Valorian

10

It wasn’t difficult for the four clansmen to elude the Tarnish soldiers still searching the hills. Unencumbered by herds and carts, they were able to travel fast and on paths known only to wild animals and the Clan. Before too many days were gone, they passed the ridge where lightning had struck Valorian and headed into country only Ranulf had seen.

The young man was thrilled to be the guide for the other three, and he led them south down the long length of Chadar over ridges, hills, and valleys they never knew existed. Not far from Valorian’s ridge, Ranulf had to lead them out of the foothills and down to the plains to circumvent a vast, deep canyon that sliced through the mountains and forced its way through high bluffs into the lowlands.

The steep gorge formed an insurmountable barrier across any mountain path going north or south, and Valorian grimaced when he realized that if the Clan came this way, they, too, would have to risk going down to the plains to avoid that canyon.

Several days after passing the canyon, the clansmen crossed the Bendwater River into Sarcithia. They worked their way south along the flanks of the mountains for five more days until they reached a wide valley carved out of the hills by the swiftly flowing Argent River.

When all four men saw the old scars of wagon ruts left on the trail by the retreating XIIth Legion, Valorian felt his excitement grow. To the east, he could see where two peaks rose from the same summit, forming a shape similar to a wolfs prick-eared head.

Ranulf nodded when Valorian pointed to it. After all that time, Valorian was finally able to see Wolfeared Pass for himself. Following the legion’s trail, they rode up the long and often steep path to the snow-covered summit of the pass and sat on their horses to gaze on the land beyond.

They were silent for a long time as their eyes slowly traveled down the rumpled mountain slopes, past steep granite faces powdered with snow, to the pine-covered foothills and the purplish vistas of the far distant plains.

Hunnul stretched his neck to snuff the wind from the east, and his pleasure sang in Valorian’s mind. I smell grass down there. More grass than I have ever seen. That is a good place.

Grinning widely, Valorian patted the stallion in agreement. He could tell by looking at his companions that they thought so, too. He was encouraged as never before. Until that moment, the dream of going to the Ramtharin Plains had been something only he had truly believed in. His friends and family had thought about it, accepted it, and wished for it, but none of them had passionately believed in its possibilities. Now the dream had been passed to others. Valorian could see it ignite and begin to glow in the three men beside him. They stirred, straightened a little, and glanced at one another like conspirators in a wonderful secret. Ranulf was grinning. Gylden’s brown eyes were wide and brimmed with excitement, and Aiden’s fingers drummed on his knee as he imagined the vast potential of such a land.

Valorian nodded to himself. Now he had three dedicated disciples who would help him carry the dream to the Clan. The people had to understand! If he could only bring them all here to this mountaintop to look down on the far plains, he knew they would come to believe in hope and freedom just as his three companions had. Unfortunately he couldn’t bring the Clan here just for a look. He had to instill enough trust in the people for them to make a mighty leap of faith. When they ascended this mountain, it would be for the first and last time.

With a quiet sigh, he turned Hunnul away from the pass and the tantalizing view and led his friends back down the mountain. The weather was still mild and dry for late autumn, so Valorian decided to use the opportunity to scout for trails passable by carts. The other three men agreed. No one in the Clan was familiar with the land this far south, and I it would be very helpful to know the fastest way to reach the pass.

They began at the Argent River valley and methodically worked their way north, exploring every trail through the rugged hills—the small valleys with rushing streams, the deep canyons, and the open meadows of sun-cured grass. They looked for watering places, areas that could accommodate a large number of tents and herds, and smoother paths for the carts. They didn’t try to keep a map or write down any of the information they learned. None of them knew how to write, beyond a few basic names and symbols, and maps were for Tarns. After generations of traveling from place to place, the clanspeople were adept at memorizing landscapes and distances. When the Clan finally came that way, Valorian knew he and his companions would be able to lead the caravan unerringly along the ways they had chosen.

