Valorian

9

By summer’s end, Valorian knew his hopes to cross Wolfeared Pass by autumn were dead. It had taken most of the summer to find and talk to every family in the Clan, and even then he couldn’t persuade everyone to agree to go. The reasons for refusal were not many, but they were common throughout the scattered clanspeople. Many of those who didn’t want to attempt the journey were afraid of General Tyrranis and his troops, and some were reluctant to disobey Lord Fearral or apprehensive about leaving Chadar for a new, unseen land.

Valorian had to agree their fears were valid, but not insurmountable. About half of the clanspeople did agree with him, either out of belief in the will of the gods or a fierce desire to escape the Tarns. He knew his inability to convince the other half wasn’t for lack of trying. He had done everything he could think of, from revealing his power of magic to extolling Hunnul’s gifts from the goddess and offering him as stud to any family in need of a good stallion. There simply had to be something else he could do, something he hadn’t thought of yet, that would convince the rest of his people. Particularly Lord Fearral.

Unfortunately there wasn’t much time left. Valorian knew if the Clan didn’t leave Chadar by the next summer at the latest, they would probably lose any chance they had of escaping. The tribute to General Tyrranis would be due again, and many of the clanspeople admitted to Valorian that they wouldn’t be able to pay the crippling tax by the next season. If they didn’t pay, the Tarns would confiscate everything they could get their hands on or sell the people as slaves.

There was also the problem of Stonehelm. Lord Fearral had ignored the general’s order to tear down the palisades and had made little effort to replenish the herds or strengthen the town’s economy. Many people believed the Tarns would put the village to the sword within the year.

Secrecy was also a major problem. Valorian knew it was only a matter of time before word of his activities reached the ear of the general. Tyrranis would not be pleased to learn a clansman was trying to persuade his people to go to a new land. Knowing the general’s reputation, Valorian was well aware that Tyrranis would not sit idly by while he tried to convince his people to leave.

Therefore, by some means or another, Valorian had to secretly unite the Clan, convince Fearral to change his mind, and slip the people out of Chadar after the snow melt but before the Tarns could catch them. The whole thing was enough to make him groan.

Yet through all the disappointments and setbacks, his faith in his mission never faltered. After the first doubts and confusion when he returned from the realm of the dead, his belief in a new home had turned into a bright, steady flame that burned in his heart with unquenchable zeal. The exodus would happen-he knew it. Its execution was merely a matter of effort and timing. Somehow the will of the gods would help him fit everything into place.

Leagues to the west, in the garrison town of Actigorium, General Ivorn Tyrranis drummed his long fingers thoughtfully on a windowsill in his large, airy dayroom. Several of his aides and officers watched him silently from the back of the room, and two guards stood motionless by the door.

“Tell me this rumor again, merchant. Leave out no detail,” Tyrranis said. His voice was glacial.

The Chadarian merchant, on his knees before the general, swallowed hard. “I-I’ve been hearing rumors, Your Eminence,” he stammered.

“Yes, yes,” Tyrranis said testily. “We know that.” He turned to face the fat old Chadarian, and the edge of his sword clanged against the stone.

The merchant winced. Tyrranis, as usual, was dressed in the full regalia of a Tarnish officer, although he had retired from active duty to serve the emperor as a provincial governor. He felt the gleaming brass breastplate, the black tunic edged in gold, and the sword were intimidating to those beneath him.

He was right in part, but what intimidated most people was his demeanor. The general was a man of medium height and gigantic ego. He kept his body strong and lean and his mind dagger quick. His jaw was clean shaven, and his hair was cut very short, which left nothing to distract from his cold, sharp features. His eyes had the merciless, deadpan stare of a cobra, and he used them to their full effect by staring at people with his thin lips pulled tight and his expression contemptuous. When General Tyrranis turned his cold gaze on someone, there was no need for him to shout or demand.

Now he stared, unblinking, at the merchant. The Chadarian had brought him news and rumors from the marketplace before, but the man was getting old, and his news was often unreliable. Tyrranis wanted to be certain that this rumor wasn’t a mere fable the merchant had brought in for gold.

