Valorian

8

“Our lady goddess stood before me and raised her arms,” Valorian said to the listening crowd. He copied the gesture for emphasis. “She cried, ‘By the power of the lightning that brought you here, I name you magic-wielder!’ At that moment, she threw a bolt of lightning directly at my chest.”

The crowd oohed with excitement.

Pausing, Valorian looked all around at the large circle of spellbound faces. They were sitting in a natural amphitheater near the camp of his friend Gylden. Valorian’s family had arrived three days before to a happy welcome, and already there had been one betrothal, two fights, some trading, and countless horse races—a typical visit for clanspeople.

What had not been typical was Valorian’s tale. He had told it once already, and Gylden’s family had enjoyed it so much they had besieged him to tell it again. Valorian knew not many of his listeners believed the story was true, and he could understand how they felt. The tale was rather incredible! So he intended to tell it as often as he had to until the entire Clan believed. That evening, though, he had a surprise for his audience.

“The bolt didn’t hurt,” he continued. “Instead, it tingled and warmed and strengthened every part of me. I saw a blue aura covering me like a cloak, and I asked, ‘What is it?’ Lady Amara told me that I now had the power to wield magic.”

Murmuring voices filled the bowl, and Valorian smiled at their disbelief. “ ‘Magic,’ I said. ‘There is no such thing,’ but the goddess explained that there is an ancient power of magic in all the world around us and that I now had the ability to use that power. ‘The magic is here, clansman. Concentrate,’ she said to me. So I closed my eyes, focused my will on this strange power I felt and. . .”

Valorian lifted his hand to the darkening sky and formed a bright blue bolt that shot up into the night sky. The crowd gasped and cried out. Some leaped to their feet, but Valorian had them so captivated with his story that, as he pushed on with the narrative, the people slowly subsided back into their seats.

He told them everything he had the night before of his journey to Ealgoden and the caverns of Gormoth, except this time he continued to use his magic to bring the story to life. Out of the smoke of the torches, he brought the images of the Harbingers and the mighty peak of Ealgoden he showed his people the field of grass in the realm of the dead and the souls who came to greet him. He even heard several exclamations from the crowd when some of the dead faces were recognized. Step by step he led the audience up the side of the mountain and into Gormoth to face the gorthlings. At the sight of the hideous, wizened creatures, some of the women screamed, and even the men looked horrified.

With wide eyes they watched as Valorian fought off the beasts with his magic, passed the lava river, and captured the little gorthling. He repeated each spell he had used to show his watchers how the magic worked and how he had finally attained the cavern of the whirlwind and rescued Amara’s crown. Then he told of the four deities and how Amara had returned him to life with his power intact.

Knowing he had the rapt attention of his people, he went on to explain his vision of a new life for the Clan and why he felt it was the will of the gods that the clanspeople leave Chadar to find the Ramtharin Plains. He formed an image of a wide landscape of grass and rivers and horses running free, then he slowly let it fade. A profound silence filled the bowl.

After several long moments, Gylden stood and asked, “How far is this Wolfeared Pass?”

Like a bee nest hitting the earth, the silence burst with a swarm of questions from every quarter.

“You mean we have to leave Chadar?” a woman cried.

“But what about our herds and the other families?” someone else wanted to know.

“Are you sure the Tarns have left the Ramtharin Plains?”

An older man asked, “What makes you think we can do better there?”

“Why should we leave,” another man demanded. “You have this power from Amara. Make the Tarns leave!”

“What does Lord Fearral say about this?” Gylden’s father shouted over the noise.

The questions buzzed around Valorian, and he tried to answer them all as honestly as he could. By the time the people had subsided into a thoughtful silence, the night was quite late. In ones and twos, they stood and made their way back to camp. .

Valorian watched them go. He wasn’t disturbed by their vociferous reaction, because he knew he had shaken them deeply. Even his own family had been impressed. He could only wait now to see if the seeds he had planted would take root.

“Valorian, I have heard some fabulous tales in the past, but I have never heard one to top the story you told last night.”

Valorian glanced at his friend Gylden, cantering his horse beside Hunnul, then looked back at the three hunting dogs coursing through the grass ahead. He kept his expression unreadable as he asked, “What did you think of my ‘fabulous’ tale?” Gylden was one of his few good friends, and his opinion meant a great deal.

Gylden’s eyes crinkled with merriment. “Either you have one fantastic imagination, or the goddess holds you in her favor. I’m choosing the goddess. It’s probably safer.”

