Gryphon's Eyrie

8 Kerovan

When Joisan looked at me as we stood together in that wind-touched room, high in the tower of Kar Garudwyn, I believed I saw fear in her eyes.

“Landisl’s citadel…” she breathed, her gaze never leaving mine. “Could any Keep have stood so complete, unruined, for that long?”

“If bespelled, Joisan.” I, too, was lost in wonder at this tower room, the ancient books, the scrolls undisturbed by time, the deeply incised runes not even dust-blurred. “All would have crumbled ages since, were that not so. I think”—my gaze swept on out, to the mountains ringing in this Keep—“that perhaps this citadel is barred to any chance comer—open only to he who holds the heritage of the gryphon within him.”

“In other words, it waited for you.” Her voice caught a little in her throat, her hands reached out to touch my shoulders, gingerly, as though now, in spite of all lying behind us twain, she half feared she might be repulsed. “Power… my lord, in truth that is yours. I can feel it.”

I, too, could sense a growing surge within me, as of a storm-wracked sea. tossing and ebbing. Once, as a lad. I had swallowed a draught too heady for careless drinking. Then also had my sight blurred, crossed by only half-seen visions as it did now. Knowledge came and went. I was aware—then ignorant again—until such uncertainty made me giddy. At times was I almost another—then suddenly Kerovan again.

“I know.” Again arose that flow of knowledge that I could almost—almost—grasp, make mine. Then it was gone! I sighed, closing my eye, only to be roused as her grip on my shoulders tightened. I was shaken—

“Kerovan! No!” Joisan’s face bore tear stains, her eyes shone wide and wild. “Do not so slip away from me, not here, not now, my lord! Power—what do I care for Power, if in the gaining of it I must lose my husband? Let us get hence from this place—now!”

“Joisan…” I gathered her to me, forcing a steady-voice, though part of me still quivered from what I felt. “No, dear heart. All the Power in the world would be too great a price to pay—if such knowledge meant losing you. No, never…”

Dimly aware that Guret, with inborn courtesy, had left us alone in the chamber, I held close my lady, until the near-frantic clutch of her arms about me loosened, and I could once more put sufficient distance between us to see her clearly. I touched her pointed chin, turning her face up to mine, looking down straightly into those blue-green eyes. “Be patient with me, my lady, I ask of you. I know well all the trials I have forced unheedingly upon you—and there are doubtless many more of which I remain ignorant. However, in truth, this place surrounds me now with a Tightness… a strength… that makes me sure it is our true home.”

Joisan smiled, albeit a little wanly. “Patience—of all the virtues Dame Math long tried to instill in me, always she despaired of my learning patience! But the war, three years with you, have accomplished much toward her goal.

Also”—her voice softened, her fingers brushed an unruly lock back from my forehead—“when one loves truly, little is impossible, Kerovan.”

I bent to kiss her, quickly, mindful of the youth waiting outside the chamber. Together we recrossed that rune-incised floor, careful to avoid stepping full on any of the patterns still glowing a dim violet.

Together, then, the three of us retraced our way to the Great Hall, where stood that dais. Carefully seating Joisan on the raised step—for my lady looked near to exhaustion—I cleared my throat. “One of us should go down the ramp before full dark, see to the horses.”

Guret nodded. “I would, willingly… save for one thing. How would I get through that rock barrier?”

I sighed. “I know not. There is doubtless some way, but my knowledge of this place comes in spurts, then ebbs, never by my conscious willing. So it is better I see to the horses. Then we must seek out a source of water up here.”

Guret hefted his waterskin. “Is there water? Otherwise, you should fill these when you are below.”

I answered him slowly. “Yes… somewhere, I know there is water. But we must search for the source. My inconvenient memory has not enlightened me as to where it may be found.” I grinned at him wryly. “I am no sorcerer yet, Guret, so give me not those awed, sidelong glances. I am truly but Kerovan, as always I have been.”

