“You rode a long way to get those.” Rassidar said with a touch of humour. “I did not want you to go empty-handed. And you, Peoren,” he said to the young Ferganan. “I was not so befuddled by Zukhara’s poisons that I forgot my promise to you. I will pay your compensation in horses, stock animals, cotton, and spices to be delivered at a date of your choosing. Will that be sufficient?”
Peoren bowed to the Shar-Ja, his face red with pleasure. “That will do well indeed, your majesty, and I will
call off the blood feud. May this be the end of any hostility between clan and tribe.”
Lord Athlone said, “Shar-Ja, our offer still stands to help if we can during this drought.”
“Unless you know a spell to bring rain, you have done more than I could ever have asked for. But we’re not in the dire straits Zukhara led us all to believe. He and the Fel Azureth had been stealing and hoarding grain for the past two years. We have found enough to keep the people fed for a little while longer than we’d hoped. Perhaps you could ask your gods to send us some rain.” He turned to regard the crowded room and saw the Clannad standing in a quiet group near the back of the chamber.
“Lady Helmar,” he called and waited until she came forward. “You came out of our mountains like a legend. No one has ever reported your colony or any people like you in our midst. I hope you will not disappear again into the misty peaks. I have heard a great deal about you these past days from those who have gotten to know you, and because of what I have heard and what you have done for us, I would like to grant the Clannad perpetual ownership of the valley you call Sanctuary, to keep and hold as you see fit with no obligation or debt owed to the throne of the Shar-Ja.”
The Clannad riders stayed strangely silent behind their chief, creating a quiet unified support for Helmar as she turned at an angle to look at both the Shar-Ja and the clan lords. Her voice rang out through the chambers so every person could hear. “Some of you have probably guessed how the Clannad came to be in the Turic mountains, but for those of you who do not know us well, I will tell you. Generations ago, during a summer clan gathering, my ancestress Lady Jeneve received a secret message that the magic-wielders had been slaughtered at Moy Tura.” She paused when a gasp of surprise and understanding spread from the crowd around her. Only Lady Gabria watched her quietly and
bent her lips in a knowing half-smile.
Helmar continued, “Lady Jeneve guessed what would happen if the murderers reached the gathering, so she took her family, her pet cats, a few friends, and their Hunnuli and fled south into the Turic mountains. They found Sanctuary by the grace of the gods, and for two hundred years we have slowly multiplied and lived in terror that someone would find us and give away our settlement to the clans. We did not know until Sayyed and Rafnir stumbled into our back door that sorcery had been resurrected by Lady Gabria. Shar-Ja, if we may wait to accept your generous gift, I would like to talk to my people and to the chiefs about returning the Clannad to the Ramtharin Plains. My lords,” she said directly to the clansmen, “we would like to go home.”
The clan chieftains stared at her. Some looked shocked; some appeared pleased. “But where will you go?” Lord Fiergan asked sharply. “Do you wish to join a clan or start a treld of your own?”
“Well, we can talk about that later I suppose—” Helmar started to say.
Sayyed began to grin as the possibilities lit a fire in his mind. “My lords,” he said, cutting into Helmar’s reply. “The Clannad could come to Moy Tura. They are used to living in buildings, and we are in desperate need of help.” He winked at Helmar, and she beamed back. She had hoped he would make such an offer.
“I must talk to the rest of my people,” she said firmly, “but I think that is a suitable solution.”
“Then I will accept your answer whenever you decide,” the Shar-Ja told her. “And I will count you as a friend wherever you go.”
Kelene whooped with delight.
The clan chiefs left the next day with the Shar-Ja’s treaty and Helmar’s petition to rejoin the clans. They promised to take the news to the gathering and encourage the clanspeople to accept. Sayyed went with them.
Although he wanted to stay with Helmar, he felt he would be a good advocate for the Clannad at the gathering, and Lord Athlone agreed.
Before he left, though, he presented Helmar with a betrothal gift of a bracelet woven from hairs taken from Afer’s and Marron’s tails. “It is just a simple thing,” he explained, “to remind you of me until you say yes.”
She kissed him, grateful that he did not demand an answer yet. How could she decide until she knew where her people would go? She watched him ride away over the foothills back to the plains of the clans, and her heart ached to go with him. Oh, Amara, she wondered, what will I do if the Clannad says no?
