Valorian

17

Like an indestructible war machine, the legion’s ranks marched in solid phalanxes past the surrounded rear guard. Their black pennons fluttered in the breeze like crows’ wings. The tramp of their feet and the rattle of their armor sounded like a death knell to Valorian. He watched helplessly as they increased their speed to a quick jog to catch up to the Clan caravan.

The Chadarian garrison, encouraged by the sight of their comrades, tightened the ring of fighting relentlessly around the remaining warriors. The chieftain risked one last glance after the legion before he was forced to fend off another attacker. He gritted his teeth. He could taste the dust and smell the blood of his failure. If only he had more strength, more ability to wield his magic, more power. There just hadn’t been enough of those within him to save his people.

A stab of resentment burned through him. If he was Amara’s champion, if he had risked everything to face the gorthlings for her, why was she letting him lead his people into this slaughter? Why had she turned her back on him?

Heartsick, he hefted his weapon and was about to rally his men when small fragments of his own thoughts came back into his mind with startling clarity. More power. Gorthlings.

Of course. That was what he needed, a gorthling. With a gorthling in his control to enhance his power, he could still use his magic to sweep away the Tarns and save his people. But, by the gods, how could be get one of those creatures out of Gormoth to help him here in the mortal realm? Would a gorthling’s enhancement be effective outside of Ealgoden?

Valorian had no answers to his questions yet, and very little time left to learn them. His small force was being cut to pieces, and Tyrranis was closing in on him. Only two warriors stood between himself and the general, who was fighting ferociously to reach him.

Valorian made up his mind then and there. He had little left to lose at that point, and for good or ill, he was going to try it. He turned Hunnul away from the edge of the fighting to a small clear space in the center of the beleaguered ring. “Pull in, pull in!” he yelled to his men. “Fall back and stand by me!”

His cry went rapidly through the rear guard, and as fast as they could, the clanspeople obeyed. Some were still on horseback, some were on foot, and some were being held up by their friends. In all, there were only about half of the one hundred still alive. Together they formed a tight knot around their lord chieftain. The Tarns dosed in after them.

Valorian realized he didn’t have the strength to maintain a magic shield around his small force while he strove to capture a gorthling, but he could give them some shelter. Delving into the last of his strength, he focused his spell down into the ground to the rock beneath the soil.

Suddenly the earth began to rumble in a ring around the Clan warriors. The combatants paused in the midst of their fighting; the Tarns looked about nervously and began to back away. Only Tyrranis did not move. He was reaching for his protective amulet when all at once huge slabs of stone erupted through the ground at his horse’s feet. The animal staggered backward out of the way. There was the sound of a great rending crash, and the slabs came together to form a circular wall higher than a man on horseback around the clansmen and their horses. A larger, opaque slab of rock rose higher than the rest and came down over the top with a thundering boom, forming a roof that would protect the men inside from the Tarns’ arrows and spears.

A stunned silence fell over the battleground. The Tarns stared at the stone fortification in amazement and confusion.

Only General Tyrranis was not surprised. He was furious. “You cannot escape, clansman!” he shrieked. “You have just built your own tomb!” Then he turned to his men. “You have assaulted defenses bigger and stronger than this. Tear that thing apart—with your hands if you have to!” The soldiers hesitated, then reluctantly moved in toward the stone edifice.

Inside the round stone building, the clansmen were staring at the walls in equal amazement. “What is this?” one man’ murmured.

Valorian heard him and lifted his head to look at the men clustered around him. They were all weary, sweat-soaked, filthy with dirt and spattered blood. Several were wounded, and one man died even as his two friends laid him down to help him. Some of the riders were dismounting to calm their nervous horses.

The light glimmering through the opaque ceiling was dim with a strange yellow tint that cast a sickly hue over every man’s face. The air was warm and growing stuffy with the smell of sweat and blood, but a slight breeze and some light were able to leak through the cracks between the slabs.

A harsh voice broke the silence. “Lord Valorian, what do you expect us to do now, set up camp?” It was Karez, snide as always.

Valorian ignored his tone and slid off Hunnul to the ground. His legs nearly buckled under him because he was so tired, and he had to catch Hunnul’s mane to keep himself upright. “I’m going to summon help,” he said hoarsely, “and I need time to do it.”

“Time!” one of the warriors cried. “We have no time. Didn’t you see the legion? They’re going to slaughter the Clan! We have to stop them.”

“We will stop them. But we are no good to our families dead. ”

“And they are no good to us dead!” Karez said belligerently. “You brought us to this disaster with your talk of escaping the Tarns. Well, they caught us anyway. Now what are you going to do?”

