Valorian

3

Swifter than storm clouds the Harbingers galloped forth, carrying the black stallion along by the force of their impetus. Almost immediately a wall of dark mist rose up before them; they passed through without pause. Valorian glanced over his shoulder and saw that the plain of stone, whatever and wherever it had been, was gone. He and his escort were plunging through a wall of cloud that was unfathomable and totally lightless. There was no sound other than the faint vibration of the horses’ hooves on air and no light except for a pale, phosphorescent glow emanating from the four Harbingers. Valorian could just barely make out Hunnul’s head in the gloom. The numbing lack of any real sensation began to disorient him, and he locked his eyes on the stallion’s flattened ears as a center of focus.

Then, before his mind and eyes had time to adjust, the horses galloped out of the mist into the realm of the dead. The clansman gasped; his eyes screwed shut in the sudden clear light that assailed him. Hunnul, too, faltered and would have stumbled. if Valorian hadn’t automatically shifted his weight to help steady the startled horse. The stallion jerked to a stop and bobbed his head in confusion.

Valorian had to squint before he very slowly opened his eyes and looked about with wonder. The four Harbingers were still with him, waiting patiently for him to follow them. The dark wall of mist was gone, replaced by what looked like a vast meadow of grass. Far in the distance, he could see a single mountain rising out of the plain like a gigantic sentinel. The light that illuminated the scene shone from the mountain’s peak as bright and splendid as the sun of the mortal world. The clansman knew without asking that the mountain was the sacred peak of Ealgoden, where the gods lived in immortal splendor, keeping watch over their people.

Awed, Valorian urged Hunnul forward, and the four Harbingers took their places, two to the front and two behind the clansman. They rode slowly across the vast meadow while Valorian examined and marveled over the unearthly beauty of the place. Never had he seen such a huge, perfectly created plain of grass. It was gently rolling, treeless, and thickly covered with a verdant coat of grass and delicately colored flowers that barely reached Hunnul’s hocks. The sky overhead was a vivid azure, and the light from the peak shone warm and mellow.

The only things missing, Valorian realized, were the wind, insects, animal life, and people. The lack of these things seemed very odd to him, since he was used to the lively meadows of the mortal world. After a while, the quiet and the emptiness began to bother him. He was about to try asking the silent Harbingers a few questions when a movement caught his eye.

Several people were coming over the crest of a hill off to Valorian’s right. They saw him and waved joyfully, their excitement evident even over the distance. One person broke away from the small group to come running toward him. Valorian realized there was something very familiar about the long-legged stride of the runner. He stared as the person came nearer. Other people were coming toward him now from all directions, men, women, and children, some on foot, a few on horseback, and all waving and calling cheerfully to him. He glanced around at them in growing surprise before looking back again at the person running toward him.

All at once the runner’s dark hair came unbound in long waves, and Valorian recognized who it was—his youngest sister, who had died when she was fourteen. Behind her were their parents, another brother, and their grandparents.

All had been dead for years, but Valorian hadn’t realized until that moment how much he had missed them.

He cantered Hunnul forward to meet them. “Adala!” he cried happily. He was about to jump down to greet her when a small, urgent warning spoke in his ear. Startled, he looked around at the Harbingers, at the air above him, and at the fields nearby. There was no one close enough to have spoken, but the warning remained clear and persistent in his mind. It must be Amara urging him on, he decided, for he knew now that if he dismounted, if he left his horse and his escort to join the throng coming to greet him, he could become enthralled by the lovely meadow and the happiness of his kinsmen. He could lose his sense of purpose and any chance of helping the goddess, thus unwittingly condemning his world to destruction. Reluctantly but firmly he shifted back into his saddle and let Hunnul continue walking.

“Valorian, you old dog! You’ve come!” Adala shouted gleefully. Her young, lovely face beamed up at him as she came to jog beside Hunnul. “You have a horse with you, you lucky slug. They must have buried you with honors. And four escorts! Sorh does you great honor. Though I don’t know why.”

Valorian grinned at her. Adala had always loved to talk. She had always loved to do everything with an exuberant gaiety that lit her every move and expression with fire. She had even loved the vicious little mare that one day slammed her headlong into a tree.

By this time, his father, mother, and baby brother had caught up with him, and other people were crowding around. The whole chattering entourage walked along with the horses, calling to him and asking questions.

