Part 21 (1/2)

The gate might have been open, but the door was not. Alouzon cursed herself silently for having forgotten: Los Angeles was a less trusting place than Gryylth.

For a moment, she eyed the latch and the door. The latch was metal, and the door was solid. But though in Bandon the Dragonsword had cut effortlessly through three inches of solid oak, doors were locked in Los Angeles for a reason, and there were also security guards and checks, and the occasional student or teacher who might come by. Richard Nixon's machinations had been undone by a simple piece of tape. A door that had been reduced to splinters, screws, and dangling hinges would destroy Alouzon Dragonmaster's hopes even more effectively.

But the door, if it remained closed, would dash them from the start, and so, carefully, expecting at any moment to be jarred by the scream of the Worm, Alouzon laid the tip of the Dragonsword between lock and door jamb. She was no locksmith, she had no idea how this latch was constructed, but she knew the Dragonsword's power, and she could hope for the Grail's intercession.

With pressure, the tip slid into the crack as though greased. A firm thrust, and the preternatural steel parted the wood, sheet rock, and plaster, coming to rest halfway up the blade, leaving only the smallest trace of powdered gypsum on the floor.

While Manda and Wykla stood guard, Alouzon put her hands to the hilt, braced one foot against the wall, and pulled. The Dragonsword, she knew, was not designed to be used as a crowbar, and straining the flat of the blade in such a way invited breakage, but she pulled nonetheless.

Her shoulders were aching when she at last heard a crunch, and she jerked the sword free and pulled the door open. ”Wykla,” she said, her mouth dry, ”check the office please. Fourth door on the right. You know what we're looking for.”

As the young woman scuttled down the inner hall, Alouzon examined the door. Not bad, but not good either. Splintered as it was, it would withstand a casual examination, but not much more. Alouzon recalled the piece of tape at the Watergate Hotel once again and winced.

Wykla's voice drifted back to them: ”I found it, Dragonmaster! It fills the room!”

Alouzon wiped her forehead with the back of an arm. They were indoors, but the Specter might well be able to home in on her like a heat-seeking missile. Time was running out: they had to get away from this building, from this city . . . from this entire world.

She shrugged and sheathed her sword. Damaged as the door was, it would have to do. She would have to count on the Grail. Can you help me?

Questions again. She was still not ready, but she took the precaution of sweeping away the gypsum dust before she beckoned Manda into the office and closed the door behind them.

The s.h.i.+mmering expanse of light filled one entire wall of Solomon Braithwaite's old office-filled, and even overflowed, pus.h.i.+ng back the metal, gla.s.s, and concrete as though in defiance of ordinary laws of physics and perspective. Wykla stood before it, seemingly undisturbed, but Alouzon went cold. It was one thing to be taken to Gryylth on the iron-colored back of physical law, it was another to plod along the dimensionless alleyways of the universe on one's own feet.

She swallowed. Some G.o.d. ”Manda, Wykla: show me how you do this.”

Manda stepped up beside Wykla, but she paused. ”What about our armor, Dragonmaster?”

Alouzon shrugged. ”We don't have time. We'll just have to do without it.”

Wykla nodded: she had fought without armor before. ”Come Manda,” she said, and, taking a deep breath, she stepped into the s.h.i.+mmer. Manda followed. Stomach clenching, Alouzon entered the portal . . . and was relieved when the door slid over her skin like oil. More disturbing, though, was the region of s.h.i.+fting shapes and colors on the other side. Void and not-void pressed closely about her. Perspective and distance rioted, and Alouzon recognized star cl.u.s.ters and galaxies from photographs; but these were close, very close, and they were real.

Shuddering, Alouzon plunged after her companions, grateful that incipient G.o.ddesses had friends. But though the first time they had pa.s.sed through the gate, Manda and Wykla had been occupied enough by their fears for Alouzon that they had not thought much about what they had been seeing, now, traveling at a more leisurely pace, they grew increasingly nervous.

”A-Alouzon?”

Wykla had stopped and was looking off to the side. Alouzon followed her gaze. There was nothing there. Nothing. Not even color. Cold already, she went even colder.

But now Wykla and Manda were depending on her, and she could not afford panics in the middle of nowhere. ”It's okay,” she replied, trying to sound confident. ”It's just a place in the universe where there isn't anything. Go on: it'll be fine.”

”Oh,” said Wykla. ”All right, then.” And she went on. Alouzon hurried past the nothingness with her eyes averted.

Alouzon's watch had stopped when she had stepped through the door, but in what she estimated was a few minutes, a familiar glow sprang up ahead of them: a s.h.i.+mmer and a flickering. The other door. Manda and Wykla reached it, looked at one another, and stood aside.

”You are the Dragonmaster,” Wykla said to Alouzon. ”It is your right to enter Gryylth first.”

