Valorian (12 page)

Out of curiosity, he found his sword hanging in its customary place on the center tent pole. He drew it from the sheath and studied it careful y. On closer examination, he noticed that the point wasn't completely melted. It was simply rippled, and the metal itself seemed to be stronger and more pliable.

With some careful polishing and sharpening, he thought perhaps he could save the weapon. It would look strange, but anything would be better than a Tarnish blade.

Valorian was about to return the weapon to its sheath when Kierla came in with a bowl of warm water. She smiled in delight. "Good day, my husband."

He stared hard at her, for she seemed different somehow. Her step was lighter and her eyes glowed with a new light of bliss and triumph that he had never seen before.

She saw him staring at her and surprised him by blushing. She had wanted to wait to tel him until there was proof of her pregnancy, but she couldn't contain her joy before him. With a quick step, Kierla stood before her husband.

"I cannot prove to you yet that what I say is true," she said breathlessly, her wide-mouthed smile radiant, "but after last night, I am carrying your son." Valorian was dumbfounded. After so many years of disappointment, he had never imagined she would tel him this.

"How—how can you know so soon?" he asked.

"Amara told my heart."

Amara. Valorian felt happiness and gratitude well up inside him until he grabbed his wife by the waist and whirled her around the small tent. Of course, Amara. The goddess had wrought this miracle in thanks. If he had received nothing else, this gift of a child alone was worth the journey into Ealgoden.

Valorian set Kierla down, hugging her in his powerful embrace.

With a laugh, she pushed him away. "Your beard scratches. It has to go!"

She picked up the warm water, took out her knife, steered Valorian to their small stool, and proceeded to shave off the dark growth of beard. When she finished, he rubbed his jaw in appreciation and kissed her firmly.

Kierla pulled him off the stool. "That was my time alone with you. The rest of the camp needs you now." She hesitated a moment, her eyes downcast. "Valorian, I have told you my secret because I knew you would believe me, but I would rather wait to tell the rest of the family when Mother Willa confirms it."

He understood and agreed. The Clan was going to find the news hard to believe, even with proof.

At least this would silence the skeptics who advised him to turn her out. He chuckled. It was too bad he couldn't tell his father.

Still grinning to himself, Valorian left Kierla to pack their belongings and went outside to help tear down the camp. Two of his dogs sprang up to greet him at the tent entrance. He rumpled their ears as he looked around at the noisy activity. A great deal had been accomplished while he slept. Most of the tents were already struck and loaded on the two-wheeled, horse-drawn carts. The goat pens, the larger corrals, and the baking ovens had been dismantled and the bare patches of earth covered with loose dirt, leaves, and pine needles. Several of the older boys stood guard in the meadow over the smal herd of horses and another herd of sheep and goats. Valorian could see his grandmother, Mother Willa, stirring the coals of the big central fire while her youngest grandson dumped dirt on the dying embers.

Adults hurried through the disappearing camp, trying to get organized, and children and dogs ran everywhere.

The clansman heard a nicker close by and turned to see Hunnul beside the tent. The stal ion's shaggy winter coat had been curried to a shine by someone who had also combed his mane and tail and treated his burn. He had been fed, too, for a few tel tale wisps of hay hung unheeded from his mouth.

Valorian scratched the stallion's neck lovingly. He decided not to ride Hunnul today—the horse deserved a rest. Instead, the black could guard the brood mares while the family moved camp.

Hoofbeats caught Valorian's attention, and he watched Alden and Ranulf come riding into camp, looking dirty, sweaty, and tired. Both riders spotted him and rode to greet him.

"It's done," Aiden announced, sliding off his mount. "If the Tarns ever find the bodies, they'll think the fools got caught in a rockslide." He slapped some dust off his leggings. "We got rid of the horses, too. We had to bury one with the soldiers for authenticity, but we turned the others loose high in the mountains."

"What about Sergius?" Valorian asked quietly.

His brother grimaced. "We had to bury him somewhere else. There was no disguising the burn on his chest."

Valorian barely nodded, his face set and unreadable.

"Unfortunately," Aiden went on, "we couldn't find his horse. I'm afraid it bolted for home."

