Gryphon in Glory

7 Joisan

Elys stood on a small rise facing the forest land. She was frowning and the hands that hung by her sides twitched slightly. I thought that she was disturbed, that she felt some need for action, yet she was not sure what. Jervon had brought the packs and our saddles close to the mark of a recent Fire and was again off collecting wood. A small pile of branches lay at Elys’s feet also but she made no move to pick them up again. I paused beside her, turned also to face that line of trees that was so well protected against any invasion. Now that I regarded them more intently I could see that the leaves were darker green than those I had known in the Dales and they grew very thickly together.

“There are no birds.” Elys said abruptly.

For a moment I was at a loss. Then, thinking back, I could not remember having sighted, since we left the Dales, any wing- borne life. The Waste was indeed a barren land. Still—why Elys should now be seeking sight of birds puzzled me.

“In such a wood—yes, there should be birds,” she repeated; her frown grew heavier.

“But—I do not remember seeing any since we came out of the Dales.”

She gave an impatient shake of the head. “Perhaps over the desert—no—there would be few to wing there. But this is a wood, a place to harbor them well. There should be birds!” She spoke emphatically, her attitude one of foreboding. Then she glanced at me.

“You did not enter there after all.”

“Jervon was right—there was a barrier. As if a keep door was closed and no visitors welcomed.”

Her frown lightened a fraction. My answer might have supplied a part answer to her puzzle.

“There is a keep of sorts, I believe, in that wood. If that be so—then the land is closed, save when those who hold it wish otherwise, it will open to their desire only.”

I did not like the idea her words conjured in my mind. “But”—I spoke my thought aloud, trying to reassure myself, perhaps have Elys agree with some hope or comfort—“I cannot be sure that it was Kerovan who camped here, who was enticed within there . . .” Even as I spoke that denial I knew that any hope of it being so was folly.

“Enticed . . .” Elys repeated thoughtfully. “No. If he entered there he did so willingly. These are not of the ones who entice, they have no need to do so. They are—strong—”

“What do you know or guess?” I demanded eagerly. “Have you then found some trace—some clue . . .”

“I only feel,” she replied. “There is Power there, but I cannot say with any truth what it is. There is no sense of ill, but neither is there any of a force that is friendly, or beneficial. It is just—Power. “ She made a small gesture of bafflement with one of her hands. “But I wish that there were birds.”

“Why?” I still could not understand her preoccupation with them. Nor why the presence—or absence—of birds might be so important.

“Because”—again she sketched that gesture of helplessness—“they would be here if all was well, judged by our own world. Without them that wood must be very silent, a secret place—too secret . . .”

Jervon called and we turned toward the camp. But she had wrought upon my imagination. As I went I found myself straining to hear a bird call—one of those things I had taken so for granted in the world I had always known that I had not been aware of such until it was missing.

Back in the campsite I looked longingly at those other saddle bags, which had been left behind by the missing traveler. If I could only rummage through them, perhaps so discover for certain that they were Kerovan’s. Yet I could not bring myself to do that. I was sure, far too sure, that this was his camp—but a small hint of hope did remain battling within me and I feared to quench it and allow the dark suspicions that prowled among my thoughts entirely free.

As I sat beside the fire Jervon had kindled I still strained to listen, hoping for the comfort of the usual noises of the world. Even those made by the grazing horses, the thud of their hooves as they moved about was a reassurance. There was also the crackling of the fire . . .

Elys had been far too right. That wood was ominously silent. Not a leaf stirred, no branch swayed. The growth was rooted like a dark green trap, set to swallow up a reckless venturer at its own time and in its own way. Behind it, now cutting off the setting sun, bulked that dark line of heights. Perhaps they stood guard on the very end of the world. One could believe any weird fancy here.

I was too restless to sit still for long. Twice I sought the small rise where I had found Elys, ever watching the wood. Only the horses moved within the oddly marked square of pasture. When I looked back over my shoulder I saw that Jervon had taken out a whetstone, was using it on his sword balde, though he continually glanced up and around with a keen measuring look such as a scout would use in unknown and perhaps dangerous territory.

Elys remained by the fire. Her back was straight, her head up, but I could see even from my perch that her eyes were closed, and still she had the attitude of one listening intensely. It was said that the Wisewomen at times were able to detach a part of their inner sense, send it questing in search of what could not be seen, felt, or heard—by the body.

Where was Kerovan? Who had he gone to deal with inside that silent wood? Why had he been welcomed within and I refused entrance? Had he arranged a meeting with one who did sentry duty there?