The old man cast his eyes down, unable to meet the general’s dark stare. “I’ve heard several times of a clansman named Valorian,” he managed to say. “He has been going around the hills trying to talk the clanspeople into leaving Chadar. ”

“Are they listening?” Tyrranis inquired.

“Some of them are, but I think their chieftain refuses to leave his camp, and many of them won’t go without him.

“Wise decision,” muttered one of Tyrranis’s aides.

The general crossed his arms, his chiseled face unreadable, his unwavering gaze still pinned on the Chadarian’s sweating face. “Has this Valorian given up on his ridiculous quest?”

The merchant’s jowls swayed in the motion of his shaking head. “Not yet, General. He is still wandering after the other families, trying to convince them to follow him. The man hesitated and cleared his throat.

Tyrranis studied him through blank eyes. He could tell the merchant hadn’t told everything he knew. “If you have more, then out with it!” he demanded.

The old man shifted nervously on his knees, his hands twisting behind his back. “I-I don’t know if I believe this myself, Your Eminence. You might not-”

“Tell me!” Tyrranis hissed.

“I’ve also heard,” the merchant said hastily, “that this clansman claims he was struck by lightning and now can use magic.”

General Tyrranis didn’t twitch a muscle, nor did he blink or gasp or outwardly change in any way. But in his mind the spark of interest flared to a bonfire at the word ‘magic.’ “Has he shown any signs of such a power?” he asked, his excitement buried under layers of careful control.

“There have been a few tricks, General. Bolts of blue fire, images in smoke. . . nothing extraordinary.”

“Hmmm.” Tyrranis turned on his heel and strode to the carved wooden table that served as his desk. He drew a handful of coins from a box, tossed them at the kneeling merchant, and jabbed a finger at the door. “You may go.” The Chadarian lost no time. Scooping up his money, he bowed to the ground, then struggled to his feet and hurried out.

No one watched him go.

A heavy silence fell on the room while everyone waited for the general to speak. Even though the topic of magic was never discussed in the general’s presence, all the men there knew of Tyrranis’s fascination with the elusive force, and they wondered how he was going to react to this strange news of a clansman with alleged magical powers.

The general remained motionless by his table for a long while, his thoughts busy behind his cruel face.

Finally one of the waiting men cleared his throat in the tense silence. Tyrranis’s gaze immediately snapped to the man’s face. It was the tax collector.

“My lord general,” the man said silkily, “I seem to remember something about this Valorian from my records. Do I have your permission to withdraw so I may check on this?”

General Tyrranis jerked his head at the door, and the tax collector bowed and quickly left. Wordlessly the other men waited while the general found his chair and sat down. The only sound in the room was the soft drumming of Tyrranis’s fingers on the tabletop as he resumed his thoughts. The other men looked at one another uneasily. They had seen these silent moods descend on their commander before, and it usually boded ill for someone.

After a long time had passed, the general stirred slightly in his seat. “I want this clansman brought before me,” he said to them all.

His aides knew the statement was not a request.

“On what charges?” asked the commander of the army garrison whose responsibility it would be to find Valorian.

Tyrranis slammed his palm on the table and snapped, “I don’t care! That’s your problem. Just bring him to me.”

The commander glanced at his adjutant and shrugged slightly under his armor. “We could probably arrest him for inciting rebellion.”

Tyrranis waved a hand. “That will do.” Even though he was angry at the thought of a miserable clansman trying to undermine his authority in his province, the feeling was almost lost in his desire to get this man into his private workroom and study his use of magic. The clansman’s rumored powers were the first strong lead in Tyrranis’s search for magic since his posting to this province, and he wasn’t going to let it slip away.

Just then the tax collector hurried in, looking pale and nervous. “Your Eminence,” he breathed. He was praying silently to himself that the information he had found would distract Tyrranis from his own negligence. “I finally remembered the man Valorian. He was at Fearral’s camp at Stonehelm at the time I began my duties for you. He protested that we took some of his stock animals when we collected Fearral’s tribute.”

“So?” Tyrranis demanded.

The tax collector swallowed hard. “I went back in our records, and I cannot find my predecessor’s marks for Valorian’s family. I don’t believe they have paid their tribute for this year.”

