Gryphon's Eyrie

10 Kerovan

“No, my lord!” The Kioga youth shook his head violently, then his eyes traveled from me to Joisan. “We have no chance against such an enemy, Cera!”

I put a hand on his shoulder, feeling tremors I could not see. “Rest easy, Guret. Joisan and I travel alone in this attempt. I have another duty for you this night, and that is to ride southward to warn the people in the fisher-village of Anakue, and then your own people, of what may come their way in the event we are overrun.”

“M’lord, you are mad!” Guret’s voice broke slightly in his vehemence, but his gaze was level as it held mine. “You did not see Jerwin after he stood in the path of that… thing… and I did. My lord, there was naught remaining for us to even bury! Lumps of flesh…” He swallowed. “Shards of bone no bigger than the tooth of a yearling. You also did not see my blood-friend, Tremon, wither like a sapling uprooted, shrinking into himself with each dawn until we all waited for him to die with hope, rather than fear!”

“Guret…” Joisan reached forward from beside me to lay hand on the boy’s arm. “Kerovan and I—”

“No!” He faced us. “You don’t understand what I’m trying to tell you! It’s death to cross the Shaman, and doubly so to stand in the path of that thing! It is folly to throw your lives away in such a fashion!”

Joisan glanced up at me, and I caught her wry unspoken words. He may very well have the right of it, my husband…

Probably, I agreed with her mindsharing, but aloud I said, “Guret, this will not be the first time we twain have faced the might of an Adept from the Left-Hand Path.” I did not add that three years ago we had had allies like Neevor and Landisl, creatures whose command of Powers dwarfed that possessed by any of humankind.

The youth might have mindshared, so quickly did he seize on my unspoken thoughts. “But this time there is no crystal gryphon… no talisman or ally out of the past to aid you. You have said over and over to me that you are not one who commands Powers, m’lord. True, I have seen you do things here in Kar Garudwyn that I know I could not do—but are you equal to this? I think not. Two of humankind cannot face—”

“Three,” said Jervon from across the circular chamber, his tone as flat as one who comments on the weather. “I company with you, Kerovan.”

“No, Jervon,” my lady protested, “if Kerovan and I have little Power with which to defend ourselves, you have—”

“Even less,” he agreed tonelessly. His hand sought the pommel of his sword, resting there as if he grasped the I land of an old friend. “However, I can wield cold iron, which many of those of the Shadow cannot endure. And I am not one to be easily amazed or bemused, after these many years roving the Waste with my lady Witch. You are going to try and rescue Elys, as well as save this land. I ran do no less than stand with you.”

I pulled my mail shirt over my head to give myself a heartbeat’s duration to think, then my eyes sought and measured his expression from across the chamber as I settled the cold metallic weight around me. His gaze challenged and captured my own for a long moment, and I could see therein the pain that he had kept so well masked. Realizing how I would feel in like circumstances, if Joisan were the one trapped within the bowels of a Shadowed One, I nodded. “Very well. You share our path tonight, Jervon.”

“And that is another thing!” Guret broke in. “The path! You cannot even reach the other peak now that the sun has set. You must needs ride back down the valley and around the mountain to come in from the north—you will be too late! The thing travels its run before midnight, that I remember clearly!”

Drawing my sword, I checked its edge, making sure its sweep out of my scabbard was smooth, swift. When I was satisfied, I made short answer. “Not if we take the old trail running between the two peaks.” Picking up the saddles, I nodded to Joisan to carry the hackamores. I noticed that she also had donned her sword and mail. Briefly, I wished I could induce her to travel southward with Guret but knew better than to broach the subject. I knew the look in her eyes when her mind was made up.

“The trail between the peaks?” Guret sounded even more aghast, if that were possible. “In daylight that path looked treacherous—by night, you’ll kill yourselves and the horses, too!”

“The moon is waxing near full again,” Joisan said. “We’ll manage.”

“Nekia has good night-sight,” I added. “She will find the trail. We will be cautious.”

The Kioga youth threw his hands into the air, emitting a hiss of exasperation. “By the Mother of Mares! I can see there’s no turning you, m’lord. But in that event, I ride with you tonight—not southward.”

“No.” I said flatly. When he began to protest, Joisan moved toward him, drawing him aside.

Guret, you must do as Kerovan says. … I caught part of her thought, then her mind slipped away from me.

The Kioga youth shook his head, then whispered something to her. My lady’s lips thinned and she flushed, her ryes sparkling with anger. The lad smiled faintly as he confronted her. With a movement that whipped her chestnut braid like a horse’s tail before battle, she turned and addressed me, her words very fast and clipped.

“Kerovan, Guret has just pointed out to me that to reach Car Re Dogan in time, we must ride, all three of us. Vengi will not suffer a stranger, but he will carry double. And you alone must ride Nekia—she trusts you. I have never ridden the stallion, and neither has Jervon. I think we must perforce take Guret with us.”

