Andre Norton - Gryphon in Glory

“Now that interests me, Galkur.” The second voice appeared to enjoy repeating the name. “What you are, and what you will continue to be, a statement you appear to take pride in making. What were you on the night when a certain female of the Dales used her puny talent to summon you? That plan was carefully thought out, guarded well, or so she believed. You were to pour yourself into her own lord, as water can be poured into a cup. Through him you would father the son he craved, while she saw (very poorly and ineptly, I must say) an eventual use for such a child, to her own purposes. You were never a fool, Galkur. Could you not foresee that a spell spun by such a one was not strong enough to hold even a fraction of Power, Dark or Light? Was a need for corporal life once more so strong in you? Having so poorly wrought, do you still say now that you are as you once were?”

A note of pity in that—enough to sting. Perhaps not real pity. I thought, rather a shadow of that, rooted in contempt.

“So,” the second voice continued, “you willingly lent yourself (or tried to do so) to the fumbling incantations of a female whose pride and arrogance, among her own kind, were almost as great as yours have always been. And what came of it?”

There was no intelligible reply, but the control the other held broke. I heard a mighty cry, felt the blast of the smothering, fiery fury of his rage.

“You failed. You, Galkur, who in the past moved hills about as a player moves a counter on a game board—you could not mend a faulty spell. So what you deemed, in your pride, to be a small act became instead a large defeat. That game you began is not yet played out. Do you suppose that the sleeper does not sense what you move to do now? That you think once more to work through men to achieve your ends? He shall wake, and rest assured you shall not relish meeting him a second time, Galkur. Can you not understand? It was not his full essence that entered into the coupling, which was to serve you. Taking your place in that conception drew upon only a fraction of his Power. He did not even stir in his slumber as he launched a single shaft of will to defeat your plan.

“The Daleslord had his son, a little strange to be sure. But, when one petitions aid from our kind, there is apt to be a change in mind or body, which always discloses such bargain. Your female knew from the birth hour that what she had brought forth was not of her calling. She paid for that, did she not, Galkur? Now you shall have to reckon with the sleeper, since this time I think he will do more than just dream another life into being. You have meddled, and for that you must face the consequences. So do not look to your new pieces to be any more potent that that other was.”

Once more the surge of anger scorched me with flames of hate.

“Our roads do not meet. What lies on mine you cannot begin to understand.”

“I do not think that you understand either, Galkur. You were always too impulsive for your own good.”

That calm second voice. I listened more closely, not only to catch the words, but for something else . . . Memory? I had heard it before, of that I was certain. There had been a ridge top—a man in gray who gave me a horse . . . A man whose eyes were so piercing that I felt them strike deep into my mind, read there every thought, good or ill, that I had ever harbored.

Neevor! He had said that that was his name for some people—he had—

Joisan—she had seen him, too. He had promised her—promised her—as I tried to catch that other shred of memory, I was suddenly aware of a new sensation. Hidden in the dark, as I was, with only those two voices to assure me I was not alone—when I had thought of Neevor there had come a change. They were now aware of— me!

“Sasssss!”

The dark broke with a lightning swift strike of light, so intense my sight was seared and a new dark enclosed me. I hung, I felt, in empty air, unsupported over a vast gulf into which I would drop—to fall on and on forever and ever! Fear tasted bitter in my mouth, I swayed back and forth in the midst of a vast whirlpool of force that struggled within itself—with me as the prize.

There was nothing I could do for my safety. I was helpless, at the mercy of whichever portion of those battled, intertwined powers won. In the meantime I endured such terror as I had never known. For if I hurtled into that gulf I knew well that all that I was—Kerovan—would be gone, without hope—an extinction worse than physical death.

Then . . .

As if a loop of cord I could not see shot through the dark to settle about me, I was aware of a firm support that drew me from where Power still strove with Power. The dark was no less at first. Then, far down below (though not in the gulf, that was safely behind me now) there came a glimmer. Weak with the aftermath of terror I hung in the embrace of this new force, watching that light grow larger and stronger.

Once more I was drawn into the hall of many pillars. This time I was very near the dais. That which had sustained and brought me here ebbed away.

I looked down at the body of the Sleeper. What might have been grotesque by human standards was, I now perceived, glory and power. I felt no shrinking. In this sleeper was embodied grace and majesty no human lord could aspire to.

Even as I stood there, still weak from my ordeal above that evil gulf of dark, I saw the eyelids twitch, arise slowly. I looked downward and our gaze locked . . .

Then—I could not remember! I could not remember! It became an ever-increasing ache, for my dream broke at that instant. There was left a need, a strong need, for me to learn—Learn what? Even that I did not understand, save that I was the less because I was not strong enough to hold and remember as I should have done.

I awoke into day and the ruined keep, with Joisan watching me—deep concern on her face. I did not want this—I wanted to be back there—to know . . .

Joisan—the desolation that had filled me when I thought she had been fatally caught in one of the evil traps of this land—the great burst of liberating joy that had been mine only yesterday as she had come running into my arms and I knew not only that she was safe, but was where I could hold her . . .

Where had those feelings now gone? They might stir feebly still—somewhere. I think that they did, now so hidden and overridden by a drive possessing me that I wished for nothing more than to have her gone.

So I actually urged her to go, out of my tormenting thirst for this other quest. Though I knew, even as I spoke, that not only would her determination keep her with me, but if she had chosen to return to the Dales I would be constricted to see her out of the Waste and into safety and I could not have forced myself to take the time for such a journey. This land held me now. I was sure I would never be free of its witchery—would be less than the half-man I already was if I attempted to leave it.

As we rode out of the keep, found our way down again to the highway, I could force no words, make no effort to explain. She must have thought me deranged—or ensorcelled. I was aware now and then that she was watching me with a frown of deep concern, that she made an effort to keep close beside me.

But Joisan was only a shadow now, moving through a shadow world. What was real were those two voices in the dark—Neevor and Galkur. That the latter was one of the to-be-dreaded Dark Lords I had no doubt at all. Then—the sleeper . . . What had I seen when his eyes opened and sought mine? What tie lay between us? A loose one, perhaps, but one that would tighten—must tighten—of that I was convinced.

We rode through the morning and there were no words between us—at least I remember none. Then we camped at the edge of a great cut the Old Ones had slashed through the heights so that their road of many symbols and signs remained smooth and level. I sensed, even on the safety of that starred ground, that there was peril nearby, closing in. It was true—the enemy I did not know was making his first move.