Gryphon in Glory by Andre Norton

as its muzzle wrinkled farther and farther back.
    Then—
    A man again sat at the table fondling the sword. I did not need another glance to assure myself that the cat had also disappeared.
    “I am Hyron,” the man announced in a flat voice as if he had played a game that no longer amused him. There was a weariness in his tone also. He might have been very tired at the rise of each sun, the coming of every night. “We are the Wereriders. And you—what are you? Who are you? What do the hill-huggers want of us that they dare send a messenger?”
    “I am Kerovan.” Once more I made no claim of lordship or rank. “I was sent because I am what I am—a half-blood. Therefore, there were those who believed that you might give me better attention.”
    “A half-blood—one they hold in low esteem. And so they must hold us also—thus why would they wish a pact with us?”
    “Lord Imgry has a saying to fit the need,” I returned steadily. This horseman's taunts would awake no visible anger in me. “He has said that a common enemy makes allies.”
    “A common enemy, eh?” Lord Hyron's right hand had closed about the hilt of his sword. He played with the blade, drawing it forth from its sheath a fraction, snapping it back again sharply. “We have seen no such enemy.”
    “You may, my lord. And, if things continue to go so ill in the Dales, sooner than you think.” With as few words as possible and as simply as I could I told him of what we suspected to be the eventual purpose of the invaders.
    “A treasure—a Power . . .” He tossed his head with an equine gesture. “Poor fools and dolts. If these invaders found any such they would rue it bitterly in the end. Whoever dispatched them on such an errand is well disordered in what wits they possess. The Waste itself would fight with us.”
    I felt Herrel stir rather than saw him move. His lord's gaze shifted to him. The cat-helmed warrior said nothing. All I perceived was that he and his leader locked gazes, though I gained the impression that between them communication passed.
    There was a need, I sensed, not to speculate too far concerning the talents of the Weres. They were not of the kind to take kindly to any who pried into their ways. But that this period of silence was important I was sure.
    Nor was I too surprised when there appeared from behind us several other men, drawing near to Herrel and me as if they had obeyed some unheard summons to council.
    A loud click ended that period of silence, as emphatic a sound as if the fist of a man had come smashing down. Hyron had given a final slam to the sword, smashing it back into the scabbard with full force.
    He arose, not as a threatening stallion, but in man guise. Yet still he leaned across the board even as the stallion had done.
    “There is much to be thought on,” he said. His frown had returned full force. Also there was a quirk to his lips as if he tasted something sour, perhaps his own words. “There is nothing in the Dales for which we choose to fight. On the other hand"—he hesitated as if turning some thought over several times to examine it the better—"there was once a geas laid—and perhaps that has brought us to this meeting. If we consult and discover that we indeed have a common enemy—that your purpose can answer ours—” He broke off with a shrug. What he said had no real commitment, but I guessed I would get no better answer. Then he asked a question.
    “Whom did you really seek when you came so boldly into the Waste, Kinsman-by-half?”
    “Whoever there might be who would listen, Lord.”
    Now he raised a forefinger to scratch along the line of his beardless jaw.
    “You are forthright enough,” he commented. From his tone I could not judge whether he thought me a fool for using the truth. “That being so—there are others here who might be interested in your warning.” He smiled and I heard muffled sounds from those about me as if they shared his amusement. Did he want me to beg him