Gryphon's Eyrie

6 Kerovan

With each step I took toward the well, my pace slowed a bit. More and more fervently I wished instead to be astride Nekia and riding away. Guret had the right of it—I was no sorcerer. I held no claim to such Powers as would arm a man in this kind of battle. To engage any manifestation of the Shadow without such protection was but rankest folly. I feared, and that fear grew in me as I walked stiff-legged closer to that foulness. Yet I could not turn back… partly pride held me, I suppose, but also a basic stubbornness that has always kept me opposing the enemy, even in what seemed to be the face of certain defeat. Such obstinacy cannot be termed real courage, however much it may sustain a man.

At last there were no more steps to take. I stood at the well experiencing again the seduction of its lure, feeling thirst parch my mouth and throat as I heard the gurgle of cool water. My hand went to my belt pouch, where I carried that sliver of stone-metal like unto the material fashioning my wristband. Quan-iron, Landisl had called it. In the sunlight it flashed as blue as my arm talisman.

Looking upon it broke through the ensorcellment that play of water had so easily wrought.

If only I knew more! Could I invoke any Power from (his chip of blessed metal… invoke? I cleared my throat, my hand moved almost of its own will to raise the piece of quan-iron before me like a shield. My words were halting, my voice hoarse, but my plea was as sincere as any I have over voiced:

“If there be Those Who Are of the Light who can hear me, then upon them I call: Aid me in what I would do.

Help me break the force of this Shadowed One. I ask this humbly, for without the blessing of the Light, I am nothing.”

Holding the chip of quan-iron in my right hand, I continued to stand, waiting, feeling the pain where Obred’s teeth had pierced the skin of my left thumb. Blood continued to drip from that wound slowly into the dust. Suddenly it came to me! Blood! Used to strengthen any spell,

It was the one element most often present in both good—and ill-intended magic. Slowly I clenched my left hand, holding it over the right. Three red drops struck full upon that blue shard. Color like flame blazed, as though I had poured oil or wine upon a fire.

Then, as though this fragment were a pen, with it I signed in the air… the winged globe I had witnessed Joisan’s wand trace upon the ground more than a month ago.

Once, twice… thrice did I sketch that symbol before the well—and the last time, my effort glowed to life, hanging red outlined with bright blue, as though born of pure light. I was so startled that I nearly dropped that sliver (for my belief was less than half and I had not truly expected any answer). The symbol did not fade, instead held steadily before me, still like a shield. My hooves touched the edge of the growth that nurtured those blossoms. Drawing a deep breath, I hurled my talisman through the globed symbol so it dropped into the well’s open mouth.

Earth heaved beneath my hooves, which I dug into the soil lest I be thrown down. From the mouth of the well puffed a cloud of murky, purple-black darkness. The ears of my mind alone heard a deep groaning, then a keening wail. My eyes blurred as that puff of vapor passed above my head, gagging me with its stomach-wrenching foulness.

Now the very shape of the well changed, moving like a sudden flow of turgid water into a stagnant pool. This thing… or creature… whichever it could be termed… was no more a well than I was High Dale Commander. By illusion, it assumed whatever shape would prove most enticing to prey. We thirsted, thus we had seen a well. Other bewitched travelers might have eyed fruit hanging heavy from a tree, or perhaps the entrancing shape of a beckoning woman, if the traveler was a man who had traveled leagues in loneliness.

The stone curb vanished, and in its place was something—something so alien, so inimical, that my eyes could not truly ascertain its real shape. For a second I thought I glimpsed a muzzle, or snout, teeth flashing scarlet within writhing wetness, then I was forced to shield my eyes. A brilliant blue light (the same color as the globed symbol I had sketched) poured from the spot, and that half-heard plaint shrilled. Hands over my ears, eyes squeezed tight, I crouched in the face of that final destruction—setting myself to endure for seemingly endless moments.

A hand touched my shoulder, and I glanced up to see Guret, Obred beside him. Nita held the horses a few paces away, her brown eyes huge. I arose, shaking, to look.

The ground was unbroken, marked only by a tumble of rocks, as though something had been torn up by the roots. Even as I watched, a thread of clear water bubbled among the stones, making a shining rivulet as it flowed amid the hollows. I held out my wristband, but this time there was no warning glow.

Guret clapped me on the back so hard I nearly fell and needs must brace shaking legs. “You did it! Powerful magic, my lord! And you said you had no lessoning in such!”

