Valorian (13 page)

Valorian nodded once in agreement. The sentence was harsh, but in a society whose survival depended upon horses, the animals had to be protected for the good of al .

Slowly the large hall emptied of the clanspeople there for the trial. Lord Fearral's two daughters and several other women began to set up trestle tables for the evening meal while a boy lit the fire in the central hearth. The smell of roasting meat wafted in from an outside kitchen.

Valorian waited until Lord Fearral was finished talking to two men before he approached the old chief. When he drew closer, he was surprised at how much the chieftain had aged since he had seen him last. Fearral's long hair was totally white now, and his beard was thin, gray, and stained around the mouth. His eyes were rheumy and bloodshot; his hands trembled noticeably. Red patches high on his cheeks and on his nose colored his weathered skin. In the midst of the new changes, Valorian was also rather surprised to see an amulet bag hanging around Fearral's neck. The bag was an ancient Clan custom that most people had given up.

Keeping his expression bland, Valorian greeted his wife's uncle with grave respect.

"Valorian!" Fearral greeted him warmly. "How good to see you." The chief kissed Kierla on the cheek with affection and accepted Aiden's negligible salute. "You're moving early this spring. We haven't held our Birthright yet."

"Neither have we, Lord Fearral, but I—"

Fearral cut him off brusquely. "Oh? Well, then, stay and celebrate with us." He glanced over Valorian's shoulder at the doorway as if he was in a hurry to get away.

"My lord, I really need to talk—"

"Be glad to," the chieftain interrupted, unable to stifle his anxious expression. "We'll be having our evening meal soon. Stay and we can talk later."

Before the three clanspeople could say another word, the chief hurried out the door.

"Drunken old goat," Aiden muttered. "He's probably going to his nearest wineskin."

Valorian made a sound of irritation deep in his throat. "Whatever you think of the man, Brother, he is still our lord chieftain. We must give him our support and obey our vow of fealty, or what's left of the Clan will fall apart." He grunted. Who was he trying to convince, Aiden or himself?

"I know, I know," Aiden replied. "But Fearral makes it very difficult."

The three began walking to the entrance. "What I would like to know," Kierla said, stopping by the wide double doors, "is how he got all of this." She pointed to the Tarnish tapestry on the opposite wall behind the chieftain's big carved chair. "And did you see his clothes? Lowland weave with ivory buttons.

How could he buy something like that?"

"Easily," a new voice answered her from just outside the door. Mordan, one of Lord Fearral's personal guards, stepped in to join them. "First he sold off all our excess stock animals and suggested we take up farming." He laughed at the grimace on Aiden's face. "Then our lord began selling our breeding stock: goats, sheep, the few cows we had, even the horses. Do you know," he added, leaning against the doorframe, "that we have no pure-blooded Harachan horses left here? Our last stallion went to pay for that tapestry and the Chadarian craftsmen who finished this hall." His narrowed eyes watched the other three for their reactions.

"That's outrageous!" Kierla cried. "What is he going to do when there are no more animals?"

An ironic smile twisted Mordan's rugged face. "We wonder the same. The only things of value we have left are the women and children. I suppose we could borrow from some of the other families.

Unfortunately, everyone has already paid his chieftain's gifts for the year and won't have anything else to spare until next year."

Valorian remained silent while Mordan talked. He was stunned by the suggestion of such a betrayal. The Harachan horse was the only true Clan--bred horse in existence and was one of the finest, most sought--after animals in the Tarnish Empire. The Clan had survived as long as it had by hoarding its remaining stock of purebreds and selling or trading the foals for taxes. Without good breeding animals, the Clan families wouldn't be able to pay their tribute to General Tyrranis, who was looking for the slightest excuse to be rid of the Clan once and for all. For a lord chieftain to deliberately betray his people like that for his own comfort was unbelievable.

Mordan must have seen the disbelief in Valorian's face, because he straightened up and touched his chest with two fingers, a sign that he was swearing to the truth. "Valorian, we don't know each other wel , but I have been watching you for the past few years, and I know you seek what is good for the Clan. Look around this camp. Study the people. Ride through our empty fields. Then come talk to me."

He nodded to Kierla and stalked off, his dark blond hair swinging like a horse's tail under his helmet.

