Gryphon's Eyrie

2 Kerovan

The compelling pull from the mountains was constant now, an ever-present siren call, striving to force me north and east. I had been a prisoner to this compulsion ever since we had entered Arvon. This was a land where beings and creatures whispered about as shadowy night-tales in High Hallack, bore solid form and nightmare reality. At times the drawing was so strong it worked upon me both awake and sleeping. At other times I would gain a measure of peace when that pressure was quiescent for months at a time, so I was able to hide my secret fear from Joisan and hope—how I hoped!—that freedom might be mine at last.

Now I could only stride, fighting the need to turn back and run toward those darksome mountains where lay in waiting—what?

That Joisan knew I was troubled added to the weight of my burden. Many times the dreadful confession was ready on my tongue, and I must fight with all the strength of long-engaged will to hide what I feared might be a sending from the Dark. It filled my mind constantly that Mialkut, loathsome to me in every way, yet with whom I had felt a perverse tie, had regained his Powers and sought to draw me to him, to torment with dreams and |possess me by the leash of his will.

I had believed the Dark One vanquished, devoured by the very evil rising from his own nature. But suppose that was not so? What if he still stalked in these mountains, waiting to entice me again with his claim? I had, perhaps in great folly, repudiated Landisl’s aid, wanting none of other inheritance save what a man might rightly claim through natural birth. Without it, what defense had I against fell sorcery?

What were my true weapons now? Only that wristband of the Old Ones I had brought out of the Dales, and a small piece of the blue stone-metal Landisl had named quan-iron. Such would count as nothing against the power of an Adept well along the Left-Hand Path.

Beside me, Joisan stumbled as a rock turned under her foot. Startled out of my morass of dire foreseeing, I caught her arm, steadying her.

“Are you all right?” Even in my own ears my voice was harsh.

She glanced up at me, her face drawn with weariness, ryes two dimming sparks within shadowed circles, the generous curve of her mouth drawn tight. “I am well enough, though I could wish for a moment of rest. It seems we have been walking forever, Kerovan!”

I glanced up at the sun, was shocked how far west it had traveled. We had left Anakue in the morning, not long after dawn. How could time itself be so forgot? Pausing, I looked back along our trail.

Anakue lay in the midst of a large lake, one of many such lacings of water between green stretches of meadows. Straining my eyes, I could barely make out a distant blue shimmer surrounded by green. We had come far, indeed.

Joisan dropped to her knees, fumbling in her pack. Taking out her water flask, she drank, visibly counting her swallows. I squatted beside her. Silently we shared a cake of journeybread, a few handfuls of dried fruit. For the first time since we had begun our journey, I was truly aware enough to survey our path with a trained scout’s eye.

We had been ascending a long, gradual slope, following no marked trail. So far this had been easy enough, for underfoot was tufted grass still brownish from winter. Spring in these heights was not as advanced as about Anakue. The clouds overhead were edged with darkness, half promising storm. Three birds winged by, hovering against the pale blue of the sky. Black for the most part, their wingtips showed a flash of brilliant iridescent purple. Though I had never seen their like before, I sensed these were about their own business of living—not dreaded servants of the Shadow come to spy on us.

Some of the strain eased out of me, the pull had lessened once more. The northeastern mountains I feared had nearly vanished beyond our horizon. Hope sprang in me again—had I finally outrun the calling? Or was this naught but another false respite?

When had been the last time I was only Kerovan, untormented by any urge outside those all men feel? One bit of memory returned, instantly vivid. I flushed, fumbling in my pack, keeping my face averted, lest Joisan see and mindshare.

For she had a part in that memory. I had bedded down that night a whole man (if one such as I might ever be termed “whole”). Then during the late hours, I had awakened, that exciting, demanding “otherness” within me—making me free, unfettered. Some essential part of myself heretofore always bound, constrained, had been loosed from all chains. Joisan had been there, shaking me, her hair unbound, her breasts—molded beneath her thin shift—rising and falling with her quick breathing, as though she feared for me. And then—Recalling that moment, my hands twisted savagely in the tough cloth of my pack. Memory beyond that was tattered, hazy, as though seen through thick smoke or fog. Still I could not deny that my hands and my lips had sought her flesh, as, freed by that other I feared was a Dark One, I had fiercely taken her—my gentle lady, to be used so!

