Gryphon's Eyrie

3 Joisan

“But there must be!” I cast a desperate glance at the black mare, contentedly licking her first foal, while my fingers absently stroked the other baby’s muzzle. It lipped at them with toothless gums, trying to suck. Kerovan’s amber eyes caught and held mine. The chilling distance that had lain in their depths when he fought the pull from the mountains was gone. Replacing it was such sadness that I quickly laid a comforting hand on his arm.

I knew my lord had always felt closer to animals than to his own kind, for it is their nature not to judge by appearance, rather to respond to that which lies within a person. The little castoff’s plight stirred him deeply.

Those amber eyes… they tugged at me, their golden color awakening the ghost of an idea… amber…

My hand flew to cup Zwyie’s amulet, clutching tightly that ripe amber sheaf of wheat entwined with grapes. Gunnora!

I turned back to the mare. “Kerovan, we must get some of the mare’s own milk onto the hide of this little one. Squeeze some onto your hands, then rub it over the foal.”

He hesitated, as though he questioned what I intended, but instead obeyed without further comment. I walked a little apart so I could see the mare, the two foals, both lying down now, and my lord all together. The afternoon sun had darkened slightly as it edged toward its western bed, changing the sky’s hue to near the amber of the pendant. Overhead I could see the faint white day-ghost of the moon’s disc. I closed my eyes, raising my face to that shadow of moon, picturing in my mind Gunnora as she is always described (though none can claim to have seen her with eyes of the body), for, time out of mind, she has been truly spirit.

A woman… ripe of body, yet slender of waist, with dark hair and eyes, wearing a mantle of rich amber, a precious amulet twin to mine… I filled my mind with that image, holding to it with all the will toward life I could summon. Also silently I thought-spoke, words that held no proper shaping, yet welled up from my heart.

Gunnora… you who are mindful of womankind, our support and aid in times of pain and fear… you who nourish the seed when it is sown, who raise up the ripe fields… I ask your aid to waken and strengthen the will to motherhood here, so that one in great need will not die. … So may it be always by Thy will…

For moments counted only by the beats of my heart I held her image before me, striving to reach… touch—

A warmth spread from between my breasts, outward-flowing along my body. Those dark eyes—they were no longer those of the woman in my mind-constructed image—they were real. For a long moment they looked directly into mine.

Then that contact was gone, and the warmth that had been nigh unto heat gentled. Blinking, I looked around, feeling the tough grass blowing about my ankles once more, then a caressing puff of breeze against my cheek.

Kerovan stared at me, his wide eyes fixed on the amulet.

I looked down, to see that symbol still glowing, pulsing in time to my lifeblood’s flow.

He wet his lips. “Joisan?”

“Here,” I made answer. What had he seen in those few moments that he should look at me so?

“For a space it seemed…” He shook his head, long fingers absently pushing back unruly locks of dark hair, for his helm lay upon the coils of his doffed mail. “It was as though someone else stood there. A second only—too fast for my eyes to make sure.”

The black mare nickered low in her throat. She bent her head, took a step forward, standing nose to nose with our little outcast. I caught my breath, then the horse began to lick her second newborn. With spidery legs outthrust, the filly made her unsteady way to her mother’s side, began nursing greedily, her little whiskbroom tail switching from side to side.

“Thank you,” I whispered, watching, that absurd tightness I had felt watching Utia and Acar clutching once more at my throat. “So may it be always by Thy will…”

Kerovan’s arm circled my waist, and we stood so for a moment—then his grasp tightened until I drew breath sharply in near pain.

“What? Kerovan—” Now I could hear it, too. The rolling thrum of hoofbeats.

My lord swung around, stooping to grasp sword-hilt, setting himself still mailless between me and those oncoming riders. My heart pulsing not now in joy, but fear, I tightened fingers on my own blade, half drawing it. Fingers as steely as my weapon reached back, grasped my arm, staying its motion. “No, Joisan. There are too many.”

