Valorian (6 page)

By immortal law, he, as a newly arrived soul, was required to face the god of the dead before he could take his place in the realm of the dead, and normal y he would have done so.

However, this situation could hardly be called normal! Valorian was afraid that if he went to face the god of the dead before he tried to rescue Amara's crown, Lord Sorh could delay him, hinder him, or simply refuse to let him go. The last thing Valorian wanted to do was spend eternity arguing with gods while his world drowned in the fury of unleashed storms.

He sighed between his teeth and settled into his saddle to wait. As long as he had four Harbingers for escorts, there was little he could do except fol ow them and hope for a chance to slip away.

A short while later Valorian realized there were other people on the trail. Not far ahead was a single Harbinger escorting several men on foot--Tarns, from the look of their clothes and their swarthy skins. Before them, another group of men, women, and a child walked with their escort. Valorian glanced over his shoulder and saw, far behind him, a fair woman of Chadarian blood riding a dun-colored mare and carrying a baby. They, like he, were all moving toward Ealgoden to face the god of the dead—whatever name they might call him.

The trail gradually began to rise. The verdant meadow was left behind and replaced by piles of tumbled boulders, stony slopes, and granite outcrop pings. Soon other trails appeared to the right and left and merged with Valorian's path. The clansman saw more people: a few clanspeople, some Chadarians, a Sarcithian, and some from races he did not know, all coming with their escorts. The Harbingers were rather busy that day, he mused.

It was then that he suddenly noticed his own Harbingers were gone. They had vanished without a word or a reason and left him alone on the path. Surprised, he brought the black stal ion to a halt and glanced around at the tumbled mountainside. There was no sign of his escorts.

Perhaps Amara had recognized Valorian's difficulty and drawn away the Harbingers. Without them in his way, he should be able to slip off and begin his search for an entrance into the gorthlings' domain.

He wished she had told him where to find a door. One could be hidden anywhere on this vast mountain.

Hunnul nickered, startling Valorian from his thoughts. The young woman and her baby were passing by. She nodded to him politely and the baby cooed, but their escorting Harbinger totally ignored him. They rode on, disappearing out of sight beyond a clump of boulders.

The clansman waited only until the way was momentarily clear before he dismounted and cautiously stepped off the glowing path. Nothing happened. The path remained empty, no alarms were sounded, and his escorts did not return.

Relieved, he led Hunnul off the trail and into the rugged flanks of the mountain to begin his search.

* * * * *

He has come, Lord Sorh.

The dark, emotionless visage of the god of the dead turned toward the kneeling Harbinger and nodded once.
So, Amara has found her champion. Who is it?

A clansman named Valorian,
replied the escort.

Ah, yes. The son of Daltor. He wil need his father's courage and his mother's restraint for this task.

It should prove interesting.
The god leaned back in his massive throne and steepled his fingers.
Al ow the
man some time to search, then reveal the entrance. I wil give him a chance to show his mettle.

The Harbinger bowed and backed out of the god's presence.

The goddess Amara stepped out of the shadows of Sorh's hall and came forward to face her brother. Bright and passionate against Sorh's impartial gravity, she shone like a sun in a gloomy, cold cavern.
You will not interfere in this matter?
she asked.

I will not if you will not.

Agreed.

Sorh summoned the other deities.
Surgart and Krath, bear witness!

The god of war and the goddess of destinies arrived together and stood beside Amara.

We have heard,
Surgart told them.

Krath agreed.
The man goes alone.

Then so be it.

* * * * *

Valorian had no idea how much time had passed since he left the path of the dead. What was time, anyway, compared to immortality? There was no night with its stars or day with its sun to guide his efforts. Instead, there was only the ceaseless golden light and the looming mountain with its impenetrable walls.

The clansman knew that he and Hunnul had circled up the gigantic peak three times, climbing, scrambling, and fighting their way around the tumbled boulders and steep inclines. So far they had found nothing. The only paths led up to Sorh's throne. There were no footprints, worn places, cracks, or any sort of sign that would lead him to an entrance into Gormoth. The mountain was as impassive and impervious as Sorh himself.