Before too many days had passed, however, Valorian began to feel his nervousness for Kierla increasing by the moment. They had been gone for a full passing of the moon, and her time was coming quickly. He wanted to be there with her when their child came into the world. He didn’t admit it aloud or even to himself, but he also wanted to be with her in the horrible event that she did not survive childbirth.

The other men, too, were getting anxious to see their loved ones and be sure the camp was still safe, so they pushed a little faster and reached the Bendwater River at the border of Chadar and Sarcithia by the end of autumn.

The four men made camp that night on the southern bank of the Bendwater under an evening sky that was clear and dazzling with stars. When they woke the next morning, the sky had turned to a solid, unmarred roof of gray. A damp, chilly wind stirred restlessly through the brown grass and rattled the bare trees.

Valorian studied the sky worriedly as they packed their gear. Everything under the lowering roof of cloud looked dull gray and cold; it was difficult to see the far horizon to the west and the north, where the land and sky blended together in a dark, dismal haze.

“We’d better look for some real cover today,” Aiden remarked, coming to stand by Valorian.

The tall clansman nodded. There was snow in those clouds, probably a lot of it, and he didn’t want to spend a night out in a storm if he could help it.

The clansmen had already found a suitable ford on the wide, shallow river, so they hurried down to the water, glad to be going back to their own homeland.

Valorian watched the pleasure on his friends’ faces while Hunnul waded through the water. That was the sad incongruity of his dream to leave Chadar. The clanspeople loved their own country. They didn’t want to tear themselves away from a land that had nurtured them for generations. He felt the same way. Given half a chance for survival, he would drop his plans for an exodus in a moment and strive for a better life in Chadar. But it was too late. What most of the clanspeople did not want to accept was that the Tarns had already taken away their homeland. Chadar was no longer home, no matter how deeply the people cared about it. The time had come to move on, just as the clans had done long, long ago when they came out of the west to settle in Chadar. Once again they must follow Amara’s rising sun to the east.

Valorian was so busy mulling over his own thoughts, he didn’t notice Hunnul’s ears suddenly swivel forward or the stallion’s nose test the breeze. They were nearly to the bank on the Chadarian side of the river when Hunnul started to tell him, Master, I think there are. . .

He didn’t get a chance to finish. At that instant, there was a loud yell from a clump of birch trees close to the water, and six Tarnish soldiers sprang out of hiding, their bows drawn and aimed at the riders.

“Stop right there!” their leader ordered.

Valorian cursed inwardly. It was just their luck to run into a border patrol now. He wondered if they could bluff their way past the soldiers. Perhaps these Tarns didn’t realize who he was.

Before he could get a word out, the idea was driven from his mind by the clan war cry. The three men beside him clapped their heels to their horses, yanked out their swords, and charged directly at the six archers. Valorian cursed aloud this time. Tarnish soldiers were good bowmen and unlikely to miss three men riding at them at such short range.

Unbidden, Hunnul leaped after the three. Valorian saw the Tarns take careful aim, and he raised his right hand. The arrows flew from the bows faster than the eye could follow, but Valorian’s spell was just as fast. He flicked his hand, and a gust of wind suddenly swirled between the two groups of men, knocking the arrows in every direction. The surprised Tarns scattered along the bank as Aiden, Gylden, and Ranulf charged into their midst with swords swinging.

Valorian, however, didn’t want a fight now. He wasn’t going to break his vow by killing these six Tarns with magic, and there was nothing to gain by fighting them. “Keep going!” he bellowed to his men as Hunnul galloped up the riverbank, flinging water in all directions. The clansmen reluctantly broke off the attack and raced toward the hills to seek cover, with Hunnul close at their heels.

It took a moment for the startled soldiers to gather their wits, then five of them ran for their horses to give chase to the fleeing clansmen. Only their frustrated leader paused long enough to draw his bow and quickly fire two arrows at the escaping men before turning away to get his mount. He didn’t wait to see where the arrows went.