The two men were out hunting together in the early hours. They had decided to go alone, with only the dogs and the horses, so they could talk freely. The morning was partly cloudy and cool, with the hint of rain to come. Valorian was glad to be away from the crowded camps and the curious people for a time.

“What about the rest of your family?” he asked.

Named for his bright gold hair, Gylden pulled thoughtfully on his long mustache. He was a handsome man, or so Kierla liked to say, a hand shorter than Valorian and broader in the chest, with small hands and a ready smile. “I’d follow you in a moment,” he replied. “You know that. But my father respects Lord Fearral and won’t budge without his orders. As for the rest of my family, well, my mother is ready to pack now, my brother wants to know more about the Ramtharin Plains, and my cousin doesn’t know what to think. I imagine the rest of the family, and probably the rest of the Clan, will have the same mixed reactions. You’ve dropped a big, live snake in our laps, Valorian. This may take time.”

“We don’t have much time. I was hoping to cross Wolfeared Pass by autumn.”

“There’s little chance of that. Spring thaw is probably the earliest you’ll get this Clan to make a decision.”

Valorian said nothing, although a pan of him had to reluctantly agree. It would be much safer to get the Clan out of Chadar before winter snows blocked the pass or General Tyrranis got wind of their intentions, but he was beginning to see that uniting the families and getting them to Wolfeared Pass before autumn would be extremely difficult. The only advantage he could see with spending one more winter in the Bloodiron Hills was that the Clan could cross the pass in the spring and have the summer to find a place to live on the plains. If they could keep this secret from the Tarns.

He stifled a sigh of exasperation and went back to watching the dogs. The three big spotted hounds seemed to be on the trail of something. Their tails were whipping with excitement as their noses swept over the ground.

Suddenly one dog bayed. All three instantly leaped after the scent of their quarry, drawing the men after them. Whooping with delight, Valorian and Gylden kicked their horses into a full gallop after the dogs just as a large buck sprang up out of his cover. The deer took one look at the dogs coming toward him and leaped away across a broad field. The big, long-eared deer in these hills were fleet and strong, and the hunters knew the buck could outrun his pursuers given enough lead. The dogs bayed wildly when they saw the deer. They sprang after it, their long, sleek legs bounding over the uneven ground, but they couldn’t catch up with the running buck.

Both men drew their bows. It would take extreme skill and luck to shoot a deer from a galloping horse, yet that was half the fun. Valorian was not “Very accurate at such a long distance, so he pressed his heels into Hunnul’s sides to urge him a little faster. To his astonishment, the black lunged forward as if he had been catapulted. His stride lengthened into a blistering run that carried him over the ground like a projectile, past the startled dogs and right up beside the buck. Valorian held on with all his strength. The ground was a blur beneath Hunnul’s hooves, and the wind of his passing whipped his mane into the man’s face. The big stallion came so close to the fleeing deer that Valorian could have reached out and touched it. Instead, he had the presence of mind to draw his bow and fire an arrow. The deer staggered and fell in the grass with the arrow through his ribs.

Thunderstruck, Valorian eased back in the saddle to slow Hunnul down. The stallion promptly obeyed. He snorted as if in satisfaction and trotted back to the fallen deer, his neck arched and his tail held high. The clansman slid off, quickly pulled off the excited dogs, and slit the throat of the dying deer. When he was finished, he drew a long breath and stood back to stare at his horse.

Gylden came cantering up, his mount in a sweat. “Good gods, Valorian,” he shouted as he jumped off. “What have you been feeding that horse?” Valorian threw up his hands. “Grass!” He was as mystified as Gylden. Hunnul was fast, but he had never shown signs of that much speed.

“Look at him! He’s not even breathing hard.”

Amazed, Valorian ran his hands down Hunnul’s long, powerful legs. Gylden was right. Hunnul was breathing normally, and his legs looked perfectly well. He hadn’t even broken into a sweat. The man studied the black thoughtfully, and his fingers unconsciously traced the white lightning mark on Hunnul’s shoulder.

“Valorian.”

Gylden’s voice startled him out of his reverie.

“I have some mares about to come into season. Would you consider allowing me to breed them to Hunnul?”

Valorian was pleased and a little surprised. Gylden was passionate about his horses and had painstakingly built over the years the largest and finest herd of Harachan horses left in the Clan. It was an honor that he wanted to mingle Hunnul’s bloodline with that of his beloved mares. There was only one problem. Valorian rubbed his chin and said apologetically, “You know he’s not a full Harachan. I, uh, borrowed Tyrranis’s stallion one night.”