I was so impatient for some news of him that I could have raged in my frustration. The sun was gone, the sky was beginning to dim—though bright colors still spanned the sky with broad bands of brilliant hue.

Twilight always came to the Waste as a time of brooding evil, or so I had found it in the past. The shadows of these trees lengthened across the open meadow, crept and crawled toward us. Even as there had been in that thick mist that enclosed the ruin where I had met with my present companions, so here now grew the feeling that something—or things—used those shadows for sinister purposes, and that a threat of peril hung here.

Yet the last thing I could have done—a thing I could not force myself to think of doing—was to get to horse and ride away. Slowly, with heavy feet and a feeling of growing chill within me, I left the rise to return to the fireside. As I went I shook my head against those irrational fears—but I was not able to so rid my mind’s sensing of that brooding, watching something . . .

Jervon had put aside his stone, sheathed his sword. The world was all the more quiet when the scraping of his whetstone ceased. He came to Elys, dropped on his knees behind her. His hands went out to rest, one on each of her shoulders.

I saw her quiver at his touch, as if he had drawn her back out of some trance. Her eyes opened, yet she did not turn her head toward him.

“There is trouble?” he asked softly. I was on my feet again, looking at once to the wood.

Her eyes, though they now opened, remained blank. She did not focus on anything before her. At last one of her hands arose to close about his where it lay on her right shoulder. Again she shivered.

“If I only knew more.” Her cry held passion, even a note of despair. “Yes, there is something—something wrong—wrong—or else so different from us that there is no understanding it!”

Startled, I wheeled to look at that wood, for I thought only of it. Was Kerovan returning, perhaps accompanied by whoever dwelt here? But surely Kerovan, for all that strangeness in him since he had summoned Power (in spite of himself when he fronted Rogear and the rest), was not so unhuman as to be what Elys apparently now sensed.

“Who comes from the wood?” I demanded of her, all my fears aroused.

“Not the wood.” There was still enough of the lingering after-sunset light to see clearly what she did. She pulled out of Jervon’s hold, set both hands palm down on the earth where there was a patch bare of grass, leaving only the naked soil. There she leaned forward, her weight upon her arms and hands, while there was very strong about her that air of listening, of a need for concentration.

So tense she was that I found myself also kneeling, watching her hands against the earth as if one could expect a sudden upheaval of the soil there.

“Under”—she spoke so softly that I barely caught her whisper—“under . . .” I was sure I saw her hands whiten across the knuckles as if she exerted her full strength to hold down a force under the ground that was struggling with a matching effort to win free.

Then she threw herself backward and away, scrambled to her knees, seizing upon Jervon’s arm to drag him with her.

“Up—and back!” That was no half-whisper, rather close to a shout of warning.

I also scrambled backwards, at the same time heard a maddened squealing from the horses. They were racing, their eyes wild, kicking out at each other, milling around within that square marked by the wands.

While the ground—! The ground itself was trembling, shaking and rolling under my feet, the earth shifting as if it were as light and fluid as water, Jervon had drawn steel, so had Elys. Swords ready, the two crowded back from the spot where they had been a moment earlier.

The flames of the fire flared as wildly as the horses moved, spitting sparks into the air while the brands upon which they fed shifted this way and that.

I saw the earth rise like a wave, hurtling outward, striving, it would seem, to sweep us from our feet. Jervon and Elys were on one side of that surge, I on the other. I could not keep my balance as the wave sent me wavering from side to side. Now there was a second peril. Between me and my companions the soil spun around and around like batter stirred by a giant spoon. As it so spun the circle of that whirlpool reached farther and farther out gulping down first the fire, then the unknown’s saddlebags, then one of the poles—that with the tuft of grey-white fur—breaking so the unseen barrier that had confined the horses.

It was then I turned and ran, but not quick or far enough. One of the horses had found the opening and raced straight at me. I threw myself to one side, toppled and fell. The earth curled about me in an instant, trapping my legs, flowing waist high, engulfing my flailing arms. I sank as into quicksand, soil filling the mouth I opened to scream, forcing itself into eyes I tried to blink shut. I had but a single half-conscious moment to draw a deep breath and try to hold it, as the ground took me down into darkness.

Choking, I fought again for air. I could not move and my fear was such that I cannot now remember much of what followed, mercifully perhaps. Then—I could once more breathe freely! My smarting eyes teared, striving to clear themselves of the earth clotted on my lashes. I could see nothing but deep dark—and a sharp fear lashed at me—was I blind!