When they had completed their fourth loop around the mountain, Valorian wearily drew Hunnul to a halt and stood staring out over the mountainside. He shook his head. This was the strangest mountain he had ever known. There was no wind, no animal life, no heat or cold, no ice; there was only rock.

Climbing the peak should have been easy, but Valorian hadn't been dead long enough to grow accustomed to the strangeness of his immortal existence. He had no real feeling in his body, and physical exertion did not tire him, yet even the realm of the dead seemed bound by some of the laws of nature. He couldn't simply float around the mountain; he and Hunnul had to traverse it the hard way.

After four long circles, he was thoroughly tired of the fruitless struggling.

Valorian hoped they didn't have to go much higher in their search. The way was growing too steep and difficult for the stallion, and they were only halfway up the mountain slope. He didn't want to leave his mount behind if he could help it. At least he didn't have to worry about the two of them falling to their deaths. If they fel , he supposed they would just climb back up again.

The clansman led the black horse along a slippery escarpment to a wide, flat ledge. Close by was the path of the dead they had left some time ago. He stared up the mountain to the curtain of mist that obscured the realm of the gods. Had Sorh noticed he was missing from the ranks of the newly dead who stood before the throne of judgment? Had any of the deities noticed him crawling like a fly on the walls of their home? He leaned against Hunnul's side and wished he were someplace else.

Hunnul's soft muzzle suddenly nudged his arm. Startled, the clansman looked up to see a Harbinger riding down the nearby path leading another man, a Sarcithian marauder, on foot. Valorian pressed Hunnul back into the shadow of a big boulder, out of sight of the Harbinger, then careful y peered around the rock edge. Harbingers usual y escorted souls up to Sorh, not away from him—unless . . .

Valorian worked his way closer to the trail in time to see the shining white rider turn off the main path onto a way only he could see. The dead man fol owed.

Valorian drew a sharp breath. The Harbinger must be escorting a soul to the entrance into Gormoth, the gorthlings' lair. If he could just fol ow them, they would lead him to the door. Quickly Valorian led Hunnul onto the mountain path and down to the place where the Harbinger had left the trail. There on the rocks Valorian saw the faintest track worn into the rock by the countless condemned souls who had traveled that way. The trail angled sharply uphill, traversed a steep, boulder--strewn slope, and came to an abrupt end in a tremendous cliff wall.

Valorian watched from behind an outcropping as the Harbinger and the helpless soul came to a halt before the blank stone wall. In a loud voice, the escort called a single word. There was a deep, sonorous noise in the cliffs, and Valorian stared openmouthed at the large door--shaped crack that appeared in the rock wal . He had passed by this cliff before and never noticed the entrance. The noise changed to a grinding groan as the door swung outward, revealing an opening large enough for several horses abreast to pass through. Behind the door was a tunnel, a hole of stygian darkness.

The opening door suddenly galvanized the Sarcithian who stood with the Harbinger. His shriek of utter despair shattered the mountain quiet as he whirled frantically to flee.

But the white rider was faster. A bolt of shining energy flew from his upraised hand and caught the man before he had taken two steps. The power wrapped around his chest like a rope and pinioned his arms to his sides. The doomed man screeched and struggled, his face wracked in terror.

The Harbinger paid no heed.

Inexorably the power began to draw the Sarcithian toward the open doorway. The condemned man fought his bonds like a madman, but the magic held firm to the threshold of the door. There the man was halted, the white energy vanished, and he was left standing just inside the ominous black tunnel into Gormoth. A high-pitched cackle of glee echoed out of the darkness. The soul froze in horror.

The Harbinger lowered his hand and spoke. "For your crimes, you are condemned to Gormoth for eternity. There is no hope beyond those portals."

Before the Sarcithian had time to react, the heavy stone door slammed shut with a thundering boom, sealing him forever with his doom. The echoes died away; the mountain was left once more in silence. The Harbinger rode back the way he had come, paying no attention to the clansman hidden in the rocks.