Gylden burst out laughing. “You mean that big, mean bay he brought from Tarnow? I wondered why your horse was so tall. I don’t care if he’s half-cow. I’ve never seen a horse run like that.”

The clansman glanced up at the sky as if something had occurred to him. “That trait may not be something he could pass on to his foals.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Gylden replied. “He’s a fine horse.”

“Then you may breed him to every mare you have. . . on one condition.”

“What?”

“Talk to your father. Talk to your family. Be my ally in your camp.”

Gylden grinned. He would have done that anyway for Valorian. “Done!”

The two men clasped hands to seal the bargain and went to work butchering their catch.

Later that evening, Valorian brought Hunnul into camp and tethered the stallion just outside his tent.

“I wish you could have seen him run, Kierla,” he said to his wife while he curried the horse’s black hide. Hunnul was shedding his winter coat in great handfuls, and he leaned into the scratchy brush with pleasure.

“Could Amara have given him more than a white mark?” Kierla asked. She enjoyed watching her husband care for his horses. He took such care to thoroughly clean them, scratch their itchy spots, and treat them like friends. She marveled at how his hands could be so gentle and yet so strong at the same time. .

“That’s the only explanation I can think of,” Valorian answered. “He’s never run like that.” He finished his work and leaned thoughtfully against a tent pole. “Gylden wants to breed Hunnul to his mares. We have some in foal heat, so I think when ours come into full season, we’ll breed them to Hunnul, too.”

Kierla chuckled, low and throaty. “He’s going to have a busy summer.”

The man laughed with her, but his thoughts followed another notion that had been growing in his mind all day. Tomorrow he intended to try it out.

After sharing the morning meal with Gylden and his father the next day, Valorian mounted Hunnul and rode into the wooded hills near the camp. He wanted to find a secluded place where he could use his magic away from prying eyes. Wasn’t long before he found what he was looking for in a narrow canyon watered by a shallow creek. He rode upstream for a time until they came to a wide bend shaded by trees and scented with the smell of honeysuckle.

There Valorian slid off Hunnul’s back and left the stallion free to wander while he settled under a tree to think. He knew what he wanted to do, but he wasn’t sure how to go I about it or whether he should even attempt it. He had never I used magic on a living creature—except Sergius, and that I had been a disaster—so he didn’t know what to expect. The spell he had in mind could easily cause irreparable harm if it went wrong. He would never forgive himself if he injured Hunnul in any way.

Still, there was no other horse he wanted to use. Hunnul was already a highly intelligent animal who had complete trust in and love for his master. He and Valorian had developed a strong rapport in the six years of the stallion’s life, and Valorian was counting on that attachment to help his magic complete the transformation he wanted to make.

The clansman sat for a little while longer, with the spell slowly forming in his head, then he called Hunnul.

The big stallion was in the creek, having a luxurious roll in the sandy, cool water when Valorian summoned him. He came willingly to his master’s side and promptly shook himself. Water and sand sprayed over the man in a shower, soaking his clothes and covering him with sand and loose horse hair. The black looked at Valorian through his long forelock, and the clansman swore he saw a glint of laughter in the dark, liquid eyes.

Trying not to laugh or curse, Valorian brushed off his clothes as best he could. He should have known better than to call Hunnul in the middle of a wet roll. When most of the sand and hair were gone, he led the stallion to a large, flat boulder where he could sit at about eye level with Hunnul while he called forth the magic. He paused a moment and scratched the stallion’s neck, feeling the bone and brawn and silk that formed his magnificent horse. This is going to work, he said firmly to himself. It has to!

With that thought firmly in mind, Valorian sat cross-legged on the rock to begin the spell. He took Hunnul’s soft muzzle in his hands, closed his eyes, and reached out with his mind to draw on the magic around him.

The stallion shifted his feet restlessly a time or two at his master’s strange behavior, but he trusted Valorian and didn’t try to pull away. Gradually, though, a change came over the big horse. He stilled to an unnatural motionless pose, his breathing slowed, and his eyes stared straight into the clansman’s face. He didn’t make a sound or flicker a muscle, nor did Valorian. They remained locked together by touch, by magic, and by the unseen link of their thoughts as, ever so gently, Valorian probed into the mind of the horse.

The deeper he went, the more he was amazed by the complexity of the stallion’s mind. There was far more to the horse’s feelings and awareness than the primal desires for food and self-protection. He also learned for the first time the full extent of the gifts Amara had given Hunnul by the power of the lightning: greater speed, strength, endurance, and, most interesting of all, a heightened desire to learn.

