Valorian (26 page)

"Why didn't you just ask? It wasn't necessary to slaughter my family."

"But it worked."

Valorian curled his lip. "Yes. So now I am here, and if you would be so kind as to honor your word and let go the people you hold, I would be grateful."

"I'm sure, but I did not give my word. My commander did, and I feel no need to keep his promises."

Valorian didn't expect anything else, but he knew he had to react or the Tarns would grow suspicious. He struggled against his bonds. "What do you mean?" he cried. "I came in good faith to exchange my family for myself, and now you will not free them?"

"Exactly." Tyrranis smiled like a snake. "I still have need of them." Valorian lunged forward, his face twisted in rage, but he got only about a foot before the soldiers dragged him down and gagged him again.

Tyrranis hadn't moved. "Take him downstairs," he ordered. Four men grabbed Valorian by the arms and legs and hauled him unceremoniously out of the big room, through several corridors, down two flights of steps, and into a much smal er, darker room. At Tyrranis's order, they chained the prisoner, hand and foot, spread-eagled against the cold stone wall. Then they left him alone with Tyrranis.

For once in his life, Valorian was sorry to see Tarnish soldiers leave. He watched Tyrranis suspiciously as the general went slowly around the room, lighting thick candles on sconces along the walls. Slowly the room grew brighter until Valorian was able to recognize it as some sort of workroom.

There was a floor-to-ceiling cabinet of shelves and drawers on the left side of the room, a large table in the center, and a wooden chair and writing desk on the right. Over every available surface lay piles of scrolls, sheets of vellum bound or loose, writing instruments, and intricate tools Valorian did not recognize. The shelves were full of racks of vials and bottles of colorful liquids, wooden boxes of every size, bags, bowls, a mortar and pestle, and more instruments of unknown function. Strangest of all was a curious design someone had drawn on the floor under the space where Valorian hung. It was an eight-sided star surrounded by a red circle.

"You see my artwork," the general said, pointing to the floor. His expression was gloating. "It is an ancient ward against evil magic. You cannot use your power while you stay within its bounds." That was nonsense, but Valorian wasn't going to disil usion the general this soon. Instead, he widened his eyes and tried to look surprised.

Tyrranis very deliberately removed his sword belt, the breastplate, and his military cloak and laid them careful y aside. Then he brought out a pair of leather gloves and slowly began to pull them on, one finger at a time. "Now," he said with cold malice, "let us discuss magic."

Valorian's mouth went dry. "What do you mean?" he managed to ask.

The general picked up a short, heavy club and came to stand in front of his prisoner. His muscles were tense, as if his body were tightly coiled beneath his knee-length tunic. "Magic," he hissed. "The power of the immortals." Without warning, he brought the heavy club smashing down on Valorian's upper right arm.

The clansman stiffened in pain; his jaw clamped shut. The blunt instrument hadn't broken his arm, but it felt as if it had. Valorian strained vainly against his chains, but the soldiers had pulled them tight, leaving him stretched flat against the wall with no room to escape Tyrranis's attentions. Queasy with fear, he stared as the general raised the dub again.

"We have all night, clansman," Tyrranis informed him.

"You will tell me the secret of your magic, or it will be a long night indeed." And the club swung down viciously once more.

* * * * *

Through a black haze of pain, Valorian heard new sounds intrude into the deathless silence. There was a faint click and a grind as someone opened the door into the room. He didn't try to look up. He didn't dare move for fear of setting off the seizures of agonizing pain that swept through his arms, legs, and abdomen every time he so much as flinched.

"General?" he heard someone say tentatively.

"What is it?" that hated voice answered.

"You asked to be called for the opening ceremonies for market day. They're about to begin. The dignitaries are waiting."

"Fine." The general rose from his chair where he had been brooding and came to stand in front of Valorian. Deliberately he pulled off his gloves finger by finger.

The clansman risked the onslaught of spasms again to raise his head and glare at Tyrranis through battered eyes.

For a long moment, the two clashed eye to eye before Valorian's muscles rebelled against the abuse they had taken and seized into uncontrol able, frightening waves of pain. He arched in his chains, his teeth clenched, his fingers clawing at the walls.

