Gryphon in Glory

18 Kerovan

Once I had paced a certain hall in a dream, then I did it waking—or was all a dream? What is illusion and what is truth when the Old Ones choose to weave patterns beyond the understanding of men? Was I more than one of strange blood? What part weighs in me the strongest?

This time I watched the sleeper wake; then came the first trial of strength between old, long-opposed Powers. Now we stood again in the world that the human half of me knew and welcomed. Struggle lay before us, though four was now five—a small army indeed. This would be such a battle as once before I had known when, to save my dear lady, I went up against the Dark.

There was a reason, going back to my birth—or before that even—which bound me to this course, and, through it, bound Joisan. Perhaps I was even first fashioned to play a part here—but that was not so for my lady.

Had I been able at that moment I would have caught her up, hurled her from us into safety. As I gazed at her that part of the inner self, which I had kept under such tight restraint and tried to banish, awakened as had the sleeper. I knew then, for all my fears, I could never set her apart. We were indeed bound together for good or ill.

Not because we had once been used by our elders to insure an alliance of the Dales. There was something far stronger to unite us. Her eyes met mine with level courage. The spirit that burned in her fought that cold within me, warming my best part back to life. I lost the icy touch forever.

My sword sheath hung empty. I had no bow, not even a knife. Also I believed that what we awaited could not be harmed by any weapon forged by men. Neevor carried only a staff of rough wood such as might be cut from any sapling, bits of bark still clinging to it. The sleeper—he held a sword, yes, but in some way I dimly understood it was not made for thrust or parry, cut and slash, in crude open warfare. The gryphon on the gate perch moved a fraction, its beak a little open so its serpent tongue lolled out, its wings slowly fanned the air.

I do not know why or how at that moment my hand sought my belt pouch—my left hand. Fingers fumbled with the clasp and then groped within. What I drew forth was that bit of blue metal I had found in the noisome nest of the Waste.

It was a broken piece of metal, about which my fingers now curled tight—surely of no use in any battle. But, weaponless as I was, I stood shoulder to shoulder with Joisan. I saw her fingers go to her breast, fall away empty, as she remembered the globe was now gone.

A tongue of thick dark such as we had seen in the aisle of the sleeper’s hall burst from out the ground just beyond the gate. The very earth might be vomiting forth evil it could not stomach. This was an offense against the light of day, the air, the place where we stood.

Once more the gryphon roared a challenge. This time, however, it did not fly forth to meet what came. I looked to Neevor, to Landisl. Neither showed any surprise, certainly no hint of dismay. Still I sensed in them a wariness, in spite of their outward appearance of ease.

Joisan’s hand sought mine. She closed her fingers slowly as if she half expected I would shake off her touch. The warmth of her flesh against mine was what I needed most—again she was giving fully, openly, all I lacked.

Echoes of the gryphon’s roar died slowly. Beyond the gate the black mass whirled, grew smaller, thicker, more solid. In an eye’s blink there was no dark—only a man. Or . . . could one name him man?

He was tall and, like Landisl, bare of body. To the waist he was well proportioned, fully human-seeming. His head was crested with a thick growth of curling dark hair and his face sternly handsome. Those features might have formed the countenance of some ancient hero-king.

Only—that half-heroic body with its noble head, was belied by what lay below. From the waist down he was clothed by a wiry pelt much coarser than any hair or fur, and his thick legs ended in—

I glanced quickly away. Hooves! Hyron had suggested that I seek kin. Was this one of my own blood—the other half of me?

The mixture of noble and worse than bestial which he presented raised in me such a feeling of loathing as made me want to kill him. Or else run to hide myself from the eyes of those among whom I stood because I carried that same stamp upon my own body. There awoke in me once more that cold loneliness with which I had lived for so long. I shared blood with . . . Perhaps this beast-man could even claim my kin allegiance.

“No!”

