Valorian (11 page)

"Ranulf is supposed to be on guard duty," Aiden snapped, startling Valorian out of his reverie. "If he's asleep again, I'll slit his gut."

Valorian shot a look at the place on the high point where a guard usual y stayed, but there was no sign of one. He frowned. Every Clan camp stationed guards to protect itself from unwelcome visitors or surprise attacks. One unwary guard could mean disaster.

The two riders hurried on along the trail past the promontory and through a copse of tal pines. The path rose up a low slope, then dipped down again to the val ey floor and the wide, grassy meadow.

Valorian and Aiden went as far as the top of the slope before they stopped and looked down on the camp.

At first glance, the valley looked normal. A few horses grazed peacefully at the far eastern end where the grass was the thickest. Some goats and sheep were being herded by several smal boys to the stream that tumbled beside the sheer slopes of the northern wal . The camp itself lay quietly in the sunshine, just below the riders' positions.

Valorian's hand edged to his sword and silently drew it. Something was wrong. He could sense it.

The camp was too quiet. There was no sign of anyone among the tents or by the central fire, and the surrounding area was strangely empty.

"Where is everyone?" he murmured.

Aiden didn't hear him. "What did that?" he asked incredulously and pointed to Valorian's sword.

The clansman glanced at his blade, then stared at it in amazement. He had had no reason to draw it on the journey home and hadn't looked at it since that rainy afternoon on the ridge.

Something incredible had happened to it. The blade had been burned black by some powerful heat that not only scorched the blade down to the hilt, but also melted the edges in ripples at the point.

Instead of a straight, hammered blade, the sword looked much like a long flame. In disgust, Valorian slammed the weapon back in its sheath. The sword had been his father's and grandfather's before him.

Now it was probably useless, and short of stealing a Tarnish blade, he had no means of getting another.

"I don't know what did that," he snapped. "Now, where is everyone?"

Aiden gazed at the man for a long moment. He loved his brother too much to doubt him, but this mystery of Valorian's reappearance was beginning to bother him. He gestured toward the camp. "Most of the men and boys are' either out hunting or looking for you, and Mother Willa said something about taking the women out to gather herbs and greens. I don't know about everyone else."

The sharp tone in Aiden's voice brought Valorian's irritation up short. He didn't need to take his frustrations out on his brother. He was about to apologize when he heard a sound that turned his blood cold.

Voices had suddenly raised in anger from the corrals where the camp's best horses and breeding stock were kept.

The pens were near the stream and out of his sight behind some trees, yet he stil recognized the shouting voices. One was Kierla, yelling at another voice that belonged to Sergius Valentius, General Tyrranis's tax collector.

"Oh, gods," groaned Aiden. "He came early! That weasel came two days early!"

All at once, Kierla's shout changed to a cry of fury and fear, and Valorian's heart fell to his knees. He reacted instantly by clamping his legs to Hunnul's sides and grabbing the black mane. The stallion rocketed forward from a standstill to a full gallop down the trail through the trees, with Aiden right behind.

Like a thunderbolt, the black charged through the edge of camp, past the refuse pile, and out of the trees into the wide clearing where the corrals stood. At his master's command, he came sliding to a stop almost on his haunches and neighed in excitement. His sudden appearance brought everyone in the corrals to a shocked standstill.

Valorian's face tightened with rage when he took in the scene in the nearest large corral. One Tarnish soldier was leading four pregnant mares out through the gate with the obvious intention of taking them, and two more soldiers held a small group of clanspeople at bay with swords. The mares were the family's last brood mares of pure Harachan blood, the ancient strain of Clan-bred horse, and the finest of Valorian's breeding stock.

Kierla had apparently tried to stop the Tarns with little success. She lay struggling on her back in the dust of the corral where Sergius had knocked her. The Tarnish tax collector was tying her wrists together.

He looked up when Hunnul burst into the clearing, and an arrogant smirk crossed his swarthy, pinched features. "You're late with your tribute, Valorian," he shouted. "I've had to come collect it myself, and that will cost you."

Kierla started violently, nearly pulling her wrists free. Her fact twisted toward her husband with a crazy combination of hope, joy, anger, and outrage as she fought to escape the Tarn's grip.

