“He told me of your marriage… of the gryphon you wore upon your breast that turned out to be a real creature ’prisoned within crystal.”
I was surprised. To my knowledge Kerovan had never spoken to anyone about the events that had brought us into Arvon. Indeed, I found myself thinking, he must trust Guret greatly, for usually he never speaks of what lies closest to his heart—the gryphon and the heritage he bears, all unwillingly.
Afternoon found us in the foothills, skirting great ridges of rock thrusting up like bare bones from the softer flesh of the earth surrounding them. We had followed Kerovan’s lead, and he continued to bear to the east as he searched out the northern trails. There were no more rest breaks—we must needs push our mounts, lest he, in his relentless eagerness, would leave us behind.
Finally we rounded a huge granite scarp that sloped upward farther than my eyes could strain, only to find it cloven into a narrow pass. On either side of that opening stood a pillar of the blue stone, that blessed substance that the Shadow could not broach. Surmounting the top of each pillar was an emblem I had seen before—the winged globe.
The entrance the globes guarded—for such was the impression they gave—was curtained by a swirl of grey-blue mist, unnaturally thick, limiting sight. I blinked in surprise. Here, where I sat Arren, was the bright sunlight of afternoon, the rays slanting from the west, only to stop, unable to penetrate that curtain. I could make out naught but languid curls of the fog beyond, rolling and curdling almost like a serpent or other living creature.
Suddenly there came a flicker of movement ahead, then a dark shadow was silhouetted for a moment against that faintly luminous swirling—Kerovan! I put heels to Arren, calling his name as the mare bounded forward—too late! I drew reign before the leftmost of the globes to wait for the Kioga lad.
“Where did he go?” Guret swung his head wildly from side to side, searching. “He rounded the cliff just ahead of me, but now—I can’t see him!”
I pointed to that blue-grey curtain. “He went therein, and so we must follow.”
He stared frantically before him, as if he could not see that entrance which lay so close now. I looked from the boy to the mist-guarded pass with a dawning surmise. That it was ensorcelled was easy to understand—but in that case, why would I see it, when Guret could not? I pointed quickly in test. “There, do you not see it? A misty wall, swirling before you?”
The young man’s good-natured, open features held dawning terror. “See what, Cera? What is it you see?”
“A wall of mist. My lord rode to it, and vanished therein. What do you see?”
“Naught but a rock wall, Cera. I swear it, by the Sacred Horsehide of my people.”
A powerful spell, indeed. How could Guret ride straight into what seemed to him a solid cliff face? The Power of illusion might well prove to those so blind to be as dangerous. And why was I able to see?
Gesturing the youth to remain where he was, I urged Arren closer, striving to penetrate that mist with eyesight or mindsend. But there was nothing beyond that my eyes could discern, and only the same blankness that had possessed Kerovan since yesterday morning met my questing thought.
Touching heel to the mare’s side, I rode between the pillars. There was no physical barrier to my entrance, but I swayed, shivering, assaulted by such a sensation of giddiness that I nearly pitched from my saddle. All around me were shifting images—rocks, seeming to leer and reach, trees, bending and rippling as though before a storm wind—all in mad glimpses that blended and merged chaotically. I gasped, clinging to Arren’s mane with both hands.
The mare blew gustily, turning to look around at me with almost-human concern. It was plain she was unaffected. Closing my eyes, I fought against the glamourie that protected this place. Kerovan was somewhere ahead, and I must reach him!
After long moments of darkness, I felt a gentle peace banishing fear. Resting my hand on my abdomen, I felt it build a defense, so that I dared open my eyes. The shifting remained, but greatly diminished. Why?
My lord had plainly found the mist no barrier—had ridden in with his head up, as if the pathway for him was clear, and at the end of this trail lay all he had ever or could ever desire. Now, my hand touching my middle, I found the dizziness lessened. Could it be that the spell holding this pass had recognized Kerovan, welcomed him, allowed him free access, and that, because I carried his child, I also had the ability to see it, though some of the spell still held?
Speculations gained me nothing, and while I sat, my lord drew ever farther ahead. I longed to spur Arren after him, but there was Guret to consider. I could not abandon the youth in the face of sorceries he could not comprehend.
I turned, rode back toward the entrance to the pass. Guret sat the chestnut stallion, his dark eyes anxious. As he saw me, relief lightened his features. “Did you find him, Cera?”
“No,” I answered. “And the pass is spell-guarded. Still, we must follow as best we can. I can overcome the giddiness somewhat, but I am afraid you must go blind, riding by my guidance.”
“What of Vengi?” he asked, stroking his mount’s neck.
“Arren felt no troubling, so I trust he will not, either. We can but try.”
Grasping the reins Guret released, I pulled them over the stallion’s head, so to lead him. He nipped at my mare’s neck, and she backed her ears and squealed, warning him off. “This will not be easy,” I said, slapping the stallion’s inquiring muzzle away. Then I handed Guret a scarf I took from my saddlebag. “Tie this over your eyes. Do not loose it, on your peril, until I bid you do so.”
Nodding, Guret tied the dark cloth over his eyes. Grasping Arren’s reins with one hand, the stallion’s with the other, I rode back to the pass. As we passed through the mist) curtain, I closed my eyes, allowing Arren to pick her way for a dozen or so strides, counted for me in anxious heartbeats. Then I opened them, bracing myself for that disturbing disorientation.
It was still there, and I found I had to close my eyes again and again for long moments as I rode. Only by so doing could I overcome giddiness. Glancing back at Guret, I saw the lad sway in his saddle, his mouth white and pinched with strain. “Hold on to the saddle, Guret,” I called back. My voice reverberated, echoing mockingly, making the horses roll their eyes. “Do you feel aught?”
“I feel… strange. As if I am riding into a dream, though I still wake…” He swayed again.
“Hold on!” I begged him, the uncanny echoes making my words sound like mad laughter. If he fell, I did not know how I would get him remounted!
“The Kioga… need no handgrips to keep their… seats. I can… manage.” He swayed again.
“Guret, don’t be a fool!” I put all the snap of command I could muster into that order. “Nobody will see you but I, and I will swear by Gunnora never to tell!” With relief I saw him grasp the pommel of his saddle.
Our journey up the narrow throat of that rocky pass was a nightmare. I continued to be assaulted by the waves of giddiness but slowly learned to control them, breathing deeply, closing my eyes, and never looking too long at any one patch of barely seen ground, for the alarming sway of change sickened me more when I did. Still I fought for greater speed, knowing that Kerovan had several minutes’ start on us.
Finally I glimpsed a dark blur ahead… far ahead.
Kerovan? I sent a mental call, but as before, there was no response. But, heartened at least to find that he still rode before me, and had not traversed some Gate, I urged the horses to a trot, trying to draw even with him. My left arm began to ache from the strain of leading Vengi—still, I held to those reins, sending up a silent plea to Gunnora for strength.