The general glared at him. “Why didn’t you collect it?”

There was a long pause while the collector tried to wet his dry mouth. “Sergius Valentius left the tax records in a shambles, General. It took days to straighten out his scrolls and notes. I thought he had collected all the Clan families’ tributes but Fearral’s before he disappeared.”

At the word “disappeared,” the Tarnish commander snapped his fingers and said, “General, four soldiers of mine went with Sergius that day. They never came back either.”

Tyrranis looked thoughtful. “Where were they going?”

“Sergius never said. That’s why it was so hard to look for them. We finally assumed the men had deserted.”

“I remember that now,” the adjutant put in. “We looked for several days; never even found their horses. But Sergius’s horse appeared at his home with an empty saddle.”

“Maybe the soldiers killed Sergius and took off with his taxes,” another officer suggested. “It has been known to happen.”

The commander waved that away. “Maybe if he was collecting gold, but the clanspeople are too poor to pay in coin. Their tribute is in animals. I can’t believe four Tarnish soldiers are going to risk their lives for a few measly horses or goats.”

“Interesting,” murmured the general. He stood up. “There are your charges, Commander. Enough to crucify the man: Inciting rebellion, failure to pay the tribute, and suspicion of murder. Now, get him!”

All the Tarnish officers saluted the general. He returned their salute and gestured to his other men to leave. They all hurried out, the tax collector drawing a quiet sigh of relief. In a moment, the room was empty except for Tyrranis. He returned to the window and leaned on the stone sill to look out over the courtyard of his house. Far beyond the roofs of his estate and the walls of Actigorium, he could see the purplish peaks of the Darkhorn Mountains. Somewhere in their shadows hid a man who could hold the secret to magic, a secret Tyrranis would sell his soul to attain. With magic, he believed he could gather the greatest army in the known world and expand the Tarnish Empire into every corner of civilization. He could ride in triumph into Tarnow bearing the riches of a thousand realms. He could sweep away the ineffectual man on the emperor’s throne and wear the royal diadem himself. He was already setting his myriad plans in motion to usurp the Tarnish imperial throne, but magic would assure him of the conquest.

Tyrranis’s fingers curled around each other and tightened until the knuckles turned white. First he had to get his hands on Valorian.

On a cold autumn night, Valorian was taking his turn at guard duty and trying to keep his anger under control.

Aiden had left early in the day, to go hunting he had said, and as yet hadn’t returned. Usually that wouldn’t have bothered Valorian. His brother was a capable woodsman and could have easily gone too far to return to camp by nightfall.

But this time, Linna had told him in a mixture of tears and anger that Aiden’s Chadarian clothes were missing, and his hunting bow was still hanging in the tent.

Valorian realized immediately that Aiden had gone down to the lowlands. He knew it was impossible to curb his brother’s impulses, but he had fervently hoped Aiden had seen the sense of staying out of the Tarns’ way. So far, the Tarns hadn’t tried to find the family to question them about Sergius or their late tribute, and Valorian hoped they had gotten lost in the tangles of bureaucracy. However, if Aiden got himself caught, that could all change.

He rode Hunnul along the edge of camp to exchange a word or two with the other guards, and then he headed out to check the herds. The family was camped in a small meadow in the lower foothills of the mountains to take advantage of the warmer weather. Snow had already fallen in the higher elevations, and no one was looking forward to returning to winter camp.

That was another problem that worried Valorian. He didn’t know where to take the family for the winter. He didn’t think it would be safe to return to their usual valley because the Tarns had already found it. They needed to go to some out-of-the-way place the Tarns didn’t know about where there was protection from the winter weather and enough fodder for their animals. There weren’t many such places left in the Bloodiron Hills.

Hunnul walked slowly around the open field where the animals grazed. The night was frosty clear and quiet. The only sounds came from the slight wind that brushed the grass and bracken, and the sleepy animals as they shifted in their resting places. Not far away, the soft clank of a bell indicated the presence of the bell mare and the brood mare herd.

