Mary Herbert - Valorian

“Stay put!” Valorian shouted to his own men. “The beast is only an image.”

The clansmen stared from him to the creature in amazement, their eyes popping, yet they stayed in rank.

“Now back away slowly,” he ordered and gestured to them to follow the caravan. They went gratefully. Valorian stayed where he was to maintain the image of the giant gorthling for as long as he could.

At the same time, on an overlook in the valley downriver, General Tyrranis and Governor Antonine watched the retreat of the Chadarian garrison with very different emotions. Tyrranis was rigid with anger at the cowardice and foolishness of his men.

Antonine was so shocked at this second display of magical power that he could hardly contain his rage and fear. He rounded on Tyrranis, his intense dismay momentarily blocking out his fear and hatred of the general. “Why didn’t you tell me of this magic-wielding clansman?” he screamed at Tyrranis. “We cannot defeat a sorcerer of such power! We should have let them go. This whole journey was a waste. I will not allow my legion—”

He got no further. Tyrranis’s hand lashed out and caught the young governor across the right cheek and nose, nearly knocking him from the saddle.

“Silence, you fool!” hissed Tyrranis. “His power isn’t invincible.”

Antonine glared ferociously and mopped the blood from his nose with a scented handkerchief. He was furious not only at the Chadarian governor, but at himself as well for not daring to retaliate. A stronger man wouldn’t have stood for such a personal insult. “Not invincible!” he repeated, hiding his anger behind incredulity. “Look at that creature he has summoned. None of our soldiers will go past that,”

Tyrranis scoffed. “It’s a fake, an image. Magic cannot create life. Look at it carefully. You can see light through it.”

“I don’t believe it. General Sarjas, surely you don’t want to risk your troops against such a beast.” Antonine appealed to the commander of the XIIth Legion, who was sitting on his horse behind them, tight-lipped at the actions of the two governors.

“He won’t have to,” Tyrranis snarled before the commander could speak. “I’ll take my own garrison against the rear guard. You attack the Clan. Surely your legion will have no trouble dealing with women and children.”

Stung by the insult in the repetition of his own earlier words, the young governor’s face turned fiery red. “But what if there are more—”

“There are no other magic-wielders!” Tyrranis stabbed a finger toward the disappearing caravan. “There is only him, and he is mine!”

For just a moment, Antonine accidentally looked full into Tyrranis’s dark eyes, past the icy glare into the seething rage in the general’s mind. In that brief glimpse, he thought he saw the growing shadows of madness. A shudder overtook him, and he wrenched his eyes away from that awful face. “All right, all right,” he said sullenly. “We will do it.” Anything to finish this dreadful task and be rid of Tyrranis.

Without another word or gesture, Tyrranis drew his sword and whipped his horse into a gallop down the slope to cut off his retreating troops. The officers pulled up in front of him at the bottom of the hill, shamefaced and frightened, their horses lathered and their tunics dust-covered.

“Cowards!” he screamed at them. “You are not fit to be Tarns! Stop those men at once and reform your ranks before I cut you down myself.”

None of the officers disobeyed him. As quickly as possible, they stopped the fleeing legionnaires, rounded up the panicked horses, and brought the troop back under control. All the while, the gorthling image roared and howled from its place on the trail.

When the IVth Legion detachments were regrouped, the general rode past the lines of white-faced soldiers. “What you see is a fake!” he yelled, shaking a fist toward the gorthling. “You ran from an image, you fools! Those are real.” And he gestured to the rear guard and the tail end of the Clan caravan they could see disappearing up the valley. “Destroy them!” he bellowed. “Destroy them now. Prove that you are men, not rabbits.”

The troops gave a ragged cheer. With the speed and skill that had always been his strength in battle, Tyrranis reorganized his men into a new attack formation.

But even his best plan or his worst threats wouldn’t have convinced the legionnaires to attack that hideous screaming monster if Tyrranis himself had not led the charge. Raising his sword over his head, the Tarnish general bellowed the order to charge and spurred his horse into a gallop, straight toward the fearsome gorthling. The soldiers followed, rather reluctantly at first as they watched their general approach the monster, then with gathering confidence when they saw the gorthling could not lay its hands on the man.

Before the Tarns’ startled eyes, Tyrranis forced his horse to run directly through the beast’s legs. With a thunderous shout, the Chadarian forces spurred after him.

Valorian watched the general with dismay. He had to admit that Tyrranis had courage, but the general made things very difficult. Valorian’s strength was flagging from the heavy use of magic, and now the Tarns were attacking again. He instantly blanked out the image of the gorthling to save his energy and sent Hunnul cantering back to catch up with the rest of the rear guard. The Clan warriors turned one more time to face the enemy while the caravan rumbled away as fast as it could go over the uneven ground.

This time the Tarns didn’t charge in a straight line. They split into three groups that attacked the rear guard from several different directions. One group galloped up the slope above the valley and fired a black rain of arrows down into the lines of Clan warriors. The other groups, one led by Tyrranis, spurred their horses toward the front and the right flank of the rear guard.

Valorian tried desperately to duck the falling arrows behind his small shield and at the same time keep the Tarns at bay with missiles of blue energy, fireballs, and smoke screens. Yet the Tarns faced his barrage and kept coming. He felt his strength slowly draining away and his spells becoming weaker. Despite his power, he was only one man against determined, overwhelming forces who were coming at him from several different directions. None of the other clansmen could help him fight off the Tarns until they came into arrow range, and by that time, it was too late.

The Tarnish charge swept into their midst, their swords smashing into their defenses. Valorian and his rear guard tried to hold their formation, but the clansmen couldn’t maneuver or fight the running battle they excelled at. They had to stand in the open and defend themselves. All too quickly their thin ranks crumpled under the overwhelming onslaught. The warriors fell back around their chieftain in a last attempt to make a stand. Everything was in a bloody tangle of horses wheeling and colliding, men struggling and falling, and over it all was the sickly smell of blood and fear.

In moments, the superior Tarnish forces had ringed in the rear guard and cut them off from the rest of the Clan. The end of the caravan was now left open and helpless.

Seeing their danger, the drivers urged their horses frantically and drew their own weapons to try to defend their lives and their families. Strangely, the Chadarian forces didn’t move to attack the line of wagons. Instead, they concentrated their ferocity on the rear guard.

Valorian saw all of this with a horrified clarity. He couldn’t defend the entire caravan when it was strung out along the trail, and now he was too busy fighting for his own life to defend the warriors around him. They were trapped in a desperate battle of hand-to-hand combat. Valorian knew if he didn’t do something fast, the entire rear guard would be slaughtered, leaving the Clan virtually defenseless. He saw Tyrranis fighting his way toward him, and he began to urge Hunnul forward to meet the general.