Valorian stifled the urge to weld Karez’s tongue permanently to the roof of his mouth and said as calmly as he could, “I will do what I have to do. Now, be quiet! The rest of you keep a watch through those gaps in the stone.

The men and boys looked at one another uneasily, then did as he asked. The chieftain had brought them this far, farther than many believed they would ever get. Perhaps he could still save them.

Valorian went to stand beside the man who had just died. The man’s two friends were still beside him, wiping the dirt from his face and laying his sword by his side. One man had tears in his eyes. The chieftain sagged to the ground and sat cross-legged beside the dead warrior. He had known the man for years and keenly felt his loss. “The Harbingers will be coming soon,” he said softly.

The man’s friends glanced at him askance at the mention of Harbingers, but they didn’t move away.

Without a word being spoken, Hunnul came to stand behind Valorian, his long legs lightly supporting his master’s back.

“I need your strength, my friend. Will you stay with me?” Valorian asked the stallion quietly.

Gladly, Hunnul replied and lowered his muzzle until it rested gently on the man’s head. The clansmen around them watched curiously.

Although Valorian was still uncertain of what he was doing, he had an idea-the only idea he could think of. He prayed it would work, because he was certain he wouldn’t have enough strength left to try anything else.

He pulled off his gold armband and set it on his knee in easy reach, leaned back against Hunnul’s front legs, and closed his eyes. He felt the magic begin to gather within him. The sounds of the world around him gradually faded to silence as his mind ranged outward to touch the stallion’s being. Because of their earlier meld, his thoughts found Hunnul’s very quickly and merged perfectly into the horse’s consciousness.

Valorian felt Hunnul’s vast strength surge through him as hot and vivid as lightning. He realized, with a start of surprise, that traces of the lightning bolt’s power were still within his horse. He hadn’t noticed it before because he had been concentrating on Hunnul’s mind, but now as he drew energy from the stallion’s muscle, bone, and blood he could feel the crackling touch of the lightning sizzle through his every fiber.

Borne on the power of the black stallion, Valorian sent his consciousness questing out of his body to find the soul of the dead warrior beside him. He didn’t know what to expect by such an attempt, or if it was even possible to separate his mind from his body. Yet with the magic, it seemed to work. He felt himself become weightless and lose all sense of feeling as his conscious self stepped out of the mortal bonds of his body.

His eyes opened. It startled him to see his body sitting by the horse not more than two paces away, and for a moment, he was afraid he had performed his spell too well and perhaps separated his soul from his body. Then he noticed his chest was moving slightly in and out, and a small trickle of blood was flowing from a cut on his arm. He was still alive.

Elated, he looked about for the soul of the dead man at his side. The world he had entered looked much the same as when he was struck by lightning. The mortal realm was out of focus and bright with an unearthly diffused light. But unlike the time before, the world of the living was not vanishing before his eyes. Valorian soon found the dead man’s soul close by, confused, angry, and frightened. The chieftain knew those feelings well. He reached out to the dead man to reassure him and together they waited.

In eternity, there is no sense of time, and while Valorian thought the wait was terribly long, in reality, the Harbingers came before his body had drawn another breath. There were two of them this time, as shining white and enigmatic as Valorian remembered. They had brought a saddled steed for the man’s soul and invited him to mount. If they sensed Valorian’s presence, they paid no attention to it.

Swifter than eagles they flew out of the mortal world into the curtain of mists, while Valorian’s mind followed, using his touch with the dead warrior as a guide. He was glad he had the warrior to accompany him, for the passage through’ the thick gray mist was longer than he recalled. Without the Harbingers and the soul for company, he could have become disoriented and lost forever in the eternal mists. He tried not to think how he was going to get back alone.

At last they broke through into the blessed light and touched down on the plains of the realm of the dead. With the mountain of Ealgoden in sight, Valorian’s mind bade a silent, sad farewell to his companion and sped over the green fields to the massive peak. He wondered if the gods knew he was there. He hoped they didn’t Lord Sorh might not appreciate a mortal borrowing one of his servants. He pushed the thought aside when Ealgoden’s peak loomed beneath him. This time he didn’t need to search for a doorway. He went directly to the entrance he had used before and plunged through the black rock into the cold, dark tunnel.