The powerful composite bow favored by the Tarnish army did its work well. It fired its arrows at a speed faster than a galloping horse, in a perfect trajectory that caught up with the group of clansmen near the end of the long flight. The first arrow fell to the grass. The second, like a slender bird of prey, dropped out of the leaden sky and slammed into Valorian’s back.

The clansman suddenly felt himself knocked forward over Hunnul’s neck from an agonizing pain that burst through his upper back and left shoulder. He grabbed frantically for the black’s mane to keep himself from falling.

Hunnul felt his master’s agony stabbing into his mind. He neighed a stallion’s scream of rage, which brought the other riders’ heads snapping around to see what was happening. Distraught, the big horse slowed down, but Valorian managed to push himself back into the saddle.

“No,” he gasped through clenched teeth. “Keep going.”

Behind him, Hunnul could see the Tarnish patrol galloping their horses up the hill in pursuit. He bared his teeth, stretched out his neck, and ran as he had never run before to put as much ground as possible between his master and the men who had hurt him. He passed Aiden, Gylden, and Ranulf like a black streak.

Aiden barely caught a glimpse of the shaft sticking out of Valorian’s back and the spreading red stain on his cloak when Hunnul flashed by. His heart dropped to his stomach. “Oh, gods!” he cried. “Valorian’s been hit!”

The three men bent frantically over their horses, their bodies molded to the animals’ movements. The Clan-bred horses, raised and trained on the rough terrain of the foothills, sped over the earth with the speed of deer and soon left the Tarns behind. But they couldn’t keep up with Hunnul. The last the three men saw of him was his streaming tail disappearing over a far hill.

“We’ll never catch that horse,” Gylden finally yelled. The Tarns were far behind and out of sight by that time, and the men’s horses were sweating heavily, so they pulled their mounts to a walk and followed Hunnul’s trail through the sparse, dried grass as best they could. The tracks were fairly easy to see, since the gentle hills to the north of the river were treeless and smooth. But it was a nerve-racking search. At any moment, they expected to top a slope and see Valorian’s body lying dead in the grass.

They had only ridden a league or two after. Hunnul when the first snowflakes began to fall in light, swirling patterns. In moments, the fall turned into a blizzard, and the fitful wind that had been blowing took the bit in its teeth and bolted, driving the snow before it in blinding white horizontal sheets. The cold became a vicious, sucking thing that snatched at their breath and stole the heat out of their bodies.

Aiden stared desperately into the snow for some sign of his brother or Hunnul. The tracks were gone in the blinding snow; there was no way to tell where Hunnul had gone. What was the stallion going to do, carry Valorian all the way back to the winter camp? Valorian would bleed to death by that time. Or freeze. His hope sinking, Aiden pulled his hood up over his head and pushed his horse closer to Gylden’s and Ranulf’s mounts. Together they pushed on into the storm.

Far ahead of the three men, Hunnul was racing across the flatter slopes at the edge of the foothills, racing as if ail the gorthlings of Gormoth were on his heels. His eyes were rimmed with white, his nostrils flared wide, and his long black legs were a blur against the brown landscape. Every instinct within the frantic horse told him to go home, to take his master back to the place where there was food and warmth and care. He didn’t know how far it was or how badly Valorian was hurt, he only knew to run north, where help could be found.

Yet something was bothering Hunnul. He felt an unfamiliar nagging sense that something was not right with his actions. There was more to this that he should try to understand. The stallion’s pace began to slow, and he neighed in frustration.

Valorian was lying along Hunnul’s neck, grimly clutching the mane with his right hand. His eyes were screwed shut, and his teeth were clenched against the pain. As the stallion slowed down, Valorian managed to gasp, “We can’t leave them!”