I swallowed harshly. Beast my hooves branded me, and beast I had been that night. I must hold that shameful memory ever, lest such could happen again.

Though truly I had not touched her since—had feared even to meet her eyes, lest I read revulsion, rightful and just, in them. If Joisan turned from me, then what had I left?

Many times I had thought I must speak, talk to her of all King unsaid between us. Strive as I might, I could never bring myself to such openness, fearing the answer she now had every right to make. Always Joisan had accepted my physical differences, even pretending that she found me good to look upon, following me uncomplaining through hardships and rootless wandering, remaining my only solace and friend.

Yet our companionship could not have been easy for her, comely as she is. I glanced at her covertly. Despite her exhaustion, now plain to read, any eyes would find her lair, with her soft red-brown hair, blue-green eyes, that slender, yet rounded, body.

Many times I had watched men’s eyes follow her appreciatively as we traveled, fancying I could mark their surprise that she journeyed with one such as I. After all the troubles she had faced and endured as my wife, who could say what act might prove too much for even her gallant nature to face?

“I wonder how Acar fares?” Her words startled me out of thoughts I could never entirely subdue.

“Acar?” The name meant nothing, and yet there was a soft smile about her lips, stirring in me a warmth of feeling new to me.

“Utia and Raney’s son, born last night. Zwyie and I brought him into this world, with Gunnora’s help, and a hard-won battle that was.” Joisan rested her head on her raised knees, rubbing wearily at the nape of her neck.

A child—what would it mean to see blood of one’s own blood, bone of one’s bone, the sharing? Oh, by all the Powers of the Light, such a sharing! I flinched within and that spark of warmth died. What right had I to long for such? What did it matter that a fisherman had now a son, and I, once the heir of a powerful lord, had no prospect for even a home, much less a child?

I put aside that thought, realizing that this woman who had made, uncomplaining, a day’s march long enough to tire a seasoned liegeman had done so with no sleep for nigh on two days!

“Then you did not sleep last night?” Hesitantly, awkwardly, lest I give offense by my touch, I put an arm around her shoulders. “Why did you not say so? It is time to camp anyway, and you must rest. Can you go on to the top of the slope? A better site may lie beyond.”

She raised her head a fraction, smiled a little wryly. “Assuredly, my lord. I told you three years ago that you could not leave me behind. Have I not proven that promise more times than I care to remember?”

I shouldered both packs in spite of her protest, and we climbed the remaining slope. At the crest we stood together looking out over the countryside beyond.

Ahead, perhaps a half day’s journey tomorrow, lay foothills, though these did not rise into heights such as separated Arvon and High Hallack. Small stands of fir and pine studded the rolling hillsides, and I marked the silver flash of a stream not far below us. I pointed to a thicket near that rivulet. “There. Running water, wood for a small fire—a good spot.”

The sun had set as we completed our camp for the night. Overhead the stars alternately disappeared then blazed as clouds streamed by. Here in this pocket of a valley we were sheltered from the wind driving those, our tiny fire making a brave show against all shadows. I had strung one of the fish-scale blankets from Anakue on a rope, anchoring it to two saplings for shelter should rain come.

We ate, then I settled back against my bedroll, feeling the tug and ache in my leg muscles—I had grown soft while we lodged in the fisher-village. Joisan reached for her bag of simples and began sifting through them. Holding a handful of dried sprigs, and what looked like an ordinary spool, she began chanting softly.

What do you, my lady?” My voice in the quiet of the night was again harsher than I had intended. She did not look fully at me, but there was a determined set to her dun.

I am going to set safeguards upon this place, that we may sleep sound.”

You know that I wish no tie with Powers, Joisan. It is best not to trouble so. Like draws to like. Even though what you summon may be of the Light, still even a spark of such may stand as beacon for the Dark.”

Using herbs and some red thread to call up a protector charm is hardly high sorcery, Kerovan.” She did not look at me as she put away what she held, a frown line showing between her brows, though she offered me no argument.

Now I wondered just how much of such lore Joisan had learned during our years of roving. When I met her for the first time, she was already no ordinary maid, possessing courage and sense usually known only by one far beyond her years. Yet I also knew she was completely of humankind, bearing no taint of that other blood so evident in me… Was it possible that one such as she might learn to wield true Power? Could encounters with forces beyond those known to humankind have altered her, so that now she was indeed one to command Power in her own right?

