I was in the eastern watchtower when my lord came to us. Though
there was no alarm gong hung there, yet in the uppermost room we
had found a metal plate set into the wall. A sword hilt laid
vigorously to that brought forth a carrying sound. After Lord Amber
rode out, we kept a sentry there by day, secure at night with the
bridge drawn against any shoreside visitor.
So was I alert to the riders and beat out an alarm before I saw
that they rode at a quiet amble and that Timon came afoot with
them. He was under no restraint, but spoke with their leader in a
friendly fashion. For a moment or two I was excited by the belief
that some of our men might have escaped the slaughter by the river
and been able to trace us. Then I saw that their battle tabards
were not red but green.
They could be scouts of some other dale, and from them we could
claim escort to Norsdale, though that thought made me a little
unhappy. I wanted to reach Norsdale with my people. There the Lady
Islaugha would find the proper tending, and the others for whom I
was responsible would find new homes. Though the Lord Amber had
indeed provided us with such a refuge as I had never hoped to find
in this wilderness, we could not stay here forever.
I did not know why I had been so content here, as I had not been
since that long-ago time before Lord Cyart had ridden south at the
beginning of our time of trouble.
Now, even as the sound died away, I sped down the stair, eager
to see who these newcomers might be. Yet I ordered my pace as I
reached the courtyard, for chance had made me ruler in this place,
and I must cany myself with proper dignity.
When I saw what was emblazoned on the tabard of he who led that
very small company I was shaken. So well did I know that rearing
gryphon! These were my lord's people. Or even — perhaps —
"My dear Lady!" He swung from his saddle and held out his hands
to me in greeting, his voice warm.
Though I wore no skirt now, I swept him the curtsy of greeting.
However, I was glad he attempted no warmer salute than voice and
hand.
"My Lord Kerovan?" I made that more question than
recognition.
"I so stand before you." He continued to smile. Yet — So this
was my wedded lord? Well, he had not Toross' regularity of feature,
but neither was he unpleasing to look upon. For a dalesman his hair
was very dark — a ruddy darkness — and his face less broad across
the jaw—more oval. Despite those ugly rumors that Yngilda had first
loosed for me, there was certainly nothing uncanny in him. Now Lord
Amber was plainly of alien stock, but my Lord was as any
dalesman.
That was our first meeting, and it was a constrained and uneasy
one with many eyes watching. But how else could it be in this time
and place when we two so bound together were strangers to one
another?
I was grateful that he treated me with courtesy and deference,
as one yet to be won, not a possession already in his hand. And he
was both kind and gentle in his manner. Still—
Why did I feel that I wanted nothing more of him, that I
regretted that he had come? He spoke me fair, always in that voice
which was so pleasing, telling me that he, too, was now
homeless—that Ulmskeep had fallen to the invaders. He and his men
had been in flight from there, striving to reach Ithdale, when he
had crossed the path of some of our people. Learning how it had
been with us, he then pushed on to search for me.
"We were told you were with the army in the south, my Lord," I
said, more to make conversation than to demand any explanation.
"That I was, for my father. But when he became ill he sent for
me. Alas, I arrived too late. Lord Ulric was already dead, and the
invaders so close to our gates that our last battle was forced upon
me in great haste. But we were favored in that there was a storm
from the sea, and so those of Alizon took nothing. In the end they
were totally destroyed."
"But you said that your keep had
fallen."
"Not to the Hounds. It was the sea that brought down our walls:
wind and wave swept in, taking the land. Ulmsport" — he gestured —
"now all lies under water.
"However," he continued briskly, "the lad who brought us here
says you seek Norsdale — "
I told him our tale and of how I was curse-bound to the Lady
Islaugha and must see her to safety.
He was grave-faced now, hearing me through without question,
nodding now and then in agreement to something I said.
"You are well south of your proper trail," he replied, with the
authority of one who knew exactly where he was. "And your fortune
has been great to find such shelter as this."
"The finding was not ours, but Lord Amber's."
"Lord Amber? Who bears such an unusual name?"
I flushed. "He
does not speak his name — that is mine for him, since every man
must have a name. He — he is one of the Old Ones—one well disposed
toward us."
I was not too ill at ease at that moment to miss noting his
reaction to my words. He stiffened, his face now a mask behind
which thoughts might race without sign. I have seen a fox stand so
still as it listened for a distant hunter. A moment later that
alert was gone, or else he concealed it.
"One of the Old Ones, my Lady? But they have been long gone.
Perhaps this fellow seeks to deceive you for some purpose. How can
you be sure he is such? Did he proclaim it so?"
"He had no need, as you will see when he returns. No man would
be like him." I was a little irked at the note in his voice, as if
he believed me some silly maid to whom any tale can be told. And
since I had led my people I had become one to make decisions, to
stand firm. I had no liking to be pressed again into the old
position of a daleswoman, that only my lord or another man could
see the truth in any question and then decide what was best for me.
