings realized it, too, and increased their efforts to break through.

At ten paces from the tunnel, Valorian made his move. In one motion, he clamped his legs against Hunnul’s sides, dissolved the magic shield, and bent low over the stallion’s neck. Hunnul responded as he had been trained to do. In a violent lunge forward, he burst through the crowd of gorthlings on the trail and plunged into the darkness of the tunnel entrance at a full gallop, leaving the angry creatures behind.

Valorian immediately renewed his sphere of light—it didn’t use as much strength or concentration to maintain and urged on his horse. He wanted to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the gorthlings. He knew with a sinking certainty that he didn’t have the strength at that moment to put up another shield or fend off another attack.

The tunnel was straighter now and still sloping downhill. Valorian wondered how far they had traveled into the mountain and how long they had been there. Surely this trail came to an end somewhere. So far he had seen no other paths, other souls, or any sign of Amara’s crown. There seemed to be only the gorthlings and the featureless tunnel winding endlessly through the mountain.

After a short while, the clansman felt his stallion’s pace begin to slow. He eased Hunnul to a halt, and together they listened in the darkness. The tunnel was silent.

Nevertheless, Hunnul pricked his ears and shifted his feet nervously. Ever alert to his horse’s cues, Valorian sharpened his own senses until he, too, was aware of a strange stirring in the tunnel. The cold, fetid draft that had blown into his face most of the way was gone; the air was almost still. Only a faint stir in the heavy, damp atmosphere signaled that something was changing. Valorian reached out curiously and touched the rock wall. To his surprise, he could feel a slight vibration in the stone.

Then he felt another movement. A tiny arm was reaching out of a crevice in the wall for the hilt of his dagger in his belt. As quick as a snake, Valorian grabbed the arm and yanked hard. A struggling gorthling emerged from the crack. At first it fought to get away, but then it changed tactics and clung to his left wrist and hand like a burr. It hissed at him, its sharp, pointed ears flattened against its skull. Hunnul pranced forward nervously.

Valorian tried to flip the gorthling off, but it held on with a painful grip. He was about to smash it against the wall when he saw more gorthlings behind them. The pursuers had caught up with them faster than he had expected.

Still holding the gorthling in his left hand, Valorian raised his right hand and fired a bolt of energy at the pack to slow them down. He felt the magic suddenly erupt through him, and to his complete amazement, a fiery burst of brilliant blue, hotter and stronger than anything he had formed before, sizzled through the tunnel air and exploded in the crowded mob of gorthlings. They fled, screaming, into the blackness.

Valorian didn’t waste time wondering how he had found such strength or trying to pry off the gorthling. He clamped his fingers around its neck and sent Hunnul into a canter before the other creatures could regroup. While the stallion moved forward at a fast pace, Valorian used his free hand to slide his gold armband down to his wrist.

The gorthling saw the gold coming and shrieked. It struggled to escape as the clansman’s fingers held it in a merciless grip and forced the golden ring over its small head.

Valorian had suspected that gold had some power over the gorthlings, and he was right. As soon as the armband settled down around the creature’s neck like a collar, the gorthling stilled and hung limply in the man’s hand.

Valorian gave it a gentle shake. “Can you talk?” he demanded.

“Yesss,” it hissed sullenly.

“Where is Amara’s crown?”

The gorthling laughed a sharp, wicked sound. “So! She sent you! What a choice. You worm-spined, offal-tongued son of a cave rat!” Its ugly face twisted into a sneer. “Follow this path and you will find it.”

The clansman tried another question. “Are there other tunnels into Gormoth?”

Again the gorthling laughed and spat at him. “Of course, stupid mortal. There are lots of ways to get in, but you’ll never get out!”

Valorian’s mouth tightened. The little brute was only telling him things he had already guessed. However, during their talk, he had noticed that his sphere was burning much brighter and his strength had returned in full measure. As an experiment, he set the gorthling on the pommel of his saddle.

“Stay there,” he ordered and let go of its neck. Two interesting things happened. First, the gorthling obeyed him, and second, the light dimmed to its previous intensity. Once again Valorian picked up the creature; the sphere brightened.

“Gorthlings have no power of their own to wield magic, do they?” he stated in dawning comprehension.