The thought made me shift restlessly, alarmed. I knew that Joisan had learned much about simples, herbs, and healing from her aunt, Dame Math, and from the ancient Past-Abbess of Norstead Abbey. I had watched her seek out Wisewomen in each of the villages and settlements of Arvon we passed through. But I had never before thought of my lady as one to hold Power within her. … I had always linked what Power I had seen evidenced with the crystal gryphon… and that was lost to us, now… lost in the struggle against Galkur…

My thoughts had circled treacherously back to those that had plagued me for so long. I moved to feed the fire, then noticed that Joisan, whom I had-believed asleep, was now sitting bolt upright on her bedroll. In the darkness her eyes were naught but dark smudges in the vague blur of her face. As the flames leaped brighter, I could make out her perfect stillness, as though she listened. When I made to stretch out beside her on my bedroll, her hand shot out unerringly, grasping my shoulder. I could feel the bite of her nails through my jerkin.

“Do not move.” Her voice was a drifting breath against my cheek. Alarmed now, I reached for her hand, put my other to sword hilt.

“What is it?” My voice was as soft as hers had been. Through the contact of our hands, something was happening, flowing from her into me, awakening a sense I realized now had lain dormant since our fight with the Dark One. It was as though I could see a shadow drifting down the slope toward us, but that sight came not through my body’s eyes, but from that other sense.

Cold, that darkness was, bitter cold, carrying with it a stench like carrion. In my ears arose a droning whine, and under my hooves a thudding vibration shook my body. Not even knowing why I did so, I drew naked blade across my knees so it lay between us and that horror.

And yet… it was strange, for that shadow did not truly seem to be here at all. My mind filled with a confused image of something moving along mountain paths, a yellowish something glowing sickly. It was shot through with malignant streaks of red, as though it fed on blood—and worse.

Suddenly, blown apart by a gust of clean wind from the west, that shadow vanished. I realized that it had never truly been there. What we had seen had been an image or sending of a reality lying far distant.

“You are right, my lord.” I knew Joisan shared the thought in my mind. “I know not how, or why, but what we saw just now has no reality in this time and place. It is the ghost of… something.” She shuddered once again and I set an arm around her, wishing that I might enfold her closer, protect her; but that I dared not do, I thought bitterly. I could not even protect myself from what called to me from those mountains. And what we had seen just now emanated from the same place, of that I was certain also.

“Why was this shown so to us?” I asked, more of fate itself than of her. It seemed too unfair that we should now be plagued with a new danger, when the old one appeared insurmountable to me.

“I know not. That… thing came from those mountains.” Joisan turned her gaze northeast. “It is possible that there is some channel between those heights and us, and that along that channel can be drawn images of what runs there. Or this could be foreknowledge, or a warning. Arvon holds much we never knew in the Dales.” She bit tier lip, and I tightened my hold around her shoulders at the fear in her voice and her calm bravery in the face of it. I do know, however, that what we saw is part of this land, no shadow without reality. That haunter of mountain ridges exists… somewhere.”

We sat for a while longer, but naught else arose to disturb us in the night. Joisan’s head slowly dropped onto my shoulder, and I knew she slept. Turning my head, I nuzzled my mouth against the softness of her hair, scenting the herbs of its recent washing. “Joisan…” There was so much I wanted to say to her, but could not… my lips could only form her name.

When I eased her back onto her bedroll she awoke, beginning to sit up. “Stay,” I said, pulling the blanket across her. “I will take the first watch. Sleep, my lady.”

“Very well.”

Then came nothing but the quiet sound of her breathing.

Thus I sat, sword in hand, watching the stars. The clouds had thinned into occasional ragged wisps, and I was fleetingly grateful that at least we did not have to worry about rain.

I had intended to let Joisan sleep and not call her to watch, but, as the night went by, I needs must stand and pace the length of our small camp to keep from falling asleep. It had been long since I had had a restful night, and that, added to our day’s journey, had taken their toll of my strength. When I found myself dozing as I stood, I realized I must wake her.

It required only a light touch on my lady’s shoulder to bring her to full awareness. I hardly had time to stretch out and pull the blanket up before sleep claimed me.