Valorian looked down at them all and was startled by how many faces he recognized. There were friends, acquaintances, and even a few enemies here, and relatives he knew only by family history. He waved and smiled, but he didn’t dismount or stop to meet them.

“Valorian!” a voice boomed over the others. “How are you, lad?”

The clansman nodded with pleasure and saluted the man striding beside Adala. “I am here, Father. That should say something.”

The old man, still looking as robust and hale as the day he tangled fatally with three Tarnish soldiers, laughed and slapped his son on the leg. Valorian felt only a slight sensation. Death had certainly limited his sense of touch.

“Father, do you see this horse?” Adala exclaimed. “Isn’t he a beauty? What did you do, Valorian, steal him?”

“Hush, Adala!” her mother shushed the girl. “There will be time later to talk when he returns from Lord Sorh.”

Valorian winced. He had just found this part of his family.

He hated to tell them of his true mission.

Before he could say anything, his father demanded, “Tell me first, Valorian. Two things: How is your brother, and did you fulfill your duty to the Clan before you left?”

Valorian wanted to groan. Leave it to his father to bring up the sore point of his life now. At least he could report the good news first. Maybe he could be gone before his father demanded the rest.

“Aiden was well and happy the last time I saw him. He is about to be married.”

“Aiden? He survived unharmed to manhood? Praise Surgart!” his father declared.

Adala snorted indelicately. “That wildcat in a sheep’s coat? Married? Poor girl.”

Valorian couldn’t help but smile. He, too, had often despaired that Adala’s twin brother would ever grow up. Aiden had been as wild and reckless as his sister.

“He missed you horribly when you died,” Valorian told Adala. “I think some of his deeds came out of his grief.”

She quieted for a moment, her shining smile lost in sadness, then she brightened and skipped ahead to Hunnul’s head. “At least you’re here with us now. May I ride your horse?”

“Perhaps sometime,” Valorian replied vaguely. He waved a hand toward the seemingly endless fields of grass. “Is this all there is?”

“My goodness, no,” she said. “This is only a small part. The realm of the dead has many places and many more people. You can make of your eternal life what you will.”

“Enough chatter, girl,” their father said in exasperation. “Valorian, you will not change the subject. Did you and Kierla produce a son?”

“No.” Valorian replied flatly and clamped his jaw shut. He didn’t want to continue that discussion. His father had chosen Kierla as a wife for him when he was barely a man. She had the looks of a good brood mare, the old man had said—long frame, wide hips, ample breasts. She would bring many children to Valorian’s tent. Valorian had had his heart set on another, but he took Kierla reluctantly to please his father. To his surprise, marrying her had been the best decision of his life.

The only problem was that she hadn’t borne any children.

In the fifteen summers since they had been joined, she had never once been pregnant. Several people had suggested to Valorian that he could turn her out and get a new wife, but he refused. He and Kierla had grown to love one another in a way that transcended the absence of children. Although he knew the lack of babies in her arms was a bitter disappointment to her and that she would leave if he asked, he had never even considered it. Kierla had strengths that sustained them both and a spirit that delighted his heart. It was a shame his father would never understand.

“What?” the old man bellowed. “Why that useless—”

He was interrupted by his wife who put her hand on his arm. “It hardly matters now, my husband. Let our son pay his homage to Lord Sorh.”

As soon as she spoke, Valorian reached out and gently touched her hair. His mother’s hair was still as gray as on the day she died, but the face she turned to him was radiant with peace and contentment.

“Mother,” he said quietly, “it is possible I will not come back.”

“Whyever not?” cried Adala.

His parents looked up with questions in their eyes.

“I go to Gormoth in Ealgoden as Amara’s champion to face the gorthlings,” he replied.

The entire entourage abruptly fell quiet.

“No, you can’t!” breathed Adala finally. Their mother’s radiant peace faded to a sickly fear.

“Valorian, don’t be a fool!” an uncle shouted. “No mortal can best a gorthling.”

His grandfather gestured furiously toward the mountain. “Those creatures are evil, don’t you know that? They’ll destroy you.”

Only his father stared keenly into his face with the piercing gaze of an old, wise eagle. “If Amara chose you,” he stated with intensity, “then you must go.”

