Gryphon's Eyrie

4 Kerovan

Bright sunlight woke me from sleep so deep it was naught but a dark, dreamless void. For long moments I lay blinking at strange surroundings, unable to recall where I was or how I had come there. My eyes fastened on the bright blue of the blanket curtaining the sleeping area from the rest of the tent, its curving lines of white reminding me suddenly of swirling waves upon the sea… As though that pattern suddenly anchored me to the past, memory surged back.

The Kioga… Obred, Jonka, and that strange dark woman Nidu… was it only yesterday we had come here, been welcomed with such joyful celebration? And then, last night… I turned cautiously onto my side, careful not to wake her, and regarded Joisan.

She slept deeply still, russet hair thick-locked about her face and over her shoulders and breast, the sunlight awakening gold among the reddish-brown strands. Around her neck she still wore the amulet that had glowed amber to the beat of her heart—it seemed for a moment that I could again feel that talisman’s warmth against my own chest.

I reached for her, longing to feel her skin beneath my fingers, then stopped, chary of waking her. Yesterday had been a day to tire the strongest, and she doubtless needed her sleep. Yet a selfish portion of me continued to wish she would wake. I wanted to experience again her arms about me… her kisses, warm and yielding, then by turns demanding… I wanted—

Joisan’s eyes opened, then she smiled sleepily, moving to brush .hair out of her eyes. “As Jonka would say, fair rising, my lord.”

“Looking upon my lady is the fairest part of my waking,” I said hesitantly, almost afraid to meet her eyes and see laughter in them. I knew so little of courtly ways that pretty speeches—even when meant wholeheartedly—came awkwardly to me.

Her hand moved to brush my hair, touch my cheek. Mindsharing, I knew she understood my words, felt her appreciation of them. I turned to touch her, gathered her close, eager for—

“Lord Kerovan!” Someone scratched at the tent flap outside. “I would not disturb you, save that our morning meal is ready, and the mounts saddled. We must break our fast and ride.” Obred’s voice sounded embarrassed as he finished, “I know it is but poor manners to call a guest, but it is nigh unto noon, and we have far to go.”

I sighed deeply, rolling onto my back, away from Joisan. Trying to mask the irritation I felt, I made quick answer. “A fine scout I am, sleeping the day away! I will be with you directly, Obred. Thank you for calling me.”

Joisan managed to look both amused and disappointed. “Who are you to think you have no courtly ways, my husband? I have seldom heard rank falsehood voiced in such a semblance of truth.”

“I would stay instead with you, Joisan… today, and tomorrow, and the next…” Again I reached for her. But she was already rising, shaking her head.

“ ‘Promises made lightly are still promises to be held to,’ ” she quoted, her smile holding more than a little of devilment about it.

Crumbling, I made ready for the day.

When we had broken our fast, Obred turned to me. “Now we must see you mounted, Kerovan. Come with me to the Unchosen herd.”

We walked quickly over the level plain, threading our way between the tents of the Kioga. In the daylight I could see that they were mostly dark brown, or black, with one or two (including the one that had been ours) dyed indigo. Each had a different design upon its flap. Small children ran by us in a group, playing some game. Older ones passed, carrying baskets filled with linen to be washed, wild grain to be ground, or younger brothers and sisters they tended. All smiled in greeting.

“I like well your people, Obred,” I said frankly, reflecting inwardly that never had I felt so at ease in the presence of so many of my own kind before.

“And I, too,” echoed Joisan. “In all our long travels, seldom have we been so welcomed.”

“A small return, surely, for the saving of Briata. Lero and Vala brought mare and foals in some hours ago, having started with the dawn. Already the fillies are running, trying to play with each other. A fine pair they’ll be to train!”

“And Briata?” I asked.

“Standing by with great forbearance, especially when both decide they are hungry at the same moment. You should see her expression.”

We laughed.

After crossing the camp, Obred gestured at the horses grazing to our right. “The herd of the Chosen.” Two young boys rode, acting as herd-guards.

Several minutes farther on was another, smaller, herd. “The Unchosen. I had the youngsters cull out the yearlings and two-year-olds, as well as the breeding mares dose to foaling. Now you must see which of our trained mounts shall Choose you, to be yours for the journey.”

I looked at the score or so animals, all of different colors, but bearing clearly the Kioga stamp of breeding—small heads; strong, short backs; sloping croups; and deep chests. “How do I Choose?”

“You do not. The horse will Choose you. Can you whistle?”

“Yes.”