Sleep… and dreams. The pull returned to me. In my dream I was light as thistledown, swift as thought, in my race back to the mountains I fled so determinedly by day. There, I knew, lay all that I ever had and ever could desire, the end of strife, my home. As iron to a lodestone was I drawn, knowing immediately my direction and destination. It was close—close—

There was a sound in my ears, a thunder as though great wings beat around my head and shoulders. I was being shaken violently—

“Kerovan! Wake!” I blinked stupidly, found I was standing upright, pack in one hand, sword in my other. Joisan barred my way, her hands still gripping my shoulders.

“What—” I dropped the pack, then sheathed my sword. The world swung, then steadied, as I realized I was on the other side of our campfire, headed up the slope down which we had come earlier. The pull was a screaming ache within me, and I felt sweat start out on my forehead, so threat was the effort it took not to push my lady aside and run.

You walked through the fire, Kerovan.” The small hands still holding my shoulders trembled, then tightened their grip. “I called to you, strove to halt you, but you walked through the fire before I could stop you. Are you burned?”

Feeling now the warmth as I saw the scattered coals, I sank to the ground. I examined one hoof, but its hard substance seemed to have taken no harm. For once perhaps I should feel thanks that my feet were not flesh as were other men’s.

Joisan brought a brand from the fire, handing it to me. She knelt, reaching for my ankle. “Let me see.”

No!” Never had I allowed her to touch my feet, the source of so many of my troubles—I felt my face burn at the thought.

“I have no time for such folly now, my lord. Hold still.”

There was a note of command in my lady’s voice that I had never heard before—Lord Imgry, High Commander of the Dale Forces, might well have envied such a tone. I held the brand as she studied closely first one, then the other of my hooves.

You took no hurt I can discover.” She sat back, facing me. I cast the lighted branch back into the fire, glancing around. The brush of the wind promised that dawn was not far off, though the darkness was still complete.

Joisan’s voice reached me again, still holding that force of command. “And now, my lord, I think we had best talk. I will hold with no more evasions or silences. It is time for the truth.”

I moistened dry lips. “About what happened tonight to me?”

“What has happened this night, last night, and so many nights since we entered this land. What torments you so, Kerovan?”

I swallowed, sought for my old control, found it shattered beyond repair. Then, in a voice I scarcely knew as my own, I told her of the pull from the mountains, how it had waxed and waned, and what I feared might be causing it. She listened intently, then, when I had finished, sat in thought for several minutes.

It seemed very long to me before she spoke. “I cannot pretend to understand all that is happening, my lord. There is Power here, but I feel none of the cold of the Shadow about it. Though that may mean nothing, for mayhap it has disguised itself beyond my limited sensing.” Far off in the night something screeched, probably an owl. Joisan continued, “But this I do know. We two cannot continue as we have heretofore done.”

My heart froze within me; suddenly breathing itself was pain. I strove to steady my voice. “Then you will go back to Anakue—alone? I cannot blame you, Joisan, I only ask you to let me escort you… These lands are wild, and I—”

Her words cut across my stumbling ones like a sword. “Always you doubt me, Kerovan! What must I do to make you believe that I could never company with another—that I want only you? No, what I am saying is that I think you must fight your fear of Power and the using of it, and allow me to protect us as best I can. This will be a task greater than any I have ever attempted, and I cannot be sure of success. But it seems I needs must try, and to this you must aid me.”

So great was my relief that Joisan held no thought of leaving me that my inner distrust of any magic seemed at that moment very small compared to the other fear. “Very well. My thanks for your help, my lady. And”—I drew a deep breath—“what I can do…” Though I added no more words she must have known what I found so hard to voice.

As she sorted through her bag of simples for the herbs she would need, Joisan sent me, with a torch, into the neighboring grove of trees. “Search out an ash, Kerovan. I believe I sighted one as we came downslope. Failing that, look for a hazel bush. I must have a proper wand, blessed under the moon.” She glanced at the sky, then frowned. So hurry, my lord, for the moon is far spent.”

The grove was dew-wet, overgrown with brush, a thicket which I cursed as I tripped and blundered my way, torch held high. Finally I sighted the slender leaves and grayish trunk of what I sought and called to my lady.

She came, carrying something in her hand. I stepped forward. “Shall I break a limb for you?”

No! This only I must do.” Approaching, she laid hand to the bark, spoke softly. “Good tree, hear my plea.”

Slowly, with difficulty because of the underbrush, she walked around the ash, turning always to her left. Thrice sin circled so, chanting softly:

Ash tree, strong tree, I beg of you a bough to aid me in protecting one I love. Well shall I use your gift, in the service of the Light. My thanks shall stay with you always, O great tree!”