Sergius merely chuckled with appreciation before he hauled her to her feet and shoved her toward his saddled horse.

Deep within Valorian's mind, an unconscious power flickered to existence. It surged hotter in his anger, coursing through his veins and energizing his tired body. Fiercer and stronger it grew until his skin tingled with its energy. But Valorian didn't recognize the magic. He saw only his beloved wife being pushed toward the Tarn's horse. There had been other women forcibly taken from the Clan to satisfy Tyrranis's lust, and they had never returned. He kicked Hunnul forward.

Sergius saw the movement and drew his knife on Kierla.

"One more move, clansman, and this woman wil feed the buzzards." He curled his lip at the expression on Valorian's face, then deliberately shoved Kierla up against his horse and ripped the bodice of her dress.

Valorian gave no thought to what he did next; he simply reacted. A fragment of his dream suddenly came into sharp clarity, revealing in his mind the picture of a deadly blue bolt of energy. He raised his hand and threw it forward.

Out of his body, formed by the goddess's gift, came a sizzling blast of magic that seared through the afternoon air, struck Sergius full on the chest, and slammed him to the ground. Kierla was knocked off her feet, and the Tarn's horse reared in terror, snapped its rein, and galloped away.

For a long, silent breath, the tableau froze in time. No one moved, no one spoke. They could only gape at Valorian.

The clansman was staring at his hand. In one stunning instant the remaining pieces of his dream fel into place, and he knew with utter certainty that what had happened in his memory was true. He had been struck by lightning and died; he had rescued the crown of Amara from the gorthlings, and she in gratitude had returned him to life with his power to wield magic intact. The enormity of his ability suddenly struck him like a blow, and he lifted his eyes to Sergius's smoking body, appalled by what he had done.

The smal movement shattered the shocked silence. The three Tarnish soldiers bolted as one for their horses, but Aiden moved faster. He yanked out his bow and shouted, "Stop them!" The soldier nearest Valorian staggered and fell with two of Aiden's arrows in his back. The second was killed with a dagger thrown by one of the elderly men in the group. The third nearly made it to his horse before he was brought down by a wel -aimed rock from a sling.

Valorian didn't move during the kil ing. He was too overwhelmed by his own thoughts. It wasn't until Kierla walked over to stand in front of Hunnul that he forced himself to look down at her.

Her green eyes were snapping with suspicion, and her expression was cold. Kierla wasn't a beauty at any time in her life, least of all when she was angry. Her look of outrage set over her straight nose, large teeth, and longish face gave her a faint resemblance to a horse ready to snap. The freckles on her fair skin were lost in a red flush, and her dark eyebrows glowered over her eyes. The long, dark hair that hung in a single plait over her shoulder was tangled and dusty. She paid no attention to her torn bodice, letting the shreds hang open.

Valorian thought he had never seen her look so lovely.

"Who are you?" she hissed fiercely. "You look like Valorian, but he cannot do what you have done.

Who are you?" The clansman dismounted like a weary old man and stood by Hunnul's head. The other clanspeople—his two aunts, some cousins, KierIa's uncle, and several children gathered around him.

Their faces were wary and fearful. The look of relief and welcome had even faded from Aiden's expression.

Valorian could hardly blame them. He had appeared out of nowhere with a power only the gods had heretofore wielded.

"Perhaps it's a gorthling," he heard a young cousin say softly.

"Too big," KierIa's uncle stated. "Could be a ghost."

"Maybe he's a Harbinger," an aunt murmured. The people sucked in their breath at that possibility and took a step backward.

Only Kierla didn't back away. She faced the man before her, scrutinizing every detail of his face. She looked past the dirt and the bruise on his temple and the scruffy beard to the unchanging characteristics of the man's face. If this wasn't Valorian, it was an exact copy of him down to the cleft in his chin, the straight line of his nose, and the scar on his forehead. The eyes were the same brilliant blue, too, but there was a cast about them that was subtly different. They were harder, more piercing, as if forged in fire and set with the farseeing vision of an eagle. Her anger began to fade to confusion. She moved closer, and, trembling, she reached out to touch his cheek.