He grinned back at me, half-abashed, half-relieved, as I slung our feed bags together and took the ramp, hurrying because I moved downward into darkness. But even as I went, the blue stone of the wall shone with a gentle glow. As I reached the valley, I whistled. Moments later, Nekia, grass tufting from both sides of her mouth, appeared. A moment later Arren and Vengi followed. I saw from the stallion’s wary glances at the mares that they had repulsed his attentions. Scratching his neck, I fed him his ration of grain, well away from his female companions.

“Poor fellow… so they want nothing to do with you?”

He snuffed gustily, bobbing his head from the feed. I smiled. “Well, as the spring advances, you will find that changing. The maned ladies shall not be able to resist your charms for long.”

Again he bobbed his head, as if in agreement, then returned to crunch greedily. I looked to Kar Garudwyn, though even in the daylight I could have barely seen its walls because of the cliff’s acute angle. A faint blue glow told me that, like the ramp, the whole structure must give off light from the blue stone-metal of its building. Had it given off that faint shine every night through the countless deserted years, or did it only do so when there were those dwelling within its walls?

Weariness fell upon me like a blow as I started up the climb. The excitement of finding this long-abandoned citadel drained away, dissolving my steps into a fatigued stumble, forcing me to now and then use the wall as my support. Blue stone brightened where I set hand to it, and under my fingers it was warm rather than cold. Such touches seemed to give me a measure of energy, of well-being, pushing back my exhaustion for a few moments.

I discovered Joisan and Guret before a section of that large mosaic covering the circular wall of the Great Hall. Shouldering my lady’s pack along with my own, I led the way instinctively through an archway opposite the entrance. Our feet echoed loudly on the stone floor. As before, the light globes sprang to radiant life as we approached, emitting that soft, rose-amber glow. Beyond the Great Hall, a narrow corridor stretched onward, lined on either side by those floor-to-ceiling slender arches. Joisan’s voice reached me faintly, for the air here, though fresh, appeared somehow to muffle all sound.

“If we are to stay here, my lord, we must barrier these. I have no fancy to lose my footing some morn and find myself part and parcel of those rocks below.”

“Aye,” said Guret. “As it stands, this place is not for the clumsy… or the very young.”

“Which, fortunately, none of us is,” I said. At my words, I caught a swift glance exchanged between them, Guret’s holding amusement, Joisan’s a warning. I frowned, wondering what secret they shared, when Joisan spoke:

“Strange that the wind does not reach in here to touch us, in spite of these openings. Also, with walls of stone, I would expect to feel chilled with the onset of night—as I would have, if I stood within Keep walls in High Hallack. Yet I do not.”

Guret looked around, again more than a little uneasy. “Witchery…”

We continued to make our way down that hall (which proved shorter, somehow, to our feet than it had been to our eyes), passing through the portal at its end. We found ourselves in a large three-sided courtyard, facing the eastern heights. The jagged peaks were dimly visible through the ever-present narrow arches that framed the dark mountain night, a night which was pushed back as we entered by the glow of those strange globes. To the north and south lay arched entrances leading to other parts of the Keep. In the center of the courtyard was a fountain, its water cascading and swirling into a strange, half-familiar shape. Moving closer, I realized the flood sheeted and poured from a crystalline figure, so cunningly wrought that it was hard to divine which parts of the creature were water and which were solid.

“It is the figure of the gryphon…” Joisan breathed beside me, her hand going to her breast where the tiny image of Telpher, Landisl’s gryphon, had lain ’prisoned for all those years. The globe had long since been shattered; her fingers encountered only the weight of Gunnora’s amulet. “ ‘Tis passing beautiful, Kerovan… making me remember so much. Has this been so all these years, or did it spring to life again just before we came?”

There was no way of answering her—as usual, my knowledge or memory remained capricious. We stood watching the flow and play of the water, until Guret broke the silence.

“Shall we bed down here, m’lord Kerovan? With the water to hand, it appears the best place.”

