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 ow
n 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 imposter. 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 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.
17
Kerovan
“It is Nalda?” I turned my head, though I could not see.
“Yes, Lord.” She spoke briskly, and I silently thanked her for her way toward me. There was no pity in her manner, only the confidence of one who had nursed hurts and expected healing to come from her service.
“Lady Joisan?”
“She sleeps, Lord. And truly she has taken little hurt, save that the blow was a hard one. But there be no bones broken or other injury.”
“Have the men reported in yet?”
“No, you shall see them at once when they come. Now here is some soup, Lord. A man must keep his belly filled if he would hold his strength. Open your mouth—”
She spooned it into me as if I were a baby. Nor could I then say her “no.” But in me was a rage against what had happened and a dark feeling of misery that there was naught I could do for myself.
Nalda guided me to my bed, and I stretched thereupon. But sleep, even rest, was far from me, wearied from the trail as I was. I lay rigid, as one who expects any moment to be called to arms, though I might never be again.
I thought of Joisan—of her need to regain the gryphon. I knew that she was right; that it must be taken from Rogear. He had not been caught in the doom of wind and wave. Had then those others escaped also—Hlymer who was no true brother, the Lady Tephana, Lisana—?
Now I raised my hands to explore the bandage over my eyes. It was still damp, and I was sure it was of no use to me.
Rogear—if he had come after the gryphon—how could he have known of it save through Riwal, and from Jago, that it had passed to Joisan? What was it that he had come to seize? I knew so little at a time when knowledge was so essential.
I rested my arm across my forehead, the back of my wrist upon that bandage. How long was it before my thoughts were shaken out of the dreary path they followed, and I realized something was in progress?
The wrist band! Joisan had said it defeated the ray from the crystal. From it now—I sat up and tore away the bandage. A warmth spread from the wristlet where it touched my flesh. Perhaps instinct, perhaps “memory” guided me now, for I held that band of strange metal first against my right eye and then against my left, pressing upon the closed lids. I did not try to see as yet. What I did was simple. Why I did it I did not know, save there came from that act a sense of well-being, a renewed confidence in life.
I dropped my hand and opened my eyes.
Dark! I could have cried my vast despair aloud. I had thought—hoped—
Then I turned my head a little and—light! Limited—but there. And I realized that I sat within a darkened room with light marking the doorway. Hastily I arose and went to it.
Night, yes, but no darker than any night I had seen before. When I had raised my head to look heavenward—stars! Stars glittering more brightly than I could remember. I could see!
Joisan! Instantly in my joy I knew I must share this with her. And that was mainly instinct too. I looked around the courtyard to get my bearings and headed to her room.
The doorway curtain was down and made me pause. Nalda had said she had given her lady a sleeping draught and that she would rest until morning. But even if I could not tell her of this miracle, I could at least look upon her dear face. There was a faint glimmer of light behind the curtain. They must have left one of the rush lamps with her.
So I entered, wishing to shout aloud my tidings, yet walking softly, trying to control even my breathing lest I disturb her rest.
Only, there was no one on her bed! The light cloak that must have been her night covering was tossed aside; the couch of leaves, grass, and brush was empty.
Empty save for something that lay in the hollow where her head must have rested. It caught my eye and I scooped it up. I held a bag, lumpily stuffed with herbs, which gave forth a strong odor. Among the leaves and roots there was a harder knot.
I gasped and the bag fell to the floor. About the band on my wrist coiled a thin blue haze, as if the metal had given forth a puff of smoke. I needed no instruction as to the nature of what was in that bag. Black evil shouted aloud in my mind.
Stooping, I caught up the bag by the point of my knife and dropped it on the stone table, close to the rush light. Without laying finger on it I slit the cloth, using the knife point to dig and probe until I brought into sight a thing about the size and shape of a Sulcar trading coin. It was dull black, yet also veined in red, and those veins—No, they were not veins after all, but some runic pattern as involved as those on my wristlet.
This was a thing of Power, that I knew. But of the Dark Power. Anyone touching it—
Joisan! How had this evil thing come into her bed? In that moment such a fear rent me that I shouted, calling on Nalda who should certainly be near at hand. The fury of my voice echoed hollowly out into the courtyard. I called again, heard other voices upraised—
“My Lord,” Nalda stood in the doorway, “what—”
I pointed to the bed. “Where is my lady?”
She exclaimed, hurried forward, stark surprise on her face.
“But—where else could she be, Lord? She was sleeping, as the drink would make her. I would take Gunnora's Three Oaths that she could not stir until morning—”
“Did you leave this in her bed?” I had controlled my fear, outwardly at least. Now I used the knife to indicate the t
orn bag and its contents.
She leaned close, sniffing. “My lord, this is a soothing bag such as we make for the Lady Islaugha when she is restless. One of these beneath her pillow, and she is not so led by her fancies. It is of good herbs—”
“Do you also add this?” My knife point was close to the evil symbol.
She bent her head again. When she raised it and her eyes met mine, she looked stricken.
“Lord, I know not what that thing is, but—it is wrong!” Then something else burst upon her. “Lord—your eyes—you can see!”
I brushed that aside. Once that relief had filled my world, but of greater concern now was what had happened to Joisan. That she had been exposed to this thing of the Dark was agony to think on.
“Yes,” I answered shortly. “But my lady slept with this by her, and she is gone. I know not what deviltry has been wrought here—but we must find her soon!”
So the aroused company searched from sentry towers to bridge ends. As the one that worked was pulled up for the night, I could see no way Joisan could have gone ashore. Yet it was plain she was not hidden in any of the rooms we explored.
In the end I had to accept that Joisan was nowhere in the keep. There remained—the lake! I stood at the bridge gap looking into the water, holding my torch to be reflected from its surface. Rogear—there was only one who would have done this thing! But he had been well away when Joisan had been laid on her bed. Someone in this place had been his servant in the matter. And from that servant I would have the truth!
I summoned them all, men, women, children, into the courtyard, and on a stone there I placed that ominous thing which had been a weapon aimed at my lady. I no longer felt the heat of first anger in me. For there had crept a cold along my bones, and my mind fastened on one thing alone—there would be such a blood-price for Joisan as these dales had never seen.
“Your lady has been taken from you by treachery.” I spoke slowly, simply, so that the youngest there might understand. “While she was weak of body this evil thing was put into her bed, and so she was driven forth, perhaps to her death.” Now I ventured onto ground of which I was not sure, depending heavily on what I had learned from Riwal. “Those who meddle with such a thing as this carry the taint of it upon them. For it is an essence of evil as to soil beyond cleansing. Therefore you shall each and every one of you display your hands and—”