Valorian

12

“Valorian, you can’t be serious!” Aiden insisted. “That would be suicide.”

“And it’s not necessary. Every clansman here has sworn vengeance against the Tarns for this hideous attack. We can free the survivors together,” stated Lord Fearral.

Valorian didn’t reply at once to their pleas. Instead, he gauged the faces of all the men and women around him, from his brother and friends to Karez and people he barely knew by sight. He could judge from their expressions that Fearral was right. They were furious, furious to the point of finally turning on the Tarns. But did they realize the possible consequences of their actions if they went ahead with their plan to attack Actigorium? Tyrranis would have no compunction in retaliating by slaughtering the rest of the Clan. The fate that so many clanspeople had tried to avoid by staying in Chadar could happen anyway.

But would that realization make them change their minds?

Valorian doubted that now. The people had been pushed and prodded like caged animals until at last they were beyond reason. All they knew now was that the hated Tarns had dared attack two families, killing or capturing over one hundred people—people who had relatives in every other pan of the Clan. No clansperson could stand by and let that mortal insult go unpunished.

What Valorian found ironic was that in one fell blow, Tyrranis had succeed in doing what Fearral and Valorian had not—uniting the Clan under a single cause. Valorian immediately saw in this tragedy an opportunity. If he could rescue the prisoners and maintain this fragile unity of the people in the process, they would be much more willing to accept his plan for leaving Chadar. Especially if the Tarns were breathing furiously on their heels.

Deliberately he drew his sword and handed it hilt first to Aiden. “I do not intend to throw myself away on Tyrranis’s false promises,” he said loudly so all could hear. “We all know he will not keep his word.”

Tucking his hands in his belt, Aiden demanded, “Then why go?”

“Because we need to have someone within Actigorium to find out exactly where the prisoners are being held. We will also need several men to infiltrate the city and cause a distraction while others hold the gate.” He lifted his head to address the entire crowd. “This will be a dangerous raid. We will be outnumbered and fighting heavily armed men in a city they know well. But we can succeed! The only things we need to free our people are surprise, speed, teamwork, and the will of the gods. Who is with us?”

The entire crowd lifted their weapons in unison. The Clan war cry filled the hills and hollows and rode on the winds of Gol Agha to echo around the ruins of the dead winter camp.

They sat down then, Fearral, Valorian, and the leaders of the other families, to work out the details of their plan. In the end, Aiden reluctantly took Valorian’s sword for safekeeping. The night was late, so the clanspeople settled down for a few restless hours of sleep. By the time dawn painted the mountains with its golden light, Valorian was ready to go.

He had washed the soot, dirt, and old bloodstains from his hands and face and shaved his scraggly stubble. He had nothing left but a few weapons, his lion pelt cloak, and a few odds and ends of clothes, all of which he had left behind in Stonehelm, so he brushed off his filthy tunic and leggings and left them as they were. He bade farewell to Lord Fearral and Gylden.

He clasped Mordan’s hand and said, “I will see you tomorrow night.”

Mordan’s fingers tightened around his own. “I will not fail you,” the warrior replied.

Last of all, he hugged Aiden with a fierce embrace. The older brother in him couldn’t forget one last remonstrance. “Be careful, little brother. Linna will never forgive us if you do anything stupid.

Aiden laughed. “You’ll never know I’m there. Just take care that you do not annoy the high and mighty Tyrranis.”

“Is it wise to take Hunnul?” Gylden asked worriedly as Valorian swung up onto the stallion’s broad back.

“Absolutely.” He winked at his friend. “Someone has to rescue our mares.”

With a ringing neigh, Hunnul reared, his front hooves slashing the air. As he came down, his powerful hind legs thrust him forward into a gallop, and in moments, he was gone out of sight beyond the crest of a slope.

In the camp, the warriors began to pack and ready themselves for the ride to Actigorium.

