Andre Norton - Gryphon in Glory

The mist hung like tapestries in some great hall, shutting in the fire those two whose warmth and life it served. Now I was there also and oddly content in a way I had not been since that hour when Kerovan had turned his back upon me and ridden forth from Norsdale. I watching him go dry of eye, though weeping in my heart. That sorrow and fear had been my own and I would not allow any to see the signs of it. But here—it was like—like being with kinblood. I marveled a little that I felt so.

“I am Elys,” the woman said, adding no House or Dale to mark rank. Yet manifestly she was one who would sit at the high table in any hall.

“And this”—her hand reached forward a little as if, were there no space between them, she would lay fingers on his arm (again I felt the bond between them, and I hungered for its like)—“is Jervon.”

“I am Joisan.” Because they made no claim of land or kin, neither did I.

“Joisan,” she repeated, her head a fraction to one side, almost as if she expected some echo from the mist.

That thought made me uneasy once again, broke through the dreamlike content which had held me for a fraction of time. I turned my head quickly. Only our four horses stood there.

“But you are also . . .” Elys’s fingers twitched, as if, against her will, they sought to summon some trick of Power. Then her tone changed as she added the same warning Nalda had given me.

“This is a dangerous land in which to ride alone, Joisan.”

I made the same reply that I had in Norsdale: “For one alone and careful, it may be less dangerous than in company.”

To my surprise Jervon gave a low laugh. “She is right.” He spoke across me to Elys. “Have we not proven the truth of that ourselves? As long as one stays away from certain—places.” To that last word he gave emphasis.

For a moment I thought that his companion might take his words amiss, though I knew nothing of what lay behind it all. I saw her teeth close for an instant upon her lip. Then she nodded.

“There are dangers and dangers. Only . . .” She turned her head to catch my eyes in as direct a gaze as the Past-Abbess had bent upon me when I had informed her of my plans. I did not know whether I held this woman in awe or not, but I knew she was more than she seemed, and somehow she knew more about me than I had told or wanted a stranger to discover.

“You carry,” she said abruptly, “such protection as will serve you well. How else could I have felt your coming hither so strongly? But you are not of those who by blood have the use of such.”

My hands flew to the gryphon. Any chance to conceal it now was too late. That Elys guessed, or knew, something of its value I had no doubts now.

She shook her head quickly. My alarm must have been very transparent and easy to read.

“No, Joisan, I do not know the nature of what you wear or to what use that may be put. Only that it is a thing of Power. That you wear it so openly means that that Power is ready to your hand—”

“No!” Least of all did I make any claim of strange talents before one who was of the Old Blood. “This is a thing of Power, yes. But I do not know how to summon what it may control. Perhaps my lord can riddle some of it, for this is his gift—that is my wedded lord. I have seen it act—but not by my will.” Or had some of its strength gone forth that time I feared for Kerovan’s life because I had willed it? Who could tell me that?

“And your lord is?” Jervon asked that.

My chin came up defiantly. Did he know of Kerovan? By his gear he must have served or did serve now with the Dale forces; he was clearly no outlaw. Perhaps he had heard those vile whispers, rumors of “monster,” “half-man,” which had poisoned my lord’s life, walked him away from me.

“My wedded lord is Kerovan of Ulmsdale,” I answered and brought pride strong into my reply. “He rides now to answer the summons of Lord Imgry.”

“Kerovan?” Elys made a question of the name as she spoke to Jervon. He shook his head.

“There are many lords with Imgry—those who still live. Of him I have not heard.”

I was sure he spoke the truth, but Elys, it was plain, was not satisfied. She turned that probing gaze now upon the gryphon itself.

“He who made a gift of such a thing,” she commented, “must be no common man and of no common heritage.”

I knew I must make a choice. After all Elys was one who might well share Kerovan’s burden, though she appeared to accept it as a part of her life, not a curse. As Jervon also did. That he did and their bond was the stronger for his acceptance (as any, looking upon them as I did with eyes made wise by my own hurt, could see) brought weariness upon me. These two were strong because they had each other, were thus forged into a more formidable whole. That was what I longed for with Kerovan. Perhaps I lacked wit, or strength, to bring such coupling about; perhaps I was too young, too poorly schooled in things of any heart save my own. Envy arose in me like a black and bitter taste in my mouth, a shadow on the spirit. But I gave them truth because they held what I wanted, and perhaps some small crumbs of knowledge of how they had gained that oneness might fall within my reach.

“Lord Kerovan is partly of the Old Blood. He is—different.”

I did not know what to expect, aversion, disbelief . . . What followed made me gasp in surprise. Elys caught the hand which lay upon my knee. When I dropped my other, in surprise, Jervon’s strong fingers closed about it, linking us three together. From each of them flowed warmly into me a feeling of peace and comfort. That envy withered, leaving only wonder and a vast longing, a birth of hope.

The mist did not lift from this refuge between the ancient walls. We feasted on the fat-dripping birds, watched the shifting billows of the feather-soft cloud about us. The original purpose of the wall, which enclosed this space on three sides, we did not know—there was no sign that anything had been erected within.

Under us the bare rock had been smoothed to a pavement on which the mist left damp drops. From time to time Jervon disappeared into the mist, with an uneasiness about him that touched me quickly.

“This is a dangerous place?” I had felt none of that warning which the gryphon should have given. Elys shook her head.

“Not openly. Still, when one rides the Dales these days, there is ever a need for caution. Jervon is a man of war. His band was beaten into death, only he survived. It is not his way to accept any refuge he does not prove many times over.”

“You—” I hesitated and then dared because of my deep need. If I only knew how these two had come together I might better be able to confront my lord. “You are not of the Dales—but he is . . .”

She caught my meaning I am certain, the one I could not quite put into bald and open words.

“I do not know of what blood I am,” she answered me. “Those who gave me birth were washed ashore on the coast here after a great storm—seemingly they fled some danger, but what I was never told. My mother was one who had strange knowledge, she was Wise. Only, because she wished to give her lord children, she had to strike a dire bargain with certain Powers. When my brother and I were born at one birth, she paid for us with her life. My brother—” She hesitated. “He had none of her heritage. He distrusts such knowledge—it may be true that men cannot control the Moon Strength.

“The invaders came, my father went to war, later my brother. I gave what help I could to those coast people who had been our friends. Some things I learned from their Wisewoman—I was very young and had not much teaching. Our people fled inland and Jervon found us. He was sore wounded in both body and spirit. Later I had a message that my brother was in danger. So I rode, and Jervon with me, because his lord was dead and he had no kin left. We——”