Part 23 (1/2)

And, unexpectedly, Timbrin lifted her head. ”And I also.” Her voice shook a little, and she was still trembling, but she met Alouzon's eyes. ”I can do it, Dragonmaster. And if swords are useless out in that land, then a warrior who is afraid to pick one up will fare no worse than anyone else.”

Alouzon hugged her. Maybe she could indeed be a G.o.ddess. ”Go for it, lady,” she said. ”With my blessings.” She turned back to the others. ”That's it, then.

We'll a.s.semble on the north side of that jagged spur of mountains northwest of Kingsbury.''

The men and women murmured agreement. Wykla nodded absently. Manda put her arms about her.

”Then let's go.”

Alouzon pushed through the knot of men at the door and made for the town square. What she was about to do was risky, but if the Grail could stake the existence of a world on the faded idealism of an old hippie, then Alouzon Dragonmaster could hope that the Great Dragon could return to Gryylth undetected by the Specter and the Worm.

Planting herself in the middle of the square, lifting the Dragonsword above her head, she cried her summons into the gathering darkness: ”Silbakor, I call you!”

* CHAPTER 17 *

The sun had slid behind the Camrann Mountains, the light was just beginning to fail, and Kallye was returning home after another long day of watching women and children die. The men of the wartroops had donated their food to the people, but the act could only prolong the inevitable and-agonizing end for a few weeks, unless . . .

Unless Alouzon ...

She could not but hope. The Dragonmaster herself had said that Helwych would fall. The matter, therefore, was settled. It was only a question of how long Kingsbury and the other refugee towns could hold out against starvation and disease. Would Alouzon and the rightful king arrive first, or. . . ?

”Midwife.”

She turned. Lytham stepped out of the shadows of an alleyway. ”What do you want, captain?” she said tiredly. After Lytham's order that the wartroops' food be shared, she had difficulty hating him in spite of his part in Relys's fate. At times, in fact, she could not help but see him as yet another one of Helwych's victims, a boy who was not so much grown up as damaged by the years.

And true, Lytham, thin now from shared malnutrition, looked like an old man. Glancing over his shoulder as though fearful of being seen, he took Kallye's arm and walked her quickly around the corner.

”Helwych is suspicious of you,” he said.

”Indeed?” She was too tired to care.

”I had to ...” He stopped, debated. ”It was reported to him that some strangers were seen the night of the attack on the outpost. They were seen in the vicinity of your house.”

Kallye shrugged. Behind Lytham were shelters and hovels. To either side were shelters and hovels. All around were shelters and hovels . . . and death. But there was hope now too, and only with difficulty did she keep from betraying it with her tone, her eyes, a stray gesture. ”My house is one among many.”

”He seems most fixated upon you.”

She pulled her arm free. ”Maybe he should be,” she said. ”Maybe he should be fixated upon everyone. Maybe he should take a good look at the swollen bellies of the children, or drag himself out of Hall Kings-bury to see the corpses that the Grayfaces burn every afternoon ._Alouzon-” She caught herself.

Lytham leaned forward. ”What about Alouzon?”

”Nothing.”

”What about her? Was she one of the strangers?”

Kallye was silent for some time. Then: ”What do you expect me to tell you, Captain of the Guard? The truth?”

His face fell. She might have slapped him. For a moment, he looked at the hovels as though contemplating his own end. ”Beware,” he said at last. ”That is all I can tell you. The Grayfaces are in charge now, and I cannot help.”

”My thanks, captain.” Kallye turned away and went off through the darkening streets. Someone was sobbing dryly in the distance. Nearby, someone was gasping. Still nearer-and worse-was silence.

We are dying. All of us. Sweet Alouzon, if Gryylth has a G.o.d, then that G.o.d is you. Dear Lady, save us!

Still in the midst of what she could only call a prayer, Kallye opened the door to her house. Gelyya was away-tending to other deaths-and so Kallye was surprised when she sensed a presence in the room.

She closed the door behind her. ”h.e.l.lo?” she said. More than likely a woman, hungry or ill or grieving, had come to her for aid. ”Have you a need? I will help if I can.”

There was no reply, but a movement in the rear of the room caught her attention. Something there was glowing yellow, and eyes like blue lamps suddenly flicked open. Silently, quickly, the hound came at her . . .