Pausing, she knelt, scraping at the earth above its roots. “May my offering nourish your soil, may you grow ever stronger and taller.” Leaning over. I saw what she buried—a piece of journeybread. “It is forbidden to take without nixing freely in return,” she whispered before I could question.

Standing tall now, Joisan raised her hands to one of the short, lower branches of the ash. With a quick snap, she broke the limb. The break was clean, no dangling bark remaining—almost as if the tree had willingly relinquished part of itself in response to her plea.

As we returned to the fire, her fingers stripped loose all bark. I watched as she carefully rubbed pinches of herbs from her bag against a sharp stone, before using it to scrape free any remaining shreds.

Then gathering the discarded bark, Joisan crumbled it into a mound on a flat stone, adding more herbs to the small heap. “Angelica, valerian, trefoil, and vervain,” she identified each sprig she selected. “All protection herbs.” Mixing the handful together, she cupped it, before throwing it into what remained of our fire.

Taking up the ash limb, she knelt and passed it seven times through the resulting smoke, chanting softly in a language I did not recognize.

Drawing herself up to her full height, she touched the tip of the peeled branch to the ground, then, taking her water flask, poured several drops along its length. Holding the branch full into the moonlight, she chanted, “O wand of ash, I consecrate thee to my use. By the virtues of earth, air, fire, and water, be truly filled with Power, and let that Power be of the Light.” Looking up, she held both hands above her head, the wand between them. “Gunnora, Lady of the Moon, aid and succor me in what I do now. So may it be always by Thy will.”

A moment only she remained so, then, turning back, instructed me matter-of-factly, “We must wash before beginning.”

I followed her to the stream by torchlight, nearly stepping in it in the darkness. Joisan knelt, laving her hands and face. At her gesture, I did likewise.

The water, mountain-fed, was cold enough to make me sputter, and my lady’s voice sounded amused. “By rights we should both bathe, Kerovan. Be thankful I do not order you all the way in, and then make you stand bare for the ritual!”

When I had finished, she held a small vial unstoppered and, after anointing herself with its contents, touched my forehead and wrists with a scented oil. “Rosemary, for protection.”

We returned to our packs, and Joisan surveyed me critically by the light of the torch. “Lay aside sword and knife, Kerovan.” With quick movements she unbound her hair. shaking it loose to lie across her shoulders.

I unbuckled my swordbelt, pulled my knife from its sheath, feeling nearly as naked as if she had made me strip. “Have you aught else of iron or steel about you?”

My hands went to the buckle of the belt to my leather breeches. “That, too,” she ordered.

Let us hope,” I said ruefully, doing as she commanded, “that in this we are not set upon by outlaws or wild beasts, my lady. I shall look a fine sight trying to find my sword with one hand while holding up my breeches with the other!”

Joisan was already laying out her wand and paid me no attention.

“Come you over here, my lord, where the ground is clearer.” stood where she bade me, watching her gather more herbs, her spool of thread, and several candles from the bag;. Placing them in the center of the tiny clearing, she proceeded to draw a circle around both of us with the wand. “Do not step outside the circle until this rite is complete, Kerovan. To do so may cause great harm.”

By the faint light of the fire I saw that the candles were reel, and that there were three of them. My lady placed them at equal points within the bounds of the circle, pushing each into the soft earth until it was firmly wedged. Then she unreeled the red thread, until it followed the path of the circle, scattering more herbs as she did so. Lastly, she lit each candle with a twig from the fire. Her movements were quick and deft, naysaying the doubt she had expressed earlier in her own abilities.

At last she approached me, holding out her hand. “I will need your strength in this, my lord, and what you hold of Power.”

The old protest was instantly on my lips. She shook her head. “We both know that within you Power resides, though you keep it buried. We have need of it now.”

Taking a deep breath, I grasped her hand. Joisan closed her eyes, then stooped to touch wand to the ground before her. Almost immediately the ash length began to move, drawing lines in the soft dirt—but not as though my lady’s hand guided it, rather as if that branch followed its own path. In a few quick lines, a globe took shape, then, spreading out from it on either side, what I recognized as wings.

Joisan opened her eyes, taking a soft, urgent breath as she gazed upon the symbol on the ground.

“That is not what you meant to draw?” I asked.

