“He should be!” Aiden grinned and pointed toward the camp. “Valorian’s in his tent.”
Mordan was about to ride on when he paused and suggested, “You might want to extend your guards out beyond that bend in the canyon. If I can find this place, so could others.”
Aiden nodded negligibly, waved, and rode on with his companion. Mordan’s comment was quickly forgotten in the excitement of Lord Fearral’s summons.
Mordan found Valorian’s tent at the edge of the big camp without too much difficulty. He dismounted and left his horse to munch hay with Hunnul in the shelter at the side of the tent. For just a moment, he stopped to pat the black stallion’s neck. The big horse lifted his head, his dark eyes shining, and snorted lightly as if in greeting.
“Mordan!” Valorian called from inside the tent. He stuck his head out the flap. “What are you doing here? Come in out of that wind.”
The chieftain’s guard gave Hunnul a strange look. How had Valorian known it was him? He shrugged and returned the man’s greeting. Following custom, he wiped the mud from his boots and left his sword by the entrance before he entered Valorian’s home. He stepped into the warm and pleasant interior. Outside, the wind was blowing in cold, damp gusts strong enough to make the tent walls heave and dance. Inside, rugs on the floor, light-colored wall hangings, and three or four small lamps combined to create a welcoming and snug living place.
Kierla was there, gently rocking her baby in the swinging cradle that hung from the tent poles. She made their guest comfortable with hot spiced wine and pillows and returned to her rocking without missing a step.
“I see the rumors of Amara’s blessing are true,” he said to her with a pleased grin.
Kierla surprised him by blushing. She looked at her husband proudly. “True and true again,” she replied.
Valorian, who was sitting down again polishing tack, chuckled. “The dam has broken, Mordan. There’ll be no stopping her now.”
The guardsman was nonplussed for a moment until the significance of what they had said sank in. “You’re expecting another?” he asked in astonishment. “Already?”
“I have years of childbearing to catch up on,” she said, her voice smug with satisfaction.
“Valorian,” Mordan said to his host, “you really do have the favor of the Mother Goddess.” He went straight to the point then of his message from Lord Fearral.
Kierla looked up excitedly, but Valorian merely nodded and said, “I will come.”
The chief’s guard hid a smile of satisfaction. He was pleased to see that Valorian wasn’t greeting the news with wild expectations. Lord Fearral had had all winter to think about Valorian’s plan, but he hadn’t explained his reasons for the summons. Valorian was wise not to get carried away by hope that Fearral had changed his mind.
The two men talked for a long while of Lord Fearral, the deteriorating conditions at Stonehelm, and Valorian’s journey south to Wolfeared Pass. Valorian explained in detail about the route he and his companions had planned, and he told Mordan everything he could remember about the pass and the land beyond. Unknowingly, his eyes glowed vivid blue with enthusiasm, and his hands fanned the air with excited gestures.
While he talked, Mordan avidly watched his every move and expression. What he saw in Valorian finally satisfied his own lingering doubts. The Clan needed a new leader, of that he was certain, and this tall, quiet clansman had a greater strength and vision than he had ever seen in any man before—a strength that drew Mordan like a hawk to the lure. It didn’t hurt, Mordan thought, his eyes straying to Kierla, that Valorian had the blessings of the Mother Goddess as well. Silently and knowingly, Mordan switched his allegiance to Valorian. He would continue to serve Lord Fearral for a while longer to fulfill his promised service. But when Valorian headed south, Mordan vowed he would go with him.
Early the next morning Valorian kissed his wife and son, swung up onto Hunnul’s back, and rode with Mordan back down Gol Agha canyon. Gylden and Aiden went with them, since Valorian felt two extra swords and a small show of support wouldn’t hurt his image. They left early enough so that by the time they reached the mouth of the canyon the next day, the Tarnish scout had not yet arrived from Actigorium. They rode out of the Place of the Winds and turned north for Stonehelm, unaware of the Tarn who came shortly thereafter.
The scout, weary from several days of constant travel, didn’t attach much significance to the fresh tracks he saw in the canyon. Tyrranis had told him to find the camp, not follow a few stray riders, so he cautiously began his search, not knowing the prey had already slipped out of the trap.
Valorian and his escort rode into Stonehelm a few days later only to find that Lord Fearral had been stricken ill. His daughters had confined him to his bed and refused to let anyone talk to him until his fever broke and he was stronger.
Valorian was annoyed by the delay, but since there was little he could do about it, he spent the time walking around Stonehelm and talking to its inhabitants. He quickly saw that Mordan’s assessment was accurate. The little village had deteriorated since his visit nearly a year ago. Most of the small pens and corrals were empty; the fields were only partially plowed, and some of the huts and shops were abandoned. The whole place looked neglected and forlorn.
“There’s little enough food,” one woman told him while her thin little boy clutched her skirts. “We’re herders, not farmers.”
One man, an old shepherd who loved his sheep as most clansmen loved their horses, put it more forcefully. “That fly-brained chieftain sold everything we had and left us nothing to start over. What does he think he’s going to do when the tribute comes due again? I say let him sell that precious hall of his. What does a Clan chieftain need with a hall anyway? He’s as bad as a Tarn!” he finished gloomily.
When Valorian mentioned leaving Chadar, the old shepherd brightened considerably. “I’d go with you, son. So would most of the people here, with or without Lord Fearral. We’re getting tired of staying put and starving. You get the chief to give his permission and the whole town would pack and leave by sundown. I’d wager my last lamb on that. ”
Other people were not as outspoken as the shepherd, yet their feelings were still evident in their grim faces and their willingness to listen to Valorian. They were tired of pouring their sweat and labor into things that were immediately taken away from them. They were tired of despair and lean bellies.
Their plight saddened Valorian and strengthened his resolve. It also made him more anxious to talk to Fearral and learn what was on his mind. To Valorian’s irritation, it was nearly six days before the chieftain was well enough to meet with him.
When his daughters could no longer keep Fearral down, he sent Mordan to bring the three clansmen into the hall shortly after the noon meal on a delightfully warm spring day. The old lord was sitting in his carved chair, moodily sipping a steaming mug of tea. When the men stopped before him and lifted their hands in salute, he eyed Valorian and the three men with him for a long, speculative pause. He noticed immediately that Mordan did not make a move to leave Valorian’s side.
Valorian, for his part, returned Fearral’s scrutiny. He was rather surprised to see that the lord chieftain actually looked better than he had last spring, in spite of his illness. His eyes were more alert, his hands were steady, and his shoulders were straight, as if a weight had been removed.
The chieftain seemed to read his thoughts. He lifted his mug and smiled dryly. “As you can see, I am not drinking wine or ale. My daughters and a few other people,” he said with a significant glance at Mordan, “prevailed upon me to get my head out of the wineskin and look around. It has been difficult, to say the least.”