Valorian (14 page)

Lord Fearral wasn't rude enough to just go around without acknowledging the clansman, but he didn't try to stifle the grimace of irritation that settled on his face.

"My lord," Valorian bowed slightly. "A scout of mine returned last night with good news. He found—" Valorian got no further. Two long, strident notes from a sentinel's horn sounded across the fields, freezing everyone who heard them in their tracks.

"Tarns!" Mordan snapped.

Even as he spoke, the men saw a cloud of dust kicked up by a troop of horsemen coming up the eastern road.

Lord Fearral went deathly pale.

There was no time to seek the meager safety of the hal , so the chief and his guards gathered in a tight ring on the road. Valorian stayed with them, although his eyes strayed to his camp across the field by a copse of trees. He could see the women scurrying with the children into the woods and the men drawing their weapons to defend the camp if necessary. Then there was no more time for worrying.

A tax collector and a contingent of ten Tarns under the command of a sarturian came galloping up the road to Stonehelm. They brought their horses to a halt a scant six paces from the chiefs group.

"Lord Fearral, I presume," the tax collector said, his upper lip curled in distaste. He urged his mount to stand directly in front of the chief.

The man was shorter and older than Sergius, Valorian noted, but he seemed to be of the same ilk: well dressed, well fattened, and arrogant with his authority. The clansman kept his hands firmly clamped to the saddle pommel.

"Where is Sergius Valentius?" Lord Fearral asked weakly. His hands were shaking.

The tax col ector shrugged. "Who knows? Probably skipped with some tribute due to our general.

He will be found." Valorian fervently hoped not.

"In the meantime, Fearral," the man continued irritably, "I am your new collector of taxes, tributes, and gifts. Your yearly tribute is due to help maintain the glorious Tarnish Empire that defends and cares for you. Do you have it ready?"

Fearral shifted in his saddle, his face haunted. "Not exactly. I—"

The tax col ector snapped his fingers. The soldiers immediately cantered down to the meadows and began rounding up everything they could find. Horses, sheep, cattle, and goats were al driven into herds beside the road.

"Now," said the tax collector, unrolling a piece of vellum.

"Fearral, twenty-five horses, fifty head of cattle, and fifty head of sheep or goats." Valorian suddenly jerked forward in his saddle. The soldiers were sweeping through the fields, rounding up every animal they found, including those from his family's herds.

"No!" he shouted. "Wait! Some of those are our animals." He turned to Fearral, expecting the chieftain to support him and explain the error, but to his horror, Fearral merely stared at the ground.

The tax collector lifted his tight, narrow eyes to Valorian. "And who are you?"

The clansman hesitated. He hadn't wanted to draw attention to himself. Now it was too late.

"Valorian," he growled.

"Valorian," the collector mused. "Hmmmmm. Sounds familiar. However, I haven't had time to study all the tax records. If you have already paid your tribute, then consider this a donation for the good of your lord chieftain." Fearral stiffened and remained silent. Mordan shot Valorian a look of apology.

Valorian had to try one more time. "My lord, please. We cannot spare those animals. They're all we have left."

His words fell on deaf ears. Fearral continued to stare at the ground. The col ector laughed and signaled again to his men. Systematically the soldiers cut out the required number of animals, a good many of which were from Valorian's herds. Sick at heart, the clansman could only watch. He didn't dare protest or fight back for fear of attracting more attention to himself and his family.

"That should do it," said the tax collector at last. "For now. Fearral, you must be more prompt with your payment. I don't like having to gather it myself." He yanked his horse around, then turned his head.

"By the way, General Tyrranis is not pleased with your little town up there. The palisades must go."

His horse cantered down the road to join the soldiers, and the whole troop began herding the livestock away.

Valorian didn't bother to wait for an apology or an explanation he knew would not come. In cold anger, he sent his horse gal oping back to his camp. "Round up what's left of the herds!" he shouted to the men. "Pack the camp. We're leaving."

A short while later, Valorian and his family left the granite hill and its village behind.

From the gateway of his struggling town, Lord Fearral watched the little caravan disappear into the trees below, then he turned away, feeling cold and utterly sick at heart.

