Valorian (15 page)

"The Mother Goddess has put her mark on him," a quiet voice said behind him.

Smiling, Valorian turned to greet his grandmother, Mother' Willa, who was walking toward him through the long grass.

She held a basket in her hand, and the hem of her skirt was wet with dew. She was a thin, wiry, small woman whose strength and energy belied her age. She served as the family's midwife for the women and animals alike, and she had helped deliver every child and most of the adults in the family.

The cIanspeople adored her. They knew she held a special place in Amara's grace, for no other woman had lived as long or brought so much life to a successful beginning. When she spoke of the Mother of Al , her people listened.

Valorian listened now, glad for her wise words. "Is that what you think? This is not just a lightning bum?"

"Of course not! This horse rendered you and Amara a great service. The goddess left that mark as a sign of her favor." The old woman gently slapped Hunnul's neck when he tried to snatch for her basket of herbs and wildflowers. She held it out of his reach. "I have spent too long this morning gathering these for my medicines. You do not need to eat my labors, even if you are the beloved of Amara." She looked up at her grandson, her wrinkled face beaming. "Amara has blessed you, too, I see. Kierla will deliver a child by winter."

"Did she tell you?" Valorian asked in surprise.

"She didn't have to. It's written all over her face."

Valorian rocked on his heels. He was constantly astonished by the intuition of this tiny woman.

Mother Willa suddenly took his hand into hers and looked earnestly into his face. "My dearest child, you have seemed troubled since you came back to us. That is written all over
your
face."

He nodded once, but didn't say anything. She was right, of course. Ever since he had returned to life, he had felt as if he were galloping through a wall of mist. His journey from the realm of the dead had subtly changed his self-perspective and left him with an incredible power he didn't know what to do with. None of his old dreams and goals were steady or defined anymore.

"Then let me tell you something," she said forceful y. "I have seen much in my life that has saddened me; I have seen our people defeated and crushed under the Tarn's heel. I have seen them reduced to living in ragged tents, with poor stock and no food. But never once did I believe that the gods had abandoned us. Now I am certain they are weaving our destiny. The Clan will live! They have sent you to us. You wil lead us to our freedom."

He ground his heel deep into the grass. "I have already had a similar discussion with Aiden. I will not displace Fearral. "

"I did not say you had to. There are other ways to lead. The gods gave you a great mission to test your skil s, and you passed, so they sent you back with signs for us to believe. You can unite this Clan with those signs, Valorian." She stabbed a finger at Hunnul. "That mark, your wife's pregnancy, the tale of your journey, and greatest of all, your power. Use those to convince the people that your dream to leave Chadar is the will of the gods."

He snorted. "How do you know it is? They didn't exactly carve it in stone."

"Because they chose you. You are the one in this Clan with the belief in a new land. If Amara had wanted us to build towns, she would have sent for Fearral!"

"Aiden said much the same thing," Valorian replied with a dry laugh.

"Huh. That boy shows some sense sometimes." She let go of his hand, her bright eyes twinkling.

"Well, I've had my say. I've wanted to tell you that since we left Stonehelm, but there never seemed to be a moment."

"Things have been confused lately," he agreed.

"Well, don't look for them to get better any time soon," she chuckled. "By the way, I think Tala will deliver her foal tonight."

Valorian smiled in admiration. She was always right about those things. Tala hadn't looked different to him that morning, but if Mother Willa said the mare would go into labor that night, it would happen.

She patted Hunnul and walked back toward camp, leaving Valorian alone with his horse and his thoughts. The clansman sprang to Hunnul's bare back. They trotted past the black pil ar of rock in the meadow, then went up a high backed ridge just as the sun broke over the wall of mountains. Valorian stopped Hunnul so he could look down at the camp of his family nestled into the sheltering edge of a copse of trees. He studied the poor, ragged camp for a long while.

