Valorian (32 page)

He was surprised to see the afternoon sun shining into the valley, for he hadn't realized so much time had passed. The long procession of wagons, carts, and riders was already winding its way up toward the cave entrance.

"We have permission to pass," Valorian called to Aiden. His triumphant smile spoke more than words to his young brother, who raised his fist in a victory salute.

The chieftain quickly joined his leaders and explained the length of the trail, a brief description of things to expect, and the reasons for his drastic plan. "Pass on my words," he commanded, "but don't let anyone slow down to think or balk. Keep the wagons and herds moving! Also warn everyone not to stray from the trail or touch anything beside the trail. We must obey the Carrocks."

One of the family leaders rolled his eyes at the dark tunnel and exclaimed, "Gods above! The Carrocks really exist?"

"Yes!" Aiden replied, the respect from his previous experience with them still strong in his voice.

"Believe me, you do not want to anger these beings."

At that moment, the first of the laden wagons rolled into the entrance, and the driver automatically hauled back on his reins, confused by the idea of entering a cavern.

"I'll keep them moving," Aiden said to Valorian.

The chieftain nodded his thanks, and with the vanguard at his side, he grinned at the wagon driver, grabbed the bridle of the harnessed horse, and personally led the first wagon into the cave and down into the buried gloom.

In a long, single file, the wagons, carts, riders, and herds of animals reluctantly entered the cavern and fol owed their chieftain under the mountains. He led them along the same broad road that he and his companions had fol owed before. He thought the wagons and herds would be slower in the dark passages, but the Clan had no desire to dawdle.

It was a measure of the clanspeople's growing trust in Valorian that they went into the caves at all.

Once inside, though, it was their fear of the strange, dark tunnels that kept them moving, the cold and dampness that made them reluctant to stop, and the half-sensed presence of the mythical Carrocks, always out of sight, that kept them al on edge.

They ate their food on the move and stopped only long enough to water the stock at the ice-cold stream that trickled beside the road.

As they worked their way along the underground passages lit only by torchlight and several of Valorian's spheres, the clanspeople stared in awe at the stalactites, the guardian statue, and the crystal walls that sparkled in the unnatural light. They also heeded their chieftain's warning implicitly.

The ancient tales of the Carrocks' legendary strength and possessiveness were more than enough to discourage any thoughts of exploring or souvenir hunting.

When at long last Ranulf trotted down the line passing the word that the exit was just ahead, the entire caravan breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief and pressed forward toward the open air. Beyond the cave mouth, Valorian saw that the sun was sinking in the west. He realized his estimate of the time the Clan would be in the tunnels hadn't been quite accurate—they had been underground for only two days, not three. He hadn't taken into account the speed lent to the animal's feet by nervousness or the wil ingness of people to push past hunger and weariness when they were apprehensive.

As soon as he had escorted the first wagon out into the cool twilight and given instructions for the Clan to make camp in a meadow farther down the valley, Valorian turned Hunnul back into the cave. He passed by the herds of livestock and the horses neighing at the smel of fresh grass. He went by the creaking wagons and carts, the tired riders, and the woebegone dogs. When at last the rear guard came up the slope toward him, he waved them on and waited while the noises slowly died away. The passage at last was empty, and he and Hunnul were alone.

Valorian heard nothing in the tunnels below nor saw any movement or sign of life, but he knew they were there. He flicked out his spheres of light, letting the darkness the Carrocks craved surround him.

"Thank you,” he called to the lightless depths. "May Amara bless your people and guard your caves forever."

From far away out of the subterranean night came a single deep voice. "Go in peace, magicwielder.”

Hunnul nickered softly. Moving slowly in the darkness, the black horse walked up and out of the caverns and trotted gratefully out onto the soft earth and green grass.

The Clan camped that night near the mouth of the valley, where a stream dropped in a silvery fall to a clear pool below. The Bendwater River and the relative safety of Sarcithia were only a day or two away, and the people hoped that Tyrranis and his soldiers were now behind them. Weary from the long two days under the mountains, the people settled down for the night.