Suspicion flared strongly as I eyed her—what had the boy threatened her with to sway her to his way of thinking? But there was no time for argument… I nodded brusquely. “So be it. Now we must go, and swiftly.”

The four of us descended the ramp from Kar Garudwyn hurriedly, with no more speech. I saw that indeed the moon was very bright, light enough to make out large runes by, thus bringing the chances of our journeying safely along that perilous trail up from naught to slim… but, as I had pointed out earlier, we had no choice.

Wary snufllings were the only greetings our mounts gave us as we called and whistled for them among the eerie blue-touched shadows. “Nekia,” I murmured as reassuringly as possible, “come here, girl, to me… come on.”

The slightest delay was maddening, but I curbed myself to stand patiently, speak coaxingly. If the horses took fright and stampeded, we were all lost.

“Come on.” I heard Guret’s voice. “That’s a lad, Vengi.”

Finally the stallion pawed, snorted, then footed a hesitant path over to the Kioga lad. The mares followed. As swiftly as we could, we saddled them, then, still on foot, turned back toward the ramp.

The animals blew in alarm at the strange entrance before them but, after more coaxing, were persuaded to set hoof to that sloping stone way. I led the group with Nekia, my own hooves clicking against the rock path. The trail was almost—almost—too tightly curving for the horses to take, but we managed. Within moments, my heart labored under the effort of guiding the mare up the incline swiftly enough so that the others would not run up on our heels, while insuring that Joisan and Guret would not be left behind.

After the first moments I began trailing my left hand along the ramp wall, for when I did so, the stone emitted a weak blue glow to partly offset the gloom of the passageway. Finally, with a last scramble and heave, we were out on the plateau, facing Kar Garudwyn. I struggled to catch my breath, spittle flooding my mouth in a bitter rush. We had barely begun our race.

Last up the rampway was Jervon, mumbling a breathless epithet before he spat over the cliffside. “What a scramble!”

“I didn’t realize getting the horses up would be so hard,” I agreed. We paused only a second, gasping, then, mounting, I led the group toward the back of the citadel, skirting to the left along a narrow path that wound along the mountaintop.

Looking down from the towers, it had been difficult to make out the exact beginning of the trail between the peaks. Now I was forced to bend low in the saddle as I searched, scanning the ground to my left where the plateau dropped away into a rush of black air and wind. Moonglow silvered the rocks below, softening their outlines, but did little to lessen my wariness. A fall from this height could be nothing but fatal.

I squinted, blinking, until my sight began to blur from sheer strain, trying to discern the trail I knew must branch to my left somewhere in this area. Light… if only I had light, I thought, and even as the word crossed my mind, one of those odd bits and pieces of ancient knowledge surfaced. Holding my wristband before me, I spoke aloud the word in the Old Tongue for light—“Ghithe!”

My wristband began to glow, sending out a wavering pattern of blue-gold, almost as though my flesh had sprouted flames. Nekia snorted, skittering sideways, and I heard Joisan’s gasp behind me. “Kerovan! My ring, the one that came from the Old Ones!”

Cautiously I twisted in the saddle to see that her finger was also lit by the cat’s-head ring. These artifacts, it seemed, still responded to the proper command.

When I turned back, my eyes fastened on a break in the rocky escarpment surrounding the plateau—peering at it closely, I realized the gap marked our path.

“Hold!” I cried, raising my wrist in signal. Climbing off the mare, I bent over, studied the now-revealed way before us by the moonglow and the light from the Old Ones’ gift. It was narrow—scarcely wider than our mounts at some points—plunging downward in a dizzy sweep before leveling out for a space, only to climb at a gentler angle toward the other peak. Nekia stretched out her neck, peering down at the trail, then shook her head, snorting, her eyes rolling white-ringed.

“I don’t like it much, either,” I told her, “but we must take it. Can you see it, Nekia? Well enough to give the others something to follow?” After a second the mare tossed her head, almost as if she understood my words and was agreeing to attempt the descent.

“Should we ride or lead them, Kerovan?” Joisan asked, and I did not miss the tremor in her voice.

“Ride,” I made answer, working to keep my own tones steady. “If we try to lead them, we could slip and pull them after us. Besides, their night vision is better than ours.” I paced downward a step, testing the footing. “The path is dust over rock—slick, but they can dig a footing, I hope. Try and ride as still in the saddle as possible, keeping your weight forward over the shoulders so they can balance. Don’t lean back. They need their hindquarters free.”

I glanced over at Jervon. “Vengi cannot carry double down this way.” I jerked my rope free from my saddle, tossing it to him, as did Joisan. “Knot these together, then anchor the line to one of these rocks, then around yourself in case of a slip. I will go first, then each of you, in turn. Ready?”

All three nodded. I mounted Nekia with a quick motion, turning her to face that downward trail which bore such a disturbing resemblance to a child’s sliding path. “Come on, Nekia,” I said, shaking my reins, squeezing her sides with my legs. She snorted, putting a tentative foot over the side of the plateau, then jerking it back in the next instant. “Come on,” I said again, gentling her with a hand on her shoulder.

