Part 4 (1/2)

Hahle donned the cloak and fastened the brooch at his throat. ”Neither women nor warriors should travel alone through hostile territory, captain,” he said. Relys colored. ”Nay, I have heard what the young men say. I do not trust them.”

He offered his arm, and, after hesitating, Relys took it, hovering somewhere between shame and grat.i.tude.

Hahle strode gallantly, as though he found nothing unusual in accompanying a capable and attractive warrior. The guards at the town gate-novice and veteran alike-murmured greetings, but Relys felt their eyes on her as, with her hand on Hahle's arm, she took the road down the hill.

For a moment before he left her at the edge of the isolated cl.u.s.ter of huts belonging to the women of the wartroop, Hahle clasped her hands: the gesture of warriors, young and old, united by weapons and ex- perience. Then he turned and set off into the darkness that would lead him home.

He had not quite vanished into the shadows when Relys called out: ”Master.”

”Eh?”

”Warriors and women do not travel alone, you said.”

”Aye,” he replied slowly, and Relys could hear the smile in his voice. ”But I am an old man now, the hounds have dried up for the time, and no one else wishes to bother one so harmless.” With a wave, he disappeared into the night.

Relys strained her eyes after him. ”He is wise,” she murmured. ”Marrget had a good teacher.”

But she had hardly turned for her door when the night was suddenly split by the deep-voiced howl of a hound. She saw a distant flash of glowing eyes and heard Hahle cry out, but she was already running to his aid.

* CHAPTER 4 *

Alouzon stared up at a lurid sky that seemed the color of blood. Out of the distance came sounds: roars, shrieks, a clattering as of iron locusts. Nearby, papery rustlings and the lap of thick, oily waves were interspersed with the inexplicable chirp of crickets. A siren arose and sent a lance of sound through her ears. She rolled over and saw the Specter moving like a pillar of night across the desert wastes of Broceliande, through the once fertile pastures of Vaylle, over the waters of the White Sea, into Gryylth. It stood over her, and it lifted a sword that was still dripping with the blood of innocents.

With a cry too faint to be a scream, Alouzon twitched her numb limbs into a semblance of action and grabbed for the Dragonsword. But her arms were too weak to lift the blade, and the Specter's weapon descended like a scythe and ripped through her belly. Her flesh parted to reveal the dripping form of a blind fetus that writhed out of a tangle of smoking viscera.

No ... o ...

Holding herself together with her bare hands as blood and bile oozed between her fingers, she staggered to her feet. ”I know ... I know what you are,” she gasped at the Specter. ”And I'm gonna-”

Pain drove her to her knees, and when she lifted her head again, Solomon Braithwaite's corpse was staring her in the face, its breath fetid with months of decay, its eyes glazed. ”Going to what, girl?”

”I'm gonna . . .”

”Say it. Say it!”

The Grail. The Grail was the only way out. But where was it? Signs hung in the air about her- Westlake, Olympic-their letters traced as though in flame, but she could not comprehend them.

”I'm gonna do it ... somehow ...”

Specter, fetus, corpse: all were suddenly gone then, swept away by something that roared by and shattered the air with rock and roll. The sound was a fist that put Alouzon on the ground again, but her eyes were open now, and the delusions of her horror-filled dreams had scattered like shadows before a mercury-vapor light.

She stared at the sky, at the moving lights of a jetliner that crossed from north to south, at the faint stars. She understood.

She was in Los Angeles. And she was Alouzon.

Hahle survived the hound's attack, but only because Relys and the wartroop arrived within seconds. Several of the women were burned and bitten, but they drove the beast off with no serious casualties save for Hahle.

Now, badly wounded and unaware of himself or his surroundings, the councilman lay in bed, attended by the king's own physicians. Cvinthil ordered that preparations for the invasion be hastened, for, as Helwych had quickly pointed out, the attack of a hound after such a long hiatus indicated that Vaylle was growing stronger with each pa.s.sing day. It might even be preparing an invasion of its own.

Relys admitted that Helwych's logic was good, but Hahle's words had taken root in her heart; and as May flowed towards June like a swift river, as the last of the men and supplies departed for Quay, as Cvinthil himself, angry and eager for revenge, prepared to join his men, she found herself increasingly disquieted.