An intense aura of hatred and malice immediately struck him like a physical blow from the small, cunning minds of the gorthlings. It was a powerful mental sensation that he hadn’t picked up when his soul traveled through Gormoth, and it nearly smothered him in its depth and strength. He fought off the destructive aura with every bit of his and Hunnul’s combined strength and concentrated instead on finding a gorthling as quickly as possible.

He knew they were there in the rocks and crevices of the tunnel walls, waiting for condemned souls to come down the road, but he didn’t know exactly where to look, and he didn’t want to alert them by poking haphazardly into possible hiding places. However, there was one gorthling he remembered vividly, plus the place in the tunnel where it had been hiding. Perhaps it was still there. His mind probed deeper and deeper into the black holes. He didn’t need lights this time to find his way, but he wished for one if only to dispel the terrifying, devouring darkness. Like a wraith, he slipped along the trail, past the lava river, and down the long, twisting passages.

At last he came to the section of tunnel where the gorthling had tried to snatch his dagger. As he had hoped, the little beast was hiding in a crevice waiting to torment approaching souls. Valorian gathered his magic into a powerful kinetic force, channeled it through his mental link into Gormoth, and snatched the gorthling out of its hiding place before it realized its danger. It gave a furious screech of alarm.

In an instant, every gorthling was aware of Valorian’s presence and came swarming to stop him. The chief sensed rather than knew that if they caught up with him, they could . imprison his consciousness with their own powerful, cunning thoughts. Desperately he pulled his mind through the tunnels, taking the gorthling with him.

The other creatures ran furiously after him. Valorian pushed faster, holding the gorthling in his mental grip. He slowly forged ahead of the pursuers and reached the entrance before they could trap him. He didn’t know if the magic command to open the door would work from the inside, but he tried it anyway and was rewarded when the door cracked open. The darkness and the furious cries of the gorthlings vanished into light as Valorian brought himself and his prisoner out of Gormoth. Before the other gorthlings could escape, he slammed the door shut again and came hurtling back across the realm of the dead.

Too quickly they entered the mists that were the barrier between the mortal and immortal realms before the man had a chance to get his bearings. Now Valorian had no guide. He wasn’t sure how wide the mists were or which direction to turn. His mind became disoriented by the total lack of sight, sensation, or physical touch, and his momentum stumbled to a halt. He probed this way and that into the blank mists and found nothing. Fingers of panic began to clutch at his consciousness.

The gorthling in his grip cackled in glee at his predicament. Then it stiffened angrily.

Far away, on the edge of the mists came a voice, masculine, strong, and rich in timbre. Master! We are here! This way. It was Hunnul, his being reaching out to Valorian. The chieftain raced after the beloved voice, its touch like a light glowing in the darkness.

Suddenly he was back in the warm, dim shelter, with the noises of horses and men assailing his ears and the pressure of Hunnul’s legs against his back. Startled, he blinked and felt something squirm in his hands.

Master, the armband! Hunnul reminded him urgently.

Valorian snatched the gold armband and shoved it over the head of the furiously struggling creature in his grasp. When the gold settled around its neck, the gorthling subsided in his hands. Its high-pitched squeal of rage brought everyone’s attention snapping around to the chief.

“Gods above, what is that?” Karez gasped. They all stared in horrified surprise at the little, wizened beast crouched like a hairless, desiccated monkey on Valorian’s arm.

Another warrior cried, “That’s a gorthling! You’ve brought one of those things out of Gormoth?”

There was a collective exclamation of revulsion and horror, and everyone jumped back against the stone wall.

The chieftain climbed to his feet with the gorthling still clinging to his arm. Hissing, it sidled up to his shoulder and glared balefully at the clansmen. “Yes, it’s from Gormoth,” Valorian answered grimly. “And back to Gormoth it will go when we have destroyed the Tarns.”

The gorthling suddenly cackled, showing its sharp pointed teeth. “That’s what you think, dung-head. You’ll never send me back!” The men edged even farther away at the sound of its raspy, malicious voice.

Valorian ignored the creature. In truth, he wasn’t certain how he was going to return the gorthling, but he would worry about that later. “How long have we been in here?” he asked, striding to a slit in the wall to look out. The Tarns were busy .running back and forth and trying to shoot arrows between the stone slabs.

The clansmen looked at him strangely. One shrugged and replied, “Not for long, lord. You were only sitting there for a few minutes.” The chief drew a long breath of relief. A few minutes. The journey had seemed interminable to him. Maybe there was still time after all.

“Mount your horses,” he said tersely.

“Mount your horses, stupid mortals. You’re about to die,” repeated the gorthling, sneering.