No—it was not completely dark. There was a glow—very faint—against my breast. I tried to raise my arms to brush away the burden holding me flat on my back and discovered that, twist and struggle though I might, my wrists and ankles were secured in some fashion.

However, those welling tears had cleared my eyes enough so that, with the aid of the faint glow. I discovered I was no longer encased in the earth. Rather I lay in an open space—though plainly I was still a prisoner.

The glow—with a great effort I raised my head and saw that it spread from the globe of the gryphon, which nursed a small core of faded radiance.

“Elys! Jervon!” I spat out earth and called. My only answer was a dull echo. Once more I fought against whatever held me, and, by twisting my hands as hard as I could, I became aware that each wrist was ringed by bonds to keep me firmly captive.

Captive. Then that action of the earth, which had been in force to engulf our camp, was a trap! And any trap in the Waste meant—

I fought the fear that followed like a sword thrust of ice cold. The Waste harbored life we could not even begin to imagine—what had taken me?

For some moments I lost control, flopping about as best I might, striving in sheer terror to tear apart what held me. My wrists burned from the chafing of the loops about them, earth cascaded from me in powdery puffs, until I began to cough and strangle, and so was forced to lie quiet.

Then I became aware of a noisome odor. Such was not natural to any earth I knew. It was the stench of some beast’s unclean den, of old decay and death. I gagged and fought sickness rising sourly in my throat.

Beast . . . den . . . More fear awoke from such scattered thoughts to nip at me. But beasts do not bind their captives. This was the Waste—said that other, the fear itself—anything may happen here.

Gaining such control as I could summon, I once more called aloud the names of my companions. This time, through the echo, came another sound—something brushed against the side of a narrow way—a scraping. I gulped, and in spite of my efforts to master my growing terror (for in my mind formed the picture of a giant scaled thing crawling through the dark), I closed my eyes. But I could not close my ears—or my nose.

There was other life here now—rustling. The odor was such to make me gasp and choke as I had when the soil had closed on me. I felt a tugging at my wrists, my ankles. There were hands (or were they paws?) fumbling about my body. I was firmly grasped by a number of such—what, I dared not open my eyes and try to see.

They raised me. Then I was being carried through a passage so narrow that at times my body brushed walls on both sides, continually bringing a rain of dust and clods down upon me. While that terrible foul odor never ceased to assault my nose.

I think that at least once I lost consciousness entirely and perhaps that may have lasted for some time. Then I was dropped with force enough to awaken pain from many bruises—and left to myself. I became dully aware that now there were no longer bonds to hold me.

Slowly I opened my eyes. The foul smell was still strong. Only the rustling had ceased, nor did I sense any of my captors close by.

It was still dark, a thick dark, broken only by the gleam of the gryphon. I had lost my helm, my hair had fallen about my shoulders and was matted with earth, sour smelling and sticky. I moved my hands cautiously, half expecting to be rushed by those whose prisoner I was. My sword was also gone, as was my belt knife and dart gun. Apparently my captors recognized the threat those weapons offered and had good reasons to be wary. I still wore my mail and the rest of my clothing was intact.

Wincing at the pain of my many bruises, I levered myself up, moving with great wariness since I could not tell how large was the place in which I lay. I half feared I might strike my uncovered head against a roof.

As I sat so, my hands out on either side to support me, turning my head very slowly to peer fruitlessly into the dark, I gained the impression that, far from now being in a tunnel such as the one I had earlier been dragged through, I was in a hollow of some size, perhaps a cavern.

I continued to listen and so became aware of a sound, which my still-dulled senses finally identified as the drip of water. The moment I thought of water my dust-filled throat became a torment. I did not attempt to get farther up than on my hands and knees. In fact even that much effort made my head whirl like the churning earth that had brought me here. So I crawled a little at a time, seeking the source of the sound.

It was mainly by a stroke of fortune that I found it, since the glow of the gryphon was so faint and I could not even be sure I was heading in the right direction. One hand, edging forward for the next advance to my painful journey, plunged down in liquid so cold it brought a sharp gasp from me.

The gryphon, dangling forward, showed the dim outlines of a small basin or hollow, perhaps worn so by ages of such dripping. The drops themselves fell from somewhere overhead to splash into a catch pool, which I could have covered with my lost cloak.

I drank, splashed water on my dust-covered face, drank again, a cupped palmful at a time. The water was as cold as if drained from some unreasonable block of ice. But, as it flowed down my parched throat, it brought with it a return of my courage.