The day was bright with a warm wind and scudding clouds, allowing Hunnul to make good time down to the pastured lowlands. His fast canter brought Valorian to the outskirts of Actigorium long before the man was ready. In spite of his brave facade before the men of the Clan, Valorian was apprehensive about meeting the notorious General Tyrranis. He guessed the real reason behind the general’s desire to capture him was to learn more about his magic, but Valorian had no intention of revealing any part of his power until the time came to free the hostages. What he was afraid of most was that Tyrranis would resort to torture if he didn’t learn what he wanted. If that happened, Valorian couldn’t be certain he’d be strong enough to help the surprise attack on the Tarnish garrison. Or even still be alive.

Well, he thought as Hunnul trotted along the stone-paved road toward the main gate of the city, he would have to take his chances. He only had to survive Tyrranis’s hospitality until tomorrow night. He looked toward the high city walls, where the late afternoon sunlight glinted off the helmets of the guards walking along the battlements, and he wondered how long it would be before someone realized a clansman was riding into their midst.

The road Hunnul was on was an old one, a major thoroughfare between Actigorium, Sar Nitina, and other cities to the north and south. Dating back to the days before the Tarnish Empire, the road crossed the Miril River and established the town as a busy Chadarian trading center. The invading Tarns had immediately seen the benefits of the town and its intersection of road and river. They had thrown out the Chadarian ruler who occupied the city and proceeded to strengthen and modernize it with fortifications around the city limits, paved roads, aqueducts, improved port facilities, and a large Tarnish garrison of five hundred men, or half a legion, under the command of the provincial governor.

The day that Valorian walked Hunnul along the road was an important one for Actigorium because a big caravan had just arrived from the provinces in the north, and a large market was planned for the next day. The road was crowded with wagons, carts, hawkers, livestock, riders, palanquins, and pedestrians, all making their way to the city to be on hand for the market. Although the rough-looking clansman on the big black horse drew many glances, the Chadarians were too busy with their own prospects to worry about a stray clansman. The other people—the merchants, Sarcithians, travelers, businessmen, and the inevitable thieves and riffraff who gathered at a big market-did not know who Valorian was and couldn’t have cared less.

Thus he was able to ride up to the very gates of the city before anyone tried to stop him. The gateway of the main entrance into Actigorium was wide enough for two large freight wagons to pass through side by side, and high enough to allow the tallest hay wagons, banners, or stilt walkers to pass underneath. But it wasn’t big enough to avoid traffic jams at market time. The heavy crowd flowed well enough until it reached the narrow bottleneck of the gate, but then it swirled into a tangled, noisy, often angry mob of people and vehicles jostling for position to enter the city. The five Tarnish guards tried their best to direct the crowd through, but they were overwhelmed by the late afternoon rush. They didn’t see Valorian until he was already past the walls and through the open gates.

“Sarturian!” he heard one of the soldiers shout. “There’s a” clansman. He’s got a black horse!”

“Hey! You!” a different voice yelled at him over the noise of the traffic. “Stop!”

Valorian pretended he didn’t hear. He rode on, leaving the soldiers caught behind in the press of the crowd. There was a sudden blare from a horn at the gate. Three times it sounded, loud and resonant, over the hubbub of the city. Probably a prearranged warning signal, Valorian thought idly. He had come to give himself up, but he wasn’t going to make it that easy for the Tarns.

Hunnul followed the road on through the city, past crowded tenements, bustling shops and alehouses, stables, private homes and businesses. Valorian wasn’t familiar with Actigorium, so his brother had told him the basic layout of the city. In the center, like the hub of a giant wheel, was the huge, permanent open-air market. The main Tarnish garrison was housed in the old Chadarian tower to the north, near the river. The tower was actually a sprawling stone edifice that held an armory, barracks, and dungeons. Near the garrison along the river were the wharves and warehouses. The affluent residential areas, as well as Tyrranis’s palace and personal estate, were to the west of the city. The main gate Valorian had just entered was in the south with the major business districts. Valorian knew he had only to follow the road to the market and turn left. If he wasn’t accosted along the way, he would eventually reach Tyrranis’s heavily guarded front door.

Valorian was rather hoping he could escape the soldiers’ vigilance long enough to knock on Tyrranis’s front door.

Unfortunately the warning signal from the front gate had alerted the city patrols, and they finally caught up with him in the market. Three separate detachments came cantering along different roads, scattering people in all directions.