The clansman nodded, his cool blue gaze matching his father’s. “The goddess gave me a weapon,” he said to reassure his parents. “I am not totally defenseless.”

The old man clenched his fist. “Then use it wisely, and we will see you when you return.”

“Thank you, Father,” Valorian said. It was time to move on. He was afraid that even with Amara’s warning ringing in his mind, he would lose himself in the reunion with his family. He waved farewell to his relatives and friends and kicked Hunnul into a canter. The four silent Harbingers moved with him.

“Surgart go with you, Brother,” Adala cried, waving frantically.

“And Amara, too,” bellowed his father.

All too quickly the crowd of well wishers was left behind on the green fields, and Valorian rode on alone with his escort. Ahead of him, the meadow stretched on in gentle, unbroken waves to lap against the feet of the sacred mountain that rose in solitary splendor to meet the sky.

Even from a distance, Valorian could see that the peak was bigger by far than any puny mountain in the mortal world. Its gigantic gray-black ramparts dominated the realm around it; its massive, jagged crags thrust high into the rarefied air. A veil of cloud and mist hid the upper reaches of the peak where the gods and goddesses resided, but the eternal light at the summit burned clear and bright.

As Valorian and Hunnul drew closer to the mountain, the clansman noticed that they were following a faint path in the grass. The trail ran straight and true to the mountain’s slope and shimmered with its own pale luminescence in the sacred light. He knew they were riding one of the many paths of the dead that led to the throne of Sorh. He studied the path worriedly and wondered how he was going to get away to begin his search for an entrance into Gormoth. The Harbingers weren’t going to let him simply wander off, nor did he think he could escape from them. On the other hand, Valorian didn’t relish going to the court of Lord Sorh.

By immortal law, he, as a newly arrived soul, was required to face the god of the dead before he could take his place in the realm of the dead, and normally he would have done so.

However, this situation could hardly be called normal! Valorian was afraid that if he went to face the god of the dead before he tried to rescue Amara’s crown, Lord Sorh could delay him, hinder him, or simply refuse to let him go. The last thing Valorian wanted to do was spend eternity arguing with gods while his world drowned in the fury of unleashed storms.

He sighed between his teeth and settled into his saddle to wait. As long as he had four Harbingers for escorts, there was little he could do except follow them and hope for a chance to slip away.

A short while later Valorian realized there were other people on the trail. Not far ahead was a single Harbinger escorting several men on foot—Tarns, from the look of their clothes and their swarthy skins. Before them, another group of men, women, and a child walked with their escort. Valorian glanced over his shoulder and saw, far behind him, a fair woman of Chadarian blood riding a dun-colored mare and carrying a baby. They, like he, were all moving toward Ealgoden to face the god of the dead—whatever name they might call him.

The trail gradually began to rise. The verdant meadow was left behind and replaced by piles of tumbled boulders, stony slopes, and granite outcrop pings. Soon other trails appeared to the right and left and merged with Valorian’s path. The clansman saw more people: a few clanspeople, some Chadarians, a Sarcithian, and some from races he did not know, all coming with their escorts. The Harbingers were rather busy that day, he mused.

It was then that he suddenly noticed his own Harbingers were gone. They had vanished without a word or a reason and left him alone on the path. Surprised, he brought the black stallion to a halt and glanced around at the tumbled mountainside. There was no sign of his escorts.

Perhaps Amara had recognized Valorian’s difficulty and drawn away the Harbingers. Without them in his way, he should be able to slip off and begin his search for an entrance into the gorthlings’ domain. He wished she had told him where to find a door. One could be hidden anywhere on this vast mountain.

Hunnul nickered, startling Valorian from his thoughts. The young woman and her baby were passing by. She nodded to him politely and the baby cooed, but their escorting Harbinger totally ignored him. They rode on, disappearing out of sight beyond a clump of boulders.

The clansman waited only until the way was momentarily clear before he dismounted and cautiously stepped off the glowing path. Nothing happened. The path remained empty, no alarms were sounded, and his escorts did not return.

Relieved, he led Hunnul off the trail and into the rugged flanks of the mountain to begin his search.

He has come, Lord Sorh.

The dark, emotionless visage of the god of the dead turned toward the kneeling Harbinger and nodded once. So, Amara has found her champion. Who is it?