“No. I had in mind a pentagram… that being the most common sign for invoking Power. But this…” She studied the marked symbol. In the firelight I could see her frown.

“Do you know aught of this symbol?” I fought to keep the fear I felt out of my voice. Was this something out of the Dark taking over, as I had feared from the beginning?

“I have seen it. It is of the Light, that I know. But the symbol I saw before had outstretched wings, while these are half-furled.”

“Why did this take shape?”

“I do not know… unless it is because, without your knowing, the Power within you took a hand, Kerovan.”

I began to protest, but she shook her head. “Such an act is not something you would be conscious of, my lord.” She glanced again at the symbol, then nodded. “Each element in a spell shapes as it will. This is of the Light, and will serve, perhaps better.”

Holding the wand before her, she began to chant again, her syllables rising with the lilting intonation of a song. I listened intently but could make out no distinct words.

I felt a tingle in my palm against hers, a prickling that ran up my hand, along my arm, then continued to my shoulder. Where it went, my flesh numbed, as might a limb that has lain too long in one position. The prickling tingle continued. Looking down at my arm, I could almost see the strength draining out of my body to my lady’s. Her singing grew louder, now, more commanding.

With an effort I raised my eyes to gaze about us. The candle flames no longer flickered in the faint breeze. They burned brighter, stood straight. While around us—

I blinked, and only Joisan’s warning squeeze upon my tinkers kept me motionless. Around us the air had taken on a faint glow. Blue-green, it curled upward from the circle my lady had sketched, climbing higher with each breath I drew. I could see through that wall of light, as it climbed to eye level—then it was well above my head, walling us in with a faint haze of radiance.

Joisan’s voice rang out, startling me out of my bemusement. “May this which I have fashioned tonight serve to guard and protect my lord, day or night, for as long as is needed.”

Gradually the light faded. She watched it go, then turned to me. “How is it with you now, my lord?”

I had become so engrossed with the rite that I had forgotten the reason for it. Now I turned, faced toward where I knew those beckoning heights lay, waiting.

Nothing… nothing in me but the knowledge of where the pull came from. But there was no drawing as a part of that now.

It’s gone!” I turned to Joisan, grasped her shoulders in my relief, “Gone, Joisan!” I pulled her to me, hugging her exultantly. “Powerful magic have you worked tonight, my lady wife! I had not thought you could summon such.”

She raised her head, her eyes bright in the moonlight. “It you had not aided with your strength, I could not have, Kerovan. I am so glad you are free at last.”

Her lips were soft, alive under mine as I kissed her. Then, as I drew back, thinking how long it had been since we had been one, realizing that now there was nothing to keep us apart, she sighed deeply and sagged in my arms, limp.

Alarmed, I swung her up, carried her over to the bedroll.

As I laid her on it her eyes fluttered open again, and she spoke, her voice as faint as though she were far distant instead of inches away. “Summoning and controlling the Power… ’tis heavy work.”

“Are you… all right?”

Her eyes closed. “Must… rest. Sleep…”

I studied her anxiously but soon realized that she was indeed asleep. Pulling the blanket up, I sat beside her, watching the moon set and the faint flush that precedes true dawn lighten the eastern sky.

It was midmorning before Joisan awoke, and we set off again after a hasty breakfast. I felt so light, so free, not having to fight the summoning from the mountains, that the slope before us seemed the most inconsequential of barriers.

Still keeping to the south and west, we crossed the foothills and by midafternoon had descended onto a huge flat plain of rolling grassland which extended as far as I could see.

There were no tracks, no road, no traces at all that people abode in this plainsland—just scattered signs of. wildlife.

We had stopped for a rest, sharing some of the Wise-woman’s dried fruit, when we heard a faint sound. Joisan glanced around. “What was that?”

I was already standing, peering westward. “I don’t know. It came from that direction.” I pointed.

“It sounded like something in pain, Kerovan.”

We shouldered our packs, moved toward a ridge of trees and denser brush that must mark a stream or river. Halfway there, we heard the sound again, more distinct now. Joisan began to run.

Shouting to her to take care, I pounded after her, but she had the lead and had gone some distance before I could catch up. I nearly ran into her, for she had stopped to look intently at a dark form on the ground before her.

A horse. It lay on its side, stomach distended, so still that for a moment I thought it dead. Then the flanks heaved, shiny and rippled with sweat, and the legs thrashed again.