She put out one forefoot again, the other following it, then her hindquarters humped beneath me as she was over the side. For several strides she managed a mincing walk, legs bunched together for balance, swaying like a dancer—then, as the slope steepened even further, she was sliding downward, nearly sitting on her tail, with me poised over her withers, trying not to move.

In a last rush of dust, we were down, and safe.

“Joisan next!” I shouted, looking up, moving off the trail to give her room. Arren was plainly balky, but finally, after my lady gave her an audible boot, she, too, came. Guret followed, then the three of us watched as Jervon inched his way downward, finally losing his balance and sliding down on his rear, fetching up beside us ghost pale from dust. Had the situation not been so desperate, he would have aroused our amusement.

“Are you hurt?” Joisan asked as he climbed stiffly to his feet, brushing at his breeches.

“No,” he said as Guret extended his arm and freed his stirrup that he might mount double behind him. “But in the unlikely event we return to your citadel, I shall take the long way “round.”

“May the Amber Lady grant we all may do so,” Joisan agreed dryly. “The crag-deer are welcome to this their range, with no envy from me.”

We moved along this comparatively level portion of the trail, the light from my wristband still helping to pick out the sharpest, most jagged rocks. The world appeared tenuous, insubstantial, as though the moonlight leaching its color had also stolen some of its reality. There was no sound save for the scurries of small night-dwellers and, overhead, the muted winging of an owl.

The trail sloped upward again, ascending in a long curving angle to the top of the peak where Joisan said Car He Dogan had once stood. Nekia’s muscles strained as she began the climb. I leaned forward to give her free rein, digging my fingers into her mane, wishing Kioga saddles were equipped with breast-collars. If the saddle slipped…

But it did not, and eventually we were able to halt on a ledge to breathe our mounts, staring upward at the last short section of trail. I could see what appeared to be ruins farther up, the same ruins we had noticed this morning. By moonlight their shifting was even more pronounced and disconcerting. “This is akin to the glamourie protecting our valley,” Joisan said thoughtfully as she sat beside me.

I glanced over at her, seeing in the wash of pallid light the heavy braid of her hair falling down her back, the shine of her eyes. Below the half sleeves of her mail, her Kioga blouse was dark with embroidery against the white linen. Swept by the sudden knowledge that this might well be the last time in life I looked so upon my lady, my awareness of her caught in my throat like something tangible.

love you, Joisan, I thought, making no effort to link my mind with hers. Even at this moment some vestiges of the old reserve still held, and I feared that if I gave way even by so little to my feelings, I would be unable to ride on that last small distance. I wanted to tell her—how I wanted to!—but the words stayed within me, mine alone.

“We may be forced to ride blind, my lord,” she continued quietly, not guessing, of course, the nature of my thoughts. “The horses, if they react the same as they did yesterday, will-remain unaffected.”

“Do you know—has your vision shown you—what now lies at the top of the peak?” I asked.

“No.”

“Guret,” I called, and the Kioga youth urged his sweating stallion over beside me. Vengi was the strongest of the three mounts, but it was fortunate that neither the boy nor Jervon was heavily built. The Dalesman had scrambled the steepest parts of the trail afoot, clinging to the horse’s tail for an anchor. “When we reach our destination, we will leave the horses with you. The sight of that… thing would surely panic them. I want you to guard them.”

I made my words as positive and inarguable as I could, and to my relief, Guret nodded. “Very well, m’lord.”

“Let us go,” I said, turning Nekia to that last stretch of trail.

We moved upward in single file, and with every stride the disorientation surrounding the ruins grew stronger—for, I was now sure, we rode into the remains of a once-mighty stronghold or Keep. Crumbled walls thrust raggedly upward, the moonlight doing little to illuminate them—instead, they seemed to absorb any and all light, so that they hulked as ebon shadows in the night.

And they changed. I would stare determinedly at what appeared to be an almost-recognizable wall, or courtyard, or balustrade, only to have it ripple, crawl, then melt before my eyes, sometimes changing into another form, sometimes disappearing entirely. My stomach lurched as we approached a tumbled high barrier to our path, only to have Nekia, ears forward, walk calmly up to and through its seemingly solid surface. I shut my eyes as we reached the top of the peak and continued on, for the distortion grew stronger, my vision blurring until at times I saw double—or even triple—images of the roiling landscape.

At last I opened my eyes upon a trail—one that stayed in place, making me believe it truly there—leading in from the right. Looking back along it, I saw that it wound a curving path to the east, back through this forest of pillars and ruins—both real and hallucinatory. That trail, I thought, came from the direction of the Waste and, beyond that, the land of my birth, High Hallack. Was this a trail of the Old Ones? Had the place called Car .Re Dogan been some kind of watch-keep set on the mountain border between the ancient land of Arvon and the newer one of humankind?

There were no answers for my questions as I turned to ride on, letting Nekia pick a cautious path along the ancient trail, keeping my eyes narrowed to barest slits. “Is all well?” I called.

