Andre Norton - Gryphon's Eyrie

“You can best tender your gratitude”—the black-robed woman straightened, her fingers resting on her drum as though she drew strength from it—“by ridding me of my enemies. They are your enemies, also, Adept.”

Maleron lifted his brows skeptically. “I have been free tor less than a hundred heartbeats,” he said. “I find it difficult to believe I could have made enemies in this time and place with so little effort.”

The Shaman’s voice shook. “They are cowards, hiding behind the Light! They have gathered to destroy you here and now, before you can even taste of your new-won freedom! Kill them!” She waved a sticklike arm in our direction, as though she could see us in spite of the concealment of the archway.

Maleron shook his head, frowning. “Judge me not so summarily, Shaman. You may tread the Left-Hand Path, but I do not. I am but a seeker after knowledge and Power.”

Nidu began to laugh wildly. “If you truly believe that, then you are a greater fool than you are a sorcerer! Within your menie are all those who were killed by even the most passing of brushes with you and your hunt—fell death results from your most casual touch. Is that the mark of the Light?”

The Adept’s features hardened as he raised a hand toward her. But before he could move or speak, something rippled before my vision and there came a shrill scream!

“Elys!” Jervon lunged forward. I had only a second to see the two women huddled together and, confronting them, two shadows of such dire black that they seemed naught but holes ripped in the fabric of the night. Reddish sparks awakened and died within those twisted Shadow-creatures, and even looking at them made my stomach knot painfully.

The Dalesman was out and running toward the two women, who, unseen by all before this moment, must have been crawling toward us until the Shadow-creatures had sniffed them out. I heard Maleron’s shout over all—“ Sylvya !” Hate trembled through the air in palpable waves. In response to his signal, the huntsmen urged their mounts toward the Dales warrior.

My sword was in my hand and I, too, was running. I reached Sylvya and Elys, who was standing with steel drawn, only a few strides behind Jervon, Joisan at my side.

We had only time to back each other, forming a rough circle of drawn steel, before the four riders were upon us.

Their only weapons were those hunting lashes, but those, I speedily discovered, sparked and flamed as they were wielded. I took a glancing sear across my thigh before I was able to parry. As my steel crossed his weapon, sliding down until we were wrist to wrist, I saw his teeth flash as if the touch of iron pained him. Remembering the evil well on the plain, I raised my wristband. His white mount screamed and reared as the runes on the talisman flamed. The rider reined it back toward me, still in such deadly silence that I wondered if his race were mutes.

Once more the lash curled fire toward me, but this time I was able to duck beneath it and, daring greatly, stepped forward, under his guard. It was a chance, breaking the circle, but if I could—

There! The point of the sword slipped inward, grazed his breast.

A thin shriek broke from him as violet flame licked outward from even so small a point of contact. As I stepped backward, closing the circle, he wavered, then fell, wreathed now in lines of light, to lie jerking. As I watched, his flesh—if flesh it was—began to shrivel, as though it were being consumed from within. I turned away just in time to see Joisan use the glow from her cat’s-head ring to bewilder and panic the mount on my left.

Within another second, her sword had found the rider’s throat. I shouted a wordless encouragement as I gave her a warrior’s salute. We both turned toward the next golden-skinned foe, only to find Jervon’s steel transfixing his middle. With a heave, the Dalesman stepped back, pulling his weapon free. The remaining huntsman backed away, then as the four of us, swords ready, advanced on him, he turned and ran.

Before his mount could gain the archway, though, the Adept shouted a harsh phrase and, with a shriek, the creature tumbled flaming from the saddle of his white steed. I stared at the writhing, burning thing on the ground, feeling my throat tighten with horror. This was truly Power . If Maleron could slay with a word, how could we ever hope to prevail against him?

I backed a half step to close the circle again, seeing Jervon do the same. My shoulder brushed Joisan’s on my right, Elys’s on my left. And beside the Witch stood the creature my lady had named as Sylvya… Maleron’s half sister. My quick glimpse of her had shown me that she was not completely of humankind—a glimmering white down crested on her head, extending along her arms, which were bared by the short tunic she wore. In the moon-misted darkness, I had only a vague impression of a pointed-chinned face with overlarge eyes—beautiful in its way. Certainly a far cry from Nidu’s description to the Kioga of the hunt’s quarry as a rapacious, foul harpy.

I turned my head back toward the Adept at Nidu’s shriek. “See, Powerful One! They are your enemies and will strive to kill you! Loose your hounds!”

The sorcerer looked over at us, his eyes glinting cat green in the eerie glow of the mist. “I know you not, you four, but if you ally with her —this traitoress—then you are indeed my foes. Step aside from her, and you may depart freely.”

I found my voice, worked to keep it steady in spite of my fear. “Leaving you free to ravage and destroy as you will?” I shook my head. “Nay, Maleron.”

He started as he heard me speak his name aloud, and I knew a brief satisfaction that I had been able to threaten him by even so little. Names can have great Power in spelling—if only I had the knowledge of how to use such a potent weapon! But my mind remained untouched—no such intuition surfaced.

“Loose the hounds!” Nidu shrilled again. “I will guide them, Maleron!”

He nodded at us grimly. “So be it,” Gesturing, he reined his white mount away from the creatures milling at its feet. Their narrow-snouted heads pointed up at him, then began to swing back and forth as though they possessed no sight in those pitted caverns serving them as eyes. The Shaman’s drum began to throb again and I felt a warmth suffusing my body as it responded to those beats. A light that was also heat began to pulse forth from each of my heartbeats. I heard Joisan cry out, turned my head to see waves of heat and light lapping out from her, also.

“They hunt by blood-warmth!” Elys cried urgently. “We must stop the drumming! Lend me your will, sisters!”

I struggled to step forward, bring my sword up, and felt sweat burst from me as though I stood mailed in the summer’s sun. But I could not stir.

Throb… throb… throb… throb… throb …

Scarlet waves burst across my vision as I strained to keep my eyes focused on the hounds. I could no longer discern the difference between my own heart and the beats of the drum. Behind me, I could hear Elys chanting, but the sound was as far away as fallen Ulmskeep. Pacing slowly, their jaws hanging open enough to show narrow, dripping tongues, the hounds advanced on us. They were only a few lengths away from me—

Throb… throb… THROB… THROB…

Gasping for air through the wash of heat, I strained to raise sword, move my feet—

THROB ! THROB!!! THROB—

With blurring swiftness something gleaming flew through the air toward the Shaman, knocking the drum from her hands. I could see again! I could move! The drum quivered, impaled on Guret’s short spear. From the archway I saw the Kioga youth straighten from a throwing stance. I shouted a quick word of thanks, then flexed my knees as I (hopped into a swordsman’s guard-position. At least the youth had given us the chance to go down fighting—