Valorian sighed in the peaceful night and tilted his head to look at the glittering swath of stars. Automatically his eyes picked out the shapes of the Drinking Gourd, the Bowman, the Eagle, the Twin Sisters, and the Great Snake, whose starry outline curled along the eastern horizon. Each figure seen in the stars was an important part of the Clan’s ancient legends and a practical part of daily life. By knowing the movement and position of the stars, the clanspeople kept track of the time and the seasons and could find their way in the darkest night.

Valorian fixed his eye on the big red star that hung like a jewel in the southern sky. The star was sinking rapidly to the west, and the night was getting late. He hoped Aiden was out there somewhere following the stars back home. He rode Hunnul to the top of a nearby high hill that overlooked the flatlands, hoping to catch some sign of his brother.

The wind was blowing from the east, bringing the smells of newly harvested fields, ripe grapes, and curing hay to the sensitive nostrils of the stallion. At last, to Valorian’s vast relief, the stallion lifted his head, his nostrils fluting to catch the familiar scent on the breeze.

He comes, Valorian. He smells strange.

“What? Has he been hurt?” Valorian demanded.

No. It is something like your wine, only different. Sharper. More bitter.

“He’s probably been drinking Andor liquor again,” Valorian said irritably. He patted Hunnul in thanks and urged him down the slope toward the camp. They stopped at the edge of the tents and waited to meet Aiden coming up from the direction of Actigorium.

The young man whistled loudly to alert the guards of his identity, then kicked his horse into a canter toward the camp. “Valorian!” he shouted even before he saw his brother waiting at the edge of the tents.

The camp was dark and shadowed. Valorian had forbidden fires and torches after dark to avoid easy detection. Aiden didn’t see the black horse and its rider until he was almost on top of them.

“Valorian!” he shouted again.

“I’m here.” Aiden had to rein in sharply to keep from running into Hunnul. “Good gods, where did you come from?” Without waiting for an answer, he plunged into his news. “Valorian, you’ve got to hear—”

“Aiden,” Valorian said sharply, cutting him off, “what did you think you were—”

But Aiden was too agitated to listen. With a frantic gesture toward the lowlands, he interrupted Valorian. “Yes, I know, I know. I shouldn’t have gone to Actigorium. I could have endangered the family.” He saw the look on his brother’s face and added contritely, “Or myself. I’m sorry to have worried you.” He put a finger in his ear and jiggled it around. “Unfortunately I had this terrible tickle in my ear for news. I had to go!” He finished with his charming grin.

Valorian rolled his eyes. It was impossible for him to stay angry at Aiden when he was back safely and bursting with news. He decided to let it drop. Linna would probably be angry enough for the both of them. He sighed. “So what did you find out?”

“I went down to Actigorium to some of the drinking houses I know, and Valorian, they’re talking of nothing but you!”

That was a nasty jolt. Valorian’s mouth tightened into a grim line. “Why?”

“Magic mostly. Not paying the tribute. Some people are even discussing the missing Tarnish soldiers and Sergius.” Aiden’s voice rose as his anger flared. “It’s easy to guess. Someone has been talking about you down there, someone from the Clan, because the Chadarians and Tarns know almost everything we’ve been doing this summer.”

A sick feeling of betrayal rose in Valorian’s stomach. He knew rumors of his activities would eventually reach the lowlands, but the clanspeople were usually so reluctant to talk to Tarns or Chadarians that he had hoped it would be a long time before the Tarns knew. Now, if Aiden was right, it seemed a clansperson was deliberately trying to sabotage his efforts.

“Any idea who it could be?”

Aiden shook his head. “Whoever it was was too clever to reveal his Clan identity. But that’s not the worst of it.” He hesitated and cleared his throat. “General Tyrranis has issued orders for your arrest. The Tarnish garrison is sending detachments up to look for us. ”

“On what charges?” Valorian asked quietly.

“Failure to pay the tribute, insurrection, and. . . suspicion of murder.” Aiden’s voice hesitated. “Do you suppose they found the bodies?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Or maybe the Tarns are just guessing,” Valorian answered.