Hunnul came to a complete stop. He knew Valorian meant their companions, and as he thought about them, he slowly came to understand what was wrong. His horse instincts had told him to go home, but the greater wisdom and understanding of humans that Valorian had given him helped him to see that he shouldn’t leave Valorian’s companions behind. They were much closer than the family camp. They would have the knowledge and ability that he did not to heal his rider. As quickly as he had raced north, the big black turned on his heels and galloped south the way he had come.

He had only run a few minutes when the storm broke loose around him. Hunnul was forced to slow to a trot. Very warily, his head stretching into the darkening wind and snow to search for the scent of the three men, the stallion continued on his way.

To Aiden, Gylden, and Ranulf, the morning seemed to be an endless nightmare. They hunted in the dense snow like blind men while their hope trickled away and their bodies grew sluggish in the cold.

It was Aiden, peering into the snow, who heard a neigh and saw a black shape materialize out of the blowing snow. With a glad cry, he urged his mount forward to meet the horse. “Valorian!” Aiden cried.

The clansman was slumped over his saddle, his right hand clenched in Hunnul’s mane, his left arm hanging uselessly, and his face was deathly pale. Somehow he managed a weak smile. “I’m. . . still here,” he said weakly.

Hunnul came to a stop, and the other horses huddled around him. Man and horse alike were thoroughly miserable.

Aiden knew he and his friends had to find shelter out of the deadly wind for Valorian as quickly as they could. However, finding their way in the blizzard would be virtually impossible. They couldn’t see more than a few feet ahead of them and could easily fall off a sheer cliff, wander in circles, or lose each other entirely in the storm.

“Did anyone see any kind of shelter?” Aiden cried over the howling wind.

The others shook their heads. They were in an area of the foothills that was fairly smooth and had few trees. There were no caves or deep valleys or big windfalls that anyone could remember.

“Rope your horses together,” Valorian croaked, still lying against Hunnul’s neck. “We’ll find something.”

The others nodded mutely and quickly bundled themselves with every scrap of clothing they had, strung ropes from saddle horn to saddle horn, and struck out into the teeth of the storm.

To Hunnul, Valorian whispered, “Find someplace out of the wind.”

The stallion took the lead. Step by step he led them east through the whipping storm toward the rising hills. He didn’t really know where to go, but he realized that his beloved master and the others wouldn’t survive for long in the frigid blast of the blizzard. Before too many hours passed, they wouldn’t be able to fight the cold any longer. Their smaller bodies would slip into death long before he grew tired. He had to find someplace closer where they could rest. His nostrils searched the wind, his keen eyes looked into the endless white and gray storm, yet even he found “nothing.

The big stallion plowed on. Behind him, he sensed the three smaller horses were beginning to falter. The rope on his saddle jerked more frequently as the horses stumbled through the gathering drifts. Hunnul became worried. Valorian had put his complete trust in him to find what the humans with their weaker noses and eyes could not. If he didn’t find something soon, his master would die.

Then, on the dim edge of his range of smell, the black caught the faintest scent of something familiar: hay. His ears perked. His head swung around to follow the smell and he hurried to catch up with the elusive scent.

Valorian had no idea where they were or where they were going. Numb and weak from loss of blood and the cold, he was barely conscious. Gradually, though, the change in Hunnul’s gait attracted his hazy attention. He lifted his head and tried to focus on the snowy gloom.

He was staring ahead into the shifting walls of snow when something moved. He had the impression of a large, upright figure standing there, but then he blinked and it was gone. “Hunnul, what was that?” he whispered.

I do not know. They seem to be leading us somewhere.

“They?” gasped Valorian.

Yes, there are at least three of them. They have been out there for a short time now.

“Why are you following them?”

They have food, master, and I do not sense any threat from them.

“What if they’re predators?” Valorian mumbled.

Hunnul snorted as if insulted by his rider’s lack of faith. They do not smell like meat-eaters. They smell like stone.

Valorian was startled. Stone? What were these creatures? he wondered. Hunnul seemed to think they weren’t dangerous, but how could he be sure?