A clansman named Valorian, replied the escort.

Ah, yes. The son of Daltor. He will need his father’s courage and his mother’s restraint for this task. It should prove interesting. The god leaned back in his massive throne and steepled his fingers. Allow the man some time to search, then reveal the entrance. I will give him a chance to show his mettle.

The Harbinger bowed and backed out of the god’s presence.

The goddess Amara stepped out of the shadows of Sorh’s hall and came forward to face her brother. Bright and passionate against Sorh’s impartial gravity, she shone like a sun in a gloomy, cold cavern. You will not interfere in this matter? she asked.

I will not if you will not.

Agreed.

Sorh summoned the other deities. Surgart and Krath, bear witness!

The god of war and the goddess of destinies arrived together and stood beside Amara.

We have heard, Surgart told them.

Krath agreed. The man goes alone.

Then so be it.

Valorian had no idea how much time had passed since he left the path of the dead. What was time, anyway, compared to immortality? There was no night with its stars or day with its sun to guide his efforts. Instead, there was only the ceaseless golden light and the looming mountain with its impenetrable walls.

The clansman knew that he and Hunnul had circled up the gigantic peak three times, climbing, scrambling, and fighting their way around the tumbled boulders and steep inclines. So far they had found nothing. The only paths led up to Sorh’s throne. There were no footprints, worn places, cracks, or any sort of sign that would lead him to an entrance into Gormoth. The mountain was as impassive and impervious as Sorh himself.

When they had completed their fourth loop around the mountain, Valorian wearily drew Hunnul to a halt and stood staring out over the mountainside. He shook his head. This was the strangest mountain he had ever known. There was no wind, no animal life, no heat or cold, no ice; there was only rock.

Climbing the peak should have been easy, but Valorian hadn’t been dead long enough to grow accustomed to the strangeness of his immortal existence. He had no real feeling in his body, and physical exertion did not tire him, yet even the realm of the dead seemed bound by some of the laws of nature. He couldn’t simply float around the mountain; he and Hunnul had to traverse it the hard way. After four long circles, he was thoroughly tired of the fruitless struggling.

Valorian hoped they didn’t have to go much higher in their search. The way was growing too steep and difficult for the stallion, and they were only halfway up the mountain slope. He didn’t want to leave his mount behind if he could help it. At least he didn’t have to worry about the two of them falling to their deaths. If they fell, he supposed they would just climb back up again.

The clansman led the black horse along a slippery escarpment to a wide, flat ledge. Close by was the path of the dead they had left some time ago. He stared up the mountain to the curtain of mist that obscured the realm of the gods. Had Sorh noticed he was missing from the ranks of the newly dead who stood before the throne of judgment? Had any of the deities noticed him crawling like a fly on the walls of their home? He leaned against Hunnul’s side and wished he were someplace else.

Hunnul’s soft muzzle suddenly nudged his arm. Startled, the clansman looked up to see a Harbinger riding down the nearby path leading another man, a Sarcithian marauder, on foot. Valorian pressed Hunnul back into the shadow of a big boulder, out of sight of the Harbinger, then carefully peered around the rock edge. Harbingers usually escorted souls up to Sorh, not away from him—unless . . . Valorian worked his way closer to the trail in time to see the shining white rider turn off the main path onto a way only he could see. The dead man followed.

Valorian drew a sharp breath. The Harbinger must be escorting a soul to the entrance into Gormoth, the gorthlings’ lair. If he could just follow them, they would lead him to the door. Quickly Valorian led Hunnul onto the mountain path and down to the place where the Harbinger had left the trail. There on the rocks Valorian saw the faintest track worn into the rock by the countless condemned souls who had traveled that way. The trail angled sharply uphill, traversed a steep, boulder—strewn slope, and came to an abrupt end in a tremendous cliff wall.

Valorian watched from behind an outcropping as the Harbinger and the helpless soul came to a halt before the blank stone wall. In a loud voice, the escort called a single word. There was a deep, sonorous noise in the cliffs, and Valorian stared openmouthed at the large door—shaped crack that appeared in the rock wall. He had passed by this cliff before and never noticed the entrance. The noise changed to a grinding groan as the door swung outward, revealing an opening large enough for several horses abreast to pass through. Behind the door was a tunnel, a hole of stygian darkness.

