Andre Norton - Gryphon in Glory

What I desired most of my lord was that he understand me. Understanding comes from within, it cannot be poured from another source. His greeting to me had been far warmer than I had dared to hope—even though he as speedily withdrew from the embrace. I would not make demands on him—I must approach him as warily as a scout spying on an enemy camp.

Rain curtained the keep when we reached it, making of Kerovan only a shadow among other shadows. I wished for light that I might see him better, but there was not even a fire. Because I must hear his voice I urged him to the telling of his adventure—of his meeting with the Wereriders.

The idea of shape-shifting was not new. We of the Dales knew from childhood strange legends and scraps of lore. Still one could never be sure such tales were true. This was the first time I heard one with a core of hard fact.

“They must be masters of illusion,” I ventured after he told me of a stallion who had reared behind the high lord’s table, a snow cat crouched snarling beside him. Illusions were the principal weapons of the Old Ones when dealing with men.

”I do not think so. Though they go armed and armoured, still their greatest weapon is their change. Even were that an illusion, it is a more potent one than I have ever heard tell of—enough to rock any man.”

“Do you think they will ride to join with the Dales?”

“I do not know. If they do, it will be the result of some bargain. They know that trouble is also rising in the Waste and they may fear battle nearer home. They did not like my story of the Thas—those creatures of the underground.

“lmgry is a planner of battles, a builder of armies—that is true. I think it is also true that he has learned those from overseas came not just to harry the Dales. What they seek is a thing we do not yet understand.”

“Some Power.” I nodded in agreement. “Also a Dark one, for the invaders, showing themselves to be what they are, could not treat with the Light.” I felt my upper lip tighten as if to lift in a cat’s snarl.

The cats! With the rain without they must have taken refuge somewhere but not with us. Where were they, I wondered fleetingly.

“A Dark Power,” Kerovan mused. “Could such a Power sense that it was being sought, gather in anticipation its own servants such as the Thas?”

“To what purpose? Any Dark Power would be to the Hounds as a Dale’s lord to the outlaws,” I pointed out. “The invaders would soon discover that the evocation of the forbidden must make them slaves under such a master as they could not dream of—”

“Dream.” Again he spoke as if for his own hearing. “Yes—a dream—”

“What kind of a dream?”

That he spoke of something important to him, I sensed. I wanted to know, I needed so much to know, all I could of him, his ways, his thoughts, even his dreams. This need was a rising surge of desire in me. I had to use all my control to contain and subdue it lest I break out with a myriad questions and he turn from me again with even more coldness than he had shown. For until he opened gates, I could not enter—nor could I dare to try and force them.

“Just a dream.” Now it was plain that he spoke to me in firm refusal to let me share some important part of his life. Instead he spoke swiftly, as if he would push all references to this from both my mind and his, asking of me an account of my own adventures.

I wished again for light—that I could see his face, read any emotion that might show there. Talking so in the dark was like lying under a hindering blindness.

We spoke also of Elys and Jervon whose escape from the Thas still lightened my inner gloom. However, I longed so much to ask my lord if he had noted how well they fared together—that they were two whom the Dales would say could not be joined in harmony yet still they were. Only that was another subject I knew, instinctively, I dare not speak of now.

So I made as plain a story as I could of my escape from the darkness through the strange spell of the winged globe. And we talked of the cats. Later I showed Kerovan the ring that was the only remaining treasure of what must once have been a room of treasures, before I let in Time itself to loot and pillage.

When I showed the ring to him, his wristlet blazed so we both knew that my find was in some way touched with Power. Yet I was certain that all it held about it was the shadow of the old spell, for it never warmed for me as did the gryphon, though it fitted itself to my finger as if that hoop had been fashioned to my size on purpose.

I dared greatly then to reach out my hand and clasp his. To my joy his fingers tightened around mine, did not repulse me.

“If there was only some way to get you out of the Waste.” He spoke forcibly and his hand tightened on mine so that it brought pain. Still, the last thing I would do was try to free myself, “lmgry has his contact, that was all he desired. We could ride east . . .”

I did not try to argue with him. However, I knew, as well as if it had been shouted through the air of that dank, dark hall, that we would never ride back. The Waste had set its mark on both of us—neither of us could stray far from it again. I had nothing to return to—everything to lose if I went. Perhaps here I could also dream and find my dream was true . . .

We settled for the night, apart—always apart. I wept a little, silently, in the dark at another bit of hope that had come to nothing. It was not long before he slept. I could hear his even breathing—and I so longed to see his face, to watch over him as he slept . . . why I do not know, except that it then was a dear, deep wish—as if so I could keep all harm and sorrow from him, stand between him and ill dreams.

The gryphon at my breast glowed gently as I sat up again and laced my fingers about my knees, thinking things that hurt and made me despair. Then I saw a glow—eyes in the dark . . .

My hand twitched for the hilt of the knife my lord had given me. Still, almost at once, I guessed who came thus silently, and fearing to speak aloud that I might wake my lord, I strove to set up thought-speech of my own.

“What passes?”

“Nothing passes,” returned to me swiftly, and I believed I could recognize the mind-speech of the male cat. “What do you wear on your finger, daughter of strangers?”

I held out my hand. The gem in the ring was also glowing a little, though less than the gryphon.

Once more I shaped mind-words: “That which I found—in the barred chamber,” though it came to me that the cat somehow already knew of my exploration. Did he resent my prying into a secret I did not understand? I put out the fingers of my other hand ready to rid myself of the ring should he demand that I do so.

“She who wore that once was a great lady.” His thought was born out of some memory I could never share. “If you found it remaining—then take it as her free gift. Through her will alone could it pass to another—”

“Who was she?” I dared to ask then.

“Names vanish with the years. She lived, she loved deeply, she had courage and drew to her others of great heart. She went from us by her own choosing, in the time that was right for her. Be content with that, daughter of strangers. But I think she has this day favored you beyond even your understanding.”

The eyes were gone, just as he was gone out of my mind. I wanted—yes—just as I desired Kerovan’s confidence, I wanted to learn more. But I knew that I never would. I lifted my ringed hand to my cheek, pressed the stone against my flesh. It was smooth, it was . . . I had no words for what flowed out of it to comfort me then—like a hand laid on a fever-hot forehead, a cool drink held to parched lips. I lay down once again and now I rested content, pushing away the future, knowing only that my lord rested within my reach and slept, and we were together so that anything might come of that—and I did not think what would follow from this hour would rend my heart.