Gryphon's Eyrie

7 Joisan

Fear was my only close companion as I rode. Far ahead of me I could see Kerovan, but his face, as it had been since we had awakened this morning, was set to the northeast; he did not look back.

I sighed, feeling hunger pinch my middle. Soon I must call to him, demand that we rest, eat. When circumstances concerned me alone, I might push to the point of exhaustion and beyond, but not now. My child—our child, I corrected myself fiercely—required that I take greater care than I might otherwise have done. The sun lay warm to my left, for noon had come and gone, yet still I shivered, thinking of the morning past. I stroked the neck of the mare I bestrode, biting my lip. I would not—would not weep.

The Kioga had gathered around as we walked through the heart of the camp, dressed for the trail, our packs slung upon our backs. Jonka had been the first to question me—for the closed look upon my lord’s face had warned her away from any inquiries aimed at him.

“Cera Joisan, what chances? You are leaving?”

“Yes, Jonka, we must.” I was faintly surprised to see Kerovan nod. At times it seemed that ordinary speech—or even simple understanding—lay beyond his control, so fierce was the force gripping him. “Our thanks for all your hospitality. We will never forget you.” I paused, controlling my voice. “Gunnora’s Blessing on all of you.” I drew a sign in the air, saw it take shape, faintly glowing—and some distant part of me marked Nidu’s surprise and felt a wry pleasure that the Shaman had by so much underestimated my Power.

“Our thanks lie with you, Cera Joisan. And with your lord.”

Kerovan turned, seeming like some stick-figure controlled by strings such as children play with, to stare at the distant northeast horizon. Jonka’s eyes narrowed. “I see that you are in some haste, Lady. If you can bide but a moment, I have something that will aid your journeying. Can you tarry?”

I took my lord’s arm, holding him where he was, though I tried to make that gesture appear merely one of affection. “Certainly, Jonka.”

Jonka was swift. Moments later we had been given rations of journeybread and smoked meat left over from the feasting the previous night—how long ago that seemed now! Under my urging Kerovan managed to eat, swallow some fruit juice, while I forced myself to do likewise. When I felt a gentle tug at my pack, I turned, found Valona opening it to thrust therein a good-sized packet. “Food for your travels, Cera Joisan. I will miss you.”

I touched the little girl’s fine dark hair, finding it again difficult to swallow the sobs rising to choke me. “Thank you, dear heart. So will I also miss you.”

For a moment she buried her face against my jerkin, then she was gone. I straightened to find Terlys before me, her husband Rigon beside her. My friend held the bridle of a beautiful chestnut mare. As I looked at her, wondering how I would find the words to bid her farewell, she stepped forward, thrusting the reins into my hand. “Her name is Arren, Joisan. The bravest and most surefooted of our herd.”

I stared at the horse, touched her fine-drawn head, searching for words. “Terlys… my thanks, but I cannot accept—”

“Yes, you can.” She folded her tanned arms across her ample breasts, nodding emphatically. “The Kioga never sell their horses, as you know, but they will give them to those who are worthy. I know there has been no time for a formal Choosing, but the Great Mother will understand. You gave me my son’s life… can I do less when you are in need?”

For a long moment I stared at her, then moved to embrace her, my words of gratitude incoherent. Her arms tightened about me protectively, and her whisper was for my ear alone:

“The Great Mother’s Blessing upon you, Joisan, and upon the child you carry. If you can, return to us…”

“I shall…” I clutched Arren’s reins as though they alone anchored me to the world.

“Cera Joisan!” I turned to see the boy, Guret, leading yet another horse—Nekia, the mount that had carried my lord during the scout. Obred and Jonka stood behind him. I tugged at Kerovan’s sleeve, and slowly, reluctantly, he turned away from the mountains that drew him so. It took long moments for his eyes to focus upon the young man who stood before him, but Guret waited patiently, his own eyes dark and troubled.

My lord’s voice was low and husky with effort, his words for the boy alone. “Guret… I must leave to answer a… summons. I am sorry I won’t…” He drew a deep breath. “Nidu means you ill, I am certain—”

“M’lord—don’t. I know.” The boy spoke as quietly as Kerovan.

“Refuse her, Guret.” Kerovan’s voice was so faint I could barely hear him. “You are strong enough… naysay her. Let none change your mind.”

Jonka stepped forward. “Lord Kerovan, please accept Nekia as my gift. Obred tells me you and she companied well together, and if you ride into peril, you will need a Hood mount. Accept her, along with the Kioga’s promise that always there will be a place in our tents for you and your lady.”

“Thank you, Jonka.” Kerovan’s fingers tightened convulsively on the mare’s reins. With no further word, he swung astride. Guret held Arren, as I hastened to follow him.

“Thank you, Jonka… thank you…” My words, my thanks drifted on the spring wind behind me, answered In the summer warmth of my friends’ farewells. We rode.

Recalled to the present once again, I shifted in my saddle to urge Arren onward. The chestnut mare, lacking the conditioning Nekia had received during the miles traveled on the scout, was flagging. She flicked her ears forward, lengthening her strides in a game effort to keep up with the bay.