Valorian thought he saw the creatures several more times, each glimpse just a quick view of a large, dark shape against the shifting snow shadows. The beings made no noise or any movement toward the four riders. In fact, they seemed to be very elusive of human contact.

Time passed slowly as they plodded wearily through the snow. For once, Valorian was grateful for the vestiges of the heat left in his body by the lightning. It was probably one of the few things keeping him alive. He could feel the intense cold slice through his clothes and his boots. His hands and feet were numb, and his face felt like ice. The only blessing in the cold was that it stopped his bleeding and eased the pain in his back. His breath was coming in shuddering gasps that shook the arrow at every movement. His consciousness began to waver again, slowly slipping away until the world rolled before his eyes and went dark.

He didn’t stir when Hunnul suddenly neighed. Somewhere, not far ahead, a guttural cry answered his call. The stallion surged forward, pulling the other horses with him. He went around several boulders and up a steep, slippery slope. All at once a wide, dark entrance opened up before them, and Hunnul plunged into the blessed shelter of a cave.

The next several hours were a blur to Valorian. He was only vaguely aware of Aiden, Ranulf, and Gylden moving around him. Someone must have lit a fire, for he saw a vague, flickering light on the ground, and someone else pried his fingers from Hunnul’s mane. It took all three men to lift him from the stallion’s back and carry him to some blankets by the fire. He felt their shaking hands and knew they were as cold and exhausted as he. He wanted to get up and help them. They needed water and food, and someone had to take care of the horses, but when he tried to rise, a brutal pain in his back pinned him to his pallet. His senses reeled, and for a while, all light and awareness faded from his mind.

He woke briefly to see Aiden bending over him with a bloody cloth in his hands, then the pain abruptly lanced through him again, and he passed out once more.

It wasn’t until late that night that he returned to consciousness. He woke in fits and starts to the sound of strange voices.

“Live will he?” a deep, rumbling voice said near his head.

Valorian opened his eyes. He was lying on his stomach, facing the fire. His vision was unfocused, and the only light in the big cavern came from the feeble embers of the low fire. All he could make out were the shapes of his companions under their blankets and Hunnul’s front legs standing close by his arm.

“The Mother said he would,” another strange voice replied.

Valorian couldn’t see the speakers because they were behind his head. When he tried to move, his exhausted body would only stir.

The second speaker spoke again in a voice that sounded much like rocks being ground together. “See, he wakes. Poultice we must give him. Amara asked.”

Strangely the clansman wasn’t afraid. Even though he had no idea who these speakers with the odd voices could be, he sensed they only wanted to help. Hunnul didn’t seem to be upset by their presence. At the mention of Amara’s name, he relaxed back into his blankets. The Mother Goddess would watch over him.

As he drifted off to sleep again, he felt something warm and heavy laid across his back, and the gravelly voice said softly, “Peace, magic-wielder. When our home you leave, follow the little blind fishes under the mountain. Shorter will be your way.”

Something large and ponderous moved slowly toward the back of the cave. Valorian roused himself just long enough to lift his head. There at the flickering edge of the firelight he thought he saw two upright, bulky creatures step into the dense darkness. He sighed once, and his eyes gratefully slid shut.

Another voice woke Valorian abruptly early the next morning, and this one he recognized. It was Aiden.

“Gylden, Ranulf!” he heard Aiden cry. “Come here. Look at this!”

The three men gathered around Valorian on his blanket.

“By all the holy gods!” Gylden exclaimed. “What is that?”

“Is he dead?” Ranulf asked worriedly.

“No,” Valorian said before anyone else could speak. He opened his eyes and saw Aiden kneeling by his side, worry and confusion plain on his face. Valorian wondered what all the fuss was about. Surprisingly the pain in his back was completely gone. Only a heavy lassitude kept him on his bed; he was still too tired to move and just holding his eyelids open was an effort.

“Valorian,” Aiden said hesitantly, “there is something on your back.”

