Mary Herbert - Valorian

The chieftain climbed to his feet with the gorthling still clinging to his arm. Hissing, it sidled up to his shoulder and glared balefully at the clansmen. “Yes, it’s from Gormoth,” Valorian answered grimly. “And back to Gormoth it will go when we have destroyed the Tarns.”

The gorthling suddenly cackled, showing its sharp pointed teeth. “That’s what you think, dung-head. You’ll never send me back!” The men edged even farther away at the sound of its raspy, malicious voice.

Valorian ignored the creature. In truth, he wasn’t certain how he was going to return the gorthling, but he would worry about that later. “How long have we been in here?” he asked, striding to a slit in the wall to look out. The Tarns were busy .running back and forth and trying to shoot arrows between the stone slabs.

The clansmen looked at him strangely. One shrugged and replied, “Not for long, lord. You were only sitting there for a few minutes.” The chief drew a long breath of relief. A few minutes. The journey had seemed interminable to him. Maybe there was still time after all.

“Mount your horses,” he said tersely.

“Mount your horses, stupid mortals. You’re about to die,” repeated the gorthling, sneering.

“Be quiet,” demanded Valorian, “and stay put, or I’ll stuff that gold down your foul little throat.”

The gorthling’s mouth clicked shut and he clung to Valorian’s shoulder, looking sullen, while the clansman mounted Hunnul. The chief ran his hand down the stallion’s silky neck and said softly, “Thank you, my friend.” Hunnul bobbed his head in reply.

When everyone was ready, Valorian nodded once. “Cover your ears and hang on,” he warned. He closed his eyes to concentrate. Would the gorthling’s enhancement work here in the mortal world? he wondered. Had his quest into Gormoth been in vain? He began to summon the magic, and his answer came at once in an incredible flow of power. He felt invigorating strength flowing through his mind and body, enough strength to gather the magic out of the mountains themselves.

“Amara!” he cried in exultation and threw his arms wide to initiate his spell. At his command, the stone room suddenly exploded outward. The blast shattered the stone slabs and sent splinters and fragments of rock cutting like scythes through the Tarnish soldiers close by. The force of the explosion slammed others to the ground in a wide radius around the spot and leveled the entire ring of stone. The bodies of the dead lay scattered in the dirt and broken rubble.

For a moment, the clansmen and their horses, the Tarns and Tyrranis were stunned by the powerful blast. No one moved in the settling dust. Then Hunnul leaped forward up the trail, and the Clan warriors followed close on his heels.

“Stop them!” Tyrranis yelled furiously. Drawing his own bloody sword, the general kicked his horse to cut off Hunnul’s escape. His officers and a few of the men who were still mounted followed him with their own weapons drawn.

Valorian saw them corning and felt his hatred rise to choke him. He wanted more than anything to sear Tyrranis to a smoking ruin, but he wouldn’t break his vow for the likes of that man. Instead, he raised his sword over his head with both hands, lifted his voice in a great cry of rage, and clamped his legs to Hunnul’s sides. The black flattened his ears, gathered himself into a mighty leap, and plowed directly into the general’s big bay horse.

The brown stallion staggered under the force of the blow, knocking the general off balance. In a frenzy, Tyrranis clutched his sword and grabbed for his saddle horn, his face masked in rage. He clung to the side of his saddle while his horse tried to regain its balance, and he looked up at Valorian’s implacable face. His lips curled in a snarl of hatred.

The black sword came smashing down on the general’s shoulder at the edge of the polished breastplate. The blow knocked Tyrranis further off balance. He slipped sideways, exposing his neck for a brief moment, and in that space of time, Valorian struck again. His sword slashed into Tyrranis’s neck and hacked through to the spine. The general’s head lolled sideways as blood poured over his immaculate uniform. He seemed to hang on for a heartbeat or two, then his body sagged out of the saddle and fell to earth. His horse bolted away.

The gorthling on Valorian’s shoulder licked its lips.

Almost in an afterthought, Valorian hurled a whirlwind of dust, gravel, and flailing winds into the midst of the other mounted officers that blew them off their terrified horses. The remaining soldiers of the Chadarian garrison, demoralized, made no further effort to follow the rear guard as they broke out of the encirclement and galloped up the trail after the caravan.

A prayer was on the chieftain’s lips that he and his men weren’t too late. By the position of the noon sun, he knew they hadn’t been separated for long, but the XIIth Legion wouldn’t need much time to catch and massacre the Clan.

He sent Hunnul racing over the rocky trail, deeper into the valley, with the rear guard trying madly to keep up.

At first, Valorian couldn’t see the caravan through the groves of trees and the rocky outcroppings. He heard it first—an inarticulate roar of screaming, yelling, roaring voices, mingled with the neighing of panicked horses and the rattle of weapons and armor. The sound cut to his heart.

Valorian leaned low over Hunnul’s neck, his fingers damped to his sword, and his body automatically adjusted to the horse’s violent movements. The black mane whipped his face, and the gorthling’s claws sunk into his shoulder, but he didn’t feel a thing. He saw only the trail before him that led to the legion he must defeat.

All at once the valley opened up into a flat, broad meadow of thick grass, flowers, and butterflies. The Tarns had caught the caravan there and brought it to a crashing halt.

Valorian saw it all in a flash when Hunnul broke out of the trees and crested a small rise. A force of perhaps two hundred soldiers were positioned between him and the caravan. They were there presumably to keep the clanspeople from turning back or escaping into the woods and hills. To Valorian, they were a cutting insult, a challenge thrown in his face to keep him from his family. Farther ahead on the trail, the wagons, carts, and herds were thrown together in a chaotic mass of terrified people and animals, and all along that crowded line were clansmen and women tangled in bitter fighting with the legionnaires.

The chieftain’s jaw tightened. Once again he relied on the gorthling’s touch to summon more forces of magic. His vivid blue eyes seemed to spark from the vast power he drew out of the earth, river, and trees. On his shoulder, the gorthling began to bob and weave in excitement, for it had never felt such power before. The other warriors were close behind them now, their expressions angry and grim.

In unison, they broke over the rise and galloped down on the force of Tarnish soldiers who were sitting patiently on their horses, watching the battle surge around the caravan. The Tarns weren’t expecting an attack from their rear, since they thought the remains of the Clan rear guard were being rank destroyed by Tyrranis’s men. It wasn’t until they heard the hoof beats close by and a few men turned to look that they realized their danger. Before they could set up any defense, the clansman on the big black horse raised his hand toward them.

Several bolts of crackling white-hot energy shot from Valorian’s hand and slammed into the ground at their feet. To would the soldiers, the white streaks looked like bolts of lightning. They had seen a little of Valorian’s magic from a distance, but nothing prepared them for the powerful, jagged streaks in their midst or the thundering explosions as the energy hit the rocky ground. Men and horses were slammed to the ground; those that were still on their feet were quickly cut down by the clansmen behind Valorian.