“Kerovan!” He did not turn at my hail, frightening me. Had he gone so far already that he was beyond my reaching? I concentrated, summoning him not only with voice, but also with the mind call. “Kerovan!”

This time he did pause, turning to look back at me. “My lord, we must rest! Arren is tiring!” And so am I, I thought, watching his head swing once more toward the northeast. But, to my surprise, he did halt, dismounting from Nekia to wait for me.

Silently we shared food, a few sips from our water-skins, while the horses cropped hungrily at the thick grass. I felt myself growing sleepy… jerked awake, glancing somewhat fearfully at my lord. I needed rest… but if I allowed myself sleep, might I not wake to find him gone?

With sudden decision I fumbled in my saddlebag, bringing forth a tough rawhide thong. “Kerovan. Give me your hand.”

Slowly, so slowly, his eyes broke that stare at the faint shadowing on the horizon marking those distant mountains, to regard me questioningly. Grasping his hand, I tugged until he faced me directly. Not slacking my hold, I carefully threaded my string of hide through the wristband of the Old Ones, looping it also about his flesh for a double precaution. “Give me your knife, Kerovan.”

“Why?” Speech again seemed difficult for him, so great now was the pull. I watched him hesitate, frown, then shake his head as though already he had forgotten my request. With as much of my worn patience as I could summon, I moved closer until we were nearly breast to breast, my fingers seeking the hunting knife at his belt.

Grasping the blade, I jerked it out of scabbard, placing it securely within my own cloak pocket. “Now your sword, Kerovan. Throw it over there.” I pointed by chance to a growth of thorny brush.

“Joisan…” When his fingers fumbled and shook, I lent quick aid. Then I fastened the thong’s other end about my own wrist, leaving only a handspan of slack between us.

“There, my lord. If you would free yourself from me, you must gnaw through this… and that, I think, you will not do without rousing me. I must sleep, Kerovan.” Wearily I dropped to my knees, drawing him after me by that hide bond, then stretched full length upon the ground, pillowing my head on my saddle.

His hand slid into mine, warm and strong. His voice came deeper, more assured, as if I had forced a crack in the wall of his ensorcellment. “I would not leave you, Joisan.”

“I know.” I made answer, but those words were a lie, for that was the fear growing steadily within me. “But I believe I shall rest better so.”

Sleep I did, even while the sun westered in the sky. Yet as I slept, it was not afternoon… No, night held me. Again I was the Other, she who had haunted my dreams so many times…

Once again I walked amid the shadowed bounds of my beloved forest in the valley, feeling the night wind light on my cheek, stirring thick growth on my head that was not—or was not quite—hair…

My senses, my self, were alertly attuned to life around me—and I was troubled. There had been tampering here, there was something awry within the bodies of the woodland inhabitants, both plant and animal. The ripening of fall should have begun, offering promise, through seedpod and carried young, that new life would come with the spring, but here that would not be so. Something had touched all life, a Power outside all natural laws, which disturbed the rhythms of That Which Must Be…

I put out a hand (in the moonlight the downy feathering on my skin barely showed) to touch leaf, stroke bark. “What has chanced?” I murmured, putting forth all my talent to sense, to track the source of this wrongness.

Time! Time out of kilter, awry. Time had been stopped, not once but many times, just for a fleeting second or so, but such pauses were enough to disturb the internal “clock” of plant and animal. Seconds stopped, then resumed… Who, I demanded of my inner knowledge, had such ability? Who had, merely, I was certain, as a demonstration of Power, caused this wrongness?

I concentrated, invoking Neave of the Fane, she who rules the continued order of life’s seasons, the relationships of plant to soil, mother to young, man to maid. Thus imperiously I demanded an answer and it came.

An image sprang sharp-pictured in my mind. I staggered as if that sight was a blow as I recognized Maleron! His narrow face, pointed of chin, wide of brow, topped by black hair, a face from which blazed eyes dark and hard as onyx… Maleron, in whose dominion this forest, this valley, and the walling mountains lay… Maleron, who had, this year past, denied increasingly the responsibilities of his rulership, preferring instead to shut himself within the fastness of the Keep, emerging rarely and then drained of energy, the smell of sorcery clinging heavier than his robes of state… Maleron, whom I had once loved as one closer to me than any other… Maleron—my brother.

Sobs shook me as I felt the anguish of betrayal… Born of a different mother (a brief flash of a lovely, nonhuman face filled “my” mind), having only the faintest memories of both her and our human father, my early life had nevertheless been full of love, of warmth, by grace of this half brother who had ascended the throne so young, yet still man-grown compared to me.

“Maleron…” My lips moved, I heard the faint croak of my choked voice as the forest shimmered around me. I struggled to stay—I must know. But it faded.

I awoke, tears stinging my eyes as I struggled to sit up. My movement alerted Kerovan. He was watching me closely with much of his old caring.

Hastily I averted my face, made a show of unfastening the flap of my belt-sheath and withdrawing my knife before I severed the cord binding us together. My lord had enough to weigh him without my “dream” evoking concern he could ill afford. I bit my lip, struggling for control, my dream Other’s anguish of discovery… of betrayal… still vivid.