“Ooooh! The bonehead catches on quick!”

Valorian ignored the gorthling’s insulting words. He was too busy trying to understand the puzzles and possibilities of his captive. “Why not?” he demanded. “The Harbingers can wield magic.”

The gorthling hissed at the mention of the Harbingers. “Those goodie—boys,” it said with a sneer. “Oh, yes! Lord Sorh favors them. He gives them magic; he gives them nags; he lets them go anywhere. But us? His guardians of lost souls? His faithful servants? He says we have no need of magic power. All we get is this prison hole with its fire and winds!”

The clansman pursed his lips, worried. He had seen the fire in the lava river, but where was the wind? “What wind?” he wanted to know.

Abruptly the gorthling burst into laughter that sounded like the howls of a demented child to Valorian. It made the man’s skin crawl. “You’ll see. It’s where all mortals go when they enter Gormoth. Listen and you can hear it now!”

The clansman slowed the stallion to a jog and listened to the darkness. The creature was right. The changes they had noticed earlier had become more apparent. The draft at their backs was growing into a full breeze, the vibration was increasing to a trembling that shook the walls and floor, and both Hunnul and Valorian could hear a distant steady roaring that seemed to originate from somewhere ahead. The gorthling twisted his expression into a rude smile.

Valorian’s apprehension rose in a cold wave, and he asked harshly, “What is that?”

“The wind,” the creature cackled.

Valorian wanted to squeeze the gorthling to pulp, but he didn’t think that would help much. Instead, he asked, “All right, then tell me this—what power does my gold band have over you?”

The gorthling snarled and hissed before it finally answered, “As long as you force me to wear this nasty stuff, I must obey you.”

“Why?”

“Gold is the metal of the gods,” the creature replied fiercely. “Gorthlings must always bow to the sacred gold of the deities. Mortals aren’t supposed to bring it into Gormoth or wield magic. That’s not fair!” it said sulkily.

“Why do you increase my power when you are in contact with me?” the clansman prodded.

“I’m immortal, idiot. Immortals have that effect on mortal filth like you. Not that it will do you much good,” the gorthling chuckled with malice. “There is no escape, and you can’t control us all. We’ll have your soul dumped in the pit before you can spit.”

The clansman made no further comment. Instead, he wrapped his fingers around the gorthling’s neck and stared thoughtfully ahead into the black tunnel while Hunnul jogged down the slope, deeper and deeper into the roots of the vast mountain. Gradually the roaring noise increased, the wind blew harder until it pulled at Hunnul’s mane and tail, and the walls began to shake from the force of some monstrous, unknown power.

The closer they drew to the unknown source of the noise, the more sounds they could discern in the thundering roar. There was gorthling laughter and human sounds, too shrieks and cries and a wailing that never seemed to stop. Valorian felt his soul grow cold. There were no tales in the mortal world that accurately described the innermost secrets of Gormoth. What happened within its dark heart was known only to its tormented prisoners, the gorthlings, and the gods.

Sooner than he wanted, Valorian saw the end of the tunnel. A strange, hot, wavering light gleamed through an arched doorway not far ahead. The deep-throated roaring was now painfully loud. The gorthling snickered.

Hunnul slowed to a hesitating walk, stepped cautiously through the archway, and stopped dead in his tracks. They had entered a tremendous circular cave as large as any mountain in the mortal world. Appalled, Valorian rose in his stirrups and looked down where the trail stopped in a sheer drop-off into a chasm whose bottom was lost in the unfathomable depths of Ealgoden. But it wasn’t the frightening bottomless chasm, the immense size of the cavern, or the disappearance of the trail that transfixed the man; it was what roared in the center of that vast space.

Valorian stared in awe. He had never imagined anything so horrendous. Down below him, in the middle of the great cavern, hung a monstrous, thundering tornado of wind and fire. In the lurid light of its massive form, he could see where the molten rock of the lava river flowed out of an opening in the rock wall below and was sucked and swirled into the tremendous vortex, forming a maelstrom of searing heat and flailing winds that remained fixed in place over a pit of darkness beyond imagination.

Worst of all were the souls Valorian could see trapped in the spinning maw of the giant funnel. There were countless numbers of them, indistinguishable in the fire and violent winds, and they all cried in hopelessness and agony from their prison in a ceaseless, eternal lament that tore at Valorian’s heart.

