15
In a long, single file, the wagons, carts, riders, and herds of animals reluctantly entered the cavern and followed their chieftain under the mountains. He led them along the same broad road that he and his companions had followed before. He thought the wagons and herds would be slower in the dark passages, but the Clan had no desire to dawdle.
It was a measure of the clanspeople’s growing trust in Valorian that they went into the caves at all. Once inside, though, it was their fear of the strange, dark tunnels that kept them moving, the cold and dampness that made them reluctant to stop, and the half-sensed presence of the mythical Carrocks, always out of sight, that kept them all on edge.
They ate their food on the move and stopped only long enough to water the stock at the ice-cold stream that trickled beside the road.
As they worked their way along the underground passages lit only by torchlight and several of Valorian’s spheres, the clanspeople stared in awe at the stalactites, the guardian statue, and the crystal walls that sparkled in the unnatural light. They also heeded their chieftain’s warning implicitly.
The ancient tales of the Carrocks’ legendary strength and possessiveness were more than enough to discourage any thoughts of exploring or souvenir hunting.
When at long last Ranulf trotted down the line passing the word that the exit was just ahead, the entire caravan breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief and pressed forward toward the open air. Beyond the cave mouth, Valorian saw that the sun was sinking in the west. He realized his estimate of the time the Clan would be in the tunnels hadn’t been quite accurate—they had been underground for only two days, not three. He hadn’t taken into account the speed lent to the animal’s feet by nervousness or the willingness of people to push past hunger and weariness when they were apprehensive.
As soon as he had escorted the first wagon out into the cool twilight and given instructions for the Clan to make camp in a meadow farther down the valley, Valorian turned Hunnul back into the cave. He passed by the herds of livestock and the horses neighing at the smell of fresh grass. He went by the creaking wagons and carts, the tired riders, and the woebegone dogs. When at last the rear guard came up the slope toward him, he waved them on and waited while the noises slowly died away. The passage at last was empty, and he and Hunnul were alone.
Valorian heard nothing in the tunnels below nor saw any movement or sign of life, but he knew they were there. He flicked out his spheres of light, letting the darkness the Carrocks craved surround him.
“Thank you,” he called to the lightless depths. “May Amara bless your people and guard your caves forever.”
From far away out of the subterranean night came a single deep voice. “Go in peace, magic-wielder.”
Hunnul nickered softly. Moving slowly in the darkness, the black horse walked up and out of the caverns and trotted gratefully out onto the soft earth and green grass.
The Clan camped that night near the mouth of the valley, where a stream dropped in a silvery fall to a clear pool below. The Bendwater River and the relative safety of Sarcithia were only a day or two away, and the people hoped that Tyrranis and his soldiers were now behind them. Weary from the long two days under the mountains, the people settled down for the night.
On a razor-backed ridge high above the valley, a Tarnish scout peered down on the camp in surprise. There was just enough light left for him to recognize several features of the big encampment before night threw its shadows over the mountains. Excited, the man mounted his horse and rode north as fast as the animal could carry him.
“General, I swear on the honor of the Fourth Legion, I saw them last night! They’re south of us, not more than twenty leagues from the river. The commander is certain it is the Clan, and he is awaiting your orders.” The scout who was speaking touched the emblem of the crescent moon on his tunic as a sign that he was swearing to the truth.
General Tyrranis hardly noticed. As quick as a cobra, his hand reached out and clamped around the soldier’s throat, skillfully cutting off his breath and sending pain stabbing into the man’s head. “That’s impossible!” he hissed. “They couldn’t have passed around us so quickly without being seen.”
“But. . . I ... saw them,” the terrified scout choked out past the merciless fingers. He tried to pull at the hand, but he might as well have tried to remove steel claws. The other soldiers around him looked everywhere but at his red, mottled face.
Tyrranis eased his grip a fraction and demanded, “Exactly where? How many? How do you know it was the Clan?” The scout gasped for breath before he answered. “They had Clan carts and a few of our freight wagons. It was a big camp, maybe five or six hundred. In a valley past the bluffs. There was one man with a lion-pelt cloak and a big black horse. ”
Suddenly the general’s fingers let go, and the soldier fell back, clutching his throat. “So,” Tyrranis said venomously. “Perhaps he has found a way to get around me.” His fingers unconsciously found the amulet around his neck that protected him from evil magic.
“His magic must be powerful,” one officer said, then immediately regretted his words when Tyrranis’s frigid glance fell on him.
The general chose to ignore that remark and continued to ask, as if to himself. “He will still not escape. We will catch him before he crosses the river.” He turned to his officers. “I should execute every scout and guard who failed me, but I still have need of every man. Mount up!”
An orderly brought Tyrranis’s big bay stallion and held the stirrup for the general to mount. Viciously the stallion tried to lash out with a hoof at his master, but Tyrranis stepped out of the way and cracked his whip across the horse’s soft muzzle. While the stallion flung his head around in pain, the general adroitly mounted and spurred him forward. The orderly sprang out of the way to avoid being trampled.
In frantic haste, the small troop left their makeshift camp behind and galloped south to the larger camp at the edge of the towering bluffs by the canyon. Tyrranis thundered in among the tents and surprised the soldiers with a face darker than a storm cloud, then lashed the men into action.
“Mount your horses,” he shouted. “You will catch that caravan before it reaches the river, or I will drown the lot of you!”
The commander and his officers scrambled in their haste to salute their general and obey his orders. Quickly the Tarnish legionnaires and draftees made ready to leave. Horns blared on the morning breeze, calling the ranks to order; horses neighed in excitement.
In a matter of minutes, the Tarnish camp was empty, except for a few cooks and orderlies who were to tear down the abandoned tents and bring the provision wagons behind the troops. The rest of the army was thundering south to pursue the elusive clanspeople.
The late afternoon sun was beginning to dim behind gathering clouds when the foremost scout of the Clan caravan spotted the line of trees and the silvery band of water that marked the location of the Bendwater River far in the distance. Whooping, he rode back to tell Lord Valorian and the Clan. Word spread swiftly down the line of wagons. Drivers sat up straighter and slapped their reins to urge their horses faster; riders kicked their mounts into a trot. The thirsty herds smelled the water and picked up their pace.
At the same time, a lone scout far to the rear of the caravan saw something else come over the top of a far rise that froze his blood. He waited for a few heartbeats to be sure he was seeing correctly through the dust and haze, and then his eyes bugged out in recognition. A large column of horsemen was rapidly approaching from the north, with what looked like blood-red banners at its head.
His stomach roiling in fear, the clansman clapped his I heels to his mount and streaked madly back toward the Clan.
“Tarns!” he bellowed at the rear guard. “Tarns behind us!” The swelling call of a signal horn followed him up the line of animals and wagons toward Lord Valorian at the head of the caravan. Heads turned toward him and eyes followed him in sudden fear.