On a razor-backed ridge high above the val ey, a Tarnish scout peered down on the camp in surprise. There was just enough light left for him to recognize several features of the big encampment before night threw its shadows over the mountains. Excited, the man mounted his horse and rode north as fast as the animal could carry him.

* * * * *

"General, I swear on the honor of the Fourth Legion, I saw them last night! They're south of us, not more than twenty leagues from the river. The commander is certain it is the Clan, and he is awaiting your orders." The scout who was speaking touched the emblem of the crescent moon on his tunic as a sign that he was swearing to the truth.

General Tyrranis hardly noticed. As quick as a cobra, his hand reached out and clamped around the soldier's throat, skillfully cutting off his breath and sending pain stabbing into the man's head. "That's impossible!" he hissed. "They couldn't have passed around us so quickly without being seen."

"But. . . I ... saw them," the terrified scout choked out past the merciless fingers. He tried to pull at the hand, but he might as well have tried to remove steel claws. The other soldiers around him looked everywhere but at his red, mottled face.

Tyrranis eased his grip a fraction and demanded, "Exactly where? How many? How do you know it was the Clan?" The scout gasped for breath before he answered. "They had Clan carts and a few of our freight wagons. It was a big camp, maybe five or six hundred. In a valley past the bluffs. There was one man with a lion-pelt cloak and a big black horse. "

Suddenly the general's fingers let go, and the soldier fell back, clutching his throat. "So," Tyrranis said venomously. "Perhaps he has found a way to get around me." His fingers unconsciously found the amulet around his neck that protected him from evil magic.

"His magic must be powerful," one officer said, then immediately regretted his words when Tyrranis's frigid glance fell on him.

The general chose to ignore that remark and continued to ask, as if to himself. "He will still not escape. We will catch him before he crosses the river." He turned to his officers. "I should execute every scout and guard who failed me, but I stil have need of every man. Mount up!"

An orderly brought Tyrranis's big bay stal ion and held the stirrup for the general to mount.

Viciously the stallion tried to lash out with a hoof at his master, but Tyrranis stepped out of the way and cracked his whip across the horse's soft muzzle. While the stal ion flung his head around in pain, the general adroitly mounted and spurred him forward. The orderly sprang out of the way to avoid being trampled.

In frantic haste, the small troop left their makeshift camp behind and galloped south to the larger camp at the edge of the towering bluffs by the canyon. Tyrranis thundered in among the tents and surprised the soldiers with a face darker than a storm cloud, then lashed the men into action.

"Mount your horses," he shouted. "You will catch that caravan before it reaches the river, or I will drown the lot of you!"

The commander and his officers scrambled in their haste to salute their general and obey his orders. Quickly the Tarnish legionnaires and draftees made ready to leave. Horns blared on the morning breeze, calling the ranks to order; horses neighed in excitement.

In a matter of minutes, the Tarnish camp was empty, except for a few cooks and orderlies who were to tear down the abandoned tents and bring the provision wagons behind the troops. The rest of the army was thundering south to pursue the elusive clanspeople.

* * * * *

The late afternoon sun was beginning to dim behind gathering clouds when the foremost scout of the Clan caravan spotted the line of trees and the silvery band of water that marked the location of the Bendwater River far in the distance. Whooping, he rode back to tell Lord Valorian and the Clan. Word spread swiftly down the line of wagons. Drivers sat up straighter and slapped their reins to urge their horses faster; riders kicked their mounts into a trot. The thirsty herds smelled the water and picked up their pace.

At the same time, a lone scout far to the rear of the caravan saw something else come over the top of a far rise that froze his blood. He waited for a few heartbeats to be sure he was seeing correctly through the dust and haze, and then his eyes bugged out in recognition. A large column of horsemen was rapidly approaching from the north, with what looked like blood-red banners at its head.

His stomach roiling in fear, the clansman clapped his I heels to his mount and streaked madly back toward the Clan.

"Tarns!" he bellowed at the rear guard. "Tarns behind us!" The swelling call of a signal horn followed him up the line of animals and wagons toward Lord Valorian at the head of the caravan. Heads turned toward him and eyes fol owed him in sudden fear.

The scout brought his horse skidding up beside Hunnul and blurted out to Valorian, "General Tyrranis is coming!"