Every impulse in my body urged me to draw. Swallowing, I sheathed blade. My lord had the right of it, and with one part of my mind I admired his wisdom and restraint as he slowly, deliberately, hooked his thumbs in his belt, waiting with an outward show of ease.

As the riders swept toward us, I counted twenty in the hand. All bestrode mounts clearly of the same fine breed as the mare behind us, though colors ranged from grey to a brown mottled with small white spots. Their riders were equally colorful.

As they reined in to face us silently, I was surprised to see that both men and women made up the band, dressed alike in loose-sleeved linen blouses bright with embroidery. Their trousers were also linen, of coarse wild flax, tucked into high soft boots laced with dyed leather. Some wore beautifully patterned blankets, a simple hole in the center to form a loose surcoat.

All were clearly of the same race, dark of skin, hair, and ryes, with high-bridged noses and cheekbones. Most wore their hair braided, some of the women making colorful cords part of that twining. Copper necklets set with rough stones caught the late sun’s rays with flashes of crimson, indigo, and jade-green.

Each rider carried a short spear, wickedly barbed.

After a long moment’s hesitation, the lead rider, a brawny man of middle years with a thick fringe of lip hair, touched heels to his mount’s flanks, moving to front my lord. The common speech of Arvon sounded harsh and strangely accented as he demanded:

“How do you come here? And why? Could there be dreams of horse-stealing?” His short fingers twirled easily, and suddenly the spear was leveled at us. “Let me tell you, the Kioga take not kindly to such.”

Kerovan shook his head in denial. “No horse-stealing, only the saving of a horse… and a valued one, by the look of her.”

The leader’s teeth showed in a grin that held no humor. “So say you, outlander, and so would say anyone caught as you are. But Briata would never have wandered so far from the herd, even for foaling, unless—”

“Obred, look!” That cry cut across his words. Startled, I looked to its source. A young woman, red—and-gold cords threading her long braids stared wide-eyed, pointing. At me.

Confused, I glanced behind me, wondering what strangeness had caused her to look so. Gasps and mutterings were audible from the band of riders.

The leader, Obred, suddenly touched hand to forehead, bowing so low his scrag of mustache nearly grazed his mount’s mane. “Your pardon, Cera. I did not see what you are. Please forgive. Wise One.”

My lord was also staring at me, his gaze fixed on my mail shirt. Hastily I looked down.

Gunnora’s amulet was less bright now, but the sun was also nearly gone, and the amber glow still waxed and waned from it in time to my heart’s beating. I took a breath that was more than a little shaky. Kerovan nodded slightly, mindsharing, and I knew he was in full agreement with my measurement of our now-averted peril.

I wet dry lips, found a voice that only will kept steady. “Through Gunnora’s Will I was able to help Briata, but she and her foals still need tending. My lord and I will leave that to you, now, and be once more on our way.”

“Foals? Two?” Obred’s eyes made a quick search of the tall grass, fastened on the bigger filly stretched out asleep. “Truly, Cera, a miracle! Twins, and both alive! Has Briata accepted both?”

“Yes, thanks to my lady.” There was pride in Kerovan’s voice as he spoke, such pride as to bring the blood up in my cheeks.

I turned to gather up my pack even as Kerovan now resumed his clothing and mail shirt, then straightened as Obred dismounted, shaking his head. “Of course you will not go, Cera, not until we have had a chance to thank you. Briata is Lead Mare, and without her our herds would lose their way. The Kioga take not such debts lightly, and ours is truly beyond repayment. But we will make what amends we may.”

Kerovan hesitated, looking at the shorter man, clearly in doubt whether to accept his offer of aid. The Kioga leader drew his dagger from his belt-sheath, offering it to my lord. “My knife-oath on it, Lord. You and your lady have earned aught we can do to ease your way and give you comfort. We can only hope you will bide long enough to let us erase some part of our debt.”