“I know,” he replied.

“What is it? It looks like a blob of cooled stone.”

Stone? How interesting, Valorian thought. “It’s a poultice,” he told his friends. “Someone put it there last night.”

The three men exchanged glances.

“Can you take it off?” Gylden suggested.

Very carefully Aiden hooked his fingers over the edge of the blob. The poultice, or whatever it was, was smooth, gray, and heavy. It covered Valorian’s bare upper back from shoulder to shoulder, as if it had been poured directly onto his skin and left to harden. It felt warm under Aiden’s fingers. Gently he peeled it off and laid it aside.

All three men gasped. They had cut the arrow out of Valorian’s back the night before; they had all seen the bloody wound and the damage to Valorian’s shoulder. This morning it was virtually healed. The deep puncture and the cuts were no more than lines of new pink skin.

“Carrocks,” Gylden said suddenly.

Aiden and Ranulf looked at him as if he had lost his mind. Carrocks were supposed to be manlike creatures of living rock who made their home in the dark roots of the mountains. But everyone knew the beings were only myths.

“Carrocks,” Gylden repeated, and his eyes lit with wonder. “That has to be it. The Carrocks helped us.”

On his blankets, Valorian nodded. “Of course. Amara sent them,” he whispered.

“That’s impossible,” Aiden said. He stared down at his brother’s back. “Carrocks don’t exist. They’re only legends.”

Ranulf picked up the stone poultice and turned it over in his hands. “But what if they’re real? I mean, look at this thing. Only the Carrocks in the tales had the healing stone. They lived in caves like this one.” He waved a hand at the enormous cavern that sheltered them.

Gylden rocked back on his heels. “Something brought us here, that’s for certain. When we got here, there was firewood, hay for the horses, even cut pine boughs for our beds.”

The three clansmen stared around the cave at the dark corners and crevices, perhaps hoping for some glimpse of the mythical Carrocks.

Valorian remembered something Amara had said. “Magic is responsible for creatures that you have never seen and know only in legends,» he repeated softly. His eyelids gave up the effort and fluttered shut. Carrocks, he thought with pleasure. The stone people who had sprung from the loins of the earth when drops of Amara’s blood fell from the sky and spattered on the newly formed mountains. No one had ever clearly seen a Carrock, and no one really believed anymore that they existed. Until now. He wished he could have seen his benefactors, perhaps spoken to them and thanked them, but he realized they wouldn’t be back. Their duty was done. He was healed, his friends were safe, and it was time for him to go home.

Two days later, Valorian stood at the mouth of the cave and looked out at a world transformed by snow. The blizzard had finally blown itself out, leaving behind brilliant blue skies, towering drifts, and a dazzling white landscape. It was incredibly lovely, and it would be incredibly difficult to travel through.

Sleep and the Carrocks’ poultice had done their work well. Valorian felt stronger and fitter than he had in days. He just wasn’t happy about continuing their journey through that deep, drifted snow. Traveling would take longer, be Very difficult, and would be hard on the horses. Because it was an early storm, it was probable that warmer weather would be back soon and melt most of the snow. They could wait until then to leave, but Valorian didn’t want to sit any longer than he had to. Kierla was waiting, and he wanted to get back to her.

He glanced around at the cave that had sheltered them for three days, and the last words of the Carrock flitted through his memory: “Follow the little blind fishes.” His eyes looked down at the small stream that flowed through the cavern. The water was shallow and perfectly clear; He couldn’t see anything that looked like fish, so he walked upstream deeper into the cavern.

The cave was the result of massive long-term erosion in the side of a huge cliff. It had smooth walls, a floor of bedrock and gravel bars, and a towering ceiling that gradually dropped down toward the back. Valorian had assumed the cavern was nothing more than a large chamber with a stream that bubbled up from a spring or some underground river. Now, as he explored farther back into the cave, he wasn’t so sure. There was a distinct draft that grew stronger the closer he approached the back wall. Still following the little stream, he discovered that what looked like the back of the cavern was actually a short slope and a rockfall. He scrambled up the rocks, and there at the top, where the ceiling arched down toward the floor, was a broad tunnel leading down into the mountain. A shiver crept up his back at the memory of other dark tunnels and the cold evil that had lurked there.

