The trail was barely wide enough for the big horse. Hunnul had to pick his way very carefully along the cracked and cluttered ledge with his barrel rubbing along the stone wall and his hooves bare inches from the drop—off. He nickered nervously, and Valorian reached back to rub his nose.
It was that movement that saved the clansman from the torment of the lava, for just as Valorian turned to comfort his horse, a blob of molten rock splattered against the wall by his head.
Valorian instinctively spun to face the danger. There, running along the surface of the lava river, were five gorthlings. They didn’t seem to be bothered by the heat or the fluidity of the lava but ran over the surface as if it were solid ground. One scooped up a handful of the stuff and lobbed it toward the path above.
At that moment, the pursuing group of about fifteen or twenty gorthlings emerged from the tunnel. They whooped with glee when they saw the man and the horse on the ledge and the gorthling reinforcements on the river. With incredible agility, they scampered like wizened monkeys along the trail after their quarry.
“You can run, nag-rider,” the gorthlings on the river called rudely, “but you haven’t got much farther you can go!”
“Let’s see you jump, you useless heap of guts,” one of the gorthlings on the ledge taunted. It flung a rock at Valorian to punctuate his point. The rest of the creatures followed suit, hurling a tormenting rain of stones, lava blobs, and insults.
Valorian and Hunnul frantically forced their way along the trail in an effort to escape the merciless barrage. They had only taken a few steps when two rocks struck Hunnul on the rump, and at the same time a handful of lava splattered around Valorian’s legs. The clansman cried out and tried to shake the burning blobs from his leggings. The molten rock didn’t actually burn his skin, but the pain was there as real and terrible as in life. The stallion squealed, leaped forward, and nearly plowed the man off the ledge.
Valorian, clenching his teeth to ward off the pain, held on to Hunnul’s mane with every ounce of his strength. Panic rose like bile in his throat. He tried to think through the jumble of pain and fear in his mind. He had to do something fast before one or both of them fell off the ledge into the lava or were overwhelmed by the gorthlings. What he needed was a shield, or better yet, a shelter. Then, like a little spark, a coherent thought clicked in his mind, and Amara’s words sprang out of his memory. He could use his power as a weapon or as a shield.
Immediately he closed his eyes and tried to imagine a shelter around himself and Hunnul, a tent perhaps, clear, so he could see through it, permeable so they could breathe, and impervious to any kind of weapon. He concentrated, ignoring the pain, the falling stones, the frightened horse, and the gorthlings. He felt the power of magic flow through him, a little unsteadily at first, then warm and increasingly more comfortable. Slowly he raised his hands, lifting them over his head and down in the shape of a domed tent.
Something seemed to be happening around him, for the stones were no longer hitting him, and the gorthlings seemed to be howling in rage.
Valorian felt Hunnul stop his terrified prancing. Slowly he opened his eyes. He and Hunnul were completely surrounded by a pale red tent of glowing energy, while just outside, the gorthlings leaped and yelled in frustration as their missiles bounced harmlessly off the magical walls.
Valorian took a deep breath. He brushed off the last of the cooling splattered lava from his legs and took a moment to examine Hunnul. The stallion seemed to be well enough. He had calmed down and was standing on the ledge, his eyes warily watching the gorthlings outside.
“Come on, boy,” Valorian said softly. “Let’s try this again.”
Step by step they walked forward along the path, the shelter moving with them like a faintly glowing shield. The gorthlings surrounded them on both sides of the trail and followed their every step. The creatures attacked the shelter in a frenzy of rage, but their attempts to break it with their fists and hurled stones were useless.
The man studied his attackers as he led Hunnul along the trail. The gorthlings were small, vicious, evil, and had dominion over the souls that entered Gormoth. But unlike the Harbingers, they hadn’t yet shown any power of their own to wield magic. Valorian thanked the gods for that blessing. Despite his luck with his spells thus far, he realized he was barely tapping the surface of the vast reservoirs of magic. He would be in serious trouble if he had to face an opponent who was skilled in using the power.
He was also beginning to notice that wielding magic could be tiring. He and Hunnul were only halfway along the treacherous trail through the cavern, and already he was feeling the effort of maintaining the shelter. It took more concentration and mental willpower than he expected.
To help conserve his strength, he banished the sphere of light and struggled along the trail, leading Hunnul by the flickering glow of the lava river. Ahead, at the opposite end of the cavern, he could see where the trail entered the rock wall once more. Valorian focused on that black hole while he struggled to hold his shelter intact. As his strength slowly drained away, the tent of energy started to fade.
Twenty paces from the tunnel entrance, the trail began to widen. Valorian hauled himself onto Hunnul’s back. He was so weary he knew he would have to stop using his shield.
The gorthlings realized it, too, and increased their efforts to break through.
At ten paces from the tunnel, Valorian made his move. In one motion, he clamped his legs against Hunnul’s sides, dissolved the magic shield, and bent low over the stallion’s neck. Hunnul responded as he had been trained to do. In a violent lunge forward, he burst through the crowd of gorthlings on the trail and plunged into the darkness of the tunnel entrance at a full gallop, leaving the angry creatures behind.
Valorian immediately renewed his sphere of light—it didn’t use as much strength or concentration to maintain and urged on his horse. He wanted to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the gorthlings. He knew with a sinking certainty that he didn’t have the strength at that moment to put up another shield or fend off another attack.
The tunnel was straighter now and still sloping downhill. Valorian wondered how far they had traveled into the mountain and how long they had been there. Surely this trail came to an end somewhere. So far he had seen no other paths, other souls, or any sign of Amara’s crown. There seemed to be only the gorthlings and the featureless tunnel winding endlessly through the mountain.
After a short while, the clansman felt his stallion’s pace begin to slow. He eased Hunnul to a halt, and together they listened in the darkness. The tunnel was silent.
Nevertheless, Hunnul pricked his ears and shifted his feet nervously. Ever alert to his horse’s cues, Valorian sharpened his own senses until he, too, was aware of a strange stirring in the tunnel. The cold, fetid draft that had blown into his face most of the way was gone; the air was almost still. Only a faint stir in the heavy, damp atmosphere signaled that something was changing. Valorian reached out curiously and touched the rock wall. To his surprise, he could feel a slight vibration in the stone.
Then he felt another movement. A tiny arm was reaching out of a crevice in the wall for the hilt of his dagger in his belt. As quick as a snake, Valorian grabbed the arm and yanked hard. A struggling gorthling emerged from the crack. At first it fought to get away, but then it changed tactics and clung to his left wrist and hand like a burr. It hissed at him, its sharp, pointed ears flattened against its skull. Hunnul pranced forward nervously.
Valorian tried to flip the gorthling off, but it held on with a painful grip. He was about to smash it against the wall when he saw more gorthlings behind them. The pursuers had caught up with them faster than he had expected.