A swift mindtouch came then from Kerovan, although his eyes never wavered from the older man’s face. Say you yes, Joisan? I believe he speaks truth…

I believe so, too, I returned.

My lord nodded, then clapped his bare hands together, afterward raising his right hand in the salute of one warrior to another. “To the House, greeting. For the welcome of the gate, gratitude. We thank you, Obred.”

A short time later, mounted on two of the Kioga horses, we reined away from Briata and her foals. The two Kioga whose mounts we now rode were to stay behind with the Lead Mare, caring for her until tomorrow, when she and the foals would be fit for travel.

The setting sun dissolved in a crimson—and-gold splash over the western horizon, shading to purple the undersides ol the clouds as we rode. Obred set a quick pace across this level plain, and I was glad that the gelding I bestrode «as smooth of gait, for I had not ridden since we left High Hallack. Soon muscles used only to walking began to pull and tug, and I found myself hoping that the Kioga hold would not be far.

“Yesterday, walking, I felt myself grown soft.” I turned to see Kerovan grimace ruefully. “Today, riding, I am certain of it!”

I laughed. “You echo my thoughts, my lord. Still, compared to the mounts of High Hallack, we should be thankful to be astride horses such as these.”

“They are beautiful,” Kerovan agreed, running a hand over his mount’s shining neck. “Spirited, quick to the rein or leg, yet gentle and calm.”

“Our horses are our lives, and we theirs,” Obred said, turning back in his saddle, his face a blur in the fading light. “The Kioga would not exist, save for the speed and wisdom of our mounts. Long ago, they brought us out of death and ruin to a new life, each man and woman riding his or her Chosen, carrying naught save what his or her mount could bear. Our sign is the Mare.” He gestured at the southern sky, where a few stars were beginning to show. “She is followed during the springtime by her Twins.”

He reined his horse back, lowered his voice so it should reach our ears only. “ ‘Tis also said that when the Mare and her Twins come to walk this world’s earth, the Kioga will find an end to roving—our true home.”

I thought of the strange Gate we had passed through three years ago, only to find ourselves in Arvon, wondering if Obred’s “new life” referred to such. Their dissimilarity to any other peoples we had yet encountered argued they were not native to this land. His recounting also told much of their immediate acceptance of my lord and myself upon seeing the twin foals. Uneasily, I hoped that this “true home” they spoke of was not something they would now expect to spring up from naught to confront them… though I could well sympathize with their longing for a place that was theirs alone, and an end to roving.

As the darkness deepened, our pace slowed. I rode loose-reined, allowing my mount to pick his way, depending on his night-sight, so much more acute than my own. Several times I saw Obred urge his mount to the fore, conferring low-voiced with the lead rider, the young woman who had pointed at me. I guessed that the Kioga had ranged far from their grazing lands in search of their Lead Mare, and a prick of disquiet touched me again. Obred had the right of it when he’d said Briata should not have wandered so far, even for foaling privacy. It was almost as though she had been led… and we to find her.

I shivered. Once before my lord and I had been so directed, chivied by (seemingly) accidental circumstances to a confrontation between the Dark and the Light. I glanced over at Kerovan, wondering. Could his fears be truth? Was it Galkur, seeking to reclaim what he had proclaimed his?

We approached a grove of trees, silver-limbed in the moon’s slow. As we drew near, I noticed something cleaving the forest like a giant’s sword-slash—halving it perfectly. A road, running straight and bare, its length catching the light until it seemed a shining river. Dimly, muted, I could hear the cries of night birds as Obred swung his horse toward that road, and I, conscious of a sudden lightening of heart, made to follow.

A shout split the night—“Obred, hold!” My gelding shied and skittered as Kerovan, putting heels to his mare, scut her crashing to the fore of our small group, swinging his mount to bar our path. A blue-green glare of light illuminated his features, emanating from that wristband of the Old Ones he always wore. “Hold! Let no one who values his or her spirit set foot on that road.” He swung about in his saddle, turning to face us. “Look at it! Through the light of my wristlet, look at it! Look well!”

