The gorthling stopped weaving and softly stroked the dirty stubble on Valorian’s jaw. The chieftain hardly felt it through the fog of his preoccupation.
There was nothing, he thought to himself, that required him to send the creature back now. He could wait until tomorrow. Perhaps even a few days. The gorthling’s enhancement of his power would be useful to have while the Clan repaired their wagons and healed their wounded. There was so much more he could accomplish with the greater power at his fingertips.
Wearily he leaned forward to rest his forearm on Hunnul’s mane. He had done enough for one day. The gorthling could wait, he decided, and he would think about a spell for a few days. Later, perhaps, he would send the creature back.
Under him, Hunnul stamped his hooves restlessly. His ears flattened as he sensed his rider’s reluctance, and his tail was jerking back and forth in annoyance. Master. His voice broke into Valorian’s thoughts. Have you asked the creature how to send it back?
The chieftain started violently. His sudden movement upset the gorthling and caused it to accidentally scratch his cheek. Irritably he swatted at it, forcing it to withdraw to the farthest point of his shoulder.
“How would it know?” Valorian demanded. “And for that matter, why would it tell me the truth?” He was cross at the interruption of his musings, even though a part of him realized Hunnul’s suggestion was a good one.
The gorthling is cunning and knows more about the immortal world than we do. It could think of some way to go back to its home. Simply command it to tell you the truth.
Valorian’s reluctance seemed to ease in the face of such a sensible idea. He plucked the gorthling off his shoulder and dropped it to his knee, where he could see it better in the moonlight. Now that the gorthling was away from his head, the strange hesitancy to send it back weakened even more.
Valorian’s eyes widened in alarm and comprehension. So the gorthling was trying to influence his mind with its own insidious thoughts. That was why he had wanted to slaughter every Tarn and keep the gorthling by his side. If the creature could alter his emotions so easily after just half a day, what control would he have had left of his mind if he had waited for several days? The realization washed away the last tendrils of his unwillingness. Valorian knew without a doubt that the gorthling couldn’t be allowed to remain the night—for the sake of his immortal soul.
“Unless you wish to eat that gold ring, you will tell the truth to every question I ask,” he informed the wizened creature on his knee.
The gorthling had no choice when it was under the power of the bright gold. It hunched down, its lip curled up in a silent snarl. “What do you wish to know, nag rider. . . the truth? You have seen it. Your power is sevenfold when I am with you. Nothing can touch you. Nothing can harm your family or your people when you wield such magic. Think about the possibilities!”
Valorian ignored the conniving tone and demanded, “Would I be able to use my consciousness and return you to Gormoth the same way I brought you out?”
“Yesss. . .”
Valorian caught the edge of smugness at the end of the reply. “But?” he prompted.
“Yes, you can go back. But there are dangers.”
“Like what?” demanded the chieftain.
The gorthling’s face wrinkled even more in its effort not to answer, but it couldn’t fight the power of the gold around its neck. Its words came spitting out. “If you try to enter the realm of the dead without a Harbinger to guide you, you could become lost in the mists of the barrier, where there is no escape. If you do find a Harbinger to guide you and you make it through, Lord Sorh may not allow you to enter the realm of the dead while your body still lives. You slipped through once, but not again. And he’s probably not happy that you kidnapped me!
“Nor will the other gorthlings let you into Gormoth. They have sensed your mind, and they know your presence. They would catch you the moment you opened the door.” The gorthling suddenly broke off and smirked at Valorian. “Do you know what they would do to you? They might torment your mind for eternity or maybe just a few years. If your consciousness ever returned to your body, you would be . . . utterly. . . hopelessly. . . demented!” It chuckled at the whole idea.
In the back of his mind, Valorian had been afraid of something like that. The hatred and the malice he had felt in Gormoth had been focused too intently on him when he pulled the gorthling out. The others probably knew he would have to return his prisoner sometime, and they had all eternity to wait for him. He scratched his neck where the dried sweat itched and thought about other ways.
“Could the Harbingers take you back?” he suggested.
“No!” the gorthling rasped. “Those messenger boys only obey Lord Sorh.” At the thought of the god of the dead, the gorthling began to grovel on Valorian’s leg. “Please, master. Let me stay with you. I will wear your nasty gold and obey your every whim. Please let me stay,” it wheedled.
Valorian wasn’t moved this time by the gorthling’s attempt to sway him. Beneath the whining voice and the pleading posture, there was an indistinct phosphorescent glow in the creature’s eyes that sent shivers down the clansman’s back. “Enough!” he snapped. “Tell me what other ways will return you to Gormoth.”
The gorthling hissed its frustration, but it finally had to answer. “There is only one other way-the ancient way that Lord Sorh used to trap us in the mountain.” It cackled suddenly with derision. “Not that it will help you. No simple, weak-handed mortal can wield the power necessary to return me!” Still cackling, it leapt into a mad dance on Valorian’s knee, as if it had just conclusively proved its victory.
The chieftain had had quite enough of the gorthling’s antics. Muttering an imprecation, he snatched it up by the golden armband and shook it until it stopped its wild movements and hung there glaring at him. “Just tell me what it is!” he insisted furiously.
“Yes, master! Nice master!” the gorthling crooned and rubbed its tiny hands over the man’s fingers. Valorian dropped it in disgust back onto his knee. It giggled nastily. “You have to make an opening through the barrier between the mortal and immortal world and send me through it. If you could do that, which you can’t, your magic would return me to Gormoth.
“What power do I need to make this opening?”
With a snicker, the gorthling replied, “There is only one in the mortal world that will work, but it would fry you to ashes and turn your nag into vulture bait.”
“And that is?”
The gorthling waved a hand at the east, where a faint flash illuminated the mountain peaks for the blink of an eye. “Lightning.”
Valorian went numb and cold all over. Oh, sweet, merciful goddess, not that! he thought, terrified at the very suggestion. His one experience with lightning had been enough to last him a lifetime and beyond. And the gorthling was right. Even with the enhancement of his power, he didn’t have the strength to withstand the unbelievable energy of a white-hot bolt of lightning.
Master, Hunnul’s quiet, reassuring voice touched his mind. We could use it together.
There was a long pause, then Valorian said, “Tell me.” His voice was unsteady as he tried to balance hope and fear.
When we were struck by lightning before, you know the bolt left some of its strength within me. In some way I do not understand, it has made me invulnerable to its power. !f you are in touch with my body when you call the lightning, you should be protected.
“ ‘Should be’? Not ‘will be’? ” Valorian asked dubiously.
The stallion cocked his head to look back at Valorian out of one deep, velvet eye. We have never tried this before, so I cannot be certain.
Valorian considered Hunnul’s words. The whole concept of using lightning as a fuel for a magical spell was completely beyond his experience or knowledge. He had only a horse’s word that it might not incinerate him the second he touched it. That was hardly reassuring.