Even in the dusk, Silbakor's arrival darkened the sky over Quay as though sudden clouds had gathered. Torn, bleeding, its iron-dark hide split and rent in a thousand places, it plummeted like a black meteor straight into the square, touched down, and furled its great wings.

For a moment, Alouzon stared, shocked. Black blood spilled from the Dragon's wounds, glistened in the torchlight, splashed on the hard-packed earth. Gashes in its iron hide opened into darkness, like windows into the s.p.a.ces between worlds. Its eyes were dimmed, but their dispa.s.sionate gaze held nonetheless a note of defiance.

”Oh, Silbakor ...”

”My lady, I beg you: mount. Command me. I have little time.”

The people of Quay had fallen silent at the appearance of the Dragon, and the only sounds were those of the distant sea, the wind through the thatched roofs, and the steady drip of Silbakor's blood. With difficulty, Alouzon thrust aside her shock and dismay, and the sight of the Dragon's eyes-pleading for merciful haste-made her mount without further comment or protest. She scooted forward to make room for Wykla and Manda, smearing her bare legs and arms with blood the color of midnight, and when they all were settled, she leaned forward to the Dragon's ear. ”To Lachrae, Silbakor.”

”I understand, my lady.”

”And no Los Angeles bulls.h.i.+t this time. You know what's running about there now. I'm not safe anywhere. I just have to get through this.”

In reply, the huge wings spread, and Alouzon had barely enough time to wave farewell to Quay before the town fell away below, turning from houses to toys in an instant. Silbakor circled out towards the ocean and the curtain wall, and the dark barrier grew, black against the last shreds of sunset, stretching up for miles.

As though disdainful of such a paltry obstacle, Silbakor made straight for it. The blunt nose of the Dragon struck the barrier with no discernible sense of impact save that the dark sea and the darkening sky vanished, to be replaced by gleaming nebulae and star fields. For an instant, Silbakor and its pa.s.sengers traveled in void and darkness . . .

. . . and then below-far below-lay the city of Lachrae, gleaming with lamplight and torchlight, its radiating avenues and streets wheeling slowly as the Dragon circled.

Alouzon glanced back. Wykla was obviously still in shock from the news of her father. Behind her, Manda looked concerned, but there was a satisfaction lurking about the corners of her mouth that someone who had hurt her lover so badly was no more.

Silbakor dropped, and the main plaza of the city came up fast: the Dragon had little strength left for gentle approaches. With a thud that shook its pa.s.sengers and sent Alouzon clawing for a handhold on the ragged edges of a wound; the Dragon struck the pavement and folded its wings.

The yellow eyes followed Alouzon as she dismounted and helped her companions down. ”May I be of further service, Dragonmaster?”

Alouzon reached up. Silbakor's jaw was the size of a piano lid, but she stroked it gently, as if it were made of nothing more than mist and spiderwebs. So huge. So powerful. So vulnerable to her unconscious night- mares. Here was something else for which she had to take responsibility. ”No, Silbakor,” she said. ”I can handle it from here.” Its wounds still dripped: splashes of night on the white marble pavement. ”Can I ... can I do anything for you?''

She read the answer in the yellow eyes. No: there was nothing. Silbakor was Silbakor, and the Worm was the Worm. The battle would continue-forever, if need be.

”Go-on, then,” she said. ”Beat it. Do what you have to. Thanks for coming.”

”I had to come,” said the deep voice. There was no blame in its tone.

There did not have to be. ”I know.” Alouzon's voice caught. Silbakor, though traitorous in its own way, was a friend. ”And I had to call.”

The great wings opened and Alouzon waved Manda and Wykla away as the Dragon rose into the air. The stars were blotted out by its pa.s.sage, and then the sky cleared: Silbakor was gone, searching once again for its ant.i.thesis.

But in the silence left behind by its departure, Alouzon could hear the murmur of voices, the tread of boots and sandals. From the direction of the houses and shops came the Vayllens: quietly, almost fearfully. But from the other direction-from the King's House- men and women were running, waving, shouting to her. They were not afraid, and their voices and gestures were free and open as they rushed forward to welcome her.

The people of Gryylth and Corrin.