It was not I who cried that denial aloud, nor had it come from either Neevor or Landisl. Joisan! She did not eye that monster, coming ever nearer the gryphon-shrouded gate, her eyes were for me, demandingly, even as her hold on me tightened.

“No—you are no part of him!” I saw her lips shape the words, but I heard them in my mind. That thought-send was rich, filled with what was needed to soothe the bleakness about my heart.

“A new day; another meeting . . .” Galkur (if this was Galkur) broke through that short moment of oneness with my lady. His voice was also deep, rich, and was meant, I thought, to be beguiling. He spoke aloud, not using the mind-speech.

Neither Neevor nor Landisl replied. The half-man smiled. This was a smile which, if one did not look below the face, might have charmed even a prudent doubter.

Did I stir then, or had he already considered that there might be some cord between us which he could draw upon?

“You stand in strange company, my son.” He used the last two words with deliberation, emphasizing them.

His stamp was on my body, perhaps had always been my bane. I carried a taint of the Dark—was such truth coming to light at long last? My self-doubts returned in hard array.

Neevor raised his staff. The rod of wood made a barrier before me. I strove to shake free of Joisan’s hold. This was the truth! I was kin-bound to the Dark. Could they not see it? My mother’s ambition, the will of this Dark Lord, had made me tainted stock. If I remained with them I would bring down in defeat those about me. As an unwilling enemy in their midst, I would be a key by which he could enter their stronghold.

“Only if you believe—accept—the lie. The choice lies with you, Kerovan.”

Joisan! She would not release my hand, holding it and me prisoner as she cupped it against her breast, even as I had so many times seen her cup the gryphon.

“Keep your lady, if you so desire, my son.” Again that warm enticing smile. “Who wishes to part devoted lovers?”

Mockery in that. My other hand clenched. But, may all Powers forgive me, a part of me answered to him. What did I want with this girl out of the Dales, I, who could summon, could have, any female I wished?

Pictures trailed languishingly through my mind, clear, detailed. I was reduced to a slavering dog trailing a bitch in heat. This was foul, and I was invited to wallow in the filth. Joisan was no part of me.

I tore my hand free with strength enough to send her staggering backward. Inwardly I faced that seeping foulness, which spread until I longed to sear the flesh from my bones to rid myself of such stinking evil.

“Come.” He beckoned to me. The sorcery he put into that single word set my whole body trembling. Where else could such as I go? It was only fit that kin should go to kin . . .

I bit my lower lip, feeling no pain, though my own blood dribbled down my chin, clenched both fists. I was a part of this monster, so I must withdraw from those who were clean in body and mind.

“Kerovan!”

I shook my head—I must withdraw from her most of all. I was of the Dark—evil and foul. These others had tried to save me—or they had deceived and used me for some purpose of their own. They could keep me no longer.

Joisan had fallen to her knees, I stooped and tore from her belt the knife I had given her. Good clean steel, very sharp, ready for what I must do. I could not attack that thing waiting out there—calling me so. But I could do the next best thing—remove his key, make sure I could not be a traitor!

My hand moved with the practiced ease I had learned long ago as a boy sweating under the tutelage of a master fighting man. The sharp edge neared my throat. Fire blazed, burned at the wrist of my knife hand—thrust up into my eyes. My arm fell as if dragged back by a great weight. Fire burned in my other hand—the pain reaching deep into me. Only there it found nothing to feed upon—to slay . . .

I looked down dazedly at my hands. The blade lay on the pavement at my feet, but the fire still ran about my wrist, shown between the fingers that grasped that metal fragment from the nest.

“Kerovan!” Joisan once more flung herself at me, catching that weighted arm as if she feared I might again raise it. There followed swift on her cry a thought.

“Only those of the Light can hold or wear quan-iron, boy. Trust yourself first.”