The opening door suddenly galvanized the Sarcithian who stood with the Harbinger. His shriek of utter despair shattered the mountain quiet as he whirled frantically to flee.

But the white rider was faster. A bolt of shining energy flew from his upraised hand and caught the man before he had taken two steps. The power wrapped around his chest like a rope and pinioned his arms to his sides. The doomed man screeched and struggled, his face wracked in terror.

The Harbinger paid no heed.

Inexorably the power began to draw the Sarcithian toward the open doorway. The condemned man fought his bonds like a madman, but the magic held firm to the threshold of the door. There the man was halted, the white energy vanished, and he was left standing just inside the ominous black tunnel into Gormoth. A high-pitched cackle of glee echoed out of the darkness. The soul froze in horror.

The Harbinger lowered his hand and spoke. “For your crimes, you are condemned to Gormoth for eternity. There is no hope beyond those portals.”

Before the Sarcithian had time to react, the heavy stone door slammed shut with a thundering boom, sealing him forever with his doom. The echoes died away; the mountain was left once more in silence. The Harbinger rode back the way he had come, paying no attention to the clansman hidden in the rocks.

Valorian sank back against the stone, appalled by the horror he had seen. Second and third thoughts battered against his resolve to enter that forbidding doorway until he felt as weak and despairing as a condemned man. “Amara,» he silently cried, “why did you want me to do this?”

Forcing himself to mount Hunnul, the clansman rode to the base of the cliff wall. He stared numbly up at the gray stone, struggling to control his fear. Because he had given his word to his goddess, he wouldn’t back down now, but he had never done anything in his life as difficult as voicing the Harbinger’s command to open the door. Only the knowledge that the decision to go to Gormoth had been ultimately his gave him the strength to continue.

With every bit of courage he could summon, Valorian forced his mind clear and spoke the Harbinger’s strange command, hoping it would work for him. He waited for several moments, yet the door didn’t budge. He shouted the command again in an effort to mimic the Harbinger’s exact tone and inflection, and still the portal remained solidly closed. His hopes sank into frustration. What could he hope to accomplish if he couldn’t even get inside?

He was about to dismount and try beating on the door when a new thought came to him. The Harbinger had used a strange power against the dead man’s soul, a power that was quite possibly magic. Therefore, Valorian surmised, it seemed reasonable to assume that the escort had used magic to open the door as well.

Valorian lifted his head. It was certainly worth a try.

Amara had given him the ability to wield magic, and it was time he started learning to use it. “Clarify the intent in your mind,” she had said. He closed his eyes, concentrated a single thought on the door, and clearly voiced the Harbinger’s command.

An unfamiliar energy seemed to crackle through him and surge from his being. There was a long, hesitant silence, then, ever so slowly, the big stone portal cracked open and swung wide. The darkness yawned before him. Looking down the black maw of the tunnel, Valorian wasn’t certain whether to be pleased by his success or horrified. But at least the spell had worked.

Valorian reluctantly drew his sword and said, “Let’s go, Hunnul.”

For once, the big stallion refused. His ears went flat against his head, and he tucked his chin in and backed away several steps.

The clansman could hardly blame the horse. A cold, fetid draft blew from the entrance, heavy with the smell of sulphur and corruption. The darkness within was absolute.

Valorian stared at the tunnel, then gazed up at the light shining from the mountaintop. A wisp of a smile lifted the corners of his mouth. Encouraged by his success with the door, he closed his eyes and concentrated on a desire for light: a small, bright, movable light that would guide his way through the tunnels, calm Hunnul’s fear, and perhaps surprise the gorthlings.

He felt again the strange surge of power and cautiously opened his eyes. A light was there, but it wasn’t quite what he had in mind. It was too small and feeble. He tried again to focus on exactly what he wanted, channeling the unfamiliar power into his first real spell. To his pleasure, he watched the guttering light transform into a brightly glowing sphere that hung suspended in the air near his head.

Hunnul snorted suspiciously. However, when Valorian sent the light ahead into the passageway, the big horse unwillingly moved forward. Step by step, on legs as stiff as glass, Hunnul approached the entrance. They passed over the threshold into Gormoth, and on its own accord, the door boomed shut behind them.