Narrowing my eyes, I gazed at that arrow-straight way again.

Looking through the honest glow of my lord’s talisman, I saw with eyes freed of bedazzlement or glamourie. That road appeared now a phosphorescent glaze laid over rank darkness, like the shine of decay overlaying ancient rot.

I heard a retching noise, saw Obred leaning far off his mount. I could smell it now, too—the stench that betrays a Shadowed place. Fighting nausea, I turned away from that hideous trap.

After regrouping, we rode on once more, but with a difference this time. Kerovan and I rode to the fore, with the Kioga leader, in case any more such places lay in wait. Obred turned to my lord as we rode. “My thanks for saving my people, Lord Kerovan. Would you consider accompanying us on the morrow on our ride in search of new spring breeding-grounds? Such a warning talisman as you bear could prove a great boon in this haunted land.”

What think you, Joisan? I am minded to go, if only to gain more knowledge that may aid us in our journeying… Kerovan’s mindsharing reached me clearly.

I hesitated, thinking what it would be like to be alone among strangers… but the realization that my lord seemed to have found in these Kioga a people he could be at ease with decided me. In all our journeying there had been no companionship for him save my own, and if he had found such now…

I am minded to stay with these folk for a while… and it would be good to have a scout’s knowledge of what lies ahead. … I made him answer.

“I will ride with you, Obred,” my lord agreed.

“For all my people, I thank you. Where did you find that wristlet?” the Kioga leader asked.

“In a stream, not far from a place of the Old Ones. Uncounted years it must have lain there, for our people do not venture far into those lands, long abandoned as they are. But this came to me as if made for me alone, though doubtless many ages separated its fashioning and my birth…” He laughed reminiscently after a moment’s pause. “Doubtless this will please you, Obred. My horse had the true finding of it. Hiku led me to its resting place.”

Obred chuckled in turn, then sobered again. “It has saved you before?”

“A number of times.” Kerovan’s voice sounded wistful as he continued. “Usually it has only served to warn, although I have evidence it has greater Powers—Powers I have no knowledge of… such learning has never been mine. I was trained as a warrior, and those skills were given ample testing, for there is war over-mountain in High Hallack.”

“So we have heard, through traders. Mostly the Kioga keep to themselves, but no one shrugs away or forgets tales of war in neighboring lands. You and your lady fled when your home was destroyed?”

“Yes, into the Wastes, along with our people. But the paths into Arvon are few, and so far we two have encountered no others of Dalesblood in our wanderings.”

“Tis said this winter past some of the blood of Arvon returned to this land, and that riding with them they brought brides from out of the Dales. The trader swore that this joining came about as a result of some bargain struck between the Wereriders and the Dale Lords.”

The smooth pace of my lord’s mount beside my own faltered a bit, as though his legs had clamped hard on the mare’s sides.

“The Wereriders? Struck a bargain with the Dales?”

“Such was their price for their swords. They fought for the right of the Dalesblood, though under their own command and in their own way—and many are the rumors and stories whispered about the strangeness of that way—still, it seems they battled to some purpose. The trader Klareth told us that the war in High Hallack is over.”

The war over! I glanced over at Kerovan, saw the vague shape of his face turned also to face me. The knowledge gave me joy, but such joy as I could feel only for others—in me there was not the slightest urge to return to the Dales, seek out my blasted Keep of Ithkrypt, and rebuild—although I felt relieved that those of my people who might wish to do so now could.

And you, Kerovan? Silently I asked that question. Do you think now of returning to Ulmsdale?

His returning thought came swiftly. Vow know that I do not. The part of me that struggled against those demons from Alizon is glad of their defeat—but I have no home there anymore.