Valorian immediately focused his magic on the last gift.

He wanted to find a way to communicate with Hunnul, to teach the horse a comprehension of human language and a way of transmitting thoughts. Horses obviously couldn’t talk like humans, but Valorian thought that, through magic, he could teach Hunnul how to speak to him. He wasn’t trying to turn the stallion’s equine intelligence into human intelligence, and yet as he manipulated the magic in Hunnul’s mind, he unconsciously imprinted some of his own experiences, thoughts, and his understanding of human emotions Onto Hunnul’s brain. In the process, the man and the horse formed an inseparable bond that would never be broken as long as they both survived.

It was dark when Valorian came out of his magic-induced trance. He blinked in surprise and would have fallen off the boulder if he hadn’t caught Hunnul’s mane. His body seemed petrified from sitting so long in the same position, an h h e was completely and utterly exhausted. Very carefully r; eased himself off the rock and leaned against the stallion for support while he stretched his aching legs and arms.

“By Amara’s crown, I’m tired,” he said aloud. Gently he patted Hunnul’s neck, wondering if his magic had done any harm or good. The stallion seemed sluggish, and it was difficult to see his eyes in the darkness to know whether the horse was alert.

He was about to lead Hunnul to the creek for a drink of water when something incredible happened.

The black stallion poked his nose at Valorian’s chest, and clear and strong in the man’s mind came the words, I’m hungry.

Kierla knew something extraordinary had happened the moment her husband burst into their tent. His entire body was tense with excitement; his eyes shone brilliant blue in triumph. Without a word, he took her hands and danced her a few steps around the tent.

“It worked!” he chortled. “The spell worked like a prayer.”

“What spell?” she asked, mystified by his boyish behavior. “What have you been doing?”

“Hunnul! He can talk to me!”

She pulled him to a stop. “What?”

“Well, not exactly talk. But he can send his thoughts to me, and I can understand him. He’s unsure of his words at the moment, but he’ll get better in time, I know it!”

Kierla put her hands on her hips and said, “Valorian, if I didn’t know what you’d already been through, I would think you were sunstruck. Can he talk to me?”

“I don’t know. Come on. We’ll find out.” He pulled her out of the tent to where Hunnul was standing nose deep in a pile of hay. “Hunnul, would you say something to Kierla?” he asked.

The stallion lifted his head, his mouth full of hay. Valorian heard him in his mind say carefully, Good evening, Kierla. I like the way you brush my coat.

“Did you hear that?” Valorian demanded excitedly.

Kierla shook her head. “I didn’t hear anything. He just looked at me.”

“Oh.” Valorian’s excitement receded a little, and yet he was rather relieved. He didn’t really want to share this unique experience for a while or be asked to repeat the spell on other horses. The magic had worked on Hunnul because he and his master were so close. Valorian didn’t think he could accurately perform the spell again on a strange animal.

“Perhaps you can hear him because you worked the magic,” Kierla suggested.

Valorian grinned again. “Perhaps that’s it. He said he likes the way you brush his coat.” The woman stepped up to the big horse and threw her arms around his neck. “Take good care of him,” she whispered to Hunnul.

In complete understanding, the stallion curled his neck around and gently embraced her with his head.

Valorian didn’t have much time after that to go out alone. Summer was coming to the hills with all its heat and flies, keeping the clanspeople busy fattening their herds and engaging in the daily tasks of survival. The weather grew warmer by the day, and with the afternoon heat came scattered thunderstorms.

Valorian found that his dislike for lightning had deepened to a real fear. He flinched every time lightning crackled and thunder boomed, and it was all he could do to stifle a strong urge to run for cover whenever the thunderheads built up to the West. The damage done by his last encounter with the deadly streaks of energy was still too fresh for comfort. Fortunately the sensation of heat within his body had eased enough so he could tolerate the summer temperatures, but full feeling had not yet returned to his right hand.

For a while, though, he didn’t have to use his hand for dangerous or delicate work. Much of the time he was helping Aiden and Gylden breed Hunnul to many of the mares that came into season. Often a stallion was simply allowed to run with the herd of mares and mate as he desired, but the two families didn’t want their herds or some of the Harachan bloodlines mixed, so the men had to supervise every mating. As Valorian watched each mare come to Hunnul, his imagination wondered how many of Hunnul’s traits would be passed on to the foals.