Names… the knowledge of a True Name was oft the key in a spell. Now I had come from my “dream” with a Name—Maleron. Who—or what—was he? Did he still live? Had his careless meddling with nature caused irreparable harm to that valley I could still see if I closed my eyes?

Questions… questions only, with no possible answers—unless they came again in future sleep. I wondered again, fruitlessly, from whence came these sendings. There must lie a reason for all that was happening to me, yet—

“Are you rested, Joisan?” Kerovan extended a hand to me, drew me up seemingly without effort. His momentary concern was gone—once more his eyes were for the mountains, not for me.

“Well enough.” I made the only answer I could, though fear still threatened to choke me. “Let us ride.”

Ride we did, not halting even after the sun had descended. Around us the country changed, the flat plainsland now rolled and dipped, then steepened as we ascended into hilly country. Trees dotted the hillsides, their leaves that improbable fresh green of late spring. Hocks and boulders lay tumbled on the ground. I drew n-in to let Arren bury her nose in a swift-running stream, (lie chill of the waters reaching me even as I sat astride her. The mountains were drawing ever nearer.

In the red wash of sunset, I looked to the west. Anakue lay in that direction. Longingly I thought of a hot meal, a warm bed in Zwyie’s loft… things that, until this morning, I had learned once more to take for granted. Sighing, I urged the mare on, calling for Kerovan to wait.

We halted for the night only after I pointed out to my lord that Arren was again faltering. Nekia seemed as tireless as Kerovan, the mare picking her way unerringly among the rocks and over brush, seeming undeterred by the darkness. I remembered Obred’s comment that “Nekia” meant “night-eyes” in the Kioga language.

We halted, took food, ate silently. There was no sound save the gurgle of a not-too-distant brook on its way down the hillside, and the gentle cropping noises of our mounts. Feeling chilled, I drew a woven shawl from my pack, wrapping it closely about my shoulders. Kerovan busied himself spreading our bedrolls, his only light the waxing moon, for we had deemed it safer to go fireless. I thought of the last night we had spent together on the trail, remembering the vision of that glowing horror that had flowed down the hill toward our camp.

For some reason, even as I thought of that thing which ran the ridges in the night, I was conscious once more of the touch of that Other. Closing my eyes, I could “see” the craggy rocks of the mountainside, the grey stone of the Keep. The Keep, which stood like a wardtower between the Waste and Arvon… Maleron’s Keep, it must be. What was it called? Names… I concentrated, blanking my mind, thus opening it to any hint forthcoming from that Other.

Long moments, then I found my lips shaping a name. Car Re Dogan … A mighty fortress, surely. The home of a ruler. But then reason and knowledge asserted themselves. I had heard no mention of any such Keep, nor of any ruler named Maleron during the three years my lord and I had wandered within the bounds of this land. My visions must thus come from the past…

I sighed, stretching my weary body, too tired to worry further at the puzzle. Further enlightenment must come as part of the sendings from my Other self—nor did I doubt that she was not yet finished with her story.

After removing my boots, I once again produced a length of rawhide, without comment knotted it to my lord’s wrist. He submitted quietly, before we lay down together.

Even with the moon nearing fullness again, the stars showed, and in spite of my weariness, I watched them. Slowly I raised my free hand, rested it on my middle. No movement yet—but soon, soon. Words echoed in my mind, insistently:

My lord, I carry your child. Formal words, too formal.

Kerovan, we are going to have a child. Please be glad… Too pleading. He will be pleased, I told myself, yet doubts still surfaced. His face, when he had looked down at Ennia in my arms—twisted and withdrawn, it had been… why?

Have you ever thought that we should have children, my lord? Stupid. There was no longer any question about it, it was foolish to phrase my news as though there were…

A faint snore broke into my thoughts. Turning, I saw his face, eyes closed, weariness stamped upon it like a brand. Exhaustion had finally overcome the strength of the pull from the mountains.

I smiled wryly. Small likelihood that I could rouse him to hear my tidings now—and, as if in answer, a deeper snore followed.

Sleep took me, also. The moon was nearly down when I wakened to the clink of a shod hoof on rock. The horses? Turning my head cautiously, I saw the dark shape of Arren, then the white-spattered one of Nekia. Both animals stood head-down, hipshot, plainly dozing.

Even as I watched, the sound came again, from downhill. Someone was coming.

I tugged sharply at Kerovan’s arm. “My lord! Wake!” I spoke softly, but with such urgency that he roused immediately. Joisan?”

“Someone comes.”

I felt him fumble across me, then the cold touch of his reclaimed knife on the thong. In one smooth motion, he was on his feet, that knife in hand. Hastily I drew my own weapon from my belt-sheath, then, thinking better of it, laid hand to sword-hilt instead. The partly drawn blade glimmered blue in the moonlight.

The horse stopped. I heard the sounds of someone dismounting, the ring of an empty stirrup—then footsteps. I swallowed, my breath catching harshly. Is it Nidu? I wondered fearfully. Does she hate me that much, then?

