Andre Norton - Gryphon in Glory

Not because we had once been used by our elders to insure an alliance of the Dales. There was something far stronger to unite us. Her eyes met mine with level courage. The spirit that burned in her fought that cold within me, warming my best part back to life. I lost the icy touch forever.

My sword sheath hung empty. I had no bow, not even a knife. Also I believed that what we awaited could not be harmed by any weapon forged by men. Neevor carried only a staff of rough wood such as might be cut from any sapling, bits of bark still clinging to it. The sleeper—he held a sword, yes, but in some way I dimly understood it was not made for thrust or parry, cut and slash, in crude open warfare. The gryphon on the gate perch moved a fraction, its beak a little open so its serpent tongue lolled out, its wings slowly fanned the air.

I do not know why or how at that moment my hand sought my belt pouch—my left hand. Fingers fumbled with the clasp and then groped within. What I drew forth was that bit of blue metal I had found in the noisome nest of the Waste.

It was a broken piece of metal, about which my fingers now curled tight—surely of no use in any battle. But, weaponless as I was, I stood shoulder to shoulder with Joisan. I saw her fingers go to her breast, fall away empty, as she remembered the globe was now gone.

A tongue of thick dark such as we had seen in the aisle of the sleeper’s hall burst from out the ground just beyond the gate. The very earth might be vomiting forth evil it could not stomach. This was an offense against the light of day, the air, the place where we stood.

Once more the gryphon roared a challenge. This time, however, it did not fly forth to meet what came. I looked to Neevor, to Landisl. Neither showed any surprise, certainly no hint of dismay. Still I sensed in them a wariness, in spite of their outward appearance of ease.

Joisan’s hand sought mine. She closed her fingers slowly as if she half expected I would shake off her touch. The warmth of her flesh against mine was what I needed most—again she was giving fully, openly, all I lacked.

Echoes of the gryphon’s roar died slowly. Beyond the gate the black mass whirled, grew smaller, thicker, more solid. In an eye’s blink there was no dark—only a man. Or . . . could one name him man?

He was tall and, like Landisl, bare of body. To the waist he was well proportioned, fully human-seeming. His head was crested with a thick growth of curling dark hair and his face sternly handsome. Those features might have formed the countenance of some ancient hero-king.

Only—that half-heroic body with its noble head, was belied by what lay below. From the waist down he was clothed by a wiry pelt much coarser than any hair or fur, and his thick legs ended in—

I glanced quickly away. Hooves! Hyron had suggested that I seek kin. Was this one of my own blood—the other half of me?

The mixture of noble and worse than bestial which he presented raised in me such a feeling of loathing as made me want to kill him. Or else run to hide myself from the eyes of those among whom I stood because I carried that same stamp upon my own body. There awoke in me once more that cold loneliness with which I had lived for so long. I shared blood with . . . Perhaps this beast-man could even claim my kin allegiance.

“No!”

It was not I who cried that denial aloud, nor had it come from either Neevor or Landisl. Joisan! She did not eye that monster, coming ever nearer the gryphon-shrouded gate, her eyes were for me, demandingly, even as her hold on me tightened.

“No—you are no part of him!” I saw her lips shape the words, but I heard them in my mind. That thought-send was rich, filled with what was needed to soothe the bleakness about my heart.

“A new day; another meeting . . .” Galkur (if this was Galkur) broke through that short moment of oneness with my lady. His voice was also deep, rich, and was meant, I thought, to be beguiling. He spoke aloud, not using the mind-speech.

Neither Neevor nor Landisl replied. The half-man smiled. This was a smile which, if one did not look below the face, might have charmed even a prudent doubter.

Did I stir then, or had he already considered that there might be some cord between us which he could draw upon?

“You stand in strange company, my son.” He used the last two words with deliberation, emphasizing them.

His stamp was on my body, perhaps had always been my bane. I carried a taint of the Dark—was such truth coming to light at long last? My self-doubts returned in hard array.

Neevor raised his staff. The rod of wood made a barrier before me. I strove to shake free of Joisan’s hold. This was the truth! I was kin-bound to the Dark. Could they not see it? My mother’s ambition, the will of this Dark Lord, had made me tainted stock. If I remained with them I would bring down in defeat those about me. As an unwilling enemy in their midst, I would be a key by which he could enter their stronghold.

“Only if you believe—accept—the lie. The choice lies with you, Kerovan.”

Joisan! She would not release my hand, holding it and me prisoner as she cupped it against her breast, even as I had so many times seen her cup the gryphon.

“Keep your lady, if you so desire, my son.” Again that warm enticing smile. “Who wishes to part devoted lovers?”

Mockery in that. My other hand clenched. But, may all Powers forgive me, a part of me answered to him. What did I want with this girl out of the Dales, I, who could summon, could have, any female I wished?

Pictures trailed languishingly through my mind, clear, detailed. I was reduced to a slavering dog trailing a bitch in heat. This was foul, and I was invited to wallow in the filth. Joisan was no part of me.

I tore my hand free with strength enough to send her staggering backward. Inwardly I faced that seeping foulness, which spread until I longed to sear the flesh from my bones to rid myself of such stinking evil.

“Come.” He beckoned to me. The sorcery he put into that single word set my whole body trembling. Where else could such as I go? It was only fit that kin should go to kin . . .

I bit my lower lip, feeling no pain, though my own blood dribbled down my chin, clenched both fists. I was a part of this monster, so I must withdraw from those who were clean in body and mind.

“Kerovan!”

I shook my head—I must withdraw from her most of all. I was of the Dark—evil and foul. These others had tried to save me—or they had deceived and used me for some purpose of their own. They could keep me no longer.

Joisan had fallen to her knees, I stooped and tore from her belt the knife I had given her. Good clean steel, very sharp, ready for what I must do. I could not attack that thing waiting out there—calling me so. But I could do the next best thing—remove his key, make sure I could not be a traitor!

My hand moved with the practiced ease I had learned long ago as a boy sweating under the tutelage of a master fighting man. The sharp edge neared my throat. Fire blazed, burned at the wrist of my knife hand—thrust up into my eyes. My arm fell as if dragged back by a great weight. Fire burned in my other hand—the pain reaching deep into me. Only there it found nothing to feed upon—to slay . . .

I looked down dazedly at my hands. The blade lay on the pavement at my feet, but the fire still ran about my wrist, shown between the fingers that grasped that metal fragment from the nest.

“Kerovan!” Joisan once more flung herself at me, catching that weighted arm as if she feared I might again raise it. There followed swift on her cry a thought.

“Only those of the Light can hold or wear quan-iron, boy. Trust yourself first.”

Landisl? Yes! I was not, I could never be kin to Galkur. I thought his name with the same savagery that I would have shouted a battle slogan. I was drained, weak, but afire now with anger. My fate lay in my own two hands. I had just had material proof of that. Had any here the right to decide for me what my future would be? I had walked, ridden, slept and awakened again, for so long seeking the truth. Now I knew it.