Murmurs of assent greeted my hail. We left the summit, began a downward path, only to find walls of rock rising up on either side, higher and higher, until we rode in a near tunnel, except where the moonlight washed down from the open roof. Without knowing how I knew, I became aware that we were nearing our goal.

Ahead of me the path curved, which turning I followed, only to emerge into a great space, mostly open, but containing some of the ruins near the mouth of the half tunnel. Again they swirled and dissolved, only to reappear in other, almost-identifiable shapes. Ahead stood a great walled area, not roofed, oval in shape. The road led up to an archway, then disappeared therein. Colorless mist coiled, snaking along the ground, though the night had been clear.

Halting Nekia with a tightening of my knees, I swung her to face the others. “Ahead lies our battleground. Guret, the horses stay here.”

I dismounted a trifle stiffly, feeling the ground sway beneath my hooves for a second. Joisan swung off Arren, and I moved quickly to steady her. In the glow of the moon and the faint phosphorescence of the fog, her face looked spectral, hollowed, her eyes bright sparks. “It is approaching, Kerovan. I can feel Sylvya.”

“Then we have no time to lose,” I said. “Is that place ahead its lair, do you think?”

“No,” she answered, her brows drawing together as though she struggled with an elusive memory. “Sylvya knew this place. It was not of the Shadow… it has been here for longer than any can tell…”

Leaving Guret at the mouth of the passageway, Jervon, Joisan, and I walked cautiously up to the archway to look within. The road ran straight down the middle of the oval enclosure, but on either side of it there were niches in the walls. These were spaced at regular intervals, and each was walled three-quarters of the way up—as though each of those niches had once enclosed an inhabitant, placed standing up so that he or she might look out upon whomever passed. On the front of each niche was a rune, the ones at the far end barely more than a tracing, so ancient were those symbols.

As I stood poised to look within, I realized with sudden shock that, empty as those hollowed-out spaces appeared—and there were some twoscore of them—they were not untenanted. I gasped, swayed, feeling the attention of those within that enclosure turn to me!

“Kerovan!” Joisan whispered, her nails digging into my arm above my wristband. “They are still alive in there! They want to know who I am, and why I have come here!”

I wet my lips. “Not alive, no.” I chose my words, for “memories” were stirring within me, odd sortings of that inconvenient and inconstant knowledge that erratically flickered and guttered within me, obedient in no way to my own will. “They are the Guardians, ensorcelled into a kind of life, mostly a repository of memories and wisdoms of their kind—which is not the humankind we know. It is their duty to question and challenge all comers, but I think we have little to fear.”

We looked out upon that silent expanse of openings, so awed we nearly forgot the dire reason for our coming. I was conscious still of that measuring appraisal and wondered whether these Guardians existed only to examine, or if they still had the Power to determine who was allowed to walk their road. If That Which Runs the Ridges came here each night, perhaps all they could do was watch, for, alien as they were, I sensed from them no taint of the Shadow.

I noticed that at this end, close to the archway where we crouched, there was one niche not walled—it stood open, unmarked. Had the last of the Guardians been lost? I wondered.

“Do we dare go within?” Jervon whispered. “We should search out the best place to make our stand—”

He stopped abruptly as I shushed him, then, hearing it, too, he tensed. I swung around, sword out, as a low throbbing resonated through the air. “Joisan? Is it—”

“No,” she said. “Don’t you hear? It is a drum!”

The sound rippled and rose, making a kind of strange, sick music. “Nidu! She’s here!” I looked to the others. We must find her—she’s drumming to guide it here, so it will be released!”

“Yes,” Joisan agreed.

I scanned the ruins behind us, seeing that the mist was thickening, gleaming in the moonlight as it curdled and sank, seeping along the rocky ground like blood from a death-wound. That throbbing thickened in my veins, and I realized to my horror that the mist was responding to the Shaman’s drum. “The mist! She’s out there, somewhere, in the mist! We have to find her!”

Sword out, I dodged into the ruins but was baffled by their rippling, now made even more unnerving by the strange vapor. Several times I thought I saw the crouching figure of a sable-clad woman, only to have the shape dissolve into a rock or chunk of broken pavement at the last second. Once I narrowly missed shattering my sword.

Finally, realizing that my eyes would avail me naught in such a search, I began prowling through the ruins with my wristband held out, reasoning that its runes would warn me of the Shaman’s presence. And still that thrum-thrum-thrumming rose and fell through the shadowed expanses, threatening to turn my mind from its purpose, ensnare it in the quavering rhythms of the Shaman’s song.

“Kerovan!” Joisan’s voice reached me faintly, for the encroaching mist seemed to swallow certain sounds as it amplified others. Had it not been for the glow from her cat’s-head ring, I might not have found her as she crouched beside the archway into the place of the Guardians, Jervon beside her.

“Did you find her?” I asked, glancing from one to the other.

“There is no more time to search, Kerovan.”

Even as she spoke, I heard the droning sound, felt the thudding vibration of That Which Runs the Ridges as it approached from downmountain.

