Valorian (24 page)

The two men talked for a long while of Lord Fearral, the deteriorating conditions at Stonehelm, and Valorian's journey south to Wolfeared Pass. Valorian explained in detail about the route he and his companions had planned, and he told Mordan everything he could remember about the pass and the land beyond. Unknowingly, his eyes glowed vivid blue with enthusiasm, and his hands fanned the air with excited gestures.

While he talked, Mordan avidly watched his every move and expression. What he saw in Valorian finally satisfied his own lingering doubts. The Clan needed a new leader, of that he was certain, and this tall, quiet clansman had a greater strength and vision than he had ever seen in any man before—a strength that drew Mordan like a hawk to the lure. It didn't hurt, Mordan thought, his eyes straying to Kierla, that Valorian had the blessings of the Mother Goddess as well. Silently and knowingly, Mordan switched his allegiance to Valorian. He would continue to serve Lord Fearral for a while longer to fulfill his promised service. But when Valorian headed south, Mordan vowed he would go with him.

Early the next morning Valorian kissed his wife and son, swung up onto Hunnul's back, and rode with Mordan back down Gol Agha canyon. Gylden and Aiden went with them, since Valorian felt two extra swords and a small show of support wouldn't hurt his image. They left early enough so that by the time they reached the mouth of the canyon the next day, the Tarnish scout had not yet arrived from Actigorium. They rode out of the Place of the Winds and turned north for Stonehelm, unaware of the Tarn who came shortly thereafter.

The scout, weary from several days of constant travel, didn't attach much significance to the fresh tracks he saw in the canyon. Tyrranis had told him to find the camp, not follow a few stray riders, so he cautiously began his search, not knowing the prey had already slipped out of the trap.

Valorian and his escort rode into Stonehelm a few days later only to find that Lord Fearral had been stricken il . His daughters had confined him to his bed and refused to let anyone talk to him until his fever broke and he was stronger.

Valorian was annoyed by the delay, but since there was little he could do about it, he spent the time walking around Stonehelm and talking to its inhabitants. He quickly saw that Mordan's assessment was accurate. The little village had deteriorated since his visit nearly a year ago. Most of the small pens and corrals were empty; the fields were only partially plowed, and some of the huts and shops were abandoned. The whole place looked neglected and forlorn.

"There's little enough food," one woman told him while her thin little boy clutched her skirts.

"We're herders, not farmers."

One man, an old shepherd who loved his sheep as most clansmen loved their horses, put it more forceful y. "That fly-brained chieftain sold everything we had and left us nothing to start over. What does he think he's going to do when the tribute comes due again? I say let him sel that precious hal of his. What does a Clan chieftain need with a hall anyway? He's as bad as a Tarn!" he finished gloomily.

When Valorian mentioned leaving Chadar, the old shepherd brightened considerably. "I'd go with you, son. So would most of the people here, with or without Lord FearraI. We're getting tired of staying put and starving. You get the chief to give his permission and the whole town would pack and leave by sundown. I'd wager my last lamb on that. "

Other people were not as outspoken as the shepherd, yet their feelings were stil evident in their grim faces and their willingness to listen to Valorian. They were tired of pouring their sweat and labor into things that were immediately taken away from them. They were tired of despair and lean bellies.

Their plight saddened Valorian and strengthened his resolve. It also made him more anxious to talk to Fearral and learn what was on his mind. To Valorian's irritation, it was nearly six days before the chieftain was well enough to meet with him.

When his daughters could no longer keep Fearral down, he sent Mordan to bring the three clansmen into the hall shortly after the noon meal on a delightfully warm spring day. The old lord was sitting in his carved chair, moodily sipping a steaming mug of tea. When the men stopped before him and lifted their hands in salute, he eyed Valorian and the three men with him for a long, speculative pause. He noticed immediately that Mordan did not make a move to leave Valorian's side.

Valorian, for his part, returned Fearral's scrutiny. He was rather surprised to see that the lord chieftain actually looked better than he had last spring, in spite of his illness. His eyes were more alert, his hands were steady, and his shoulders were straight, as if a weight had been removed.

