Therefore, by some means or another, Valorian had to secretly unite the Clan, convince Fearral to change his mind, and slip the people out of Chadar after the snow melt but before the Tarns could catch them. The whole thing was enough to make him groan.
Yet through all the disappointments and setbacks, his faith in his mission never faltered. After the first doubts and confusion when he returned from the realm of the dead, his belief in a new home had turned into a bright, steady flame that burned in his heart with unquenchable zeal. The exodus would happen-he knew it. Its execution was merely a matter of effort and timing. Somehow the will of the gods would help him fit everything into place.
Leagues to the west, in the garrison town of Actigorium, General Ivorn Tyrranis drummed his long fingers thoughtfully on a windowsill in his large, airy dayroom. Several of his aides and officers watched him silently from the back of the room, and two guards stood motionless by the door.
“Tell me this rumor again, merchant. Leave out no detail,” Tyrranis said. His voice was glacial.
The Chadarian merchant, on his knees before the general, swallowed hard. “I-I’ve been hearing rumors, Your Eminence,” he stammered.
“Yes, yes,” Tyrranis said testily. “We know that.” He turned to face the fat old Chadarian, and the edge of his sword clanged against the stone.
The merchant winced. Tyrranis, as usual, was dressed in the full regalia of a Tarnish officer, although he had retired from active duty to serve the emperor as a provincial governor. He felt the gleaming brass breastplate, the black tunic edged in gold, and the sword were intimidating to those beneath him.
He was right in part, but what intimidated most people was his demeanor. The general was a man of medium height and gigantic ego. He kept his body strong and lean and his mind dagger quick. His jaw was clean shaven, and his hair was cut very short, which left nothing to distract from his cold, sharp features. His eyes had the merciless, deadpan stare of a cobra, and he used them to their full effect by staring at people with his thin lips pulled tight and his expression contemptuous. When General Tyrranis turned his cold gaze on someone, there was no need for him to shout or demand.
Now he stared, unblinking, at the merchant. The Chadarian had brought him news and rumors from the marketplace before, but the man was getting old, and his news was often unreliable. Tyrranis wanted to be certain that this rumor wasn’t a mere fable the merchant had brought in for gold.
The old man cast his eyes down, unable to meet the general’s dark stare. “I’ve heard several times of a clansman named Valorian,” he managed to say. “He has been going around the hills trying to talk the clanspeople into leaving Chadar. ”
“Are they listening?” Tyrranis inquired.
“Some of them are, but I think their chieftain refuses to leave his camp, and many of them won’t go without him.
“Wise decision,” muttered one of Tyrranis’s aides.
The general crossed his arms, his chiseled face unreadable, his unwavering gaze still pinned on the Chadarian’s sweating face. “Has this Valorian given up on his ridiculous quest?”
The merchant’s jowls swayed in the motion of his shaking head. “Not yet, General. He is still wandering after the other families, trying to convince them to follow him. The man hesitated and cleared his throat.
Tyrranis studied him through blank eyes. He could tell the merchant hadn’t told everything he knew. “If you have more, then out with it!” he demanded.
The old man shifted nervously on his knees, his hands twisting behind his back. “I-I don’t know if I believe this myself, Your Eminence. You might not-”
“Tell me!” Tyrranis hissed.
“I’ve also heard,” the merchant said hastily, “that this clansman claims he was struck by lightning and now can use magic.”
General Tyrranis didn’t twitch a muscle, nor did he blink or gasp or outwardly change in any way. But in his mind the spark of interest flared to a bonfire at the word ‘magic.’ “Has he shown any signs of such a power?” he asked, his excitement buried under layers of careful control.
“There have been a few tricks, General. Bolts of blue fire, images in smoke. . . nothing extraordinary.”
“Hmmm.” Tyrranis turned on his heel and strode to the carved wooden table that served as his desk. He drew a handful of coins from a box, tossed them at the kneeling merchant, and jabbed a finger at the door. “You may go.” The Chadarian lost no time. Scooping up his money, he bowed to the ground, then struggled to his feet and hurried out.
No one watched him go.
A heavy silence fell on the room while everyone waited for the general to speak. Even though the topic of magic was never discussed in the general’s presence, all the men there knew of Tyrranis’s fascination with the elusive force, and they wondered how he was going to react to this strange news of a clansman with alleged magical powers.
The general remained motionless by his table for a long while, his thoughts busy behind his cruel face.
Finally one of the waiting men cleared his throat in the tense silence. Tyrranis’s gaze immediately snapped to the man’s face. It was the tax collector.
“My lord general,” the man said silkily, “I seem to remember something about this Valorian from my records. Do I have your permission to withdraw so I may check on this?”
General Tyrranis jerked his head at the door, and the tax collector bowed and quickly left. Wordlessly the other men waited while the general found his chair and sat down. The only sound in the room was the soft drumming of Tyrranis’s fingers on the tabletop as he resumed his thoughts. The other men looked at one another uneasily. They had seen these silent moods descend on their commander before, and it usually boded ill for someone.
After a long time had passed, the general stirred slightly in his seat. “I want this clansman brought before me,” he said to them all.
His aides knew the statement was not a request.
“On what charges?” asked the commander of the army garrison whose responsibility it would be to find Valorian.
Tyrranis slammed his palm on the table and snapped, “I don’t care! That’s your problem. Just bring him to me.”
The commander glanced at his adjutant and shrugged slightly under his armor. “We could probably arrest him for inciting rebellion.”
Tyrranis waved a hand. “That will do.” Even though he was angry at the thought of a miserable clansman trying to undermine his authority in his province, the feeling was almost lost in his desire to get this man into his private workroom and study his use of magic. The clansman’s rumored powers were the first strong lead in Tyrranis’s search for magic since his posting to this province, and he wasn’t going to let it slip away.
Just then the tax collector hurried in, looking pale and nervous. “Your Eminence,” he breathed. He was praying silently to himself that the information he had found would distract Tyrranis from his own negligence. “I finally remembered the man Valorian. He was at Fearral’s camp at Stonehelm at the time I began my duties for you. He protested that we took some of his stock animals when we collected Fearral’s tribute.”
“So?” Tyrranis demanded.
The tax collector swallowed hard. “I went back in our records, and I cannot find my predecessor’s marks for Valorian’s family. I don’t believe they have paid their tribute for this year.”
The general glared at him. “Why didn’t you collect it?”
There was a long pause while the collector tried to wet his dry mouth. “Sergius Valentius left the tax records in a shambles, General. It took days to straighten out his scrolls and notes. I thought he had collected all the Clan families’ tributes but Fearral’s before he disappeared.”
At the word “disappeared,” the Tarnish commander snapped his fingers and said, “General, four soldiers of mine went with Sergius that day. They never came back either.”