Valorian sank back against the stone, appal ed by the horror he had seen. Second and third thoughts battered against his resolve to enter that forbidding doorway until he felt as weak and despairing as a condemned man. "Amara,» he silently cried, "why did you want me to do this?"

Forcing himself to mount Hunnul, the clansman rode to the base of the cliff wall. He stared numbly up at the gray stone, struggling to control his fear. Because he had given his word to his goddess, he wouldn't back down now, but he had never done anything in his life as difficult as voicing the Harbinger's command to open the door. Only the knowledge that the decision to go to Gormoth had been ultimately his gave him the strength to continue.

With every bit of courage he could summon, Valorian forced his mind clear and spoke the Harbinger's strange command, hoping it would work for him. He waited for several moments, yet the door didn't budge. He shouted the command again in an effort to mimic the Harbinger's exact tone and inflection, and still the portal remained solidly closed. His hopes sank into frustration. What could he hope to accomplish if he couldn't even get inside?

He was about to dismount and try beating on the door when a new thought came to him. The Harbinger had used a strange power against the dead man's soul, a power that was quite possibly magic.

Therefore, Valorian surmised, it seemed reasonable to assume that the escort had used magic to open the door as well.

Valorian lifted his head. It was certainly worth a try.

Amara had given him the ability to wield magic, and it was time he started learning to use it.

"Clarify the intent in your mind," she had said. He closed his eyes, concentrated a single thought on the door, and clearly voiced the Harbinger's command.

An unfamiliar energy seemed to crackle through him and surge from his being. There was a long, hesitant silence, then, ever so slowly, the big stone portal cracked open and swung wide. The darkness yawned before him. Looking down the black maw of the tunnel, Valorian wasn't certain whether to be pleased by his success or horrified. But at least the spell had worked.

Valorian reluctantly drew his sword and said, "Let's go, Hunnul."

For once, the big stallion refused. His ears went flat against his head, and he tucked his chin in and backed away several steps.

The clansman could hardly blame the horse. A cold, fetid draft blew from the entrance, heavy with the smel of sulphur and corruption. The darkness within was absolute.

Valorian stared at the tunnel, then gazed up at the light shining from the mountaintop. A wisp of a smile lifted the corners of his mouth. Encouraged by his success with the door, he closed his eyes and concentrated on a desire for light: a small, bright, movable light that would guide his way through the tunnels, calm Hunnul's fear, and perhaps surprise the gorthlings.

He felt again the strange surge of power and cautiously opened his eyes. A light was there, but it wasn't quite what he had in mind. It was too small and feeble. He tried again to focus on exactly what he wanted, channeling the unfamiliar power into his first real spell. To his pleasure, he watched the guttering light transform into a brightly glowing sphere that hung suspended in the air near his head.

Hunnul snorted suspiciously. However, when Valorian sent the light ahead into the passageway, the big horse unwillingly moved forward. Step by step, on legs as stiff as glass, Hunnul approached the entrance. They passed over the threshold into Gormoth, and on its own accord, the door boomed shut behind them.

Like a summons, the thundering boom echoed down the tunnel, deep and resonant, shaking the walls and causing the floor to tremble. Hunnul came to a dead stop in frightened surprise. Valorian tried to stifle his own apprehension as he calmed the nervous stallion. He stared around warily at the smooth floor, the rough-hewn wal s, and the ceiling that loomed overhead. There was nothing to be seen in the glow thrown by his light. Just ahead, the blackness of the tunnel ed downward into the depths of the mountain. There was no noise, no movement, no indication whatsoever of life; even the man who had entered a short time before was gone. Yet Valorian sensed the presence of something close by. There was a coldness in the air that chilled him to the bone and raised the hairs on his neck. Warily he clutched his sword and, mental y pushing his sphere of light ahead of them to show the way, kneed Hunnul forward down into the implacable darkness.

They walked slowly downward for what seemed a very long time. The tunnel ran straight for a few paces, then turned to the right and immediately curved left again. It continued its erratic course, zigzagging through the mountain until Valorian had no idea what direction they were going except down. There were no side openings or forks in the trail; it seemed to be the only way in, leading irrevocably down to some destination known only to the gods and the gorthlings.