“There’s the wind, bonehead. Welcome home!” sneered the gorthling. When the man did not reply, it bobbed its head and went on with glee. “Lord Sorh put that there for our prisoners. Once you’re in it, we will never let you go.”

The man ignored it with an effort. Gritting his teeth, he forced .his eyes away from the whirlwind. Instead, he looked up toward the ceiling of the cavern, which was lit by a pale golden glow, and saw something else that made him lean forward with relief. There was the object of his quest at last.

The roof of the vast space was festooned with stalactites of every length and diameter in a startling variety of colors. In the exact center of the ceiling was the largest stalactite: a huge, long spear of stone that hung over the whirlwind like a weapon ready to drop, and there, jammed tightly onto the tip, was a circular object that glowed with a radiance all its own. The clansman didn’t need to ask the gorthling if that object was Amara’s crown—he knew it was. In the hellish winds and burning fires, the crown shimmered with a pure beauty that did not belong in this evil place.

Now all he had to do was think of a way to reach it.

There was certainly no immediate solution. There were no trails in the cave, no ledges or handholds on the smooth, sheer walls, and no bridges. There were what looked like three other tunnel entrances exactly like the one he and Hunnul were standing by, but they were spaced out along the walls of the cavern at equal distances and may as well have been in another world. Valorian shook his head, his hopes almost dead. There was no way to go . . . and almost no more time.

Gorthlings were gathering in the tunnel behind them again, and Valorian could see other gorthlings creeping along the walls of the cavern toward his position.

The creature in his hand cackled. “Save us some effort, nag rider. Jump! We’ll go easier on you.” Valorian glanced down at his prisoner, then back to the stalactite and the whirlwind. He studied the black hole far away on the opposite wall for a moment, and a vague plan began to form in his mind. “Quickly,” he snapped, giving the gorthling a shake. “What are those other openings?”

“Other tunnels, dung-breath. I told you there were lots of ways to get into Gormoth. You just can’t get out!” The gorthling howled in glee.

Four entrances? So there were other ways to get out—if he could reach one. Valorian’s hopes rose a little as he silently worked out his plan. It would be tricky at best. He would need every shred of power the gorthling could give him, a huge share of luck, and the help of one black stallion. If he failed, he and Hunnul would fall into the whirlwind, and there would be no escape from that.

He shifted his weight in the saddle, silently signaling Hunnul with his toes. The stallion automatically backed up several steps until they were within the tunnel again. The gorthlings behind them hooted with laughter.

“You’ve seen your fate, mortal,” one shouted. “What’s the matter? Are you scared?” Their crude, harsh laughter made Hunnul flatten his ears.

Valorian disregarded their noise, thankful that the creatures were hanging back for the moment. They were probably, waiting to see what the clansman with the magic powers was going to do. In the cavern, the other gorthlings were almost to the tunnel entrance.

Valorian leaned forward and said quietly, “Hunnul, you have seen the power Lady Amara gave me. I intend to use it now, but I also need your help.” He scratched the stallion’s mane in his favorite place until Hunnul arched his neck and his ears came up. “You’ll have to trust me.”

“Trust me!” the gorthling mimicked snidely. “Don’t bother, dog food. This man will only dump you in the stew.”

The stallion tossed his head angrily.

Valorian was thoroughly sick of his little prisoner, but he needed it for just a while longer. He shot a look back at the gorthlings behind them, then at the gnarled faces peering around the edges of the tunnel entrance. It was time to move while the creatures were still hesitating. Swiftly he clamped the gorthling between his knee and the saddle leather to free his hands. Then he pictured in his mind what he wanted to do and dug his heels into the stallion’s ribs.

Hunnul obeyed without hesitation. He took four running steps forward and with a mighty heave of his powerful haunches, he leaped off the edge into space. . . and abruptly dropped. Instantly the sucking winds of the tornado caught at the horse and man and pulled them with sickening speed toward its burning funnel.

Valorian’s mind went blank with terror. The magic hadn’t worked even with the gorthling, and now they were plummeting uncontrollably into the whirlwind. Already he could feel the heat scorching his skin and the winds tearing at his body. Hunnul struggled frantically beneath him, but all Valorian could see was the whirlwind filling his sight with its horror.

