Gryphon in Glory (11 page)

“Swing out!” she ordered, emphasizing that with a gesture to her left. “Can you not also feel it?”

Perhaps because I had been for so many hours wrapped in my own thoughts, I had not been too much aware of what was round about. Now her command startled me into attention. I hunched my shoulders, tightened grip on the reins so that the mare sidled under me. It was as if an unexpected blow had struck out of the very air—one I had no means of countering.

The only words I can find to describe what chanced are that in that moment I had been attacked by a wave of pure evil. Evil is the only name for the foulness of it. Cold it was, wholly inimical to my kind of life, or at least to that part of me that could claim kinship with humanity. I sensed a subtle movement in my mind, a feeble assault, as if what had launched that blow (perhaps intending invasion) had been drained through centuries until its force was only a faint shadow of what it had once been. Something coiled out there behind the dark of the trees, the tumble of stone, something full of poison against the soul, as an adder is full of poison to discharge against living flesh.

We rode on, making a wide circle around that ill-inhabited place. However, we had not gone far (though the pressure I had felt had faded entirely away) when there came the sound of wild screeching. Coiling up from the tower, in the form of a giant serpent rearing to strike, came a spiral of birds.

Once aloft they wheeled, to fly directly at us. I saw, as they drew near, that they were of the same breed as those foul scavengers I had found at the desert oasis. Their raw red heads, armed with those murderous curved beaks, were stretched forward like spears, aimed at us.

Arriving just above us, they circled, continuing to screech, a clamor loud enough to hurt the ears. From the flock some darted down, two and three at a time, skimming just above our heads. I had flung up my arm in an intuitive gesture of protection and the band on my wrist blazed like leaping flames. Our horses went wild, screaming in pure fear, tossing their heads frantically, as if they expected that their eyes were about to be plucked out of their skulls. There was no trying to hold them. Instead we gave them their heads and they ran, directly west, until we came to cover under a stand of trees. The birds followed, settling on branches above, still shrieking what may have been dire threats in their own tongue.

However, the branches prevented them from attacking us, and they raised stronger cries of rage and frustration. We discovered, as we threaded a way among the trees, that those winged demons did not seem disposed to follow beyond the very edge of the wood.

It was our hope, though there was no path, that we were not wandering in circles as we ducked down in our saddles to avoid being brushed out of them by low-hanging branches. Such ferocity in an attack made by winged things was new to me, and I marveled that they had not scored us with beak and talon. They might well have been trained, as were falcons of the Dales schooled, to hunt on command—or else they themselves possessed both a malicious form of intelligence and a purpose in harrying us.

“I trust,” Jervon commented, throwing out an arm to ward off a branch, “that they will not be awaiting us when we reach the other side of this cover. Never had I thought birds were creatures to fear. But those—they could and would tear a man's face from his skull—given the chance.”

“Your ward is strong.” Elys spoke to me, and nodded to the wrist band. It still shone, but the fire that had awakened to life there as we had approached that tower was less brilliant. “However, what lay there was not only birds . . .” She turned her head a little to one side as if she were listening.

All I could hear were the cries of feathered attackers growing steadily fainter as we drew away. I regarded the band of the Old One's metal with the same thankfulness a warrior, pushed to a last stand, looks upon his sword. I had been very well served since chance had brought it to me.

“No,” Elys continued. “Something more than birds laired in that place. Though whether it is strong enough to leave its den and come into the open by daylight . . . Most things of the Dark use the night for their cover—unless they are masters of evil arts. That . . . force is no longer strong as it once was. But I think that we had better set as much distance between us and its lurking place as we can before we camp.”

We made a slow passage but we did win at least to the other side of the covering wood. No birds had flown above to lie in wait as we had half feared. What we discovered was something far different—a broad road, better laid than any of those in the Dales, showing only small signs of erosion at the extreme edges of the smooth surface.

The highway came up from the south, but at the very point where we emerged from among the trees, it took a sharp, curving turn to the west. On either side it had been cleared of tall growth, so that anything or anyone traveling there would proceed in clear sight—an idea I did not find very much to my present taste.