I agreed with his assessment, but his final words reminded me once more that, in truth, there was no place we could look to as our own. I sighed, reminding myself to be grateful for the temporary hospitality of the Kioga.

A few minutes later, we rode into that hospitality. Lights, people—after the silent darkness of our ride, the Kioga camp (for hide tents betokened what I had already suspected, that these people were nomadic, following their herds) seemed aswirl with those eager to welcome us. One short, stocky woman seemed to be their leader, for Obred, upon dismounting, went directly to her, conversing with her quietly. Kerovan aided me from my horse, and we stood together in the torchlight as they approached.

“Our Chief, Jonka.” The woman inclined her head graciously at Obred’s words, smiling.

“Obred has told me of our debt to you, a debt I acknowledge freely, for Briata is my Chosen. I offer you aught that the Kioga can give for comfort. Abide with us in peace and honor as our guests.” She gestured, and a young girl approached, in her hands a guesting-cup.

I wet my lips with dark liquid, then swallowed gratefully. Wine, sweetened with herbs and honey, its fragrance heady and rich. I passed the silver vessel to Kerovan, who also drank. Jonka completed the guesting ritual, sipping from the cup, then tossing a few of the remaining drops in the air, toward the moon’s near fullness, splashing the last on the ground.

“Valona.” She gestured and the young girl who had borne the guesting-cup came forward. “Show our guests where they may rest and refresh themselves. I must see to the guesting-feast.”

It was near bliss to shed the weight of my mail, wash in herb-scented water. Valona brought our packs to the tent, aided by another little girl who pressed her palm to her forehead in a respectful salute but was too shy to speak. I pulled my clean jerkin from the depths of the pack, grimacing at its wrinkles.

“I could wish for my best tabard and gown, if we are to be honored with a feast,” I said to Kerovan, who was busy rummaging through his pack.

“And, I, also—wish for the tabard, that is. Still, they cannot expect much in the way of scented fripperies from two who have crossed the plains and delivered foals today, can they?”

“Let us hope not,” I murmured, wincing at the knots in my hair as I combed.

A few minutes later, washed, combed, and arrayed in our best (poor though that might be), we followed our little guide between the rows of tents to the sounds of laughter and the smells of food.

We ate sitting cross-legged on the brown-tufted grass, In it the variety of the meal—as well the excellence of its cooking—belied the lack of ceremony in our seating. Fish and waterfowl, rice mixed with nuts and spring onions, fruit and bread—after two days of journey rations, the Kioga feasting seemed to eclipse even the grandest in my Uncle Cyart’s Great Hall before the war had come.

Nobody spoke much until the end of the meal, when our cups were again filled with the honeyed wine. Jonka sat on my right, dressed now in a plain linen gown brightened by an embroidered bodice and sleeves, with the skirt divided for riding. The woman’s only outward sign of authority was the silver crescent marked with a horse’s IK ad that hung on her breast, but the dark eyes looking into mine were wise, accustomed to command.

“Tell us, Cera, how you came to find and save Briata.”

Hesitantly I related the events of the afternoon, giving mention of my lord’s assistance in the delivery but stressing that it was only by the Will of Gunnora that both foals had been safely born and accepted.

Gunnora?” Jonka brushed back a strand of long dark hair, raised her brows questioningly. “Is Gunnora the one whose symbol you bear?” I nodded assent. “Many are her Names, and all true. To the Kioga she is the Great Mother, the Mother of Mares…”

“In my travels I have seen her sign linked with several Names,” I agreed. “I am only grateful that today, when I called, she heard.”

As the feasting drew to a close, Jonka and Obred withdrew to discuss tomorrow’s scouting journey to search for a new breeding-ground. I relaxed, sipping at the last of my wine, my eyes studying our new companions. The torches glittered on gemmed necklets and bracelets, sparking bright colors everywhere. The Kioga dressed to suit their cheerful, talkative natures, so different from the rather taciturn fisherfolk of Anakue. Everywhere smiles and frankly curious glances met mine as I looked—

No. Not everywhere.