Before I was Kerovan's lady I was myself!
"So he returns? Where is he now?"
"He went some days ago to scout for the invaders," I replied
shortly. "Yes, he will return."
"Well enough." My lord nodded again. "But there are different
kinds of Old Ones, as our people learned long ago, to their sorrow.
Some would be friends, after a distant fashion; some ignore us
unless we infringe upon their secrets; and others follow the Dark
Path."
"As well I know," I answered. "But Amber can touch your gift,
and it blazes as it did when it saved me from the Hounds."
"My gift — ?"
Did I hear aright now? Had there been surprise in his tone? But
no, I schooled my thoughts, I must not react so to everything he
said as if we were unfriends and not life comrades, as we must
learn to be.
He was smiling once more. "Yes, my gift. Then it has been of
good use to you, dear one?"
"The best!" My hand went to my breast, where the gryphon lay
safe as I ever kept it so. "My Lord, I am not wrong then in
believing it is a treasure of the Old Ones?"
He leaned forward across the stone-slab table between us, where
he had broken his fast on the best we had to offer. There was
eagerness in his eyes, even if emotion did not show elsewhere on
his countenance.
"You are not wrong! And since it has served you so well, I am
doubly glad that it was in your hands. Let me look upon it once
again."
I loosed the lacing of my jerkin, pulled at the chain to draw it
forth. Yet something kept me from slipping it off and putting it
into the hand he laid palm up on the table as if to receive it.
"It does not leave me, as you see, night or day." I made excuse.
"Can you say the same for my return gift to you, my lord?" I tried
to make that question light, the teasing of a maid with her
wooer.
"Of course." Had he touched his own breast swiftly? Yet he made
no move to show me the picture I had sent him.
"Still you did not follow my wishes sent with it." I pursued the
matter. I do not know why, but my uneasiness was growing. There was
nothing I had seen in him or his manner to make me unhappy yet, but
there was a shadow here that I could sense and that vaguely alarmed
me. I found that I was restoring the gryphon to its hiding place
hastily, almost as if I feared he might take his own gift from me
by force. What lay between us that I should feel this way?
"There was no time, nor trusted messenger," he was saying.
However, I was sure he watched the globe as long as it was in sight
with greater interest than he had for my face above it.
"You are forgiven, Lord." I kept to the light voice, molding my
manner on that of the maids I had seen in Trevamper in that
long-ago time before all this evil had broken upon the dales. "And
now — I must be back to my duties. You and your men must have
lodging, though you will find it somewhat bare. None of us sleep
soft here."
"You sleep safe, which in these days is much to say." He arose
with me. "Where do you quarter us?"
"In the west tower," I answered, and drew a breath of relief
that he had not asserted his right and demanded my compliance. What
was the matter with me? In all ways he had shown consideration and
courtesy, and in the days that followed it was the same.
He spoke of our efforts to harvest the stunted grain from the
old fields and pick and dry the fruit. He praised our forelooking.
He was quick to say that such a band as ours — of the old, the very
young, and the ailing—would be extra long on the road and would
need all the food we could gather. His armsmen took over sentry
duty, leaving us free to work in field and orchard.
Nor did he press for my company, which eased my feeling of
constraint. Only I was haunted by an uneasiness I could not account
for. He was kind; he strove to make himself pleasing to me in
thought and word. And yet—the longer he stayed, the more unhappy I
was. Also I was a little frightened at the prospect to come of the
time when he would be my lord in truth.
Sometimes he rode forth to scout along the hills, assuring us
added protection. I would not see him from dawn until sunset, when
we drew in that movable part of the bridge. However, twice in the
dusk I saw him in conversation with Yngilda, whom he treated with
the same courtesy he showed to me and Lady Islaugha, though the
latter seemed hardly aware of his presence.
I do not believe he sought out my kinswoman. Their meetings must
have been of her contrivance. She watched him hungrily. At the time
I believed I knew what lay in her mind — her lord was dead; she had
naught to look forward to save a dragging life at Norsdale. Yet I,
whom she hated—yes, hated, for I no longer disguised from myself
that her dislike of me had crystallized through envy to something
deeper and blacker—had Kerovan, eager to serve me. That she might
make trouble between us, well, that, too, was possible. But I did
not think so, for I could see no way that even a spiteful tongue
could disturb the relationship we now had, it being so shallow a
one.
Had my heart followed my hand, that would have been a different
matter. Undoubtedly I would have resented meddling. As it was, no
action of hers disturbed me.
On the fifth day after his arrival, Kerovan did not stay so late
in the hills, but came back in mid-afternoon. I had been in the
fields, for another pair of hands was needed. One of the children
had run a thorn into her foot, so I brought her back to wash and
bind it with healing herbs we had found.
Her tears soothed, her hurt tended, she went running back to her
mother, leaving me to put away our small supply of medicants. While
I was so busied, my lord came to me.
"My fair one, will you give into my hand that gift I sent you?
