Andre Norton - Gryphon's Eyrie

I braced myself to meet that yellow gaze; however, he spared not a glance for me. Swinging out of the bed with the fluid grace of a trained swordsman, he reached for his breeches, pulled them on, then his under-jerkin. All his movements were hasty, those of a guardsman summoned to a post. Moments later he threw back the lid of the chest where we kept our possessions and pulled on his padded shirt. Then, with a dull clink, his mail followed.

“Kerovan, what’s to do?” I crossed the loft as he tested the edge of his dagger on his thumb, nodding in satisfaction when a hairline streak of red welled. He paid me no mind—as if I had not spoken.

With an echoing clatter, our swords and swordbelts dropped in turn to the wooden floor. Then my own mail shirt was shaken free. “My lord!” I put hand to his shoulder, shook him. “What do you? There is no battle—”

He turned to me, eyes brightening. “Ah, Joisan! I was afraid I would have to send Zwyie to seek you out, and time is short. Here—” He thrust my mail at me, then piled padded undershirt, boots, and sword on top willy-nilly.

“Put them on!” he snapped, seeing my hesitation, then turned to dig out his backpack. Mine followed. Without another glance at me, he began filling them with the swift precision of one who has spent much of his life on the road.

“But Kerovan, why ?” In spite of myself, anger sharpened my voice. I let the things he had piled in my arms slip to the floor.

“We’re leaving.” He glanced at me as though I were lackwitted. “We must go—today. Hurry.” He returned to his strapping of a pack.

“ Why? ”

He paid me no further heed. I watched him, realizing that if I did not prepare to accompany him, I might well be left behind. Once, before our struggle with Galkur, he had gone forth alone, not looking behind, driven by his fear of closeness with me. Now, again, something was goading him, and there was nothing in his mind but the urge to run from—or to—if.

Reluctantly I dressed in my trail clothing, leathern broaches and boots, padded undershirt, then my woolen shirt, and, finally, my mail. That last hung harsh and heavy on my shoulders, the feel of it recalling to me vividly fear, hunger, and cold, those ever-present companions during war. For the first time in long and long, I wondered briefly how fared that struggle between Hallack and the invaders from the eastern sea.

Long before I was finished, my lord had packed our few possessions, begun pacing impatiently. I heard the scrape and click of his hooves on the hard wooden rungs of the ladder as he descended. But I cast a last longing look at our “home,” as I twitched the bedcoverings smooth. Then, with a heart heavier than my mail, I followed him.

I could hear Zwyie from the kitchen. “What’s to do, Kerovan? Where is your lady?”

“Here,” I made answer. “We are leaving Anakue, Zwyie. Give our farewell and good wishing to all your people, if you will. Our thanks for all your kindnesses.”

Why ? Her question echoed in my mind, but she did not voice it aloud. Behind Kerovan’s back I shrugged.

“Well, at least I can send you on your way with something in your bellies! You can surely stay that long, my lord!” At Zwyie’s sharp voice, my lord nodded. I felt shame for him a little, though I do not believe he truly realized his discourtesy, as she hustled briskly about, putting up a pack of smoked fish, joumeybread, and dried fruit.

Moments later she pushed the provisions into my pack, helping me slip the straps onto my shoulders. “Go with Gunnora’s Blessing and aid, my lady.” She pressed something into my hand. Looking down, I saw an amulet of Gunnora’s, the carven golden sheaf of grain entwined with a grapevine heavy with ripe fruit. Tears near blinded me as I fumbled the leathern thong that held it pendant over my head.

“Thank you, sister.” Between us I traced the symbol of blessing. Her eyes widened as my fingers left a faint trail of greenish-blue light to linger for a moment on the early morning air.

“You have learned much, my lady. Remember, trust that within you, rather than things as they outwardly seem. “Joisan!” Kerovan already stood within the boat, the breeze tug-Hint; impatiently at his hair as though it reflected the haste which drove him.

Silently I descended the house-ladder, took my seat. Our paddles slipped in unison into the water. The boat headed for the shore. Kerovan kept his face steadfastly set to the south and west, never looking back. It was as if to him the village—those who had welcomed us there—had ceased to exist.

But I watched over my shoulder Zwyie’s stocky figure dwindle and shrink, and discovered myself hard-pressed to hold back tears.

The compelling pull from the mountains was constant now, an ever-present siren call, striving to force me north and east. I had been a prisoner to this compulsion ever since we had entered Arvon. This was a land where beings and creatures whispered about as shadowy night-tales in High Hallack, bore solid form and nightmare reality. At times the drawing was so strong it worked upon me both awake and sleeping. At other times I would gain a measure of peace when that pressure was quiescent for months at a time, so I was able to hide my secret fear from Joisan and hope—how I hoped!—that freedom might be mine at last.

Now I could only stride, fighting the need to turn back and run toward those darksome mountains where lay in waiting—what?

That Joisan knew I was troubled added to the weight of my burden. Many times the dreadful confession was ready on my tongue, and I must fight with all the strength of long-engaged will to hide what I feared might be a sending from the Dark. It filled my mind constantly that Mialkut, loathsome to me in every way, yet with whom I had felt a perverse tie, had regained his Powers and sought to draw me to him, to torment with dreams and |possess me by the leash of his will.

I had believed the Dark One vanquished, devoured by the very evil rising from his own nature. But suppose that was not so? What if he still stalked in these mountains, waiting to entice me again with his claim? I had, perhaps in great folly, repudiated Landisl’s aid, wanting none of other inheritance save what a man might rightly claim through natural birth. Without it, what defense had I against fell sorcery?

What were my true weapons now? Only that wristband of the Old Ones I had brought out of the Dales, and a small piece of the blue stone-metal Landisl had named quan-iron. Such would count as nothing against the power of an Adept well along the Left-Hand Path.

Beside me, Joisan stumbled as a rock turned under her foot. Startled out of my morass of dire foreseeing, I caught her arm, steadying her.

“Are you all right?” Even in my own ears my voice was harsh.

She glanced up at me, her face drawn with weariness, ryes two dimming sparks within shadowed circles, the generous curve of her mouth drawn tight. “I am well enough, though I could wish for a moment of rest. It seems we have been walking forever, Kerovan!”

I glanced up at the sun, was shocked how far west it had traveled. We had left Anakue in the morning, not long after dawn. How could time itself be so forgot? Pausing, I looked back along our trail.

Anakue lay in the midst of a large lake, one of many such lacings of water between green stretches of meadows. Straining my eyes, I could barely make out a distant blue shimmer surrounded by green. We had come far, indeed.

Joisan dropped to her knees, fumbling in her pack. Taking out her water flask, she drank, visibly counting her swallows. I squatted beside her. Silently we shared a cake of journeybread, a few handfuls of dried fruit. For the first time since we had begun our journey, I was truly aware enough to survey our path with a trained scout’s eye.