“I haven’t.” I stared incredulously at the newborn spring.

“But…” He turned to look over at the water. “How did you know what to do?”

“I didn’t. I just guessed.”

“Guessed?” Guret blinked.

“Guessed?” Obred’s deep rumble sounded horrified, and I found myself grinning sheepishly, light-headed with relief. I shrugged.

“As you said, it worked.”

A giggle from Nita made all of us turn. She glared, half-amused, half-angered, at my companions. “I don’t believe you two! Isn’t it enough that Lord Kerovan destroyed the evil? Must you make him explain how he did it.” She began to laugh, and after a moment we joined in—though I found myself weak, drained of energy and spirit.

After cautiously sampling the water, Obred deemed it pure, and we rinsed and refilled our limp waterskins. The horses drank, one at a time, then we humans, for to the Kioga the welfare of their mounts came always first.

That night, camped near the new-sprung rill, we held a Council, each giving his or her thoughts on whether to proceed in our scout or turn back. Guret’s pointing out that a number of our younger riders might miss the Festival of Change, thus delaying their rightfully earned recognition as adults, weighed the balance in favor of return. I felt some regret that we had not found the mountains the Kioga craved so poignantly, but this was overlaid immediately by the thought that soon—soon!—I would see my lady. Joisan’s image rode beside me by day, shared my bedplace by night. Now that we traveled toward the camp, not from it, I could scarcely contain my impatience. Our returning trip was made at a much swifter and more direct pace than the wandering one we had used heretofore. Our mounts sensed that home lay ahead, as a result we must needs curb their pace. Each morning Obred sent scouts ahead to locate game, and hunting was good.

Late one afternoon, I spied several trails of smoke marking the horizon ahead, and called Obred’s attention to them. Shading his eyes with his hand, he gave a quick nod. “Aye. We’re almost home.”

Nekia had been moving at a steady trot beneath me. Now, perhaps in answer to an unconscious squeeze from my legs, she lengthened her pace to a canter, flicking her ears back, then forward as if to say, “Let’s run, shall we?” Leaning over her mane, I shook the reins loose to give her her head. Her strides lengthened even more—the wind stung my eyes. There was no sound save for the quick thud of her hooves on the dry earth, the swish of the grasses parting beneath her flying legs—until, behind me, rose a chorus of wild whoops and shouts. The very air was filled with the rolling drum of hoofbeats as we swept down toward the camp like an invading army.

As I drew rein within the shadow of the foremost tents, my eyes were already scanning the running figures of the Kioga for my lady. Dismounting, I began leading the puffing mare around the middle ground, cooling her off, lest she founder or colic. Still Joisan did not come! Nekia’s breathing slowed, steadied, and the sweaty patches on her flanks cooled, then began to dry. Seeing Jonka in the crowd of welcomers, I beckoned.

“Where is Joisan?”

“Several people saw her go toward the stream, that way.” Jonka waved her arm toward the small woods lying to the north. “When the scouts marked the dust of your approach, I sent Valona to seek her out, tell her of your return.”

As one we scanned the darker green of the trees, looking—

A flash of white! Two such! Even as I watched, Joisan, hand-clasped with Jonka’s daughter Valona, emerged from the wood, coming swiftly. I waited, barely curbing my impatience, held back by Nekia’s reins still in my hand. It went against Kioga custom to ask another to care for one’s mount after a hard ride. A touch on my shoulder made me turn.

“Let me take her, m’lord.” Guret reached for Nekia’s reins. “By the debt I owe you, I will care for her as for my own.”

“My thanks, Guret.” I passed over the reins, gave the mare a swift pat, then turned and ran.

Dust puffed from beneath my hooves as I raced, yet time stretched much too long until I held my lady in my arms again. She did not speak, only laughed, then sobbed, and the clutch of her hands upon my shoulders told me clearer than any words that she had been greatly concerned for me. As for me, I could only hold her—now and attain murmuring her name, feeling the warm softness of her body, smelling the herbs that scented her hair—hold her and thank all the Powers of the Light that we were both safe and together once more.

Finally we loosed our tight grip, stepping back to study each other. “Why were you—” I began.

“I saw you—” she said in the same instant. We laughed, then I insisted she speak first. Her smile faded, and I saw the echoes of fear shadow her eyes. “I saw you, Kerovan. You were facing what seemed to be a well, yet was not. It was of the Shadow—”

“Yes.” Memory of that evil still had the Power to shake me a little. “It was something from the Dark right enough. I know not exactly what. Yet it was destroyed utterly by that chip of quan-iron I carried—you remember?”