"Then we'll have to take our chances that the Tarns will assume Sergius fell off and got lost."

"The sooner we put some distance between this place and ourselves the better." Aiden tipped his head in a thoughtful manner and asked, "But why Fearral's camp? That old dotard won't help us with anything."

Valorian's jaw tightened. This was a running argument he had had with Aiden for years. "He is our lord chieftain. Give him the respect his title deserves."

"When he earns it," muttered Aiden.

Valorian ignored that and added, "I don't want to ask for help. I need to talk to him."

"About the pass?"

"Yes."

The younger man threw up his hands in disgust. "Why waste your time? He'l never listen. That old man would rather die and take the Clan with him than ever risk leaving Chadar. His feet have turned to stone! Why, he hasn't even bothered to move camp in three years. He just drinks his wine, hides in his tent, and grovels twice a year to General Tyrranis."

While Valorian listened to his brother's impassioned words, his attention had fallen on Ranulf, who was standing silently and bashfully behind Aiden. Ranulf was Kierla's cousin, a shy, withdrawn young man who preferred solitude to the busy camp. Valorian knew he had been horrified by his negligence on guard duty and would do anything to help erase his shame.

"I know Lord Fearral's weaknesses," Valorian said sharply to Aiden. "But I'm going to try to convince him anyway." He turned to Ranulf. "Of course, I could use some help." The young man started in surprise. "I know the pass is somewhere south of here. Someone should go look for it so we can tell Lord Fearral exactly where it is."

Ranulf leaped on the dangled opportunity. "Please let me go, Valorian. My horse and I can find it and be back before you reach Stonehelm."

"I doubt that," Valorian said, pleased nevertheless by Ranulf’s willingness. "The journey will be long and difficult, but if you are willing to try, I would be deeply grateful."

Ranulf whooped with relief and sprang on his horse to go gather his gear before everything was packed.

Aiden watched him go. "Even if Ranulf finds that pass, it won't change Fearral's mind. Then what?"

Valorian clapped his brother on the back. "One step at a time, Aiden. That's how you climb mountains." With that, he strode off.

Sometime later, when the afternoon sun was slanting through the trees, the clanspeople gathered for the last time in the meadow. The priest and priestess for the Clan deities recited the prayers for the breaking of camp and blessed the entire caravan. As soon as they were through, Valorian rode to the front of his family, where he turned to face them. He held up his hand for silence.

"All of you heard my tale last night," he began, "and some of you may even believe it. You have also seen the power Amara granted to me and the deadly effect of its force. It is a Power that could do great good for the Clan or great damage. Until I know why the Mother of All has given me this gift, I ask all of you to swear to silence. When the time comes that my duty to Amara is understood, I will reveal the Power as it was intended." He looked around at their faces and was satisfied. He knew he didn't need to say anything about the killing of the four Tarns. For the sake of their own lives, no one would breathe a word anywhere about that.

"In the meantime," he continued, "we have a chance to escape this land of oppressors and find a realm of our own. To do that, I must convince Lord Fearral to accept my plan to leave Chadar once and for all. He wouldn't be very cooperative if he thought I had had dealings with gorthlings."

The clanspeople chuckled at that remark, for Lord Fearral was notorious for his superstitious nature. Although the family members themselves were leery of Valorian's new power, they couldn't help but be proud that one of their .own seemed to be in the light of Amara's grace. Those who understood the implications of Valorian's belief in a new life for the Clan also understood the nearly impossible task he faced of persuading Lord Fearral to agree. Most of Valorian's group accepted his desire to leave Chadar and were willing to follow him wherever he chose to go, but the rest of the Clan didn't know of his plan, and they would be hard to budge without Fearral's approval.

With loud voices, Valorian's family swore on the light of the sun and the honor of the Clan that they would not speak of Valorian's experiences until he was ready. Their leader nodded his head in thanks.

Drawing his sword, Valorian galloped his horse to the head of the caravan and gave a shout to start the wagons on their way. The people echoed his cry; dogs barked, horses neighed, and children yel ed until the valley meadow rang with noise. Flanked by armed riders, the wagons followed a narrow trail upstream several leagues to a place where the valley broadened and a wide, treeless hill offered an easy way out. More guards, other riders, and the herds of stock brought up the rear.