“Then do so. The first animal to come toward you will mean you have been Chosen by that one.”

Thinking back to my scouting days with the army, I put my fingers to my lips, trilling the early morning call of a hedge-grouse—our signal for re-forming after a dawn reconnaissance.

Several animals looked up, but only one took several steps in my direction. Nor did she turn away as I approached to lay hand upon her shoulder, but stood quiet, flicking her ears far forward, regarding me with calm interest.

A good-sized mare, fifteen and a half hands, I judged, her coat a dark bay dotted about the flanks and haunches with white spots near the size of my palm. A wide strip of (lie same color traced her forehead, and her two forelegs bore stockings to the knee.

“Easy, easy,” I said, gentling her as Obred and Joisan joined us. “I gather I have been Chosen?”

“Aye. She is one of Jonka’s breeding and training, is Nekia. Her name means ‘night-eyes’ in our tongue. She is keen-eyed at all times, but unusually so in the dark.”

I stroked the mare’s strong, arched neck. “Well, Nekia, shall we company together?”

She bobbed her head down, seemingly in acquiescence, then nudged me so strongly that I staggered, chuckling. I have seldom seen such impatience!”

Obred smiled broadly beneath his mustache. “A good beginning, Lord. Will you mount?”

“But I have no saddle, no bridle for control—

“Our horses are trained to the knee and weight, Kerovan. Many times I’ve ridden the whole day with my reins lying loose on my mount’s neck, and never had to pick them up.”

Cautiously I placed my hands testingly on Nekia’s neck and back, then, when she remained quiet, vaulted up. It felt exceedingly strange to ride with no visible control, and when the mare moved out at the squeeze of my calf muscles, I needs must steady myself for a moment. But she slowed obediently when I tightened my knees, shifting my weight backward. By the time we reached the camp again I was marveling anew at the Kioga skill in training horses.

Still, it was with some relief that I found a light saddle and braided hackamore in Jonka’s arms as she came forward to bid us farewell. While I made fast girths and adjusted stirrups, the remainder of the scouting party gathered. Looking around, I counted five other men, including Obred, four youths, and seven girls of varying ages. (Used to the keep-sheltered women of High Hallack, who were generally allowed only the gentlest of palfreys for mounts, I eyed these last with some surprise, only to realize before many minutes were past that they numbered among the boldest and best riders.)

Some of the party led extra mounts carrying light packs. “For hunting,” Obred explained at my question. “On our return, we will stop to hunt if the sign is good, and we can be certain of reaching camp with fresh game.”

His remark and the amount of supplies allotted each member made me realize this was no one- or two-day reconnoiter. This party was setting out for a journey of many days.

I glanced at Joisan as I guessed this, wishing mightily that I was not going. Last night had gone far toward healing the rift between us caused by my recent uneasiness, now I wanted to be with her… her only—

Still, as she had reminded me, I was bound by my word—and that I could break for no cause as small as merely my own wish. As the party exchanged final greetings, I leaned from my seat on Nekia to look straightly at my lady.

I would I could stay with you, Joisan… you know haw much…

I know, she assured me, her mindsharing a quick, warm touch. I will miss you… but there is much for me to learn here, and Jonka has been so kind…

Taking her hand in both of mine, I touched my lips to it Inn-fly, then turned Nekia quickly away, not looking back—tor I feared greatly that otherwise my resolve would weaken.

Our riding was south, angling slightly to the east. The plains continued to roll, unbroken, save for brief clumps of trees clustering along stream or riverbanks.

When I questioned him as to our possible goal, Obred told me they searched for higher grazing lands. He explained that their animals were mountain-bred from generations back and fared best in pastures with greater elevation. “Putting a mountain under a horse’s hooves breeds better muscle and wind,” he commented, rising in his stirrups to scan the flat horizon ahead. “To the west lies a great desert, with naught but sand, scrub, and death to fill it. We hope that farther to the east we may find hills.”

We camped that night near a stream. Tired from the day’s riding, I lay down in my blankets, pillowing my head on Nekia’s inane, as she also stretched out, as did the rest of the Kioga and their mounts. The mare’s body was warm, her presence comforting under the star spread and the harsh glare of the full moon—but my thoughts sped to Joisan. I missed her with an intensity that surprised me. Never since our true marriage had we been separated, save when the demands of her healcraft had intervened . . which was not the same, I discovered, as being leagues apart. I wondered if she thought of me… and so wondering, finally slept.

Twenty days’ riding brought our small band to the bank of a great river, so wide we could not hope to ford it without boats or rafts. Obred turned again to the east, hoping to find a narrower stretch where we might swim our mounts across.

