“I think not!” My words fell into the silence like blows.
In that moment Rogear's hand came up, something flashing in it—the crystal gryphon. From it struck a ray of light straight at my head. Pain burst behind my eyes, I was both blind and in such agony that I could not think, only feel. I staggered back against the wall, fighting to keep my feet. My arm was upflung in a futile effort to counter this stroke I was unprepared to face. I heard Joisan scream, and hard upon that cry another of rage and pain. Still blind, I was thrust aside and fell to the floor.
Joisan screamed again, and I heard sounds of a struggle. But I could not see! Not trying to rise, I threw myself toward the sounds.
“No! No!” Joisan's voice. “Loose me!”
Rogear had Joisan! A foot stamped upon my hand, giving me a second thrust of agony so great I could not stand it, yet I must! If he had Joisan, could drag her out—
I flung out my sound arm, touched a body, embraced kicking legs, and threw the weight of my shoulder against him, bearing him under me to the floor.
“Joisan—run!” I cried. I could not fight when I could not see; I could only hold on, taking his blows, trying to keep him so she could escape.
“No!” Her voice again, and with a cold note in it that I had never heard before. “Lie you very still, my Lord.”
“Lord Amber,” she said now, “I hold a knife blade to his throat. You may loose him.”
He did indeed lie as one who would offer no more fight. I backed away a little.
“You say,” she continued in that same tone, “this is not Kerovan. Why, my Lord?”
I made my choice. “Kerovan is dead, my Lady. Dead in an ambush laid by this Rogear above his father's keep. This Rogear has knowledge of the Old Ones—from the Dark Path—”
I heard a quickly drawn breath. “Dead? And this one dares to wear my lord's name to deceive me?”
Rogear spoke up then. “Tell her your name—”
“As you know, we do not give our names to mankind,” I improvised.
“Mankind? And what are—”
“Lord Kerovan.” My head jerked toward that new voice. “What do you—” It was one of the armsmen from the courtyard.
“Lord Kerovan does nothing,” Joisan answered. “As for this one, take him and ride.”
“Shall we take her, Lord?” asked the armsman.
I had gotten to my feet, faced toward that voice, though I could not see.
“Let the wench go. She is of no importance now.” By his tone Rogear had regained his full confidence.
“And him, Lord?” Someone was moving toward me. My crushed hand hung useless. In any event I could not see him.
“No!” Rogear's answer was the exact opposite of what I expected to hear. In that moment a single thrust from a sword would have finished it all in his favor, and he could have had his will of Joisan. “Touch him on your peril!”
“We ride,” he added. “I have what I came for—”
“No! Not that! Give me the gryphon!” Joisan's cry ended in the thud of a blow, and her slight body struck against mine. She would have slipped to the floor, but I flung my arm about her. They were gone, though I cried out for any in the courtyard to stop them.
“Joisan!” I held her close against me. She was a slack weight—if I could only see! What had that devil done to her? “Joisan!” Had he killed her?
But Joisan was not dead, only struck senseless, as those who came running told me. As for Rogear and his men, they were away. I sat by Joisan's bed, holding her hand in mine. About my useless eyes was bound a cloth wet in water in which herbs had been steeped. Only in that hour did I begin to face the fact that perhaps my sight was gone from me. Just as I had not been able to save Joisan from that last blow, so I would never again be able to step between her and any other harm. That was the black hour in which I learned how much she had come to be a part of me. The pain I had known earlier as I stood aside from making myself known was as nothing to what I now felt.
“Lord—” Joisan's voice weak and thin, but still her voice.
“Joisan!”
“He took—he took my lord's gift—the gryphon.” She was sobbing now.
Fumbling, I drew her into my arms, so she wept upon my shoulder.
“It was the truth you spoke; he is not Kerovan?”
“The truth. It is as I said. Kerovan died in ambush at Ulmsdale. Rogear is betrothed to Kerovan's sister.”
“And I never saw my lord. But his gift—that one shall not have it! By the Nine Words of Min, he shall not! It is a wondrous thing, and his hands besmirch it. And he used it as a weapon, Lord—he used it to burn your eyes!”
That flash from the globe—
“But also, Lord, your own power answered, from this band on your wrist. If you had only held that sooner as a shield.’’ Her fingers were feather-light on my arm above the armlet. “Lord, they say those of you people are mighty in healcraft. If you have not that talent yourself, can we not take you to them? It is in my service, this grievous hurt came to you. I owe you a blood-debt—”
“No. There is no debt between us,” I denied quickly.
“This Rogear has always been my unfriend. Had we met anywhere he would have sought to kill me.” And, I thought bleakly then, perhaps I would be better dead now of a wound, than alive with this cloth about my head marking my loss.
“I have something of healcraft, and so has Nalda. Perhaps the sight will come again. Oh, my Lord, I do not know why he sought me here. I have no longer lands or fortune—save that which he took with him. Know you of this gryphon? It was sent me by my lord. Was it then such a great treasure of his House that this Rogear would risk so much to get it into his hands?”
Her query drew my thoughts away from my own darkness to consider why Rogear had come. The crystal gryphon—that it had strange powers was entirely possible. He was learned in the lore of the Old Ones—the Dark Old Ones. I had heard enough from Riwal to know that when one went some distance down the path of alien knowledge, things of power, both light and dark, could make themselves known to the initiate.
I had been with Riwal when I first found it. Neevor had said Riwal was dead, but he had evaded giving a description of how my friend had died. Supposing Rogear, already practiced in the Old Ones’ learning, had somehow ferreted out Riwal, learned from him about the gryphon, traced it thereafter to my lady? That would mean it was such a talisman as could cause great troubles. In Rogear's hand its use would be a danger to the world I knew. Joisan was right, we must strive to get it back. But how—? I put my hand to my bandaged eyes with a sigh. Could it ever be done?
16
Joisan
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 di
ed 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 carry 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 wanner 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.”