“You there, clansman! Stop where you are!” the commander yelled.

Valorian noticed six or seven drawn bows pointed in his direction and the same number of swords in the hands of the men riding down on him. Sighing, he told Hunnul to stop, and he waited for the soldiers to catch up.

In short order, the Tarns had him off his horse, his arms tied behind his back, and his legs in chains, even though Valorian did not offer any resistance. The clansman paled with anger and humiliation.

Hunnul was furious at his master’s treatment. He lashed out with his hooves and teeth at anyone who came too close. Valorian managed to shout at the horse to stop before the soldiers shoved a gag in his mouth. The big horse squealed in fury, but he settled down and allowed himself to be roped and haltered.

One night! Valorian heard the stallion call in his head. That is all I will wait. Then I will get my mares and come for you!

The clansman was glad for Hunnul’s feelings as he watched his horse being led away. The proprietary instincts of the stallion combined with his enhanced intelligence made him a surprise weapon the Tarns wouldn’t expect.

Just then the soldiers tied a blindfold over Valorian’s eyes, rendering him virtually helpless. This is going too far, he thought as they picked him up and slung him painfully over the back of another horse.

It wasn’t easy bringing his temper and composure back under control while bumping like a sack of grain on a packhorse through crowds of jeering people, but through sheer willpower, Valorian was calm by the time the troop of soldiers trotted their horses into the spacious courtyard of Tyrranis’s palace. He managed to retain his control while they dragged him off the horse and shoved him, stumbling and blind, toward the porticoed front entrance.

The next thing he knew, he was in what sounded like a large room full of the noises of running feet, shouted orders, and excited voices.

Suddenly slow, measured footsteps came toward him, and the room fell silent. The blindfold was yanked off Valorian’s eyes. The first thing he saw was a hard, bony face of harsh angles and menacing, deep-set eyes staring at him from only a hand span away. He forced down an urge to shudder and met the eyes glare for glare.

“Remove the gag,” the face said, “but keep your weapons on him.” The soldier to Valorian’s right tentatively pulled the gag out of his mouth. The clansman glanced around at the ten or eleven soldiers clustered around him and was startled to see how tense they all seemed. Rumors of his magic had obviously spread.

“Who are you?” snarled the man in front of him.

From his full armor and his commanding attitude, Valorian guessed this was General Tyrranis. “I am the one you have been seeking. I understand you wanted to see me,” Valorian replied, his voice level.

“We have wanted to see you since last autumn,” Tyrranis said sardonically.

“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 smaller, 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 disillusion 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 carefully 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 uncontrollable, 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 swallowed 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 called 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 walls 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 allow 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 smell 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 walls 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 filled 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 walls. The sun crept with nerve-racking slowness past noon, mid-afternoon, and finally into evening. In the cells, 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 carefully 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 all 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.”

“Well, 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 spell, 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.”

One by one, he used his spell to open all the cell doors wide until every clansperson and a few stray Chadarian prisoners were crowded into the passage. The people were startled by their sudden freedom, and they crowded close to Valorian as he led them quietly up the stairs. Near the top’, he motioned them to stop. Through the large, iron-bound door, he could hear sounds that made him smile. He had timed it perfectly. The garrison was in an uproar of running feet, shouting voices, and blaring horns. Aiden and his men must have begun their diversions on schedule.

Valorian made the clanspeople wait until the noise beyond the door had dropped to a more’ normal level. As soon as it was quiet beyond the door, Valorian gently turned the lock to rust and eased open the door a crack. The watchman on the other side stood looking down the corridor. He never saw the door opening or felt the spell that put him to sleep. As his body sagged to the floor, Valorian stepped into the passageway.

The hall at that moment was empty, and there was no sign of other guards. A few torches flickered along the stone corridor, sending shadows dancing along the walls.

Frightened, elated, and nervous, the clanspeople hurried along the passage toward the front entrance. Because of the alarms in the city, only the usual sentries were roaming the building and the grounds. Valorian used magic to put every guard he saw to sleep, giving them no chance to sound an alarm. He was grateful there weren’t many Tarns to deal with, for the beating he had taken the night before had left him with little strength to control the magic. Even the simple spells he had used on the locks and the guards had seriously weakened him.