Landisl? Yes! I was not, I could never be kin to Galkur. I thought his name with the same savagery that I would have shouted a battle slogan. I was drained, weak, but afire now with anger. My fate lay in my own two hands. I had just had material proof of that. Had any here the right to decide for me what my future would be? I had walked, ridden, slept and awakened again, for so long seeking the truth. Now I knew it.

Save that this was not the matter of my own awakening; it was a matter of the age-old confrontation of Light with Dark—in which I bore only a part, perhaps a small part. I stared at that beast-man. Though he still smiled, the deep warmth had vanished—in its place was a sly contempt.

Anger burned higher in me. I had no Power as these reckoned it. My anger was of human kind. Perhaps the Old Ones could play upon the inner core of a man, shaping him for their use. But there comes a time when even a slave may break for freedom. Though I wore the mark of the Dark One—he did not possess me. Nor was I of the Light. I was myself.

Will—will is the core of some kinds of Power. I had wrought with my will before. Slowly I fought that weakness in me, raised my left hand. Remember, I told myself fiercely, what Landisl reminded you of—the wristlet, the broken piece of metal. They were of the Light, as you always guessed. You are Kerovan. It does not matter whose seed, whose sorcery, brought your life, in whose womb you grew—you are you alone. What you make of life lies within you.

Silence held us. Joisan stood with her arms crossed on her breast watching me now, as if what she saw was not one she knew, but neither was he a monster. I was me. I was not to be pushed, used, possessed. I was free to make such choices as I deemed best, and from this moment I had no past, nor kin, only myself—and Joisan! Always Joisan!

We were allied, I had chosen to be allied—Neevor, Landisl, the gryphon, Joisan, and I.

“Galkur . . .” I found satisfaction in naming the enemy. Meager as any strength of mine might be, I needed that fraction of support that his naming might bring; thus I called his name aloud.

There was no smile on his face now. The shadow of nobility that had masked it vanished. These were the features of one of the Dark Ones swollen with awful pride.

“Son . . .” he returned. His voice was still honeyed, but he leered crookedly.

“No son of yours!” I returned, welcoming the heat of metal about my wrist, balanced by that piece near-piercing my other palm.

“You bear my seal.” He gestured to my hooves.

“A man may have yellow hair and still not be Sulcar.” I did not know from whence came that ease of speech.

“My son—come to me!”

He snapped that as an order. A stir toward him answered in me, faint now, was still in me. I clenched my left hand tighter about the fire I held. I was Kerovan!

His hand came up to draw symbols in the air. I watched them form like smears of greasy oil dribbled across cleanliness, fouling the sunlight.

Again the tug within me—stronger. I planted my hooves, stood straight. I was Kerovan.

“I am no running hound for you, Galkur.” I did not raise my voice, rather used it as if I spoke of unimportant things. “You needed a servant, you strove to fashion one. But you have neither son nor servant.

His face grew hard, cold, with very little of the human remaining in it.

“Hound you are, slave you are, mine you are.”

I heard then a harsh crow, not human laughter, but carrying with it the ghost of that.

“Galkur, when will you admit that your sorcery failed? Surely you must have known that from its very inception. You did not used to be a fool.”

The cold mask tore; underneath was seething hate.

“What matter is this of yours?” he spat at Landisl. “There are Laws—”

“Laws? Do you take refuge in such now? Did you believe you would weave with Power and I would not know it, even though I lay in the Long Rest, and you thought me safely caged so? You sought out the Lord of Ulmsdale even as his lady desired—you strove to fill him with your inner force—then . . . Tell me now, Galkur, what did happen. What really happened?”

The Dark One turned his head from side to side, his face was that of a demon out of a night’s worst dream.

“Look at his body! He bears my mark upon him for all men to see. You cannot deny that. I shall yet prove him mine!”

His eyes caught my gaze—held. They grew larger, were pits of fire, dark depths preparing to swallow me. All else vanished, narrowed to those waiting pits. I would be swallowed . . .

I was Kerovan! I was myself. That fire, the dark, the stench was not mine. Belief in myself was my shield. I was no Dark One’s spawn.