There is perhaps the chance that it can serve you even better than
it has, for I have some of the old learning and have added to it
since I sent you this. There are things of power which, rightfully
used, are better than any weapons known to our kind. If we indeed
have such a one, we can count on an easier journey to
Norsdale."
My hand went to what I wore. In no way did I wish to yield to
his request. Still, I had no excuse. I did not understand myself,
why I shrank from letting it go out of my hands. Most reluctantly I
loosed lacings and drew it forth. Still I held it cupped for a long
moment while his hand was held forth to take it. He smiled at me as
one who would encourage a timid child.
At length, with an inner sigh, I gave it to him. He took a step
into the light of the slit window, held it at eye level as if he
were fronting the tiny gryphon in some silent communication.
It was at that moment that I heard from without the traveler's
greeting, "Good fortune to his house."
I did not have to see the speaker. I knew at once and was past
Kerovan into the open.
"Lord Amber!" I did not understand the emotion awakened in me at
the sound of his voice. It was as if all the uneasiness of the past
few days was gone, that safety stood here on hoofed feet, gazing at
me with golden eyes.
"You have come!" I put forth my hand, eager to clasp his. But
that reserve which was always a part of him kept me from completing
that gesture.
"Who comes, my fair one?" Kerovan's voice broke through the
wonderful feeling of release, of security. I had to find other
words.
"Lord Amber, have you heard? My lord has come — hearing of our
troubles he has come."
I retreated a little, chilled by a loss I could not define. The
Old One followed. I did not look to my lord, only still into those
golden eyes.
"My Lord, this is my promised lord, Kerovan, who is heir to
Ulmsdale."
His face was secret, close, as I had seen it other times.
"Lord Kerovan?" He repeated it as if he asked a question, And
then he added with the force of one bringing down a sword in a
swift, lashing stroke, "I think not!"
Kerovan's hand came up, the globe clasped tight in his fingers.
From that shot a piercing ray of light, striking full into Lord
Amber's eyes. He flung up one hand as he staggered back. On the
wrist of that hand I saw an answering glow, as if a blue mist
spread to raise a curtain about him.
I screamed and struck at Kerovan, striving to snatch the crystal
from him. But he beat me off, and in his face I read that which
changed my uneasiness to fear.
Kerovan caught me in a strong hold and dragged me toward the
door. Lord Amber, one hand to his eyes, was on his hands and knees,
his head moving as if he strove to find us by sound alone, as if he
were blind!
I beat at Kerovan, twisting in his hold. "No! Loose me!"
Lord Amber lurched toward us. I saw Kerovan raise his boot,
stamp, and grind one of those groping hands against the floor. But
with his other arm Lord Amber caught Kerovan about the knees and
bore him down by the weight of his body.
"Joisan, run!" he cried.
I was free of Kerovan, but run I would not. Not while Lord Amber
took the vicious blows Kerovan was dealing.
"No!" my belt knife, Toross' legacy, was in my hands. I crouched
above the struggling men, caught Kerovan's hair, and jerked his
head back, putting the edge of that blade to his throat. "Lie you
very still, my lord," I ordered. He must have read my purpose in my
face, for he obeyed.
Not taking my eyes from him, I said then, "Lord Amber, I hold
knife-edge to his throat. Loose him."
He believed me and edged away.
"You say," I continued, "this is not Kerovan. Why?
He was rising to his feet one hand still to his eyes. "Kerovan
is dead, my Lady." His voice sounded very weary. "Dead in an ambush
laid by this Rogear above his father's keep. This Rogear has
knowledge of the Old Ones — from the Dark side."
My breath hissed between my teeth. So much was made plain to me
now. "Dead? And this one dared to wear my lord's name to deceive
me?"
Rogear spoke up then. "Tell her your name — "
Lord Amber answered him. "As you know, we give not our names to
mankind."
"Mankind? And what are — "
"Lord Kerovan!" I was so startled by that voice from the door I
jerked away from my guard post "What do you — ?" One of his armsmen
stood there.
I spoke quickly. "Lord Kerovan does nothing! As for this one —
take him and ride!"
There was a second man behind him, with the bolt on his
crossbow, which was aimed not at me but at Lord Amber. And in his
face a horrible eagerness, as if he would joy in loosing death.
"Shall we take her, Lord?" asked the first man.
Lord Amber was moving toward him, his hands empty. And the man
held ready steel.
Rogear had rolled away from me. "Let the wench go. She is of no
importance now."
"And him, Lord?"
"No! Touch him not, on your peril!"
I had thought he would order Lord Amber's death, if one Of the
Old Ones can be so killed.
"We ride," he added. "I have what I came for." He was putting
the gryphon into the inner pocket of his tabard.
That roused me to action. "No. Not that!" I sprang at him. "Give
me the gryphon!"
He aimed a blow at my head with his other hand, and I did not
dodge in time. A burst of pain drove me into darkness.