I found myself riding that morning beside a youth hardly more than a boy, sprouting as yet only a downy growth on his dark face. (In this company of bearded countenances, my habit of shaving each morning brought me some strange glances—several times I had been mistaken at a distance for one of the boys.)

“Fair rising, Lord Kerovan.” He glanced at me diffidently.

“Fair rising to you,” I made answer, unable to remember his name—if indeed I had ever known it.

“I am Guret, sir.”

I gave him a warrior’s salute, bringing a flush of pleasure beneath that faint shadow of beard. “Thank you, m’lord—but I am no warrior yet. I am still practicing for the Festival of Change.”

“Festival?”

“Aye, more than a month from now. All those who have been Chosen”—he affectionately slapped the neck of the fine chestnut stallion he rode—“must show their skill as hunters and herd-protectors. Then we will be accorded a voice in the Council.”

I thought of my own rite of manhood—when my father, Ulric of Ulmsdale, had ceremoniously given me the sword I still wore. I knew well how it felt to pass in the space of one day from untried youth to man—remembered how the heavy weight of new responsibility had seemed to press upon me, leaving me feeling even more of a boy, far less than a man…

It was almost as though Guret read my thoughts, for his voice grew subdued till I must strain to hear him.

“At times, it seems to me that the Festival cannot come too soon, and I wish it were tomorrow. And at others, it seems that it is rushing toward me like a wasp-stung horse, and that I stand frozen in its path…”

For long moments I was silent, debating whether I should attempt to answer the half plea I heard in the youngster’s voice. Always, except with Joisan, I had kept my own counsel, standing apart from others… but can one live forever so? Even as I told myself to hold to silence, I heard my own words:

“It seems to me that only those who have no understanding of what makes a true man rush headlong. Those like yourself, who doubt and consider, are those who prove to be the wisest, the most mature…”

“Perhaps you are right. Lord,” he replied thoughtfully.

We rode on in silence, hearing only the rushing of that great river. I found myself wondering if the stream flowed into some distant sea far to the south. This land was wide, in all our wanderings, Joisan and I had seen only a small portion of it.

“From whence did you and the Cera Joisan come, in lord?” the boy asked.

“From overmountain.” I turned in my saddle, pointing ;it those heights which I could no longer see but always felt—although, thanks to my lady, that once-compelling pull remained at bay.

“We came from those mountains, too.” Guret frowned. “Last winter the Council decreed we should move on, though the harvest was rich, our horses fat. One of our scouts was slain—by something in the mountains. Then we made haste, even riding through snows belly-deep in the passes.”

Some-thing about his words raised a prickle of unease. For the first time in days I thought of Galkur—whose touch meant death and defilement such as no human spirit should bear…

I shivered suddenly, convulsively, and the sudden tightening of my legs made Nekia dance beneath me.

“What are those lands like, overmountain? What manner of people live there?” Guret had not noticed my reaction. “I have asked the traders when they came, but even they had not traveled so far. I would like to roam this land, see what lies beyond our small territory.”

I thought of the Dalesmen whom I had companied with in war, sat beside at feastings—those same men who had drawn away from me with sidelong looks barely hiding their distrust, their fear, once I had thrown aside the special boots my father had given me, made to conceal his heir’s “difference.” But such memories were not fit for sharing with this eager-eyed youth… Instead, I let my thoughts run back farther in time, back to the two Dalesmen who had accepted me, even as now the Kioga appeared to…

“The land of High Hallack is wide, and gently rolling eastward, which is why it is called the Dales by its people. Each lord has his Dale, with his menie of armsmen to defend it. One of my father’s armsmen was Jago, my tutor in the skills of war and arms. Yet he taught me more than swordplay…

“The Dales were not always tenanted by humankind, but bear traces, even as Arvon does, of others, those we call the Old Ones. They lived in Hallack long long ago, and our legends say that when first our people came into the Dales, they were already empty of their presence. But traces of them remain, and some men and women who thirst for knowledge and wisdom try to seek out such ruins. Such a one was Riwal, the Wiseman, who roamed the Waste in search of things he had little hope of understanding, yet was driven to try. I accompanied him on many such searches, and once we found a wondrous talisman from ages past…”

I continued, telling more than perhaps I had intended, for Guret listened so intently. When I finally stopped, he protested that he must hear more.

“Yes, more, Lord Kerovan!” A voice echoed shrilly from behind us. I turned to see a smaller child, a girl, heels beating a steady rhythm on her fat gelding’s sides in her effort to keep up with us.

