Sayyed counted twenty-one men and women of various ages gathered on the cliff top, including the four in the forefront he assumed were the speakers they had not been able to see. All the people were remarkably fair-skinned, with light hair and blue, green, or gray eyes. Whoever they were, Turic blood had not been in their ancestry. In fact, if it were not for the location and their strange clothes, he would think they were clanspeople.
He decided to try something to break the barrier of tension and see what their reaction would be. His burnoose, outer robes, boots, and belt were gone. He had only his trousers and an undertunic left, so he pulled the tunic off and transformed it quickly and skillfully into a golden clan cloak. He flipped the cloak over his shoulders, stepped forward, and saluted the people as a whole.
“I am Sayyed, sorcerer and Hearthguard to Lord Athlone of Clan Khulinin. My son, Rafnir, and I have come to these mountains only to seek our kin.”
He was gratified when a woman stepped forward and returned his salute. A tall woman, she stood before her people, proud and fearless. The bright light of morning flamed on a coiled mass of red hair and gleamed on her wide forehead, arched imperious brows, and wide, firm mouth. “I welcome you, Sorcerer. More than you know. I am Helmar, Lady Chieftain of the Clannad,” she said in a clear, resolute voice.
She had a carriage of the head and a lancelike directness that reminded Sayyed of Gabria. And a woman chieftain? Gabria would appreciate that, too.
Sayyed bowed. “This was an interesting way to start I he day, but I seem to remember we came with horses. May we return to them?” Despite his sarcastic choice of words, he kept his voice neutral, with none of the annoyance and mounting curiosity he was feeling.
As if a spell had been broken, the stunned silence evaporated into a flight of activity and astonished voices. Helmar gave a series of quick orders, and several people dashed away while others gathered around the two clansmen.
“This way,” said a man Sayyed identified as one of the four. He was a giant of a warrior, muscular, burly, and softspoken. “I am Rapinor, swordsman and personal guard to the Lady Chieftain. Your horses are still in the back passage.” He hesitated, his craggy face curious. “Are your mounts Hunnuli?”
“You have heard of those too?” Sayyed remarked. The more he learned of these people the more mysterious they became. How much did they know about clan magic?
“Softly, Rapinor,” Helmar admonished. “There will be time for answers after we return the horses.”
A thousand questions burned on the faces of all the people around them, but none gainsaid the chieftain as she led the strangers up a path to the crest of the ridge. There she paused and stretched her hand out to the west. “Welcome to Sanctuary.”
Rafnir whistled softly, and Sayyed simply stared.
At their feet the ridge dropped away into a deep valley that lay like a green jewel in the cold heart of the mountains. Lush and verdant, it stretched for nearly five leagues east and west, nestled between three lofty peaks. Sunlight glittered on the waters of a small lake and a river on the valley’s floor and picked out the white plumes of several waterfalls that cascaded clown the western face.
“Look!” Rafnir said. His finger pointed toward the waterfalls, but it was not the water that gripped his attention. A huge ledge bisected the western face of the canyon wall midway up its height. On the ledge beneath a towering overhang was a cluster of buildings carved from the natural stone and sitting in eminence over the valley. Below, herds grazed in the meadows, and the tiny figures of more people could be seen moving about their tasks.
Helmar’s eyes crinkled in her weathered face as she watched the reaction of the two clansmen. Her expression was calm but wary, and she studied the two men as thoroughly as they studied the valley.
Beside her, an older woman touched Sayyed’s cloak. Small, bright-eyed, and quick as a bird, she was the only woman in the group wearing a long robe. The rest of the people, even the women, wore long, baggy pants, warm wool shirts, and leather vests or tunics. “Sorcerer, I am Minora, Priestess of the Clannad,” she told Sayyed.
“Ah, yes,” Sayyed said, flashing a smile. “The one who wanted to keep us for breeding stock.”
Although Sayyed did not know it, he had a very charming smile that took any sting out of his words. Minora laughed, a ringing, delightful burst of humor. “And I still do. We are very isolated here. Good breeders are hard to come by.”
He turned to look at the magnificent structure across the valley. “Did your people make that?”
The priestess lifted her chin to see his face. Short as Sayyed was, she barely reached his shoulder. “The ledge and the stone were there. We have simply worked it as we wished.”
“We could certainly use these people at Moy Tura,” Rafnir commented to his father.
A look too indescribable to understand passed over Minora’s face, and the other people hesitated, their expressions still and hard.
“What is Moy Tura?” Helmar quickly asked.
But Sayyed sensed a nuance of familiarity in her tone that belied her ignorance. “An old ruin in our land. We are trying to rebuild it.”
“Who—” she started to ask.
“My lady, you said no questions until the horses are released,” Rapinor reminded her bluntly.
She chuckled, low and throaty, and led the group on a winding course along the top of the ridge and clown a steep, tortuous trail to the tiny canyon where the stallions were trapped.
“When you entered the passage last night, we sealed the entrance,” Rapinor explained. “We had no idea what we had caught.”
Sayyed’s fingers went to his throat. If his neck looked anything like Rafnir’s, a blue and purplish bruise ringed his throat where the rope had hauled him off his Hunnuli. “Indeed,” he said dryly.
Helmar cleared her throat in sympathy, and her lips twisted in a wry smile. “You must forgive our style of welcome. We do not usually allow strangers into our valley. If it had not been for Rapinor and his insistence that you were using a sorcerer’s light, you would be dead already.”
Sayyed shot a look at the burly swordsman. Stout as an oak, the lady’s guard had not budged from her side since the two men landed on the ledge. Nor had his hand strayed far from the sword buckled at his waist. Another man, younger but more dour than Rapinor, stood on Helmar’s other side. His heavy brows framed his eyes in a frown, and his thick lips were pursed with displeasure.
“How is it that you know so much about magic,” Sayyed inquired, “what with your being so isolated in a realm that forbids its use?” And, his thoughts continued silently, why is it so important to you?
Lady Helmar cocked her head and gave him a wide, challenging stare from her green-gold eyes. “We hear things once in a while. We do not drop everyone over the ravine.” She flashed a brilliantly disarming smile.
A short hike later, they reached the valley floor and trekked to the narrow entrance leading to the crevice where the stallions were trapped. Helmar and her two guards worked their way in, followed by Sayyed and Rafnir. They heard the horses long before they saw them, for ringing neighs echoed along the rock walls, punctuated by heavy crashes reverberating on something that sounded like wood.
The clansmen saw why a few minutes later. The high, narrow passage had been completely blocked by massive stone blocks fitted together to form a thick wall. The crashing sounds came from a wooden wicket gate set in the wall.
“The Back Door,” Rapinor said. “Your horses obviously found it.” He strode forward and, standing wisely aside, drew the heavy bolts. The door flew open, and Afer and Tibor charged through ready for battle. Their eyes glowed green with angry fire, their tails were raised like battle standards, and their hooves clashed on the stone.
Seeing their riders, both stallions stopped and snorted. Where were you? trumpeted Afer. Who are these people?