“Be quiet,” demanded Valorian, “and stay put, or I’ll stuff that gold down your foul little throat.”

The gorthling’s mouth clicked shut and he clung to Valorian’s shoulder, looking sullen, while the clansman mounted Hunnul. The chief ran his hand down the stallion’s silky neck and said softly, “Thank you, my friend.” Hunnul bobbed his head in reply.

When everyone was ready, Valorian nodded once. “Cover your ears and hang on,” he warned. He closed his eyes to concentrate. Would the gorthling’s enhancement work here in the mortal world? he wondered. Had his quest into Gormoth been in vain? He began to summon the magic, and his answer came at once in an incredible flow of power. He felt invigorating strength flowing through his mind and body, enough strength to gather the magic out of the mountains themselves.

“Amara!” he cried in exultation and threw his arms wide to initiate his spell. At his command, the stone room suddenly exploded outward. The blast shattered the stone slabs and sent splinters and fragments of rock cutting like scythes through the Tarnish soldiers close by. The force of the explosion slammed others to the ground in a wide radius around the spot and leveled the entire ring of stone. The bodies of the dead lay scattered in the dirt and broken rubble.

For a moment, the clansmen and their horses, the Tarns and Tyrranis were stunned by the powerful blast. No one moved in the settling dust. Then Hunnul leaped forward up the trail, and the Clan warriors followed close on his heels.

“Stop them!” Tyrranis yelled furiously. Drawing his own bloody sword, the general kicked his horse to cut off Hunnul’s escape. His officers and a few of the men who were still mounted followed him with their own weapons drawn.

Valorian saw them corning and felt his hatred rise to choke him. He wanted more than anything to sear Tyrranis to a smoking ruin, but he wouldn’t break his vow for the likes of that man. Instead, he raised his sword over his head with both hands, lifted his voice in a great cry of rage, and clamped his legs to Hunnul’s sides. The black flattened his ears, gathered himself into a mighty leap, and plowed directly into the general’s big bay horse.

The brown stallion staggered under the force of the blow, knocking the general off balance. In a frenzy, Tyrranis clutched his sword and grabbed for his saddle horn, his face masked in rage. He clung to the side of his saddle while his horse tried to regain its balance, and he looked up at Valorian’s implacable face. His lips curled in a snarl of hatred.

The black sword came smashing down on the general’s shoulder at the edge of the polished breastplate. The blow knocked Tyrranis further off balance. He slipped sideways, exposing his neck for a brief moment, and in that space of time, Valorian struck again. His sword slashed into Tyrranis’s neck and hacked through to the spine. The general’s head lolled sideways as blood poured over his immaculate uniform. He seemed to hang on for a heartbeat or two, then his body sagged out of the saddle and fell to earth. His horse bolted away.

The gorthling on Valorian’s shoulder licked its lips.

Almost in an afterthought, Valorian hurled a whirlwind of dust, gravel, and flailing winds into the midst of the other mounted officers that blew them off their terrified horses. The remaining soldiers of the Chadarian garrison, demoralized, made no further effort to follow the rear guard as they broke out of the encirclement and galloped up the trail after the caravan.

A prayer was on the chieftain’s lips that he and his men weren’t too late. By the position of the noon sun, he knew they hadn’t been separated for long, but the XIIth Legion wouldn’t need much time to catch and massacre the Clan.

He sent Hunnul racing over the rocky trail, deeper into the valley, with the rear guard trying madly to keep up.

At first, Valorian couldn’t see the caravan through the groves of trees and the rocky outcroppings. He heard it first—an inarticulate roar of screaming, yelling, roaring voices, mingled with the neighing of panicked horses and the rattle of weapons and armor. The sound cut to his heart.

Valorian leaned low over Hunnul’s neck, his fingers damped to his sword, and his body automatically adjusted to the horse’s violent movements. The black mane whipped his face, and the gorthling’s claws sunk into his shoulder, but he didn’t feel a thing. He saw only the trail before him that led to the legion he must defeat.

All at once the valley opened up into a flat, broad meadow of thick grass, flowers, and butterflies. The Tarns had caught the caravan there and brought it to a crashing halt.

Valorian saw it all in a flash when Hunnul broke out of the trees and crested a small rise. A force of perhaps two hundred soldiers were positioned between him and the caravan. They were there presumably to keep the clanspeople from turning back or escaping into the woods and hills. To Valorian, they were a cutting insult, a challenge thrown in his face to keep him from his family. Farther ahead on the trail, the wagons, carts, and herds were thrown together in a chaotic mass of terrified people and animals, and all along that crowded line were clansmen and women tangled in bitter fighting with the legionnaires.

