Valorian heard the sound of horses as he was carried into the forecourt of the tower. He opened his eyes to see if he could find Hunnul, but ~here was only a stable close by that housed mounts for messengers and scouts. There had to be corrals near the garrison for other horses, he reasoned. Maybe Hunnul was there.
He kept his eyes open while they went through the tower and entered a long, narrow hallway. The place was quite busy with soldiers passing back and forth, sentries at their posts, officious-looking civilians hard at work. Doors and other corridors opened onto the hall, revealing offices, a soldiers’ mess, and other rooms foreign to Valorian. The soldiers carrying his litter followed the main passage to a heavily barred door at the end guarded by a stocky watchman. The watchman took a look at Valorian and impassively drew a key to let them in.
Down they went on a long, echoing stone staircase dimly lit by torches. The air was heavy and oppressive with cold, damp, and the smell of rot. The dungeons of the old tower were dug deep into the foundations, where the light of day couldn’t penetrate. Because of the proximity to the river, the walls seeped with moisture, and the floors were often slick with slime and standing puddles.
At the bottom of the stairs was a short passage with barred doors lining both sides. Valorian could see the cells weren’t large, but he guessed from the volume and variety of noise that the entire group of nearly one hundred hostages was crammed into those foul rooms.
Except for a few meager torches along the walls, the dungeon was miserably dark. The sound of footsteps and the arrival of new torches drew everyone’s attention. Faces crammed into the barred doorways, and voices whispered and muttered in the gloom. “Who is that?” they asked each other.
Then someone yelled, “Kierla! It’s Valorian!” and the whole dungeon filled with cries, shouts, and pleas.
“Shut up, you dogs!” shouted the commander.
His order did little good. The people were desperate, and Valorian was their first sign of hope. By pure chance, the guards opened the last cell door where Kierla and perhaps twenty others were imprisoned. They shoved the clanspeople back, dumped the litter on the floor, and beat a hasty retreat away from the uproar, the stink, and the darkness.
Valorian felt his beloved’s arms around his shoulders and her fingers gently probing his face and limbs. He knew he was safe with her. Sighing once, he closed his eyes and let sleep steal him away.
The day passed slowly for those in the dungeon and those who waited scattered around the city or hidden in the fields beyond the walls. The sun crept with nerve-racking slowness past noon, mid-afternoon, and finally into evening. In the cells, the people didn’t see the sun sink below the horizon, but their bodies sensed it, and their stomachs cried with hunger.
It was the clang of iron pots that brought Valorian out of his healing sleep. Guards were bringing big kettles of soup to each cell. Kierla felt him stir, and her heart leapt with relief. She brought him a bowl of the soup, lifted his head, and carefully fed him the entire helping. He would have liked more, despite its watery taste and the lack of anything in it resembling food, but the pots were already empty and being carried away.
Ever so slowly, Valorian sat up on the litter. The rest, the food, and his natural strength had worked together in a small miracle of recuperation. He could move again with only stiffness and aching accompanying his motions. The agonizing muscle spasms were gone, and he was fortunate that nothing was broken. He wondered if General Tyrranis was finicky about blood. That might explain why the general was so adept at causing pain without drawing blood, and why he wore gloves.
“What happened to you, Valorian?” Kierla whispered. “What are you doing here?”
He chuckled in the darkness. “I turned myself in so Tyrranis would let all of you go.”
Kierla sucked in her breath. Her fingers tenderly touched a swelling on his check. “Tyrranis did this? That monster! He must have beaten you half the night.”
“About that.”
“Well, why did you turn yourself in?” one of his cousins said gruffly. “You should have known Tyrranis would never keep his word to a clansman.”
“I knew that.”
“They why are you here?” someone else asked. Valorian lay back down on his litter. “Just wait,” he said softly. “Wait for the red star to rise above the mountains.”
The people around him grumbled a little about cracked heads and settled down as best they could to sleep. No one took him seriously.
Valorian didn’t mind. He took his own advice and waited.
Kierla gave him Khulinar to hold while she tried to rest. He held the infant close to his side on the litter, letting his battered muscles rest. He had no sky to watch or anything other than his own ingrained ability to mark the passage of time, yet when the hours had passed into late night, he knew the time had come. The red star was rising.
He gave the baby back to his wife and very carefully sat up. Kierla wrapped the infant in her sling and, without question, helped Valorian to his feet. He swayed for a moment, then steadied himself on Kierla’s arm and took a step. His body felt heavy and unwieldy, and every muscle protested as he moved, but everything worked. With Kierla at his side, he painfully made his way over the dozing prisoners to the barred door. The cell was too dark to see what he was doing, so he formed a small globe of light.
The effect was galvanizing. Every person in the cell sprang to his feet, his mouth wide open. Without looking at his companions, Valorian studied the door a moment. He placed his fingers against the lock, formed his spell, and used the magic to turn the lock into a small pile of rust. He pushed the door open with one finger. Only then did he turn to the stunned people behind him and say, “Time to go.”
One by one, he used his spell to open all the cell doors wide until every clansperson and a few stray Chadarian prisoners were crowded into the passage. The people were startled by their sudden freedom, and they crowded close to Valorian as he led them quietly up the stairs. Near the top’, he motioned them to stop. Through the large, iron-bound door, he could hear sounds that made him smile. He had timed it perfectly. The garrison was in an uproar of running feet, shouting voices, and blaring horns. Aiden and his men must have begun their diversions on schedule.
Valorian made the clanspeople wait until the noise beyond the door had dropped to a more’ normal level. As soon as it was quiet beyond the door, Valorian gently turned the lock to rust and eased open the door a crack. The watchman on the other side stood looking down the corridor. He never saw the door opening or felt the spell that put him to sleep. As his body sagged to the floor, Valorian stepped into the passageway.
The hall at that moment was empty, and there was no sign of other guards. A few torches flickered along the stone corridor, sending shadows dancing along the walls.
Frightened, elated, and nervous, the clanspeople hurried along the passage toward the front entrance. Because of the alarms in the city, only the usual sentries were roaming the building and the grounds. Valorian used magic to put every guard he saw to sleep, giving them no chance to sound an alarm. He was grateful there weren’t many Tarns to deal with, for the beating he had taken the night before had left him with little strength to control the magic. Even the simple spells he had used on the locks and the guards had seriously weakened him.
As soon as he and his people were out the front door, Valorian pointed to the garrison stables. “Some of you get those horses. Hitch them to any wagon you can find. Hurry! The rest of you stay here. Lord Fearral will be coming any moment.”
The younger men obeyed with alacrity. The few Chadarian prisoners chose that moment to take to their heels. No one tried to stop them.
“Look!” someone shouted, pointing toward the center of the city.