Aiden tried to see his brother’s expression, but Valorian was turned slightly, and his face was lost in the darkness. He was very still. “I heard some good news you might like,” Aiden offered. When Valorian didn’t say anything, he went on, “It’s been confirmed that the Twelfth Legion crossed over Wolfeared Pass this summer. They’re in Sar Nitina, waiting for transport downriver to the gulf. The Ramtharin Plains are abandoned.”

Valorian smiled then. He reached out and clasped his brother’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he said. Then he turned Hunnul and disappeared into the night to finish his watch.

Ten days later Valorian’s family was still on the move and still uncertain of where they would go. They had traveled higher into the hills every day, setting up camp in a new meadow each night and staying one step ahead of the numerous scouts and Tarnish detachments that were sweeping the lower hills for some sign of Valorian. The family realized the danger they were in, but they were growing disgruntled and worried. Snow mantled the mountain peaks, flurries had already dusted the lower hills, and the nights were growing cold. The time was well past for the family to establish their winter camp. If they waited too long, they would have a very cold, hungry, and miserable time ahead. Yet no one, not even Mother Willa, could think of a suitable place to go that would be safe from the Tarns for the entire winter.

Valorian had toyed with several ideas, including wintering at Stonehelm, but although he knew Lord Fearral was too honorable to be the one responsible for spreading the rumors of his activities, he didn’t trust the people of the town. The village was too open and vulnerable.

In fact, he didn’t know who to trust anymore, outside of his own family. Anyone in the Clan, for any number of reasons, could have gone down to the Chadarian villages and spread tales, and that same person could easily reveal Valorian’s location. He decided that once he got his family settled somewhere, he would keep moving. He could visit the camps, continue talking to the clanspeople, and, with luck, keep the Tarns guessing over his whereabouts. He could even go south and see Wolfeared Pass for himself before the snow clogged the hills. Staying on the move would also help keep the soldiers away from his family.

Early one afternoon, when his thoughts weighed heavily in his mind, he slowed Hunnul to a walk beside the cart carrying his tent, his few possessions, Mother Willa, and Kierla.

Kierla was over six months into her pregnancy by now, and the bulge of the baby was becoming quite evident under her bulky skirts. She smiled at her husband until a hard jolt from the cart knocked the smile from her lips. He watched her worriedly as she tried to settle herself more comfortably on the cart seat.

Mother Willa irritably slapped the reins on the rump of the old mare pulling the cart and pursed her lips. “You know we can’t go on much longer like this,” she said tartly to her grandson. “Kierla needs rest before her confinement, not all this jouncing around.”

He agreed. Kierla was past the prime age to bear children, and he was already deeply worried about her.

Kierla laughed at them both. “I’m fine!” she cried. “I’ve never felt stronger or happier in my life, so don’t waste your worries over me. Just think of a place to go so we can set up some ovens. I have the strongest craving for some freshly baked bread.”

Valorian chuckled at her. He had to admit that she did seem to be in excellent health. So, by the gods, if it was bread she wanted, then somehow she would have it!

Just then a shout went up from the head of the caravan. Ranulf came galloping over to Valorian and called, “A rider coming. A clansman!”

Hunnul cantered forward past the carts, horses, and people to meet the approaching rider. Valorian recognized with pleasure the rider’s bright hair. It was Gylden.

The rider waved his arm and hallooed at the caravan in obvious relief and happiness. He cantered up to Valorian, his red cloak snapping in the cold wind, and greeted his friend. “Valorian! Am I glad to see you! I’ve been looking for you for almost seven days. No wonder the Tarns can’t catch up with you.”

“You know about that?”

“Everyone does. Word spreads fast. That and the fact that the Tarns have stopped every family they could find. They’re really anxious to catch you.” He studied Valorian intently before he said, “Something about a suspected murder?”

For a long breath, Valorian hesitated. His first reaction was to keep quiet and not extend his trust any further than he had to. Only his family knew the circumstances of Sergius’s death, and it would be safer if no one else learned the truth. Then he felt ashamed. Gylden was his oldest friend. How could he gain the Clan’s respect and trust if he couldn’t extend the same to those around him?

“That part is true,” he explained to his friend. “Sergius Valentius was trying to take Kierla. I struck him with a bolt of magic before I remembered I had the power. We hid his body up in the mountains.”