Alouzon nodded. With a murmured thanks, she stepped through the door. Manda and Wykla followed immediately after.

They found themselves at the top of a hill beneath a dark sky patched with the blackness of lowering clouds. Below, plainly visible in the diffuse moonlight, broad plains dotted with spots and blotches that could only have been stands of trees and forests spread out and away.

But though Alouzon recognized this place from its general contours-the shape of the surrounding hills, the slope of the land, the dark lines that marked the courses of rivers and streams-she sensed that there was something wrong; and as her eyes adjusted to the normal perspectives, she saw that the fields were bare and wasted, the woods and forests shattered. Craters pocked what had once been gra.s.sy meadows and lush farmlands, and the odors of high explosive, napalm, and defoliants hung in the air, metallic and rank.

”G.o.ds . . .”

It reminded her of Broceliande, of what she had seen when she had paused at the top of the Cordillera and had looked out over a netherworld of shadows, fantasies, and nightmares. But this was not Broceliande: two hours after sunset, in the heart of a warm summer night near the beginning of August, Alouzon Dragonmaster had entered Gryylth.

* CHAPTER 16 *

The thunderstorm brought rain to Kingsbury, but though the water slaked the town's thirst, it could not cool the fevers of its epidemic, and it could not take the place of food.

Kallye trudged home through the crowded marketplace. Two months ago, this square had been occupied by stalls filled with the ample produce of a fertile, prosperous land. But now the wicker and wattle huts, dripping sullenly in the evening rain, contained only hunger and disease.

She was a midwife. And she was watching the women and children die.

She wanted to weep, but her duty decreed otherwise: where despair flowed through the streets like the rivers of filth washed along by the rainstorm, she had to be confident; where there was no hope in the women to whom she ministered, she had to be optimistic. Though she wanted to fall on her knees and scream at the G.o.ds of Gryylth to show a shred of compa.s.sion for Their children, her labors left her with the strength to do no more than crawl into her bed at night, whisper a prayer, and sleep.

Gelyya was waiting for her when she entered the house, as was a cup of thin broth with a few bits of meat in it. ”It is all we have for today,” said the girl. ”Praise to the men of the wartroops for their generous gift, but we must stretch it as far as we can.''

Kallye nodded. ”I have a wise apprentice.”

But Gelyya turned away. Kallye knew her feelings. The red-haired girl was becoming a skilled midwife, but her heart was not in it, for since she and her companions had met Alouzon outside Bandon two years ago, her thoughts and wishes had always taken a bent towards swords and battle. Gelyya wanted action, she wanted to do something, and this helpless waiting and watching for death had rekindled the fire of her warlike ambitions.

”Easy, child,” said Kallye. ”There is nothing we can do.”

”I want a sword.”

Kallye sipped her broth, regarded her sympathetically over the rim of the cup. ”Do you?”

Gelyya slumped on the stool across the table. Her hands fidgeted with her ap.r.o.n. ”I ... do not know anymore. My duty is here, among the women. But it is hard to think in terms of duty when your duty achieves nothing.”

”I understand,” said Kallye. ”And if I thought that there was a difference that you could make with a sword, then I would send you on your way with all my blessings.”

Gelyya nodded somberly.

A knock came to the door: a soft tapping. ”Someone needs us.” Kallye sighed. ”And I am so weary.”

”Rest,” said Gelyya as she went to open the door. ”I will go in your place.”

Kallye bent her head and closed her eyes, her fatigue an ache in her heart; but a sudden cry from Gelyya brought her to her feet. The light from the lamp on the table only just reached the open door, but it was enough to illuminate the woman who stood there. Tall, thoroughly wet, she was dressed outlandishly; but the lamplight flickered in her bronze hair and gleamed on the sword at her hip.

Alouzon Dragonmaster.

Gelyya had already thrown herself into Alouzon's arms, and Kallye had to fight to keep herself from doing likewise. She bowed low. ”Come in, Alouzon. Please, by the G.o.ds, come in.”

The Dragonmaster nodded and stepped into the room, followed by Wykla of the First Wartroop and the Corrinian named Manda. The young women were dressed just as oddly as Alouzon, but Kallye smiled through her tears: Helwych had lied. The story was untrue. But, oh what evil had been done by his lies and untruths!

The visitors accepted towels with which to dry off, but they refused food. ”We ate already, and you guys don't have enough to share,” said Alouzon.

”O Dragonmaster . . .” Kallye's voice broke. ”You are alive. Helwych said ...”

Alouzon nodded, but though she smiled rea.s.suringly, her brown eyes were filled with a carefully-banked wrath. ”I heard what Helwych said. I'm here to find out what he's doing now, and I'm going to try to fix it.”