Mary Herbert - Valorian

The chief rode on without a backward glance. His men were hard pressed to catch up with him as Hunnul raced over the remaining distance to the embattled Clan. Valorian was so terrified by what he might find, he didn’t search for Kierla’s cart or look at any of the wagons. He focused instead on the clusters of tunics with the black eagle fiercely emblems. Those were his quarry. It would have been easier, line he thought, if they had been separated from the clanspeople and formed in ranks. Unfortunately they were scattered along an entire line of crowded vehicles and livestock, intermingled with the clanspeople in a frantic struggle for survival. He couldn’t drive them off with one final, magnificent blow. He would have to deal with them piecemeal .

Then he had an idea. If he couldn’t fight them en masse, perhaps he could persuade them to retreat that way. He slowed Hunnul a little to allow the other men to catch up with him, and he waved them into several lines abreast with his position. Before their startled eyes, he began to form the images of mounted warriors. The Images looked like clansmen with their homespun tunics, iron-bound helmets, and small round shields; they carried spears and swords and rode Clan horses, but their faces were hidden behind visors, and their movements were strangely lifeless. Rank after rank the ghostly men fell in behind Lord Valorian until the troop looked and sounded as big as a legion. Banners floated over their heads, and the realistic noises of rattling armor, jingling bridles, and neighing horses filled the air.

At Valorian’s command, the magical army burst into full gallop toward the caravan, with the chieftain at its head. He cast a quick glance back at his strange force and hoped it would look real enough to the Tarns. The speed of their charge and the dust kicked up by the horses seemed to help obscure the somewhat mechanical movements of the false warriors.

The first group of Tarns at the tail end of the caravan was scattered among the wagons. Some were fighting with the clanspeople, some were raiding the contents of the wagons, and a few were trying to cut loose the harnessed horses. They were so busy and so certain of victory, that they didn’t notice the charging clansmen until Valorian produced a ram’s horn and blew a great, resounding blast that shook the valley and echoed off the peaks.

The Tarns froze in their tracks at the sight of the huge Clan force bearing down on them. Valorian smiled fiercely as the soldiers left their victims and drew together into a line of defense. He formed another whirlwind of dust and grit and sent it whipping into their midst. The Tarnish lines fell apart. Just before his warriors reached the legionnaires, Valorian banished the wind and drew his sword.

Half-blinded by the whirling dust and confused by the overwhelming numbers of clansmen coming at them, the soldiers didn’t stand their ground for long. Valorian killed two men with his sword, and his living warriors claimed a dozen more before the Tarns pulled back and began to retreat up the line of wagons.

Valorian blew another long note on his horn, and the clanspeople close by cheered as he passed. He came to the next force of Tarns near the rear of the caravan, where they were struggling with a small knot of men and boys Surrounded by what looked like a swarm of angry horses. With a start, Valorian recognized one man as Gylden. He was even more startled when he realized the horses around the small band were the brood mares with the Hunnul foals. The little black horses were biting and kicking the Tarns to defend their human friends. Their frantic mothers were adding to the confusion by trying to defend their babies. The soldiers were taken aback by the foals’ deliberate attack, but they were still moving in on the clanspeople for the kill.

Hunnul neighed a warning, and his children scattered just as Valorian loosed a storm of sizzling bolts into the group of soldiers. Stunned, the Tarns turned to see a horrifying apparition of a man with lightning in his hands, atop a giant horse as black as night, leading a huge army of fearsome warriors.

They, too, took to their heels. A few stragglers were cut down by Valorian’s living warriors, but no one seemed to notice that the images hadn’t harmed a single person.

The tide began to turn quickly against the Tarns. The retreat of the few in the rear started a ripple that worked its way up the caravan. Valorian and his army rode along the line of wagons and carts, driving an ever-growing number of Tarns before them. Strengthened by the gorthling, Valorian used his magic in a relentless barrage to keep the Tarns off balance. Whenever the legionnaires showed signs of slowing or gathering together to make a stand, Valorian would hurl blistering bolts of white or blue fire at their feet and force them on, while the warriors behind him attacked any Tarn who offered resistance.

The surviving clanspeople looked on in surprise that quickly changed to joy when they recognized their chieftain. Some still able to ride and carry weapons joined the charge and helped swell the ranks of living fighters.

At last the retreating Tarns and the Clan attackers neared the front of the caravan, where several hundred soldiers had blocked the trail and were about to overwhelm the last survivors of the vanguard. Even from afar, Valorian could see the fighting was bitter. He sounded his horn a third time to tell the vanguard they were on the way and was rewarded by an answering call.

The fleeing Tarns ran past the last of the vehicles and milling animals, and with a terrified rush, overran the vanguard and its attackers. Suddenly Valorian lost sight of the Clan warriors in the tangled press of men. He looked frantically for Aiden in the mob, but all he could see was a struggling, chaotic mass of soldiers.

It was then that Valorian noticed for the first time a small group of Tarnish officers watching from their horses on a rise near the river to his left. From their armor and the standards that flapped lazily in the breeze over their heads, he recognized them as the commanding general of the XIIth Legion, his aides, and someone of importance from the Sarcithian government. With these men in his control, he could demand the surrender of the entire legion.

He could see that they were very upset and seemed to be arguing. Several of the men were pointing toward him; another was gesticulating wildly. The chieftain didn’t wait to see if they would make up their minds. He forsook his attack on the milling legionnaires, kneed Hunnul to the left, and flung his ranks of warriors directly toward the officers.

Very few Tarns between the chieftain and the river made a real attempt to protect their leaders. They didn’t have a chance. Those who tried to stand, Valorian knocked aside with violent gusts of magical wind, and those who actually tried to fight were hacked down by the real Clan warriors. The men on the hill saw their danger too late. They tried to reach the rest of the legion massed at the front of the caravan, but Hunnul dashed past their slower mounts and cut them off. In a moment, the officers were surrounded by a ring of angry clanspeople with swords in their hands and bloodlust in their grimy faces.

Valorian brought his warrior-images to a halt in ranks behind the living men. His face expressionless, he examined his seven prisoners for a deliberately long time while they sweated and their horses pranced and shied. Finally Hunnul paced forward into the ring. The officers looked at Valorian with a mixture of belligerence, apprehension, and anger.

Only one, the man in the richest armor with the Sarcithian emblem, seemed terrified, almost out of control Valorian nodded curtly to the commanding general. “General Sarjas?” The man inclined his head once and kept his eyes pinned on the clansman. At first he didn’t see the gorthling, who was clinging unheeded to the back of Valorian’s neck.