I had seen a similar highway once before. The Road of Exile, which led into the Waste not far from Ulmsdale, resembled this. It had served those Old Ones who had passed from the Dales into a place and future we knew nothing of. Never would I forget how Riwal and I had sheltered from a sudden storm in a ruin standing beside that road and the vision that had come to me that night—the march of the Old Ones, only half seen—but felt, yes—felt! That heavy sorrow, which had sent them roving, arose from their ghostly passing to touch me and turn the whole world into a place of loss and heartbreak.

Here, however, lay a brightness, which that other road had lacked. Age had lain heavy on the path of the Exiles; here abode a feeling that this highway might still be in use, that at any moment a party of warriors, a train of merchants's ponies, might come trotting into view.

Elys slipped from her saddle and Jervon gathered up the reins she released. She walked forward until the very toes of her boots touched the slight crumbling of the surface edge. There she stood for a very long moment, neither looking up nor down the way, but rather with her head bent, studying the surface itself with care, as if she sought some lost object that might lie there.

Out of curiosity I followed her, my mare treading behind me as I hauled on the reins. A moment later I, too, sighted what had caught and so held her attention.

The actual surface of the road was unbroken and smooth. However, inlaid in it were many symbols, arranged so that any who walked or rode upon it must, of necessity, tread on them in passing.

Some were undoubtedly runes, unreadable, as far as I knew, to any now living. Once more I was reminded forceably of Riwal, of how he had spent most of his life in eager search for a clue that would unlock for him the knowledge scattered in the Waste.

Among the markings of the runes were also designs that had no resemblance to writing. I saw stars of Power, their five points always filled with symbols. There were also silver outlines of footprints, not only of men (or some race nearly human) but also of beasts—hoofprints, the pad marks of what must have been outsized cats, the pointed toes of birds.

These last, judging by their length, must also have been giants of their species. The prints and the star points both glistened under the sun rays as if they were inset with some burnished metal, or even with tiny gems, though there was no color other than the silver of the Moon's mirror about them.

Elys knelt, holding her hand out, palm down, over the point of one of the stars that was not too far from the edge of the pavement. She did not touch the surface of the road, merely moved her hand slowly back and forth. For some reason I could not understand, I was drawn to kneel and copy her gesture. In turn I put out my right hand.

My wrist band warmed gently, though it did not continue to blaze into fire as it had when we neared the tower of the birds. And—there came a calming, an casement of my mind and spirit. No one did actually stand now behind me with a comrade's hand laid on my shoulder. Still it seemed to me that I had this comfort, that what we had found here, sorcery as it surely was, held no terror or possible harm—might in fact work for our future good. I said as much.

Elys got lightly to her feet.

“This is indeed our way,” she said soberly. If she had felt the same touch of comfort as had come to me she did not show it in either face or voice, for she spoke as one who faces a task or a test. “This holds a power meant to protect those who travel. We have perhaps been led here without our realizing it. The Old Ones have many mysteries and secrets—it could be that we have, in some manner, been selected to be hands and feet for them—for the doing of a task. If this is the way of it then the road is their reassurance—safety for us.”

I wanted instantly to protest that I was no one's servant—either that of a Power or a lord. Though I had come at Imgry's bidding, it had been of my own choice. The belief that I might be now used by another was one I resented hotly.

Joisan was my only concern. I was back at the side of my mare, ready to mount and ride—not
to,
but
away
from this road to which we had been led—if Elys guessed rightly. Only—where would I ride? And—Joisan . . .

Elys looked over her shoulder, directly into my eyes.

“You fight, thus wasting your strength; accept and hoard that. Do not believe that I also do not know what it is to be a stranger among all who are kin to one another. Once I had a father, a brother—neither could nor would accept me for what I am. I learned that through hardship and heart sorrow. You must also find your road and then hold to it. There are no easy paths for such as us.”

Perhaps something in my expression silenced her. She still gazed at me and then turned away, and I did not look after her or speak. This was my own battle that I must face.