The steps slowed, hesitated, then stopped. Beside me Kerovan tensed, his body prepared to leap—

” M’lord?” Surely I had heard that voice before! I gasped, then heard Kerovan’s voice, sounding incredulous:

“Guret! What—”

Hastily I stood, my hands reaching for my pack, for the fire-striker therein. It snapped once, twice, then the wick of the candle I held caught, the feeble flame swaying with the night breeze.

It was indeed Guret who stood before us, blinking as his eyes focused on the sudden yellow flame. “Cera Joisan, I’m sorry I startled you. I’ve been following you since this morning. I had to come.”

I glanced at my lord, searching for his reaction to the younger man’s words, then realized speech was again beyond him. Even as I watched he turned, like a lode-stone seeking north. I reached out, grasped his hand to keep him beside me. Sighing, I looked back to Guret. “But what of Nidu?”

His glance at Kerovan was swiftly measuring, then he phrased his response for my ears alone. “I know not, Cera. I rode from camp without seeing her, leaving my mother and father to tell Nidu and the Council that I refused selection.”

“Were they angry with you?”

His face in the candlelight was shadowed, yet I could still see the emphatic shake of his dark head. “No. I told them that Kerovan had saved the scouting party—and me—at the well, then Nita told them how he had risked death to draw her from the river. I explained that I had sworn liege-debt to him, and how he had refused to accept aught from me but friendship. They agreed with me that even if I am not formally liegebound to your lord, still there is a debt between us—and the Kioga repay their debts. Your lord rides toward… what?”

I shook my head sadly. “I know not. I feel no taint of the Shadow, but that proves nothing.”

“No matter what comes, he shall find me his shieldman. I could not do otherwise than follow, Cera.”

I sighed wearily, realizing suddenly that dawn was not far off. “Thank you, Guret. It is good to have such a friend when one faces the unknown. I must sleep again, if I can. Can you watch to make sure he does not ride off?”

“Aye.”

Grateful to be able to relax my vigilance even for so little, I lay down on my bedroll. I had scarcely closed my eyes when I was back again in the world of the Other.

Car Re Dogan towered before me, adding its sweeping height to the dizzying precipice fronting me. Yet “I” was swift, scorning the open road on the other side of the mountaintop, climbing the narrow trail with quick, sure strides. The rock beneath my narrow, near-taloned feet was solid, comforting, in stark contrast to the swirling muddle of my own emotions. How could Maleron have meddled so? Did he not realize that his actions in stopping the progression of Time had opened the door to sickness and the Shadow? Neither Neave nor Gunnora, the Amber Lady, looked kindly upon those who disturbed the progress of Things As They Must Be.

Sobbing, partially from the swiftness of my climb, but largely from anxiety, I scrambled my body over the lip of the sheared-off ledge marking the top of the mountain. Not allowing myself rest, I sped toward the massive door marking the postern gate to Car Re Dogan.

I scarcely saw the armsmen posted within, their shadows massive in the flickering glow of the torch-sconces as they stepped back to let me past. My eyes fastened instead on the curtained portal marking the Hall-of-State. Maleron’s voice reached me:

“Send the messenger immediately. Release one of the carrier hawks, with notice to provide him a fresh mount when he reaches the Council Hall. He is to return with (he Seven Lords’ answer as swiftly as may be.”

“It shall be as you say, Margrave.”

Just as I reached the heavy velvet curtain cloaking the entrance, he spoke again. “Where is my sister?”

“I have not seen the Lady Sylvya today. She must be—

The deep purple of the heavy velvet spilled across my wrist like wine as I thrust my arm, then my body, through the drapery. “I am here, Maleron.”

He frowned at my lack of ceremony, but forebore any rebuke before the serving-man. “Be seated, sister.” His deep eyes surveyed me, measuring my dishevelment. “You may go, Bern.” He dismissed his man absently.

When we were alone, he gestured to the seat at his right hand. “I have granted you permission, Sylvya.”

The aura of his Power was palpable, seeming to glimmer around him at every movement. That he was an Adept I had long known, but to my suddenly opened eyes that faint presence surrounding him seemed tarnished, dulled… darker—and, if possible, even more powerful. I found I was trembling. “Maleron, why? You have hurt—you may have destroyed—the valley. Why?” I held my breath, watching his face change—

“Joisan!” I was being shaken violently to and fro, so that I rolled upon the ground, the blankets of my bedroll swaddling me against movement. Guret crouched above me, his face frightened. “Wake, Cera! Wake!”

I put a hand to my head, dazed, that other reality—Sylvya’s reality—still holding me in thrall. “What—” My voice seemed naught but a hoarse croak, yet Guret understood.

“You dreamed, Cera. You moaned and tossed, calling aloud strange names. Then, when I strove to wake you—I could not!”

“Kerovan?” I sat up, looking around, still half-caught by the force of that sending. It was strange, passing strange, to see around me the spring-green hillside, the rolling land, where only moments before I had stood within the bounds of that ancient Keep, stone-walled and shadowed.

“Watering the mounts. Best hurry and eat, Cera. I do not think he will wait long once they are saddled.”

I made haste to pull on my riding boots, then, with swift fingers, rebraided my hair and pinned it up. Brushing off the “broidered linen shirt I wore, I stood, belting on my knife, my sword. By the time I had splashed water on my face, Guret had packed my bedroll without any request from me. All of his actions suggested that he had been sufficiently impressed by my lord’s urgency to break camp speedily as one might at the call of enemy in sight.

