And yet… it was strange, for that shadow did not truly seem to be here at all. My mind filled with a confused image of something moving along mountain paths, a yellowish something glowing sickly. It was shot through with malignant streaks of red, as though it fed on blood—and worse.
Suddenly, blown apart by a gust of clean wind from the west, that shadow vanished. I realized that it had never truly been there. What we had seen had been an image or sending of a reality lying far distant.
“You are right, my lord.” I knew Joisan shared the thought in my mind. “I know not how, or why, but what we saw just now has no reality in this time and place. It is the ghost of… something.” She shuddered once again and I set an arm around her, wishing that I might enfold her closer, protect her; but that I dared not do, I thought bitterly. I could not even protect myself from what called to me from those mountains. And what we had seen just now emanated from the same place, of that I was certain also.
“Why was this shown so to us?” I asked, more of fate itself than of her. It seemed too unfair that we should now be plagued with a new danger, when the old one appeared insurmountable to me.
“I know not. That… thing came from those mountains.” Joisan turned her gaze northeast. “It is possible that there is some channel between those heights and us, and that along that channel can be drawn images of what runs there. Or this could be foreknowledge, or a warning. Arvon holds much we never knew in the Dales.” She bit tier lip, and I tightened my hold around her shoulders at the fear in her voice and her calm bravery in the face of it. I do know, however, that what we saw is part of this land, no shadow without reality. That haunter of mountain ridges exists… somewhere.”
We sat for a while longer, but naught else arose to disturb us in the night. Joisan’s head slowly dropped onto my shoulder, and I knew she slept. Turning my head, I nuzzled my mouth against the softness of her hair, scenting the herbs of its recent washing. “Joisan…” There was so much I wanted to say to her, but could not… my lips could only form her name.
When I eased her back onto her bedroll she awoke, beginning to sit up. “Stay,” I said, pulling the blanket across her. “I will take the first watch. Sleep, my lady.”
“Very well.”
Then came nothing but the quiet sound of her breathing.
Thus I sat, sword in hand, watching the stars. The clouds had thinned into occasional ragged wisps, and I was fleetingly grateful that at least we did not have to worry about rain.
I had intended to let Joisan sleep and not call her to watch, but, as the night went by, I needs must stand and pace the length of our small camp to keep from falling asleep. It had been long since I had had a restful night, and that, added to our day’s journey, had taken their toll of my strength. When I found myself dozing as I stood, I realized I must wake her.
It required only a light touch on my lady’s shoulder to bring her to full awareness. I hardly had time to stretch out and pull the blanket up before sleep claimed me.
Sleep… and dreams. The pull returned to me. In my dream I was light as thistledown, swift as thought, in my race back to the mountains I fled so determinedly by day. There, I knew, lay all that I ever had and ever could desire, the end of strife, my home. As iron to a lodestone was I drawn, knowing immediately my direction and destination. It was close—close—
There was a sound in my ears, a thunder as though great wings beat around my head and shoulders. I was being shaken violently—
“Kerovan! Wake!” I blinked stupidly, found I was standing upright, pack in one hand, sword in my other. Joisan barred my way, her hands still gripping my shoulders.
“What—” I dropped the pack, then sheathed my sword. The world swung, then steadied, as I realized I was on the other side of our campfire, headed up the slope down which we had come earlier. The pull was a screaming ache within me, and I felt sweat start out on my forehead, so threat was the effort it took not to push my lady aside and run.
You walked through the fire, Kerovan.” The small hands still holding my shoulders trembled, then tightened their grip. “I called to you, strove to halt you, but you walked through the fire before I could stop you. Are you burned?”
Feeling now the warmth as I saw the scattered coals, I sank to the ground. I examined one hoof, but its hard substance seemed to have taken no harm. For once perhaps I should feel thanks that my feet were not flesh as were other men’s.
Joisan brought a brand from the fire, handing it to me. She knelt, reaching for my ankle. “Let me see.”
No!” Never had I allowed her to touch my feet, the source of so many of my troubles—I felt my face burn at the thought.
“I have no time for such folly now, my lord. Hold still.”
There was a note of command in my lady’s voice that I had never heard before—Lord Imgry, High Commander of the Dale Forces, might well have envied such a tone. I held the brand as she studied closely first one, then the other of my hooves.
You took no hurt I can discover.” She sat back, facing me. I cast the lighted branch back into the fire, glancing around. The brush of the wind promised that dawn was not far off, though the darkness was still complete.
Joisan’s voice reached me again, still holding that force of command. “And now, my lord, I think we had best talk. I will hold with no more evasions or silences. It is time for the truth.”
I moistened dry lips. “About what happened tonight to me?”
“What has happened this night, last night, and so many nights since we entered this land. What torments you so, Kerovan?”
I swallowed, sought for my old control, found it shattered beyond repair. Then, in a voice I scarcely knew as my own, I told her of the pull from the mountains, how it had waxed and waned, and what I feared might be causing it. She listened intently, then, when I had finished, sat in thought for several minutes.
It seemed very long to me before she spoke. “I cannot pretend to understand all that is happening, my lord. There is Power here, but I feel none of the cold of the Shadow about it. Though that may mean nothing, for mayhap it has disguised itself beyond my limited sensing.” Far off in the night something screeched, probably an owl. Joisan continued, “But this I do know. We two cannot continue as we have heretofore done.”
My heart froze within me; suddenly breathing itself was pain. I strove to steady my voice. “Then you will go back to Anakue—alone? I cannot blame you, Joisan, I only ask you to let me escort you… These lands are wild, and I—”
Her words cut across my stumbling ones like a sword. “Always you doubt me, Kerovan! What must I do to make you believe that I could never company with another—that I want only you? No, what I am saying is that I think you must fight your fear of Power and the using of it, and allow me to protect us as best I can. This will be a task greater than any I have ever attempted, and I cannot be sure of success. But it seems I needs must try, and to this you must aid me.”
So great was my relief that Joisan held no thought of leaving me that my inner distrust of any magic seemed at that moment very small compared to the other fear. “Very well. My thanks for your help, my lady. And”—I drew a deep breath—“what I can do…” Though I added no more words she must have known what I found so hard to voice.
As she sorted through her bag of simples for the herbs she would need, Joisan sent me, with a torch, into the neighboring grove of trees. “Search out an ash, Kerovan. I believe I sighted one as we came downslope. Failing that, look for a hazel bush. I must have a proper wand, blessed under the moon.” She glanced at the sky, then frowned. So hurry, my lord, for the moon is far spent.”
The grove was dew-wet, overgrown with brush, a thicket which I cursed as I tripped and blundered my way, torch held high. Finally I sighted the slender leaves and grayish trunk of what I sought and called to my lady.