When I had drunk my fill, I felt strong enough to stand, balancing myself with feet slightly apart and hands outspread at my sides. Once on my feet, I stood listening with all my might, for I could not rid myself of the idea that whoever had dragged me here might well still have me under observation and any move on my part would provoke an attack.

There was nothing to be heard but the constant drip of the water. At last I took the globe in one hand and tried to use it as a torch. But the dim light showed me nothing. I felt wary of advancing blindly into the unknown. Yet to remain where I was solved nothing.

It was plain I needed some way to locate the spring again after I was through exploring. Now I considered my clothing as an answer to that. Beneath my mail shirt was a quilted leather jerkin, under that a linen chemise, all the protection I had against the rub of the link-mail. I fumbled with the lashing of my protective shirt, stopping every second or so to listen. Then I dropped the quilted jerkin on top of my body armor, skinning off, last of all, the linen.

Once more I donned leather and mail, then considered the linen. It was stout stuff, well and tightly woven, made to resist hard wear.

Had I been left my knife I might have had an easier piece of work, but I had to use the edge of my belt buckle, even tug at the fabric with my teeth, before I could start a tear. Then there was a battle to make a second slit, a third. Working at this so determinedly was settling for my nerves. At least I was doing something that was for my own help. Finally I had a ragged coil of frayed cloth, tied into a line.

One end of this I made fast with the tightest knot I could fashion to a sharp stone that helped to form part of the basin wall. The anchorage being in place, I walked forward, step, pause, step, until the cord pulled taut warningly. There was still nothing ahead of me, even though I took off my belt and swung it forward as a lash, hoping so to encounter a wall. Defeated in that direction I edged to the right, determined to make a complete circle about my anchor.

I had gone perhaps a quarter of that distance when a barrier did loom out of the dark, barely visible in the globe light. A wall—so close I could touch it with my hand. Running my fingers along its surface I moved on several steps. The cord grew so tight I was afraid of pulling it loose. I stooped to near floor level where my boots had kicked some small rocks. There I found one to which I made fast the other end of the line. Heaping several more of the rocks on top of that one I left it so, intending from here to keep to the wall as a guide.

The wall was all rock, not packed earth, rough enough to be the natural wall of a cavern. Yet it ran on and on without end, save that once it curved to form a side chamber.

At last I did come to a second section of wall that met the first at a right angle. This I also used as a guide. I had, however, taken only a few tentative steps along beside it when I halted. The rustling sound, the noisome smell—both were back! I was no longer alone.

Hastily I wrapped one end of my belt about my fist, leaving the buckle end dangling. This was the only weapon I could improvise, but I could flail out with it through the dark and defend myself so. I set my shoulders against the wall and stood waiting, hoping my ears could give me warning of an attack.

There came a grunting, which rose and fell—it might even have been speech of a kind. Only I could not center it at any one place in the dark. Suddenly I thought of the gryphon globe—the light from that could betray me. However, I had no time left now if my ears did not play me false.

I heard their rush, the pad of feet racing toward me. Tense, I let the globe swing free. Poor as its illumination was, it might serve if the creatures came close enough. Also, I had the belt whip.

I was hardly sure whether I could detect movements or not, but I swung the belt and felt it strike home. There was a satisfactory squeal—perhaps I had done more damage than I might have hoped for.

Skidding across the floor, to come to a stop just beyond the toes of my boots, was a dark hunch of a body. I swung the globed gryphon, needing to see the nature of my enemy. The thing gave a cry and flopped hastily away. I gained only a quick impression of something much smaller than myself, covered by thick hair or fur, not clothing, though it had four limbs, a body, and a blob of a head not too far from human kind.

The stench that arose from it was nauseating. I swung the belt once more, hard, hoping to catch it again before it could dodge. My blow failed, I only heard the buckle clang against rock.

There followed a determined attack and I lashed out again and again. Whether the things were used to being met by resistance I could not tell, but their grunting rose to a screeching as they dodged and flopped, so near the limit of my vision I was mostly only aware by touch when I caught any of them with my lash.

I had no idea how many of them there were, while I had ever the thought that if enough of them made a concentrated rush at me I could hope for no escape.

For some reason I could not understand they did not try that, making only scattered, darting attacks as if they were being held at bay by more than just my clumsy belt. Then an idea began to grow in my mind that it was the gryphon that must bother them. I could now try a great gamble, which might lose me what little advantage I had, or I could keep on beating the air about me until my arm was tired past raising (it was already beginning to ache and it took more of an effort to forestall those rushes).

