Half-blinded by the whirling dust and confused by the overwhelming numbers of clansmen coming at them, the soldiers didn’t stand their ground for long. Valorian killed two men with his sword, and his living warriors claimed a dozen more before the Tarns pulled back and began to retreat up the line of wagons.
Valorian blew another long note on his horn, and the clanspeople close by cheered as he passed. He came to the next force of Tarns near the rear of the caravan, where they were struggling with a small knot of men and boys Surrounded by what looked like a swarm of angry horses. With a start, Valorian recognized one man as Gylden. He was even more startled when he realized the horses around the small band were the brood mares with the Hunnul foals. The little black horses were biting and kicking the Tarns to defend their human friends. Their frantic mothers were adding to the confusion by trying to defend their babies. The soldiers were taken aback by the foals’ deliberate attack, but they were still moving in on the clanspeople for the kill.
Hunnul neighed a warning, and his children scattered just as Valorian loosed a storm of sizzling bolts into the group of soldiers. Stunned, the Tarns turned to see a horrifying apparition of a man with lightning in his hands, atop a giant horse as black as night, leading a huge army of fearsome warriors.
They, too, took to their heels. A few stragglers were cut down by Valorian’s living warriors, but no one seemed to notice that the images hadn’t harmed a single person.
The tide began to turn quickly against the Tarns. The retreat of the few in the rear started a ripple that worked its way up the caravan. Valorian and his army rode along the line of wagons and carts, driving an ever-growing number of Tarns before them. Strengthened by the gorthling, Valorian used his magic in a relentless barrage to keep the Tarns off balance. Whenever the legionnaires showed signs of slowing or gathering together to make a stand, Valorian would hurl blistering bolts of white or blue fire at their feet and force them on, while the warriors behind him attacked any Tarn who offered resistance.
The surviving clanspeople looked on in surprise that quickly changed to joy when they recognized their chieftain. Some still able to ride and carry weapons joined the charge and helped swell the ranks of living fighters.
At last the retreating Tarns and the Clan attackers neared the front of the caravan, where several hundred soldiers had blocked the trail and were about to overwhelm the last survivors of the vanguard. Even from afar, Valorian could see the fighting was bitter. He sounded his horn a third time to tell the vanguard they were on the way and was rewarded by an answering call.
The fleeing Tarns ran past the last of the vehicles and milling animals, and with a terrified rush, overran the vanguard and its attackers. Suddenly Valorian lost sight of the Clan warriors in the tangled press of men. He looked frantically for Aiden in the mob, but all he could see was a struggling, chaotic mass of soldiers.
It was then that Valorian noticed for the first time a small group of Tarnish officers watching from their horses on a rise near the river to his left. From their armor and the standards that flapped lazily in the breeze over their heads, he recognized them as the commanding general of the XIIth Legion, his aides, and someone of importance from the Sarcithian government. With these men in his control, he could demand the surrender of the entire legion.
He could see that they were very upset and seemed to be arguing. Several of the men were pointing toward him; another was gesticulating wildly. The chieftain didn’t wait to see if they would make up their minds. He forsook his attack on the milling legionnaires, kneed Hunnul to the left, and flung his ranks of warriors directly toward the officers.
Very few Tarns between the chieftain and the river made a real attempt to protect their leaders. They didn’t have a chance. Those who tried to stand, Valorian knocked aside with violent gusts of magical wind, and those who actually tried to fight were hacked down by the real Clan warriors. The men on the hill saw their danger too late. They tried to reach the rest of the legion massed at the front of the caravan, but Hunnul dashed past their slower mounts and cut them off. In a moment, the officers were surrounded by a ring of angry clanspeople with swords in their hands and bloodlust in their grimy faces.
Valorian brought his warrior-images to a halt in ranks behind the living men. His face expressionless, he examined his seven prisoners for a deliberately long time while they sweated and their horses pranced and shied. Finally Hunnul paced forward into the ring. The officers looked at Valorian with a mixture of belligerence, apprehension, and anger.
Only one, the man in the richest armor with the Sarcithian emblem, seemed terrified, almost out of control Valorian nodded curtly to the commanding general. “General Sarjas?” The man inclined his head once and kept his eyes pinned on the clansman. At first he didn’t see the gorthling, who was clinging unheeded to the back of Valorian’s neck.
“I am Valorian, lord chieftain of the Clan. I demand the surrender of your legion immediately.” He watched the muscles tighten in the general’s neck and jaw and saw the play of emotions over his face. He knew what the man was thinking. The XIIth Legion had never surrendered in its history. To do so now against an inferior force would be a disgrace. Death would almost be better than such a dishonor.
But while the general hesitated, his companion did not.
Antonine wrenched his horse around to face Valorian and with a sharp, frightened gesture, threw his sword to the ground. “Surrender, General Sarjas. We have no choice!” he croaked.
Sarjas visibly winced, as if the younger man had struck him, then bitterly he threw his sword down, too.
The chieftain bowed slightly to Sarjas and jabbed a finger at one of the general’s aides, who was carrying a signal horn. “Sound the surrender. Call them in,” he ordered.
Loud and final sounded the unfamiliar notes of the surrender call, soaring up and down the valley like a dirge. The men of the XIIth Legion didn’t recognize it at first, but then, in twos and threes, the soldiers stopped in their places and unhappily laid down their arms.
For the first time in its history, the Clan had brought one of the emperor’s legions to its knees.
18
A hideous cackle of glee from the gorthling startled everyone, including Valorian, who had forgotten it was there. It crawled out onto his shoulder again and curled its lips in a sneer. The Tarnish officers stared in revulsion at the ugly little creature and in bald amazement at the man who controlled such a thing.
“What are you waiting for?” the gorthling hissed in Valorian’s ear. “Destroy them! Sear them to ashes! They don’t deserve to live after what they did to your people.” The insidious voice touched the rawest nerve in Valorian’s self-control. Suddenly he wanted to blast the Tarns where they stood, to slaughter every single man as they had tried to do to the Clan. It was the least they deserved for the eighty years of misery, poverty, and murder they had inflicted on his people-and for this last atrocity, the unprovoked attack on an inoffensive caravan. His hatred, contained for so many years, boiled up like acid, and the tension became a visible pain on his face.
“Do it!” prodded the gorthling again. “It would be so easy.
You have the power. Kill them all!” Imperceptively Valorian’s hand began to lift; the magic seethed within him. He saw the faces of the officers in front of him staring at him in increasing alarm and fear. He saw the legionnaires gathering nearby, laying down their weapons. It would be so easy to kill every one of them. All he had to do was. . .