Andre Norton - Gryphon's Eyrie

I am minded to stay with these folk for a while… and it would be good to have a scout’s knowledge of what lies ahead . … I made him answer.

“I will ride with you, Obred,” my lord agreed.

“For all my people, I thank you. Where did you find that wristlet?” the Kioga leader asked.

“In a stream, not far from a place of the Old Ones. Uncounted years it must have lain there, for our people do not venture far into those lands, long abandoned as they are. But this came to me as if made for me alone, though doubtless many ages separated its fashioning and my birth…” He laughed reminiscently after a moment’s pause. “Doubtless this will please you, Obred. My horse had the true finding of it. Hiku led me to its resting place.”

Obred chuckled in turn, then sobered again. “It has saved you before?”

“A number of times.” Kerovan’s voice sounded wistful as he continued. “Usually it has only served to warn, although I have evidence it has greater Powers—Powers I have no knowledge of… such learning has never been mine. I was trained as a warrior, and those skills were given ample testing, for there is war over-mountain in High Hallack.”

“So we have heard, through traders. Mostly the Kioga keep to themselves, but no one shrugs away or forgets tales of war in neighboring lands. You and your lady fled when your home was destroyed?”

“Yes, into the Wastes, along with our people. But the paths into Arvon are few, and so far we two have encountered no others of Dalesblood in our wanderings.”

“Tis said this winter past some of the blood of Arvon returned to this land, and that riding with them they brought brides from out of the Dales. The trader swore that this joining came about as a result of some bargain struck between the Wereriders and the Dale Lords.”

The smooth pace of my lord’s mount beside my own faltered a bit, as though his legs had clamped hard on the mare’s sides.

“The Wereriders? Struck a bargain with the Dales?”

“Such was their price for their swords. They fought for the right of the Dalesblood, though under their own command and in their own way—and many are the rumors and stories whispered about the strangeness of that way—still, it seems they battled to some purpose. The trader Klareth told us that the war in High Hallack is over.”

The war over! I glanced over at Kerovan, saw the vague shape of his face turned also to face me. The knowledge gave me joy, but such joy as I could feel only for others—in me there was not the slightest urge to return to the Dales, seek out my blasted Keep of Ithkrypt, and rebuild—although I felt relieved that those of my people who might wish to do so now could.

And you, Kerovan ? Silently I asked that question. Do you think now of returning to Ulmsdale ?

His returning thought came swiftly. Vow know that I do not. The part of me that struggled against those demons from Alizon is glad of their defeat—but I have no home there anymore .

I agreed with his assessment, but his final words reminded me once more that, in truth, there was no place we could look to as our own. I sighed, reminding myself to be grateful for the temporary hospitality of the Kioga.

A few minutes later, we rode into that hospitality. Lights, people—after the silent darkness of our ride, the Kioga camp (for hide tents betokened what I had already suspected, that these people were nomadic, following their herds) seemed aswirl with those eager to welcome us. One short, stocky woman seemed to be their leader, for Obred, upon dismounting, went directly to her, conversing with her quietly. Kerovan aided me from my horse, and we stood together in the torchlight as they approached.

“Our Chief, Jonka.” The woman inclined her head graciously at Obred’s words, smiling.

“Obred has told me of our debt to you, a debt I acknowledge freely, for Briata is my Chosen. I offer you aught that the Kioga can give for comfort. Abide with us in peace and honor as our guests.” She gestured, and a young girl approached, in her hands a guesting-cup.

I wet my lips with dark liquid, then swallowed gratefully. Wine, sweetened with herbs and honey, its fragrance heady and rich. I passed the silver vessel to Kerovan, who also drank. Jonka completed the guesting ritual, sipping from the cup, then tossing a few of the remaining drops in the air, toward the moon’s near fullness, splashing the last on the ground.

“Valona.” She gestured and the young girl who had borne the guesting-cup came forward. “Show our guests where they may rest and refresh themselves. I must see to the guesting-feast.”

It was near bliss to shed the weight of my mail, wash in herb-scented water. Valona brought our packs to the tent, aided by another little girl who pressed her palm to her forehead in a respectful salute but was too shy to speak. I pulled my clean jerkin from the depths of the pack, grimacing at its wrinkles.

“I could wish for my best tabard and gown, if we are to be honored with a feast,” I said to Kerovan, who was busy rummaging through his pack.

“And, I, also—wish for the tabard, that is. Still, they cannot expect much in the way of scented fripperies from two who have crossed the plains and delivered foals today, can they?”

“Let us hope not,” I murmured, wincing at the knots in my hair as I combed.

A few minutes later, washed, combed, and arrayed in our best (poor though that might be), we followed our little guide between the rows of tents to the sounds of laughter and the smells of food.

We ate sitting cross-legged on the brown-tufted grass, In it the variety of the meal—as well the excellence of its cooking—belied the lack of ceremony in our seating. Fish and waterfowl, rice mixed with nuts and spring onions, fruit and bread—after two days of journey rations, the Kioga feasting seemed to eclipse even the grandest in my Uncle Cyart’s Great Hall before the war had come.

Nobody spoke much until the end of the meal, when our cups were again filled with the honeyed wine. Jonka sat on my right, dressed now in a plain linen gown brightened by an embroidered bodice and sleeves, with the skirt divided for riding. The woman’s only outward sign of authority was the silver crescent marked with a horse’s IK ad that hung on her breast, but the dark eyes looking into mine were wise, accustomed to command.

“Tell us, Cera, how you came to find and save Briata.”

Hesitantly I related the events of the afternoon, giving mention of my lord’s assistance in the delivery but stressing that it was only by the Will of Gunnora that both foals had been safely born and accepted.

Gunnora?” Jonka brushed back a strand of long dark hair, raised her brows questioningly. “Is Gunnora the one whose symbol you bear?” I nodded assent. “Many are her Names, and all true. To the Kioga she is the Great Mother, the Mother of Mares…”

“In my travels I have seen her sign linked with several Names,” I agreed. “I am only grateful that today, when I called, she heard.”

As the feasting drew to a close, Jonka and Obred withdrew to discuss tomorrow’s scouting journey to search for a new breeding-ground. I relaxed, sipping at the last of my wine, my eyes studying our new companions. The torches glittered on gemmed necklets and bracelets, sparking bright colors everywhere. The Kioga dressed to suit their cheerful, talkative natures, so different from the rather taciturn fisherfolk of Anakue. Everywhere smiles and frankly curious glances met mine as I looked—

No. Not everywhere.

In the shadow of one of the tents, a woman crouched, studying us with eyes so dark they seemed to reflect none of the firelight—rather, resembled pits in her stony countenance. I could feel her stare laid across my face, like a cold hand in the night.