Some distance farther on, the songsmith slowed Monso to a canter, watching to her right as they splashed through a small stream. A moment later, she saw it-a faint trail leading away across a meadow. It might have almost been a game path, but Lydryth knew better. Reining right, she turned the Keplian onto it.
The Kioga were not a people to leave well-marked trails to their grazing grounds. Whenever trading parties ventured outside their territory, they used small, insignificant trails such as this one, careful not to allow them to become too well marked.
Lydryth galloped across the meadow, but when the trail began looping through a small wood, she needs must slow to a canter. As they came around a bend in the path, a puddle of darkness suddenly blocked their way.
It seemed to crouch before them, making the songsmith wonder for a moment whether it was some kind of wild beast. But no, it was only a washed-out gully filled with debris from the spring floods. Bending low on the Keplian’s neck, the bard gave her mount free rein, urging him on.
Monso soared into the air, clearing the entire gap. For a moment Lydryth felt as though they were flying; then the Keplian’s forehooves came back to earth with scarcely a jar.
“Good boy!” she cried, shakily. Alon trained him well, she thought, steadying him and increasing speed to a hand-gallop. She was fighting her own exhaustion and chill, now, and the continual drain of using her newfound Power to see in the darkness was wearing her down even faster than the exertion of the ride.
Twice more they leaped trees that had fallen across the path-the first was low, scarcely more than thigh-high had Lydryth been standing. The second came as they rounded a last turn on the woodland trail. At first it seemed to her aching eyes naught more than a small tree resting in a patch of shadow from the woods.
But, just as they drew too close to safely halt, the songsmith realized to her horror that her magically enhanced night vision had played tricks upon her. What she had taken for shadow was substance, and the tree trunk now looming before them would have been chin-high on even a tall man!
All Lydryth’s instincts screamed out for her to sit back and drag the Keplian to a halt, but she realized immediately that it was too late. The stallion was headed straight for the tree, too fast to stop without crashing into the obstacle. Stifling a scream, Lydryth closed her legs on his sides, bent low over the black neck, and shut her eyes. The Keplian’s leap as he soared into the air nearly unseated her.
Lydryth held her breath, expecting any moment to feel Monso smash into the trunk. But somehow, the stallion cleared it, though she heard bark scrape beneath them. They hung in midair for what seemed forever; then they were over, and falling . . . falling. Horse and rider landed hard and off-balance-but safe.
As the stallion recovered his stride, breathing now in hard, panting gasps, the minstrel clutched him around the neck, nearly sobbing with relief. “Thank you . . . thank you, Monso . . . ,” she stammered.
A short distance later, they left the last of the trees to pound across a long, gradually sloping field. Monso’s breathing was now labored. They had nearly reached the opposite side of the field when the challenge that Lydryth had been anticipating ever since they had turned off the road rang out. “You! Rider! Halt! You are on Kioga land! Halt and identify yourself and your business here!”
Knowing that the sentry was armed with a wickedly barbed lance, Lydryth sat back in the saddle, reining Monso to a quick halt. For once, the stallion seemed to welcome the chance to stand still and regain his wind.
After a moment, Monso’s breathing eased; then, scenting the Kioga mount, the Keplian rumbled a deep challenge. The songsmith heard the mortal horse whicker with fear as it approached. Her night vision made out the shadow blot of a rider mounted upon a grey mare; then the Kioga tribesman lit a torch. Lydryth shielded her eyes from the sudden, dazzling light.
“It is I, Lydryth, Jervon’s daughter,” she called. “Who of the Kioga rides on sentry-go tonight?”
“Lydryth?” The tribesman’s voice was sharp with suspicion. “If you are the Lady Lydryth, prove it. Tell me your dun gelding’s name.”
She laughed wearily, at last recognizing the speaker’s weather-beaten, mustached features as her eyes adjusted to the light. “My mare is a red chestnut, Guret, as you well know. Her name is Vyar.”
“Lydryth!” Guret gasped. “What are you doing here? You left so long ago! And now to return in the middle of the night.. .” He urged his grey closer, controlling her with firm legs, forcing her to hold steady despite her fear of Monso. “And astride such a mount! Wherever did you get him?”
The songsmith sighed, shaking her head. “It is a very long story, my friend, one that I have not time to tell. Let me only say that Lord Kerovan is in grave danger, and I ride to warn him. As soon as my warning is delivered, I, and possibly others from Kar Garudwyn, will ride forth from the valley this same night. I left a friend behind, possibly in great danger, to ride here tonight. I must return to aid him.”
“A … friend,” Guret said, evidently catching some inflection in Lydryth’s voice that she had not been aware of herself.
“He is the one who bred and trained Monso, here,” she said, stroking the panting Keplian’s foam-drenched neck.
“Then he must be a master horseman,” the Kioga man said. “To capture and train a Keplian.”
“I will tell you the entire story-or Alon will-as soon as may be,” Lydryth promised, “but not now. Guret, I have ridden across nigh half of Arvon tonight. I must make it to Kar Garudwyn as soon as possible!”
He nodded. “I will help you. Lady. But stay only a moment.” One-handed, he pulled the gaudily embroidered blanket he wore as a protection against the night’s chill over his head, shaking his long, dark braids to free them. “Here, wear this. You look like a half-drowned yearling,” he said, extending the blanket.
Gratefully, the songsmith slipped it over her head, relishing the heat of Guret’s body still trapped within its warm folds. The Kioga man jerked a thumb behind him. “You ride. Lady. I will call another for sentry duty, then go down-valley myself to catch up the castlefolk’s mounts and have them saddled and ready.”
She flashed him a grateful smile. “Bring Vyar, too,” she said; “This fellow deserves to rest for some time. I thank you for your aid, Guret.”
Lydryth urged Monso onward. The stallion stumbled as he obeyed, and Guret gave her mount a measuring glance. “Will he make it? Do you want to take Takala here, in his stead?”
“No, Guret.” She patted Monso’s shoulder. “Even exhausted, this one could outrun your mare. Every moment counts. Thank you again for your help.”
He raised the nickering torch in salute as she turned and left him.
Once past the circle cast by Guret’s light, Lydryth was hard-pressed to regain her night-sight. She relied mostly on Monso’s eyes to pick his way uphill at a slow canter.
Long minutes later, the songsmith caught sight of a familiar landmark-a huge granite outcropping. She slowed Monso to a walk, following the bulge of the gigantic thrust of rock. When it split in twain to become a narrow pass, she turned down it. Midway down that dark throat, two pillars of quaniron stood, topped with winged globes.
The entrance to the valley. She was almost home.
With a gasp ofthankfulness that sounded perilously akin to a sob of weariness, the songsmith urged Monso toward the entrance. The land beyond was filled with a swirling mist, part of the spell-laid protection that encompassed the valley where Landisi, the powerful gryphon-being, had once made his ancient home.
But as Monso tried to step past that barrier, the Keplian halted, tossing his head snorting. He sidled away, much as he had at the entrance to the Fane of Neave. ,.
Of course, Lydryth thought. The wards on the valley. Monso is part Shadow-creature, so he may not pass them. …
But if she had to abandon the Keplian and run the rest of the way, it would take her an hour or more to reach the castle on the mountainside! Lydryth stared determinedly at the barrier, reaching within herself for the Power Alon had assured her she bore. She began to sing, raising her voice in a wordless appeal, concentrating on an image in her mind of portals giving way before them, allowing them free entrance.
Her voice filled the narrow cut, and, slowly the winged globes began to pulse in time to the rise and fall other melody. Holding firm the image in her mind of portals opening, Lydryth urged Monso forward again.