To see it in a vision was one thing, I speedily discovered, to confront it in the flesh very much another. It swirled up the road into the oval court of the Guardians as a sickly yellow-toned cloud clotted with streaks of scarlet. Its whining drone was enough to drive one keening away in madness—I found myself unable to force my eyes to watch it for more than a second or two before I must needs look down or away—

And the stench! Foulness like all the Shadow poured into a distilling flask and bubbled over an alchemist’s flame, the noxious smell of the thing swept out to engulf me. I gagged, holding one hand over my mouth and nose, pinching viciously at my nostrils so the pain would help me keep control. Beside me Jervon retched uncontrollably.

Worst of all was the wrenching alienness of it. There was an overwhelming sense of a force totally outside nature, completely skewed, perverted from Things As They Must Be. I thought wildly that I must run, run away from such horror. I climbed to my feet, clinging to a boulder for support, then half turned back toward the horses—

It was then that I saw Nidu. The Shaman crouched on the other side of the oval, close to one of the niches, cowering, though her fingers continued to beat out the wild summoning rhythm. Then the tempo changed, from the thrumming to a sharper, more staccato tattoo. As if in answer, the thing within the Guardians’ space began to spin, widdershins, pulsing larger with each revolution.

My sword was again in my hand, though I had no memory of drawing it. I concentrated on my anger, trying so to drown the fear that was still urging me back toward Nekia. I will not run, I thought. I took oath that I was done with running, and I will not let myself be forsworn…

Gazing at Nidu, I remembered her harassment of Guret, her mockery of me, her cruelty to Elys—but the memory that gave me the strength to take that first step toward the Shaman was that of her sneering voice calling Joisan “whey-blooded.”

I had moved three steps toward the Shaman, toward That Which Runs the Ridges, when Jervon and Joisan both moved to front me. “No!” Jervon shouted over the sound of the drumming—no longer a tapping, it had become a thunderous booming rivaling that of the worst storms I had faced. “You cannot!”

I brought my sword up, motioning him to step out of my path. “I have no taste for killing in cold blood, either, Jervon, but it must be done before she looses that thing!”

Joisan shook her head. “No, Kerovan. We must let her finish!”

“Why?” I stared at both of them, wondering if the sight of the thing had unhinged their wits.

“Because otherwise we will never see Elys again!” Jervon shouted. The drumming resounded through our bodies now, shaking the rock beneath our feet. Rum-dum-dah-dum… It seemed to fill the world.

I lowered my sword, realizing he was right, then crouched with them behind the archway. In spite of my resolve, it was torture to watch the whirling of that thing, knowing that whatever form it took when released from the spell completely would be even deadlier.

With a final turn, it exploded outward until it nearly filled the open area—then, in complete silence, the yellow miasma vanished, and the Shadowed hunt stood in its place.

There were perhaps a score of beings in the center of the Guardians’ oval. Many were beautiful. All of them, I knew instinctively, were deadly. As they milled, confused, I scanned them from the concealment of the archway, seeking Elys.

Four mounted forms looked to be as nearly of humankind as I, though their skins shone golden beneath their helms. Their armor glimmered blue in the moonlight, seeming to shed a faint phosphorescence. These were the huntsmen, armed with long-lashed whips that trailed sparks. Their white hounds bore some resemblance to those from which the warriors of Alizon take their name, but these creatures were much the larger, moving with a sinuous, reptilian grace, red-fanged jaws lolling open, while their eyes seemed to drink in all light, reflecting back nothing but pitted darkness.

Several insubstantial, wavering forms appeared to be those of humankind, men and women alike, their eyes holding both pain and a terrible purpose. One of these in the forefront, a youth, wore the distinctive embroidered linen of the Kioga. Looking upon him, I remembered Obred’s words about young Jerwin: “… I am haunted by the thought that he met a death that is not yet finished… an unclean death…” So the Kioga leader had the right of it—all those who had been killed by That Which Huns the Ridges during the centuries had gone to be part of it. Sickened, I tore my gaze from those pitiful wraiths—

It was then that I saw their leader. Maleron sat atop a tall white steed, like unto the ones the huntsmen bestrode. The animal (for it resembled a horse in the same way the “hounds” resembled dogs) arched a scaled, sinuous neck, pawing at the ground with a clawed forefoot. Its master Hazed around him almost casually, but even from the many spans separating us I could feel the Power emanating from him. A scarlet cloak billowed off his shoulders, his features were regular, even handsome—a typical man of the Old Ones. We could have been brothers.

With a final drumroll, the Shaman stepped from her spot of concealment. “Adept! I am she who released you from your long confinement!”

Jervon moved suddenly beside me, his breath hot against my cheek as he whispered, “Kerovan! Can you see aught of Elys?”

“No,” I made answer.

“I do not see Sylvya, either,” Joisan said worriedly. “I can feel her, though—she is somewhere among those who front us. Elys must be using illusion to conceal them.”