“That seems good,” I made answer, wandering over to look at a huge bowl wrought from stone which rested near the easternmost arches. Blackened traces of fire still showed within it. “Look. We wilt be able to cook here.”

“It is perfect,” Joisan agreed, before splashing water from the fountain over her face. I joined her, dipping hand into that basin, finding the water refreshingly cool. The runoff spilled into a second pool before disappearing—I wondered if its source was some mountain spring, but the liquid did not hold that bone-shrinking chill usually found in such.

We drank, then ate hungrily of the rations we had brought. Tomorrow, if we were to stay here—and, frankly, such was the peace that I felt in Kar Garudwyn, I could imagine no reason to leave—we would have to forage in the fields and forests. Also hunt, though my mind shied from the thought of so disturbing the valley below.

Joisan must have been mindsharing, for her next words echoed my thoughts. “We have food left to last us but one more day…” She took another piece of journeybread, broke it, frugally stowing the remaining portion back in the pack. I must have shown my surprise as she chewed so eagerly on the tough, sustaining food, for she added, “I cannot remember when I have been so hungry. It must be the mountain air. And, of course, we did not pause at midday.”

“You are right, now that I think of it. Today,” I confessed, and felt some guilt at my blindness, “until we came into sight of this place, all passed in a haze for me. Though I pushed you hard, my lady, I did not know what lay at the end of our trail until I gazed upon Kar Garudwyn. Then it was as if this had always been there in my mind, waiting, its image behind my eyelids when I closed them…”

We talked but little more, soon rolling into our blankets, drowsy with long riding and perhaps some strain of self-discovery. The globes on the wall shone steadily. I lay watching their reflection on the sheets of water in the fountain, wishing I knew some way to lessen their glow lest they disturb my lady. My mind wandered… I heard Joisan’s soft breathing from the pallet next to mine, Guret’s some distance away.

My eyes widened. The lights were dimming! As though my thought had reached into stone and metal, they banked to a soft red glow. Dimly, overhead, I could now make out the stars before moonrise. Somehow this small example of sorcery, more than any other that had already evidenced itself, made me aware of how attuned this place was to my mind… my spirit.

My old fear of Power returned to tense my body. I forced myself to relax, allowing that peace to wrap around me as a cloak against a winter wind. Power, as Joisan had shown me that night so long ago, could be used for comfort and protection, as well as by the Shadow for evil. Perhaps I would grow used to that part of me in time. Time… how long had Kar Garudwyn waited? Perhaps here, time was measured differently… My thoughts jumbled, then stilled, as I sank down into sleep.

I awoke clear-headed for the first time in three days, stretching luxuriantly in the wash of sunlight from the east. Guret, I saw, was already up, his fingers busy rubbing clean the headstall of Vengi’s hackamore. Joisan lay still in deep sleep, her face in shadow. Sitting up, I made to block those early rays that she might slumber a few minutes longer. Those dark marks beneath her eyes last night had troubled me. Now, at long last, perhaps we could rest, spend time simply being. Today we would explore the citadel further, find rooms, begin to claim this strange place, adapt it to our use.

I gazed off across the morning-revealed heights, seeing the topmost portion of the other mountain nearly at eye level—though at a considerable distance—from the arched windows on the eastern side of the courtyard. Purple mist veiled that shorn-off peak, seeming to coil snake-fashion among those faraway, tumbled boulders. I tried in vain to follow the lines of those ancient stones, hoping to ascertain whether they were naturally placed or else marked a way of the Old Ones. I could not be sure… there was an odd distortion when I studied any one part of the mountaintop plateau, almost like the glamourie Joisan and Guret had described yesterday when they attempted to ride past the winged globes guarding the valley entrance.

Sunlight strengthened, brightened. Rising, I sought the windows opposite the entrance that I might see more clearly.

Kar Garudwyn, the full light of the sun made clear, actually rested upon the lesser of the twin mountain peaks. Between the two lay only a torturous trail that swooped down from the rear of this citadel, then climbed jaggedly up again, so rocky a way to look as though best traveled only by those tiny, narrow-hoofed deer that forage on the lichens and mosses growing at higher altitudes.