By evening, the camp in the meadow had vanished. Only a close observer would have noticed the faint rope marks on trees, the disguised bare patches where the tents had stood, or the tracks leading out of the val ey.

* * * * *

For nine days, the caravan traveled north through the Bloodiron Hills at a leisurely pace. Now that they were safely away from their old camp and a possible search by the Tarns for the four missing men, they took their time moving their herds and wagons along trails only the clanspeople knew.

Spring went with them in all her warmth and delicate colors. The days were dry and pleasant and breezy, making the journey a joy. Only the nights were still cold enough for cloaks, furs, and fires.

Kierla had repaired an old cloak to replace Valorian's lost one, but he rarely used it. It seemed to him that when he was struck by the lightning, some of its intense heat had remained in his body. Even when the winds blew cold from the snow-capped mountains, he was still comfortable in merely a tunic.

He hated to think how he would feel in the heat of summer if this strange condition didn't wear off.

Late in the afternoon of the ninth day, Valorian's caravan spotted Stonehelm, the huge, rounded dome of white granite that sat like an upside-down bowl in the midst of the meadows, hills, and scattered woods. They, in turn, were seen by one of Lord Fearral's sentries. A long note from the guard's horn signaled the camp on the outcropping, and by the time the caravan reached the edge of the fields surrounding the stone hil , people were coming down to welcome them.

Because of its position on top of the natural fortress and Lord Fearral's status as lord chieftain of the Clan, the camp at Stone helm was different from the camps of the other nomadic family groups. It looked much like a fortified village. It had a wide variety of huts, wooden sheds, stalls, workshops, and stables, all surrounded by a ring of palisades. Near the back of the town was the only permanent temple to the Clan deities and the natural spring that supplied the town with water. A small, crude market sat by the gate, and in the center of town stood Lord Fearral's wooden hal .

The population of Stonehelm was much larger and more diverse than the other groups, too, since it tended to draw in the smaller families and unattached people who desired the safety of numbers.

Unfortunately the greater number of people in one place put a heavy strain on the natural resources of the area, and some clanspeople, for the first time, were attempting to plant crops in the fields at the base of the hil --a time--consuming occupation the nomadic people had never tried before.

Valorian shook his head when he saw the changes Lord Fearral had been making. It had been a long time since he had seen his wife's uncle, and in that time, the roots of Stonehelm had spread deeper and wider. This growing permanence wasn't going to make his task of moving the Clan any easier.

He helped settle the caravan in an open, grassy field not far from the road to town. As was customary in the Clan, their hosts brought firewood and offerings of food to welcome the visitors to their camp. Valorian set up his tent and tended to Hunnul. Then he, Kierla, and Aiden went to pay their respects to the lord chieftain.

They found Fearral in his hall, sitting in judgment over a man caught stealing a horse. The newcomers gaped in surprise at the large hall while they waited for Fearral to finish.

"What is he trying to do?" Aiden hissed to Valorian. "Compete with General High and Mighty Tyrranis?"

Valorian had to agree. The wooden hall was larger than anything the clanspeople had ever built, and he wondered if Fearral had brought in Chadarian craftsmen for the job. The design of the building certainly looked suspiciously similar to Chadarian architecture. The raftered ceiling had the typical timbered construction of lowland houses, the row of pil ars down the center of the hal used the same popular fluted carvings, and Fearral had even hung weapons, cave lion pelts, and a Tarn--made tapestry on the walls.

"How did he pay for all of this?" Kierla whispered.

Aiden curled his lip in contempt, crossed his arms, and glared at the ceiling.

The three clanspeople had to wait a long while to see Fearral. The case against the accused horse thief wasn't clear, and since the punishment for guilt was death, the chieftain wanted to be certain of the facts. A number of people came forth to stand up for the man, but in the end, too' much proof was piled against him.

"Guilty," Lord Fearral finally pronounced, and over the sudden wailing of the man's relatives, he ordered the customary sentence. The man was to be taken to the fields at dawn, where he was to be staked out on the ground and trampled to death by a stampede of horses.