He paused in the dim remains of the light from the cave mouth and peered into the black depths where the stream came bubbling along its rocky bed. There was no movement or noise or any sign of life down there that he could see, and no indication that the tunnelled anywhere but underground.

Yet the Carrocks would know where it went. Would they save his life only to lead him astray on a fool’s path? He wondered. If it wasn’t for the pink scar just below his left shoulder blade, he would have thought he had dreamed the whole thing.

Valorian glanced down at the stream by his feet. There they were, barely visible in the weak light, a school of small white fish feeding on the graveled bottom. When he stepped closer to see, they flashed in unison and swam upstream into the lightless waters. He saw them just long enough to note they had no eyes. The little fish settled his mind. He would go into the tunnel.

Convincing the others wasn’t as difficult as he had imagined. They were all loath to travel in the snow and willing to try something different if Valorian thought it would work. Aiden’s only suggestion was to mark their trail as they went along so they could find their way back if the going got too’ rough.

The men saddled their horses and, out of habit, wiped out the signs of their camp. Valorian left the stone poultice sitting in plain view near the faint scorch mark of their fire. Perhaps the Carrocks could use it again. As a last thought, he dug through his saddlebags and found a small green chunk of jade he had once carefully carved into the shape of a horse. It was rather crude, he knew, but it could serve as a small token of thanks. He left it sitting beside the poultice.

One by one the four men led their horses over the rockfall and into the tunnel entrance that sloped gradually down deep into the roots of the mountain. They paused together to stare down into the black passage. No one seemed willing to be the first to go into that underground hole.

“Where does the tunnel go?” Aiden wondered aloud.

Valorian shrugged slightly. “The creature didn’t say. It only told me that our way would be shorter.”

“I’m for that!” Gylden replied, trying to sound hearty. He was about to urge his horse forward when Valorian held out his hand.

“Wait a moment. We need some light.” And before his friends’ startled eyes, he formed two small spheres of bright light that dangled over his head like obedient stars.

Aiden laughed, a hint of relief in his voice. “I’d forgotten you could do that. Bless Amara and her gifts!”

The others echoed his sentiment, and in single file, they followed Valorian down the stone tunnel. To their amazement, the broad passageway remained high, wide, and fairly straight. Its floor was smooth and level and ran parallel to the little stream. It was very much like a road delving under the hills to faraway, unknown destinations.

Although the passage was a natural formation, the men noticed a great deal of work had been done to enlarge and smooth the trail. Legends said that the Carrocks were incomparable miners and crafters of stone, and from the appearance of their tunnel, the legends were right. Skilled miners had removed obstructing rock, chiseled away rough spots, even constructed stone bridges where needed. They had also apparently tried to preserve the natural beauty of the caves. The occasional stalactites and stalagmites were carefully preserved, veins of gold or crystal were exposed and polished to reveal their beauty, and colorful mineral formations were kept clean of debris and dust. A few passageways, equally as large and well tended, joined or intersected the road.

Once the riders rode by a stone statue of a squat, manlike figure standing like a guardian by the side of the road. The four men passed by wordlessly. They were awed by the statue, the spacious passageway, and the tremendous amount of labor that must have gone into the creation of both. They never knew anything like this existed.

“What are all of these passages?” Aiden mused when they passed another road intersecting their own.

Valorian peered down it into the impenetrable darkness. Then he looked up at the high ceiling and walls illuminated by his lights. He couldn’t see anyone or anything, but he had the strong feeling that he and his party were being watched. He wondered if they were the first humans to have ever passed through the Carrocks’ domain.

