Mary Herbert - Valorian

All at once the runner’s dark hair came unbound in long waves, and Valorian recognized who it was—his youngest sister, who had died when she was fourteen. Behind her were their parents, another brother, and their grandparents.

All had been dead for years, but Valorian hadn’t realized until that moment how much he had missed them.

He cantered Hunnul forward to meet them. “Adala!” he cried happily. He was about to jump down to greet her when a small, urgent warning spoke in his ear. Startled, he looked around at the Harbingers, at the air above him, and at the fields nearby. There was no one close enough to have spoken, but the warning remained clear and persistent in his mind. It must be Amara urging him on, he decided, for he knew now that if he dismounted, if he left his horse and his escort to join the throng coming to greet him, he could become enthralled by the lovely meadow and the happiness of his kinsmen. He could lose his sense of purpose and any chance of helping the goddess, thus unwittingly condemning his world to destruction. Reluctantly but firmly he shifted back into his saddle and let Hunnul continue walking.

“Valorian, you old dog! You’ve come!” Adala shouted gleefully. Her young, lovely face beamed up at him as she came to jog beside Hunnul. “You have a horse with you, you lucky slug. They must have buried you with honors. And four escorts! Sorh does you great honor. Though I don’t know why.”

Valorian grinned at her. Adala had always loved to talk. She had always loved to do everything with an exuberant gaiety that lit her every move and expression with fire. She had even loved the vicious little mare that one day slammed her headlong into a tree.

By this time, his father, mother, and baby brother had caught up with him, and other people were crowding around. The whole chattering entourage walked along with the horses, calling to him and asking questions.

Valorian looked down at them all and was startled by how many faces he recognized. There were friends, acquaintances, and even a few enemies here, and relatives he knew only by family history. He waved and smiled, but he didn’t dismount or stop to meet them.

“Valorian!” a voice boomed over the others. “How are you, lad?”

The clansman nodded with pleasure and saluted the man striding beside Adala. “I am here, Father. That should say something.”

The old man, still looking as robust and hale as the day he tangled fatally with three Tarnish soldiers, laughed and slapped his son on the leg. Valorian felt only a slight sensation. Death had certainly limited his sense of touch.

“Father, do you see this horse?” Adala exclaimed. “Isn’t he a beauty? What did you do, Valorian, steal him?”

“Hush, Adala!” her mother shushed the girl. “There will be time later to talk when he returns from Lord Sorh.”

Valorian winced. He had just found this part of his family.

He hated to tell them of his true mission.

Before he could say anything, his father demanded, “Tell me first, Valorian. Two things: How is your brother, and did you fulfill your duty to the Clan before you left?”

Valorian wanted to groan. Leave it to his father to bring up the sore point of his life now. At least he could report the good news first. Maybe he could be gone before his father demanded the rest.

“Aiden was well and happy the last time I saw him. He is about to be married.”

“Aiden? He survived unharmed to manhood? Praise Surgart!” his father declared.

Adala snorted indelicately. “That wildcat in a sheep’s coat? Married? Poor girl.”

Valorian couldn’t help but smile. He, too, had often despaired that Adala’s twin brother would ever grow up. Aiden had been as wild and reckless as his sister.

“He missed you horribly when you died,” Valorian told Adala. “I think some of his deeds came out of his grief.”

She quieted for a moment, her shining smile lost in sadness, then she brightened and skipped ahead to Hunnul’s head. “At least you’re here with us now. May I ride your horse?”

“Perhaps sometime,” Valorian replied vaguely. He waved a hand toward the seemingly endless fields of grass. “Is this all there is?”

“My goodness, no,” she said. “This is only a small part. The realm of the dead has many places and many more people. You can make of your eternal life what you will.”

“Enough chatter, girl,” their father said in exasperation. “Valorian, you will not change the subject. Did you and Kierla produce a son?”

“No.” Valorian replied flatly and clamped his jaw shut. He didn’t want to continue that discussion. His father had chosen Kierla as a wife for him when he was barely a man. She had the looks of a good brood mare, the old man had said—long frame, wide hips, ample breasts. She would bring many children to Valorian’s tent. Valorian had had his heart set on another, but he took Kierla reluctantly to please his father. To his surprise, marrying her had been the best decision of his life.

The only problem was that she hadn’t borne any children.

In the fifteen summers since they had been joined, she had never once been pregnant. Several people had suggested to Valorian that he could turn her out and get a new wife, but he refused. He and Kierla had grown to love one another in a way that transcended the absence of children. Although he knew the lack of babies in her arms was a bitter disappointment to her and that she would leave if he asked, he had never even considered it. Kierla had strengths that sustained them both and a spirit that delighted his heart. It was a shame his father would never understand.

“What?” the old man bellowed. “Why that useless—”

He was interrupted by his wife who put her hand on his arm. “It hardly matters now, my husband. Let our son pay his homage to Lord Sorh.”

As soon as she spoke, Valorian reached out and gently touched her hair. His mother’s hair was still as gray as on the day she died, but the face she turned to him was radiant with peace and contentment.

“Mother,” he said quietly, “it is possible I will not come back.”

“Whyever not?” cried Adala.

His parents looked up with questions in their eyes.

“I go to Gormoth in Ealgoden as Amara’s champion to face the gorthlings,” he replied.

The entire entourage abruptly fell quiet.

“No, you can’t!” breathed Adala finally. Their mother’s radiant peace faded to a sickly fear.

“Valorian, don’t be a fool!” an uncle shouted. “No mortal can best a gorthling.”

His grandfather gestured furiously toward the mountain. “Those creatures are evil, don’t you know that? They’ll destroy you.”

Only his father stared keenly into his face with the piercing gaze of an old, wise eagle. “If Amara chose you,” he stated with intensity, “then you must go.”

The clansman nodded, his cool blue gaze matching his father’s. “The goddess gave me a weapon,” he said to reassure his parents. “I am not totally defenseless.”

The old man clenched his fist. “Then use it wisely, and we will see you when you return.”

“Thank you, Father,” Valorian said. It was time to move on. He was afraid that even with Amara’s warning ringing in his mind, he would lose himself in the reunion with his family. He waved farewell to his relatives and friends and kicked Hunnul into a canter. The four silent Harbingers moved with him.

“Surgart go with you, Brother,” Adala cried, waving frantically.

“And Amara, too,” bellowed his father.

All too quickly the crowd of well wishers was left behind on the green fields, and Valorian rode on alone with his escort. Ahead of him, the meadow stretched on in gentle, unbroken waves to lap against the feet of the sacred mountain that rose in solitary splendor to meet the sky.