In the Dales I knew that I was distrusted—hated—for what I was. I had managed to set that behind me for a space, just as I had left Imgry and his camp. At that moment I still longed—in a part of me—to ride away, turn my back on the road and all that it stood for, even on these two who had learned a secret for living cruelly denied to me, a secret I was perhaps not even wishful to learn. That was the human part of me. What if I forgot the Kerovan who was? What would be my way now? Would it lie as straight as the road heading toward those distant heights—taking me out of the past?

And Joisan—but, no, Joisan was not to be left in the past, she was not to be forgotten. She was—I must admit it to myself now if I never did to any other—she was all that was real now in my world.

Joisan

I
STOOD ON STONE AND IT WAS SOLID UNDER ME.
I
FELT THE COOL OF
the breeze that tugged at the ragged, earth-smeared loops of my hair where the braids had come apart, I heard the nervous twittering and calls of the birds. All this I could believe in. But the rest—could one walk half in, half out of some spell? There had been enough behind me in the past hours that could lead me to believe that I might indeed no longer be able to think straight and clearly.

“Untaught—and no longer a cub. There is nothing but folly in such a one.” A new voice in my head, a contemptuous voice. “It was not so in the other days.”

Slowly I went to my knees that my eyes might be on a closer line with the bland gaze meeting mine. Beyond the cat, the bear yawned, its small eyes ignoring me. Surely—surely it had been the bear that thought-spoke that time!

These—these animals—I had no other way to name those who transferred speech directly into my mind—how . . . I fought down my fear. This was the Waste, I must always remember that and be warned. In a place where remnants of Power had been loosed for more generations than my people had built and lived in the Dales, how could I—dare I—marvel at anything that I might encounter here? Cats—a bear—who thought-spoke—these were no more extraordinary than the means by which I had been lifted out of an earth-walled prison into this outer world again.

“1—can—not speak—as—you—do . . .” I returned haltingly.

Now the smaller cat yawned with the same boredom the bear had shown. “Why state that which is so plainly true?”

That
had
come in direct answer to my speech! I had not fallen easy prey to hallucination, unless it was so strong a one, or a spell, that it carried this semblance of reason.

“Allow me time.” I did not wonder at my pleading with the cat; at that moment it seemed very natural. At least there was my old liking for its kind to make this easier. J still distrusted the bear. “I thought I knew a little of your people—but this—”

“Our people?” There was disdain in that. “You have never met with our people, witling.” The yellow eyes narrowed a little. “Our like does not live with yours—or has not for more years than it has taken these walls to loose their stones.”

I searched for an apology. It was plain that if this cat knew of those who roamed Dale keeps, it considered itself of a different breed altogether.

“Your pardon,” I said hurriedly. “I have seen some like unto you. They are of the Dales. But I do not know you, and if I have offended, then please understand it is done in ignorance.”

“Ignorance? If you are ignorant why then do you wear the key? That opens doors without, minds within.” Now the voice was impatient as well as condescending. My furred questioner plainly found me one she considered of inferior intelligence—I deduced that this was the female of the pair.

The gryphon! A key—Neevor had said so. My hand closed about the globe. It would seem that even these chance-met animals knew more than I about what I carried. I wondered if they could tell me, but, before I could search for the proper words, that other voice growled into my mind.

“It is time for eating, not talking. This one has no Power, is indeed a witling. Let it go away and stop troubling us. What it does with itself is no concern of ours.”

The bear had gotten up onto four feet, was swinging around toward the same wall gap through which I had earlier come. Now it lumbered toward it, never looking back, plainly divorcing itself from me and my concerns. Still neither of the cats seemed inclined to follow it.

I had found the words for my explanation, very glad that that red-brown body had disappeared. It was far easier for me to feel more comfortable—or as much at ease as my situation would allow—with the cats alone.

“I do not know the Powers of the Old Ones—perhaps the ones who once lived here . . .” I gestured about the courtyard. “This"—I held the globe out a fraction so that the sun shown full on the gryphon within—"was a gift from my lord. It has powers, that is true, but I am not one trained to use them. I do not even know what they may be. Please—can you tell me where is this place—and why—or how . . .” I floundered.