When I awoke I lay on my bed-place, and the dusk was deep. But I
saw that Lord Amber was beside me, and my hand lay in his. There
was a bandage bound about his head, covering his eyes. "Lord —
"
He turned his head instantly to me. "Joisan!"
"He took the gryphon!" For I had brought out of the dark that
memory, strong enough to urge me into action.
Lord Amber drew me gently to him, and I wept as I had not in all
those days of danger and sorrow that lay behind me. Between my sobs
I asked, "It was the truth you spoke? He was not Kerovan?"
"It was the truth. It is as I said. Kerovan died in Ulmsdale.
Rogear, who is betrothed to Kerovan's sister, arranged the
ambush."
"And I never saw my lord," I said then in sad wonder. "But his
gift, that one shall not have it!" Anger brought me strength. "By
the Nine Words of Min, he shall not! It is a wondrous thing and his
hands besmirch it! He used it as a weapon, Lord—he used it to burn
your eyes. It was what rested on your wrist that defeated him. If
you had only used it sooner as a shield!" I put my fingers to his
wrist a little above that armlet. "Lord," I continued, "they say
those of your people are mighty in healcraft. If you cannot aid
yourself, can we not take you to them? It is in my service that
this grievous hurt was done you, I owe this as a blood-debt — "
But he denied that with force and quickly. "No! There is no debt
between us. Had we met elsewhere he would have sought to kill
me."
"I have something of healcraft," I said then, "and Nalda." But
in my heart I knew how limited we were, and that gave birth to
fear. "Perhaps the sight will return. Oh, my Lord, I do not know
why he sought me here — I have no longer lands nor fortune — save
what he took with him. Know you of the gryphon? It was sent to me
by Kerovan. Was it then such a great treasure of his House that
this Rogear would risk much to get it into his hands?"
"No. It is no treasure out of Ulmsdale. Kerovan himself found
it. But it is a thing of power and Rogear has enough of the Dark
knowledge to use such. To leave it in his hands now—"
I could reach his thoughts as well as if he put them into words
— to leave such a weapon with one of the Dark Ones was something we
were bound in honor not to allow. But Rogear — not only did he ride
with armsmen prepared to slay, but he had already shown he could
harness the gryphon to his service too.
"My Lord, what can we do then to gain it once more?" I asked
simply. For in this man (if man one might call him), I centered now
all my trust.
"For the present" — weariness was deep in his voice — "I fear
very little. Perhaps Rudo or Angarl can follow his trail a little,
mark his path from here. But we cannot follow — yet— "
Again I believed that I knew his thoughts. He must nurse some
hope that his sight would return. Or else he had some power of his
own he could summon to aid. In this thing he must ride as marshal,
I as an armsman. For I knew that the quest, or coming battle, was
as much mine as his. It was my folly that had delivered the gryphon
to Rogear. Thus my hand must have a part in its return.
My head ached cruelly, and Nalda brought a bowl of herb tea that
she said I must drink. I suspected that it would make me sleep, and
I would have refused. But Lord Amber urged me to it, and I could
not set my will against his.
Then Nalda said she had a new ointment for his eyes, something
she had used on burns, and that she would dress them again. I do
not think he believed it would help, but he allowed her to take his
hand and guide him forth.
I was only on the edge of drowsiness when Yngilda came to me,
standing above my bed and staring down as if I had, in the space of
hours, taken on a new face.
"So your lord is dead, Joisan" she said. I detected satisfaction
in her words. That I did not prosper over her meant much.
"He is dead." I felt nothing. Kerovan had been a name for eight
years — little more. To me he was still a name. How can one sorrow
for a name? Instead it was a matter for rejoicing that I had that
strange, instinctive dislike for the impostor. Rogear was not my
lord; I need feel no discomfort or guilt because I did not like or
trust him. My lord was dead, having never really lived for me.
"You do not weep." She watched me with that sly malice with
which she so often favored me.
"How can I weep for one I never
knew?" I asked.
She shrugged. "One shows proper feeling —" she
accused. We were no longer bound by keep custom, not here, not with
our world swept away by the red tide of war. Were I back at
Ithkrypt, yes, I would have kept the terms of conventional mourning
as would be expected of me. Here there was no reason for form
alone. I was sorry that a good man had died, and by the treachery
of his kin, but mourn more than that I could not.
She drew from an inner pocket a strip of cloth made into a bag.
I caught a whiff of scent from it and knew it for one of the herb
bags put under pillows for those with aching heads.
"My mother's, but she does not need it this night." Yngilda
spoke brusquely, as if she believed I might refuse her
offering.
I was surprised, yes, but not unduly so. Perhaps now that we
were equal before the world, Yngilda would no longer think me the
more fortunate. So I thanked her and allowed her to slip the
scented bag beneath my head where the warmth of my body could
release the odor to soothe me.
The herb broth was doing its work also. I found it hard to keep
my eyes open. I remember seeing Yngilda turn away toward the door,
and then — I must have slept.
