Authors: Andre Norton
“That Law you broke, Galkur, when you so meddled. And, in the breaking released me. He is Uric's true son—in part—a fraction of his mother's . . . but there is something more. In time he shall choose, if he will, another path. Do not seek to hide behind the Law now. Face us all!”
Energy poured out of me, fusing with other sources of Power—that from Landisl, from Neevor, whose staff once more rested point down—yes, and from Joisan. The gryphon voiced its roar. Joisan's face grew pale and strained. I wanted to hold her close—but this was a time when all our strength must be turned elsewhere.
Forms congealed in the air behind Galkur, ready to feed into him energy in the same way we combined our own forces. There were horrors among them from which any sane man must avert his gaze, others which might have passed for Dalesmen and women. I half expected to see Temphera among them.
The drain of energy became stronger. Above my head a snake of flame lashed, would have sunk its fangs into my eyes. I was Kerovan—these were illusions of the enemy. He had failed to entice me—he would fail again. Neevor's staff cracked, broke into two pieces. The jagged end of one flew into his face. It was met by a band of blue flame. I had flung out my wrist without thinking, instinct had willed that.
Joisan swung halfway around, fell to her knees, her arms flung up above her head to ward off invisible blows. I saw blood start out on her cheek.
Rage, as fiery as those eyes had been, filled me. I turned my wrist; a blue beam shot toward Galkur. One of his misshapen followers darted between, exploded, leaving behind only a stench.
At last the gryphon took wing, planed down from its arch perch to stand over Joisan's body where she had sunk, face down, on the pavement. It covered her, its beak open in an enraged hiss. The broken ends of Neevor's staff look on life, rising, darting through the gate at the Dark forces. They did not touch the Dark Lord, but they struck like well-aimed spears at the figures capering about him.
I moved forward, step by step, no longer trying to bring down Galkur himself, but aiming the ray at his band. Each one of those taken out of this struggle would drain him of strength.
The Dark Lord caught up one of his own monstrous servants, rolled the creature into a ball that he hurled at me. Then behind that attack, he himself leaped forward.
There was another beside me as I swept that balled thing out of existence. Landisl, his sword high, stood between me and the hoofed one.
Galkur skidded to a quick stop. His body began to swell. I saw some of his followers fade as he absorbed their substance. The bristly hair on his lower body fluffed, its ends giving off yellowish light.
Landisl's silver body shone as bright as the sword he now held with both hands. Waves of force burst from its sky-pointing tip, rippled down the length of the blade to encircle his body. He became a pillar of light.
The Dark Lord changed, also. Black flame burst from him, swirled and thickened again into something giant high, which reached out a huge appendage to slap at the burning torch Landisl had become—slap and flinch, without landing a blow.
For a long moment it seemed that both were so equally matched neither could move. The point of the white light fell forward as if it were a swift sword. It touched the swelling Dark. A black stain from that spread up the light, dimming the glory of the white. I staggered as the pull upon my energy grew heavier. Through a mist of weakness I saw Neevor hunch far over, his face as gray as his clothing, his eyes closed. The gryphon and Joisan were now behind me; I
felt
their united energy pass me on its way to Landisl.
That stain spread no farther, the white held. Then there came a great upward flare of light, blinding me. Almost too late I flung my arm over my eyes. I fell to my knees, sprawled forward—there was no strength left in me.
Joisan
I
THOUGHT THAT NEVER AGAIN WOULD
I
SEE SUCH STRIFE AS THAT IN
which my lord had faced his own kin in the Waste on that other day of torment. But that was only a skirmish with outlaws on a border raid compared to the battle with the Dark Lord Galkur.
Though I did not even see the end clearly, my whole life force near drawn out of me, I knew when it came for I had roused a little into a warmth. The gryphon crouched between me and all evil, curving its claws about my shoulders, holding me to its breast, even as it had once rested against mine, I knew then such a feeling of peace and safety, in spite of my weakness, that I think I whimpered a little, as might a child begging for comfort, finding it at long last.
I saw only a great upward surge of light and then it struck down upon the foul darkness that threatened us. The black thinned, drew in upon itself. Once more that white blade lifted—now it was like a great pointing finger. Down it jabbed in turn.
