Valorian (39 page)

Sarjas returned his salute reluctantly, but with a measure of respect in the crispness of his motion. .

At Valorian's touch, Hunnul trotted back across the field of grass toward the caravan. The chieftain groaned when he finally took a good look at the mass of carts, wagons, people, and animals. It was a shambles. There was so much to do he hardly knew where to begin. Wagons were tipped over, damaged, or jammed together; horses ran loose everywhere, and the herds of livestock were scattered al over the fields and slopes. Gear and belongings were strewn over the ground. People were mil ing around in confusion, and frantic children and dogs were scampering underfoot.

Worst of al were the dead and wounded lying scattered along the trail, in the grass, and among the wagons. Many of them were clanspeople, but they had defended themselves fiercely against the Tarns, leaving quite a few soldiers among the numbers of the dead. They would all have to be dealt with: the dead buried and the wounded tended. Valorian could see it was going to be a long and difficult task to get the Clan back on its feet.

He began at the first group of people he reached, where he found the survivors of the vanguard trying to help the wounded around them. The retreating Tarns had actual y saved the remnants of the vanguard when they rushed through the head of the caravan by throwing the remaining Tarnish forces into chaos and distracting the vanguard's attackers.

A jolt of relief hit Valorian when he saw Aiden sitting on a rock, feebly wrapping a rag around a bad slash on his leg. "Thank the gods," Valorian muttered fervently. His parents would have to wait awhile longer to see either one of them in the realm of the dead. He slid off Hunnul to help.

Aiden's normal y cheerful grin and snapping eyes were dul ed with pain and exhaustion, but the spark wasn't out entirely. The corners of his mouth turned up to greet Valorian, and his grip was strong on his brother's arm. He was about to say something when he saw the gorthling peeking over Valorian's shoulder and recoiled in disgust.

The creature snarled at him.

"Ignore it. It will be leaving soon," Valorian said.

"That's what you think," hissed the gorthling.

Aiden looked disgusted and puzzled, but then a comprehending light came over his expression. "Is that how you did it? You used a gorthling to enhance your power?" Valorian nodded. "Gods above!

You'll have to tell me how you pulled that one off."

"Another time," the chieftain said, taking the rags from Aiden's fingers, transforming them to clean strips, and wrapping them careful y around the wound. "You rest now."

Aiden pul ed himself to his feet. "Oh, no. There's work to be done. I'll rest later."

"You need a healer," Valorian protested.

"Then find one. And while you're looking, I'll get the wounded set up over there." He pointed to a fairly smooth place under a cluster of trees by the river.

The chieftain frowned at his brother and reluctantly acquiesced. Short of tying Aiden down, there would be no stopping him, and. the Clan needed al the help it could get.

"What do we do about the Tarnish wounded?" Aiden asked, looking at the bodies lying around them.

Valorian felt the gorthling stir and its claws pinch at his skin through the fabric of his tunic. It hissed softly in his ear. The hatred he thought he had buried suddenly rose again to choke him in thick, viscid clots, and he almost told Aiden to slit their throats. The intensity of the feeling shook him badly—he wasn't used to such powerful emotions. Was the gorthling doing this to him? He fought the feeling down again and said instead, "Take them to their officers. They can take care of their own better than we can."

Before he could go on, a strange voice said bitterly behind him, "I should have kil ed you when I had the chance."

Valorian whirled, drawing his sword, and scanned the people nearby. At first glance, he saw only the Clan warriors moving around to check the bodies. Then a Tarnish soldier lying close by moved in the dust. Painfully the man hauled himself to a sitting position and glared at the two clansmen. It took Valorian only a moment to see through the blood and the dirt to the man's face and insignia. He recalled the night a year ago when he had last seen this man in a wet, dark clearing with four other hungry Tarns.

"Sarturian," he said, sheathing his sword, "your chance is gone, but all of you seemed to enjoy the deer." He knelt down beside the older man and examined the bloody wound beneath the soldier's ribs.

The sarturian glared helplessly at him. Although he had been struck by a Clan arrow in the side and suffered cuts and bruises, he didn't appear to be in danger of dying. He was panting, though, and in great pain.

