Mary Herbert - Valorian

Working only with his intuition and his memories of the realm of -the dead, Valorian quickly worked out a spell that he hoped would propel the gorthling through the barrier of mists and back into the mountain of Ealgoden. All he needed was the lightning bolt to blast the opening into the immortal world and the courage to use it. Overhead, the sky was almost overcast, and the night had become as black as burned pitch. There was no light at all except for the blinding explosions of energy that danced across the face of the coming storm. The wind came gusting over the slopes, bringing the damp smell of rain.

Valorian felt every muscle in his body tighten into thrumming wires. To his amazement, he realized the magic around him was increasing, as if something was intensifying its strength. He remembered that same phenomenon had happened before when the Clan crossed the river just before the thunderstorm broke. It had to be the huge forces of the storm and the lightning that produced that effect. It could be a useful thing to remember.

Then he grinned to himself. The strengthening magic could be a useful thing now! He wouldn’t have to rely on the gorthling’s enhancement when he had magic of his own surging around him in an ever-increasing tide. Quickly he dismounted and carried the gorthling to a flat rock several paces away.

“Don’t move. Stay on this rock,” he ordered.

The gorthling looked up at him with hatred, its eyes glowing fiercely. “What are you up to, mortal? Are you trying to kill yourself?” Valorian turned his back on the creature and returned to Hunnul. The storm was close now, its winds blowing flat across the grass. Lightning crackled nearly overhead.

Get ready, master, Hunnul warned him.

Valorian wrapped his legs tightly around Hunnul. The gorthling’s influence on his power was gone because of the distance between them, so he drew on the intensifying energy around him to form the beginnings of his spell.

All at once the gorthling understood what the man was trying to do. A blood-chilling shriek rent the night over the sound of the thunder and wind. “You fool! You can’t do this! I belong here now! I’ll never return to Gormoth.” The gorthling jumped up and down on its rock, but because of the gold still around its neck, it could not disobey Valorian’s order to stay. It grew even angrier. It shouted maledictions at the top of its lungs at Valorian, Hunnul, the foals, the Clan, and even Lord Sorh, and when no one paid attention to it, it broke into hideous, unending screams.

Valorian shut out its voice. The lightning was close now, and he could feel its power vibrating through his being. His mouth was so dry with fear he could barely whisper a prayer to Amara to protect him. A raindrop spattered on his nose, and a sizzling streak of lightning ripped through the clouds overhead. It was almost time. Slowly he raised his hand toward the sky.

The gorthling saw his movement and its shrieking stopped. “Don’t do it, mortal! Don’t condemn me to go back to that prison,” it shouted in fury. “I will curse you into the tenth generation! The goddess of life has given you and your blood descendants the ability to wield magic, but I will take that away! Someday, in some place, your talent will come to be hated and feared as you hate me. Others will hunt down your descendants and destroy them! Do you hear me, Valorian? Your magic saved your family yesterday, but if you send me away, I will see that it brings everyone who carries your blood to annihilation!”

Valorian hesitated for the space of a breath. He didn’t know Amara had allowed his talent to be passed on to his children. Was the gorthling right? Could it possibly place a curse on his descendants?

Then the air began to tingle on his skin and in his lungs from a new charge of lightning that was building in the clouds. It was now or never. The chieftain shut out the gorthling’s screaming voice and its imprecations and set his spell in motion. Let the future happen as it will, the gorthling had to return to Gormoth.

A split second later the energies within the turbulent storm instantly fused into a brilliant white streak that was hotter than the sun and faster than the eye could follow. It arced down through the black sky like a spear thrown from the hand of the god Surgart and was caught by the magic of the clansman. In one swift, smooth motion, he pulled the bolt into his right hand. He felt its searing power rage through him to Hunnul and safely into the ground, and only then did he know that Hunnul was right.

Triumphantly he channeled his spell into the furious energy of the lightning and threw the bolt with all his might at the cowering gorthling. There was a tremendous explosion of sparks and light, a howl of rage and despair, and a deafening crack of thunder that shook the hills. Almost simultaneously the backlash slammed into Hunnul and the foals, sending them staggering. Valorian was thrown sideways, and before he could catch himself, he fell from the stallion’s back. His head struck a rock, and the night, the horses, and the storm disappeared into black oblivion.

Gylden found him the next morning lying in the wet grass with blood on the side of his head and Hunnul standing over him. Gently his friend roused him and lifted his head to offer him a sip of Mother Willa’s herbal drink from a small waterskin.

Valorian drank gratefully. Groaning, he sat up and put his pounding head in his hands. He knew the gorthling was gone without even asking or looking; he could feel its absence in every fiber of his body. Without the gorthling to feed his power, the effects of his constant use of magic had taken their toll. Every muscle ached, his limbs were sore, and he felt completely and utterly exhausted. His head throbbed with each heartbeat, and he was soaked from head to toe. He wasn’t sure he could even walk, he felt so tired.

A soft muzzle touched his arm, and he cocked an eye sideways to see one of the older Hunnul foals peering at him with obvious concern.

Gylden scratched the little fellow fondly. “I don’t know what you’re doing up here,” he said to Valorian, “but the foals were awfully worried about you. They brought me, to find you.” When Valorian didn’t answer, he sat down beside his friend to wait for the medicinal drink to take effect.

It was a glorious morning, fresh and cool, with a light breeze and a sky of perfect blue. Before long the sunshine, the drink, and the realization of his victory brought strength pumping back into the chieftain’s mind and body.

It was over. The struggle to unite the Clan, the long journey through Chadar and Sarcithia, the race for survival, the battle against the Tarns, and the summoning of the gorthling. It was all finished. The gorthling was banished. Valorian had lost his armband, too, but he was sure Kierla would understand. The Tarns were defeated. Now the Clan faced a new beginning. Valorian wasn’t foolish enough to believe the path would be easy, but from this day forward, anything the Clan did, they did for themselves. The thought was euphoric.

He hauled himself to his feet, clasped Gylden’s hand in thanks, and walked slowly down the hill with the black stallion at his side.

The moon was new and the summer had well begun by the time the Clan left the meadow for the final trek to the top of Wolfeared Pass. They left behind a large mound crowned with spears and flowers, where almost two hundred of their people lay. With them went several wagonloads of wounded still too hurt to ride, a horse herd nearly doubled in size, and almost one hundred black Hunnul foals. Safely hidden in the dark, warm wombs of the brood mares were nearly a hundred more. The black stallion’s dynasty was well begun.

A light of joy mingled with sadness glowed on the faces of the clanspeople as they climbed higher into the mountains. The peaks, gleaming with snow, reared above them, and a sharp alpine scent filled their nostrils. They crossed the pass in the late afternoon, and everyone from the youngest to the oldest stared at the hazy, purplish land to the east where they would build a new home.