One part of me stood aside in pure wonder at what I did, that I sat on my heels and strove to talk to a cat. The rest of me urged that this was the only way for me to learn what might be of great importance to me—that I could no longer live by Dale ways or judge by Dale standards, but must accept all that came, no matter how impossible some of it might seem.

More than cats—yes. And I—was I less than any like me they might have once known? I suspected as much. I The smaller of the two—the female—still watched me with I that unwinking stare. She weighed me by some standards of her own and I suspected that I was so discovered to be sadly wanting.

“You say you do not know how to use the Key, yet you came here by the --” The concept, which followed words I did understand, was one to now leave me completely baffled. I had a faint impression of what might be wings beating the air, but that
¹
passed through my mind so swiftly I could not be sure I was I correct.

“I was trapped underground,” I explained, as I would to another person had I been welcomed into the ruins by one of my own kind. So I told my story—of the whirlpool in the earth, of the place of dark, of how I had beaten off the creatures and then found my escape by way of the gryphon, which, as I talked, I held cupped in my hand. To touch it so gave me strength, a feeling of reality, a link with the world I had always known.

I described the chamber of the low walls, and of how I had lain down in the middle of it, only to find myself transported here. While I talked the two cats watched me, nor did either of them use mind speech to comment upon, or to interrupt my tale.

“So I found myself out there.” I pointed to the gap through which the bear had gone—to that overgrown garden where I had discovered food and drink.

“It is true—you are as blind as a newborn kitten.” The female again. “You play with things beyond your knowing. All you
do
know is that you are hungry and that you want to find your way out—that you—"

“Kittens learn.” A milder mind-voice cut through this petulant recital of my lacks. “She will learn. Remember, it takes her kind much longer to grow from kitten to hunter—”

“Meanwhile she meddles foolishly with that which could bring notice—trouble for not only her, but for others. It has been very long since any one used the --” (again those words which had no meaning for me). “How can we be sure that the alarm of that has not belled, to awaken much it is better not to have any dealings with? Let her go and take her Key. That in itself is bait enough for many a Dark One. Such need only sense its presence with a least hint—and then—!”

The cat before me raised a paw, pads spread a little so that the claws (which were formidable looking even in this smaller animal) hooked out into the open. A threat—I thought—or at least a firm warning.

Her mate arose and stretched forefeet well before him after the manner of his kind.

“So the Thas are setting traps.” His comment meant nothing to me. The female looked around at him, her eyes became slits, her lips wrinkled back to display fangs as sharp as her claws.

“Earth-worms!” Now she spat. “Since when do such crawlers dare face the light?”

“Since when have they stirred at all—this side of the Barrier—after the Spell of the Hour was set? Their earth-moving has not spread hither for a long time. Nor have they dared leave the Range of Shifting Shadows. This one certainly did not draw them; they were already burrowing where they had no right to be. Who knows what they plan in their murky, earth-slimed minds? Or who gives them orders? For they dare not the Light unless there is some strong will urging them on.”

His range of questions apparently struck his mate as having importance—though they meant very little to me. She set her paw back on the ground and her attention shifted from me to him. I tried hard to sort out from the information I had so gained what I could.

Thas—that name I impressed in my mind. It must be that of the creatures I had battled in the dark. They had been formidable surely and I could still bring to mind the memory of their claws reaching for me. Yet—now I was a little startled at the realization— they had not pulled me down as easily as they were armed to do. I did not believe that it was my flapping efforts with that belt that had held them at bay.

“The gryphon.” I was thinking aloud rather than addressing myself to the cats. “They were afraid of the gryphon's light. Then they were whistled away—”

“That is so. And who whistled? It was the Key that defeated their first purpose—perhaps was a bane also to that which loosed them at you,” the male cat assented. “Do not forget the Key. Whether you dealt with it out of knowledge or out of fear and need, you have used it—and it brought you here.” He looked to his mate, and I believed they were exchanging some confidence that was close to me.

The female growled deep in her throat. I thought that that warning or protest was not aimed at me. Now she drew back to the doorway beside her mate, settling herself as if she were withdrawing from proceedings that were not to her liking. The male spoke to me again.