The chieftain’s jaw tightened. Once again he relied on the gorthling’s touch to summon more forces of magic. His vivid blue eyes seemed to spark from the vast power he drew out of the earth, river, and trees. On his shoulder, the gorthling began to bob and weave in excitement, for it had never felt such power before. The other warriors were close behind them now, their expressions angry and grim.

In unison, they broke over the rise and galloped down on the force of Tarnish soldiers who were sitting patiently on their horses, watching the battle surge around the caravan. The Tarns weren’t expecting an attack from their rear, since they thought the remains of the Clan rear guard were being rank destroyed by Tyrranis’s men. It wasn’t until they heard the hoof beats close by and a few men turned to look that they realized their danger. Before they could set up any defense, the clansman on the big black horse raised his hand toward them.

Several bolts of crackling white-hot energy shot from Valorian’s hand and slammed into the ground at their feet. To would the soldiers, the white streaks looked like bolts of lightning. They had seen a little of Valorian’s magic from a distance, but nothing prepared them for the powerful, jagged streaks in their midst or the thundering explosions as the energy hit the rocky ground. Men and horses were slammed to the ground; those that were still on their feet were quickly cut down by the clansmen behind Valorian.

The chief rode on without a backward glance. His men were hard pressed to catch up with him as Hunnul raced over the remaining distance to the embattled Clan. Valorian was so terrified by what he might find, he didn’t search for Kierla’s cart or look at any of the wagons. He focused instead on the clusters of tunics with the black eagle fiercely emblems. Those were his quarry. It would have been easier, line he thought, if they had been separated from the clanspeople and formed in ranks. Unfortunately they were scattered along an entire line of crowded vehicles and livestock, intermingled with the clanspeople in a frantic struggle for survival. He couldn’t drive them off with one final, magnificent blow. He would have to deal with them piecemeal .

Then he had an idea. If he couldn’t fight them en masse, perhaps he could persuade them to retreat that way. He slowed Hunnul a little to allow the other men to catch up with him, and he waved them into several lines abreast with his position. Before their startled eyes, he began to form the images of mounted warriors. The Images looked like clansmen with their homespun tunics, iron-bound helmets, and small round shields; they carried spears and swords and rode Clan horses, but their faces were hidden behind visors, and their movements were strangely lifeless. Rank after rank the ghostly men fell in behind Lord Valorian until the troop looked and sounded as big as a legion. Banners floated over their heads, and the realistic noises of rattling armor, jingling bridles, and neighing horses filled the air.

At Valorian’s command, the magical army burst into full gallop toward the caravan, with the chieftain at its head. He cast a quick glance back at his strange force and hoped it would look real enough to the Tarns. The speed of their charge and the dust kicked up by the horses seemed to help obscure the somewhat mechanical movements of the false warriors.

The first group of Tarns at the tail end of the caravan was scattered among the wagons. Some were fighting with the clanspeople, some were raiding the contents of the wagons, and a few were trying to cut loose the harnessed horses. They were so busy and so certain of victory, that they didn’t notice the charging clansmen until Valorian produced a ram’s horn and blew a great, resounding blast that shook the valley and echoed off the peaks.

The Tarns froze in their tracks at the sight of the huge Clan force bearing down on them. Valorian smiled fiercely as the soldiers left their victims and drew together into a line of defense. He formed another whirlwind of dust and grit and sent it whipping into their midst. The Tarnish lines fell apart. Just before his warriors reached the legionnaires, Valorian banished the wind and drew his sword.

Half-blinded by the whirling dust and confused by the overwhelming numbers of clansmen coming at them, the soldiers didn’t stand their ground for long. Valorian killed two men with his sword, and his living warriors claimed a dozen more before the Tarns pulled back and began to retreat up the line of wagons.

Valorian blew another long note on his horn, and the clanspeople close by cheered as he passed. He came to the next force of Tarns near the rear of the caravan, where they were struggling with a small knot of men and boys Surrounded by what looked like a swarm of angry horses. With a start, Valorian recognized one man as Gylden. He was even more startled when he realized the horses around the small band were the brood mares with the Hunnul foals. The little black horses were biting and kicking the Tarns to defend their human friends. Their frantic mothers were adding to the confusion by trying to defend their babies. The soldiers were taken aback by the foals’ deliberate attack, but they were still moving in on the clanspeople for the kill.

