Mary Herbert - Valorian

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 Willa with you. They need all 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 fall 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 followed 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 fell 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 full 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 really 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 spell 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 tell you the truth.

Valorian’s reluctance seemed to ease in the face of such a sensible idea. He plucked the gorthling off his shoulder and dropped it to his knee, where he could see it better in the moonlight. Now that the gorthling was away from his head, the strange hesitancy to send it back weakened even more.

Valorian’s eyes widened in alarm and comprehension. So the gorthling was trying to influence his mind with its own insidious thoughts. That was why he had wanted to slaughter every Tarn and keep the gorthling by his side. If the creature could alter his emotions so easily after just half a day, what control would he have had left of his mind if he had waited for several days? The realization washed away the last tendrils of his unwillingness. Valorian knew without a doubt that the gorthling couldn’t be allowed to remain the night—for the sake of his immortal soul.

“Unless you wish to eat that gold ring, you will tell the truth to every question I ask,” he informed the wizened creature on his knee.

The gorthling had no choice when it was under the power of the bright gold. It hunched down, its lip curled up in a silent snarl. “What do you wish to know, nag rider. . . the truth? You have seen it. Your power is sevenfold when I am with you. Nothing can touch you. Nothing can harm your family or your people when you wield such magic. Think about the possibilities!”

Valorian ignored the conniving tone and demanded, “Would I be able to use my consciousness and return you to Gormoth the same way I brought you out?”

“Yesss. . .”

Valorian caught the edge of smugness at the end of the reply. “But?” he prompted.

“Yes, you can go back. But there are dangers.”

“Like what?” demanded the chieftain.

The gorthling’s face wrinkled even more in its effort not to answer, but it couldn’t fight the power of the gold around its neck. Its words came spitting out. “If you try to enter the realm of the dead without a Harbinger to guide you, you could become lost in the mists of the barrier, where there is no escape. If you do find a Harbinger to guide you and you make it through, Lord Sorh may not allow you to enter the realm of the dead while your body still lives. You slipped through once, but not again. And he’s probably not happy that you kidnapped me!

“Nor will the other gorthlings let you into Gormoth. They have sensed your mind, and they know your presence. They would catch you the moment you opened the door.” The gorthling suddenly broke off and smirked at Valorian. “Do you know what they would do to you? They might torment your mind for eternity or maybe just a few years. If your consciousness ever returned to your body, you would be . . . utterly. . . hopelessly. . . demented!” It chuckled at the whole idea.

In the back of his mind, Valorian had been afraid of something like that. The hatred and the malice he had felt in Gormoth had been focused too intently on him when he pulled the gorthling out. The others probably knew he would have to return his prisoner sometime, and they had all eternity to wait for him. He scratched his neck where the dried sweat itched and thought about other ways.