A sound rent the air. It tore through my body, not my ears—that scream of defeat, of death and defiance still, mingled altogether. I slid then into shadows which welcomed me but were not
of
any evil sending.
“Joisan!”
There was no longer the softness of the gryphon's silvery mane against my cheek, rather the hardness of mail. I opened my eyes and saw what I had longed for. Perhaps all my life I had desired this without realizing what my full lack had been until it was at last mine.
My dear lord—not looking down at me with his face closed, his lips straight, his eyes hooded, so disciplined by his will that he could chill my heart. Rather this was my lord as I had always dreamed he could and would be some day.
I raised my hand, though that was difficult, for my own flesh was like a heavy weight. Still I persevered until I could draw fingertips down his cheek, make sure by touch that this was he indeed, no illusion born out of my lonely longing. On my finger the gem from the past pulsed and grew redder as if it held heart's blood full within it.
It was a lover's ring. I knew, and now it was a lamp leading me into another heart, wide open, ready to receive me.
“Kerovan . . .”
He had called my name loudly to summon me back to life. But I said his softly because it was so dear to me.
“It is done,” he told me.
What was done—the battle? That no longer mattered. It lay in the past and the past no longer held us. It was what lay ahead that I yearned toward.
“So . .
Beyond Kerovan's shoulder I saw Neevor, the gray man. His face was thin, older. When he spoke my lord looked up and around. For a moment I was afraid again, for a shadow of his old stem self—the one I had fought against for so long—crossed his face.
“It is done!” He said that to Neevor defiantly.
“The gryphon-man?” I tried to raise myself higher to look about. “My gryphon . . .?”
It was Neevor who answered, while my lord's arms were so tightly about me that his mail bruised one. But I cherished that small pain because of its cause.
“They have completed their pattern,” Neevor answered me.
I did not miss Landisl—he was so alien a being that he awoke in me only awe and some fear. But my hand strayed to my breast where the gryphon had once hung, and I remembered how it had come to shelter me during the last of that battle. I felt an emptiness of sadness and loss.
“Kerovan.” Neevor again addressed my lord with a sharpness I had not heard from him before. “Remember this, their plotting went awry. Though he tried to make you, Galkur had no part of it.”
My lord smiled oddly. There was a ruefulness in his expression, yet such peace as I had never seen in his face before.
“No hand in my making, only in my marring, is that what you wish to impress on me, Lord? Well enough. And Landisl—what was he?”
The age I had seen in Neevor appeared to be fading.
"He
had a part in you—so that in time you may—”
“No!” my lord interrupted, shaking his head. “No, Neevor. I will follow no road to the holding of Power—that one you would like for me to choose. I may have some small right to claim such, but I want not to be the master of any force. I am myself, Kerovan. I want nothing to make me more—or less.”
“You agree, in truth.” Neevor had been watching us both closely. He made a small gesture with his hand as if he tossed something to the wind, to be borne away. “This is then your free choice? There may never be another time to choose otherwise, you understand.” The gray-clad man did not draw back, still suddenly there seemed to be a growing distance between us.
“My choice is to be Kerovan, lord of nothing,
man
of no great talent,” but my lord spoke more to me than to Neevor, as if it were very necessary that I understand. “I am only myself.”
“Which is the one important thing,” I found words easily. “You are my dear lord, what else you desire shall come through your own efforts always. I think you are to fashion a fine new fortune for us both.”
Neevor laughed.
“Well done, children. Enter into the world of your choice. I foretell you shall find it in no way lacking, and perhaps you shall encounter a surprise or two along the way.”
Then, as one can puff out a candle flame, he was gone. I settled back into my lord's arms with a sigh of content.
“Our world.” I caught his head and drew him down until our lips met with a warmth which became pure flame—to light us both—forever.
About the Author
Andre Norton is an outstanding science fiction/fantasy writer who is best known for the strange, memorable, wholly believable worlds she creates.
She has received the coveted Gandalf and Balrog Awards, and her works have been translated throughout the world.
She lives in Florida.