“Yes. But how did you know what would vanquish it?”

I hesitated. “I asked for aid from any of the Light, and the words and action just came into my mind. Perhaps the Old Ones answered… perhaps it was something 7 remembered from… long ago.” I was thinking of that other heritage that had been mine, that had, on one or two occasions, filled me with the essence of Landisl himself. Seeing her nod, I knew she had caught my thought and agreed.

“But now my question.” I gestured at the woods as we turned to walk toward the camp, my arm about her shoulders, little Valona trailing behind. “Why were you here… in the woods? Jonka said she had to send her little girl to seek you.”

Her glance touched mine, then dropped as she watched her footing on the overgrown path. “I was searching… for an elder bush.”

“Did you find one?” I saw the pouch she used for collecting simples hanging from her belt, concluding that elder must be one of the growing things that Joisan used in her healing potions.

“Yes.” She made no further reply, only smiled at me, and I felt that warm touch in my mind, the equal of any kiss we had shared. When we reached the cluster of tents again, Valona ran off on some errand of her own, leaving us to stare at the bustle of activity. Men and women shook out their best garments, hanging them in the late afternoon breeze to air. The smell of roasting meat and baking bread made me—after nearly two months of travel rations—sniff avidly, while juices awakened in my mouth.

“What’s to do, Joisan?”

“I don’t—Oh!” She clapped a hand to her cheek, flushing. “It’s the Festival of Change! I’ve had so many… other concerns… that I forgot all about it! I must help Terlys with the baking—I promised, Kerovan.” She swung to face me, her eyes pleading. “It will only be a short while, then we will be together again.”

I made a good show of concealing my disappointment. “Of course. But who is Terlys?”

She explained that she and Terlys had become friends while Rigon (Terlys’s husband) and I were away. Within minutes we scratched at the flap of a brown tent colorfully appliqued with scarlet strands of braided horsehair.

Terlys was a large, ample-fleshed woman with hair flowing so long it nearly reached her knees. Her lord, Rigon, I knew slightly from standing watch with him one night. He was a wiry, short man, spare of words as he was of flesh. But there was in his dark eyes a look that I had trusted from our first meeting.

Janos, their young son, circled me warily as any weanling colt, eyeing me measuringly, then, suddenly, he ducked his head and grinned. After Joisan had made me known to all of her friend’s family, she bent over a small saddle, picked up a baby. “This, Kerovan, is Ennia.” The small one blinked at me sleepily, thumb in mouth, then laid her head trustingly on my lady’s shoulder. Seeing her do so, then catching the soft light in Joisan’s eyes, pain twisted within me with knife force. I had not been mistaken—Joisan wanted children of her own—and those I could not give her.

I looked away, biting hard at my inner lip to control my reaction, then felt her soft touch on my arm. “Would you like to hold her, my lord?”

Shaking my head, I backed away, fighting to keep my voice unchanged—but it rang harsh in the stillness of the tent. “No. She’ll only cry if I touch her.” I cleared my throat, turning to the tent flap. “I am weary, my lady, and dusty from riding. I will see you shortly.”

Ducking, I left the tent, hearing behind me Joisan’s voice calling my name, then silence. I stood in the gentle wash of sunlight, blinking, while the old bitterness welled anew—why could I not accept that I would never be as other men? And now I must have hurt Joisan. I stood there, cursing myself, then turned suddenly at the sound of Guret’s voice:

“M’lord Kerovan!” He hastened toward me, dodging the path of an old woman carrying a huge platter of bread. I waited until he reached me, then voiced the question every soldier learns early on—be he Kioga or Dalesman.

“The horses? Nekia?”

“Rubbed down, watered, then turned loose for grazing, m’lord. She is fine. I checked her legs and hooves.”

“My thanks.” My eyes traveled around the camp, noting the excited bustle. “Are you ready for your part in the Festival this evening?”

Guret’s mouth stretched in a wry grin. “My ‘part’ so far seems to consist mostly of staying out of the way. My mother is baking and roasting, grumbling about how narrowly we timed our return, and my father is assembling the Council, on Jonka’s order. That has made my mother grumble even more, since she must lay aside her cooking to attend.”

“Why has Jonka called the Council together? Is that usual before the Festival of Change?”

