Valorian felt his exhaustion down to the bone. Without a second thought, he nodded and left with her to find a place to sleep.
It was very dark when Valorian came awake. He woke slowly, dragged out of his rest by an urgent hand. With him woke his memories, so he wasn’t confused to see the interior of Mordan’s tent where he had come to sleep or have the odd feeling of exhilaration and nervousness that sparked in his mind when he remembered the events of . . . when?
His senses told him it was late night, but of what day? He felt as if he had been asleep for months.
“When?” he mumbled to the hand that kept shaking him. “What day?”
“It’s almost dawn, Lord Valorian. I’m sorry to awaken you, but you’ve got to see this.” It was Gylden’s voice, and he sounded strangely elated.
Valorian smiled to himself. Even in his excitement, Gylden had easily and naturally called him lord. It was an incredible feeling to hear that. Stiff and sore, he hauled himself off his pallet and pulled on the clean tunic Kierla had retrieved from the belongings he had left at Stonehelm those many days before. His wife was awake beside him, so she bundled the sleeping baby into her carrying sling and swiftly rose to join the men. The three hurried out of Mordan’s tent. Valorian stifled another pleased grin when two of the chieftain’s guards fell in behind him.
Gylden led them to the road out of town and down the smooth stone slopes of the outcropping to the fields below. The camps of the Clan families were scattered around the open grassy areas, their tents like dark, hulking animals curled up asleep in the night. In the east, a pale rim of light tinted the horizon and heralded the coming of Amara’s sun.
Gylden went on through the grass heavy with dew to the pasture where the brood mares had been separated from the herd recovered at Actigorium and left to rest and graze.
Valorian was surprised to see a large crowd of people gathered on the gentle hill and staring down at something in the herd.
“You’re not going to believe this,” Gylden resumed breathlessly. “I found them just a little while ago.”
“Found what?” Kierla asked. She felt her own anticipation flutter in her stomach, for she could see by Gylden’s smiling face that something wonderful had happened.
“It must have been the excitement of the run from Actigorium that started them. They’re just a little early,” Gylden replied, without actually answering her question. He reached the crowd, and the people made way for their chief. At the front of the curious onlookers stood Mother Willa, looking down the hill as if in a daze.
The herd of mares was just a short distance away, the horses scattered along the base of the hill, peacefully grazing. Valorian didn’t see anything remarkable at first, but then Kierla made a small exclamation and pointed. There, in the brightening dawn light, he saw them by their dams’ sides. There were three of them, newborn, still slightly damp, all long legs and heads and wispy tails. One of them was lying down, while the other two tottered about their mothers.
They were obviously healthy, well-formed foals, but the most remarkable thing about them was that they were all black—and all had a white lightning mark emblazoned on their right shoulders.
Valorian clenched his jaw to fight down the intense joy and wonder that threatened to overwhelm him. He looked inquiringly at Gylden, even though he already knew the answer.
His friend nodded, beaming. “They are all Hunnul’s foals.”
He gestured to the big herd and added, “I’ve never seen I anything like this. Three identical foals from the same sire!”
Mother Willa suddenly started and flung open her arms to the eastern sky where the rising sun gleamed behind the mountain peaks. Her face was bright and her voice sang in a prayer of thanksgiving. “Oh Mother of All, in your gratitude and graciousness, you sent your champion back to life with a great gift to lead his people out of tyranny. By your blessings, he has prospered, and now his beloved stallion is blessed as well. By his seed will a new breed of horse be granted to the Clan, a horse that will always bear his color and his lightning mark of honor. May they forever run with the wind of your grace!”
The people in the crowd around her heard her words. Their stares swung over to the new lord chieftain, and their voices rose in murmuring excitement at the incredible possibilities. A new breed of horse, from one stallion.
“Praise Amara!” Kierla said, and her hand came to rest on her abdomen where her second son waited for his chance at life. In her sling, Khulinar woke with happy gurgles. His hand reached out of the leather sling, groping for his mother’s long, unbound hair.
Valorian looked from the foals to his son, and his heart echoed Kierla’s words of praise. Even with his magic, he couldn’t see into the future, yet he didn’t need to, to recognize the union of the destinies of these black horses and his sons. Through the Mother Goddess’s grace and benediction, they would ride together as he rode Hunnul to be leaders of the Clan’s new future.
He would have stayed to watch the foals and daydream all morning if a sharp, cold gust of wind hadn’t suddenly brought him out of his musings. He laughed ruefully at himself. The distant future was still a long time away, and what was to come was not yet born. He had to deal with the immediate future if he were going to save something for his offspring.
He turned to the people beside him. “Come,” he called to everyone. “Bring your families to the gates of Stonehelm. It is time we decide our destiny.”
14
By the light of a clear dawn, the people of the Clan gathered at the gates of their one town to hear the words of their chieftain. Most of them expected him to stand before them and demand that they pack immediately to leave for his new land. But he surprised them.
Instead, he looked out over the faces gathered before him—at the Clan priests and priestesses, elders, and leaders of the families in the foreground, the other men, women, and children in a quiet mass behind—and he said, “Through the summer, fall, and winter, I have tried to convince you all to leave your homes in Chadar and seek the new realm of the Ramtharin Plains. You have heard my reasons time and time again, and I still believe in them with my whole heart. But now that I’m in the position to command you, I realize that it would be wiser for you to make the decision yourselves. This journey cannot be a success if you as a whole do not accept the change and work together to bring it about.
“So, do we go or do we stay? You have heard Karez tell you that the Tarns will be placated by tribute and time. Perhaps that is so, and we can stay here as we are. However, I have met General Tyrranis. I know him to be obsessive, ruthless, and cruel beyond measure. He will not let us off so easily. The journey itself will not be easy either, and I believe Tyrranis will try to stop us. But if we can reach Wolfeared Pass, we will be through with the Tarns and their tributes forever.”
Valorian drew a deep breath before he went on. “I must ask you now to make your choice. There isn’t much time. Talk to your priests and elders and send them to me when you’re ready. I promise you that whatever decision you reach, I will do my best to defend and preserve this Clan.” Without a further word, he stepped back and withdrew to the open space by the charred ruins of Fearral’s hall to wait. ,
The clanspeople looked at one another, surprised by his move. It wasn’t a typical gesture of a Clan chieftain. Hesitantly at first, then in gathering volubility, the men and women turned to one another and talked. It was the first time in many years that the entire remaining Clan population had been together, and they had a great deal to discuss.