“Nita!” Guret’s chagrin was plain. “How long have you been there? You know it is ill-mannered of you to listen to speech not intended for your ears!”

She raised a small, defiant chin, and in doing so, her likeness to the boy became even more pronounced. “It was Lord Kerovan’s story, it is for him to scold me if he is angered.” She turned dark eyes to me, suddenly sobering. “Are you angered, m’lord?”

I found myself chuckling, and sobered, making an effort to keep my voice stern. “No, I am not, but your brother has the right of it. It is not well-mannered to listen to others, unless they know you are doing so.”

“Well”—she smiled serenely—“you must let me ride beside you from now on so I can listen freely, for truly, Lord, your story was among the finest I have ever heard.”

I glanced sideways at the scowling Guret, then noted with relief Obred’s upraised hand, our signal to halt. “No more stories now. Perhaps another time.”

The Kioga leader beckoned me toward him, and I touched heels to Nekia’s sides, drawing up beside him. “What think you, Kerovan? Do we try it? This is the narrowest it has been.”

I looked to the river, judging those brown depths, noting the swirls and eddies betokening a strong current. “Single file, perhaps, with each rider leading his or her mount, until forced to swim.”

“Aye.” Turning to the others, he shouted instructions, and we began the passage.

I was the first, leading Nekia, until suddenly the bottom disappeared from under our hooves, and I found im self swimming, catching hold of the plunging mare’s tail, speaking to her as calmly as I could, “Easy, girl. Just a few more… easy…”

The silty water lapped my chin, and sputtering, I kicked harder. Before me Nekia surged up, water streaming from her saddle and flanks, then my own questing hooves found purchase—

A shrill scream rent the air, coming from behind me, fading even Wore I could turn, ending in a bubbling gasp. Slapping Nekia’s rump as hard as I could, I turned back, knowing the mare won free onto the bank.

Striking out back toward the other bank, I held my head high, striving to see what had chanced. Something large thrashed in the shallower water, grunting in panic, and I could hear shouting. My searching eyes fastened on a smaller form bobbing helplessly in the grip of the current, swiftly disappearing downstream. I flung myself after that figure, swimming as rapidly as I might, until I, too, found myself gripped by the main thrust of that current.

Stroking hard to keep my head up, my eyes fixed on the now feebly struggling victim, I knew a brief gratitude that my mail and weapons were securely fastened to Nekia’s saddle—and that I wore no boots to drag me down. Years had passed since I had swum with Riwal in calm ponds, following Jago’s stern lessonings in keeping myself afloat—never had I fought a current. It was all I could do to keep myself from being overborne by the rushing waters—what hope had I of aiding that other?—even assuming I could reach him or her…

Summoning all my strength, I quelled such hopeless thoughts and swam on, only to see the other slip beneath the water when I was less than arm’s length away. Before I could think, my body arced into a dive, both hands outflung, groping in the muddy flow.

My lungs rebelled, blood pounded in my ears—air! I must have air! Agonized, I kicked myself forward, still flailing my arms—

And touched! My fingers brushed cloth, grabbed, then I was swimming upward, toward life and air, that handful of linen clenched tight in my fist.

The finest of wines served at a High Lord’s feasting could never have tasted as wondrous as did that first mouthful of blessed air when my head broke water. Snatching quickly at what I held, now seeming naught but a lifeless bundle of rags, I heaved, bringing a face into view. Stroking awkwardly, one-handed, I began the long pull for shore.

After only a few feet, the air that I had gulped so greedily razed my chest like fire. The muscles in my arms and legs seemed at once weighted and weak. I could no longer see the bank, as my sight dulled.

Closing my eyes, I kicked frantically, feeling the limp weight along my side bearing heavy on me. Tightening my grasp stubbornly, I kept fighting… fighting… the water grasped me, pulling me down…

So dulled were my senses, for long seconds I did not realize that the hold I felt upon my shoulder was that of a real hand—a hand that became many hands, dragging me from the river’s deadly embrace.

Looking up, I could see Obred’s face… hear dimly his shouts for help. More faces appeared. I was lifted, carried… carried into darkness…

A huge pressure squeezed my ribs, though I moaned in feeble protest, trying to lever myself up.

“Easy, Kerovan. Lie still. You tried to drink half that accursed river.” A voice spoke from above me—Obred’s, I realized fuzzily.