As soon as he and his people were out the front door, Valorian pointed to the garrison stables. “Some of you get those horses. Hitch them to any wagon you can find. Hurry! The rest of you stay here. Lord Fearral will be coming any moment.”

The younger men obeyed with alacrity. The few Chadarian prisoners chose that moment to take to their heels. No one tried to stop them.

“Look!” someone shouted, pointing toward the center of the city.

Not far to the south, a ruddy gold glow illuminated the city’s outline against the night sky, revealing a great column of smoke that billowed toward the stars. Valorian grinned. Aiden and his men had planned to light a fire in the city as a diversion for the Tarnish garrison. From the intensity of the ruddy light, the fire must be a big one.

At that moment, there was the sound of shouts and fighting from the stables. Before Valorian could get there, though, the noises quickly died away and several harnessed pairs of horses were led out of the stable by some of the clansmen. The men were carrying Tarnish swords and looking satisfied.

“We ran into a patrol,” one called cheerfully to Valorian as they headed for some wagons parked by the stable wall. Rapidly the horses were hitched, and the first of the women, children, and elders were lifted into the vehicles. Other horses were brought out and saddled until the stable was empty. Still there was no sign of Tyrranis’s troops or Lord Fearral’s men.

Valorian was growing anxious. There wouldn’t be much time before the garrison began to realize something more than just a chance fire was happening. If they got the slightest warning that the clanspeople were trying to flee, they would seal Actigorium like a trap. There would be no escape for anyone.

Then everyone stiffened to listen. They could hear the sound of a large party cantering toward the tower from the north gate road. Valorian ran forward to head off the horsemen. He whistled three times to signal them, and to his intense relief, they whistled back. Lord Fearral himself led the party of men, extra horses, carts, and wagons into the forecourt of the tower.

The people of the Clan cheered to see each other. Without further ado, the rest of the prisoners were placed in wagons or mounted on horseback. In a matter of only a few minutes, the entire party was ready to leave.

There was only one thing left for Valorian to do. Concentrating all his will in one call, he shouted at the top of his’ voice, “Hunnul!”

Loud and strong, the call went out, and to the surprise of everyone, it was answered from far, far away. A neigh, triumphant and proud, came in reply on the wind, and after it came a distant, muffled thundering. The clanspeople waited expectantly, although they weren’t sure what they were waiting for.

Then their answer came on the flying hooves of a large stampede of horses. With Hunnul at their rear, driving them on, the entire herd of horses from the Tarnish army corrals came careering along the road. The stolen Clan mares were there as well as army mounts and workhorses. Neighing wildly, their eyes rolling in fear at the fierce black stallion at their heels, their manes tossing in the wind, they swept by the waiting people in a tumbling wave of browns, blacks, and ghostly whites.

Hunnul charged up to Valorian, halted, and threw himself upward in a mighty rear, his hooves high over the man’s head. He came down with a thud and paused just long enough for Valorian to mount.

“Let’s go!” shouted Lord Fearral. The excited horses surged forward after the disappearing herd. The entire cavalcade of horses, riders, and vehicles galloped headlong on the stone-paved road through the city toward the northern gate. They were passing through an area that was predominantly storehouses and open lots, but the loud rumbling of their passing still drew the attention of people scattered through the area.

Shouts rose up behind them, and from somewhere in the night, a signal horn sang out a warning. The fleeing clanspeople paid little heed. They held on for dear life and urged their horses on as fast as the animals could go.

The northern gate wasn’t far from the garrison tower, and it was as large as the gate to the south. Unfortunately Valorian knew it would still take a little time to get the wagons and horses through. He prayed to the gods that Mordan and his men still held the gate and that the Tarns were too busy elsewhere to organize an attack.

A loud cheer came from ahead as the city walls loomed before the stampeding horses. The gates were wide open, with Mordan, Gylden and ten men standing to either side. Three dead Tarnish legionnaires lay in the shadows of the gate.

Valorian urged Hunnul over to where his friends were waiting. Both men were grinning at the stream of horses pouring past them. They saw Valorian and waved in evident relief.

