Part 16 (2/2)

Starvation hovered at the edge of the country like a dark shadow. ”Go,” said Helwych, pointing towards the sunlight. ”Search the land and bring back word of any crops that are still standing.”

”We have looked already, lord.” Dryyim's voice was a little too carefully controlled. ”There are none.”

The still air outside was stirred by a sudden breeze. Dry and hot, it seemed to promise nothing save death and dry fields. ”Look again,” said Helwych. ”Look further. Find something.”

”My lord-”

' 'Get out of my sight, you insolent pup!''

There was a mutter from some of the a.s.sembled guards as Dryyim stepped back, white faced, and turned away without saluting. But before the captain could reach the door, the breeze gusted to a wind, then to a sudden gale.

The sun dimmed as though clouds had covered it, and Helwych fought with panic when he realized that the random gusts had turned into a regular beating. Staff in hand, he pushed past the startled men and ran to the door.

Above the courtyard, as white as a leper's arm, was the Worm, its eyes blue-black, its mouth agape with envenomed teeth. But Helwych's gaze was caught and held by what rode on its back: the figure and image of a thin, middle-aged man in gray clothes, its eyes as violet as the Worm's, its hand gripping the counterpart of Alouzon's sword.

”Little Dremord fool,” the Specter grinned. ”Thought you could hole up here in Kingsbury, eh?”

Fighting with terror, his stomach clenched, Helwych grappled with his staff, tried to recall a spell that might save him. His mind, unaccountably, was empty.

The Worm hovered above the rooftops. The Specter smiled. ”I'll be seeing you again, later,” it said. ”I'll be seeing a lot of you, and you of me. We can be friends even though we're righting, can't we? After all . . .”It laughed, and its open mouth was a blank whiteness. ”After all, you're still my boy!”

Its laughter, though, was cut short; for, from out of the glare of the sun, Silbakor blazed down at it, eyes flaming, ebony claws reaching. The Worm arose with a scream, and in a moment, the Dragon and the Worm had risen high into the air, dodging, feinting, slas.h.i.+ng with tooth and claw. Darkness and white slime bled into the blue sky.

Helwych looked up. Dryyim stood tall above him. The sorcerer realized that he had fallen to his knees, and when he tried to get to his feet, the nausea of fear pinned him where he was. ”Help me up, captain,” he said.

Dryyim stood motionless.

You're still my boy! Had the captain heard that? Doubtless. And all the men, too. What would they make of it? ”Help me up.”

Dryyim's face was filled with contempt. He looked at Helwych for a long time. Then: ”Help yourself up, little Dremord fool,” he said, and, turning on his heel, he strode away under the bright, hot sun of a harvest that would not be.

”Dryyim!”

Dryyim continued on his way. Vision blurring, Helwych staggered to his feet, one hand clutched to his belly, the other wrapped about his staff. Fear vied with outraged pride. If Dryyim, then . . .

”Dryyim!”

The captain turned around at the gate of the palisade, arms folded. ”And who is really in charge here, Hel-”

The blast from Helwych's staff caught him in midword, and his utterance turned abruptly into a scream as his flesh whitened, then charred to black, then flaked from his bones like ashes from a burning log.

He was still screaming. And his scream seemed to continue, ringing through the air, for a long time after he had no more throat with which to scream, after he was no more than a heap of dust as black and ruined as any bombed and napalmed village of Gryylth, Vaylle, or Vietnam.

Still clutching his belly, Helwych turned to the other men. Fear stared at him from out of pale faces. ”Lytham,” he said, ”you are now captain of my Guard.” Guards. Yes, he needed dependable guards. Lytham and the rest would do for now, but he would have others. And there would be hounds, too. Yes. Hounds and others to make sure that he was safe and that his orders were obeyed without question.

”You heard what I ordered in the Hall,' he said. ”Go and do it.”

Lytham stared. For a moment, he seemed but a boy again, dressed up in livery and crests, a childish mockery of a warrior. And though he came to himself and saluted, Helwych still saw the boy. And fear. And distrust. ”I-immediately, lord.”