“No.” He looked troubled for a moment, then shook himself, shuddering like a horse in fly season. Plainly he was uneasy about this new turn of events.

Striving to turn the conversation in a new direction, I motioned toward the camp. “This is a shameful thing for a warrior to admit, but I know not where I am quartered. It was dark the evening we arrived here and I spent but one night in your guesting-tent. Can you show me where it lies?”

“Of course.”

I followed him as he threaded the narrow spaces between the tent rows, until we came to the one I remembered. Joisan’s touch, I saw immediately, was evident, lending a sense of permanence to even this temporary dwelling-place. Spring flowers, carefully transplanted, bloomed along the horsehair “walls,” their perfumes warring with the sharp, spicy scents of the herbs hung up to dry, both within and without. Entering, I stripped off my mail, then my sweat-streaked shirt and under-jerkin. Guret reappeared in moments with a bucket of water, soap, and a coarsely woven towel. By the time I was washed, shaved, and had managed to tame the most unruly cowlicks of my hair, he had already laid out clean clothing from my pack.

Freshly garbed once more, I placed my pack within the sleeping area, glancing once at the pallet as I did so, feeling my blood stir. Tonight I would not rest alone…

As we walked back through the camp toward Terlys and Rigon’s dwelling, I noticed a large crowd of men and women ahead of us, dispersing rapidly, as though just dismissed from a meeting.

Guret looked up, surprise in his eyes. “The Council session is over. I wonder what is happening?”

I studied the faces of those closest to us, thinking that most did not appear pleased with the outcome—whatever it might be. Common sense told me that this meeting could have but little to do with Joisan and me, but even as I so reassured myself, Jonka appeared in the doorway of the tent marking our destination, with Joisan, a moment later, following her. My lady’s eyes were troubled, while the Chieftain’s normally round, good-natured features seemed pinched and fleshless. As we approached, she pushed past us with only a muttered word.

Hastening my strides, I reached Joisan. “What’s to do, my lady? Jonka is upset about something.”

“Was it the Council meeting? What happened?” Guret echoed, his voice strained.

Joisan twisted her hands in her flour-marked apron, half turning from us. As she did so, Terlys brushed aside the tent opening, the baby squirming in her hold, and answered. “It is Nidu, the Shaman. She has demanded—as is her right—the selection of a Drummer of Shadows tonight at the Festival.”

Hearing Guret’s soft, indrawn breath, I asked, “What does that mean?” I looked from one solemn face to the other, feeling a nameless fear stir coldly within me. “What is a Drummer of Shadows?”

Terlys’s voice was flat—too flat. “By right, the Shaman is entitled to a youth or a maid to serve as assistant. If the Drummer shows aptitude for the Shaman’s work, she may accept her assistant as an apprentice to learn her Craft. If not, the Drummer is released after a year, and another chosen by lot to serve her.”

“What does the Drummer do in this ‘service’ to the Shaman?”

“Whatever Nidu wishes.” Guret’s voice was dull. “Drums to call up the Dream Spirits, those Shadows who give her Power… collects and prepares herbs, sweeps out her tent, walks at her heels, brings her meals… offers blood, spirit, and life for her spellings—”

“We have no proof of that,” snapped Terlys, her obvious unease belying her words. “Tremon was never strong.”

“Which is why he never should have been forced to serve when his lot was picked.” Guret’s mouth thinned to an angry slash. “He was my best friend. Even though I was so much younger, we cared deeply for each other. Then, after the selection, I had to watch him grow even thinner, paler. Many times I asked him what was wrong. Shame was in his eyes—but he was too frightened to answer. Then… he was gone. I know not what happened, what caused his death, but I know that it was wrong. She should not be allowed another selection!”

“Why has she called for one now? How long has it been since Tremon served her?” I asked, putting a hand on Guret’s shoulder, feeling the tenseness of the lad’s body.

“Nigh unto eight years, now.” Terlys answered my second question. “As to why—” She broke off, shrugged. “I know not.”

But I had not missed the quick start Joisan gave, and within my mind I sensed guilt, quickly smothered. “What do you know of her reasons, my lady?”

“Your lady is not responsible, Lord Kerovan!” Terlys’s anger was well leashed, but her words held a quiet warning. She could do naught else but save Janos when he sickened.”

