“It wouldn’t have bothered me so much,” Valorian continued, his voice sharp, “if he had asked in the beginning for help in gathering his tribute, or if he had protested to the tax collector. But he just sat there and let them steal our herds.”
“Didn’t he have enough of his own?”
“Yes, barely.”
Kierla took his arm and pulled him to a stop. “You’re wearing holes in the rugs,” she chided gently. “Perhaps you could look at this another way.”
He crossed his arms and lifted an eyebrow. “What way?”
“As helping the Clan. If the Tarns had taken only the town’s herds, would the people there have had enough left to hang on awhile longer?”
The clansman studied his wife for a long moment while the sense of her words became clear. His anger trickled away. “Probably not,” he finally agreed.
“Then you gave them some time. Yourself, too. We still have enough animals to rebuild our herds, and so do they. With the goddess’s grace, by next tax time we will not be here to pay it.”
Valorian suddenly let out a laugh. He sat down on the cushions beside Aiden, stretched out his weary legs, and gave his wife a grateful half—smile. “All right. I’ll quit stewing over spilt wine. You’re right, of course.” He reached for a bowl of nuts and thoughtfully cracked several. “We still have Hunnul and the brood mares,” he went on between bites. “And Linna had those long-haired goats of hers in a pen at camp. They weren’t taken. Isn’t one a male?”
Aiden nodded. “The black and white one.”
“We could cross—breed him to our remaining females. Could be an interesting mix.”
“I could get a few males from the lowlands,” Aiden suggested.
Valorian chopped his hand down. “No. I don’t want you anywhere near the towns, the Chadarians, or anyone that even looks like a Tarn. We must not do anything more to attract their attention. Fearral is right about one thing. If Tyrranis hears even a hint that we’re trying to leave, he’ll do anything in his power to stop us.” He subsided into his cushions and stared out the open tent flap.
The two men were quiet for a time, each busy with his own thoughts. Outside, they could hear the noises of the camp slowly settling down for the night: the voices of parents calling in their children, the sleepy yapping of dogs, the soft clop of the mounted guards as they rode around the camp’s perimeter, and far in the distance, from a windy point, the sad howling of a wolf.
Kierla shivered when she heard the wolf. She had never liked wolves since she was little and her cousin had told her that wolves were the children of the goddess Keath, who ate little girls as punishment for disobedience. She pushed her feeling away and decided that a pot of Mother Willa’s herb tea would help chase away the shivers. Carrying her glazed teapot and a small stone bowl, she slipped out of the tent.
Aiden finally broke the silence. “So what are we going to do now? Fearral has bought himself some time with our herds, but he still won’t budge until Tyrranis bums the camp down around him.”
When Valorian didn’t answer immediately, Aiden suggested, “We could leave on our own.”
“No!” Valorian said, his tone implacable. “I will not leave a single clansperson behind to face the Tarns. We will all go.” He watched Kierla come back in with her pot of water and a hot coal from the fire outside. She fetched her copper brazier and the box of tea.
“But how are you going to drag Fearral out of his hall?” Aiden asked, growing exasperated at his brother’s lack of an instant answer.
“Well. . .” Valorian began, his eyes still on Kierla. She was on her knees bent over her brazier, trying to light the dead coals with the live ember from outside. She had forgotten to bring some tinder and wasn’t having much success.
An idea popped into his mind. “Kierla,” he said, “stand back from the brazier.”
She looked at him curiously, then shrugged and moved away. She and Aiden watched as Valorian’s eyes closed. He lifted his hand in a small gesture, and suddenly a tiny bright flame leaped over the dead coals.
Kierla gasped, a sound between surprise and laughter. “How do you do that?”
“I don’t know exactly.” He came over to look at the little fire, almost as surprised as she was. In the realm of the dead, things had been so strange and different, a magical power hadn’t seemed so unbelievable. But here in his normal life, it was mind-boggling. He still wasn’t really sure what to do with it. He carefully set Kierla’s teapot on the grate and shrugged. “Lady Amara didn’t explain much of anything when she sent me back,” he said.
All of a sudden, Aiden clapped his hands. “That’s it!” he shouted, bouncing to his feet. “That’s what the power is for! Valorian, it’s so simple. You are to lead our people out of Chadar, not Fearral.” Kierla’s eyes widened. Her hand went instinctively to her belly, where the seed for the continuation of the family continued to grow. “Of course! Why else would Amara send you back with this magic?”
Valorian shook his head at their excitement. “I’ve thought of that,” he said quietly. “But I don’t think that’s the reason. Fearral is our rightful chieftain. It’s his duty to lead the Clan, not mine. My duty is to help him all I can in that effort.”
Aiden threw his arms up and cried, “Oh, for Surgart’s sake! That old relic isn’t going to lead anyone anywhere. He wants his little town and his little hall, and the rest of us can either join him or die by the roadside. He doesn’t care, but you do! Challenge him, Valorian. You become chieftain and gather the Clan yourself!”
A brief image of Sergius’s smoking body flitted through Valorian’s memory, making him wince. “No,” he said forcefully. “I made my vow of fealty to Lord Fearral, and I will not go back on my word. The Clan would never follow me anywhere if I killed the chieftain in a duel for my own benefit.” He went back to his cushion and sat down cross-legged. “If we can’t get Fearral to move the Clan, maybe we can get the Clan to move Fearral. After the last foal is born and we celebrate the Birthright, we’ll go see Gylden. Then Karez. We’ll talk to everyone.”
Kierla said, “That might work. Lord Fearral could hardly say no if the entire Clan was packed and ready to leave.”
“Maybe,” Aiden stated. “And maybe the Clan will drag its heels as much as Fearral, or maybe Fearral will sit on his rock and forbid anyone to leave. Then what?”
Valorian dropped onto his back and glared up at the tent roof. “I don’t know, Aiden! All we can do is try. We’ll leave Fearral to the gods. Maybe they can change his mind.”
The young man threw his blue woolen cloak over his shoulders, preparing to go. “Think about what I said, Valorian. Amara chose you to be her champion. Not Fearral.” With a wink to Kierla, he strode out of the tent, his cloak swirling behind him.
Valorian watched the tent flap swing down behind his brother. For the rest of the evening, he drank some of Kierla’s tea and thought about Aiden’s words.
Early the next morning, when the meadow was still clothed in a cold veil of mist and the sun had not yet risen over the mountains, Valorian went to find Hunnul. Aiden’s words were still on his mind, and he wanted to leave the bustling distractions of the camp for a little while to think. He found the black stallion grazing protectively near the small group of brood mares not far from the camp. After a wave to the guard, he put his fingers to his lips and whistled.
Hunnul was in a fine fettle that morning. The stallion threw his head up with a snort and came galloping to his master, bucking and bouncing, full of good spirits.
Valorian laughed at his antics. He was pleased to see that Hunnul had recovered completely from their journey. The days of slow travel, fresh grass, and rest had worked wonders on the horse. For the first time since his arrival at Black Rock, Valorian closely examined the jagged lightning burn on Hunnul’s shoulder. He was glad to see the wound had already healed.