Valorian Read Free

stare hungrily at the deer.
    "Let him cook it, Sarturian. Then we can kill him," the short Tarn urged.
    Their leader made an irritated sound and slammed his sword back in the scabbard. "Enough! The Twelfth Legion doesn't deal in treachery. You and your deer may join us, clansman. "
    For just a moment, Valorian lifted his gaze and came eye to eye with the Tarnish sarturian. He despised Tarns with a hatred born of thirty-five years of bitter experience. His common sense told him to look away and maintain his harmless, weak facade, but his pride overrode his sense for just a heartbeat. He let his silent hatred bore into the man's dark stare. When he saw the Tarn's eyes begin to narrow, he thought better of his intentions, swal owed his pride, and let his eyes slide away. His jaw clenched, he turned before he could damage his credibility as a harmless clansman any further and went to his horse to unpack his saddlebags.
    The sarturian stood for a minute as if deep in thought, a scowl on his face. Finally he gestured to his men. "If you want to eat tonight, help him."
    The four other men obeyed, spurred on by the hunger that gnawed in their bel ies. Two hauled the deer carcass to the edge of the clearing while the other two came to help Valorian as he undid the girth of his saddle.
    "Fine horse," remarked the short legionnaire. He reached for Hunnul's head and cursed as the stallion whipped his nose away from the strange grasp. The horse wore no bridle or halter, so the soldier could not get a good grip on the muzzle.
    Valorian was slow to reply. Hunnul was a fine horse, probably the finest in Chadar. Tall at the withers, long legged, and beautifully proportioned, the stallion was a magnificent animal—and Valorian's pride and joy. The horse had been careful y bred, hand raised, and trained to the clansman's utmost skill. Oddly enough, he was totally black, without a single white or brown hair. Such a horse would be valued highly by the soldiers of the Black Eagle Legion.
    Valorian shrugged nonchalantly at the soldier, thrust several bundles in the man's arms, and said,
    "He's not bad. Rather vicious, though." Before the soldier could react, the clansman slipped off the saddle and spoke a command.
    The big stal ion tossed his long mane. With a neigh, he turned on his heels and plunged into the darkness.
    The five soldiers looked after the horse in amazement.
    "Planning on walking home?" the sarturian asked.
    Valorian ignored the remark and picked up his gear. "He'll be nearby if I need him."
    The men exchanged glances of mingled surprise and doubt, but Valorian gave them no more time to speculate on the magnificent stal ion. He set them to work immediately, butchering the deer and gathering more firewood. From his saddlebags, he removed a small pack of dried tinder, his fire starter, and a small hatchet. With the skill gained from over thirty years of practice, Valorian swiftly cleared out a space on the ground for his fire, built a lean-to of woven vines and branches to protect the flames from the rain, and gathered the necessary materials for the blaze.
    The soldiers watched as he quickly piled his tinder—a handful of dried fluff, grasses, and tiny twigs—on the cleared ground. Using his knife, he feathered the ends of several larger twigs and added them to his pile, then he brought out his most precious traveling tool: a small, glowing coal, carefully nurtured inside a hol ow gourd. In a moment, the hunter had the fire blazing merrily in the dark, wet clearing.
    The Tarnish soldiers grinned in a sudden release of tension and frustration.
    "As good as magic," one man said, slapping Valorian on the shoulder.
    "Magic," the sarturian grunted. "You ought to know better than to waste your time with that nonsense! Magic is for self-deluded priests and fools." The clansman sat back on his heels. "What do you know about magic, Sarturian?" he asked out of interest. Unlike many of the Tarns, the clanspeople didn't believe in a power of