A cloud fell away from Gylden’s handsome face, for he realized how much Valorian was trusting him with that information. He was both relieved and pleased. It made his news for Valorian that much more gratifying. “That isn’t murder,” he snorted. “That’s just snake killing.”

“Not to the Tarns,” Valorian replied dryly.

Aiden and several of the other men on horseback joined them at that moment, and Gylden brought up the reason that had sent him chasing after them.

“We knew you might be in trouble when we heard about the charges brought against Valorian, so Father had an idea. He wants you to come winter with us.”

Valorian chuckled with a mix of surprise and disbelief. “Your father? I thought he would have nothing to do with me without Lord Fearral’s approval.”

Gylden didn’t take offense. His father was known to be set in his ways. “I’ve been talking to him,” he said with a grin. “I had to do something to earn all those pregnant mares. And gods’ truth, Valorian. He knows a place deep in the Gol Agha that he says will shelter both of our families through the winter. He wants you to come.”

“Gol Agha?” Aiden questioned. “The canyon of the winds? I didn’t know there was any place in there worth camping for a day, let alone several months.”

“I didn’t either. But Father swears it’s there. He sent several scouts out to check on it while I came to find you.” He tugged at his mustache and glanced at Valorian. “Will you come?”

“You realize that we could be putting your family in great danger,” Valorian said.

Gylden didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

The clansman looked to his brother and the other men around him. The hope and relief on their faces melted the last of his reservations. If Gylden and his family were willing to risk hiding them, then he wasn’t going to argue further. He felt relief lift the weight of worry “from his shoulders. “We’ll come,” he said. Then he trotted back to Kierla and told her the news.

“Praise Amara!” she cried in delight. “We’ll have bread by the Hunting Moon.”

And she was right.

By the time the next full moon, or “the Hunting Moon” as the clanspeople called it, swelled over the Darkhorns, the two families had joined and traveled south of Stonehelm deep into the mountains to the canyon called Gol Agha. The wide canyon mouth, aptly named the Place of the Winds, faced the northwest, catching storm winds and the winds of winter like a giant funnel. The reddish brown canyon was never still or silent from the winds that surged down its long length. They keened and whined and howled and sang, sometimes so strong a man couldn’t stand upright in their passing.

Further along, however, the canyon made several bends that took the force out of the winds, and between the protection of high walls was a long, narrow, flat place, green with grass and scattered trees. It wasn’t ideal, but it was safe enough. Only a few clanspeople had ever bothered to explore beyond the Place of the Winds; one of those had been Gylden’s father in his younger days.

Happily the old man’s memory was as sharp as ever, and after three days’ traveling with the winds howling at their backs, the two families found the sanctuary within the canyon. They immediately set about building the more substantial camps that were used for winter, including the carefully constructed ovens for baking bread. Two days before the moon was full, Kierla ate her fill of the warm, fragrant, freshly baked bread.

The rising of the Hunting Moon was another day of celebration for the clanspeople, this time for the god Surgart, the god of war and the hunt. They spent the day dancing and reenacting famous hunts, and when the full moon sailed over the canyon wall, the men set out on foot to hunt the fiercest predator in the mountains, the cave lion. After his horses, a cave lion pelt was the most respected and treasured possession a clansman could own. To kill one of the big cats during Surgart’s celebration was a feat of great honor and a good omen for the year to come.

Valorian himself had never had a successful lion hunt, but this year, Kierla wasn’t surprised when the men returned two days later filthy, exhausted, and laden with the pelt of a huge lion.

In front of both families, Gylden’s father stretched the pelt out flat for all to see. “Before the eyes of Surgart,” he shouted to the gathered people, “Valorian threw his spear straight and true into the chest of the springing cat. It is to him that we give the pelt for the honor of the killing blow!”

The crowd cheered as Valorian gathered up the pelt, and pride and gratitude burned in his heart. He gave the fur to Kierla to tan and prepare as she wished.

Several days later, on a windy, frostbitten morning, he kissed her good-bye, and, leaving her in Mother Willa’s care, he set out with Gylden, Ranulf, and Aiden to see the Wolfeared Pass.