I was in the eastern watchtower when my lord came to us. Though
there was no alarm gong hung there, yet in the uppermost room we
had found a metal plate set into the wall. A sword hilt laid
vigorously to that brought forth a carrying sound. After Lord Amber
rode out, we kept a sentry there by day, secure at night with the
bridge drawn against any shoreside visitor.
So was I alert to the riders and beat out an alarm before I saw
that they rode at a quiet amble and that Timon came afoot with
them. He was under no restraint, but spoke with their leader in a
friendly fashion. For a moment or two I was excited by the belief
that some of our men might have escaped the slaughter by the river
and been able to trace us. Then I saw that their battle tabards
were not red but green.
They could be scouts of some other dale, and from them we could
claim escort to Norsdale, though that thought made me a little
unhappy. I wanted to reach Norsdale with my people. There the Lady
Islaugha would find the proper tending, and the others for whom I
was responsible would find new homes. Though the Lord Amber had
indeed provided us with such a refuge as I had never hoped to find
in this wilderness, we could not stay here forever.
I did not know why I had been so content here, as I had not been
since that long-ago time before Lord Cyart had ridden south at the
beginning of our time of trouble.
Now, even as the sound died away, I sped down the stair, eager
to see who these newcomers might be. Yet I ordered my pace as I
reached the courtyard, for chance had made me ruler in this place,
and I must cany myself with proper dignity.
When I saw what was emblazoned on the tabard of he who led that
very small company I was shaken. So well did I know that rearing
gryphon! These were my lord's people. Or even — perhaps —
"My dear Lady!" He swung from his saddle and held out his hands
to me in greeting, his voice warm.
Though I wore no skirt now, I swept him the curtsy of greeting.
However, I was glad he attempted no warmer salute than voice and
hand.
"My Lord Kerovan?" I made that more question than
recognition.
"I so stand before you." He continued to smile. Yet — So this
was my wedded lord? Well, he had not Toross' regularity of feature,
but neither was he unpleasing to look upon. For a dalesman his hair
was very dark — a ruddy darkness — and his face less broad across
the jaw—more oval. Despite those ugly rumors that Yngilda had first
loosed for me, there was certainly nothing uncanny in him. Now Lord
Amber was plainly of alien stock, but my Lord was as any
dalesman.
That was our first meeting, and it was a constrained and uneasy
one with many eyes watching. But how else could it be in this time
and place when we two so bound together were strangers to one
another?
I was grateful that he treated me with courtesy and deference,
as one yet to be won, not a possession already in his hand. And he
was both kind and gentle in his manner. Still—
Why did I feel that I wanted nothing more of him, that I
regretted that he had come? He spoke me fair, always in that voice
which was so pleasing, telling me that he, too, was now
homeless—that Ulmskeep had fallen to the invaders. He and his men
had been in flight from there, striving to reach Ithdale, when he
had crossed the path of some of our people. Learning how it had
been with us, he then pushed on to search for me.
"We were told you were with the army in the south, my Lord," I
said, more to make conversation than to demand any explanation.
"That I was, for my father. But when he became ill he sent for
me. Alas, I arrived too late. Lord Ulric was already dead, and the
invaders so close to our gates that our last battle was forced upon
me in great haste. But we were favored in that there was a storm
from the sea, and so those of Alizon took nothing. In the end they
were totally destroyed."
"But you said that your keep had
fallen."
"Not to the Hounds. It was the sea that brought down our walls:
wind and wave swept in, taking the land. Ulmsport" — he gestured —
"now all lies under water.
"However," he continued briskly, "the lad who brought us here
says you seek Norsdale — "
I told him our tale and of how I was curse-bound to the Lady
Islaugha and must see her to safety.
He was grave-faced now, hearing me through without question,
nodding now and then in agreement to something I said.
"You are well south of your proper trail," he replied, with the
authority of one who knew exactly where he was. "And your fortune
has been great to find such shelter as this."
"The finding was not ours, but Lord Amber's."
"Lord Amber? Who bears such an unusual name?"
I flushed. "He
does not speak his name — that is mine for him, since every man
must have a name. He — he is one of the Old Ones—one well disposed
toward us."
I was not too ill at ease at that moment to miss noting his
reaction to my words. He stiffened, his face now a mask behind
which thoughts might race without sign. I have seen a fox stand so
still as it listened for a distant hunter. A moment later that
alert was gone, or else he concealed it.
"One of the Old Ones, my Lady? But they have been long gone.
Perhaps this fellow seeks to deceive you for some purpose. How can
you be sure he is such? Did he proclaim it so?"
"He had no need, as you will see when he returns. No man would
be like him." I was a little irked at the note in his voice, as if
he believed me some silly maid to whom any tale can be told. And
since I had led my people I had become one to make decisions, to
stand firm. I had no liking to be pressed again into the old
position of a daleswoman, that only my lord or another man could
see the truth in any question and then decide what was best for me.