Valorian cautiously touched the arrow shaft and turned it to mist before the sarturian's astonished eyes. "That's for the reprieve you gave me that night." He twisted his mouth into a wry smile. "And for the information."

The soldier grimaced at the memory. "If you're still going to the Ramtharin Plains, you're making a mistake. Your people will probably starve by winter."

"It couldn't be any worse than the Bloodiron Hills," Valorian replied. He helped the sarturian to his feet and gestured to two other Tarns who were shuffling down toward the river. "Take him with you,"

he ordered.

Aiden tilted his head to watch the Tarns hobble away. "He'll never take a meal from a clansman again."

"Not if I can help it," Valorian said with hearty satisfaction. He was turning to mount Hunnul again when Aiden put a hand on his arm.

"Please, when you have a chance, wil you find Linna and tell her I am well?"

The raw note of worry in his voice matched the same concern in Valorian. As chieftain, Valorian's first responsibility was to his people. He knew, though, that he couldn't give them his full effort until he had learned the fate of the rest of his family. He returned his brother's clasp and jumped onto Hunnul to go on with his difficult duties.

He left Aiden busily organizing the able-bodied to bring in the wounded, find the Clan healers, and set up a makeshift shelter. Slowly he made his way down the jumbled line answering a myriad of questions, organizing people to help with the most pressing problems, finding boys to round up the livestock, and helping the wounded whenever he could.

He found Mordan still in the wagon, half-buried under the body of a dead Tarn. He despaired for the warrior's life, until he hauled the body off and saw Mordan clutching his bloody dagger. The guardsman gave him a grateful smile.

"Have you been busy?" Valorian asked, relieved.

Mordan nodded once. "That Tarn thought I looked like easy prey. But even wounded, I'm stil a match for one of them," he replied hoarsely.

Valorian gestured to several men who came and lifted Mordan out of the wagon and carried him to the grove of trees.

The chief hurried on from one emergency or disaster to the next, lending his calm strength, optimism, and his enhanced magic wherever he could. There were many wounded among the clanspeople and more dead than he wanted to find. No age or group had been spared; men, women, and children had fallen to the merciless attack.

All of the Clan families had suffered casualties, but it wasn't until Valorian reached the section of the caravan where his own family had been traveling that the toll of the dead sank in hard. Quiet, loyal Ranulf would never go beyond the pass he had found, for he had died defending his sisters. Other relatives were also dead or dying, and more were hurt. They cried out to him as he approached, and even though he wanted to help, his eyes could only search the wreckage of carts and the confusion of horses and people for the four faces he desperately wanted to see most.

Then a voice cal ed out to him over the hubbub. "Valorian! We're over here!"

He nearly threw himself off Hunnul to reach the speaker. Kierla ran through the carts to meet him, her dark hair loose and flying, her body sound and strong. She flung her arms around him, buried her face in his neck, and cried in joy.

Valorian was beyond words. He merely held her tightly while his heart sang a prayer of gratitude.

"We saw you go by," Kierla said between tears and laughter. "That was quite a cavalry you found. "

"Not bad for a thick-witted mortal," the gorthling said, sneering. "Wait till you see what he can do when I give him some real training."

Kierla sucked in a sharp breath and stepped back; her eyebrows shot up over her widened eyes.

She hadn't seen the gorthling until that moment.

"I'll tell you later," Valorian said hastily. "Are Linna, Mother Willa, and the baby safe?"

Kierla looked dubiously at the gorthling before answering. "Yes, they're all right. Mother Willa made us cut the traces and turn our cart over. We crawled underneath it just before the soldiers reached us."

"And that's not all," Mother Willa added. Valorian's grandmother and Linna, carrying the baby, came up to them. Mother Willa went on. "Kierla stabbed a Tarn in the leg when he tried to push the cart over."

The chief smiled at his wife. "The four of you seem to have handled things wel ."

"We were lucky," she answered and pushed her hair back out of her eyes with a sharp, tense gesture. "If you hadn't come when you did, there wouldn't have been much left."