Although he would never admit it aloud, Valorian had to confess to himself that he was uncertain about his desire to take the Clan to a new land. How could they survive the trip? They had few animals left, their tents and gear were old and worn, and the people were ground down by misery. How could they survive a long, hard journey over the mountains to a land they knew nothing about, where they would have to start all over again? And most important, could they escape from General Tyrranis?

Drawing a deep breath, Valorian turned Hunnul and headed east, deeper into the mountains.

Perhaps Fearral was right, he pondered. Perhaps Clan survival depended upon adapting to fit the changes, not running away from them. was there some way to adjust to the demands heaped upon them and still flourish? The Clan had been trying to do that for eighty years without much success.

Valorian looked up at the great snowcapped mountain range that filled his vision. These mountains were a good example of the problems the Clan had had adjusting. Although his people had lived in the shadows of the Darkhorns for three generations, their tales and traditions, their dreams their religious ceremonies, and their habits still reflected the old life on flat grasslands. These mountains were strangers—hard, merciless, unknown entities that dominated Clan life but were not a beloved part of it.

The range had belonged to some other race of ancient people who worshiped the peaks as gods and vanished, leaving behind only a few ruins and some legends. The nomadic Clan belonged to the open grasslands, where horses could run with the wind, stock could graze, and tents didn't have to be erected on stone. If there was a chance to find a more suitable home, why shouldn't they take it?

Valorian felt as if his mind was running in circles. He went back to his thoughts about adapting.

Could the Clan adapt to its present situation, given a little more time? It was possible, he reasoned. If the Tarnish provincial governor were anyone but General Tyrranis. If they could get more livestock. If Fearral paid more attention to long--lasting solutions.

If the gods were willing. . . . That was a lot of "ifs," and too few of them were likely to change.

That left the gods. What did the deities want for their people? The Mother of Al hadn't bothered to explain, but gods rarely did. They simply gave mortals the tools and let them find their own way. Could Mother Wil a be right, then? He would expect Aiden to jump in and suggest that his brother lead the Clan out of Chadar, but Mother Willa was close to Amara. She wouldn't say anything that she felt contradicted the goddess's will. Perhaps this power to wield magic was his tool to take the Clan to the Ramtharin Plains.

The more he considered it, the more uses he could see for magic. He had been reluctant to think about it until now because Sergius's death had horrified him. He had seen all too clearly how destructive and powerful magic could be. But if he taught himself to use his power properly, there wouldn't be any more murders. He could use the magic to give his people heart. If they chose to follow him, they would not only be taking a physical journey, but also a spiritual journey as well, out of defeat and bitterness to a new hope. They would need al the help they could get.

"Is this what you want of me?" Valorian asked quietly to the arch of blue sky. He hoped for a sign or some sort of answer, yet the heavens remained unchanged and the mountains were stil .

Maybe it was a good thing that he did not receive an answer, Valorian decided. The last time he asked something of the gods, he got struck by lightning. This time, he would just have to have faith that his journey to Ealgoden and back hadn't been just a whim of the gods and that bringing the Clan to the Ramtharin Plains was the right thing to do.

He came back to himself with a start to find Hunnul had stopped and was grazing contentedly on a patch of last year's sun-dried grass. Valorian swung his leg over and slid to the ground. He was surprised to see that they were high in the mountains, just above the tree line on the flank of one of the tal est peaks. Hunnul had apparently climbed that far with little effort or guidance. The stallion was feeling very good, Valorian thought.

Patting his horse, the clansman looked around. Although stubborn patches of snow stil hid in the shadows, most of the ground in that area was bare, and the rocks glistened with moisture. The thin air was warm with sunlight despite a cool, fitful wind that blew from the north. Valorian grinned, stretched his arms, and left Hunnul cropping grass. He walked up the slope toward a small plateau where he could have an excellent view of the range. He had never been to this particular place before, and it looked like a good spot to continue his thoughts.