A mare,” Joisan said, moving toward her. “And trying to foal, by the look of her.”

We moved closer. Joisan was right, I saw; the mare was in labor, and in trouble. Horses foal very quickly, if all goes well, but from the torn-up sod surrounding this one, it was evident she had been struggling for some time. Her coat was very dark, true black (which is rare among horses), and the mare’s small, fine head showed clearly that this was a valuable, blooded animal.

My lady knelt by that head. “Poor girl, will you let me help you?” The mare’s large, dark eyes, white-rimmed with pain, opened as Joisan stroked her muzzle and neck. “Easy, easy. Kerovan”—she looked up—“stay by her head while I feel how the foal lies. We must lose no time, or she will die.”

Soothing the horse, I watched as Joisan rolled up her sleeves and made a quick inspection of the birth canal. “One of the foal’s forelegs is caught, Kerovan, and I can not loose it.” The mare thrashed, and I held her head pressed against the ground. Then Joisan was beside me, one hand pulling loose an amulet she wore beneath her mail.

“I will sing her into a painless state, if I can. You must try and free the foal, yours is the longer reach and greater strength. Have you done such before?”

“When I was a boy I used to follow Riwal, the Wiseman, when he tended the farm animals. I have seen him do so once or twice.”

“Even small knowledge will have to do. Reach downward toward the mare’s belly, and find the foreleg. Pull it up so it rests beside the other.”

I pulled off my mail, stripping also quickly to the waist, as Joisan began to sing. When the mare’s eyes closed attain, she nodded, and I began.

It was an awkward business because I had to lie nearly prone. Each labor contraction squeezed my arm, but I persisted between them, until finally I located the snagged foreleg. Bringing it up toward the birth canal, I pulled, feeling the foal’s nose resting on top of my hand.

The mare groaned and shuddered, and suddenly the foal slid out, still clad in its protective sac. Joisan smiled at me. “Well done, my lord. I shall call upon you as a midwife more often!”

I ripped loose the whitish, translucent covering and began massaging the foal’s ribs. It took a deep, gasping breath. The mare climbed to her feet, then delivered the afterbirth. Busy with the foal, I heard Joisan exclaim as the mare lay down once more. “Kerovan, she—”

Suddenly the mare heaved again, and a second foal was born! I hastily pulled the first to one side, and together Joisan and I tended the second.

The second foal was much the smaller, though both were fillies, greyish in color, with darker manes, tails, and legs. Soon the mare stood again to deliver the second afterbirth. Joisan cared for her, giving her water from the stream into which she poured a strengthening cordial.

Some time later, nickering softly, the mare nosed the larger of the two foals, licking, then prodding at it gently until it climbed to its unsteady legs and finally began to nurse. But when the other foal also gained its feet, the mare laid back her ears and nipped viciously at it, warning it away.

“I was afraid this would happen.” I frowned, studying the rejected filly. “When twins are born, most times the mare casts off one—usually the smaller and weaker of the two.”

“But…” Joisan stroked the tiny castoff. “If she doesn’t feed soon, she will die…”

“We can try milking the mare,” I said, knowing that sometimes—only sometimes—one could save rejected young in this way.

“Every half hour?” Joisan bit her lip, putting a protective charm around the foal’s neck. “And for how many days weeks? We have little in the way of supplies, Kerovan.”

“I know… Perhaps the mare’s owners will seek her out. They may be better equipped than we to raise the foal. If not…” I took out my knife, watching the lowering sun flash red on the blade. “Perhaps it would be kinder to take the foal’s life cleanly rather than be forced to leave it to suffer when we must move on.”

Joisan shook her head, her eyes very solemn. “You do not understand, my lord. I am a healer, sworn to practice my Craft on any and all creatures needing my aid. I must do whatever I can to save this foal, even if it means staying here to tend it.”

I stared at her, then at the mountains I could no longer see, but which I knew still lay in wait for me. Joisan’s protection—how long could it be expected to last? “Hut, my lady, what if your spell-guarding does not hold? My deliverance lies in distancing myself from those mountains…”

I know.” She looked back up at me. “But I cannot let her die, Kerovan! I am oath-bound to healcraft!” Joisan’s cry was so vehement that the filly started.

“But…” I gestured, feeling helpless, then ruffled the little castoffs fuzzy mane. “This is a hard thing, I know, but I can think of no answer save for me to leave and you to stay.”