"I am Valorian," he said directly to her, and she knew then it was true. Whatever doubt or fear she had, she cast it aside and fell into Valorian's arms.

Later that night the entire family, fifty-two people in all, gathered around the central fire after the evening meal to hear Valorian's tale. He told them everything, from the moment he decided to give the Tarnish soldiers his meat to his return to the Clan. The clanspeople listened, spellbound, to his every word.

When he finished his story, he formed a sphere of light over the camp and watched his people stare at it in rapt' silence. He wondered what they were thinking. Were they terrified of his new power?

Awestruck? Disbelieving? He felt al of that and more. One question kept repeating itself in his thoughts-

-why him? What purpose did Amara have in sending him back to life with the ability to wield magic? was it simply gratitude or something more? He snuffed out his light.

"What do we do now?" someone said in the darkness.

The question voiced Valorian's own doubts. He real y didn't know what to do now. The family was in serious trouble because of the killing of four Tarns. If Tyrranis found out, he would slaughter every man, woman, and child without mercy. They would have to move quickly. He rubbed his hand, which was still numb from the lightning strike, and tried to think. Whatever reason the goddess had for returning him to life would probably be revealed in time. Meanwhile, he still had the elusive mountain pass and his determination to find it. Amara had said nothing about his request for a new life for the Clan, so he proposed to seek it himself.

"It would be wise to leave here immediately," he said as if to himself, "so we will go to Stonehelm. I must talk to Lord Fearral." He lapsed into silence, his gaze lost in the dying embers of the fire.

Sensing his brother's exhaustion, Aiden rose to his feet. "Ranulf, since you were the one who fell asleep and let the Tarns slip by, you can come with me to dispose of their dies." Shamefaced, the young man nodded as Aiden went on. "The boys can bring in the rest of the herds. Jendar, you and two others tear down the corrals. If we all move fast, we can have this camp obliterated by tomorrow afternoon."

Nods and murmurs of assent moved around the campfire.

With a great effort, Valorian pulled himself to his feet and put his hand on Aiden's shoulder in thanks. He felt Kierla's strong arm take his. To a sincere chorus of goodnights and blessings from his family, Valorian followed his wife to their tent.

He would have thought he was too exhausted for passion in the warmth of their blankets, but Kierla's closeness brought a new strength surging from his innermost being. They made love with a desire and yearning that surprised them both and left them gasping and giggling in the tangle of covers.

Later, in the dark of the night, Kierla put her hand on her lower abdomen. It had happened at last.

She did not need the midwifery of Mother Willa to tell her—she knew. As surely as she had recognized her husband, she now recognized the son who had been conceived in the dizzying heights of their love.

Her heart sang. Praise to Amara, she wanted to cry. The goddess had given her husband a gift; now she had given one to her. The greatest of all blessings.

Kierla felt hot tears trickle down her cheeks. Whatever purpose the gods had for returning Valorian, it had to be for the good. Only that would explain why, after fifteen years of emptiness, she had conceived a child on the night of his return.

Kierla smiled in wonder before she snuggled closer to her sleeping husband. "Thank you," she whispered into the night.

For the second time in his life, Valorian slept past noon the following day. He woke slowly, luxuriously, on his pallet of furs to find his wife had left a bowl of meat and some hard bread by his blankets. He ate ravenously, washing down the food with long swallows of ale until the bowl was scraped clean.

When he rose to dress, he discovered his clothes had been cleaned and mended and left for him by the sleeping curtain. Outside, he could hear the noisy activity of the clanspeople breaking camp. He dressed quickly, for there was one more thing he wanted to do before he went to work. He wanted a shave.

Valorian stretched his right hand and fingers, wondering if he could handle a shaving knife. He felt better than he had in days, but his hand was stil rather numb and difficult to use. He wondered if he would ever regain the feeling in his hand or shake the strange heat that warmed his body. Now that he could remember the lightning strike, he knew where the strange injuries to him and the burn on Hunnul's shoulder had come from. He was sure it was only because of Amara that the damage wasn't any worse. He also realized how his sword had been ruined.