When he wasn’t busy with his own family or horse breeding, Valorian took every opportunity to talk to Gylden’s father and other family members. Gylden’s assessment of their reactions was correct. Some people could hardly wait to leave, while others couldn’t comprehend abandoning their ancestral home of Chadar. Valorian spent days arguing, cajoling, and encouraging everyone who would talk to him until slowly he began to sense they were swaying toward his position. At the first swelling of the summer moon, he knew it was time to move on to another camp. He had said all there was to say to Gylden’s people. It would be up to them to make their decision about whether to join his exodus when the time came.

On a hot summer morning, Valorian’s and Gylden’s families bade farewell, broke camp, and went their separate paths. Valorian and Gylden promised to meet again in the autumn. Then they clasped hands and followed their caravans on to other pastures.

Valorian’s family traveled slowly southeast toward the natural springs called Amara’s Tears. The springs were a popular stopping place for the Clan families, and Valorian hoped to find at least one other group there. They arrived on a sultry evening and made camp by the clear, bubbling springs in the light of a full moon. Valorian was disappointed to see no one else was there, but the feeling didn’t last long.

A few days later, as he was watering Hunnul at one of the stone wells built around the spring pools, the black lifted his head and pricked his ears. The clansman looked to the hills and saw one of the guards lift his horn. A high, ringing note sounded on the wind, bringing the clanspeople running. A second caravan, much larger than Valorian’s, appeared over the rim of a slope to the east, led by a burly, heavily bearded man on a big white horse.

You do not like this man? Hunnul asked in Valorian’s mind.

The clansman started, surprised by the words and the perception behind the question. Although he had shaped the spell that gave Hunnul the power to communicate, Valorian was not yet accustomed to the slow, deep voice that spoke in his head without sound. Hunnul’s use of his new talent was growing every day, and it could be very disconcerting, especially when he was right.

“How did you know?” Valorian asked softly.

Hunnul snorted. I remember this man’s smell. He is sour, and you are not pleased to see him. Your hand has tightened on my mane.

With a chuckle, Valorian released the black hairs and swung onto the stallion’s back. “No, I do not like Karez. He is . . . unpleasant. He is also the leader of the second largest family and someone I must convince if we are to succeed in uniting the Clan. So I will be polite.” In only a matter of moments, Valorian’s good intentions were put to the test.

“Valorian!” Karez’s voice boomed out to span the distance between them. “What in the gods’ names are you doing here?” He guided his horse toward the largest spring and made an angry gesture toward a small herd of goats grazing near the clear, bubbling pool. “Tell your people to move those ragged-looking beasts!” he bellowed without any further greeting.

Resignedly Valorian ordered several boys to move the goats out of Karez’s way, and he watched as the big clansman directed his caravan to the biggest camping area and settled in as if the springs were his alone.

Aiden, his entire demeanor stiff with outrage, came galloping over to where his brother was mounted on Hunnul. “That bullheaded Karez just had his men drive our horses off the east meadow!” he shouted furiously. “He’s moving in his own herd.” Valorian didn’t react. His own anger was tightly clamped by the knowledge that he didn’t dare alienate Karez before he had a chance to talk to the man. He only said grimly, “Karez hasn’t changed much, has he?” Aiden nearly choked. “Aren’t you going to do anything about it?”

“No, and neither are you,” Valorian replied as calmly as possible. “Keep a civil tongue in your head, or I’ll be forced to banish you from the springs.”

The younger warrior slammed his fist on his saddle pommel, but he subsided under Valorian’s ferocious glare and watched sullenly as Karez made himself comfortable under an awning. The other family began to set up their camp. They seemed genuinely pleased to see Valorian’s family, yet they made no attempt to greet the other clanspeople until their work was completed.

“Karez obviously still thinks he’s going to be lord chieftain,” Aiden muttered. “He’s already acting like one.”

Valorian barely nodded. Karez bad made it common knowledge for years that he wanted to be chieftain someday, but he hadn’t yet tried to challenge Lord Fearral or make any serious move to claim the title. He simply made himself obnoxious to everyone by behaving as if the chieftainship were already his.

To Valorian’s dismay, Karez’s brutish and unpredictable temper didn’t improve over the next few days. It took all of Valorian’s willpower to remain polite to the heavy warrior and keep relations pleasant between the two families.

After three days of the two families keeping their distance, Valorian talked Karez into joining the groups for an evening of music and stories. The people mingled and danced and enjoyed the company long into the night. Then Valorian rose to tell his story. He told the tale as he had before, in words and magic, and his own people thrilled to his adventure. They never grew tired of hearing it.