I was lying facedown, the harsh brush of the plains grass beneath my cheek. That gripping pressure came once more, and this time I did squirm my way to my hands and knees—only to be racked again—this time by nausea. I could well believe that I had swallowed half the river from the quantity of water of which I painfully rid myself, Obred’s big, hard-palmed hands gently supporting my head.

Finally I was able to look about me with a measure of intelligence, though my head still whirled, and I wanted nothing more than to collapse in sleep.

A knot of people clustered around another figure stretched on the ground. For a moment I thought sickly that all my effort had been for naught, and that that other was dead—then I saw one foot twitch. Staggering, I made a shaky progress toward the little group.

Guret crouched over that small form—my breath caught painfully. It was Nita I had pulled from beneath the water. One of the women massaged her ribs fiercely, then stooped to blow her own breath between the child’s blue lips. There was no sound save for those rhythmically breathed puffs of air—once, twice, thrice. I lost count, and still the woman worked…

A gasp from that soaked bundle, then another. An excited mutter from the grouped Kioga strengthened into a muted cheer as the girl on the ground began to breathe normally again.

Long moments later I turned away, realizing suddenly that if I did not sit, I would fall. Obred’s arm encircled my shoulders.

“Once more we owe you a debt we cannot possibly repay. You went after Nita, with full knowledge that your own life might be forfeit in the doing. I have never seen such courage.”

I sat, shaking my head in negation of his words. “Give me no such credit, Obred. I reacted before I could think—if I had thought, then I might well not have been able to summon the will. One cannot name that courage.”

“You will never hear otherwise from my lips, Lord.”

“What happened?” Now that I sat in the full light of the sun, with no sound but the rush of the river and the murmur of the others, the whole incident seemed unreal. Were it not for my soaked clothing, I could well imagine it had never happened.

“Nita’s horse slipped on a stone and fell, throwing her into the river. None of us were close enough to catch her.”

I heard a tread behind me but was too exhausted to look up until I heard Guret’s voice addressing Obred. “She is still sick from the water she swallowed, but she will be fine.”

The boy dropped to his knees beside me and, before I could naysay his action, took my hand between both of Ins and pressed it to his forehead. “Lord, I am in your doubt. Accept me as your liegeman, as is right.”

“I will accept you as friend, Guret, and be honored in the doing.” I found my voice, still rough from the rawness of my throat. “More than that, no. I am only thankful that Nita will recover.”

We talked a bit more, then I slept, while Obred oversaw the river crossing. When I awoke it was time for me to cross again, thankful that there had been no more mishaps. We camped that night on the opposite bank. I sat leaning against my bedroll, listening to one of the women recount a long story-song, about the spirit of the river, in the shape of an otter, playing tricks upon two would-be Kioga trappers. It was a funny telling, and I found myself laughing with the others.

Something touched my shoulder. Turning, I saw Guret, IMS arm around Nita’s waist. The girl looked weak and shaken still, but there was something of the old glint in her eyes. “You should be story-telling, Lord Kerovan. Everyone has heard of Otter and his trick, but only Guret and I have heard of the gryphon ’prisoned within a crystal globe, worn about a lady’s neck, and she all unknowing it was a live creature.”

“Nita!” I made haste to seat her beside me. “Where have you been?”

“I was the last to cross. Obred strung a rope, and I came through the river like a basket of rocks, with a loop tied around me. I told him I would cross with my horse, like any other, but he would not hear of it. He told me that you were already gone across, and I should not tempt the river to recapture what it once had within its fist.”

She paused, then looked once more straightly at me, her voice trembling. “I owe you my life, m’lord. I—” She swiped impatiently at her nose and eyes, tried once more. “I thank you…” Then she began to sob, and I touched her shoulder, dismayed to see brash Nita so undone. Her body quivered with convulsive shudders.

“It is the reaction to near death,” I told her brother, feeling helpless. “I have seen men taken so, after battles.” Clumsily I put an arm around her, drew her to me, wondering a bit if she would protest. But she did not, and we sat so for a long time, the only sound Nita’s quiet sobbing.

Finally Guret spoke, his voice pitched for my ears alone. “Lord? Are you truly a man? Or are you one of the Dream Spirits Nidu speaks of when she drums herself into a trance and walks other worlds?”

I looked over his sister’s head at him. “Truly a man, Guret, naught else. Though at times”—the youth’s dark eyes seemed to compel honesty from me—“I have been filled with the presence of another, from the past. One who is not of… this world. Although that was a long time ago.”

“Yet you have these.” The lad gestured at my hooves, curled beneath me as I sat.