Valorian watched the stocky warrior disappear among the huts and tents. It was true that he didn't know the guardsman wel , but he thought he should change that. Although Mordan was his age, about thirty-five summers, he was one of the youngest of the chieftain's guards, a rank earned by proven skil and courage. If Mordan was willing to talk so openly to him about the problems of the camp, it was possible he could be looking for ways to change things. Mordan could be a good al y and a good ear in Fearral's camp.

"This is incredible," Aiden said forcefully. "Why would—"

Valorian held up his hand. "Let's follow Mordan's advice first. We'll look things over before we judge. Remember, Aiden, if we anger Fearral, he'll never listen to us."

The younger man subsided with a surly glare. "Al right, but I'm going back to our camp. I won't share meat with our chieftain tonight."

"No," Valorian said, thoughtful y rubbing his jaw. "I think you'd better not. Just to be safe, I want you to take Hunnul and the brood mares to pasture in the mountains. Take some of the older boys with you and go up to Black Rock."

Kierla gasped. "Surely you don't think Lord Fearral would sell
our
horses."

"Right now I don't know what he would do. But his tribute is due, just as ours is, and I don't want to risk our breeding stock."

An appreciative glint warmed Aiden's gray eyes. "For how long?"

"Until I feel it's safe," Valorian said.

"Done! We'll leave tonight after dark." He saluted his brother and dashed away to make his preparations.

Kierla took her husband's arm. "I can hardly believe this,' she murmured.

"It's worse than I feared," Valorian agreed. He turned to look at the big hall from the raftered ceiling to the stone floor. "Nothing short of a miracle is going to shake Lord Fearral out of this."

They stayed to share the evening meal with the chief, his two unmarried daughters, his guards, and a host of other bachelors, visitors, and drop-ins. The meal wasn't fancy, but compared to what Valorian and Kierla were used to, it was a feast. They ate roast venison, boiled mutton, and duck with slabs of bread, bowls of dried fruits and berries, cheese, and flagons of ale. The food was eaten mostly with the fingers from platters at the big trestle tables.

The only problem Kierla complained of was the serving of the meal. Sitting on a bench at a table to eat was a Chadarian custom, not a practice of the Clan. Tables and chairs were too difficult to move from one nomadic camp to another, and most Clan meals were eaten sitting on the ground. Valorian took this new habit of Fearral's as another sign that the chieftain was abandoning the ancient nomadic ways and setting his feet too firmly on the ground.

Although he tried several times to talk to Lord Fearral about moving the Clan out of Chadar, he was unsuccessful. Fearral's eyes were glazed all evening, and his speech was slurred. He drank ale all evening, then staggered out to his quarters before anyone could stop him.

The following days were much the same. No matter how often Valorian tried to speak with Fearral, the old chief either changed the subject, ignored him, or avoided him completely. Valorian's anger began a slow stew.

One afternoon seven days after their arrival at Stonehelm, Valorian invited Lord Fearral to his camp in hope of getting the chief to talk in the quiet privacy of a tent. Short of insulting a close family member, Fearral could hardly refuse.

He came late, with his guard Mordan at his side. His face was red—with exertion or drink, Valorian couldn't tel —and his hands twitched nervously.

Kierla welcomed him with a soft cushion to sit on and a cup of fermented mare's milk. For a while, the four people merely sipped their drinks and exchanged pleasantries. Finally Valorian plunged into his arguments. He gave a brief explanation of his hunting trip and the meeting with the five Tarnish soldiers, leaving out his journey to Ealgoden, and tried to detail his reasons for leaving Chadar.

Fearral listened, growing more agitated by the moment, until he could stand it no longer.

"Absolutely not!" he cried. I will not allow it."

"My lord," Valorian said, trying to keep his voice calm, "the pass is there. I know it. All you have to do is gather the Clan, and we can leave these barren hills."

"Leave!" Fearral looked aghast. "And go where? Over a pass you can't find? To a land you've never seen? You have no proof that any of this exists, only the words of a few drunken Tarns. No, Valorian, I wil not leave. Our home is here." Valorian's hands tightened around the horn cup; his blue eyes were snapping. "Our home is gone! There is nothing for us in this place but starvation and death."