She had always thought of herself as a lieutenant, not as a commander, and she had been comfortable in the role of adding to, rather than formulating, plans and strategies. As a result, when confronted with the responsibilities of a captain, Relys had grown cautious; and now, with Hahle's words ringing in her mind's ear, a vague reluctance had enveloped her.

Cvinthil and the last of the troops would soon be leaving. Four new, untried wartroops would remain behind, along with their young commanders. Helwych-too weak as a sorcerer to fight, too feeble of body to travel-would also stay, acting as councilor to Seena, who would reign in Cvinthil's place.

Relys did not like it. The king could decree equality, but experience was another matter. Seena, though queen, was a properly socialized woman of Gryylth, and she could easily become overwhelmed by the running of a country. She would then turn to Helwych, and the sorcerer would eventually command the queen.

.No, Relys did not like it at all. Nor did she like the single course of action that was left open to her, for on the surface it smacked of cowardice, and in its depths it reeked of a danger that she had not yet learned to confront. Nonetheless, a few days before Cvinthil planned to depart, she stood with Timbrin before the king and queen and asked that she be allowed to remain in Gryylth. Timbrin made the same request.

Cvinthil was surprised. ”You two have never been laggards in war, Relys.”

She stood tall. ”Nor are we now, my king. It is not out of fear that we ask this. Consider: all the experienced men of Gryylth are crossing the White Sea. There is always a chance that Vaylle might attack Gryylth while its defenders are absent.”

”But Helwych said ...” Cvinthil looked to the sorcerer. Helwych was slumped and crumpled into a chair, the scars still plain on his face. Timbrin had been spying on him for the last few weeks; but though she had nothing to report save that at night he locked himself in his house, Relys was becoming all the more certain that Helwych had plans for Gryylth, plans she could not prove, plans so subtle that she could not even make a formal accusation.

”May I ask, lord, what Helwych said?”

Helwych tottered to his feet. ”I will answer myself. I believe that the Vayllens will eventually try to strike Gryylth again, but only after a delay of another several months. Our strength is to strike first.”

Timbrin spoke up. ”Still, you cannot be sure. You are no warrior: you might have made a mistake,”

”By the G.o.ds, woman!” exclaimed Helwych. ”The hounds are only a foretaste of what might come. Look at what happened to Hahle!”

”We know well what happened to Hahle,” said Relys. ”If you recall, we were there to defend him. We have not the faintest idea, though, where you were.”

Her slip of temper had exposed her suspicions. Helwych seemed to waver. He sat down, slumping back into a pile of flesh and rags.

Cvinthil was angry. ”What would you have the lad do, captain? Pick up a sword? He is still weak from his wounds.”

”Aye,” said Relys. Cvinthil had, fortunately, misinterpreted her words, and she did not correct him. She tried to think of what Marrget would do. ”I was hasty, lord,” she said. ”I beg pardon. But as for my request: Timbrin and Helwych are perhaps both right.” She snorted inwardly at her subtle turning of the sorcerer's words. ”Helwych could indeed have erred in his estimation of Vaylle's preparations, and the hounds are indeed returning. I am a captain and an advisor, and therefore my counsel is that there should be some warriors with experience left in Gryylth when you leave.”

Helwych was motionless. Cvinthil was still angry.

Seena finished nursing Vill and wrapped him in a fold of her cloak. ”Husband,” she said softly.

Cvinthil swallowed his temper and turned to her. ”Wife?”

Seena spoke hesitantly. ”I think Gryylth would benefit from the presence of Relys and Timbrin. I would . . .” She dropped her eyes.

”Nay, wife,” said Cvinthil. ”It is not unseemly. You are my queen. Speak.”

' 'I would also feel safer myself, were my friend with me.”

Relys felt Helwych's eyes on her. Black. Blue-black. Eyes of void. Helwych wanted her out of the country, she was sure, and therefore was she all the more determined to stay. She kept her gaze on the queen and tried to ignore the hate that she sensed was pent within the frail, wounded body of the sorcerer.

Cvinthil pondered. Finally: ”Are you sure of your request, my ladies?”

The women exchanged glances. Relys lifted an eyebrow: she would not ask any woman of her wartroop to place herself in such peril save of her own free will. But Timbrin squared her small shoulders and nodded.

”We are,” said Relys.