I felt the old chill sweep through me but fought to keep my voice steady. “I was… born so. There was… other blood in my family, so say the tales. We are linked to the Old Ones.”

“And that is why you have the Power.”

“Who told you that?”

“Everyone can see that you are different, and the night you came, Obred spoke of the warning you gave that helped ward the rescue party from one of the deadly Shadowed places. You wear that.” He nodded at my wristband. “One not having the Power could not do so.”

“Perhaps you are right,” I admitted reluctantly, “but I have no lessoning in such. Nor want any, if truth be so known. I have no desire to be different inwardly, as I already am outwardly.”

The dark eyes glinted in the firelight. “Perhaps it is as you told me this morning. One who does not worry about holding responsibility—or Power—is not one who should have it.”

I smiled, albeit a little grimly. “My own words return to haunt me—but perhaps we should both consider them…”

That night, with the silent camp sleeping around me, I found myself wakeful as I lay in my bedroll. Memories of Nita’s rescue played themselves over in my mind, in a slowed-down manner, against my will. I saw, as if from outside myself, the spinning current, Nita’s small form, my own movements—seeming incredibly clumsy and ineffectual. Sweat sprang dank and clammy on my body at the realization of just how close death had come to claiming me—and Nita—beyond all rescuing. And against death, I thought, shivering though the night was balmy, man has no defense at all…

Not so, responded another part of my mind. Most men have those of their blood to follow them, and so, in a fashion, live on. I thought of Guret’s clear-eyed gaze, of Nita’s pert friendliness, and felt a pang of envy for their parents. What would it be like to have a son or daughter of my own to counsel, to comfort, as I had done today with Guret and Nita?

Joisan and I had been truly wed for three years, now. To my knowledge she had never used her Wisewoman’s learning to prevent conception, yet we had no children. This must mean that she could not conceive by me—once again I was too different from pure humankind.

I thought of my own boyhood when my father, though offering me all any son and heir was entitled to in the way of food, clothing, and training, had nevertheless held me at arm’s length insofar as any closeness, any sharing, was concerned. That his distance was partly due to my mother’s ensorcellment in her effort to turn him against the “monster” he had fathered, I had discovered only after his death—when it was too late. I remembered my childish vows, when, hurt by Ulric’s rejection, I had sworn that if I ever had a son I would never behave so… and then I recalled the soft, longing note in Joisan’s voice when she spoke of Utia’s child…

I took a deep breath, realizing that my hands were balled into fists, nails gouging my palms. Opening my eyes, I willed myself to relax, looking upward at the moon, once again waxing, and at the bright, bright stars. Here on the plains, with no trees to interrupt their sweep, they arced overhead in such brilliant profusion that it made one dizzy to look upon them. I seemed to shrink within myself, my sorrow to become a silly, maundering indulgence in the face of such eternal indifference.

Yet something within me fought that sentence of insignificance—that negation of spirit. I am a man, I told those faraway uncaring watchers, a man, and today I saved a life. The thought brought with it a measure of comfort. Closing my eyes, I willed sleep.

For the next ten days we rode, moving ever southward and to the east, our eyes searching the horizon for Obred’s looked-for mountains. On the morning of the eleventh day, when he chanced to ride beside me, I asked him why he and the Kioga had abandoned the mountains from whence Joisan and I had traveled—and if he and his people had originated in those heights.

“To answer your second question first, no. When I was still such a small one that I could barely ride alone, we came to this land. Nidu opened the way—” Catching my look of surprise, he nodded affirmation. “Yes, the same Wise One you have seen. My race is long-lived, true, but Nidu’s Powers have given her a lifespan known to few. She is old, yet seems not to age… It is best not to question one with Power. She drummed and sang, and we rode into a greyness… and when it faded, we were here, in this land.”

“Why did you leave your old land?” I asked, thinking that Joisan’s suspicion about these people having traversed some Gate from another world or time now had more substance in the face of Obred’s explanation.

“I was too young to understand much, and the Elders never liked to speak of it… but I remember hiding in one of the wagons and peering out, only to see some of our young men and women marched away in fetters, linked by neck-collars and chains. My mother was among them. Tall, thin men with light hair and eyes rode beside them with whips. Thus we were a strange band when we came into Arvon—numbering only the very old and the very young, with few riders who could be reckoned in their prime…”

“That is a heavy memory to bear,” I said slowly, thinking that, in its way, his fate had been even harsher than my own. “You must have missed your mother.”