Under his knee, the gorthling squirmed to get out. “You failed, mortal!” it cried over the thunder of the winds. “There’s a thought for eternity!”

Failed! The word struck Valorian like a whiplash. He had never liked to fail, and he was about to spend forever in agony, having failed his family, himself, and his goddess. The realization jerked his head up and his eyes away from the whirlwind. “Think!” he cried to himself. He couldn’t have more than a few moments left.

The magic hadn’t failed, he suddenly realized. He had. It wasn’t enough to simply imagine that his horse could jump a mighty chasm, he had to be more exact. He had to decide how Hunnul was going to jump that distance, then channel his magic into making that happen.

Valorian didn’t waste another second. With the whirlwind roaring in his ears and the swirling fires burning his skin, he remembered the great wind like an unseen hand that had carried him and Hunnul to the plain of stone. Desperately he held that memory in his mind, concentrated on exactly what he wanted, and formed his spell.

The spell was faltering and clumsy, but the magic, enhanced by the gorthling’s touch, surged through Valorian, and this time it worked. Wind from the tornado itself formed an invisible platform beneath the stallion’s body. Their descent began to slow against the relentless pull of the funnel, and just as Hunnul’s hooves skimmed the uppermost ring of fire, the horse and his rider began to rise. The stallion’s legs instinctively moved into a galloping motion, his hooves plunging through the hot air. Valorian, his jaw clenched with his effort to force the magic power to his bidding, slowly raised his palms toward the ceiling and lifted the horse higher and higher above the ferocious winds.

The gorthlings flew into shrieking fits of rage. Some hurled stones from the tunnel’s mouth, while others scampered upside down along the ceiling and threw broken stalactites at him, but their efforts were useless. Swifter than an eagle, the black stallion soared through the hot air toward the center stalactite.

Valorian braced himself in the saddle. He could feel the gorthling squirm under his knee, and he prayed its touch would enhance his powers enough to do one more thing.

He raised his hand. More magic gathered at his command until it surged through every fiber of his being. They were nearing the stalactite when he fired a blazing bolt of energy that seared through the air to the base of the stone and exploded in a shower of blue sparks. A crack as loud as thunder shot over the roar of the funnel. The stalactite shattered in an explosion of fragments, and its precious burden started to plummet toward the bottomless chasm in the heart of the whirling winds and fires.

Hunnul stretched out his neck and his legs; his nostrils flared, and his tail flew like a storm-whipped banner. Valorian reached out frantically. He caught the crown of Amara with one hand just as it dropped by Hunnul’s head. His breath went out in one great gasp. His relief was so strong, his concentration faltered, almost tumbling Hunnul sideways. But with the glowing golden crown held tightly to his chest, Valorian strengthened the supporting wind beneath Hunnul’s feet and pressed his heels into the horse’s sides.

The black steed responded with all his heart. His hooves’ dug into the invisible wind and went racing over the bottomless chasm toward the distant wall. The gorthlings yelled in fury and chased him along the cavern roof, but it was too late. With the wind at his heels, the stallion galloped the long distance to the far wall and reached it unscathed.

Carefully Valorian ended his spell just as Hunnul’s feet touched down on solid stone at the mouth of the second opening. The horse bounded forward into the passage onto a trail sloping upward and quickly left the noise and light of the cavern behind.

The tunnel was totally black, yet Valorian didn’t waste his strength on a light. Instead, he held the crown above his head and let its radiance light their way. It was no great surprise to see that this path was much like the other—lightless, twisting, and steeply sloped. There could be gorthlings watching the passage, too. That thought made Valorian queasy. He’d had enough of gorthlings and had no wish to be caught now. He and Hunnul had come too far to lose their prize.

The gorthling under his thigh finally wiggled its head free. “You’ll suffer for this,” it howled at him. “We’ll flay you alive for a thousand years and make you wish every second of eternity that you had never heard Amara’s name!”

Valorian refused to reply. He tuned his senses ahead and behind to listen for any sign of pursuit. He knew the vicious little gorthlings wouldn’t let him go without a fight. For the moment, though, he could hear nothing.