I nodded slowly. “I begin to see. So in saving your little boy, Joisan unwittingly usurped one of Nidu’s duties, thus angering the Shaman—who now feels she must assert her authority by calling for a Drummer to be selected.” I looked over at my lady. “This is an unfortunate turn for us, Joisan, but, as Terlys says, I suppose it could not be helped. Did you try to explain to Nidu that you meant no harm?”

My lady’s eyes held a spark in their depths that I had seen but once or twice before. “In following the tenets of my Craft, I owe apology or explanation to no one, Kerovan. Not even to you, most certainly not to Nidu.” Lifting the flap of the tent, she disappeared therein.

I sighed. “I can see that was not well said. I did not mean to imply that Joisan had done aught wrong…”

Terlys gave a quick nod. “She knows that, Lord, as do I.” She cast a swift glance at the tent. “She will be all right.”

“Has she been well, Terlys?” I asked, and at her swift, inquiring look, I continued. “Her eyes… they look dark-shadowed, as if she is tired. And she seems… different…” I trailed off, uncertain myself of what I wanted to say.

“Joisan is fine, Kerovan,” Terlys said, then smiled suddenly, as though at some private joke. “I had best see to my baking.”

As though Terlys’s words had been a signal, the clash of a gong rang through the afternoon air. I turned, saw each of the young candidates emerging from his or her tent, dressed in their finest riding clothes, carrying weapons. I turned to Guret. “Are you ready?”

“No… I…” He glanced around at the others and several of them called and waved to him. Guret’s expression foretold panic. “What will I—”

I took his arm, began hurrying him back in the direction of his parents’ tent. “Then we have no time to lose!”

After speeding the young man through dressing and donning his weapons, I escorted him to the field that lay to the south of the camp.

The Kioga had set up areas for the young people who were the Festival candidates to demonstrate their expertise with the bow, lance, short spear, and throwing of the knife, both mounted and afoot.

“Stay here, hold your place in the line,” I hissed to Guret, pushing him into the waiting group. “I will bring your horse.”

The lad’s stallion, Vengi, grazed unconcernedly in the western field. Fortunately I had ridden enough with his master that, when I called to him, he came willingly. Hastily I bridled him, then vaulted onto his back. Guret would do well enough without a saddle—many of his people never troubled to use them unless they had packs to transport.

Vengi, in spite of his hard run earlier in the afternoon, was well rested, snorting eagerly as he scented the other mounts, heard the shouts of encouragement from the crowd.

After seeing Guret safely mounted and ready for his trial, I looked up at him, giving him a warrior’s salute. He grinned at me, brushing his dark hair back out of his eyes, before he returned it. “My thanks, m’lord. And when the time comes for me to offer blood and be accepted, will you stand with me? Tremon would have done it, but he…”

I nodded. “I understand. I would be honored.”

As he rode away, I stepped back into the crowd, watching the young men and women. After a few minutes, I felt a hand brush my arm, turned to find Joisan beside me.

Hesitantly I touched her hand, then took it in mine. As we watched the candidates perform, our minds touched. I summoned thoughts:

I am sorry my words hurt you. Her fingers felt small and callused within my own, and her mindsharing was a tiny, warm spark inside me. They were ill considered…

Her answer came swiftly. Think not on it, my lord. You were tired, and have not witnessed… Her mental “voice” faded as her thoughts turned elsewhere, into pathways I would not follow with my so-limited abilities.

Witnessed what? Has aught happened since I left? I strained my eyes against the lowering sun to watch Guret cast his short spear at a target of horsehide stuffed with hay, then cheered when the barbed head sank true, nearly transfixing the dummy.

… will speak of it later, my husband. I gave a guilty start, realizing my attention had wandered from my lady’s words. But her mindsharing was warm and rich with understanding. The boy… Guret… you have become friends. I am glad…

He is a fine young, man… You should meet his little sister, Nita. She would make you laugh. … In swift mental flashes I told her of the girl’s rescue from the river.

Her mindsharing in return was touched with such admiration and approval that I felt as if I had been praised as a Hero-of-Battles. I raised her hand to my lips, still keeping my eyes fixed on Guret’s marksmanship trial. She did not turn either, but for a butterfly moment, her fingers touched my cheek.

As the sun fired the western plains before dipping beneath them, we gathered for the Ceremony of Acceptance. I stood beside Guret, with his father, Cleon, and his mother, Anga. Jonka and Nidu presided, taking position on either side of an ancient, many-stained horsehide. In her right hand the Shaman held a crescent-shaped blade. Group by group we advanced. Finally it was Guret’s turn. Leaving the rest of us behind, he stepped forward, stood alone.