The chieftain seemed to read his thoughts. He lifted his mug and smiled dryly. "As you can see, I am not drinking wine or ale. My daughters and a few other people," he said with a significant glance at Mordan, "prevailed upon me to get my head out of the wineskin and look around. It has been difficult, to say the least."

Valorian said nothing, although his heart began to pound. Even Aiden was silent, watching the chieftain with a mingled look of disbelief and hope.

"I asked you to come," Fearral continued, "because I want to bear about your plan for this exodus you have been talking so much about." He chuckled wearily. "Everyone has heard about you and your journey to the realm of the dead except me."

Fearral's daughters brought chairs and mugs of tea for the chieftain's guests, admonished him not to wear himself out, and left the five men alone in the big hall.

With pleasure, Valorian launched into his tale, complete with full magical effects. This time, though, to Aiden and Gylden's surprise, he went on to include his second journey south to Wolfeared Pass and the trail back over Carrocks Road. His magical visions were so vivid his audience saw the splendid vistas of the Ramtharin Plains, felt the cold of the blizzard, and were awed by the dark beauty of the Carrocks'

caverns. When he was finished with his story, he bowed low to his lord and sank wearily into his seat. He had done the best he could to present his case, and he breathed a silent prayer to Amara that it would be enough to convince Fearral.

There was a long moment of silence, then the hal erupted with cheering and clapping. Valorian turned around, startled, and saw the hall filled with clanspeople who had slipped in to hear his story.

Fearral's two daughters sat near the front of the crowd, clapping wildly.

Lord Fearral watched the people, his wrinkled face torn by conflicting emotions. He knew what he had to do, but he wasn’t sure that he had the strength to go through with it. He was about to rise, when a stunned, faraway look suddenly crossed Valorian's face.

"No!" Valorian shouted fiercely. The people quieted and muttered among themselves at his odd behavior. He bolted to his feet, his face white with a strange fear.

“What is it?" Aiden asked, alarmed.

At that moment, Hunnul charged into the hal , neighing in agitation and scattering people left and right.

“Ranulf is coming," Valorian cried to his brother, and he fan to the doorway.

It was then that they all heard it, a loud despairing wail coming up the road through the town.

"Valorian!”

"I'm here!" the clansman shouted. He ran outside to meet the young rider, followed by everyone in the hal . The people gasped aloud when Ranulf reined' his jaded, staggering horse to a stop by Valorian and both mount and rider fel to the ground.

Valorian sprang forward to help him. He hardly recognized Ranulf under the dirt and soot and splattered blood, that covered his face and clothes.

"Valorian! Thank the gods," Ranulf choked out. His hands grasped at Valorian's tunic. With Aiden's help, he was pul ed out from under his half-dead horse and laid gently on the ground. He shoved away an offering of water. "Valorian," he I cried in a voice drenched in tears, "they're gone. All of them!"

"Who is gone?" Valorian prompted gently, though his stomach was sick with dread. and his hands were trembling.

"Everyone! The Tarns came. The whole lousy garrison. They knew where we were. They came looking for you, and when we told them you were gone, they tore the camp apart. We tried to stop them, but they kil ed anyone who argued. Then they burned everything, drove off the herds and took everyone who was left."

"What do you mean they took them?" demanded Aiden frantically.

Ranulf's haunted eyes shifted back and forth like a trapped animal's. "The Tarns chained all the clanspeople together and herded them down to Actigorium."

"Why?" Lord Fearral cut in.

"As bait," Valorian said coldly. His face had gone rock hard.

Ranulf nodded. "The commander let me go to find you. He said to tell you they would let everyone go if you would turn yourself in." He clutched Valorian's sleeve in sudden panic. "You won't do that, wil you?"

Something suddenly snapped in Valorian's mind. Hunnul came quickly to his side and waited only a moment for Valorian to spring to his back before he leaped forward down the road, heading for the town gates.

Mordan started to grab the reins of a nearby horse to fol ow him, but Gylden put his hand out.

"You'l never catch that horse," he said sadly. "I know where he's going."

