“Joisan…” I gathered her to me, forcing a steady-voice, though part of me still quivered from what I felt. “No, dear heart. All the Power in the world would be too great a price to pay—if such knowledge meant losing you. No, never…”
Dimly aware that Guret, with inborn courtesy, had left us alone in the chamber, I held close my lady, until the near-frantic clutch of her arms about me loosened, and I could once more put sufficient distance between us to see her clearly. I touched her pointed chin, turning her face up to mine, looking down straightly into those blue-green eyes. “Be patient with me, my lady, I ask of you. I know well all the trials I have forced unheedingly upon you—and there are doubtless many more of which I remain ignorant. However, in truth, this place surrounds me now with a Tightness… a strength… that makes me sure it is our true home.”
Joisan smiled, albeit a little wanly. “Patience—of all the virtues Dame Math long tried to instill in me, always she despaired of my learning patience! But the war, three years with you, have accomplished much toward her goal.
Also”—her voice softened, her fingers brushed an unruly lock back from my forehead—“when one loves truly, little is impossible, Kerovan.”
I bent to kiss her, quickly, mindful of the youth waiting outside the chamber. Together we recrossed that rune-incised floor, careful to avoid stepping full on any of the patterns still glowing a dim violet.
Together, then, the three of us retraced our way to the Great Hall, where stood that dais. Carefully seating Joisan on the raised step—for my lady looked near to exhaustion—I cleared my throat. “One of us should go down the ramp before full dark, see to the horses.”
Guret nodded. “I would, willingly… save for one thing. How would I get through that rock barrier?”
I sighed. “I know not. There is doubtless some way, but my knowledge of this place comes in spurts, then ebbs, never by my conscious willing. So it is better I see to the horses. Then we must seek out a source of water up here.”
Guret hefted his waterskin. “Is there water? Otherwise, you should fill these when you are below.”
I answered him slowly. “Yes… somewhere, I know there is water. But we must search for the source. My inconvenient memory has not enlightened me as to where it may be found.” I grinned at him wryly. “I am no sorcerer yet, Guret, so give me not those awed, sidelong glances. I am truly but Kerovan, as always I have been.”
He grinned back at me, half-abashed, half-relieved, as I slung our feed bags together and took the ramp, hurrying because I moved downward into darkness. But even as I went, the blue stone of the wall shone with a gentle glow. As I reached the valley, I whistled. Moments later, Nekia, grass tufting from both sides of her mouth, appeared. A moment later Arren and Vengi followed. I saw from the stallion’s wary glances at the mares that they had repulsed his attentions. Scratching his neck, I fed him his ration of grain, well away from his female companions.
“Poor fellow… so they want nothing to do with you?”
He snuffed gustily, bobbing his head from the feed. I smiled. “Well, as the spring advances, you will find that changing. The maned ladies shall not be able to resist your charms for long.”
Again he bobbed his head, as if in agreement, then returned to crunch greedily. I looked to Kar Garudwyn, though even in the daylight I could have barely seen its walls because of the cliff’s acute angle. A faint blue glow told me that, like the ramp, the whole structure must give off light from the blue stone-metal of its building. Had it given off that faint shine every night through the countless deserted years, or did it only do so when there were those dwelling within its walls?
Weariness fell upon me like a blow as I started up the climb. The excitement of finding this long-abandoned citadel drained away, dissolving my steps into a fatigued stumble, forcing me to now and then use the wall as my support. Blue stone brightened where I set hand to it, and under my fingers it was warm rather than cold. Such touches seemed to give me a measure of energy, of well-being, pushing back my exhaustion for a few moments.
I discovered Joisan and Guret before a section of that large mosaic covering the circular wall of the Great Hall. Shouldering my lady’s pack along with my own, I led the way instinctively through an archway opposite the entrance. Our feet echoed loudly on the stone floor. As before, the light globes sprang to radiant life as we approached, emitting that soft, rose-amber glow. Beyond the Great Hall, a narrow corridor stretched onward, lined on either side by those floor-to-ceiling slender arches. Joisan’s voice reached me faintly, for the air here, though fresh, appeared somehow to muffle all sound.
“If we are to stay here, my lord, we must barrier these. I have no fancy to lose my footing some morn and find myself part and parcel of those rocks below.”
“Aye,” said Guret. “As it stands, this place is not for the clumsy… or the very young.”
“Which, fortunately, none of us is,” I said. At my words, I caught a swift glance exchanged between them, Guret’s holding amusement, Joisan’s a warning. I frowned, wondering what secret they shared, when Joisan spoke:
“Strange that the wind does not reach in here to touch us, in spite of these openings. Also, with walls of stone, I would expect to feel chilled with the onset of night—as I would have, if I stood within Keep walls in High Hallack. Yet I do not.”
Guret looked around, again more than a little uneasy. “Witchery…”
We continued to make our way down that hall (which proved shorter, somehow, to our feet than it had been to our eyes), passing through the portal at its end. We found ourselves in a large three-sided courtyard, facing the eastern heights. The jagged peaks were dimly visible through the ever-present narrow arches that framed the dark mountain night, a night which was pushed back as we entered by the glow of those strange globes. To the north and south lay arched entrances leading to other parts of the Keep. In the center of the courtyard was a fountain, its water cascading and swirling into a strange, half-familiar shape. Moving closer, I realized the flood sheeted and poured from a crystalline figure, so cunningly wrought that it was hard to divine which parts of the creature were water and which were solid.
“It is the figure of the gryphon…” Joisan breathed beside me, her hand going to her breast where the tiny image of Telpher, Landisl’s gryphon, had lain ’prisoned for all those years. The globe had long since been shattered; her fingers encountered only the weight of Gunnora’s amulet. “ ‘Tis passing beautiful, Kerovan… making me remember so much. Has this been so all these years, or did it spring to life again just before we came?”
There was no way of answering her—as usual, my knowledge or memory remained capricious. We stood watching the flow and play of the water, until Guret broke the silence.
“Shall we bed down here, m’lord Kerovan? With the water to hand, it appears the best place.”
“That seems good,” I made answer, wandering over to look at a huge bowl wrought from stone which rested near the easternmost arches. Blackened traces of fire still showed within it. “Look. We wilt be able to cook here.”
“It is perfect,” Joisan agreed, before splashing water from the fountain over her face. I joined her, dipping hand into that basin, finding the water refreshingly cool. The runoff spilled into a second pool before disappearing—I wondered if its source was some mountain spring, but the liquid did not hold that bone-shrinking chill usually found in such.
We drank, then ate hungrily of the rations we had brought. Tomorrow, if we were to stay here—and, frankly, such was the peace that I felt in Kar Garudwyn, I could imagine no reason to leave—we would have to forage in the fields and forests. Also hunt, though my mind shied from the thought of so disturbing the valley below.