For long moments Maleron sat unmoving, then his unhelmed dark head turned to regard Nidu as if she were the lowliest of servants. Finally he inclined his head in the briefest of nods. “My thanks, Shaman.”

“You can best tender your gratitude”—the black-robed woman straightened, her fingers resting on her drum as though she drew strength from it—“by ridding me of my enemies. They are your enemies, also, Adept.”

Maleron lifted his brows skeptically. “I have been free tor less than a hundred heartbeats,” he said. “I find it difficult to believe I could have made enemies in this time and place with so little effort.”

The Shaman’s voice shook. “They are cowards, hiding behind the Light! They have gathered to destroy you here and now, before you can even taste of your new-won freedom! Kill them!” She waved a sticklike arm in our direction, as though she could see us in spite of the concealment of the archway.

Maleron shook his head, frowning. “Judge me not so summarily, Shaman. You may tread the Left-Hand Path, but I do not. I am but a seeker after knowledge and Power.”

Nidu began to laugh wildly. “If you truly believe that, then you are a greater fool than you are a sorcerer! Within your menie are all those who were killed by even the most passing of brushes with you and your hunt—fell death results from your most casual touch. Is that the mark of the Light?”

The Adept’s features hardened as he raised a hand toward her. But before he could move or speak, something rippled before my vision and there came a shrill scream!

“Elys!” Jervon lunged forward. I had only a second to see the two women huddled together and, confronting them, two shadows of such dire black that they seemed naught but holes ripped in the fabric of the night. Reddish sparks awakened and died within those twisted Shadow-creatures, and even looking at them made my stomach knot painfully.

The Dalesman was out and running toward the two women, who, unseen by all before this moment, must have been crawling toward us until the Shadow-creatures had sniffed them out. I heard Maleron’s shout over all—“Sylvya!” Hate trembled through the air in palpable waves. In response to his signal, the huntsmen urged their mounts toward the Dales warrior.

My sword was in my hand and I, too, was running. I reached Sylvya and Elys, who was standing with steel drawn, only a few strides behind Jervon, Joisan at my side.

We had only time to back each other, forming a rough circle of drawn steel, before the four riders were upon us.

Their only weapons were those hunting lashes, but those, I speedily discovered, sparked and flamed as they were wielded. I took a glancing sear across my thigh before I was able to parry. As my steel crossed his weapon, sliding down until we were wrist to wrist, I saw his teeth flash as if the touch of iron pained him. Remembering the evil well on the plain, I raised my wristband. His white mount screamed and reared as the runes on the talisman flamed. The rider reined it back toward me, still in such deadly silence that I wondered if his race were mutes.

Once more the lash curled fire toward me, but this time I was able to duck beneath it and, daring greatly, stepped forward, under his guard. It was a chance, breaking the circle, but if I could—

There! The point of the sword slipped inward, grazed his breast.

A thin shriek broke from him as violet flame licked outward from even so small a point of contact. As I stepped backward, closing the circle, he wavered, then fell, wreathed now in lines of light, to lie jerking. As I watched, his flesh—if flesh it was—began to shrivel, as though it were being consumed from within. I turned away just in time to see Joisan use the glow from her cat’s-head ring to bewilder and panic the mount on my left.

Within another second, her sword had found the rider’s throat. I shouted a wordless encouragement as I gave her a warrior’s salute. We both turned toward the next golden-skinned foe, only to find Jervon’s steel transfixing his middle. With a heave, the Dalesman stepped back, pulling his weapon free. The remaining huntsman backed away, then as the four of us, swords ready, advanced on him, he turned and ran.

Before his mount could gain the archway, though, the Adept shouted a harsh phrase and, with a shriek, the creature tumbled flaming from the saddle of his white steed. I stared at the writhing, burning thing on the ground, feeling my throat tighten with horror. This was truly Power. If Maleron could slay with a word, how could we ever hope to prevail against him?

I backed a half step to close the circle again, seeing Jervon do the same. My shoulder brushed Joisan’s on my right, Elys’s on my left. And beside the Witch stood the creature my lady had named as Sylvya… Maleron’s half sister. My quick glimpse of her had shown me that she was not completely of humankind—a glimmering white down crested on her head, extending along her arms, which were bared by the short tunic she wore. In the moon-misted darkness, I had only a vague impression of a pointed-chinned face with overlarge eyes—beautiful in its way. Certainly a far cry from Nidu’s description to the Kioga of the hunt’s quarry as a rapacious, foul harpy.

I turned my head back toward the Adept at Nidu’s shriek. “See, Powerful One! They are your enemies and will strive to kill you! Loose your hounds!”

The sorcerer looked over at us, his eyes glinting cat green in the eerie glow of the mist. “I know you not, you four, but if you ally with her—this traitoress—then you are indeed my foes. Step aside from her, and you may depart freely.”

I found my voice, worked to keep it steady in spite of my fear. “Leaving you free to ravage and destroy as you will?” I shook my head. “Nay, Maleron.”