Before I was Kerovan's lady I was myself!
"So he returns? Where is he now?"
"He went some days ago to scout for the invaders," I replied
shortly. "Yes, he will return."
"Well enough." My lord nodded again. "But there are different
kinds of Old Ones, as our people learned long ago, to their sorrow.
Some would be friends, after a distant fashion; some ignore us
unless we infringe upon their secrets; and others follow the Dark
Path."
"As well I know," I answered. "But Amber can touch your gift,
and it blazes as it did when it saved me from the Hounds."
"My gift — ?"
Did I hear aright now? Had there been surprise in his tone? But
no, I schooled my thoughts, I must not react so to everything he
said as if we were unfriends and not life comrades, as we must
learn to be.
He was smiling once more. "Yes, my gift. Then it has been of
good use to you, dear one?"
"The best!" My hand went to my breast, where the gryphon lay
safe as I ever kept it so. "My Lord, I am not wrong then in
believing it is a treasure of the Old Ones?"
He leaned forward across the stone-slab table between us, where
he had broken his fast on the best we had to offer. There was
eagerness in his eyes, even if emotion did not show elsewhere on
his countenance.
"You are not wrong! And since it has served you so well, I am
doubly glad that it was in your hands. Let me look upon it once
again."
I loosed the lacing of my jerkin, pulled at the chain to draw it
forth. Yet something kept me from slipping it off and putting it
into the hand he laid palm up on the table as if to receive it.
"It does not leave me, as you see, night or day." I made excuse.
"Can you say the same for my return gift to you, my lord?" I tried
to make that question light, the teasing of a maid with her
wooer.
"Of course." Had he touched his own breast swiftly? Yet he made
no move to show me the picture I had sent him.
"Still you did not follow my wishes sent with it." I pursued the
matter. I do not know why, but my uneasiness was growing. There was
nothing I had seen in him or his manner to make me unhappy yet, but
there was a shadow here that I could sense and that vaguely alarmed
me. I found that I was restoring the gryphon to its hiding place
hastily, almost as if I feared he might take his own gift from me
by force. What lay between us that I should feel this way?
"There was no time, nor trusted messenger," he was saying.
However, I was sure he watched the globe as long as it was in sight
with greater interest than he had for my face above it.
"You are forgiven, Lord." I kept to the light voice, molding my
manner on that of the maids I had seen in Trevamper in that
long-ago time before all this evil had broken upon the dales. "And
now — I must be back to my duties. You and your men must have
lodging, though you will find it somewhat bare. None of us sleep
soft here."
"You sleep safe, which in these days is much to say." He arose
with me. "Where do you quarter us?"
"In the west tower," I answered, and drew a breath of relief
that he had not asserted his right and demanded my compliance. What
was the matter with me? In all ways he had shown consideration and
courtesy, and in the days that followed it was the same.
He spoke of our efforts to harvest the stunted grain from the
old fields and pick and dry the fruit. He praised our forelooking.
He was quick to say that such a band as ours — of the old, the very
young, and the ailing—would be extra long on the road and would
need all the food we could gather. His armsmen took over sentry
duty, leaving us free to work in field and orchard.
Nor did he press for my company, which eased my feeling of
constraint. Only I was haunted by an uneasiness I could not account
for. He was kind; he strove to make himself pleasing to me in
thought and word. And yet—the longer he stayed, the more unhappy I
was. Also I was a little frightened at the prospect to come of the
time when he would be my lord in truth.
Sometimes he rode forth to scout along the hills, assuring us
added protection. I would not see him from dawn until sunset, when
we drew in that movable part of the bridge. However, twice in the
dusk I saw him in conversation with Yngilda, whom he treated with
the same courtesy he showed to me and Lady Islaugha, though the
latter seemed hardly aware of his presence.
I do not believe he sought out my kinswoman. Their meetings must
have been of her contrivance. She watched him hungrily. At the time
I believed I knew what lay in her mind — her lord was dead; she had
naught to look forward to save a dragging life at Norsdale. Yet I,
whom she hated—yes, hated, for I no longer disguised from myself
that her dislike of me had crystallized through envy to something
deeper and blacker—had Kerovan, eager to serve me. That she might
make trouble between us, well, that, too, was possible. But I did
not think so, for I could see no way that even a spiteful tongue
could disturb the relationship we now had, it being so shallow a
one.
Had my heart followed my hand, that would have been a different
matter. Undoubtedly I would have resented meddling. As it was, no
action of hers disturbed me.
On the fifth day after his arrival, Kerovan did not stay so late
in the hills, but came back in mid-afternoon. I had been in the
fields, for another pair of hands was needed. One of the children
had run a thorn into her foot, so I brought her back to wash and
bind it with healing herbs we had found.
Her tears soothed, her hurt tended, she went running back to her
mother, leaving me to put away our small supply of medicants. While
I was so busied, my lord came to me.
"My fair one, will you give into my hand that gift I sent you?