The sky was blank as Helwych stumbled back into Hall Kingsbury, the Specter's words ringing in his head as loudly as Dryyim's final scream. You 're still my boy!

As Relys had suspected, there were no Grayfaces or battles west of the Camrann Mountains. Once she and Timbrin had crossed the pa.s.s, they found the land green and quiet. The slopes and ridges were dotted with stands of hardwood and brush, softened by fruit trees and patches of wild strawberries; and below, at the tip of the inlet, was Quay.

But out beyond the mouth of the inlet, something seemed wrong with the water: a discoloration, like a glaze of frost on an otherwise bright blade, but darker, more ominous. Relys frowned at the sight of it, and she frowned some more when she noticed that most of Quay's boats were ash.o.r.e or bobbing beside docks and piers.

”What new evil is this?” she murmured.

Timbrin's eyes turned shadowed. ”I remember,” she said. ”I remember that.” She trembled. ”That is what Helwych was doing when I looked in and . . . and ...” She turned away. Relys held her and soothed her, but it was some time before she could go on.

Much of the destruction that had fallen on the town in January had been repaired. Now new thatch gleamed golden above new walls, the streets were clear of rubble, and the dark craters and burns were green with gra.s.s and the beginnings of saplings. But though, sheltered as it was by earthworks and timber fortifications, the town looked to be a safe place, Relys could not help but wonder whether she and Timbrin had simply traveled out of one snare and into another. How would they be seen here? As fugitives? Criminals? Or perhaps-since Quay was a conservative town and still held to the old ways as much as it could-unattached women fit for slavery.

For Timbrin's sake, she betrayed nothing of her anxiety, but fear was a sickness in her belly as, with Tim- brin at her side, she descended the path to the road, went directly up to the town gate-no sneaking or caution here: she would meet her fate face-to-face-and confronted the earthworks and the high palisade.

Timbrin was white. Relys held her hand firmly, as a mother might that of a child. ”Ho!” she cried. ”People of Quay!”

The answer was polite, but cautious and suspicious. ”Who comes?”

Relys looked at Timbrin, small and dark and clad as a young girl, then thought of her own appearance. Mother and child. Indeed, it had come to seem so. ”Two women,” she said. ”Timbrin of Dearbought, and Relys of-”

She stopped. Her hand throbbed. Her groin ached. She would not utter that name and her own in the same breath.

”Timbrin and Relys,” she said at last. ”Lieutenant and captain of the First Wartroop. We ask refuge in the king's name.”

Another voice, more familiar and less guarded, carried from the gate. ”Relys? Captain Relys?”

”Hahle?” She tried to shout, but her words came out strangled as she fought with the tears that insisted upon closing her throat. ”Hahle? Is that you? Do you remember me?''

”Remember you, Relys? I have prayed to the G.o.ds for your safety since I left Kingsbury!”

The gate was swinging open, the drawbridge falling into place, but the old man did not wait. Healed of his wounds, he climbed the palisade, dropped to the earth outside the wall, and as the bridge swung down, crossed it and leaped the last few feet before it had fully settled. In a moment, he was at Relys's side.

His old eyes, already sizing up the women's condition, saw that Relys's was wrapped in bandages. Gently, he lifted it, and Relys read his question.

' 'I chewed part of it off,'' she said simply. ' 'In order to escape.”

”By the G.o.ds . . .” He stared. ”What has been done to you?”

Relys shrugged. ”What is done to upstart women in Kingsbury? What does Helwych do to his enemies?”

”The queen?”

”Stricken and powerless. Her children have been bespelled. So has Timbrin. I was arrested and handed over to the Guard. For their sport.”

Hahle flushed with anger. ”By the G.o.ds, Helwych will pay for this.” But when he saw that Timbrin was cowering before his anger, he turned to her, bowed, and spoke softly, as one might to a timid child. ”My lady Timbrin. Do not fear, I beg you.”

Timbrin shrank against Relys and gave him a small, frightened nod.

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