Mary Herbert - Valorian

“Could the Harbingers take you back?” he suggested.

“No!” the gorthling rasped. “Those messenger boys only obey Lord Sorh.” At the thought of the god of the dead, the gorthling began to grovel on Valorian’s leg. “Please, master. Let me stay with you. I will wear your nasty gold and obey your every whim. Please let me stay,” it wheedled.

Valorian wasn’t moved this time by the gorthling’s attempt to sway him. Beneath the whining voice and the pleading posture, there was an indistinct phosphorescent glow in the creature’s eyes that sent shivers down the clansman’s back. “Enough!” he snapped. “Tell me what other ways will return you to Gormoth.”

The gorthling hissed its frustration, but it finally had to answer. “There is only one other way-the ancient way that Lord Sorh used to trap us in the mountain.” It cackled suddenly with derision. “Not that it will help you. No simple, weak-handed mortal can wield the power necessary to return me!” Still cackling, it leapt into a mad dance on Valorian’s knee, as if it had just conclusively proved its victory.

The chieftain had had quite enough of the gorthling’s antics. Muttering an imprecation, he snatched it up by the golden armband and shook it until it stopped its wild movements and hung there glaring at him. “Just tell me what it is!” he insisted furiously.

“Yes, master! Nice master!” the gorthling crooned and rubbed its tiny hands over the man’s fingers. Valorian dropped it in disgust back onto his knee. It giggled nastily. “You have to make an opening through the barrier between the mortal and immortal world and send me through it. If you could do that, which you can’t, your magic would return me to Gormoth.

“What power do I need to make this opening?”

With a snicker, the gorthling replied, “There is only one in the mortal world that will work, but it would fry you to ashes and turn your nag into vulture bait.”

“And that is?”

The gorthling waved a hand at the east, where a faint flash illuminated the mountain peaks for the blink of an eye. “Lightning.”

Valorian went numb and cold all over. Oh, sweet, merciful goddess, not that! he thought, terrified at the very suggestion. His one experience with lightning had been enough to last him a lifetime and beyond. And the gorthling was right. Even with the enhancement of his power, he didn’t have the strength to withstand the unbelievable energy of a white-hot bolt of lightning.

Master, Hunnul’s quiet, reassuring voice touched his mind. We could use it together.

There was a long pause, then Valorian said, “Tell me.” His voice was unsteady as he tried to balance hope and fear.

When we were struck by lightning before, you know the bolt left some of its strength within me. In some way I do not understand, it has made me invulnerable to its power. !f you are in touch with my body when you call the lightning, you should be protected.

“ ‘Should be’? Not ‘will be’? ” Valorian asked dubiously.

The stallion cocked his head to look back at Valorian out of one deep, velvet eye. We have never tried this before, so I cannot be certain.

Valorian considered Hunnul’s words. The whole concept of using lightning as a fuel for a magical spell was completely beyond his experience or knowledge. He had only a horse’s word that it might not incinerate him the second he touched it. That was hardly reassuring.

But it was intriguing. He had sensed the traces of the searing power in Hunnul and, if the stallion were right, it would be worth the attempt to create a spell that would send the gorthling back through the barrier alone.

There was only one other problem: There was no lightning close by. He was certain that even with the gorthling’s help, he didn’t have the skill to create the intricate and vast forces that birthed a thunderstorm. Nor could he form lightning out of thin air. Fires, bolts of magical energy, rockslides, or images of warriors were spells he could manage, but lightning was a power far beyond his present ability and knowledge.

The only hope he had was to use real lightning, but once again, there was none available. The existing storm was too far away to be of any use. It was probably somewhere over the Ramtharin Plains, and by the time he rode Hunnul there, it would be long gone.

Relief, disappointment, and frustration ran through his mind in turn. What were they going to do? “It won’t work,” he said morosely to Hunnul. “We have no lightning to use.”

The gorthling sneered. “No lightning! Of course not, moron. The stars are out. And why are you talking to that creature? Did you think that worm-eaten grass biter was going to help?”

Hunnul gave a snort. Actually, I think I can.

Valorian sat straighter. “How?”

Lightning begets lightning. I think we can use our power to pull the storm close enough for you to draw on its energy.

“We?”

My foals and I.

“Oh, gods above!” Valorian murmured weakly.

There were no more excuses, no more reasons to hesitate.

He had pulled the gorthling out of its prison, and it was his responsibility to send it back by whatever means necessary-even lightning. He swallowed his terror and said softly to Hunnul, “Let’s try it.”

The gorthling leaped upright, its eyes glowing like coals.

“Try it? Try what? What brainless thing are you going to do?

Answer me!” it screeched.

Beth man and horse ignored the creature. Hunnul lifted his head and neighed a long, ringing call into the night.

Out of the darkness, the little ones began to come in answer to their sire’s summons. Small and as black as the night, they were ghostly shapes in the moonlight that gathered in a circle around the stallion at the top of the hill.

Only their wide eyes and their lightning marks caught the faint gleam of moon and stars and threw it back with equal brilliance. They shifted noisily in their places like children at play until Hunnul nickered to them to be still.

By that time, there were over seventy Hunnul foals in the Clan herd, and every one of them down to the smallest, only a few hours old, was there to help their sire. Gently he told them what they were going to do, and they filled the night air with whinnies of excitement.

Hunnul quieted them again. As one, father, sons, and daughters raised their muzzles to the sky, where the stars sparkled across the ebony spaces, and joined their power to summon the storm. A deep stillness settled over the horses’ motionless forms, and a silence as palpable as the darkness.

Valorian barely breathed, so rapt was he in the unmoving spectacle of the horses, the night, and the magic. Only the gorthling fidgeted, for it didn’t understand what was happening, and its suspicions were beginning to burn.

Nothing seemed to happen for a long while. The ring of small horses and the stallion in the center remained held in the spell of their unseen power, while the moon continued to gleam and the man and the gorthling watched.

The changes came imperceptibly at first, on an indistinct rumble that barely disturbed the silence of the night. Valorian didn’t realize what it was until the second rumble sounded, a little louder and longer. Thunder. He glanced up at the sky to see the first shreds of clouds blowing over the face of the moon. A slight wind stirred the grass.

For a moment, he couldn’t believe it No horse could call a thunderstorm, not even a stallion who had survived a lightning strike. Then a bright flash hid the stars, and three heartbeats later, the thunder boomed through the mountains. Whether he wanted to believe it or not, Valorian realized the storm was coming and he had better be prepared to receive it.