There was a movement beside me. Joisan, her hair loosed and tumbled from its neat braids, her eyes wide as they looked out upon that twin, somewhat higher, peak, clutched my arm. “ ‘Tis the same… the very same…” she murmured. “But Car Re Dogan is no more…”

“Car Re Dogan?” For some reason that name, though I was certain I had never heard it before, held a certain haunting familiarity. “Where—or what—is that, Joisan?”

She started, her fingers tightened on me. I guessed that she was unaware she had spoken aloud. Her eyes met mine, dropped abruptly. “I… have dreamed, too, Kerovan. Even as you saw the object of your dreams when we looked up at this place yesterday evening, so with the morning’s light, I see mine.”

“What kind of dreams?” I demanded anxiously, thinking of those strangely shifting shadows shrouding the other mountain’s summit. They disturbed me. One needed no lessoning in theurgy to realize that these mountains must be as cloaked in sorcery as the rest of this haunted land—how else could they have proved such an effective barrier ’twixt east and west, High Hallack and Arvon?

“Dreams of long ago, my lord… a dream whose end has not yet been revealed to me. There was an Adept, once, who lived in a Keep atop that mountain over there… Margrave of the Heights, he was, the watcher and guardian between the ancient land and the land from which his people had, mostly, withdrawn—High Hallack. Only there were none of the Dalesblood abiding there then, for it was long and long ago…” Her voice had taken on the cadence of a songsmith’s as she spoke, staring out across those twisted ways.

“Did he know Landisl?” I asked, fascinated and more than a little disturbed by and for her.

“I don’t know…” She hesitated, then shivered. “His place is gone, and Kar Garudwyn still stands. Oh, my lord… more and more I feel as though there is truly a designed purpose in our coming here. A purpose beyond finding a home, a cause we yet sense but dimly. Perhaps a reason that will be years… decades… in the revealing. I feel like a playing piece pushed hither and yon at the will of something greater—and I do not like it!”

I nodded. “In the past… I have felt the same. Do you recall Neevor’s words to us, that day we bested Galkur? He said that he—Landisl—had a part in my making, and that someday I might follow a road to Power that perhaps he had walked before me… Do you remember that?”

“Yes.” Her voice was soft. “But I also am mindful of your answer to him… that you chose to follow no road which led to the holding of Power—that you wished to be only Kerovan, lord of nothing, man of no great talent…”

I smiled at her ruefully. “You and Guret both have a knack for summoning my own words back to haunt me. There is a time for holding to such, and a time for letting go. A time for choices of the mind, and a time for choices of the heart. And sometimes only the fullness of time can tell us if we have chosen well or ill.” I drew her close as I bent to kiss her forehead solemnly. “Joisan… you are truly a Wise One, my brave lady.”

She laughed shakily, her eyes downcast. “You give me too much credit, my lord. I can be as foolish—or as cowardly—as the next one. Just as you pointed out, sometimes we all cast away things that may be good just because we fear. Truth is a two-edged sword. Before we left Anakue, Zwyie made a foretelling for me. I awoke this morning, having dreamed of her words. “You shall journey and you shall find a home of ancient wisdom, a place of ancient evil. What are now two shall be three… then six, to face that not of earth…

“Indeed,” I mumbled, my mind worrying at those cryptic words as a hunting hound might worry a lure-skin. We have journeyed and found a place of ancient wisdom right enough. As for evil… could it be that well I battled?”

Joisan shrugged. “Perhaps. Foretellings are chancy matters in the best of cases.”

“What means ‘two shall be three… then six’? Three is a number of power, but not so six. Do you understand it, Joisan?”

Red stained her cheeks suddenly, she looked a little away and no longer met my gaze squarely. “I know not about the number six, Kerovan, but the two becoming three—”

“Guret!” I exclaimed. “Guret is with us, now.”