Linna agreed, her fair face still shadowed with the memory of fear. Then she added, "I didn't see Aiden with you. Is he. . ." She couldn't finish the words.

"He's alive. He has a wounded leg, but it's nothing serious. He's over by those trees, helping the wounded."

"Then that is where I will be," Linna said firmly. She passed Khulinar over to Kierla.

Valorian hugged her in thanks. He knew with Linna there, Aiden wouldn't be able to overexert himself. "Take Mother Wil a with you. They need al the healers who can help." When Linna was gone, Valorian kissed his wife soundly on the lips and forced himself to stand back. "Will you. . ." he began to say.

Kierla knew immediately what he was going to say and interrupted him. "We will be fine. Go! I will help here." She recognized as well as he the responsibilities of a Clan chieftain, and she gave him a gentle push.

By nightfall, some semblance of order had been restored in the valley meadow. The Tarns had marched down the valley just before sunset in sullen, silent ranks. Valorian had allowed them to bring in their teams and provision wagons to haul away their dead and wounded—as long as they left half of their foodstuff..., and medical supplies behind. The clanspeople stopped what they were doing to watch the legion fal back, for it was a .sight no one had ever expected to see. When the last file faded down the trail into the twilight, the people burst out with a cheer that fol owed the Tarns far down the trail.

For the first time in three generations, the clanspeople were free to go, and they were jubilant.

Meanwhile, the survivors began to set up a camp of sorts beside the river. Gylden and some of the older boys, with the help of Hunnul, rounded up most of the loose horses and were slowly gathering in the scattered livestock. The dead clanspeople were placed in covered rows to be readied for burial, and a guard of honor was stationed to protect them from scavengers. The injured were lovingly tended in the shady grove; the able-bodied were fed. One by one, the young and the old put aside their grief, joy, gratitude, and pain and fel into deep, exhausted sleep.

Only Valorian could not find the rest he dearly needed. He still had to dispose of one small, tenacious problem. When the makeshift camp seemed quiet and a nearly ful moon had risen, he rode Hunnul up the steep slopes to the top of a distant hill. The night was warm and muggy and undisturbed by any breeze. Far to the east, on the other side of the peaks, clouds obscured the stars, and a faint flicker of sheet lightning outlined the edges of the mountains.

Valorian paid little attention to the land around him. He simply stared for a long time over the scattered campfires in the dark camp below while the gorthling swayed soothingly on his shoulder.

Now that he had a chance to try sending the gorthling back, a strange reluctance overcame him, as intense as the hatred that had dogged him earlier. He knew he couldn't leave this evil creature in the mortal world; every sentient particle of his soul believed it would be hideously dangerous and wrong.

The gorthling belonged in Gormoth.

But he real y didn't know how to send it or take it back, and his mind was too tired to think. The effort would be so difficult. Maybe he could do this later.

The gorthling stopped weaving and softly stroked the dirty stubble on Valorian's jaw. The chieftain hardly felt it through the fog of his preoccupation.

There was nothing, he thought to himself, that required him to send the creature back now. He could wait until tomorrow. Perhaps even a few days. The gorthling's enhancement of his power would be useful to have while the Clan repaired their wagons and healed their wounded. There was so much more he could accomplish with the greater power at his fingertips.

Wearily he leaned forward to rest his forearm on Hunnul's mane. He had done enough for one day.

The gorthling could wait, he decided, and he would think about a spel for a few days. Later, perhaps, he would send the creature back.

Under him, Hunnul stamped his hooves restlessly. His ears flattened as he sensed his rider's reluctance, and his tail was jerking back and forth in annoyance
. Master.
His voice broke into Valorian's thoughts.
Have you asked the creature how to send it back?

The chieftain started violently. His sudden movement upset the gorthling and caused it to accidentally scratch his cheek. Irritably he swatted at it, forcing it to withdraw to the farthest point of his shoulder.

"How would it know?" Valorian demanded. "And for that matter, why would it tell me the truth?"

He was cross at the interruption of his musings, even though a part of him realized Hunnul's suggestion was a good one.

The gorthling is cunning and knows more about the immortal world than we do. It could think of
some way to go back to its home. Simply command it to tel you the truth.