"That's ridiculous. Look around you. Look at this town I've built. Here," Fearral stabbed his finger at the ground “is where we will find our survival. Not out there in the mountains.” Valorian leaned forward and studied his chieftain's face in the afternoon light. He didn't notice Mordan watching him with equal intensity.

The problem was that Lord Fearral was convinced he was right. He had traded away the old ways for stability and protection, not realizing that the people's only defense from General Tyrranis was their lifestyle. The family groups were small and nomadic, forming no dangerous armies or fortified settlements. They raised livestock to help feed the Tarnish garrison at Actigorium and horses to enrich Tyrranis's purse.

As long as the Clan fulfilled these obligations, they were left alone.

But now Fearral had organized a semi fortified, permanent camp, and he had sold off al of the best breeding stock and most of the lesser animals to do it. Worst of all, the people who lived here hadn't had time to replace their herds with any marketable skills. The crops were meager, the artisans were too few, and there were no natural resources such as gold or iron to trade. There was little to support the camp and nothing to appease the Tarns. Before too long, General Tyrranis could decide that the village posed a threat to his authority and have it destroyed. The inhabitants were already growing uneasy.

Only Lord Fearral didn't seem to see the danger.

"My lord uncle," Kierla said, "we have looked at your town. Given time and good fortune, it could possibly succeed. But Valorian and I feel there wil be no time. We have talked to the people and they are hungry and restless. They're afraid of General Tyrranis."

Fearral slammed his cup down and glared at her. "If they're afraid now, how will they feel if we pack our belongings, gather our herds, and try to leave his jurisdiction? How will they feel when they see his soldiers gathered on the skyline ready to sweep down on us? And how wil they feel when Tyrranis has us slaughtered for our foolish attempt to test his authority? Oh, no. As long as we stay here he will not bother us."

"My lord, I don't think—" Valorian began.

The chieftain cut him off. "I've heard enough. The answer is no." He rose to go. "Do not bother me again with this ridiculous idea of yours." With a grunt, he stomped out of the tent.

Mordan fol owed close behind, then at the tent flap, he paused. "If you haven't done it already, you could send out a scout to find that pass," he suggested quietly.

Valorian looked up, and for a moment, the two men stared at one another with understanding and a growing respect. "I have already done so," Valorian replied.

"Good. Many people in this camp are talking about your plan, and not all of them agree with Lord Fearral." He waved a hand to Kierla and ducked out to catch up with the chief.

Sighing, Kierla bent to pick up the horn cups. "I never realized my uncle could be so hardheaded. He didn't even try to understand," she said sadly.

Valorian leaned back in the cushions and stared morosely at the tent flap. He hadn't real y expected Fearral to agree with him, but the chieftain's total refusal depressed him. "At least he heard me. Maybe the words took root and he'll think them over for a while. I'll stay out of his way for a few days, then try again."

In hope that Fearral was mulling over the possibilities of his plan, Valorian put off seeing the chief for six days. While he waited, he hunted and fished to help feed the family, aided Mother Willa with the births of the spring crop of stock animals, and kept his patience on a tight line.

On the evening of the sixth day, Ranulf came bursting into Valorian's tent. The young man was filthy, exhausted, and half-starved, but his face was lit with the success of his mission.

"I found it!" he shouted. "It's there, just as you hoped. About five days' ride into Sarcithia, and it's perfect for wagons."

"Sarcithia! No wonder we'd never heard of it," exclaimed Kierla.

Valorian felt a deep wave of relief and satisfaction wash away much of his worry. Sarcithia was south of the Chadarian province, and clanspeople were not permitted to go there. The country was unfamiliar to the Clan, but Valorian wasn't worried about that. There would be time to work out a path later.

"So," he said, his voice ringing with pleasure, "Wolfeared Pass does exist." "Maybe this news will change Fearral's mind," Kierla said hopefully.

Valorian clapped Ranulf on the shoulder. "I'll ask him tomorrow."

Although Valorian tried several times to find Lord Fearral the next day, it wasn't until midafternoon that he rode his horse down the path from Stonehelm and saw the chieftain riding up the same path with several of his guards. Valorian stopped his mount in the middle of the road at the base of the stone hill and waited with a pleasant greeting ready.