Andre Norton - Gryphon's Eyrie

Automatically we both scanned the horizon, still featureless. There were only the plains—

Narrowing my eyes, I put out a hand toward Obred. “Look! To the west, there. What is that?” It seemed to me that a small mound broke the wave of the grass in the distance.

“I don’t—yes, I see it!” Signaling to our followers, we rode toward that hump.

Perception is distorted on such a featureless expanse. I realized in a few moments that the mound I had glimpsed was much closer than I had originally thought, and consequently much smaller. Nekia’s trot lengthened into a smooth canter, ground-covering and gently rocking. Moments later we drew rein before that solitary object.

“A well!” Obred exclaimed. “But how did it come here, so far from any dwelling?”

I studied the high sides, made of ordinary stone, mortared roughly together. From deep inside I could hear the entrancing gurgle of water. Small bushes clustered about the well’s base, bright with large orange blossoms.

Obred reached down and jerked his waterskin free of its fastening on his saddle. “At least we can replenish our supplies and drink our fill. It seems as though we’ve been short of water forever.” He began to dismount.

It was then that I felt the tingle on my wrist. Looking down, I saw the wristband of the Old Ones glow even in the brilliant sunlight, shining blue-green. Along its surface runes twisted, red-gold in color. I stared at the talisman in near disbelief, for the well was such an ordinary, homely structure, it was difficult to believe—

Heat erupted from the band, near searing me in its intensity. I found my voice. “Obred! No!”

The Kioga leader continued his slow pace forward, not even turning his head. I glanced back at the rest of our group. Most sat their horses with fixed gaze, eyes blank. A few looked uneasy. I seized upon a familiar countenance, putting all my will into my shout. “Guret! We have to stop him! To me!”

The boy pulled his eyes from their fixed stare at the well, his dark gaze centering on mine. Then, slamming heels into his stallion’s flanks, he crowded through the others, reaching me in moments.

Turning Nekia, I signaled to him, and together we followed Obred’s broad back. Even as we raced toward him, he had almost reached the bushes—

Bending down, I grasped the Kioga leader’s shirt with both hands, controlling Nekia with my knees and weight. Guret, on the man’s other side, did the same. “To the right!” I shouted, and as one, both mounts wheeled on their haunches, turning away from the well.

I urged Nekia away, digging my heels into her sides as much for balance as to urge speed, for the man’s body was a heavy weight. Sudden pain lanced into my hand. Turning, I saw Obred’s teeth locked tight over my left thumb and forefinger, their whiteness swiftly eclipsed in red as blood flowed. Agonized, I tightened my grip, praying to any Powers that might listen to let me sustain my hold until we won free of the well’s influence.

A few strides further on, Obred’s jaws parted, and he slumped in both our holds, limp.

Tightening both knees, I signaled Nekia to halt. Obred slid from my numbed grasp onto the plain, facedown.

Take care of him,” I told Guret, turning the mare back toward the rest of the Kioga, only to see one—two—three—then a fourth rider slip from their saddles, heading for the deadly trap. I raced past them.

“Stop!” I turned Nekia to face them, drawing steel, resolving that any who would not heed would die cleanly by my sword, rather than be trapped by the Shadow.

One or two hesitated as the blade swept from my scabbard, then stopped, blinking. Acting on a half-remembered tale, I drew the steel through the air between the group and the well, and the cold iron did indeed break their fixed gaze. “Back—get back!” I crowded Nekia closer to them, still swinging my sword, keeping the blade ever between their eyes and the well. Several mounts took a hesitant step back, in response to their riders’ signals. One by one, gradually, all the Kioga retreated, until when we were perhaps twoscore feet from the structure, the compulsion abruptly ceased. The Kioga milled in confusion, one rider falling from his saddle in a faint, several others clutching their heads and crying out.

Guret came forward, half supporting a shaken Obred. I dismounted, warning, “Do not look toward it. It may be that once nearly caught, one is more susceptible the next time.”

Obred shuddered. “I do not believe most would have a second time, Lord. That—that foulness—” He spat, looking for a second as though nausea would overcome him at the very mention of the well.

I turned to look at the rock—and-mortar trap, surrounded by those huge, unnaturally brilliant blossoms. Cautioning Obred and Guret to remain where they were, I moved closer, sword held between me and the well, my wristband flaring. With great care I circled it, studying the rocks, the blossoms. Wherein lay its threat? Would its victims cast themselves in? As I stepped, something crunched underfoot, and looking down, I saw the skull of a deer, bits of hide still clinging to the bone-whiteness. A little farther on, a pronghorn’s bones lay bleaching—then something that looked like a small wildcat’s. On impulse, I lowered the sword from between me and the well—

At once I felt its lure, though that call was muted, no doubt by the wristband I wore. The trickle of water was in my ears, water of life, water of eternity. To drink of that water would make me immortal… invulnerable… give me the wisdom of the ages…

It was not until I staggered a half step forward that I realized how close I had come to being ensnared. I jumped back, bringing my sword up once more, only to see movement around the base of those rocks. The flowers —

I blinked. Had it only been my imagination, or had those blossoms actually moved away from the steel? I lowered the sword again, watched the blossoms strain toward me, writhing, rippling—their petals moving, opening like hungry mouths, entrancingly lovely…

Hastily I raised the sword again, and they were only flowers once more. Guardedly I completed my circuit, noticing many more bones nearly hidden among the tall grass, as though cast aside after a feasting.

As I approached Obred and Guret from the other side of the well, the Kioga leader led Nekia to me. “Mount, Kerovan. Let us get hence from that thing, before it lures us again. I thought for a moment it had you.”

I shook my head, refusing the proffered reins. “I cannot go, yet.” I cast a look back at that Shadowed trap, and fear tightened my voice. “I must do what I can to seal that thing. It shall not be left to draw others—animal or human.”

Guret’s hand closed on my arm. “But Kerovan, you said yourself you had no lessoning in use of Power! How can you do such a thing?”

“I don’t know.” My words were forced from me, honesty compelling that admission. “But I do know I cannot ride away free, leaving that thing also free, to kill again.”

Turning, I pulled away from his grasp, walking back toward the well.

Barely a fortnight after my lord’s departure with the Kioga scouting party, I began to wonder if I might be with child. My woman’s cycles had always been extremely predictable, but this time the moon had waned into darkness and still—nothing. Also, my midwife’s training made me alert to other small signs that could mean my body was preparing to shelter another life than my own.

Not truly knowing myself whether I hoped for or feared confirmation of my suspicions, I reminded myself that the strain of the past few weeks—leaving Anakue, Kerovan’s erratic behavior in the face of that drawing from the mountains—could well have disordered my body’s rhythms. Each morning I told myself that this day could well lay to rest all my doubts… while those days slipped by, each like unto the other, leaving me to question—with only-time to provide firm answer.