“So I am,” said the young man, approaching the window where we stood. “While you two looked upon the morning, I have prepared our breakfast.”

After I had washed and shaved, and we had eaten, we discussed plans for the day. Guret, who had more experience as a fisherman than I, proposed to try his luck in the river running the length of the valley. Joisan wished to search the woods and fields for edible roots and growing things, while I would take Guret’s bow and seek game.

When we met later in the afternoon, each of us had done well—Guret swung several fat fish from a line, I had two rabbits, as well as an unwary hedge-grouse, while Joisan’s shawl bulged with intriguing lumps and bumps. As she saw us coming, she waved, beckoning us to look upon what evidently excited her. “Look!” she exclaimed, showing us several gnarled kernels. “Wild grain! I shall be able to make “bread, of a sort. The soil is rich. We must trade with the Kioga for seeds of all kinds—flax, grain, vegetables”—she began sorting through her booty—“wild onions, carrots, and turnips… this valley must have been under cultivation, long ago.”

“Aye, Cera,” Guret agreed.

“We will need a plow,” I said, “and a harness. I wonder how Nekia will take to drawing the earth-breaking blade.”

“Have you ever farmed, m’lord?” Guret looked faintly scandalized, as though he found the thought of a warrior behind a plow disturbing.

“I have turned my hand to many things since we have been in Arvon,” I said, amused. “Including plowing. I can even do a fair job at smithing. Replacing horseshoes is a constant worry in the army.”

“Perhaps that is one of the things you can use in trade, m’lord,” Guret said. “Our smith, Jibbon, is growing old. Jerwin, the boy who died in the mountain passes last winter, was learning his trade, but—”

“Jerwin?” Joisan asked.

Quickly the boy told the story of the menace the Kioga had fled. Joisan glanced around her at the sunlit fastness of the valley, then at the mountain peaks rising above it. “Where in the mountains does this pass lie?”

Guret stood for long moment studying the position of the sun, glancing from peak to peak, in silent thought.

Finally he turned to us. “I cannot be sure,” he said reluctantly, “but it must be in this very region.”

Joisan looked distinctly uneasy, though I had the impression she was not much surprised, either. For me, I surveyed the peace of the valley, then the beauty of Kar Garudwyn, to learn that I could not imagine this as anything but a refuge of welcoming safety. “We were not menaced last night,” I reminded them. “Naught can enter this valley that I shall not sense.”

Even as I spoke, as though my words were an enlarging-glass to focus the many rays of the sun into one burning pinprick, I swung to face the southern end of the valley, whence we had come yesterday. It was as though someone had brushed a roughness across my flesh, abradingly, causing discomfort, but as yet no real hurt.

“What is it, Kerovan?” Joisan asked.

“I feel a troubling… southward. Something is trying to breach the Guardians of the pasts.”

“That runner of ridges?” Guret looked frightened.

“No. That menace is one that gains strength when the sun is fled. I don’t know what this is… but we must find out, and speedily.”

Whistling for our mounts, we saddled and rode up the’t alley at a brisk canter, toward that narrow throat of rock marking its entrance. As I rode, I could feel that other presence, like a filthy cloak muffled about my spirit. Some-tiling was pushing against the valley safeguards, growing more and more angered when their protection held firm. While on my wrist—though I showed that not to my companions—my talisman took on its warning warmth and light.

As we moved toward the englobed symbols, I indeed sighted a figure without, dark, sitting silent atop a black stallion. The stranger was hooded and shrouded in a sable cloak, but as we neared, the sunlight picked out a narrow ridge of nose, and I heard Joisan’s soft exclamation. “Nidu!”

Sensing my lady’s strong dislike mingled with fear, even though we were not directly mindsharing, I glanced at her reassuringly. “Such a one cannot pass the protection devices, Joisan, unless we open the way to her.”