He started as he heard me speak his name aloud, and I knew a brief satisfaction that I had been able to threaten him by even so little. Names can have great Power in spelling—if only I had the knowledge of how to use such a potent weapon! But my mind remained untouched—no such intuition surfaced.

“Loose the hounds!” Nidu shrilled again. “I will guide them, Maleron!”

He nodded at us grimly. “So be it,” Gesturing, he reined his white mount away from the creatures milling at its feet. Their narrow-snouted heads pointed up at him, then began to swing back and forth as though they possessed no sight in those pitted caverns serving them as eyes. The Shaman’s drum began to throb again and I felt a warmth suffusing my body as it responded to those beats. A light that was also heat began to pulse forth from each of my heartbeats. I heard Joisan cry out, turned my head to see waves of heat and light lapping out from her, also.

“They hunt by blood-warmth!” Elys cried urgently. “We must stop the drumming! Lend me your will, sisters!”

I struggled to step forward, bring my sword up, and felt sweat burst from me as though I stood mailed in the summer’s sun. But I could not stir.

Throb… throb… throb… throb… throb…

Scarlet waves burst across my vision as I strained to keep my eyes focused on the hounds. I could no longer discern the difference between my own heart and the beats of the drum. Behind me, I could hear Elys chanting, but the sound was as far away as fallen Ulmskeep. Pacing slowly, their jaws hanging open enough to show narrow, dripping tongues, the hounds advanced on us. They were only a few lengths away from me—

Throb… throb… THROB… THROB…

Gasping for air through the wash of heat, I strained to raise sword, move my feet—

THROB! THROB!!! THROB—

With blurring swiftness something gleaming flew through the air toward the Shaman, knocking the drum from her hands. I could see again! I could move! The drum quivered, impaled on Guret’s short spear. From the archway I saw the Kioga youth straighten from a throwing stance. I shouted a quick word of thanks, then flexed my knees as I (hopped into a swordsman’s guard-position. At least the youth had given us the chance to go down fighting—

Behind me, Elys’s chant rang out loudly, and, mind-sharing, I sensed that Joisan, at least, was doing as the Witch had demanded and was aiding her in whatever spell or protection she strove to raise. The hounds, barely a sword’s length before me, hesitated, their slender heads weaving as if they were puzzled. Then, slowly, those heads swung toward Nidu as she crouched at the foot of one of the niches.

The woman gave a gasping cry of horror as gradually the outline of her body began to shimmer. It was as though the entire light of the moon were suddenly concentrated upon her, and I could feel warmth streaming from the Shaman even from where I stood. Elys’s voice rose higher, higher, became more commanding—

The pack leader turned, those pitted eyes naught but wells of shadow. Nidu screamed thinly, scrabbling for her ruined drum, but the heat radiated from her as though she were filled with a score of suns—

The hounds leaped, but their target was the Shaman. The black-clad woman went down under their writhing, sinuous forms with a shriek that was hideously stillborn.

I found I could not watch and turned my eyes back to the Adept. Maleron turned away from Nidu’s body with a half shrug. “That one should not have meddled with what she could not understand,” he said. “Perhaps her fate has lessoned you, half-man?”

I felt heat flood my cheeks at the casual gibe but forced myself to face him squarely. “You are so inured to death that naught can reach you, Maleron. Can you not see that your time is past? We stand ready to stop you before you can Shadow this land as you have Shadowed this lonely mountain for these many ages.”

“Stop me?” He chuckled, and the sound was enough to make the hounds, still tearing at the ravaged thing that had been the Shaman, stiffen and whine. “There are none left who can stop me, half-man… beast-man…” He swung off his white mount with a quick, sure motion, facing me nearly eye to eye across the moonlit oval of the ancient Guardians. “Any who might have been my peers have vanished. They are less than memory… less than dust.”

I hesitated for a long second, watching him summon his power as a soldier will gather his weapons. A faint, dark light began to flicker around him, and suddenly he seemed even taller, his eyes radiating palest ash-silver. I took a breath, lifting my wristband, ready to stand against him with all the Power that was in me—

All the Power that was in me…

It flooded into me, filling me, and yet this time I remained myself, not some other. I knew that the knowledge had bided its time, and that this time I was to be no unthinking, unknowing instrument of an ancient wisdom—but truly myself, more myself than ever before. Landisl had so waited until I had accepted my heritage, found my home, was ready.

“Not so,” I said, and my voice rang forth as though I had sounded the charge for a full company, filling this ensorcelled burial ground. I heard Joisan gasp, but I could not look away from the Adept now. My eyes bore into his as I strengthened my Will, and after a second he had to brace himself to meet my gaze. “It is time for you to realize just what you have done, Maleron, and in that knowing will lie your fate.”

His eyes narrowed and the darkness around him blazed like a wind-fed fire. “Who are you?” He faced me squarely. “I know you not, yet—”

“You know me,” I corrected him. “We were neighbors long ago, Margrave of the Heights. Your sister was far kin to me, though you were not, since your father’s first lady was of humankind. Do you remember my Name?”