Hunnul was cantering now as fast as he could go in the zigzagging tunnel on the rising slope. Because he knew roughly what to expect in the passages, he was able to move faster through the twists and turns and dark halls.

But even Hunnul’s agile speed wasn’t enough. All too soon Valorian heard what he feared—a screeching, yowling pack of gorthlings coming up the tunnel behind them. He bent low over Hunnul’s mane, held tightly to the crown, and prayed that the stallion wouldn’t fall, that there were no lava rivers with narrow ledges, and that there were no gorthlings on the trail ahead. The cries of the creatures behind him grew louder.

Hunnul continued to run, his legs thrusting forward, his hooves pounding on the stone path, his head rising and falling with the rhythm of his flight. Black against the deep shadows, he careered through the tunnel ahead of the gorthlings, trusting his master to guide him.

Then, before man or horse realized what had happened, the trail abruptly leveled out and came to a sudden dead end before a black wall of stone. Hunnul skidded to a wild-eyed stop.

“What’s this?” Valorian cried frantically to his captive. “Where’s the tunnel?”

The gorthling chortled. “It’s the entrance, you moron, and it’s locked. This tunnel is shorter than the others.”

The noise of the pursuers was almost upon them when the clansman raised his hand. He didn’t have time to question the gorthling any further or stop to look for some means to open the door. He and Hunnul had to get out now! His power, strengthened by the gorthling’s contact, burst from his hand and exploded on the wall before him. The rock exploded outward, opening the entrance in a cascade of blue sparks and flying rock.

Hunnul stumbled out through the shattered door into the bright light. Blinded by the sudden glare, Valorian fumbled for the creature he held under his knee. He could hear the other gorthlings running up the passage and shrieking, and he knew he couldn’t let them loose in the realm of the dead.

Desperately he yanked the gold armband off the gorthling’s neck, turned, and hurled the creature as hard as he could toward the opening. Almost in the same movement, he fired a second bolt of magic into the rock above the door just as the gorthling pack appeared at the entrance. The burst was weaker than before, but it was enough to bring down a massive chunk of rock that sealed the opening shut with stone, gravel, and dirt. The enraged gorthlings vanished behind the tumbling rock.

Bit by bit the stone settled into place, and the mountain returned to silence. Valorian’s eyesight adjusted enough to see the ground, so he dismounted and leaned for a moment against Hunnul’s heaving sides. The stallion blew out his breath with a loud snort.

Valorian tried to laugh in a wave of overwhelming relief, but he could barely chuckle. Without the gorthling to sustain his strength, the heavy, unaccustomed use of magic had left him completely exhausted. Too tired to even stand, he sagged slowly to the ground and sat by the stallion’s front feet. The golden crown hung heavy in his hands.

He stared at the crown as if seeing it for the first time. In the pure light of the sacred peak, the diadem’s own radiance was as clear and golden as the dawn and as warm as the summer sun. It had four pointed rays on its front, each set with a large gem of a different shade to represent the four seasons, and its heavy rim was ornately decorated with intertwined rays of silver and vines of gold. It was a crown worthy of Amara.

Valorian was leaning forward, staring at the crown, when another glorious light illuminated the mountainside. He looked up to see four shining figures standing before him: the Clan deities Surgart, Sorh, Keath, and Amara. He knew in his heart who they were without a word being spoken, and he fell prostrate in awe.

The four deities gazed down on him, their faces benign. “You have chosen well, Sister,” he heard Sorh say to Amara.

“Do we go ahead with our plan?” she asked.

Valorian jerked slightly in surprise. Plan? What were they talking about?

Surgart nodded. “Yes. . . it is time.”

“Very well.” The mother goddess leaned over and picked up her shining crown. “Thank you, Valorian, for your courage. Your deed has won my eternal gratitude. I wish to reward you for your unselfishness and determination. Is there any boon you desire?”

The clansman slowly climbed to his feet. “I would wish something for my people.” He lifted his eyes to the goddess.

“Help them find a new home somewhere where they can flourish.”

A deep smile of satisfaction spread over Amara’s lovely face. She nodded once.

A deafening, shattering clap of thunder split Valorian’s world. The realm of the dead, the gods and goddesses, the peak of Ealgoden all vanished, and the man tumbled down into darkness. He cried out once and knew no more.