Valorian didn't hesitate. "Get the Clan to the river," he ordered Aiden and Mordan, then told his guards to stay with the wagons.

"Where are you going?" Aiden shouted in alarm when he saw Valorian wheel Hunnul around.

"To slow them down!" the chief replied as the black leapt forward. Like a thunderbolt, Hunnul raced past the Clan, back toward the north and the oncoming Tarns. Frightened faces watched him for a moment before the entire caravan broke out in a wild gallop down the long, smooth, treeless slope toward the river.

Racing over the thick grass, Hunnul stretched out his neck and legs in a run no other horse could rival. He flew over the ground along the Clan's trail toward the top of a long, low ridge. Valorian had made a vow that he wouldn't use his awesome force to murder humans, but that didn't mean he wouldn't use it to hinder them.

As the black slowed at the crest of the ridge, Valorian scanned the land to the north and immediately saw the Tarnish column advancing at a full canter. In fact, at the rate they were coming, Valorian estimated they could easily catch up to the slower-moving caravan long before it reached the river. Unless they ran into a little trouble, that is.

Hunnul came to a stop on the bare ridge top. Drawing a long breath into his lungs, Valorian forced himself to relax and wait. He would hold his place there until the Tarns were closer. He glanced at the sky and noticed an angry blue-gray line of clouds building in the west into a towering white peak of violent energy. He winced when thunder rumbled in the distance. A gust of wind dashed over the slopes, unfurled Hunnul's tail, and sent Valorian's lion-pelt cloak flapping.

The chieftain hardly needed his cloak in the warm afternoon, but he wore it now to draw on the lion's courage intrinsic in its pelt—and for effect. He watched silently while the Tarns drew closer. He could see the crescent moon emblem on their banners and the weapons in their hands; he recognized Tyrranis at the head of the long column. Very deliberately, he pul ed the lion's head down over his eyes like a helmet visor and stared out through the empty eyeholes. He could tel the Tarns had recognized him, because their leaders pointed his way and their speed increased. The pounding of the horses'

hooves drowned out the distant rumble of thunder.

Valorian waited until the soldiers were just within arrow range, then he raised his hand and gathered the magic around him to his bidding. He felt an unfamiliar mild surge of energy in the magic, but his spell was already forming, and he didn't want to let go of it to find out about something so smal .

He concentrated instead on the power building within him.

The Tarns were raising their weapons when four balls of blazing blue energy seared from Valorian's hand in rapid succession and slammed into the ground in a line just in front of the foremost riders. The subsequent explosions sent huge fountains of blue sparks, dust, clods of earth and rock tom grass, and shattered shrubs flying in all directions. The front line of riders collapsed into a mass of neighing, bucking, fal ing horses and shouting men.

Valorian saw General Tyrranis's panicked mount throw the general to the ground and bolt in terror back the way he had come. The whole column disintegrated into turmoil.

Valorian thought it was time to fal back. As Hunnul turned away, the chief caught the faintest mental impression of something like a chuckle from the big stallion before he broke into a gallop after the fleeing caravan.

General Tyrranis picked himself up out of the dirt in time to see the horse's black tail disappear over the slope. "Get him!" he screamed at his second-in-command, who was trying to bring his own horse under control. "Or I'll have your head!"

The man cast one wild look at his commander and decided it would be safer to chase a magicwielder than stay and argue with the general. He rounded up al the men stil on horseback, reformed the troops into a charge formation, and led them up the gentle ridge. From the top, they could see the retreating form of Valorian and, beyond him, the main body of the Clan running pel -mell for the river.

The trumpeter sounded the charge. In unison, the mounted troops sprang forward.

Valorian heard the clear notes of the Tarnish trumpet with a stab of surprise. The column had reformed faster than he had expected, and he could see ahead that the caravan had already run into trouble. Several wagons had broken down during the frantic run and lay in the dust with their drivers working desperately to fix them. The brood mare herd was off to the side of the line of wagons and carts, but while the other herds of horses and livestock were moving well, the pregnant mares and mothers were forced to go much slower. They were already well behind the caravan.