Andre Norton - Gryphon's Eyrie

I turned, rode back toward the entrance to the pass. Guret sat the chestnut stallion, his dark eyes anxious. As he saw me, relief lightened his features. “Did you find him, Cera?”

“No,” I answered. “And the pass is spell-guarded. Still, we must follow as best we can. I can overcome the giddiness somewhat, but I am afraid you must go blind, riding by my guidance.”

“What of Vengi?” he asked, stroking his mount’s neck.

“Arren felt no troubling, so I trust he will not, either. We can but try.”

Grasping the reins Guret released, I pulled them over the stallion’s head, so to lead him. He nipped at my mare’s neck, and she backed her ears and squealed, warning him off. “This will not be easy,” I said, slapping the stallion’s inquiring muzzle away. Then I handed Guret a scarf I took from my saddlebag. “Tie this over your eyes. Do not loose it, on your peril, until I bid you do so.”

Nodding, Guret tied the dark cloth over his eyes. Grasping Arren’s reins with one hand, the stallion’s with the other, I rode back to the pass. As we passed through the mist) curtain, I closed my eyes, allowing Arren to pick her way for a dozen or so strides, counted for me in anxious heartbeats. Then I opened them, bracing myself for that disturbing disorientation.

It was still there, and I found I had to close my eyes again and again for long moments as I rode. Only by so doing could I overcome giddiness. Glancing back at Guret, I saw the lad sway in his saddle, his mouth white and pinched with strain. “Hold on to the saddle, Guret,” I called back. My voice reverberated, echoing mockingly, making the horses roll their eyes. “Do you feel aught?”

“I feel… strange. As if I am riding into a dream, though I still wake…” He swayed again.

“Hold on!” I begged him, the uncanny echoes making my words sound like mad laughter. If he fell, I did not know how I would get him remounted!

“The Kioga… need no handgrips to keep their… seats. I can… manage.” He swayed again.

“Guret, don’t be a fool!” I put all the snap of command I could muster into that order. “Nobody will see you but I, and I will swear by Gunnora never to tell!” With relief I saw him grasp the pommel of his saddle.

Our journey up the narrow throat of that rocky pass was a nightmare. I continued to be assaulted by the waves of giddiness but slowly learned to control them, breathing deeply, closing my eyes, and never looking too long at any one patch of barely seen ground, for the alarming sway of c hange sickened me more when I did. Still I fought for greater speed, knowing that Kerovan had several minutes’ start on us.

Finally I glimpsed a dark blur ahead… far ahead.

Kerovan ? I sent a mental call, but as before, there was no response. But, heartened at least to find that he still rode before me, and had not traversed some Gate, I urged the horses to a trot, trying to draw even with him. My left arm began to ache from the strain of leading Vengi—still, I held to those reins, sending up a silent plea to Gunnora for strength.

“My lord! Kerovan! Wait!” My call echoed hollowly, making my dizziness worse, rebounding from inside my head as well as from the rocky walls.

He—he was slowing! Turning in his saddle! I dragged harder at Vengi, dug my heels into Arren’s sides, cantering toward him. “Wait, Kerovan!”

Just as we reached him the rocky walls of the pass opened out, wider, wider—

The glamourie vanished! I had clear sight again! “Guret, look!” Gaping, I reined Arren in, sitting beside my lord, gazing at what fronted us.

A valley. Beautiful rolling grasslands, bounded on my left by a towering forest. The valley might have been five and one half leagues long, perhaps half that in width. It was surrounded by mountains, vast rocky peaks with forested slopes. On my right, lit by the lowering rays of the sun, towered two high, saddle-backed peaks. And on the closer of those, near the summit—

My mind struggled for words. A Keep? Castle? A dwelling, surely, but not one constructed by humankind. Built from the sacred blue stone, it towered, seeming almost an outgrowth of the mountain itself. Curving spires, dark arched windows, narrow ramps instead of staircases—it seemed very strange, yet in no wise threatening. It clung, seeming almost without support, to the mountainside, like some improbable (and in its way, lovely) dream.

Guret’s voice broke my amazed reverie. “What is it, m’lord?”

“Kar Garudwyn,” Kerovan answered matter-of-factly.

“How do you know that, my lord?” I asked.

He smiled gently at me, without reply. Looking at him, I scarcely recognized this man; his face, wiped clean of tear and striving, seemed almost that of a child. My lord had always, since I had known him, appeared far older than his true age. His upbringing, his fight against the fear and hatred his “deformities” oft inspired in his own people, had given him a maturity that made him seem by far my senior—when in truth naught but two years separated us.

Now, studying him, I was struck by the remembrance that Kerovan was but one and twenty years of age. Reaching out to him, I caught his hand, held it. “Kar Garudwyn? What is that, Kerovan?”

He smiled again, still with that open, unguarded look that made him appear so young. “Home.”

I gazed back up the valley at that cliff-hung stronghold, wondering what was inside. Without further speech, my lord urged Nekia forward, and the three of us rode down into that lush valley.

It was heavily populated with birds and animals—a pronghorn stood for long seconds to stare at us, wide-eyed, before trotting leisurely away. It had been long and long since humankind had ridden here.

When we reached the foot of the mountain, we sat our mounts, staring up past the trees at the steep and jutting cliff face leading to the Keep we could no longer see. There was no path, no indication of any way to reach that stronghold. I found myself wondering if those inhabiting it in ages past had been winged beings.

Suddenly conscious of my fatigue, I climbed off Arren, then removed her hackamore, letting her graze freely.

Should we unsaddle, Kerovan? Do you wish to stay here tonight?” It seemed to me that this spot, protected as it was, offered the best place we had seen for a camp.

He frowned slightly, puzzled. “Why should we stay here? Kar Garudwyn awaits us now.”

I studied the sheer cliff wall facing us. “Perhaps so, my lord, but I am no eagle, nor have I seen you sprout wings in these last moments. There is no way of our reaching it.”

He laughed, still with that open, untroubled expression. “This way. I will show you.”

After unsaddling the horses, leaving them to graze eagerly, we shouldered our packs. Kerovan led us east, first climbing through the fringe of trees, then treading a narrow path that wound along the naked cliff face. Guret and I, looking slightly askance at each other, followed.

The rock of the cliff continued forbidding: hard, grey granite, veined here and there with darker streaks. Nowhere did I see any means of winning up that face using less than climbing ropes and scaling irons—I began to wonder if the ensorcellment surrounding this valley had unhinged my lord’s mind. Fear, which had quieted in the sight of such peaceful beauty, awakened in me once more.

We rounded a sharp outthrust scarp, to see only more of the unending cliff. Yet Kerovan had stopped, was facing the blankness of that buttressing wall serenely. As we approached, he smiled, indicating the smooth rock in front of him. “Our passage,” he said.

It took all my control not to weep, tired as I was, the weight of my pack digging my shoulder, as I looked at the blank wall fronting me. My lord must be mad, for naught but a lizard could alight on that surface and cling there. I wet my lips, glancing sideways at Guret, saw the lad nod quick agreement, making a spinning sign with his fingers near his forehead. Kerovan turned, catching the younger man’s gesture, then turned back to me, his annoyance plain. “Why do you mock me? Don’t you see it?”