“You are not of the old blood, nor are you one of those who come seeking what they call ‘treasure'—bits and pieces of things—some of which are better forgotten. Them we have seen—and small value do they get for all their grubbing. The real things of Power arc near all safe-hidden. Why then have you come into this land, bringing that with you which can arouse both Light and Dark?”

“I seek my lord.” So I told them the other portion of my story as I might, and had in part, to Elys and Jervon. Elys—Jervon—my mind turned to them. Had they also been caught in the snare of the Thas? I had not found them in that place of utter dark—but that did not mean they had gone free. For their sakes I hoped that I had been the only one so completely entrapped.

Thus I spoke of Kerovan, and when I mentioned that he shared heritage with the Old Ones, the male cat drew a step or two closer, as if this was of importance and he must hear every word. I talked of Neevor—and
that
name wrought a change in both animals. Once more they looked one to the other in silent communication.

Now the female mind-spoke.

“Trouble—trouble indeed. Old truces broken if
that
One has interested himself in this. An ill day for all of us if the sleeping wake—there will be more than Thas overrunning, or underrunning this land.”

“Neevor cannot be of the Dark Ones!” I challenged her for the first time. I was sure of what I said.

“That is very true. Only we have had peaceful years in which Dark and Light did not strive against one another, drawing even the least of us into their battles. Each, long ago, withdrew to their chosen strongholds and did not trouble with us, who bear no allegiance to either, as long as we did not intrude upon them. Now the Thas move, they lay traps. Those worms of the deep earth obey orders—whose orders? You speak of one who calls himself Neevor—upon occasion—telling us that he wanders abroad and takes action. This lord of yours—what is
he
?”

Her eyes once more narrowed to slits and her ears had flattened slightly against her skull, but she did not snarl. Instead she voiced an order, sharply, as one who is well used to being obeyed.

“Show me the Key, show it to me closely!”

Before I thought, so imperative was her demand, I slipped the chain over my head and held out my hand, the globe resting in the hollow of my palm. Within that crystal, not clouded now with any radiance, the gryphon was plain to be seen. I had a strange fancy, lasting for a breath or two. that the small image held a form of life, that it made contact with the two cats who paced forward and stood with their noses close to the ball.

“Sooooo.” That was like a hiss in my brain. “He is
that
one!”

The male spoke first. The head of the female was still outstretched, her attitude one of sniffing, as if the ball gave forth an odor, which it was imperative that she detect.

“It cannot be!” She jerked back her head. “The time for that is long past—the very way forgotten. Not even Neevor can walk into that hall and greet him who sleeps there. Sleeps? Surely not—too many seasons have come and gone—the life force must have departed out of him long since!”

“It is true"—the male paid no attention to his mate's comment, rather mind-spoke me—"that you do not know what you hold. There is more to the Key than any one of us can sense—it is a very special Key. No wonder the --” (again those words I knew not) “brought you here! If that Power awakes again, indeed the hills shall dance, the rivers turn in their beds, and the very land will be rewoven.”

“Take it from her!” demanded the female. “Take it and cast it into some pit—or better still—set it under a stone. Turn her out . . . Such a thing is not for this witling to play with, or for anyone to hold!” Now she did openly snarl and her paw arose with lightning speed to hook what I held out from my fingers. I jerked the globe back against my breast just in time.

“We cannot take away what has been given.” But there was a growl sounding from the male's throat even as his thought-words reached me. “
GIVEN
—remember?”

“She can loose—she can use—” Now the female's thought-speech ended. Instead the squawl of a cat about to launch itself into a fight arose.

The male shouldered between us, even as his mate crouched to spring. I had hurriedly once more dropped the chain over my head.

“If you tell me what you know of this—of how I may use it safely,” I began, eyeing the female warily. She was no snow cat’ to be sure, a huntress large enough to bring down a horse, kill an unwary human. Still, her mounting fury, linked with those claws and fangs, could cause grievous hurts if she indeed sprang for me.

“No!” The male made answer. “There are many Powers, one does not play with any. Perhaps it was meant that what you hold should be returned to this land in the guardianship of one who is ignorant. On your head will the consequences be, only if it is loosed. This much we must grant you as long as you wear that—you may shelter here.”