The horse stopped. I heard the sounds of someone dismounting, the ring of an empty stirrup—then footsteps. I swallowed, my breath catching harshly. Is it Nidu? I wondered fearfully. Does she hate me that much, then?
The steps slowed, hesitated, then stopped. Beside me Kerovan tensed, his body prepared to leap—
” M’lord?” Surely I had heard that voice before! I gasped, then heard Kerovan’s voice, sounding incredulous:
“Guret! What—”
Hastily I stood, my hands reaching for my pack, for the fire-striker therein. It snapped once, twice, then the wick of the candle I held caught, the feeble flame swaying with the night breeze.
It was indeed Guret who stood before us, blinking as his eyes focused on the sudden yellow flame. “Cera Joisan, I’m sorry I startled you. I’ve been following you since this morning. I had to come.”
I glanced at my lord, searching for his reaction to the younger man’s words, then realized speech was again beyond him. Even as I watched he turned, like a lode-stone seeking north. I reached out, grasped his hand to keep him beside me. Sighing, I looked back to Guret. “But what of Nidu?”
His glance at Kerovan was swiftly measuring, then he phrased his response for my ears alone. “I know not, Cera. I rode from camp without seeing her, leaving my mother and father to tell Nidu and the Council that I refused selection.”
“Were they angry with you?”
His face in the candlelight was shadowed, yet I could still see the emphatic shake of his dark head. “No. I told them that Kerovan had saved the scouting party—and me—at the well, then Nita told them how he had risked death to draw her from the river. I explained that I had sworn liege-debt to him, and how he had refused to accept aught from me but friendship. They agreed with me that even if I am not formally liegebound to your lord, still there is a debt between us—and the Kioga repay their debts. Your lord rides toward… what?”
I shook my head sadly. “I know not. I feel no taint of the Shadow, but that proves nothing.”
“No matter what comes, he shall find me his shieldman. I could not do otherwise than follow, Cera.”
I sighed wearily, realizing suddenly that dawn was not far off. “Thank you, Guret. It is good to have such a friend when one faces the unknown. I must sleep again, if I can. Can you watch to make sure he does not ride off?”
“Aye.”
Grateful to be able to relax my vigilance even for so little, I lay down on my bedroll. I had scarcely closed my eyes when I was back again in the world of the Other.
Car Re Dogan towered before me, adding its sweeping height to the dizzying precipice fronting me. Yet “I” was swift, scorning the open road on the other side of the mountaintop, climbing the narrow trail with quick, sure strides. The rock beneath my narrow, near-taloned feet was solid, comforting, in stark contrast to the swirling muddle of my own emotions. How could Maleron have meddled so? Did he not realize that his actions in stopping the progression of Time had opened the door to sickness and the Shadow? Neither Neave nor Gunnora, the Amber Lady, looked kindly upon those who disturbed the progress of Things As They Must Be.
Sobbing, partially from the swiftness of my climb, but largely from anxiety, I scrambled my body over the lip of the sheared-off ledge marking the top of the mountain. Not allowing myself rest, I sped toward the massive door marking the postern gate to Car Re Dogan.
I scarcely saw the armsmen posted within, their shadows massive in the flickering glow of the torch-sconces as they stepped back to let me past. My eyes fastened instead on the curtained portal marking the Hall-of-State. Maleron’s voice reached me:
“Send the messenger immediately. Release one of the carrier hawks, with notice to provide him a fresh mount when he reaches the Council Hall. He is to return with (he Seven Lords’ answer as swiftly as may be.”
“It shall be as you say, Margrave.”
Just as I reached the heavy velvet curtain cloaking the entrance, he spoke again. “Where is my sister?”
“I have not seen the Lady Sylvya today. She must be—
The deep purple of the heavy velvet spilled across my wrist like wine as I thrust my arm, then my body, through the drapery. “I am here, Maleron.”
He frowned at my lack of ceremony, but forebore any rebuke before the serving-man. “Be seated, sister.” His deep eyes surveyed me, measuring my dishevelment. “You may go, Bern.” He dismissed his man absently.
When we were alone, he gestured to the seat at his right hand. “I have granted you permission, Sylvya.”
The aura of his Power was palpable, seeming to glimmer around him at every movement. That he was an Adept I had long known, but to my suddenly opened eyes that faint presence surrounding him seemed tarnished, dulled… darker—and, if possible, even more powerful. I found I was trembling. “Maleron, why? You have hurt—you may have destroyed—the valley. Why?” I held my breath, watching his face change—
“Joisan!” I was being shaken violently to and fro, so that I rolled upon the ground, the blankets of my bedroll swaddling me against movement. Guret crouched above me, his face frightened. “Wake, Cera! Wake!”
I put a hand to my head, dazed, that other reality—Sylvya’s reality—still holding me in thrall. “What—” My voice seemed naught but a hoarse croak, yet Guret understood.
“You dreamed, Cera. You moaned and tossed, calling aloud strange names. Then, when I strove to wake you—I could not!”
“Kerovan?” I sat up, looking around, still half-caught by the force of that sending. It was strange, passing strange, to see around me the spring-green hillside, the rolling land, where only moments before I had stood within the bounds of that ancient Keep, stone-walled and shadowed.
“Watering the mounts. Best hurry and eat, Cera. I do not think he will wait long once they are saddled.”
I made haste to pull on my riding boots, then, with swift fingers, rebraided my hair and pinned it up. Brushing off the “broidered linen shirt I wore, I stood, belting on my knife, my sword. By the time I had splashed water on my face, Guret had packed my bedroll without any request from me. All of his actions suggested that he had been sufficiently impressed by my lord’s urgency to break camp speedily as one might at the call of enemy in sight.
A clink of rock against hoof announced the return of the horses. Kerovan made haste to saddle our mounts, while Guret, after pressing upon me a slab of journeybread, tended to his own stallion.
I swung onto Arren, still gnawing at the bread, preparing for yet another day’s wearying ride. Where would the night find us? Resolutely I forced such thoughts out of my mind, refusing to allow myself the energy waste of worry—either about my lord or about Sylvya—my dream Other.
As we rode, the hillocks lengthened and steepened, rising at a greater and greater angle. From the summit of each ridge the mountains ahead became clearer—changing from blue-veiled heights to tree-shrouded hills and higher, rocky peaks.
Kerovan rode mum-faced this morn, never speaking when he drew rein to allow us a brief—all too brief—halt. Even Nekia’s tireless strides seemed to be diminished by such energy. Whatever drove him—be it of the Shadow or the Light—pulled him with a force as relentless as the nets the Anakue fisherfolk wove to contain each day’s catch. He appeared barely aware now either of me or of Guret, though his gem-yellow eyes held a sparkle like the gleam of water in the deepest of wells.
Finally, as we mounted after our mid-morning break, Guret spoke. “Has your lord been troubled thus before now?”
“We were axe-wed when we were children,” I made answer. “We have only been truly wed for three years. He told me that since our true marriage, he has always fought this drawing—though in the beginning it was much milder.”