Andre Norton - Gryphon's Eyrie

But it did not, and eventually we were able to halt on a ledge to breathe our mounts, staring upward at the last short section of trail. I could see what appeared to be ruins farther up, the same ruins we had noticed this morning. By moonlight their shifting was even more pronounced and disconcerting. “This is akin to the glamourie protecting our valley,” Joisan said thoughtfully as she sat beside me.

I glanced over at her, seeing in the wash of pallid light the heavy braid of her hair falling down her back, the shine of her eyes. Below the half sleeves of her mail, her Kioga blouse was dark with embroidery against the white linen. Swept by the sudden knowledge that this might well be the last time in life I looked so upon my lady, my awareness of her caught in my throat like something tangible.

love you, Joisan , I thought, making no effort to link my mind with hers. Even at this moment some vestiges of the old reserve still held, and I feared that if I gave way even by so little to my feelings, I would be unable to ride on that last small distance. I wanted to tell her—how I wanted to!—but the words stayed within me, mine alone.

“We may be forced to ride blind, my lord,” she continued quietly, not guessing, of course, the nature of my thoughts. “The horses, if they react the same as they did yesterday, will-remain unaffected.”

“Do you know—has your vision shown you—what now lies at the top of the peak?” I asked.

“No.”

“Guret,” I called, and the Kioga youth urged his sweating stallion over beside me. Vengi was the strongest of the three mounts, but it was fortunate that neither the boy nor Jervon was heavily built. The Dalesman had scrambled the steepest parts of the trail afoot, clinging to the horse’s tail for an anchor. “When we reach our destination, we will leave the horses with you. The sight of that… thing would surely panic them. I want you to guard them.”

I made my words as positive and inarguable as I could, and to my relief, Guret nodded. “Very well, m’lord.”

“Let us go,” I said, turning Nekia to that last stretch of trail.

We moved upward in single file, and with every stride the disorientation surrounding the ruins grew stronger—for, I was now sure, we rode into the remains of a once-mighty stronghold or Keep. Crumbled walls thrust raggedly upward, the moonlight doing little to illuminate them—instead, they seemed to absorb any and all light, so that they hulked as ebon shadows in the night.

And they changed . I would stare determinedly at what appeared to be an almost-recognizable wall, or courtyard, or balustrade, only to have it ripple, crawl, then melt before my eyes, sometimes changing into another form, sometimes disappearing entirely. My stomach lurched as we approached a tumbled high barrier to our path, only to have Nekia, ears forward, walk calmly up to and through its seemingly solid surface. I shut my eyes as we reached the top of the peak and continued on, for the distortion grew stronger, my vision blurring until at times I saw double—or even triple—images of the roiling landscape.

At last I opened my eyes upon a trail—one that stayed in place, making me believe it truly there—leading in from the right. Looking back along it, I saw that it wound a curving path to the east, back through this forest of pillars and ruins—both real and hallucinatory. That trail, I thought, came from the direction of the Waste and, beyond that, the land of my birth, High Hallack. Was this a trail of the Old Ones? Had the place called Car .Re Dogan been some kind of watch-keep set on the mountain border between the ancient land of Arvon and the newer one of humankind?

There were no answers for my questions as I turned to ride on, letting Nekia pick a cautious path along the ancient trail, keeping my eyes narrowed to barest slits. “Is all well?” I called.

Murmurs of assent greeted my hail. We left the summit, began a downward path, only to find walls of rock rising up on either side, higher and higher, until we rode in a near tunnel, except where the moonlight washed down from the open roof. Without knowing how I knew, I became aware that we were nearing our goal.

Ahead of me the path curved, which turning I followed, only to emerge into a great space, mostly open, but containing some of the ruins near the mouth of the half tunnel. Again they swirled and dissolved, only to reappear in other, almost-identifiable shapes. Ahead stood a great walled area, not roofed, oval in shape. The road led up to an archway, then disappeared therein. Colorless mist coiled, snaking along the ground, though the night had been clear.

Halting Nekia with a tightening of my knees, I swung her to face the others. “Ahead lies our battleground. Guret, the horses stay here.”

I dismounted a trifle stiffly, feeling the ground sway beneath my hooves for a second. Joisan swung off Arren, and I moved quickly to steady her. In the glow of the moon and the faint phosphorescence of the fog, her face looked spectral, hollowed, her eyes bright sparks. “It is approaching, Kerovan. I can feel Sylvya.”

“Then we have no time to lose,” I said. “Is that place ahead its lair, do you think?”

“No,” she answered, her brows drawing together as though she struggled with an elusive memory. “Sylvya knew this place. It was not of the Shadow… it has been here for longer than any can tell…”

Leaving Guret at the mouth of the passageway, Jervon, Joisan, and I walked cautiously up to the archway to look within. The road ran straight down the middle of the oval enclosure, but on either side of it there were niches in the walls. These were spaced at regular intervals, and each was walled three-quarters of the way up—as though each of those niches had once enclosed an inhabitant, placed standing up so that he or she might look out upon whomever passed. On the front of each niche was a rune, the ones at the far end barely more than a tracing, so ancient were those symbols.

As I stood poised to look within, I realized with sudden shock that, empty as those hollowed-out spaces appeared—and there were some twoscore of them—they were not untenanted. I gasped, swayed, feeling the attention of those within that enclosure turn to me!

“Kerovan!” Joisan whispered, her nails digging into my arm above my wristband. “They are still alive in there! They want to know who I am, and why I have come here!”

I wet my lips. “Not alive, no.” I chose my words, for “memories” were stirring within me, odd sortings of that inconvenient and inconstant knowledge that erratically flickered and guttered within me, obedient in no way to my own will. “They are the Guardians, ensorcelled into a kind of life, mostly a repository of memories and wisdoms of their kind—which is not the humankind we know. It is their duty to question and challenge all comers, but I think we have little to fear.”

We looked out upon that silent expanse of openings, so awed we nearly forgot the dire reason for our coming. I was conscious still of that measuring appraisal and wondered whether these Guardians existed only to examine, or if they still had the Power to determine who was allowed to walk their road. If That Which Runs the Ridges came here each night, perhaps all they could do was watch, for, alien as they were, I sensed from them no taint of the Shadow.

I noticed that at this end, close to the archway where we crouched, there was one niche not walled—it stood open, unmarked. Had the last of the Guardians been lost? I wondered.

“Do we dare go within?” Jervon whispered. “We should search out the best place to make our stand—”

He stopped abruptly as I shushed him, then, hearing it, too, he tensed. I swung around, sword out, as a low throbbing resonated through the air. “Joisan? Is it—”