As Soon as he reached the edge of the plateau, he realized he wasn't the first man to come this way. There at the opposite edge, overlooking a sheer cliff, was the ruin of an ancient temple. It was really nothing more than a foundation of stones skillfully laid into a ceremonial platform about waist-high and ten paces wide, with a large, flat stone in the Center to represent an altar. Valorian had seen similar ruins on another peak to the south. The old platforms were all that remained of a race of people who had been there before the Clan, the Tarns, and the Chadarians. They had lived and died in the hearts of the mountains they had worshiped while the clanspeople were still learning to ride. Valorian knew little about them other than a few old tales passed on from the Chadarians.

Curious, he walked over to the platform. It was still in good condition in spite of its age and the harsh weather, so he clambered up to the top and stared out over the edge of the mountain. From the platform's vantage point, he could see the summit of the mountain he stood on and the peaks of two other mountains. Together the three summits formed a triangle with its points to the east, west, and south. Valorian wondered if there had been any significance to that placement in the minds of the platform builders. He felt a stab of sorrow for their disappearance and a deep respect for the remains of their culture.

And yet they bad left something behind. The ceremonial platforms might not be significant in the course of men's lives, but they were reminders to al that saw them that their builders had lived and cared enough to worship their gods. Could the clanspeople say as much? If they dwindled and died, would anything of their creation be worth remembering?

Valorian didn't think so. Not at this time. Too much of their culture had been destroyed or lost; too much was impermanent. The village at Stonehelm would rot in a few years if abandoned, and too many of the best Harachan horses had passed into the hands of others. No, if the remnants of the Clan faded, no one outside of the Bloodiron Hills would notice.

The realization made Valorian bitter. His people deserved better than an ignominious extinction.

They should have a chance to live and renew their culture in any realm they chose. Amara was the goddess of life. She would certainly understand that!

Raising his hand to shoulder level, he fired a blue bolt of magical energy into the mountain air and watched as it seared toward the cool blue sky and finally fizzled out. A bright, hot feeling of excitement, exultation, and even nervousness jolted through him, and its heat burned away the last of his doubts.

"If I'm going to learn to use my power," Valorian suddenly shouted to the peaks, "this is as good a day as any to begin!"

From the top of the ancient platform, Valorian hurled more blue blasts of energy harmlessly into the air. He experimented throughout the remainder of the morning and the afternoon with the power, trying different intensities and speeds. He practiced his aim on the stone face of the peak and pushed himself to learn the limits of his strength while the sensations of magic's power coursed through his body and became more and more familiar. By dusk, he was exhausted and elated by his success.

Without a word to anyone, he returned to camp, sat up late with Mother Willa, and helped her deliver a beautiful Harachan filly.

The next day he came back to the platform and worked on other skil s. Keeping in mind the lesson he had learned in the cavern of Gormoth, he focused his mind on the magic and practiced making his spells as exact and concise as possible. He tried making protective shields of various sizes and thicknesses, spheres of light that glowed in different colors, and fires that could light a candle or incinerate a tree. He also learned what could happen if he let his concentration slip and the gathered magic go awry.

He was sitting in a small dome-shaped protective shield when a large golden eagle came gliding on the warm updrafts between the mountain peaks. Enthral ed by the sight of the rare and sacred bird and by the beauty of the sun shining on its feathers, Valorian's mind began to wander.

The next thing he knew, the shield's red energy had ruptured, and the uncontrol ed magic was swirling around him into a vicious red whirlwind that trapped him in the center of its fury.

The clansman staggered to his feet. His ears ached in the shriek of the whirling energy, and his skin tingled as if covered with ants. Desperately he pressed his hands to his ears. He had to do something to disperse the tornado, for he could feel it feeding on the magic around it and building to an explosive level. Yet it was hard to think or act in the maelstrom.

With a great effort, he gathered his thoughts into a single purpose and forced his will into the center of the magical vortex. Bit by bit, he slowed the frenzied whirl of broken magic and spread it apart until it dispersed into a mist on the afternoon wind. When it was gone, he sank down on the stone and wiped his sweating forehead in relief and chagrin. "That will teach me to be complacent," he said aloud to the stones.