The clansmen cheered wearily. Quickly they gathered their dead warriors and trotted toward the gate, but they had forgotten about the Tarns on the battlements. The sentinels, armed with the army’s powerful composite bows, ran to the arrow loops that looked down on the arched entrance and hurriedly loosed every missile they had.
The flight of arrows swarmed down on the rear guard as they passed underneath. Most of the bolts fell harmlessly behind the horses, and a few whizzed past Fearral’s men to stick in the dirt. Only one flew straight and true toward the last four clansmen to leave the city. Out of the darkness, the shaft came as if guided by an unseen hand. With deadly vengeance, it flew past Mordan’s head and struck deep into Lord Fearral’s neck.
13
Valorian and Mordan saw the chieftain lurch sideways on his horse. Sick with fear, the guardsman reined his mount over and caught Fearral just as he was about to fall. Valorian came up on the other side, taking the reins from the chieftain’s motionless hands.
Fearral was still alive for the moment, but all three men knew he wouldn’t survive for long. A steady stream of blood flowed from the wound where the arrow had nicked an artery. The arrow itself, still lodged in his neck, kept the blood from spurting out. Fearral couldn’t talk; instead, he jerked his hand to motion the men away. The two ignored him. Neither of them would abandon their lord while he was still alive.
They trotted the horses forward through the gate, both men supporting Fearral. In a final gesture, Valorian half turned just outside the city walls and launched a blast of magic at the top of the gateway. The stonework exploded under the powerful blow and came tumbling down into a massive heap of rubble and debris where the gate used to be. Silence and dust settled over the wreckage. Mordan stared at the wall in awe before Valorian hurried him away with the chieftain.
Fearral’s other guards and a few warriors had slowed to stay with them. The main body of the clanspeople had galloped on ahead. As planned, the people were to follow the Miril River east for a few leagues, then split up into smaller parties and scatter into the hills to confuse the Tarnish troops who would surely follow. If all went well, the entire Clan was to meet at Stonehelm to plan their next move.
The night was growing late by the time the last of the rear guard left the river and rode for the hills. Valorian glanced back once at the distant city. He could still see the faint glow of a fire outlining Actigorium’s horizon. It was unlikely, but he hoped with all his heart that General Tyrranis was roasting in those flames. A shudder shook his frame at the memory of that horrible, helpless night in Tyrranis’s room. He didn’t think he could ever go through anything like that again. He thought, too, of Aiden down there somewhere. Aiden and three other men had volunteered to infiltrate the city, set the fires, and slip out in the confusion. They had obviously been successful with the first two objectives, and Valorian could only pray that Aiden would succeed in the third.
Weary and aching, he turned back to the task of helping Lord Fearral. The old chieftain was failing fast. Blood covered his side, and his skin was deathly pale. He could no longer hang on to his horse.
Near daybreak, the warriors with Fearral found a thick copse of trees in the fold of a hill. They took their lord into the sheltering grove, gently lifted him from his horse, and laid him on his cloak. Valorian, Mordan, and the others gathered around him. They didn’t try to remove the arrow, since that useless gesture would have only caused more pain.
He lay motionless as his life’s blood slowly trickled into the cloak. His eyes flickered once when the sun pierced the dawn sky and lit the trees with gold and green. One of Fearral’s hands groped out for another human hand, and Valorian clasped it tightly.
“The Harbingers will come soon,” he said softly in Fearral’s ear. “Do not fear them. Go in honor, my lord.”
A fleeting smile touched the old man’s mouth, and he was gone.
Valorian tilted his head. Somewhere on the furthest edges of his senses, he fancied he heard the faint pounding of hooves from the Harbingers’ steeds as they came to escort Lord Fearral to the realm of the dead.
Wordlessly the Clan warriors wrapped the body of their chief in his cloak and tied him to his horse. There was now one more dead man to take home to the Clan. Without a conscious decision, they automatically fell in behind Valorian as he and Hunnul led the way back into the Bloodiron Hills.
At noon, the sad entourage approached the massive granite dome of Stonehelm. News of Fearral’s death had obviously been passed along by the sentinels, for the entire population came out to the meet the riders. All of the raiding party and the escaped hostages, except for Aiden and his men, had arrived ahead of them, and most of the Clan families had also come to Stonehelm. They all lined the road, their faces stricken at the loss of their chieftain and awed at the sight of the man with the incredible power who had helped two families escape from a fortified city and the entire Chadarian garrison.
Fearral’s two daughters ran down the trail, their faces white with fear. When they saw their father’s body, they broke into wails of grief that were taken up by everyone present.
Through the lamenting voices, past the town he had tried to build, to the hall that was his pride, the warriors escorted their dead chieftain. They laid him out on a trestle table in front of his carved chair with his cloak spread beneath him and his weapons at his side.
Customarily the Clan buried its chieftains in burial mounds, but this time Fearral’s eldest daughter stepped up to Valorian and suggested something different.
The men around her looked shaken.
“Burn him in the hall?” Valorian asked. “Why?”
The woman lifted her chin. She was a plain, forthright young woman who had chosen to care for her widowed father instead of marrying. Her intelligence was equal only to her pride. “The hall was my father’s choice, not the Clan’s,” she answered honestly. “Now that we must leave Chadar with you, I do not wish to abandon the hall for anyone else to claim.”
“Leave Chadar!” someone exploded. “Who said anything about leaving Chadar?” Karez pushed his way through the gathering of men and thrust his bulk at the woman, as if to shove her aside.
She glared at him, refusing to budge. “It is obvious, Karez,” she said impatiently. “Our time here is over. We must move on before the Tarns finish what they began with our grandfathers.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, woman,” he bellowed. The raised voices had drawn clanspeople into a large crowd in front of the hall. They were worried, upset, and fearful of the future, and now they had no chieftain to guide them. Karez decided this was an excellent time to make his move. He pushed in front of Valorian and raised his hands to placate the anxious people.
“There will be no leaving Chadar. The Tarns are angry now, but they’ll come to their senses and see that it would be wiser to let us remain as we are,” he said.
“Why?” Valorian asked calmly. He stood, his arms crossed, his bruised and battered face impassive. He was nearly shaking with fatigue, yet he could see now very clearly where his path lay. Aiden had been right. In order to take his people to a new land, he had to become the lord chieftain—which would certainly mean confronting Karez. He had known for a long time that Karez had ambitions to be chieftain, but the reality of such an occurrence hadn’t been important until now. If Karez declared himself chief, Valorian would have to challenge him to the traditional duel. Unfortunately Karez hadn’t gone to Actigorium. He had stayed behind with a small contingent of men to help protect the families. He was rested, healthy, and as strong as a bear.