For the first time since they returned from the realm of the dead, Valorian witnessed the full power of his stal ion. From the moment he broke into a gal op just outside the gates of Stonehelm until they reached the rocky mouth of Gol Agha, where he had to slow to a jog, Hunnul ran at a constant, ground-eating pace. He didn't slow down, break into a sweat, or show any indication that he was tired. He simply kept going over, the leagues of hil s and fields like a creature possessed. Numb with unanswered fears, Valorian held on to the black's mane and watched the land streak by while the wind roared through his ears.

It was night when they reached the mouth of Gol Agha. A ful moon swel ing above the mountains showed Valorian the first sign of the devastation to come. A deep, muddy trail, black in the silver moonlight, marked the passage of the Tarnish troops and their long lines of prisoners. Off to the side of the new trail, in the grass, lay the body of a little girl from Gylden's family. Her clothes were stained with smoke and mud, and her pale face was turned lifelessly toward the starry sky. Valorian swallowed hard.

Hunnul raced on deeper into the canyon. They saw more bodies, some older people, some children—all Valorian recognized—strewn along the way, tossed to the side with broken weapons, abandoned personal belongings, and an occasional dead animal or wrecked cart.

Final y, in the early afternoon, they rounded the bend in e canyon and found the ruins of the winter camp. Its blackened remains were an ugly sore against the warm sunshine and the newly budding trees.

The sight sickened Valorian.

"Kierla!" he shouted. Even though he knew if she were there, she would be beyond answering, he couldn't stifle his frantic desire to see her. Hunnul clattered up the trail' through the burned and trampled tents to the site of Valorian's tent. The clansman threw himself to the ground. He staggered, his legs stiff from the long ride, and made his Way to the ruins of his tent. The entire thing was burned to the ground; everything in it was destroyed. The baby's cradle, Kierla's favorite tea box, their clothes, everything was gone. His only consolation was that there were no bodies among the charred ashes.

For the rest of the day until the evening grew too dark, Valorian searched the camp. What he found left a hard, cold lump in his chest and a rage that settled deep into his bones.

The Tarns had left nothing for the survivors to salvage. They had swept through the camp with ruthless, deadly efficiency, destroying every tent and cart, pul ing down the corrals and pens. The meager food stores were gone, the horses stolen, and the dogs and the livestock were either slaughtered or driven off.

Worst of all were the murdered clanspeople lying among the ruins of their homes. Valorian found Gylden's father by his tent with an old, rusty sword in his hand and a spear through his chest. The Tarns hadn't been particular about their victims; they had kil ed anyone who had stood in their way: men, women, and children. Valorian saw his elderly uncle, several of his cousins, Kierla's younger sister with her baby, and numerous other friends and members of both families—perhaps thirty people in all. The ones he did not find were Kierla, Khulinar, Linna, and Mother Willa.

That night he lit a huge bonfire and stood guard over the bodies. They had been dead for five days and already torn by carrion eaters, but Valorian wouldn't let another vulture or wild dog near them before they were properly buried.

Aiden, Gylden, and Mordan found him the next afternoon carefully hauling the bodies to a large bier that he had built in the center of the camp. Wordlessly they looked over the faces of the dead, then bent to help him as he laid the bodies side by side. No one said anything to Valorian. His eyes had a strange, distant look, and his expression was anguished. He didn't greet them; he merely nodded in acknowledgement when they joined him in his heartbreaking task.

When their duty was done, the four men stepped back from the big bier. Gylden chanted the prayers for the dead until his voice grew tight and stumbled to a halt as he looked on his father's face for the last time. Aiden and Mordan finished the prayers in his stead.

Valorian at last raised his hands. He spoke a command, and the entire pile burst into towering flames. He watched the fire burn for a long, long time before he finally broke his silence.

"The Harbingers were busy that night," he said to no one in particular. The other three turned to stare at him, realizing perhaps for the first time that only he among living men really knew what it was to die. He went on, unmindful of their looks. "But I know where they went and how they wil fare. We will see them again."

His companions knew he was speaking of the dead, and they all took comfort in his words.

They waited until the smoke had faded and the fire had burned to ashes before they mounted their horses and left the demolished camp. Valorian didn't look back. His thoughts had already moved on to the future and the survivors who were waiting for him in Actigorium.