Mary Herbert - Valorian

Valorian, his expression bleak, turned back to follow the caravan, leaving the fire to hold off the Tarns. Another crash mares of thunder from the approaching storm rolled over the hills and the chief hoped fervently that his flames would last long enough to allow the Clan to cross into Sarcithia.

He was pleased to see that the repaired wagons had caught up with the tail end of the caravan. The rear guard was urging everyone and helping the stragglers as best they could, so Valorian galloped Hunnul on past the remaining wagons to the ford.

The scene there was chaotic. The heavy vehicles and men numerous hooves had churned the banks of both sides of the river into knee-deep mud that clung to legs and wagon wheels. Several conveyances were bogged down, and one terrified team was balking and blocking the way for those behind it. Mordan was trying desperately to bring order to the uproar of cracking whips, squealing animals, and shouting people. He nodded with relief when Valorian came to join him.

Once more the chieftain drew on his power and used a magic spell to help free the mired wagons. As soon as they were moving again, he and Mordan led the frightened team across the river. Together they sorted out the tangle of vehicles and animals and directed them across until the flow of traffic settled into a steady, reasonably calm crossing to the woods on the other side. Somewhere on the trail ahead, Aiden was leading the wagons deeper into Sarcithia.

At the same time, Valorian kept a cautious eye on the storm clouds filling the west and the black, soaring clouds of smoke to the north. He prayed that the wind wouldn’t shift and blow the flames toward the caravan and that the storm wouldn’t break too soon and put out his fire. As if to taunt him, thunder boomed nearby, and the wind gusted noisily through the trees along the river.

At long last, the final wagon surged into the river. Behind it came the brood mares and their foals, sending sheets of water flying as they trotted across the ford. At the rear of the herd, Gylden waved a weary hand to indicate that these were the last horses to cross. Valorian watched the mares walk up the muddy bank into Sarcithia, and he felt relief like a sudden ease of pain. The Clan was safely across.

Only a moment later, the relief was driven from his thoughts by a flash of lightning and a tremendous crack of thunder, Valorian flinched. Once again he felt that odd surge energy, as if something was increasing the magic around him, but before he had time to think about it, the sky, opened in a deluge of rain.

“Get across!” he bellowed at the rear guard. The spurred their horses into the water, followed closely by Valorian and Mordan. They had just reached the Sarcithian bank when a faint rumble of horses’ hooves came to them over the noise of the storm. Valorian half-turned to look and saw that the smoke of his fire was quickly dissipating. The heavy rain was dampening the flames, and the Tarns had apparently broken through.

Valorian and Mordan glanced at one another in weary triumph, then wheeled their horses around to follow the caravan into the woods.

By the time the Tarnish cavalry reached the river, there across the river, there was little sign of the Clan. All they could see were the churned and muddy banks, the empty river, and the trees on to the far side, dripping with rain. Then one man pointed toward the distant forest, and they all saw a large, dark shape, indistinct in the heavy rain, standing in the wind-tossed shadows of the undergrowth. The figure seemed to watch them for a moment before it moved and the Tarns recognized it as a black horse and its rider. There was a flash of lightning overhead, and the rider was gone from sight.

The commander paled. He looked up and down the river as if seeking an answer, but in his own mind he knew General Tyrranis would never forgive him for his failure.

“We could cross over,” a young officer suggested.

The commander shook his head with bitter frustration. “General Tyrranis ordered us to stop them before they crossed the river. He said nothing about invading Sarcithia. You know we cannot enter another province under arms without permission from the ruling governor.”

“Well, why can’t we just slip over there and drive the Clan back into Chadar?” another officer asked.

“Not without General Tyrranis’s direct order.

A third man grimaced. “Who are you more afraid of,” he muttered under his breath, “Tyrranis or that magic-wielding clansman?”

But Commander Lucius heard him, and the grain of truth in the man’s remark stung deeply. “It is our general’s responsibility to decide if we break the emperor’s law, not mine!” he said harshly. “It is Tyrranis who would have to face the emperor’s punishment if Governor Antonine ever found out we chased after the Clan into Sarcithia. I will not be accountable for that!”

The younger Tarn looked appalled as he realized the full import of this fiasco. “But surely the general will understand.”

Commander Lucius sagged in his saddle. His eyes followed the muddy trail of the caravan into the trees on the far bank, and he said hollowly, “The general never understands failure.”

General Tyrranis closed his fingers tightly around the hilt of the sword at his side. His basilisk eyes burned into the trembling gaze of the commander who was trying to make his report.

The officer was standing in the mud with his back to the river while the last drops of rain fell from the thinning clouds. “He started a fire, sir, that completely surrounded us,” he was saying. “We couldn’t escape without serious injuries to the men and the horses, and by the time we—”

Before Commander Lucius could finish his sentence, Tyrranis whipped his sword around and brought it slashing into the man’s neck. Blood splattered over the general’s armor as the commander’s head came loose and thudded to the ground. The body remained upright for just a moment, as if it couldn’t accept what had happened, then it, too, toppled into the mud and lay twitching at Tyrranis’s feet. In an instant, the bloody sword point was poised at the throat of a second officer.

“Tell me something useful so I do not do the same to you!” the general snarled.

The officer held very still, desperation plain in his face. “General, sir! Sar Nitina is not far from here. With a small honor guard, you could ride there in two days. You could visit Governor Antonine and receive permission for our troops to pass. We could still make it to Wolfeared Pass before the Clan.”

“How do you know that is where they are going?” Tyrranis demanded, the bloody sword still pressed against the officer’s neck. Cunning began to glow in his eyes as new possibilities emerged through his anger.

The officer swallowed hard and stared straight ahead, encouraged by the general’s slight hesitation. “They are moving south, sir, and we have heard rumors that Valorian Wants to go to the Ramtharin Plains. Wolfeared Pass is the only pass near here low enough to allow wagons.”

Tyrranis’s eyes narrowed to slits as he considered the officer’s words. The man made sense. Valorian did seem to be in command of this exodus, so it was quite likely that he was trying to lead the Clan out of the Tarnish Empire. Not that it mattered. They were never going to reach their destination.

That is where Governor Antonine would be useful. Most Provincial governors got very nervous and irritated when a neighboring governor asked to move into their jurisdiction with a large, heavily armed force. Antonine, the governor of Sarcithia, however, was a young, impetuous man who had come to his power through wealth, connections, and bribery. He had no real experience dealing with crises, so it should be possible to talk him into allowing a hunt for the Clan over his province.