“Perhaps in the beginning. I do not remember much. Only that one sight stayed with me. But here, things were different. We were free, roaming our mountain home with none to fear—until this past winter, that is, when that…” He paused, seeking for words. “That thing… that runner of mountain ridges claimed Jerwin’s life. Guret and I were among those who saw if, and one view was enough. We packed and marched with the breath of the he Dragon burning at our backs, lucky enough to traverse the passes without causing an avalanche, but none who had seen it ever thought of turning back.”

His words seemed to bypass my mind and sink directly into my body, causing a stirring at the back of my neck, as of little icy slivers pricking the flesh. My breath caught, then I managed, “It?”

“Everyone who saw it had a different perception of it, Lord, but all agreed it was uncanny—a thing against true nature. Yellowish, swirling, it seemed to me, and cold, colder than death, ranker than decay. It hurled itself up the ancient mountain road with the speed of a hunter, and young Jerwin happened to be caught in its path. He… froze… stood looking at it… while we shrieked for him to run. His face—” Obred’s voice caught, and it was a moment before he continued. “Jerwin was my sister’s boy, you see. It was his first scout. And I am haunted by the thought that he met a death that is not yet finished… an unclean death… a never-ending death.”

“I understand,” I whispered, stirred by the horror of his remembering and my own. “I, too, have seen it.”

“You? When?” Obred was plainly startled.

“Just before Joisan and I came into your land. I did not see its reality, only a shadow… a vision, if you will. It was horrible.”

“Aye.” Obred tugged absently at the heavy droop of his moustache, evidently thinking. “Did it appear to you much as I described it?”

“Yes. Streaks of red running through a yellowish mist… a droning sound like angry bees, or perhaps some insane music…”

“I heard nothing. So it was with each of us; some things seem the same, some perceptions differing with each watcher. Nidu was the only one who saw it clearly—or thought she did.”

“What did she see?”

“A hunt. Men and monsters pursuing a creature from legend. An unholy mixture of woman and bird-thing… grotesque and ugly. Like a harpy in Arvon’s old legends.”

Harpy? My mind skittered through memory, finally seizing on one of the tiny figures my friend Riwal had collected on one of our many forays into the Waste, hearing again his words as he labored to fit together a broken body and leg. “True, this is a woman’s body, Kerovan, and what looks to be the leg of a bird. But they join perfectly, so. See? It is a pity the other leg is lost.” And I had stood in wonder at the one-legged creature with a woman’s trunk bearing the head and extremities of a bird of prey. Something about the rapacious expression on the tiny face had made me shiver and draw back, as though the creature might snap its fanged beak suddenly, then launch itself at me.

“A fearful thing, a harpy,” I said, the memory of the tiny carving vivid before me.

Obred nodded. “Following Jerwin’s grim death—after the creature rolled over him, there was naught left we could even bury or burn—we decided that we must leave. We did, and now we search for mountains again, safe ones, clean of the Shadow.”

Automatically we both scanned the horizon, still featureless. There were only the plains—

Narrowing my eyes, I put out a hand toward Obred. “Look! To the west, there. What is that?” It seemed to me that a small mound broke the wave of the grass in the distance.

“I don’t—yes, I see it!” Signaling to our followers, we rode toward that hump.

Perception is distorted on such a featureless expanse. I realized in a few moments that the mound I had glimpsed was much closer than I had originally thought, and consequently much smaller. Nekia’s trot lengthened into a smooth canter, ground-covering and gently rocking. Moments later we drew rein before that solitary object.

“A well!” Obred exclaimed. “But how did it come here, so far from any dwelling?”

I studied the high sides, made of ordinary stone, mortared roughly together. From deep inside I could hear the entrancing gurgle of water. Small bushes clustered about the well’s base, bright with large orange blossoms.

Obred reached down and jerked his waterskin free of its fastening on his saddle. “At least we can replenish our supplies and drink our fill. It seems as though we’ve been short of water forever.” He began to dismount.

It was then that I felt the tingle on my wrist. Looking down, I saw the wristband of the Old Ones glow even in the brilliant sunlight, shining blue-green. Along its surface runes twisted, red-gold in color. I stared at the talisman in near disbelief, for the well was such an ordinary, homely structure, it was difficult to believe—

Heat erupted from the band, near searing me in its intensity. I found my voice. “Obred! No!”

The Kioga leader continued his slow pace forward, not even turning his head. I glanced back at the rest of our group. Most sat their horses with fixed gaze, eyes blank. A few looked uneasy. I seized upon a familiar countenance, putting all my will into my shout. “Guret! We have to stop him! To me!”