How many did we lose?" Aiden asked two nights later. He settled comfortably into his cushion and watched his brother. For once, Valorian was the one who was pacing angrily.

"More than we can afford," Valorian said between clenched teeth. "Twelve mares and geldings; eight goats, including our last breeding male; and sixteen of the best wool sheep and their lambs." He walked faster, but he could only go a few paces in the tent before he had to turn around.

Aiden whistled. The loss cut deeply into the family's already meager resources. He took a sip of wine and waited for Valorian to cool down.

Aiden, Kierla, and Valorian were gathered in the tent in the cool spring evening. The caravan had arrived that afternoon at the high alpine meadow of Black Rock, so named for the single spire of black stone that rose like a spearhead out of the meadow grass. Aiden and the boys had been glad to see them and pleased to report that Hunnul and the brood mares were wel . Many of the mares had already delivered their foals; two others, the Harachan mares, were due anytime. Unfortunately the good news had done little to abate Valorian's sense of betrayal.

"It wouldn't have bothered me so much," Valorian continued, his voice sharp, "if he had asked in the beginning for help in gathering his tribute, or if he had protested to the tax col ector. But he just sat there and let them steal our herds."

"Didn't he have enough of his own?"

"Yes, barely."

Kierla took his arm and pulled him to a stop. "You're wearing holes in the rugs," she chided gently.

"Perhaps you could look at this another way."

He crossed his arms and lifted an eyebrow. "What way?"

"As helping the Clan. If the Tarns had taken only the town's herds, would the people there have had enough left to hang on awhile longer?"

The clansman studied his wife for a long moment while the sense of her words became clear. His anger trickled away. "Probably not," he finally agreed.

"Then you gave them some time. Yourself, too. We stil have enough animals to rebuild our herds, and so do they. With the goddess's grace, by next tax time we wil not be here to pay it."

Valorian suddenly let out a laugh. He sat down on the cushions beside Aiden, stretched out his weary legs, and gave his wife a grateful half--smile. "All right. I'll quit stewing over spilt wine. You're right, of course." He reached for a bowl of nuts and thoughtfully cracked several. "We still have Hunnul and the brood mares," he went on between bites. "And Linna had those long-haired goats of hers in a pen at camp. They weren't taken. Isn't one a male?"

Aiden nodded. "The black and white one."

"We could cross--breed him to our remaining females. Could be an interesting mix."

"I could get a few males from the lowlands," Aiden suggested.

Valorian chopped his hand down. "No. I don't want you anywhere near the towns, the Chadarians, or anyone that even looks like a Tarn. We must not do anything more to attract their attention. Fearral is right about one thing. If Tyrranis hears even a hint that we're trying to leave, he'll do anything in his power to stop us." He subsided into his cushions and stared out the open tent flap.

The two men were quiet for a time, each busy with his own thoughts. Outside, they could hear the noises of the camp slowly settling down for the night: the voices of parents calling in their children, the sleepy yapping of dogs, the soft clop of the mounted guards as they rode around the camp's perimeter, and far in the distance, from a windy point, the sad howling of a wolf.

Kierla shivered when she heard the wolf. She had never liked wolves since she was little and her cousin had told her that wolves were the children of the goddess Keath, who ate little girls as punishment for disobedience. She pushed her feeling away and decided that a pot of Mother Willa's herb tea would help chase away the shivers. Carrying her glazed teapot and a small stone bowl, she slipped out of the tent.

Aiden finally broke the silence. "So what are we going to do now? Fearral has bought himself some time with our herds, but he stil won't budge until Tyrranis bums the camp down around him."

When Valorian didn't answer immediately, Aiden suggested, "We could leave on our own."

"No!" Valorian said, his tone implacable. "I will not leave a single clansperson behind to face the Tarns. We will all go." He watched Kierla come back in with her pot of water and a hot coal from the fire outside. She fetched her copper brazier and the box of tea.

"But how are you going to drag Fearral out of his hall?" Aiden asked, growing exasperated at his brother's lack of an instant answer.

"Well. . ." Valorian began, his eyes still on Kierla. She was on her knees bent over her brazier, trying to light the dead coals with the live ember from outside. She had forgotten to bring some tinder and wasn't having much success.