“I don’t know,” he replied, “but I wouldn’t want to come this way without the Carrocks’ permission.”

Aiden stifled a shudder that had nothing to do with the cold, damp air. “Neither would I,” he said.

Time passed without measure in the strange, black tunnels. The men began to grow anxious. They stopped twice to eat and rest the horses before exhaustion finally forced them to make a brief camp. They fed the horses a little grain and lay down on their blankets and tried to sleep. Unfortunately none of the four men could sleep well. The immense weight of the earth over their heads, the confining stone around them, the stifling darkness, and especially the unseen Carrocks played too heavily on the clansmen’s minds. After only a short while, they saddled up and pushed on. Even the thought of fighting snow drifts began to look better than much more of this underground road.

Just as Valorian was about to call another halt, Hunnul nickered. I see light. The clansman stared up the passageway until he too, saw it: the faint, whitish light of day. He whooped with relief. Out went his spheres, and the four men trotted their delighted horses up the road to the mouth of another large cave.

The land was blinding with snow and afternoon sunlight, forcing the men to halt until their eyes grew adjusted to the light. True to the autumn season, the air had turned warmer, and the snow was melting rapidly into puddles and rivulets.

“Where are we?” Gylden called from where he stood outside the cave.

Valorian didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he turned and looked back the way they had come. “Thank you!” he shouted into the blackness. There was no reply, nor did he expect one. He simply wanted to voice his gratitude and hoped the Carrocks would understand.

“I know where we are!” Ranulf cried suddenly. His usually serious face shone with excitement as he said to Valorian, “We’re in that valley that comes out near the ridge where you were struck by lightning. If we spent two days underground, then that road cut off nearly twenty leagues from our original trail. We even went by that canyon!”

“And it was so much easier,” Aiden added. The men grinned at each other. Their anxiety of the underground had vanished in the light, the air, and the pleasure of being so much closer to home.

Four days later they were joyously welcomed back into the camp by both families. This time it was Gylden and Aiden who fascinated the clanspeople with the tale of the journey, and for many days, the people could talk of nothing but Wolfeared Pass and Carrocks.

Kierla was delighted and relieved to have Valorian back. As a gift, she gave him a cloak she had made from the lion pelt. It was heavy, warm, and silky soft, with the hood made from the lion’s head. Valorian hugged her fiercely in gratitude.

The winter settled in in earnest after the first big storm melted away. Kierla’s time quickly approached. The end of the year was quietly celebrated on the dawn of the winter solstice, and the clanspeople began to look forward to spring.

Shortly after noon, five days after the new year began, Kierla went into labor. In Clan custom, she retired to a special tent set aside for lying-in, with only her sister and Mother Willa in attendance. Valorian was left to pace and worry outside. To everyone’s surprise, Valorian’s father’s prediction that Kierla would be a good breeder turned out to be accurate. Despite her age, Kierla easily gave birth to a healthy, kicking boy just as the sun set beyond the canyon walls.

Clan law dictated that she had to remain in the lying-in tent for ten more days. The baby, however, had to be blessed and named immediately so the Harbingers could find him if he died. Mother Willa brought him out, tightly bundled against the night air, and proudly presented him to his father.

Valorian was overwhelmed. With trembling hands, he took his tiny son into his arms, then carried the infant to the priestess of Amara, who was waiting with the water and salt to bless the boy. People from both families crowded around to watch.

As soon as the blessing was over, Valorian raised the baby over his head and shouted to his people, “I, Valorian, accept this child as mine. His name shall be Khulinar, beloved of Amara. Welcome him into the Clan!”

The noise of the cheering penetrated the walls of the tent where Kierla lay waiting for her son to be returned to her. Joy and triumph brought her smile shining to her face. Khulinar’s birth had been a wonder to her, but even more marvelous had been the warm, comforting feeling of Amara’s presence that had stayed with her through the hardest hours of labor. Kierla knew now with certainty that her son’s birth was only the first of many.