If I only knew more about the nature of the Power the globe employed! I had seen it in action, yes, but both times it had been animated by one who had some knowledge of such energy—which I did not. Neevor’s promise—that to me it was a key—flitted through my mind. But it was not a key I needed now—rather a weapon.

With the belt hanging ready in one hand, I ducked my head to free the chain of the globe so I could swing it, though at a much more restricted length, like my improvised whip.

I whirled it up and around my head. To my vast astonishment, the result was the same as that of whirling a flaming torch to increase its fire. There followed a burst of light—the gryphon was lost to sight in the brilliant flare—the beams of which shot far farther than I would ever have dared hope.

For the first time I saw the enemy clearly. They stood hardly higher than my shoulder as they shuffled backward in haste. However, they retreated still facing me, hands or paws outstretched and sweeping through the air in my direction, as if their desire to cut me down was so great they must continue to wave those handlike extremities from which sprouted huge, sickle-shaped claws. Their bodies were completely covered by a bristly growth, which looked coarser than any fur or hair, more like fine roots, while there were pits in their rounded skulls though they did not appear to hold any eyes. Their faces became muzzles not unlike that of a foreshortened hound’s, showing great fangs of teeth—hinting ominously at what their diets might be.

In the light of the globe they squirmed, cowered, raised their clawed paws to cover their eye pits, while they shrieked and cried out as if I had handed them over to dire torment.

Then, cutting through all that clamor, there sounded a single long, high-pitched whistle. The noise hurt my ears—as sharp as a knife thrust into my head.

The things’ heads swung about on their bowed shoulders, turning almost as one in the direction from which the whistle had come. Then they moved, scuttling away at a speed that took them out of the range of light into their normal dark. I could hear the thud of their feet as they ran until there was nothing but silence once again.

So I had withstood one attack. Only I gained no sense of triumph from that, being sure that it was only a first one and that those under-earth dwellers would return. Which meant that I must find some way out before they mustered up will or desire to try me again.

I held the globe closer to the wall straining to see any opening, knowing better than to forsake it and head out into the open blackness of this place.

That whistle—and the things had answered it as hounds do their master’s call. It might well be that these creatures, who had tried to pull me down, had brought me here, were tools or servants of someone else, undoubtedly infinitely more dangerous. Why they had been called off when they need only have tired me out . . . Unless . . . I weighed the gryphon in my hand. If I only knew!

I leaned one shoulder against the wall, the globe cupped against me. My encounter by battle, brief as it had been, had left me with an aching arm and a body. I was surprised to find now, shaking as if I had lately crawled out of my bed after a long illness. I realized it had been a long time, or so a gnawing within me testified, since I had eaten. Water I had found—but food to strengthen me . . .? Where in this dark hole could I hope to discover that?

The wall seemed endless as I shuffled on, my pace very slow, for I also stopped every few steps to listen, always fearing that the dark-loving creatures might not come so boldly next time, rather would creep upon me stealthily. The globe gave off a warmth that battled the chill beginning to eat into me. I kept glancing down to reassure myself of the light—which had now faded to its first dim glow. The gryphon was once more visible, its sparks of eyes seemingly raised to meet mine. Suddenly I realized that I was whispering to it.

First just Kerovan’s name—which I said over and over in a sing-song as if it were a spell that could lift me through all care and danger. I tried to raise in my mind a picture of him as I had last seen him.

What followed was—no, I cannot ever find the words to describe what happened. It was as if some energy had hurled me back against the wall with a bruising force. I had—somehow I had—linked thought for an instant with my lord!

Frantically I stared down at the gryphon, fighting to hold onto that instant of communication—to know—to feel . . . I had not been alone. He . . . it had been as if he stood beside me. If I only could once more . . .!

“If I knew—if I only knew!” I cried desperately to the gryphon. The globe was a link, but chance only had made it, and now it was gone. That it was my own ignorance that stood in the way made my heart pound, brought tears of rage to my eyes.

Rage would not help. I did not need Elys to warn me against unshielded emotion. One commanded oneself before one learned to command Power. That was part of the long training she had spoken of—years spent in learning mastery, of how to nourish talent.

Will might control talent, but one had to center will, shut away all else, put all one’s energy into forming of one’s will a weapon as strong as steel. What could I do with my will? This was the hour in which I could bring it and me to a testing—a testing that could mean life or death.