“Better hurry,” Mordan shouted, his sword in hand. “We killed the sentries, but I’ve heard signal horns in all directions. There’ll be Tarns swarming all over this place in a moment.” He took a closer look at Valorian and winced. “Good gods, what happened to you?”

“Tarnish hospitality,” replied Valorian over the thunder of hooves. He pointed to the blood on Mordan’s tunic. “What about you?”

“Not mine,” came Mordan’s terse reply. “Go on and get those wagons out of here. We meet at Stonehelm, right?”

“Yes! Everyone!”

“Until then!” Mordan shouted, and Hunnul dashed away.

Although the clanspeople tried to maintain an orderly retreat, it took time to sort out the wagons, carts, and riders in the darkness and keep them moving in a steady flow through the exit. It wasn’t long before Tarnish soldiers appeared on the battlements above and in the streets behind them. There weren’t enough men to dare a charge against Lord Fearral and his mounted warriors standing as the rear I guard, so they hid behind walls and corners and began to pepper the fleeing wagons with arrows. People screamed and shouted as several arrows scored hits, and the remaining wagons crowded toward the exit on the verge of panic.

Valorian rode back to join Fearral in the rear. He felt terribly sore and tired, and he had no weapons, hut he still had a little strength left. As soon as Lord Fearral pointed out the scattered Tarnish warriors lurking in the shadows, Valorian aimed several bolts of magical energy into the walls and stonework near the soldiers’ heads. The Tarns were so stunned by the sight of the brilliant blue bolts and the explosions of sparks, they ducked out of sight.

Even the clansmen who saw the bolts gasped with shock. Everyone had seen Valorian’s magic in his tale, but few had accepted its real power.

Meanwhile the rest of the clanspeople hurried through the gateway in a steady stream of wagons and riders. The rear guard drew in behind them, and Mordan and his men retrieved their mounts and joined Lord Fearral. At last Valorian saw the final hostages pass through the gate, and he breathed a silent prayer of thanks.

Just as he and the rear guard were about to withdraw, a small troop of Tarnish horsemen came galloping along the north road in response to the earlier signal horns. Torchlight flickered on the tips of their spears and the polished metal of their light armor. They didn’t hesitate at the sight of the slightly larger force but lowered their spears and charged out of the darkness head-on into the clansmen. Their attack was so sudden, Valorian had no chance to use his power in defense.

Two Clan warriors fell to the spears before the others closed in furiously with sword, axe, and shield. The gateway turned into a struggling, writhing mass of fighting men and frantic horses. Without a weapon, Valorian could only hang on while Hunnul used his hooves and teeth to keep the enemy away from his rider.

Angrily Valorian searched his mind for some spell he could use against the Tarns, only to realize that his magic would be too dangerous. The Tarns and clansmen were too close together for simple explosive bolts, and Valorian knew he was too exhausted to manipulate any spell more complicated. All he could do was hang on while his companions fought for their lives. He saw Gylden close by, struggling hand to hand with a stocky legionnaire. Mordan was by Fearral’s side, defending his lord’s back.

All at once Lord Fearral gave a great shout, and the officer of the Tarnish horsemen fell, the chieftain’s axe in his crushed skull. The soldiers faltered.

Valorian sensed an advantage and raised his hand toward the night sky. A brilliant, sparkling ball of magic soared into the air to explode overhead in a shower of golden red sparks. Everyone instinctively ducked, and the Tarns, outfought and without a leader, fled into the safety of the night.

The clansmen cheered wearily. Quickly they gathered their dead warriors and trotted toward the gate, but they had forgotten about the Tarns on the battlements. The sentinels, armed with the army’s powerful composite bows, ran to the arrow loops that looked down on the arched entrance and hurriedly loosed every missile they had.

The flight of arrows swarmed down on the rear guard as they passed underneath. Most of the bolts fell harmlessly behind the horses, and a few whizzed past Fearral’s men to stick in the dirt. Only one flew straight and true toward the last four clansmen to leave the city. Out of the darkness, the shaft came as if guided by an unseen hand. With deadly vengeance, it flew past Mordan’s head and struck deep into Lord Fearral’s neck.