A clink of rock against hoof announced the return of the horses. Kerovan made haste to saddle our mounts, while Guret, after pressing upon me a slab of journeybread, tended to his own stallion.

I swung onto Arren, still gnawing at the bread, preparing for yet another day’s wearying ride. Where would the night find us? Resolutely I forced such thoughts out of my mind, refusing to allow myself the energy waste of worry—either about my lord or about Sylvya—my dream Other.

As we rode, the hillocks lengthened and steepened, rising at a greater and greater angle. From the summit of each ridge the mountains ahead became clearer—changing from blue-veiled heights to tree-shrouded hills and higher, rocky peaks.

Kerovan rode mum-faced this morn, never speaking when he drew rein to allow us a brief—all too brief—halt. Even Nekia’s tireless strides seemed to be diminished by such energy. Whatever drove him—be it of the Shadow or the Light—pulled him with a force as relentless as the nets the Anakue fisherfolk wove to contain each day’s catch. He appeared barely aware now either of me or of Guret, though his gem-yellow eyes held a sparkle like the gleam of water in the deepest of wells.

Finally, as we mounted after our mid-morning break, Guret spoke. “Has your lord been troubled thus before now?”

“We were axe-wed when we were children,” I made answer. “We have only been truly wed for three years. He told me that since our true marriage, he has always fought this drawing—though in the beginning it was much milder.”

“He told me of your marriage… of the gryphon you wore upon your breast that turned out to be a real creature ’prisoned within crystal.”

I was surprised. To my knowledge Kerovan had never spoken to anyone about the events that had brought us into Arvon. Indeed, I found myself thinking, he must trust Guret greatly, for usually he never speaks of what lies closest to his heart—the gryphon and the heritage he bears, all unwillingly.

Afternoon found us in the foothills, skirting great ridges of rock thrusting up like bare bones from the softer flesh of the earth surrounding them. We had followed Kerovan’s lead, and he continued to bear to the east as he searched out the northern trails. There were no more rest breaks—we must needs push our mounts, lest he, in his relentless eagerness, would leave us behind.

Finally we rounded a huge granite scarp that sloped upward farther than my eyes could strain, only to find it cloven into a narrow pass. On either side of that opening stood a pillar of the blue stone, that blessed substance that the Shadow could not broach. Surmounting the top of each pillar was an emblem I had seen before—the winged globe.

The entrance the globes guarded—for such was the impression they gave—was curtained by a swirl of grey-blue mist, unnaturally thick, limiting sight. I blinked in surprise. Here, where I sat Arren, was the bright sunlight of afternoon, the rays slanting from the west, only to stop, unable to penetrate that curtain. I could make out naught but languid curls of the fog beyond, rolling and curdling almost like a serpent or other living creature.

Suddenly there came a flicker of movement ahead, then a dark shadow was silhouetted for a moment against that faintly luminous swirling—Kerovan! I put heels to Arren, calling his name as the mare bounded forward—too late! I drew reign before the leftmost of the globes to wait for the Kioga lad.

“Where did he go?” Guret swung his head wildly from side to side, searching. “He rounded the cliff just ahead of me, but now—I can’t see him!”

I pointed to that blue-grey curtain. “He went therein, and so we must follow.”

He stared frantically before him, as if he could not see that entrance which lay so close now. I looked from the boy to the mist-guarded pass with a dawning surmise. That it was ensorcelled was easy to understand—but in that case, why would I see it, when Guret could not? I pointed quickly in test. “There, do you not see it? A misty wall, swirling before you?”

The young man’s good-natured, open features held dawning terror. “See what, Cera? What is it you see?”

“A wall of mist. My lord rode to it, and vanished therein. What do you see?”

“Naught but a rock wall, Cera. I swear it, by the Sacred Horsehide of my people.”

A powerful spell, indeed. How could Guret ride straight into what seemed to him a solid cliff face? The Power of illusion might well prove to those so blind to be as dangerous. And why was I able to see?

Gesturing the youth to remain where he was, I urged Arren closer, striving to penetrate that mist with eyesight or mindsend. But there was nothing beyond that my eyes could discern, and only the same blankness that had possessed Kerovan since yesterday morning met my questing thought.

Touching heel to the mare’s side, I rode between the pillars. There was no physical barrier to my entrance, but I swayed, shivering, assaulted by such a sensation of giddiness that I nearly pitched from my saddle. All around me were shifting images—rocks, seeming to leer and reach, trees, bending and rippling as though before a storm wind—all in mad glimpses that blended and merged chaotically. I gasped, clinging to Arren’s mane with both hands.

The mare blew gustily, turning to look around at me with almost-human concern. It was plain she was unaffected. Closing my eyes, I fought against the glamourie that protected this place. Kerovan was somewhere ahead, and I must reach him!

After long moments of darkness, I felt a gentle peace banishing fear. Resting my hand on my abdomen, I felt it build a defense, so that I dared open my eyes. The shifting remained, but greatly diminished. Why?