In the shadow of one of the tents, a woman crouched, studying us with eyes so dark they seemed to reflect none of the firelight—rather, resembled pits in her stony countenance. I could feel her stare laid across my face, like a cold hand in the night.

It was an effort to wrench my eyes from that contact. I turned, found Valona sitting beside me, smiling shyly. “Valona, who is that?”

She turned, scanned the crowd obediently. “Which one, Cera?”

“That one—” I moved to point, but the tent’s shadow was empty. “She was there a moment ago… a woman, wearing a dark cloak.”

“With eyes that keep everything inside?”

“Yes. Who is she?”

“Nidu, the Shaman.” The child moved a little closer to me. “She has great Power…”

I thought of that dark, gaunt face and could well believe the child’s words.

There came a soft tread behind me, then the Chiefs voice. “You and your lord must be weary, Cera. I will show you to the guesting-tent.”

We followed her to the large tent where we had washed earlier. The Kioga tents were woven of horsehair, with differing designs stitched upon them using thin strands of braided, dyed horsehair. A patterned blanket divided the sleeping area from the rest of the tent. Jonka gestured to an ewer of water and a towel sitting on a heavily carved chest. Beside it was a wicker-seated stool and, resting on the stool, a clean nightshirt.

“Traveling is wearying, Cera, and it is hard to pack all one could wish for upon one’s back. I hope this will do well enough. We are almost of a height, but I am somewhat the broader!”

“It’s beautiful,” I said, my hands caressing the thin, finely woven linen embroidered with delicate, pale stitches. “I thank you, Jonka.”

She motioned upward toward the top of the tent. “It is our custom to open the top of our homes in good weather so we may see the Mare as she rises. But if you prefer, I (..m pull the flap to—”

“I am used to seeing the stars as I lie abed, Jonka. Open will be fine.”

“I bid you a good night and fair rising, then, Cera.”

“And to you, Jonka. Thank you again.”

Kerovan echoed my good night, lifting the blanket, then disappeared into the sleeping area. I washed again, then slipped the nightshirt over my head. Jonka had the right of it, it was too loose, but my hands lingered over the thin fabric and the beauty of the stitchery as I tied the bodice-lacings. It had been long since I had worn women’s dress, and the feel of the skirt was pleasant as I shook my hair loose, began to brush it.

Overhead the moon shone only a day away from fullness, its light silvering the tent into sharp contrasts of dark and light after I snuffed the candle on the low table.

The moon… the light…

My eyes were drawn upward, fixing on the sign of Gunnora hanging in the sky—uncounted distance away, hut seeming to me now, at this moment, almost within fingertip range.

The moon… the light…

I found that I was standing, arms and legs apart, my head thrown back, my whole being seeking, reaching for that light and what it betokened. On my breast was again a warmth, and loosing the laces of the nightshirt, I found my amulet once more glowing.

It was as though that symbol drew to it all the light of the moon, changing and reflecting back that glow in amber radiance. In me there came a stirring, a touch of something I could understand only dimly with my mind, but which my body responded to as ancient and ageless fate…

I was moving, my steps taking me toward the sleeping area. The dividing blanket rasped my nails as I pulled it aside. Kerovan lay curled on the pallet, dark head resting on one outstretched arm. At my tread his eyes opened, widened.

“Joisan—the light—”

My fingers touched his lips, quieting him. His hand came up to circle my wrist, as his mouth pressed a kiss ’gainst my palm. “Joisan…” My name was a spoken caress, while a whispered echo filled my mind. His touch was as light as the whisper of wings upon my body, but this time he was truly himself, and there was nothing held back—no hesitation or fear to separate us. I found myself freed, also, by his warmth—free to give and take as never before… free to share…

Filled, consumed by that uniting, that sharing, we fell at length into exhausted slumber.