There is perhaps the chance that it can serve you even better than
it has, for I have some of the old learning and have added to it
since I sent you this. There are things of power which, rightfully
used, are better than any weapons known to our kind. If we indeed
have such a one, we can count on an easier journey to
Norsdale."
My hand went to what I wore. In no way did I wish to yield to
his request. Still, I had no excuse. I did not understand myself,
why I shrank from letting it go out of my hands. Most reluctantly I
loosed lacings and drew it forth. Still I held it cupped for a long
moment while his hand was held forth to take it. He smiled at me as
one who would encourage a timid child.
At length, with an inner sigh, I gave it to him. He took a step
into the light of the slit window, held it at eye level as if he
were fronting the tiny gryphon in some silent communication.
It was at that moment that I heard from without the traveler's
greeting, "Good fortune to his house."
I did not have to see the speaker. I knew at once and was past
Kerovan into the open.
"Lord Amber!" I did not understand the emotion awakened in me at
the sound of his voice. It was as if all the uneasiness of the past
few days was gone, that safety stood here on hoofed feet, gazing at
me with golden eyes.
"You have come!" I put forth my hand, eager to clasp his. But
that reserve which was always a part of him kept me from completing
that gesture.
"Who comes, my fair one?" Kerovan's voice broke through the
wonderful feeling of release, of security. I had to find other
words.
"Lord Amber, have you heard? My lord has come — hearing of our
troubles he has come."
I retreated a little, chilled by a loss I could not define. The
Old One followed. I did not look to my lord, only still into those
golden eyes.
"My Lord, this is my promised lord, Kerovan, who is heir to
Ulmsdale."
His face was secret, close, as I had seen it other times.
"Lord Kerovan?" He repeated it as if he asked a question, And
then he added with the force of one bringing down a sword in a
swift, lashing stroke, "I think not!"
Kerovan's hand came up, the globe clasped tight in his fingers.
From that shot a piercing ray of light, striking full into Lord
Amber's eyes. He flung up one hand as he staggered back. On the
wrist of that hand I saw an answering glow, as if a blue mist
spread to raise a curtain about him.
I screamed and struck at Kerovan, striving to snatch the crystal
from him. But he beat me off, and in his face I read that which
changed my uneasiness to fear.
Kerovan caught me in a strong hold and dragged me toward the
door. Lord Amber, one hand to his eyes, was on his hands and knees,
his head moving as if he strove to find us by sound alone, as if he
were blind!
I beat at Kerovan, twisting in his hold. "No! Loose me!"
Lord Amber lurched toward us. I saw Kerovan raise his boot,
stamp, and grind one of those groping hands against the floor. But
with his other arm Lord Amber caught Kerovan about the knees and
bore him down by the weight of his body.
"Joisan, run!" he cried.
I was free of Kerovan, but run I would not. Not while Lord Amber
took the vicious blows Kerovan was dealing.
"No!" my belt knife, Toross' legacy, was in my hands. I crouched
above the struggling men, caught Kerovan's hair, and jerked his
head back, putting the edge of that blade to his throat. "Lie you
very still, my lord," I ordered. He must have read my purpose in my
face, for he obeyed.
Not taking my eyes from him, I said then, "Lord Amber, I hold
knife-edge to his throat. Loose him."
He believed me and edged away.
"You say," I continued, "this is not Kerovan. Why?
He was rising to his feet one hand still to his eyes. "Kerovan
is dead, my Lady." His voice sounded very weary. "Dead in an ambush
laid by this Rogear above his father's keep. This Rogear has
knowledge of the Old Ones — from the Dark side."
My breath hissed between my teeth. So much was made plain to me
now. "Dead? And this one dared to wear my lord's name to deceive
me?"
Rogear spoke up then. "Tell her your name — "
Lord Amber answered him. "As you know, we give not our names to
mankind."
"Mankind? And what are — "
"Lord Kerovan!" I was so startled by that voice from the door I
jerked away from my guard post "What do you — ?" One of his armsmen
stood there.
I spoke quickly. "Lord Kerovan does nothing! As for this one —
take him and ride!"
There was a second man behind him, with the bolt on his
crossbow, which was aimed not at me but at Lord Amber. And in his
face a horrible eagerness, as if he would joy in loosing death.
"Shall we take her, Lord?" asked the first man.
Lord Amber was moving toward him, his hands empty. And the man
held ready steel.
Rogear had rolled away from me. "Let the wench go. She is of no
importance now."
"And him, Lord?"
"No! Touch him not, on your peril!"
I had thought he would order Lord Amber's death, if one Of the
Old Ones can be so killed.
"We ride," he added. "I have what I came for." He was putting
the gryphon into the inner pocket of his tabard.
That roused me to action. "No. Not that!" I sprang at him. "Give
me the gryphon!"
He aimed a blow at my head with his other hand, and I did not
dodge in time. A burst of pain drove me into darkness.