Her answer was chill. “Do not underestimate her Power, Kerovan. Even before we left the Kioga camp she was dabbling along paths better not trodden by any who value their spirits. Do you not feel that she has taken further strides along the Left-Hand Path?”

I could feel it. Nekia trembled beneath me, rolling her eyes and sweating as we took those last few strides to halt, facing the Shaman, just on the other side of those protecting globes. The smell of the mare’s fear sweat was rank in my nostrils, and, glancing over at Guret’s and Joisan’s mounts, I saw they fared no better. Even the stallion, Vengi, who should have reacted to the presence of another male of his kind with open challenge, hung back, eyes rolling, not in anger, but fear.

Nidu’s black mount stood quietly, wearing neither bit nor saddle, every shining line of it reflecting the afternoon sun in ebony glimmers. There was something deeply unsettling about the stallion’s perfection of form, for true perfection is a thing outside of nature. As the sun caught the creature’s eyes, they flashed red, deep within their depths.

“Fair meeting. Lord Kerovan—Lady Joisan.” Nidu’s voice held some of the low, silken hum of the spirit drum hanging by her side. “My thanks for bringing my Drummer of Shadows. You have saved me the trouble of breaching your gate and reclaiming him.”

I kept my voice very level. “Guret refused your service, Nidu. I am surprised Jonka did not tell you of this.”

Her dark eyes pricked at me like an ancient, keen-pointed dagger. “Jonka does not rule the Kioga, save by my will. Guret was rightfully Chosen, therefore he will serve. ”

“Rightfully!” My temper, usually well leashed, flared at her straight-eyed untruths. “I watched you alter the selection! Whyever you did so remains your own reason, but you called upon the Power—and a Dark one at that—to aid your will in the ceremony. Guret is thus twice free—by his own will, and by your unclean cheat during the selection!”

She regarded me narrow-eyed, as though only now seeing me as a man, not just an object to be moved aside by her will. “Do not think you can cower here behind your ancient barriers and safeguards for long, Kerovan. Give me the boy—then your safety, and the safety of your whey-blooded wife is assured. Otherwise—”

“Otherwise, nothing!” Joisan spoke for the first time. “Get you hence, Nidu, and take your insults with you. Guret goes where he chooses. He is free to stay with us until he wishes to move on, and naught you can say or threaten will alter that.”

“Have you forgotten the mandrake charm?” The Shaman smiled suddenly, and for a second it seemed that her mouth bore too many teeth for one of humankind. “Best guard yourself, Lady Joisan. Something saved you that first time, but the next you may not be so lucky—

I interrupted her threat with an expletive better confined to the company of one’s barracks-mates, then, in cold silence, signaled the unwilling Nekia with my knees, so the mare moved to front the Shaman directly. “Get you gone, Nidu, or you will be sorry.” Quickly, with my right hand, I drew the symbol of the winged globe in the air, saw it flame violet. As the symbol formed I spoke two words, ones that came into my head unbidden, words that shaped and honed Power as a smith may strike the edge to a blade.

The woman’s face went ashen as those words struck at her like a sword-thrust. Her mount shrieked, a sound no natural horse had ever uttered, and turned, rocks and sod spurting from beneath its hooves as it raced away.

“By the Amber Lady!” I turned at Joisan’s exclamation to see her arch her brows in feigned shock, then grin wryly at the Shaman’s rapidly disappearing figure. “One would think she’d never heard anyone swear before.”

I began to chuckle. “Your pardon, my dear. I forgot myself. It’s been long and long since anyone—man or woman—rubbed my temper so sorely.”

“How did you know what would chase her off?” Guret asked.

“The same way I ‘knew’ what would vanquish the well,” I made answer. “Which is to say, I acted solely by instinct, with no forethought. Besides, Nidu might well have been able to front and vanquish what I sent against her—but her horse decided otherwise.”

Guret looked at me squarely. “I know not magic, nor words of Power, m’lord, but I do horses. Whatever that… thing… was, it was not a horse.”

“I agree that it was only that by outward seeming.” I nodded. “What then, was it?”