Tyrranis watched him impassively until the agony gradually loosened its hold and Valorian was still.

Behind the general, the Tarnish commander swal owed hard to hide his pity. "What about him?" he asked.

"This man is a fraud," Tyrranis snapped irritably. "Take him to the other prisoners. Tomorrow we'll provide some entertainment for the market crowds. A slave auction and perhaps some wild animal baiting. See if the beastmaster has a few wolves or lions who could use a good meal." He leaned forward to snarl at Valorian, "Our friend here will be the guest of honor at my side. He can watch until the end.

Then nail him to the city wall."

When Valorian didn't react, Tyrranis grunted in annoyance, turned on his heel, and strode out of the room.

The commander cal ed in several guards, and together they unfastened the shackles around the clansman's bloodied wrists and ankles. Valorian would have liked to have stayed on his feet and walked from the room, but his bones buckled and he sagged to the floor, moaning.

"Better get a litter. The man's not fit to walk," the commander ordered.

While the two men hurried to obey, Valorian lay on the cold floor, thankful that Tyrranis was gone and that he was still alive. He remained as still as he could and willed his muscles to slowly relax. He had never hurt so much in his life. He made no protest when the soldiers came back and lifted him onto the litter. To his surprise and gratitude, they were gentle and careful not to jar him.

Quickly they carried him up the stairs, out of the palace, and into the bright morning sun.

Morning? The fact burst on Valorian as bright as the sunlight. He dosed his eyes against the glare and groaned. He had been in the room with Tyrranis all night. It had seemed like a hideous eternity.

After a time, the motion of the litter and the knowledge that he was away from Tyrranis for a while lulled him into a state of lethargy. He was cold and nauseated. His wrists and ankles were cut and bleeding from the chains, his limbs were battered, his muscles were torn and bruised, and he ached everywhere. He hoped if he could just lie motionless for a time, the racking seizures would not return.

He didn't look to see where they were going; he didn't hear the busy racket from the crowded streets as the Chadarians gathered in town for the market. Nothing penetrated his daze until all at once, a familiar voice yelled something in Chadarian near his head.

Surprised, he opened his eyes and stared into the face of a drunken Chadarian farmer, holding a flagon of ale in one hand and a chicken leg in the other. The man was gesturing rudely at the clansman with the chicken leg and staggering alongside the litter while shouting something at the top of his lungs.

It suddenly sank into Valorian's befuddled mind that he knew that man. It was Aiden. He had just enough time to give his brother a slow wink and see the slight nod of relief before the guards shoved Aiden back toward an alehouse and hurried on their way. Valorian's eyes closed again and he relaxed, reassured by his brother's presence.

A short time later they reached the tower on the high banks of the Miril River. The fortified complex was an old, hulking mass of stone that had seen better days. Its wal s were pitted and worn, and its roof was in need of repair. A square, squat tower, the one that gave the building its name, guarded the front entrance. There were no windows on the first floor of the large edifice and only four doors. The main entrance was the only one wide enough to al ow the men and the litter to pass through.

Valorian heard the sound of horses as he was carried into the forecourt of the tower. He opened his eyes to see if he could find Hunnul, but ~here was only a stable close by that housed mounts for messengers and scouts. There had to be corrals near the garrison for other horses, he reasoned. Maybe Hunnul was there.

He kept his eyes open while they went through the tower and entered a long, narrow hallway. The place was quite busy with soldiers passing back and forth, sentries at their posts, officious-looking civilians hard at work. Doors and other corridors opened onto the hall, revealing offices, a soldiers'

mess, and other rooms foreign to Valorian. The soldiers carrying his litter followed the main passage to a heavily barred door at the end guarded by a stocky watchman. The watchman took a look at Valorian and impassively drew a key to let them in.

Down they went on a long, echoing stone staircase dimly lit by torches. The air was heavy and oppressive with cold, damp, and the smel of rot. The dungeons of the old tower were dug deep into the foundations, where the light of day couldn't penetrate. Because of the proximity to the river, the wal s seeped with moisture, and the floors were often slick with slime and standing puddles.

