Part 40 (1/2)

”Back!” cried Marrget. ”Before it comes again!”

The phalanxes swept over the plain like a tidal bore. ASouzon and the others retreated, following the route of the panicked soldiers. The sun was a streaming glory in their eyes as they fled over the southwest bank and into the open countryside, leaving the Corrinians in possession of the Circle.The eyes of the Corrinian sorcerer were clear, almost luminous, and when he spoke, he spoke with a.s.surance. He sat in a chair before the king, lapped in a clean white robe, at ease, confident, poised . . . but Darham knew that he was as mad as if he had been groveling in the fields, gulping gra.s.s and howling at the night sky.

Tarwach did not notice, for he was silently raging at the terrible losses of the day. It seemed inconceivable that five score Gryylthans could have inflicted such damage on over thirty phalanxes, but after the captains had made their reports, the truth was evident. Corrin had gained the Circle, but its strength was barely a quarter of what it had been that morning.

”What do you recommend, sorcerer?” said Tarwach, breaking the silence suddenly.

Tireas s.h.i.+fted, pursed his lips, looked out through the open flap of the pavilion. In the distance was the Circle, glowing with light and power. Mernyl was still within, still alive, still able to summon potent energies to his aid. ”We do not yet hold the Circle,” he said, his voice strangely hollow.

The night was warm, and moths danced about the torches. One fluttered in front of Tireas, and he lifted a hand to bat it away. At-his touch, the insect dropped lifelessly into his lap. Darham stared, then looked at Kar-thin, who was beside him. He had also noticed, and his blue eyes had turned distrustful.

Darham ventured to speak. ”The grounds of the Circle 353 354.

are secure,” he said. ”The Gryylthans have fled. I would say that our task is finished.”

There was more-or maybe less-in Tireas's eyes than Darham remembered. ”Mernyl is still alive.”

”What can he do? He is as much a prisoner as if we held him in Benardis.”

”He can do much.” The sorcerer's voice, already hollow, deepened, turned threatening. ”So long as he lives, the Circle is not ours. So long as we do not possess the Circle, we do not have Gryylth.”

”There are many men now dead,” said Tarwach, ”who gave their lives to gain the Circle. Do we not owe them success?''

”We have the Circle,” insisted Darham. The sorcerer held him with his black eyes. Black eyes? Had his eyes not been gray long ago?

”We do not,” said Tireas.

Something was wrong. There was a sense of the malign about Tireas, about the entire scene: the Circle glowing, the lightning-lit bulk of the Tree rising up from its wain, the sprawling heaps of the dead ... A subtle pestilence was abroad in Gryylth this night, and the land was waiting anxiously to see what they would do about it.

”My brother ...” Darham glanced at Tireas, then ignored him. This was a decision for a king, not for a magician. ”My brother, I would propose something.”

”You have my ear always, Darham.”

”Do I, Tarwach?” He stepped forward, clumsily easing the loop of the sling that cradled his wounded arm. ”It seems that your ear is turned more toward others these days. I feel often that I must beg for your attention like an out-of-favor courtier.”

”Darham!” Tarwach half-rose from his seat. ”If so. then my apologies. Speak. I listen only to you.”

Darham glanced at Karthin. The captain nodded. ”I would propose another way, Tarwach. The killing has gone on long enough. The dead lie thick on both sides, and there are many women in both Gryylth and Corrin who will lament the fall of their mates and sons.”

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As though he had guessed what Darham was going to say, Tireas opened his mouth to speak. But the king raised his hand. ”Your turn will come, sorcerer. Continue, brother.''

”My suggestion is simple. A settlement, now, with generous terms for Gryylth. Regardless of the past, it is a n.o.ble people we have been righting, and far better it would be if we learned to be friends instead of enemies.”

Tarwach went white, then flushed. ”You would propose that? What of the dead that lie scattered from here to the Great Dike? G.o.ds, man, they have slaughtered three quarters of the phalanxes!”

Darham put his good hand on his hip, stepped forward. He did not like opposing his brother, nor was he at all rea.s.sured by the alteration in Tireas's behavior, but the senselessness of the battle had overwhelmed him. ”Three-quarters? And what were we trying to do to them?”

Tarwach spluttered, at a loss for words. Tireas's eyes bored out at Darham. ”Shall we abandon our plans now?” The sorcerer intoned the words like a spell. ”With the end in sight?”

”There is no end in sight, Tireas,” said Darham. ”Look at the reality before you. Destroying Mernyl will lead us into further enormities against Gryylth. /ere Corrin so crushed, our people would nurse their wounds until they were ready to turn on their conquerors. We should expect nothing different from Gryylth.”

”We can ensure that they can never rise again.” The sorcerer was adamant.

”How? By killing them all?” Heedless of Tireas's ire, Darham stepped toward him, the fist of his good arm balled at his side in an effort to keep his pa.s.sion from mastering him. ”Could we continue to call ourselves honorable after such an atrocity? What say you?”

Tireas did not flinch. ”They have killed our men.”

Karthin burst out. ”You b.i.t.c.h's whelp! You wiped out four phalanxes yourself when you threw your bolt at the First Wartroop.”

The silence was deadly, but the big farmer folded his 356.

arms and stood defiantly. His was the anger of the foot soldier confronted with the grandiose plans of one who had held himself aloof from the common, messy battles of sword and spear. His disdain for the sorcerer was obvious. So recently raised to the captaincy, he could be sent back to the ranks in disgrace, but still he stood, a man of Corrin, as tall and unyielding as the king himself.

Something writhed on Tireas's lap. With quiet convulsions, the moth was quivering back to life. As Darham watched, it turned smooth and slimy, like a slug, and its iridescent skin shone with unclean mottlings as it crawled along the folds of the sorcerer's robe.

Tireas noticed and brushed it off onto the floor with an annoyed flick of his wrist. It hit with a soft plop and inched toward the shadows.

Darham was shaken. This was not Tireas. This was . . . something else.

Tireas stood up. ”Aye, hayseed, some of our men perished in my attack. But they knew well that their lives were at risk when they entered the fray.''

The white slug writhed into the darkness.

Karthin seemed as unnerved as Darham. ”The First Wartroop . . .” He stumbled over his words. ”The First Wartroop still lives.”

”Do you thank the G.o.ds for that, hayseed?”

Again, Karthin did not rise to the insult. ”I keep my own counsel.”

”Maybe you wish to bed the pretty women, and insinuate yourself between the thighs of your enemies. Perhaps you have been unmanned, and now want to make love rather than war.”

Tarwach interrupted. ”This is a captain of Corrin, Tireas. Save your ire for our enemies.”

Tireas's indignation was a little too calculated. ”If he defends Gryylth, then he too is an enemy.”

”Do you impeach my loyalty to Corrin?” demanded Karthin. The sorcerer snorted and turned away. ”By the G.o.ds, I will have an answer, sir!”

In spite of the tension in the air, Tarwach smiled. ”Well said, captain. I would utter the same challenge. But I .

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cannot say but that I agree with Tireas's desire regarding Mernyl and the Circle. Bread will be scarce this winter, and it is the doing of Gryylth.”

”Dythragor Dragonmaster, rather,” said Darham.

' 'Is there a difference?''