Part 9 (1/2)

”It appeared as we watched the hounds,” said Wykla.

”And you did not call me?”

”Dear lady,” said Karthin without apology, ”you were asleep.”

Kyria stood with folded arms. Lips pressed together, she watched the s.h.i.+mmer. ”Did it do anything?”

”Nay.”

”Did the hounds pay any attention to it?”

'' Not that we noticed ”Well, in that case . . .” The sorceress fell silent.

Shaking, Dindrane clutched her healer's staff and stumbled to Kyria's side. ”What is it, sister?”

Kyria shook her head. ”I cannot be sure. I wonder ...” She fell silent, musing, then roused herself suddenly. ”Go to bed, all of you. I will watch.”

The others protested, but she shook her head and pointed them back to the camp with an air of authority that sent even Santhe to his blankets without another word. And when Wykla curled up next to Manda, the last thing she remembered before her eyes fell shut was the sorceress standing atop the ruins, her ragged robes gleaming with moonlight and silver and her arms folded as though in defiance of any power, no matter how great, that might threaten those whom she, like Darham, had claimed as her children.

Helwych's work had been long and taxing, but it was almost done now, and as he lounged back in the king's chair that evening, he allowed himself a brief moment of unalloyed satisfaction.

The backlash from the spell that had created the curtain wall had shaken him, but he had recovered quickly enough to immediately set about arranging the magic that had bespelled Seena's children and, to a certain extent, Seena herself. To merely suspend the children's lives without actually killing them was difficult and exacting work, but he had learned his lessons well, and the results were as he had expected: the queen had put the running of the country into his hands so that she could devote her full attention to the futile task of nursing Ayya and Vill.

Timbrin was gone. She had received the full brunt of the energy backlash, and though her body had not been found, Helwych did not doubt that she had been killed by the blast, if not disintegrated, her remains dragged off by roving hounds.

As a matter of form, he had announced the news of her disappearance, but he had seen no regret in the eyes of the young men in the hall, for they had disliked Timbrin no less than they despised Relys. Now the only four wartroops left in Gryylth were, beneath a veneer of devotion to their queen, loyal only to the young sorcerer they saw as a leader who would bring their country back from the brink of fatal error.

All was going according to plan. His plan. The Specter, on the other hand, was not faring quite so well, for with the erection of the curtain wall, it had been banished from Gryylth. No eyes of void and darkness inhabited Helwych's thoughts now, and what hounds prowled the land were firmly under his control, responding with puppetlike docility to his wishes and orders.

He allowed his mind to stretch out and touch the pack that roamed outside Kingsbury. For an instant, he saw with the hounds' eyes: moonlit fields, solitary steadings, stone walls and hedges that were nothing to long legs and preternatural muscles. He felt the roiling of empty bellies, the slavering of caustic mouths, the eager ache of needle-sharp fangs.

Not yet. Eat your fill in Deforests and pastures. You will not have human flesh unless I say.

The hounds turned away from the steadings and houses, slipped into the shadows among the trees. But as Helwych brought his awareness back to himself, he felt a brief flash of hostility. Close. Very close. Just outside the very walls of Hall Kingsbury, in fact.

Relys.

”Hmmm.” He opened his eyes. Dryyim stood before him. In the months since Lytham had first brought him to speak with Helwych, he-like his fellows, and with the help of a little magic-had grown from weedy youth to strong manhood. Now Dryyim and his friends swaggered through the market square and barked orders like seasoned veterans, and, more important, they followed Helwych's orders without question.

”What was I saying, captain?” said Helwych.

'' The garrisons, lord.”

”Ah, yes. The garrisons.” Helwych considered for a moment. Relys was approaching, and she had murder on her mind, but he had time. Time enough to finish the business at hand and then make the necessary arrangements. ”Tell me, captain,” he said. ' 'What do you want for Gryylth?''

”I want what is best. '

”And are you loyal to your king and queen?”