My lord had plainly found the mist no barrier—had ridden in with his head up, as if the pathway for him was clear, and at the end of this trail lay all he had ever or could ever desire. Now, my hand touching my middle, I found the dizziness lessened. Could it be that the spell holding this pass had recognized Kerovan, welcomed him, allowed him free access, and that, because I carried his child, I also had the ability to see it, though some of the spell still held?

Speculations gained me nothing, and while I sat, my lord drew ever farther ahead. I longed to spur Arren after him, but there was Guret to consider. I could not abandon the youth in the face of sorceries he could not comprehend.

I turned, rode back toward the entrance to the pass. Guret sat the chestnut stallion, his dark eyes anxious. As he saw me, relief lightened his features. “Did you find him, Cera?”

“No,” I answered. “And the pass is spell-guarded. Still, we must follow as best we can. I can overcome the giddiness somewhat, but I am afraid you must go blind, riding by my guidance.”

“What of Vengi?” he asked, stroking his mount’s neck.

“Arren felt no troubling, so I trust he will not, either. We can but try.”

Grasping the reins Guret released, I pulled them over the stallion’s head, so to lead him. He nipped at my mare’s neck, and she backed her ears and squealed, warning him off. “This will not be easy,” I said, slapping the stallion’s inquiring muzzle away. Then I handed Guret a scarf I took from my saddlebag. “Tie this over your eyes. Do not loose it, on your peril, until I bid you do so.”

Nodding, Guret tied the dark cloth over his eyes. Grasping Arren’s reins with one hand, the stallion’s with the other, I rode back to the pass. As we passed through the mist) curtain, I closed my eyes, allowing Arren to pick her way for a dozen or so strides, counted for me in anxious heartbeats. Then I opened them, bracing myself for that disturbing disorientation.

It was still there, and I found I had to close my eyes again and again for long moments as I rode. Only by so doing could I overcome giddiness. Glancing back at Guret, I saw the lad sway in his saddle, his mouth white and pinched with strain. “Hold on to the saddle, Guret,” I called back. My voice reverberated, echoing mockingly, making the horses roll their eyes. “Do you feel aught?”

“I feel… strange. As if I am riding into a dream, though I still wake…” He swayed again.

“Hold on!” I begged him, the uncanny echoes making my words sound like mad laughter. If he fell, I did not know how I would get him remounted!

“The Kioga… need no handgrips to keep their… seats. I can… manage.” He swayed again.

“Guret, don’t be a fool!” I put all the snap of command I could muster into that order. “Nobody will see you but I, and I will swear by Gunnora never to tell!” With relief I saw him grasp the pommel of his saddle.

Our journey up the narrow throat of that rocky pass was a nightmare. I continued to be assaulted by the waves of giddiness but slowly learned to control them, breathing deeply, closing my eyes, and never looking too long at any one patch of barely seen ground, for the alarming sway of change sickened me more when I did. Still I fought for greater speed, knowing that Kerovan had several minutes’ start on us.

Finally I glimpsed a dark blur ahead… far ahead.

Kerovan? I sent a mental call, but as before, there was no response. But, heartened at least to find that he still rode before me, and had not traversed some Gate, I urged the horses to a trot, trying to draw even with him. My left arm began to ache from the strain of leading Vengi—still, I held to those reins, sending up a silent plea to Gunnora for strength.

“My lord! Kerovan! Wait!” My call echoed hollowly, making my dizziness worse, rebounding from inside my head as well as from the rocky walls.

He—he was slowing! Turning in his saddle! I dragged harder at Vengi, dug my heels into Arren’s sides, cantering toward him. “Wait, Kerovan!”

Just as we reached him the rocky walls of the pass opened out, wider, wider—

The glamourie vanished! I had clear sight again! “Guret, look!” Gaping, I reined Arren in, sitting beside my lord, gazing at what fronted us.

A valley. Beautiful rolling grasslands, bounded on my left by a towering forest. The valley might have been five and one half leagues long, perhaps half that in width. It was surrounded by mountains, vast rocky peaks with forested slopes. On my right, lit by the lowering rays of the sun, towered two high, saddle-backed peaks. And on the closer of those, near the summit—

My mind struggled for words. A Keep? Castle? A dwelling, surely, but not one constructed by humankind. Built from the sacred blue stone, it towered, seeming almost an outgrowth of the mountain itself. Curving spires, dark arched windows, narrow ramps instead of staircases—it seemed very strange, yet in no wise threatening. It clung, seeming almost without support, to the mountainside, like some improbable (and in its way, lovely) dream.

Guret’s voice broke my amazed reverie. “What is it, m’lord?”

“Kar Garudwyn,” Kerovan answered matter-of-factly.

“How do you know that, my lord?” I asked.

He smiled gently at me, without reply. Looking at him, I scarcely recognized this man; his face, wiped clean of tear and striving, seemed almost that of a child. My lord had always, since I had known him, appeared far older than his true age. His upbringing, his fight against the fear and hatred his “deformities” oft inspired in his own people, had given him a maturity that made him seem by far my senior—when in truth naught but two years separated us.

Now, studying him, I was struck by the remembrance that Kerovan was but one and twenty years of age. Reaching out to him, I caught his hand, held it. “Kar Garudwyn? What is that, Kerovan?”