“Do you still claim him, Galkur?”

Beyond the fire pits the voice rang clear.

“Do I, or Neevor, lend him aid now to stand against you? He fights his own battle because he is what he himself has made—and that is not one of your line, Indeed his birth came not from your desires—nor from his mother’s wish—though that set upon his body your mark because she wanted a claim upon you. But in the very moment of his birth she knew she had failed! My doing, Galkur—mine!”

“You could not—” The fire pits shrank, flames no longer sought to lick me down. They were only eyes in a beastly face. “You could not—under the Law—”

“That Law you broke, Galkur, when you so meddled. And, in the breaking released me. He is Uric’s true son—in part—a fraction of his mother’s . . . but there is something more. In time he shall choose, if he will, another path. Do not seek to hide behind the Law now. Face us all!”

Energy poured out of me, fusing with other sources of Power—that from Landisl, from Neevor, whose staff once more rested point down—yes, and from Joisan. The gryphon voiced its roar. Joisan’s face grew pale and strained. I wanted to hold her close—but this was a time when all our strength must be turned elsewhere.

Forms congealed in the air behind Galkur, ready to feed into him energy in the same way we combined our own forces. There were horrors among them from which any sane man must avert his gaze, others which might have passed for Dalesmen and women. I half expected to see Temphera among them.

The drain of energy became stronger. Above my head a snake of flame lashed, would have sunk its fangs into my eyes. I was Kerovan—these were illusions of the enemy. He had failed to entice me—he would fail again. Neevor’s staff cracked, broke into two pieces. The jagged end of one flew into his face. It was met by a band of blue flame. I had flung out my wrist without thinking, instinct had willed that.

Joisan swung halfway around, fell to her knees, her arms flung up above her head to ward off invisible blows. I saw blood start out on her cheek.

Rage, as fiery as those eyes had been, filled me. I turned my wrist; a blue beam shot toward Galkur. One of his misshapen followers darted between, exploded, leaving behind only a stench.

At last the gryphon took wing, planed down from its arch perch to stand over Joisan’s body where she had sunk, face down, on the pavement. It covered her, its beak open in an enraged hiss. The broken ends of Neevor’s staff look on life, rising, darting through the gate at the Dark forces. They did not touch the Dark Lord, but they struck like well-aimed spears at the figures capering about him.

I moved forward, step by step, no longer trying to bring down Galkur himself, but aiming the ray at his band. Each one of those taken out of this struggle would drain him of strength.

The Dark Lord caught up one of his own monstrous servants, rolled the creature into a ball that he hurled at me. Then behind that attack, he himself leaped forward.

There was another beside me as I swept that balled thing out of existence. Landisl, his sword high, stood between me and the hoofed one.

Galkur skidded to a quick stop. His body began to swell. I saw some of his followers fade as he absorbed their substance. The bristly hair on his lower body fluffed, its ends giving off yellowish light.

Landisl’s silver body shone as bright as the sword he now held with both hands. Waves of force burst from its sky-pointing tip, rippled down the length of the blade to encircle his body. He became a pillar of light.

The Dark Lord changed, also. Black flame burst from him, swirled and thickened again into something giant high, which reached out a huge appendage to slap at the burning torch Landisl had become—slap and flinch, without landing a blow.

For a long moment it seemed that both were so equally matched neither could move. The point of the white light fell forward as if it were a swift sword. It touched the swelling Dark. A black stain from that spread up the light, dimming the glory of the white. I staggered as the pull upon my energy grew heavier. Through a mist of weakness I saw Neevor hunch far over, his face as gray as his clothing, his eyes closed. The gryphon and Joisan were now behind me; I felt their united energy pass me on its way to Landisl.

That stain spread no farther, the white held. Then there came a great upward flare of light, blinding me. Almost too late I flung my arm over my eyes. I fell to my knees, sprawled forward—there was no strength left in me.