“A Keplian. A Soulless One, who travels in the seeming of a stallion,” Joisan replied absently, gazing through the entrance to the rolling foothills beyond, where Nidu and her unearthly mount had vanished.

“Where did you hear of such?” I asked.

“Old legends, old tales,” she said. “It is said to be a harbinger of death, for one who sees or trafficks with it.”

A shiver worked its way along my spine, crawling upward with icy little claws. “Do you think she will be back?” I asked.

“Oh, yes,” she replied calmly—her very lack of emotion the more chilling than overt fear would have been. “Nidu is not the sort to give up what she wants.”

“Which is why I am leaving,” Guret said, urging Vengi forward, crowding Nekia aside in the narrow passageway. “I will ride for the camp, give my message to Jonka in person, and let her tell the Shaman I refuse to be Drummer of Shadows.”

I made a quick motion to grab his arm, but Joisan was even swifter as her hand closed on his chestnut’s rein. “No!” we said as one.

“Don’t be a fool, Guret!” I said. “It is not just your service she wants, but your spirit. You must not!”

“Even if you go, she will not leave us alone.” Joisan’s eyes were very level, despite her pallor. “She is not one to endure slights easily, and both Kerovan and I have bested her, now. She will not turn aside from her revenge just for you.”

The young man’s mouth was a grim line as he shaded his eyes against the scarlet-dyed rays of sunset. “If what you say is true, then my proper place is here, to help you against her, and whatever she may try to unleash. Still, I could find it in me to wish that I had done as she demanded in the first place, no matter what price it meant tor me. Not for anything would I have had this happen…”

I absentmindedly smoothed Nekia’s mane. “We had best return before the last of the light is gone. We need clear heads to plan our defenses, and none of us has broken fast since the morning.”

“Well said, my lord,” Joisan agreed. “I will start back to Kar Garudwyn, prepare food from our gleanings… I am a bit tired. Perhaps you and Guret should patrol the valley borders to make sure there are no paths down from the heights for Nidu to discover.”

I was troubled and not by any thought of the Shaman, “Joisan, you have been tired overmuch lately. Are you weary?

She hesitated for a second, then her small, pointed chin came up as she smiled. “Completely, my lord.”

“But—”

She interrupted me briskly. “I am the healer in this company, Kerovan, and you may rest assured I take no chances with anyone’s well-being, least of all my own. When we are sure that Nidu cannot enter the valley, that we are safe, then there will be a time for talking. We are all looking a bit worn after our journey.”

What she said was true, making such good sense there was no arguing with it. Yet I found myself watching her as she cantered Arren away, back up the faint trail our horses’ hooves had left, truly worried for the first time since we had found Landisl’s ancient home.

When the last flick of Arren’s russet-colored tail had disappeared, I turned, only to find Guret watching me with some of the same intensity that I had fixed on Joisan. “Guret,” I said, slowly, looking directly at the young man’s plain, sturdy features beneath his unruly thatch of dark hair, “does aught strike you as… unusual… about the Lady Joisan since we returned from the scout?”

He shrugged, turning to slap a fly that had lighted on Vengi’s sweating crest. “Nothing to speak of, m’lord. Why?”

“I don’t know,” I said, studying him. “But I will speak of it later, to her, tonight.” I caught his swift, sideways glance, and was even more certain that something was afoot, something well-known to Guret.

“For the moment,” I finished, “let us divide the valley. I will take the western walls, you the eastern. Make this a quick scout, for dark is not far off. We can explore more thoroughly tomorrow.”

He gave me a quick salute of acknowledgment, turning his stallion to the east. Tightening my leg muscles against Nekia’s right side, I headed for the western boundary of the valley. I rode at the fastest jog I dared, my eyes on the rocky walls and forested slopes to my left, letting the mare pick her way. I sighted a few faint scars of trails, but none that I found particularly threatening—unless Nidu’s “Keplian” mount had the balance and agility of a mountain crag-deer or pronghorn.