The boy pulled his eyes from their fixed stare at the well, his dark gaze centering on mine. Then, slamming heels into his stallion’s flanks, he crowded through the others, reaching me in moments.

Turning Nekia, I signaled to him, and together we followed Obred’s broad back. Even as we raced toward him, he had almost reached the bushes—

Bending down, I grasped the Kioga leader’s shirt with both hands, controlling Nekia with my knees and weight. Guret, on the man’s other side, did the same. “To the right!” I shouted, and as one, both mounts wheeled on their haunches, turning away from the well.

I urged Nekia away, digging my heels into her sides as much for balance as to urge speed, for the man’s body was a heavy weight. Sudden pain lanced into my hand. Turning, I saw Obred’s teeth locked tight over my left thumb and forefinger, their whiteness swiftly eclipsed in red as blood flowed. Agonized, I tightened my grip, praying to any Powers that might listen to let me sustain my hold until we won free of the well’s influence.

A few strides further on, Obred’s jaws parted, and he slumped in both our holds, limp.

Tightening both knees, I signaled Nekia to halt. Obred slid from my numbed grasp onto the plain, facedown.

Take care of him,” I told Guret, turning the mare back toward the rest of the Kioga, only to see one—two—three—then a fourth rider slip from their saddles, heading for the deadly trap. I raced past them.

“Stop!” I turned Nekia to face them, drawing steel, resolving that any who would not heed would die cleanly by my sword, rather than be trapped by the Shadow.

One or two hesitated as the blade swept from my scabbard, then stopped, blinking. Acting on a half-remembered tale, I drew the steel through the air between the group and the well, and the cold iron did indeed break their fixed gaze. “Back—get back!” I crowded Nekia closer to them, still swinging my sword, keeping the blade ever between their eyes and the well. Several mounts took a hesitant step back, in response to their riders’ signals. One by one, gradually, all the Kioga retreated, until when we were perhaps twoscore feet from the structure, the compulsion abruptly ceased. The Kioga milled in confusion, one rider falling from his saddle in a faint, several others clutching their heads and crying out.

Guret came forward, half supporting a shaken Obred. I dismounted, warning, “Do not look toward it. It may be that once nearly caught, one is more susceptible the next time.”

Obred shuddered. “I do not believe most would have a second time, Lord. That—that foulness—” He spat, looking for a second as though nausea would overcome him at the very mention of the well.

I turned to look at the rock—and-mortar trap, surrounded by those huge, unnaturally brilliant blossoms. Cautioning Obred and Guret to remain where they were, I moved closer, sword held between me and the well, my wristband flaring. With great care I circled it, studying the rocks, the blossoms. Wherein lay its threat? Would its victims cast themselves in? As I stepped, something crunched underfoot, and looking down, I saw the skull of a deer, bits of hide still clinging to the bone-whiteness. A little farther on, a pronghorn’s bones lay bleaching—then something that looked like a small wildcat’s. On impulse, I lowered the sword from between me and the well—

At once I felt its lure, though that call was muted, no doubt by the wristband I wore. The trickle of water was in my ears, water of life, water of eternity. To drink of that water would make me immortal… invulnerable… give me the wisdom of the ages…

It was not until I staggered a half step forward that I realized how close I had come to being ensnared. I jumped back, bringing my sword up once more, only to see movement around the base of those rocks. The flowers—

I blinked. Had it only been my imagination, or had those blossoms actually moved away from the steel? I lowered the sword again, watched the blossoms strain toward me, writhing, rippling—their petals moving, opening like hungry mouths, entrancingly lovely…

Hastily I raised the sword again, and they were only flowers once more. Guardedly I completed my circuit, noticing many more bones nearly hidden among the tall grass, as though cast aside after a feasting.

As I approached Obred and Guret from the other side of the well, the Kioga leader led Nekia to me. “Mount, Kerovan. Let us get hence from that thing, before it lures us again. I thought for a moment it had you.”

I shook my head, refusing the proffered reins. “I cannot go, yet.” I cast a look back at that Shadowed trap, and fear tightened my voice. “I must do what I can to seal that thing. It shall not be left to draw others—animal or human.”

Guret’s hand closed on my arm. “But Kerovan, you said yourself you had no lessoning in use of Power! How can you do such a thing?”

“I don’t know.” My words were forced from me, honesty compelling that admission. “But I do know I cannot ride away free, leaving that thing also free, to kill again.”

Turning, I pulled away from his grasp, walking back toward the well.