An idea popped into his mind. "Kierla," he said, "stand back from the brazier."

She looked at him curiously, then shrugged and moved away. She and Aiden watched as Valorian's eyes closed. He lifted his hand in a small gesture, and suddenly a tiny bright flame leaped over the dead coals.

Kierla gasped, a sound between surprise and laughter. "How do you do that?"

"I don't know exactly." He came over to look at the little fire, almost as surprised as she was. In the realm of the dead, things had been so strange and different, a magical power hadn't seemed so unbelievable. But here in his normal life, it was mind-boggling. He still wasn't really sure what to do with it. He carefully set Kierla's teapot on the grate and shrugged. "Lady Amara didn't explain much of anything when she sent me back," he said.

Al of a sudden, Aiden clapped his hands. "That's it!" he shouted, bouncing to his feet. "That's what the power is for! Valorian, it's so simple.
You
are to lead our people out of Chadar, not Fearral." Kierla's eyes widened. Her hand went instinctively to her belly, where the seed for the continuation of the family continued to grow. "Of course! Why else would Amara send you back with this magic?"

Valorian shook his head at their excitement. "I've thought of that," he said quietly. "But I don't think that's the reason. Fearral is our rightful chieftain. It's his duty to lead the Clan, not mine. My duty is to help him all I can in that effort."

Aiden threw his arms up and cried, "Oh, for Surgart's sake! That old relic isn't going to lead anyone anywhere. He wants his little town and his little hall, and the rest of us can either join him or die by the roadside. He doesn't care, but you do! Chal enge him, Valorian. You become chieftain and gather the Clan yourself!"

A brief image of Sergius's smoking body flitted through Valorian's memory, making him wince.

"No," he said forcefully. "I made my vow of fealty to Lord Fearral, and I will not go back on my word. The Clan would never follow me anywhere if I killed the chieftain in a duel for my own benefit." He went back to his cushion and sat down cross-legged. "If we can't get Fearral to move the Clan, maybe we can get the Clan to move Fearral. After the last foal is born and we celebrate the Birthright, we'll go see Gylden. Then Karez. We'l talk to everyone."

Kierla said, "That might work. Lord Fearral could hardly say no if the entire Clan was packed and ready to leave."

"Maybe," Aiden stated. "And maybe the Clan will drag its heels as much as Fearral, or maybe Fearral will sit on his rock and forbid anyone to leave. Then what?"

Valorian dropped onto his back and glared up at the tent roof. "I don't know, Aiden! All we can do is try. We'll leave Fearral to the gods. Maybe they can change his mind."

The young man threw his blue woolen cloak over his shoulders, preparing to go. "Think about what I said, Valorian. Amara chose you to be her champion. Not FearraI." With a wink to Kierla, he strode out of the tent, his cloak swirling behind him.

Valorian watched the tent flap swing down behind his brother. For the rest of the evening, he drank some of Kierla's tea and thought about Aiden's words.

Early the next morning, when the meadow was still clothed in a cold veil of mist and the sun had not yet risen over the mountains, Valorian went to find Hunnul. Aiden's words were stil on his mind, and he wanted to leave the bustling distractions of the camp for a little while to think. He found the black stallion grazing protectively near the small group of brood mares not far from the camp. After a wave to the guard, he put his fingers to his lips and whistled.

Hunnul was in a fine fettle that morning. The stal ion threw his head up with a snort and came gal oping to his master, bucking and bouncing, full of good spirits.

Valorian laughed at his antics. He was pleased to see that Hunnul had recovered completely from their journey. The days of slow travel, fresh grass, and rest had worked wonders on the horse. For the first time since his arrival at Black Rock, Valorian closely examined the jagged lightning burn on Hunnul's shoulder. He was glad to see the wound had already healed.

There was only one thing that puzzled him. Hair was growing back on the skin, and it was coming in white. Usually hair didn't reappear on a new brand or burn, yet this hair was not only growing in thick and soft, but it was also a different color.

Valorian stood back to appraise the results. When the whole bum had grown over, he decided the mark would be quite striking against Hunnul's black body. It looked exactly like a lightning bolt.