Jonka’s voice was solemn. “Guret, son of Cleon, son of Anga, do you offer your blood that the Kioga may flourish? Will your life from this day onward be lived as a barrier between any ill and the good of your people?”

“It will.”

Stretching forth his hand, the boy held steady as Nidu moved the knife across his right wrist, the blade flashing quicksilver. Crimson flowed, dripping with a faint spattering upon the ancient horsehide, mixing with the red trails left by the previous candidates.

Nidu began to chant, her fingernails tapping upon the small drum swinging from her belt. Her sable sleeves flapped in the evening breeze, seeming suddenly to resemble huge wings. I remembered Obred’s description of the harpy, then shivered as the Shaman’s eyes met mine, almost as though she could mindshare.

Just then Jonka stepped forward, pressed a clean pad of linen to Guret’s wrist, then embraced the young man. “Be welcomed, then! May the Mother of Mares favor you with wisdom in our Council!”

Cheers rose from the crowd surrounding us, and hastily I broke that eye-bond with Nidu to join the well-wishers. Minutes later we were seated on the ground, Kioga-fashion, enjoying a meal that completely erased from my mind the boring sameness of trail rations.

Joisan, freshly garbed in a linen dress that laced across the bodice and was brightened with many-colored embroidery, sat beside me. Her hair hung loose down her back, after the fashion of a maid. Watching her over the rim of my wine goblet, I thought that I had never seen her look more desirable. Even as I gazed so at her, she raised her eyes to meet mine, unsettling me further as I realized she was again mindsharing… that she knew my thoughts were of her, knew also the nature of those thoughts…

It was hard to tell which warmed me more, her answering smile or the wine. Even as I thought of pleading tiredness after the long scout as excuse to retire, Jonka rose to her feet. The Chieftain’s face bore a cold, impersonal mask in place of her usual good-natured expression, and watching her, I remembered suddenly Nidu’s demand for a Drummer. She raised a hand for quiet, and the noisy, chattering crowd immediately stilled.

“Tonight is a night of celebration for us, but even in the midst of our festivities we must not forget our duty. Tonight Nidu has requested that we select for her a Drummer of Shadows to serve her in her service to us. Will all of the Chosen between the ages of fifteen and nineteen, who are unwed, stand, please.”

The torches cast flickers of yellow-red across the somber faces of the young men and women. Aided by Obred, Jonka moved about the crowd, handing each a strip of dressed skin. After every candidate had marked his or her name, she said, they were to fold their strip and drop it into the basket in the center of the clearing.

Nidu herself stepped forward when this was accomplished, her bony wrist and thin fingers doubly light .gainst the dark of her garment. Closing her eyes, the Shaman thrust her arm into the basket, fingers searching, searching…

My heart seemed to labor within me as my ears listened ID the faint scrabbling sounds those stirring fingers madewithin the wicker hollow. A pressure began within my head, as though a thundering sound awoke, just outside (lie range of my ears—there, distinct, and yet not there at all. I felt that I must stop what was happening, must cry must, must—

Nidu withdrew her hand, her lips stretching into a triumphant smile. Deliberately the Shaman unfolded the strip she had drawn, but her eyes remained fixed on the assembled Kioga.

“Guret is the Drummer of Shadows, under the law of the Council. Guret, son of Anga, son of Cleon.”

“No! My lips moved soundlessly. It was as if a wind of the Shadow had lightly scored my cheek. There was a babble surrounding me, some of it relieved, some excited, some upset.

Numb, I felt Joisan’s hand on my arm, her fingers trembling. “Come, Kerovan. There is nothing we can do about this tonight. Tomorrow we will talk with Jonka, see what can be done.”

Shaken, I let her lead me away from the firelight, back into the shadows. “I must see Guret—talk with him. There is a way to change what has happened… there must be!”

“There is.” At my quick glance, she nodded. I could barely see her face, pale against the darkness of the tents surrounding us, but her voice held conviction. “Terlys told me this afternoon that if a candidate chooses not to accept the selection, another is made by lot.”

“But?” I asked, for her tone also made me sure such a decision carried its own penalty.

“It is considered a shameful thing to refuse. If he does so, Guret could well be shunned by his people for a long time.”

“Better that, than Nidu’s service—I mislike that woman. She witched the drawing!” I was positive I spoke truth.