When I awoke I lay on my bed-place, and the dusk was deep. But I
saw that Lord Amber was beside me, and my hand lay in his. There
was a bandage bound about his head, covering his eyes. "Lord —
"
He turned his head instantly to me. "Joisan!"
"He took the gryphon!" For I had brought out of the dark that
memory, strong enough to urge me into action.
Lord Amber drew me gently to him, and I wept as I had not in all
those days of danger and sorrow that lay behind me. Between my sobs
I asked, "It was the truth you spoke? He was not Kerovan?"
"It was the truth. It is as I said. Kerovan died in Ulmsdale.
Rogear, who is betrothed to Kerovan's sister, arranged the
ambush."
"And I never saw my lord," I said then in sad wonder. "But his
gift, that one shall not have it!" Anger brought me strength. "By
the Nine Words of Min, he shall not! It is a wondrous thing and his
hands besmirch it! He used it as a weapon, Lord—he used it to burn
your eyes. It was what rested on your wrist that defeated him. If
you had only used it sooner as a shield!" I put my fingers to his
wrist a little above that armlet. "Lord," I continued, "they say
those of your people are mighty in healcraft. If you cannot aid
yourself, can we not take you to them? It is in my service that
this grievous hurt was done you, I owe this as a blood-debt — "
But he denied that with force and quickly. "No! There is no debt
between us. Had we met elsewhere he would have sought to kill
me."
"I have something of healcraft," I said then, "and Nalda." But
in my heart I knew how limited we were, and that gave birth to
fear. "Perhaps the sight will return. Oh, my Lord, I do not know
why he sought me here — I have no longer lands nor fortune — save
what he took with him. Know you of the gryphon? It was sent to me
by Kerovan. Was it then such a great treasure of his House that
this Rogear would risk much to get it into his hands?"
"No. It is no treasure out of Ulmsdale. Kerovan himself found
it. But it is a thing of power and Rogear has enough of the Dark
knowledge to use such. To leave it in his hands now—"
I could reach his thoughts as well as if he put them into words
— to leave such a weapon with one of the Dark Ones was something we
were bound in honor not to allow. But Rogear — not only did he ride
with armsmen prepared to slay, but he had already shown he could
harness the gryphon to his service too.
"My Lord, what can we do then to gain it once more?" I asked
simply. For in this man (if man one might call him), I centered now
all my trust.
"For the present" — weariness was deep in his voice — "I fear
very little. Perhaps Rudo or Angarl can follow his trail a little,
mark his path from here. But we cannot follow — yet— "
Again I believed that I knew his thoughts. He must nurse some
hope that his sight would return. Or else he had some power of his
own he could summon to aid. In this thing he must ride as marshal,
I as an armsman. For I knew that the quest, or coming battle, was
as much mine as his. It was my folly that had delivered the gryphon
to Rogear. Thus my hand must have a part in its return.
My head ached cruelly, and Nalda brought a bowl of herb tea that
she said I must drink. I suspected that it would make me sleep, and
I would have refused. But Lord Amber urged me to it, and I could
not set my will against his.
Then Nalda said she had a new ointment for his eyes, something
she had used on burns, and that she would dress them again. I do
not think he believed it would help, but he allowed her to take his
hand and guide him forth.
I was only on the edge of drowsiness when Yngilda came to me,
standing above my bed and staring down as if I had, in the space of
hours, taken on a new face.
"So your lord is dead, Joisan" she said. I detected satisfaction
in her words. That I did not prosper over her meant much.
"He is dead." I felt nothing. Kerovan had been a name for eight
years — little more. To me he was still a name. How can one sorrow
for a name? Instead it was a matter for rejoicing that I had that
strange, instinctive dislike for the impostor. Rogear was not my
lord; I need feel no discomfort or guilt because I did not like or
trust him. My lord was dead, having never really lived for me.
"You do not weep." She watched me with that sly malice with
which she so often favored me.
"How can I weep for one I never
knew?" I asked.
She shrugged. "One shows proper feeling —" she
accused. We were no longer bound by keep custom, not here, not with
our world swept away by the red tide of war. Were I back at
Ithkrypt, yes, I would have kept the terms of conventional mourning
as would be expected of me. Here there was no reason for form
alone. I was sorry that a good man had died, and by the treachery
of his kin, but mourn more than that I could not.
She drew from an inner pocket a strip of cloth made into a bag.
I caught a whiff of scent from it and knew it for one of the herb
bags put under pillows for those with aching heads.
"My mother's, but she does not need it this night." Yngilda
spoke brusquely, as if she believed I might refuse her
offering.
I was surprised, yes, but not unduly so. Perhaps now that we
were equal before the world, Yngilda would no longer think me the
more fortunate. So I thanked her and allowed her to slip the
scented bag beneath my head where the warmth of my body could
release the odor to soothe me.
The herb broth was doing its work also. I found it hard to keep
my eyes open. I remember seeing Yngilda turn away toward the door,
and then — I must have slept.