He smiled again, still with that open, unguarded look that made him appear so young. “Home.”

I gazed back up the valley at that cliff-hung stronghold, wondering what was inside. Without further speech, my lord urged Nekia forward, and the three of us rode down into that lush valley.

It was heavily populated with birds and animals—a pronghorn stood for long seconds to stare at us, wide-eyed, before trotting leisurely away. It had been long and long since humankind had ridden here.

When we reached the foot of the mountain, we sat our mounts, staring up past the trees at the steep and jutting cliff face leading to the Keep we could no longer see. There was no path, no indication of any way to reach that stronghold. I found myself wondering if those inhabiting it in ages past had been winged beings.

Suddenly conscious of my fatigue, I climbed off Arren, then removed her hackamore, letting her graze freely.

Should we unsaddle, Kerovan? Do you wish to stay here tonight?” It seemed to me that this spot, protected as it was, offered the best place we had seen for a camp.

He frowned slightly, puzzled. “Why should we stay here? Kar Garudwyn awaits us now.”

I studied the sheer cliff wall facing us. “Perhaps so, my lord, but I am no eagle, nor have I seen you sprout wings in these last moments. There is no way of our reaching it.”

He laughed, still with that open, untroubled expression. “This way. I will show you.”

After unsaddling the horses, leaving them to graze eagerly, we shouldered our packs. Kerovan led us east, first climbing through the fringe of trees, then treading a narrow path that wound along the naked cliff face. Guret and I, looking slightly askance at each other, followed.

The rock of the cliff continued forbidding: hard, grey granite, veined here and there with darker streaks. Nowhere did I see any means of winning up that face using less than climbing ropes and scaling irons—I began to wonder if the ensorcellment surrounding this valley had unhinged my lord’s mind. Fear, which had quieted in the sight of such peaceful beauty, awakened in me once more.

We rounded a sharp outthrust scarp, to see only more of the unending cliff. Yet Kerovan had stopped, was facing the blankness of that buttressing wall serenely. As we approached, he smiled, indicating the smooth rock in front of him. “Our passage,” he said.

It took all my control not to weep, tired as I was, the weight of my pack digging my shoulder, as I looked at the blank wall fronting me. My lord must be mad, for naught but a lizard could alight on that surface and cling there. I wet my lips, glancing sideways at Guret, saw the lad nod quick agreement, making a spinning sign with his fingers near his forehead. Kerovan turned, catching the younger man’s gesture, then turned back to me, his annoyance plain. “Why do you mock me? Don’t you see it?”

I remembered the times I had soothed fevered patients, and made my tone gentle. “See what, Kerovan?”

“The symbol!” Frustrated, he pointed at the blank wall. “You see it—you must see it!”

I shook my head. “We see naught but a stone cliff, my lord.”

Kerovan turned to Guret for confirmation, then once again studied the rockface, his puzzlement growing. “But it’s so plain.”

Reaching toward the stone, he touched fingertip to its rough greyness—and I started, smothering an exclamation. Beneath his touch, light flared, violet light, and I could see the symbol as he traced it! A winged globe—Guret cried out from behind me, making Kerovan turn abruptly.

“It—it’s gone!” Guret blinked at the stone, then looked to me appealingly, fear touching his eyes.

The symbol that had flared there so briefly, carved deep into the granite of the cliff, was indeed gone. Still—I blinked in turn, squinting, then put out my own fingers to the same spot. Warm—

Under my touch a faint blue-green glow glimmered, fading almost as quickly as it came, but for the few seconds of its life, I had been able to feel the deeply incised symbol.

“Do you mean that to you the stone is blank?” Kerovan asked, his confusion fading. “But it is so clear…”

“Even as the valley entrance was to you,” I pointed out. “But to Guret and me, it was shrouded in mist, filled with glamourie. Do you see a door here?”

For answer he traced again the symbol, which once more glowed faintly with a violet light. There was a groaning, a sound I heard not so much with my ears, but with that other sense I had come to associate with my use of Power, and then the rock wall swirled, darkened—

We faced a wide passage, stone-floored and walled, that curved upward out of sight.

Even with the gently angled loops of that ramp, I was hard-taxed to make the climb. Kerovan bounded ahead, as tireless as Nekia, while Guret and I lagged behind. My legs began to ache from the strain, and I was forced to pause, breathing deeply, at several points.

At one such stop Guret reached out, took my pack, then shouldered it along with his own. “I can carry it,” I protested.

“I know, Cera, but it is heavy, and you must not tire yourself to exhaustion.”

I looked into his dark eyes, seeing there a gentle understanding and compassion. “How did you know?” I asked. “Did Terlys—

The young man smiled. “I have four younger brothers and sisters, Lady. I have seen my mother’s eyes grow shadowed, in just the way yours are, when she was carrying. My lord does not know?”

“No,” I admitted, “and he must not, until we know what it is we face in this place. Promise me you will keep silent.”

He hesitated. “Except for the weariness, are you well?”

“Completely,” I made firm answer. “I am a midwife, remember. I will take no foolish risks. Have I your sworn oath?”

