The clansman heard a nicker close by and turned to see Hunnul beside the tent. The stallion’s shaggy winter coat had been curried to a shine by someone who had also combed his mane and tail and treated his burn. He had been fed, too, for a few telltale wisps of hay hung unheeded from his mouth.
Valorian scratched the stallion’s neck lovingly. He decided not to ride Hunnul today—the horse deserved a rest. Instead, the black could guard the brood mares while the family moved camp.
Hoofbeats caught Valorian’s attention, and he watched Alden and Ranulf come riding into camp, looking dirty, sweaty, and tired. Both riders spotted him and rode to greet him.
“It’s done,” Aiden announced, sliding off his mount. “If the Tarns ever find the bodies, they’ll think the fools got caught in a rockslide.” He slapped some dust off his leggings. “We got rid of the horses, too. We had to bury one with the soldiers for authenticity, but we turned the others loose high in the mountains.”
“What about Sergius?” Valorian asked quietly.
His brother grimaced. “We had to bury him somewhere else. There was no disguising the burn on his chest.”
Valorian barely nodded, his face set and unreadable.
“Unfortunately,” Aiden went on, “we couldn’t find his horse. I’m afraid it bolted for home.”
“Then we’ll have to take our chances that the Tarns will assume Sergius fell off and got lost.”
“The sooner we put some distance between this place and ourselves the better.” Aiden tipped his head in a thoughtful manner and asked, “But why Fearral’s camp? That old dotard won’t help us with anything.”
Valorian’s jaw tightened. This was a running argument he had had with Aiden for years. “He is our lord chieftain. Give him the respect his title deserves.”
“When he earns it,” muttered Aiden.
Valorian ignored that and added, “I don’t want to ask for help. I need to talk to him.”
“About the pass?”
“Yes.”
The younger man threw up his hands in disgust. “Why waste your time? He’ll never listen. That old man would rather die and take the Clan with him than ever risk leaving Chadar. His feet have turned to stone! Why, he hasn’t even bothered to move camp in three years. He just drinks his wine, hides in his tent, and grovels twice a year to General Tyrranis.”
While Valorian listened to his brother’s impassioned words, his attention had fallen on Ranulf, who was standing silently and bashfully behind Aiden. Ranulf was Kierla’s cousin, a shy, withdrawn young man who preferred solitude to the busy camp. Valorian knew he had been horrified by his negligence on guard duty and would do anything to help erase his shame.
“I know Lord Fearral’s weaknesses,” Valorian said sharply to Aiden. “But I’m going to try to convince him anyway.” He turned to Ranulf. “Of course, I could use some help.” The young man started in surprise. “I know the pass is somewhere south of here. Someone should go look for it so we can tell Lord Fearral exactly where it is.”
Ranulf leaped on the dangled opportunity. “Please let me go, Valorian. My horse and I can find it and be back before you reach Stonehelm.”
“I doubt that,” Valorian said, pleased nevertheless by Ranulf’s willingness. “The journey will be long and difficult, but if you are willing to try, I would be deeply grateful.”
Ranulf whooped with relief and sprang on his horse to go gather his gear before everything was packed.
Aiden watched him go. “Even if Ranulf finds that pass, it won’t change Fearral’s mind. Then what?”
Valorian clapped his brother on the back. “One step at a time, Aiden. That’s how you climb mountains.” With that, he strode off.
Sometime later, when the afternoon sun was slanting through the trees, the clanspeople gathered for the last time in the meadow. The priest and priestess for the Clan deities recited the prayers for the breaking of camp and blessed the entire caravan. As soon as they were through, Valorian rode to the front of his family, where he turned to face them. He held up his hand for silence.
“All of you heard my tale last night,” he began, “and some of you may even believe it. You have also seen the power Amara granted to me and the deadly effect of its force. It is a Power that could do great good for the Clan or great damage. Until I know why the Mother of All has given me this gift, I ask all of you to swear to silence. When the time comes that my duty to Amara is understood, I will reveal the Power as it was intended.” He looked around at their faces and was satisfied. He knew he didn’t need to say anything about the killing of the four Tarns. For the sake of their own lives, no one would breathe a word anywhere about that.
“In the meantime,” he continued, “we have a chance to escape this land of oppressors and find a realm of our own. To do that, I must convince Lord Fearral to accept my plan to leave Chadar once and for all. He wouldn’t be very cooperative if he thought I had had dealings with gorthlings.”
The clanspeople chuckled at that remark, for Lord Fearral was notorious for his superstitious nature. Although the family members themselves were leery of Valorian’s new power, they couldn’t help but be proud that one of their .own seemed to be in the light of Amara’s grace. Those who understood the implications of Valorian’s belief in a new life for the Clan also understood the nearly impossible task he faced of persuading Lord Fearral to agree. Most of Valorian’s group accepted his desire to leave Chadar and were willing to follow him wherever he chose to go, but the rest of the Clan didn’t know of his plan, and they would be hard to budge without Fearral’s approval.
With loud voices, Valorian’s family swore on the light of the sun and the honor of the Clan that they would not speak of Valorian’s experiences until he was ready. Their leader nodded his head in thanks.
Drawing his sword, Valorian galloped his horse to the head of the caravan and gave a shout to start the wagons on their way. The people echoed his cry; dogs barked, horses neighed, and children yelled until the valley meadow rang with noise. Flanked by armed riders, the wagons followed a narrow trail upstream several leagues to a place where the valley broadened and a wide, treeless hill offered an easy way out. More guards, other riders, and the herds of stock brought up the rear.
By evening, the camp in the meadow had vanished. Only a close observer would have noticed the faint rope marks on trees, the disguised bare patches where the tents had stood, or the tracks leading out of the valley.
For nine days, the caravan traveled north through the Bloodiron Hills at a leisurely pace. Now that they were safely away from their old camp and a possible search by the Tarns for the four missing men, they took their time moving their herds and wagons along trails only the clanspeople knew.
Spring went with them in all her warmth and delicate colors. The days were dry and pleasant and breezy, making the journey a joy. Only the nights were still cold enough for cloaks, furs, and fires.
Kierla had repaired an old cloak to replace Valorian’s lost one, but he rarely used it. It seemed to him that when he was struck by the lightning, some of its intense heat had remained in his body. Even when the winds blew cold from the snow-capped mountains, he was still comfortable in merely a tunic. He hated to think how he would feel in the heat of summer if this strange condition didn’t wear off.
Late in the afternoon of the ninth day, Valorian’s caravan spotted Stonehelm, the huge, rounded dome of white granite that sat like an upside-down bowl in the midst of the meadows, hills, and scattered woods. They, in turn, were seen by one of Lord Fearral’s sentries. A long note from the guard’s horn signaled the camp on the outcropping, and by the time the caravan reached the edge of the fields surrounding the stone hill, people were coming down to welcome them.