Hunnul neighed a warning, and his children scattered just as Valorian loosed a storm of sizzling bolts into the group of soldiers. Stunned, the Tarns turned to see a horrifying apparition of a man with lightning in his hands, atop a giant horse as black as night, leading a huge army of fearsome warriors.

They, too, took to their heels. A few stragglers were cut down by Valorian’s living warriors, but no one seemed to notice that the images hadn’t harmed a single person.

The tide began to turn quickly against the Tarns. The retreat of the few in the rear started a ripple that worked its way up the caravan. Valorian and his army rode along the line of wagons and carts, driving an ever-growing number of Tarns before them. Strengthened by the gorthling, Valorian used his magic in a relentless barrage to keep the Tarns off balance. Whenever the legionnaires showed signs of slowing or gathering together to make a stand, Valorian would hurl blistering bolts of white or blue fire at their feet and force them on, while the warriors behind him attacked any Tarn who offered resistance.

The surviving clanspeople looked on in surprise that quickly changed to joy when they recognized their chieftain. Some still able to ride and carry weapons joined the charge and helped swell the ranks of living fighters.

At last the retreating Tarns and the Clan attackers neared the front of the caravan, where several hundred soldiers had blocked the trail and were about to overwhelm the last survivors of the vanguard. Even from afar, Valorian could see the fighting was bitter. He sounded his horn a third time to tell the vanguard they were on the way and was rewarded by an answering call.

The fleeing Tarns ran past the last of the vehicles and milling animals, and with a terrified rush, overran the vanguard and its attackers. Suddenly Valorian lost sight of the Clan warriors in the tangled press of men. He looked frantically for Aiden in the mob, but all he could see was a struggling, chaotic mass of soldiers.

It was then that Valorian noticed for the first time a small group of Tarnish officers watching from their horses on a rise near the river to his left. From their armor and the standards that flapped lazily in the breeze over their heads, he recognized them as the commanding general of the XIIth Legion, his aides, and someone of importance from the Sarcithian government. With these men in his control, he could demand the surrender of the entire legion.

He could see that they were very upset and seemed to be arguing. Several of the men were pointing toward him; another was gesticulating wildly. The chieftain didn’t wait to see if they would make up their minds. He forsook his attack on the milling legionnaires, kneed Hunnul to the left, and flung his ranks of warriors directly toward the officers.

Very few Tarns between the chieftain and the river made a real attempt to protect their leaders. They didn’t have a chance. Those who tried to stand, Valorian knocked aside with violent gusts of magical wind, and those who actually tried to fight were hacked down by the real Clan warriors. The men on the hill saw their danger too late. They tried to reach the rest of the legion massed at the front of the caravan, but Hunnul dashed past their slower mounts and cut them off. In a moment, the officers were surrounded by a ring of angry clanspeople with swords in their hands and bloodlust in their grimy faces.

Valorian brought his warrior-images to a halt in ranks behind the living men. His face expressionless, he examined his seven prisoners for a deliberately long time while they sweated and their horses pranced and shied. Finally Hunnul paced forward into the ring. The officers looked at Valorian with a mixture of belligerence, apprehension, and anger.

Only one, the man in the richest armor with the Sarcithian emblem, seemed terrified, almost out of control Valorian nodded curtly to the commanding general. “General Sarjas?” The man inclined his head once and kept his eyes pinned on the clansman. At first he didn’t see the gorthling, who was clinging unheeded to the back of Valorian’s neck.

“I am Valorian, lord chieftain of the Clan. I demand the surrender of your legion immediately.” He watched the muscles tighten in the general’s neck and jaw and saw the play of emotions over his face. He knew what the man was thinking. The XIIth Legion had never surrendered in its history. To do so now against an inferior force would be a disgrace. Death would almost be better than such a dishonor.

But while the general hesitated, his companion did not.

Antonine wrenched his horse around to face Valorian and with a sharp, frightened gesture, threw his sword to the ground. “Surrender, General Sarjas. We have no choice!” he croaked.

Sarjas visibly winced, as if the younger man had struck him, then bitterly he threw his sword down, too.

The chieftain bowed slightly to Sarjas and jabbed a finger at one of the general’s aides, who was carrying a signal horn. “Sound the surrender. Call them in,” he ordered.

Loud and final sounded the unfamiliar notes of the surrender call, soaring up and down the valley like a dirge. The men of the XIIth Legion didn’t recognize it at first, but then, in twos and threes, the soldiers stopped in their places and unhappily laid down their arms.

For the first time in its history, the Clan had brought one of the emperor’s legions to its knees.