Guret was waiting for me when, after turning Nekia loose to graze with the other mounts, I reached the rampway to the stronghold above. “Look, m’lord! The way is no longer hidden to me!”

I surveyed the entrance. “It would appear that Kar Garudwyn has accepted you and Joisan as rightful in-dwellers.”

“Accepted? Are you suggesting the hold is alive?” His glance at the rock walls surrounding us was wary, as though he expected them to sprout hands and faces.

“No,” I made answer, “but the hold and its environs are under a spell beyond anything I have ever encountered, protected by the Power. That is why Nidu could not—

“What is it, m’lord?” Guret asked as I broke off, quickening my pace on the ramp.

“I cannot, sense Joisan. It is probably nothing, but—Without completing my sentence I began to run, my strides taking me up the ramp, then through the Great Hall in a blur, toward the courtyard with the gryphon fountain, the one fronting that twin peak Joisan had identified as the place out of her own dreams. I was gasping, hand pressed to my aching side, and it was a moment before I could summon breath enough to call out.

“Joisan!” The wind in the heights moaned outside as the sun dropped behind the mountains in a last wash of ebbing scarlet. My hooves clattered in the narrow stone passageway with its multiple slender arches. “Joisan!”

She was sprawled, pale as death, before the arches facing the twin peak. Arm’s length from her lay the Gunnora amulet, as though she had taken it from her in response to a command, tossing it nearby.

I went to my knees beside her, raising her head, my heart stone-heavy within me. My hands shook so violently that it was many moments before I could steady them enough against her throat to feel the pulse of her lifeblood beneath my fingertips. “Joisan!”

Her breath came and went, regular, slow, deep, as though she slept. Yet her eyelids, near translucent in the glow of the globes on the walls, did not stir. “Joisan!” I called again, summoning now, reaching desperately with the mindsharing. “Wake!”

I shook her, feeling the limp heaviness of her body, then, frantic when she did not rouse, slapped stingingly at her cheek. “Wake, my lady!”

Guret, whom I had outdistanced, came panting into the courtyard. “What happened?”

“She appears to be asleep, but I cannot wake her!”

Guret paled. “Is she hurt? Bleeding?”

“No.” I looked up at him, my lady’s head heavy against my arm. “There is the smell of sorcery about this.”

“Nidu?”

“Perhaps…” I looked over at the amulet. “Hand me that,” I said, beckoning at it.

When he did so, I took it in one hand, shutting my eyes to deepen my concentration. Gunnora, I thought. Amber Lady, hear me please. I know I am a male, but I ask your help for Joisan… Holding the carven sheaf of wheat in my palm, I pressed the talisman to my lady’s forehead, striving to reach her, call her.

Joisan… wake, please. By the Amber Lady, I summon you…Joisan… you cannot leave me… Joisan…

I continued to shut out all else, trying to picture my call sinking through the amulet into my lady’s mind, holding the image of her waking safe and whole. Joisan… dear heart, come back!

Suddenly her deep, regular breaths changed, sharpened into a startled gasp! I opened my eyes to see her looking up at me. “Kerovan? What chances—

I held her close as she trembled, clutching her as though something might arise from the stone flooring beneath us to take her from me. It seemed that all the strength of my arms was not enough to shield her. “Joisan! What happened? You were lying on the floor, with your amulet flung from you as though you took it off by choice…”

“I did.” Her voice was muffled against my chest but I was not about to loosen my grip. “When I looked out upon the mountain peak to where Car Re Dogan stood, I knew suddenly that Sylvya was trying to reach me—and that something was stopping her. So I took off my amulet.”

“Sylvya?” I questioned.

“The Other who has shared her story with me these past few months… she who once lived in Car Re Dogan. Oh, Kerovan, I at last discovered the end of her tale, and it was so dreadful—” Her words choked off in muffled sobs.

“Tell me,” I commanded, believing that sharing her distress might lessen her anguish.