He nodded heavily. “Aye. I swear by the Sacred Horse-hide to hold silence—unless you fall ill, Lady. Then I needs must speak.”

I nodded. “That is fair.”

Kerovan was striding impatiently back and forth as we toiled up the last reaches of the stone ramp.

Kar Garudwyn awaited us. In the last light of the sun the blue stone seemed shaded with a warm, welcoming glow. There were no wooden doors, such as I was accustomed to in the Keeps of High Hallack. Instead one entered through an arched portal somewhat larger than the many narrow ones admitting light and air. A short passage lay beyond, then a hall. It was large, with a circular floor, rising overhead to a domed ceiling. As we entered a crystal globe hung from the center of the dome flared into soft life, emitting a rosy light.

Tables, flanked by benches, filled the central portion, with a dais midpoint. A huge seat rose from it—seeming partially a throne, but clearly not one intended for humankind’s occupancy. A ramp led up to it, not stairs, as one would find in a Keep.

I frowned, suddenly arrested by something that should have been there, filling this hall, but was not—dust. I touched the surface of a table, looking at the ungrimed pinkness of my fingertip with disbelief. After so many ages, there should be dust!

The table’s surface seemed cool, smooth—not like wood, which at first sight I had thought it to be. No, this material had the color and circular veining of wood, but the slickness and glassy feel of polished stone.

“Cera!” I glanced up at Guret’s whisper. “Look at the walls!”

I walked over to join him, as he stood surveying the curving walls of the feasting hall—or so I now believed this to be. What I had thought were more veinings marking the stone surfaces were instead patterns and pictures made up of many tiny gem pebbles embedded in the surface. I touched the mosaic carefully, marveling at the intricate workmanship. A dark green stone—surely that was jade. And another one with tiny fires tracing its milky surface—opal?

My searching eyes and fingers discovered a kingdom’s ransom of agate, jade, opal, amber, and topaz, as well as other jewels studding the wall to form parts of the patterns. The scenes themselves were huge, swirling pictures of the sun, the mountain, plus what I realized after some study were very ancient runes—so old that I could barely recognize them for what they were. I could not read any of them, which saddened me. For I had a feeling, as I stood eyeing them, that they told the story of this place, if I could but understand their message.

“Cera!” Guret tugged at my arm. “M’lord Kerovan is not here!”

“Where did he go?” I had no wish to be separated from him in this beautiful—but passing strange—place.

“I did not see him leave. I turned, and he was gone.”

Hurriedly we forsook the hall to search passages. A ramp echoed overhead with the click of passing feet—hooved feet—and we took it at a run.

Kerovan moved quickly, but without undue haste, heading for the arched portal at the end of that hallway. Open archways as we passed revealed rooms empty of furnishings, dustless and silent.

The portal before us gave way to another ramp which we ascended quickly. Beyond it, the view from the southern and western windows was dizzying, naught but a clear sweep of reddened sky and purple cloud. Fortunately the lighting globes came to life at intervals along the halls, or we would have been soon in the darkness, and eyeing the unguarded floor-to-ceiling expanse of the narrow window-arches, I did not like that thought. My palms turned sweaty and itched at the unbidden fear of falling from such a height.

As we ascended one more ramp in my lord’s wake, I thought that we must be in one of the towers I had noted. A final archway met us at the top of the ramp, filled with a coruscating violet light, making me draw back instinctively. It would be death to touch that shimmering brilliance, I knew.

Kerovan put out a hand, speaking softly, words I did not know. The light grew softer, gentler, then vanished altogether. He stepped within. Taking a deep breath, I followed him.

Arched windows opened the circular room to the mountain air, making me feel a brief return of the same giddiness I had fought in the pass. Careful not to stray too close to any of those openings, I watched my lord.

The room was large, with naught but a few tables therein. Runes glowed softly on the walls, taking fire from the dying sun. A pentagram was incised on the floor; next to it, the winged globe symbol. The wind touched us here, chill with the coming of evening, making me shiver.

Kerovan stepped to the nearest table, laid hand to a book that sat at its center. I held my breath lest the volume crumble into nothingness, as I had once seen the contents of a spell-held room do in an ancient Keep, but it remained intact. My lord moved around the room, seemingly untroubled by the giddy sweep of air outside the windows, his hands rising now and again to caress a book, a scroll… a rune incised on the wall—everywhere he touched came that violet glow. I could feel Power here, stirring like some huge animal just waking from sleep.

Guret’s hand came out to clasp mine, his fingers cold.

“Kerovan”—my voice struggled to pierce that ancient silence—“who built this place? Whose things are these?”

He turned, some of the bemusement fading from his Face, to see me clearly for the first time, I thought, in hours. “You do not know?”

I was growing tired of such questions, and my voice held more than a touch of asperity, I am afraid. “No, I do not. I would be happy to be enlightened, my lord!”

He came to me, putting his hands on my shoulders, his eyes intent. “All these years, this is what I have been afraid of, all unknowing. It called to me, for it holds my heritage. I was not ready to accept that part of me, until I could accept my own humanity, Joisan. Kar Garudwyn was—and is in a way I can hardly explain, because I just know—Landisl’s citadel.”