The other family, however, grew quieter and quieter. Quite a few worried looks were cast at Karez, who sat with some of his strongest men around him. As soon as Valorian revealed his power, Karez’s face abruptly turned red. By the time Valorian reached the end and began talking about the Ramtharin Plains, Karez was livid. It had never dawned on him that Valorian had any serious ambitions to the leadership of the Clan, yet here he was talking about the will of the gods and leading the people out of Chadar. Jealousy and resentment surged within him.

Before Valorian could finish, Karez climbed to his feet.

“Valorian,” he said with heavy sarcasm, “you should get a position as storyteller in Tyrranis’s court. You could make enough den air to buy yourself a new tent or maybe a woman who could bear you sons.”

Valorian’s family broke out in angry cries of protest. Valorian coolly crossed his arms. His eyes were hooded in the shadows, but there was no mistaking their glittering scorn.

“You do not think the tale has merit for the Clan?” he asked, choosing to ignore the insults. Karez wasn’t going to incite him into a fight now.

“Merit?” Karez laughed; his belly shook beneath his tight leather vest. “Your tricks of so-called magic might entertain the Tarns, but I see no use in them. As for your idea that we leave Chadar for some pitiful land even the Tarns don’t want, don’t waste your breath. No one will go.”

“I will!” Mother Willa shouted. The old woman rose from the log she was sitting on, marched forward, and shook her fist under Karez’s nose. No one in either family smiled or ridiculed the little woman glaring up at the burly man. They respected her too much for that.

“It is the will of Amara that we leave, Karez, not Valorian. Are you willing to risk denying the goddess of life?” Every eye fastened on Karez to see his reaction. His red face paled several shades, but he knew he had to hold his position if he were going to keep a grip on his people. He stepped back from her-—not even he dared lay hands on Mother Willa—and looked over her head.

“You let women talk for you now?” he said to Valorian with contempt. He quickly moved to Counter Mother Willa’s influence by demanding, “What does Our lord chieftain have to say about this?”

Valorian didn’t move a muscle. “He is not in favor of it,” he answered truthfully.

“Huh!” Karez gestured fiercely to his people and they hurried to leave the gathering. “Neither am I!” he bellowed, and he stomped off, leaving Valorian and the rest of the clanspeople looking slightly dazed.

Aiden curled his lip. “He is as bad as Fearral.”

“Worse,” Mother Willa replied sadly. “He’s jealous, too.” In spite of Valorian’s best efforts to talk to Karez some more, the man would have nothing to do with him. The big clansman made it clear to all that he had no intention of going anywhere with Valorian and would not set foot out of Chadar without Lord Fearral’s command. The rest of his people wouldn’t talk to Valorian either, for fear of angering their leader.

Mother Willa sought out Valorian one afternoon and told him, “I’ve talked to a few of Karez’s family, and they seem to be interested in leaving Chadar.”

“But?” he asked, knowing from the tone in her voice that there was more.

She sighed irritably. “But. . . they won’t make a move without Karez’s direct order.”

A shadow of anger passed over Valorian’s face and was gone. “Well, there’s nothing more I can do with Karez if he won’t listen. We’d better move on. The sun has already passed its solstice, and we have four more families to visit.”

His grandmother glanced up at him, her eyes twinkling under her rough-woven sun hat. “You knew it wasn’t going to be easy.”

He suddenly grinned at her. “Of course. I won’t give up on Karez entirely. Even he doesn’t deserve being left to the Tarns.” With a shake of his head, Valorian went to find Aiden. The following day the family packed their caravan and left the springs without a word of farewell.

Karez watched them go from under the shady awning of his tent. His heavily lidded eyes narrowed as Valorian crested the hill on his black horse and disappeared from view. He had a bad feeling about that man. It was obvious to him that Valorian wasn’t going to give up his ridiculous scheme easily. He sounded too fervent, too convincing. And those strange tricks of his. . . Karez didn’t believe for a moment that Valorian really had the power of magic, but more gullible people could take those tricks very seriously.

Valorian could cause some real trouble in the Clan. Something would have to be done, or Valorian could maneuver his way into the chieftainship before anyone could stop him and actually try to take the Clan out of Chadar.

Perhaps, Karez thought to himself, General Tyrranis should hear about this—in a circuitous way, of course. The governor might be very interested in hearing what Valorian was doing. Karez settled back on his stool, and a gap toothed smile slowly creased his dark beard.