”Indeed.”

Fine. Fine. ”Seena has put me in charge of Gryylth,” said Helwych smoothly. ”It is a terrible responsibility, and my wounds still trouble me, but I will do my best for Gryylth. Have you any question about that?”

Dryyim answered promptly. ”None, lord.”

Helwych nodded. ”Dryyim,” he said, ”you are my first in command. In matters of war and battle, I listen to you.” Dryyim drew himself up straight, and Helwych felt his pride. ”Now, tell me: what garrisons do we have in the land?”

Dryyim enumerated them. With most of the men and arms of Gryylth in Vaylle-trapped now, as Helwych knew-there were only a few: essentially nothing more than aging men in administrative posts. Cvinthil had staked everything on a sudden, unexpected invasion.

”And we have ...” Helwych pretended to deliberate. ”How many wartroops left?”

”Four, lord.”

”Ah, yes. Four. I am glad you are with me, Dryyim. I value your counsel.”

Dryyim preened. Helwych felt out towards Relys. The captain of the First Wartroop was approaching the palisade that surrounded the Hall. She greeted the guards at the gate familiarly, and though they did not like her, they allowed her to pa.s.s. They had no reason not to.

Helwych smiled. They were about to have a reason. And, he reflected, perhaps some recreation, too.

”Take a few of your men,” he said, ”the best, mind you, and send them off to take charge of the garrisons. If Gryylth is going to be put to rights, we need to start work.” Helwych felt rather light-hearted. A palpable thorn was about to be removed from his side. ”Bring them to me before they leave, and I will have instructions for them.”

”As you wish, lord.”

Helwych dismissed his guards with a gesture. Gryylth was now his. There remained only a few tasks ahead of him. Mere housekeeping. Nothing of any concern. And as for the question of whether he ruled in his own name or in Cvinthil's, that could be settled much later. For now it was enough that his orders were heeded and his wishes obeyed.

Alone in the dark hall, he rested his staff across his knees and began to a.s.semble a spell. Though a few months ago it would have been well beyond his abilities, the magic had become simple for him; and if he took his time with it this evening, it was because he enjoyed seeing it take shape under his hands.

Murmuring a soft chant under his breath, he cupped his fingers under the spell, cradling it like a bowl of water. It glowed with a life of its own to Helwych's eyes, and when it was done, he sat waiting patiently for Relys.

Stealthily, her steps silent among the rushes on the floor, she approached. The barest flicker of shadow at the doorway indicated that she had entered the Hall, and if Helwych had not possessed the sight of his mind as well as of his eyes, he would never have seen her as she slipped towards him.

He pretended to be dozing. Relys's sword was in her hands. Carefully, she eased into striking range.

But Helwych acted first. With a careless gesture, he flung the spell into her face. The effect was instantaneous: the captain stood as if struck, dropped her sword, and collapsed amid the rushes.

Helwych regarded her disdainfully for a moment. ”Guards,” he said, and then he recalled that, under the circ.u.mstances, he should appear more startled. ”Guards!” he cried. ”Help!”

Dryyim arrived on the run with a half dozen soldiers of the Guard. They stopped just inside the door, looked at Relys in shock, then turned to Helwych.

”She tried to kill me,” said the sorcerer, making sure that he trembled.

Every man present knew that Relys was loyal to Gryylth, and Helwych watched as the guards hesitated between their reason and their resentments. He could have bespelled them, forced them to see matters his own way, but to so seize their loyalties and hold them fast would have meant a constant expenditure of power. He wanted his men's decision to be their own. Much better their allegiance take care of itself.

Dryyim looked to his men. A moment of unspoken communication, decision . . .

And then Dryyim bent and seized Relys by the arms, hauled her to her feet, and cuffed her roughly. ”Come to your senses, woman,” he said. ”You are under arrest.”

Helwych folded his arms inside his sleeves. ”In the king's name,” he prompted.