“I agree. Tomorrow we can talk with Jonka and the boy.”

“Yes.” An idea was beginning to shape itself in my mind, curling tantalizingly just out of reach… I yawned suddenly, feeling fatigue settle upon my shoulders like the weight of mail after battle. Tomorrow… tomorrow I would be able to think clearly once more.

Once inside our tent, I made haste to seek the sleeping pallet. I must have dozed, but awoke when Joisan also lay down. My hand went out in the moonlight to brush her cheek, just as hers had done mine earlier. “I am glad to be home, Joisan. I missed you… very much.” As always, my words came awkwardly. Why could I never use with my lady the endearments other husbands voiced? Few indeed had been the times I had been able to even think—much lest say—“I love you,” for always it had seemed to me that every time I acknowledged any feeling for another—Riwal, Jago, my father—that person vanished from my life as irrevocably as though my words doomed them…

“I thought of you every day, every hour.” Her whisper came softly in the night. “I asked Gunnora to let you come back to me, and the Amber Lady has answered my plea, for which I give all the thanks that are in me.”

The moon, waxing three-quarters-full, shone through the open tent flap above us, revealing her face, the dark rumble of her hair, the lacings of the nightshirt she wore. Shadows touched her, as revealing in their way as the silver moonglow, bringing to life the slight hollowing of her cheek, the fullness of her breasts beneath the shift… a fullness that seemed new to me, arousing…

My hand trembled slightly as I touched her cheek again, and I cast about for words to answer her. “Perhaps it was the Harvest Lady, then, who helped me in the river, or with the well. But Joisan, you said that things had also happened to you while I was gone. What passed?”

She hesitated for a long moment, then, as I gently moved my hand upon her shoulder, she spoke, her voice a little breathless. “We agreed, my lord. No problems from the outside world tonight. Tonight shall be ours alone.”

“But—

“Just we two, this night. Not Guret, nor Nidu, nor… any other…”

Her lips were soft on mine, gentle with a promise that routed any further arguments, any further thoughts… leaving only room for touches, for feelings…

At length I slept, dreamlessly, sinking into a vault of sleep so deep it had seemed I lay buried beneath a mountain that was nothing but my heavy, slumbering body.

I dreamed not, yet even as I slept, I felt something creeping upon me, insidious yet known, possessing me… It was like the aching of one’s head after too much wine or an injury, a dull pain that one is conscious of even as one slumbers, yet the sleeper is too tired to rouse and experience that discomfort fully…

Sunlight lay warm upon my face, rousing me to complete awareness. I lay partly off the pallet, sword in hand, the blade half-drawn from the sheath, the time- and palm-worn grip smooth beneath my hand. A groan I could not suppress forced itself from my lips as I recognized the measure of that ache within me.

Why now? Why? Bitterness surged, bringing an acid dryness to my mouth. My body was sluggish, yet that force drove it as a man may drive a floundering horse by his strength and will. I rose, stiff, anguished, began hunting out my breeches, my mail. Joisan slept still, and I needs must fight that force, marshal myself to touch her shoulder, rouse her. I could not, no matter how urgent the summons driving me, leave her behind—I would not!

She mumbled sleepily, then, as she saw me dressed, sat up, her eyes widening with puzzlement. Then, before I could speak, I saw understanding replace her confusion. Understanding… and horror.

“Kerovan, no!” She put out a hand to me, hastily pulled her shift back up around her shoulders. “My lord, no, it cannot be—”

“Hurry, Joisan.” It was difficult to stand in one place, more difficult still to force speech between my stiff lips. “I know not how long I can resist even by so much.”

“Great Mother, help us!” Her voice broke, then she hastily controlled herself, began searching out her traveling clothes. Her voice reached me faintly.

“When did the drawing start, Kerovan? Is it the same as before?”

“Stronger,” I gritted, my body trembling, my breath coming rapidly as the pull clawed me sharply—this time the demanding lure of the mountains was physical pain, torment so great sweat started on my brow, stung my eyes as it trickled.

“Perhaps I can call up protections once more, hold it again at bay—”

“No.” I could not force more than the single word but tried to put into that monosyllable all the resolution I was feeling. She touched my arm, mindsharing. and I shaped thoughts through the agony. I will run no more, Joisan. I am done with running. One cannot run forever! I am a man, not something to be lured and tracked, as a hunter tracks prey… I must face this now. No more running.