At the bottom of the stairs was a short passage with barred doors lining both sides. Valorian could see the cells weren't large, but he guessed from the volume and variety of noise that the entire group of nearly one hundred hostages was crammed into those foul rooms.

Except for a few meager torches along the walls, the dungeon was miserably dark. The sound of footsteps and the arrival of new torches drew everyone's attention. Faces crammed into the barred doorways, and voices whispered and muttered in the gloom. "Who is that?" they asked each other.

Then someone yelled, "Kierla! It's Valorian!" and the whole dungeon fil ed with cries, shouts, and pleas.

"Shut up, you dogs!" shouted the commander.

His order did little good. The people were desperate, and Valorian was their first sign of hope. By pure chance, the guards opened the last cell door where Kierla and perhaps twenty others were imprisoned. They shoved the clanspeople back, dumped the litter on the floor, and beat a hasty retreat away from the uproar, the stink, and the darkness.

Valorian felt his beloved's arms around his shoulders and her fingers gently probing his face and limbs. He knew he was safe with her. Sighing once, he closed his eyes and let sleep steal him away.

The day passed slowly for those in the dungeon and those who waited scattered around the city or hidden in the fields beyond the wal s. The sun crept with nerve-racking slowness past noon, midafternoon, and final y into evening. In the cel s, the people didn't see the sun sink below the horizon, but their bodies sensed it, and their stomachs cried with hunger.

It was the clang of iron pots that brought Valorian out of his healing sleep. Guards were bringing big kettles of soup to each cell. Kierla felt him stir, and her heart leapt with relief. She brought him a bowl of the soup, lifted his head, and careful y fed him the entire helping. He would have liked more, despite its watery taste and the lack of anything in it resembling food, but the pots were already empty and being carried away.

Ever so slowly, Valorian sat up on the litter. The rest, the food, and his natural strength had worked together in a small miracle of recuperation. He could move again with only stiffness and aching accompanying his motions. The agonizing muscle spasms were gone, and he was fortunate that nothing was broken. He wondered if General Tyrranis was finicky about blood. That might explain why the general was so adept at causing pain without drawing blood, and why he wore gloves.

"What happened to you, Valorian?" Kierla whispered. "What are you doing here?"

He chuckled in the darkness. "I turned myself in so Tyrranis would let al of you go."

Kierla sucked in her breath. Her fingers tenderly touched a swelling on his check. "Tyrranis did this?

That monster! He must have beaten you half the night."

"About that."

“Wel , why did you turn yourself in?" one of his cousins said gruffly. "You should have known Tyrranis would never keep his word to a clansman."

"I knew that."

"They why are you here?" someone else asked. Valorian lay back down on his litter. 'Just wait," he said softly. "Wait for the red star to rise above the mountains."

The people around him grumbled a little about cracked heads and settled down as best they could to sleep. No one took him seriously.

Valorian didn't mind. He took his own advice and waited.

Kierla gave him Khulinar to hold while she tried to rest. He held the infant close to his side on the litter, letting his battered muscles rest. He had no sky to watch or anything other than his own ingrained ability to mark the passage of time, yet when the hours had passed into late night, he knew the time had come. The red star was rising.

He gave the baby back to his wife and very carefully sat up. Kierla wrapped the infant in her sling and, without question, helped Valorian to his feet. He swayed for a moment, then steadied himself on Kierla's arm and took a step. His body felt heavy and unwieldy, and every muscle protested as he moved, but everything worked. With Kierla at his side, he painfully made his way over the dozing prisoners to the barred door. The cell was too dark to see what he was doing, so he formed a small globe of light.

The effect was galvanizing. Every person in the cell sprang to his feet, his mouth wide open.

Without looking at his companions, Valorian studied the door a moment. He placed his fingers against the lock, formed his spel , and used the magic to turn the lock into a small pile of rust. He pushed the door open with one finger. Only then did he turn to the stunned people behind him and say, "Time to go."