He backed half a step, shaken. “Landisl? But you are not—”

“I am,” I said. “I am of the heritage of the Gryphon, if not the blood. Kar Garudwyn is my home, just as Car Re Dogan was yours. But you, with your meddling and dabbling along that Shadowed Path, have dishonored what your ancestors built. Look around you!” My shout rang like the clang of a sword upon shield. “Your home is dust and illusion, fallen into ruin because of you and your evil. Look, and look well!”

Slowly his head turned until he could see through the archway behind him to the ruins holding those shifting hallucinations that had once been walls, and courts, and rooms for living. “No,” he whispered. “No…”

“Sylvya was right, Maleron. You trifled with that which should not even be thought of, and as a consequence, your entire Keep, your line, and all that you call yours fell after you departed. There is naught here for you, except to resume the evil you have wreaked for these ages—slaying and stealing spirits. Is that what you want?”

He did not answer, only stood staring wide-eyed. I could see shudders wracking his body. Pity stirred within me for a brief second, but I quenched it sternly. Ten heartbeats’ worth of remorse could never make up for ten centuries of destruction…

The Adept turned back to me, his eyes dull and hopeless. “I see,” he said softly. “What must I do? How can I mend… ?”

“You cannot,” I said inexorably, again quashing those brief stirrings of sympathy. Landisl’s wisdom was mine for the moment, greater and fuller than my own, and the truth was inescapable. “If the Light has surfaced within you at last, it cannot be for long. The Shadow has held you in thrall for time out of mind, and you must act quickly, while you can think with your wits undarkened.”

“I must undo—”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “It is too late for that, Margrave. It is a hard thing to know, but it is the truth. The most good you can do now for the world is to ensure that you will never again have the opportunity to work evil.”

I pointed to that empty niche waiting by the archway, and violet light flared up from my hand to outline it. The coursing of the ancient Power through me was beginning to make me tremble, but grimly I held that channel to the other open, focusing all my Will upon Maleron.

“Your rest, Adept. For all these ages you have wished for rest from that mad chase. There it lies.”

He turned back to me for a long second, then his shoulders came forward in defeat and he nodded. His eyes, no longer greenish-silver, but leaden, went past me to Sylvya, who had moved up beside me. “Your forgiveness, sister,” he said, reaching a hand toward her in supplication.

“It is yours, my brother,” she said, and I heard her voice for the first time. It was a high, musical trilling, as though she sang rather than spoke.

Maleron turned back to the niche, still blazing with that coruscating light, his shoulders straightening again. Head high, he walked deliberately to that opening, stepped within, then turned to face us. Crossing his hands on his In-east, he closed his eyes. The Power flickered through my open fingers again, almost without my willing it, and as I slowly raised my hand, a wall of the blue stone Landisl named quan-iron grew to cover the niche, not stopping three-quarters of the way up, as for the other guardians, but enclosing the opening completely.

As the wall reached his chin, I saw the Adept’s face for (lie last time—and watched an expression of peace flow across it just before the quan-iron encased him.

“Walled in,” Sylvya whispered beside me. “Forever…”

“No,” I said heavily, feeling a strange, life-ebbing sensation as the Power began to leave me. “He is gone. If we were to open the niche, we would find naught but dust within.”

That trickle of waning strength widened, to become a wash of exhaustion. I staggered under such an onslaught of weariness as I had never experienced—even after Nita’s rescue. Jervon grabbed my arm, slinging it across his shoulders, steadying me. I tried to stand, brace my knees, but it was too much effort to even hold my head up. And yet, within me was the knowledge that the next time I used the ancient Power, it would be easier… though the exercise of such Will would always exact a toll in physical energy and strength.

“Kerovan!” Joisan was at my side, Guret with her.

I am unhurt. I used the mindsharing, for even my tongue was too heavy to move. Must… rest…

“Joisan!” Sylvya’s trill held alarm. “The captured ones… and those Shadow-creatures…”

I looked up to see the hollow, needing, eyes of the boy Jerwin fixed on us. With the other men and women once of humankind, he was moving toward us, past the spot where the hounds had pulled Nidu down. I looked for the Adept’s white beasts, but they were gone. As they drifted silently closer, the sad wraiths were somehow infinitely more threatening. Lowering me to sit on the rocky floor of the Guardians’ enclosure, Jervon stepped toward them, sword held out, then fell back in the face of those pitiful stares. “I cannot cut them down!” he gasped. “I am a warrior, not a butcher! What do they want?”

“They are not-dead,” Sylvya whispered, fear making her voice even more alien. “They seek death, or life—it matters not which. They will steal our lives in their blind search to reclaim what was taken from them.”

I tried to climb to my feet, summon strength to meet this new threat, but even if I had been ringed by fire I could not have crawled a sword’s-length to avoid the burning. Sickly, I watched those hollow-eyed ones draw closer, wondering if I could manage to kill what should have died long ago…

Then a shimmer of red-flecked blackness moved off to my right. The Shadow-creatures were also closing in.