Ten days later Lord Athlone, his men, Lady Gabria, Kelene, Rafnir, Helmar, and the Clannad riders bid farewell to the Shar-Ja and Tassilio and Hajira. Their farewells were long and pleasantly sad and full of promises to visit. They trotted out of the city, onto the Spice Road, and turned north toward the mountains and the valley of Sanctuary.
Kelene turned back just once to look beyond the pinnacle and its green and red temple to the peaks beyond, hoping, foolishly she knew, for one last glimpse of the gryphon. Then she sighed and cast a sidelong glance at her husband.
“Do you know how many people are in the Clannad?” she asked, her tone deliberately innocent.
“Yes, about three hundred and eighty-two. Or so Helmar said,” Rafnir answered.
“Good, then if they come, we will have three hundred and eighty-three new inhabitants in Moy Tura.”
He was slow to catch on. “Three hundred and—” His voice caught, and he stared at her. The delight blossomed on his face. “Are you sure?”
She grinned then, shining like a star. “Yes! Zukhara’s midwives’ remedy actually worked! And that,” she said, her spirit exalting, “is my best revenge!”
The following year proved another turning point in the history of the Dark Horse Clans. Bards marked its events in the Tale of Years; clanspeople talked about it for seasons afterward. It became known as the time of the Return of the Dead Clan.
That summer, a season marked by plentiful rains both north and south of the Altai, Sayyed and Rafnir decided to go to the clan gathering and take their people with them. They were one of the last groups to arrive, but they had planned that deliberately to honour their chieftain, Lady Helmar, and the three hundred and eighty-two members of the Clannad that would attend a clan gathering for the first time in over two hundred years.
The other clans crowded along the rivers and on the hillsides to watch them come. The Khulinin waited near the big council tent. Lady Gabria sat on Nara and felt the tears stream down her face, but she didn’t bother to wipe them off. She thought of her father and her brothers and the other Corins who had died twenty-eight years ago. She wished fervently they could have been there to watch the return of the Clannad.
The first riders came over the distant hill from the north, and Gabria recognized Kelene, who rode with her baby daughter bundled in a carrier on her chest, and Rafnir. Behind them rode Sayyed close beside his wife, Helmar, on her star-white mare. Just to their right, bouncing along like a puppy on stilts, was Marron’s month-old colt, a handsome baby Hunnuli with a black coat, the white lightning mark and, like an omen from the gods, a white mane and tail.
Then came the others, in a trailing column of carts, horses, and excited people — each and every one of them wearing the red cloak of Clan Corin.
The main body of the clan rode to the old Corin campsite along the Isin River, but Helmar, Sayyed, Rafnir, and Kelene trotted their Hunnuli to the council grove and greeted the other eleven clan chiefs.
Lord Bendinor stepped forward and spoke so all could hear. “Do you, Lady Gabria, as last surviving heir to Lord Dathlar and the line of Corin, acknowledge these people to be descendants of Lady Jeneve, daughter of Lord Magar of Clan Corin?”
Gabria looked up into Helmar’s shining face. “I acknowledge them with all my heart.”
Bendinor nodded to several people by the tent and, as Gabria watched through her tears, the scarlet banner of the Corin clan was raised for the first time since the massacre and took its rightful place among the twelve clans of Valorian.
THE CLANS — CHIEF — CLOAK COLOUR
Corin — none — Red
Khulinin — Athlone — Gold
Geldring — Hendric — Green
Wylfling — Jamas — Brown
Dangari — Bendinor — Indigo
Shadedron — Wendern — Black
Reidhar — Fiergan — Yellow
Amnok — Terod — Grey
Murjik — Geric — Purple
Bahedin — Ryne — Orange
Jehanan — Sha Tajan — Maroon
Ferganan — Tirek (Peoren) — Light Blue
Hearthguard:
A chieftain’s personal bodyguards. These men are the elite warriors of the clan and are honoured with this position for their bravery, skill, and loyalty.
Hunnuli:
Magical black horses that can communicate mentally with their magic-wielding riders.
Meara:
The king stallion of the clan’s herds, one that is chosen for its ability to defend the mares and foals.
Treld:
A clan’s permanent winter camp.
Valorian:
Ancient hero of the Dark Horse Clans.
Weir-geld:
Recompense paid in the form of gold or livestock to the family of a person who was murdered or killed in a personal duel.
Werod:
The fighting body of a clan. Although all men are required to learn the rudiments of fighting, only those who pass certain tests make up the werod.
Wer-tain:
The commander of the werod. These men are second in authority only to the chieftains.