Part 24 (2/2)

Gellya was defiant. ”Little enough good that did.”

”Aye . . .” He looked up. ”If you escape, what will you do?”

She shrugged. ”I will try to reach Quay. I have hopes that there are men and women there who have been spared this destruction.''

”And if there are not?”

”Do not play with me, Lytham. You are no longer a child. You showed that when you raped Relys.”

The words stung him. ”How did-?” He stopped, stared guiltily, then, as though he had no wish to know how she had found out about Relys, spoke carefully. ”I will help you.”

She hardly believed him. ' 'Why?''

Lytham's words were a whispered torrent of denial. ”Because I no longer believe in Helwych. I no longer believe in anything. What difference does it make whether the refugees die within Kingsbury or without? Men and women should be able at least to choose whatever kind of death suits them. Therefore, if this is what you want, I will help you.”

Gelyya was stunned. ' 'What. . . what are you going to do?”

”Wait here,” he said abruptly. ”There is a section of wire directly ahead of you that can be opened. When the shooting starts on the far side of the hill, run to it, open it, and escape. I will do my best to make sure that you are not seen.”

”But-”

Lytham stopped her question with a look. ”The Grayfaces have powerful weapons,” he said. ”But though they kill without conscience, their nerves are as frayed as ours. They will shoot at anything, real or imaginary.''

And with that he turned and disappeared into the shadows.

The sudden rush of fear and the equally sudden relief was making Gelyya shake almost uncontrollably. She wondered whether Lytham had noticed, and whether as a result her threats had seemed absurd and childish to him. But she put aside those thoughts. Alouzon would not worry about such things: she would wait for a chance to act. And so would Gelyya of Ban-don.

Crouching in the cover of a hedge, she listened, watched. Ahead was the thin point in the wire, and, straining her eyes, she picked out the fastenings of a gate.

A faint whistling in the air grew suddenly into a sound as of the ripping of canvas, then into a roar. A sh.e.l.l burst on the far side of the hill and sent a rush of hot wind across the fields. Shrapnel hissed through the air, and then a detonation from one of the gun emplacements at the foot of the hill and the whine of spun-off retaining bands sent her hands to her ears.

This was no diversion. This was an attack.

More sh.e.l.ls. The pop and crack of small arms. The thump of departing mortar rounds. She had heard them all before, knew all of their names and something of their use. All were common sights and sounds in Kingsbury these days, and the Grayfaces had not hesitated to direct them at refugees and enemies alike.

She ran for the wire. Tracers reached out of the darkness and licked the base of the gate as she fumbled for the fastenings, and a spray of gravel peppered her arms and legs as she swung it open.

She sprinted across the flood-lit ground, leaped the trenches one by one, and threw herself beyond the reach of the lights. But where she expected darkness and open ground, she found instead a troop of attacking Grayfaces running towards her out of the shadows.

Unable to stop, she plowed straight into the man at the head of the troop. He went down, his weapon flying from his hands, and Gelyya, rolling to the side, fighting to escape the clutching hands and the aim of the rifle barrels, came up against something long and hard and metallic. Her hands recognized the shape of the dropped rifle.

She seized it, and her untrained fingers were already settling on the trigger as she brought it up. Before the rest of the Grayfaces could react, she had sprayed them with high velocity bullets. Gas masks, uniforms, equipment, flesh-all disintegrated before her, and in a moment, she was alone in the company of corpses.

Staring, she almost dropped the rifle. The deaths she had seen in Kingsbury were at least comprehensible in terms of cause, and in any case she herself had never killed. But now she had taken life, and she had taken it grandly: not singly and precisely with well-placed sword strokes, but broadly and indiscriminately by means of a weapon she did not at all understand.

On the other side of the hill, the attack went on; and now the detonations of mortar rounds were walking slowly and steadily around the perimeter of the slope, making straight for her position. Swallowing the sudden nausea that welled up at the sight of so much blood and so many torn bodies, clutching the rifle, Gelyya filled her scrip with ammunition clips and ran for the deeper darkness that lay beyond the battle.

* CHAPTER 18 *

As the sun rose, s.h.i.+ning fitfully through the blackness of the distant curtain wall, the wartroops and phalanxes a.s.sembled in the square before the King's House, their military efficiency and discipline quaintly complimented by the gracious disorder of the small band of Vayllen harpers and healers that gathered off to the side.

The horses that Kyria had, months ago, sent away from Kent had found their way back to Lachrae, and so Alouzon was astride Jia again this morning, grateful that, even in the face of imminent G.o.dhood, the beast had recognized her and cheerfully taken her on his back.

Now Jia turned his head and looked at her out of brown eyes. Alouzon leaned forward, scratched him between the ears. ”Did you miss me, guy?”

”I a.s.sume that he did,” said Marrha, who had cantered up beside her. Her braid gleamed in the morning light. ”We all missed you.”

Alouzon nodded. ”It wasn't my idea.”

”We suspected that,” said the captain. ”But our joy was great when Kyria announced that she and Dindrane had spoken with you.”

”Uh . . . yeah.” Alouzon wondered how much Dindrane and Kyria had said about their methods. But Marrha's manner was as straightforward as ever, and if there was a trace of awe in her eyes, it was the awe of a woman who had seen a dear Mend return from far distances and great danger.

A friend. But would that friends.h.i.+p hold when. . . ? ”Listen, Marrha,” said Alouzon. ”You'll... uh ... take care of Jia if anything happens to me, won't you?”

Marrha frowned. ”I will see to it, Dragonmaster. But I have always felt it unwise to speak in such a fas.h.i.+on before a battle.”

”I'm not talking about dying,” Alouzon blurted, trying both to hint at and to skirt the issue. ”I'm just . . . well . . . you know ...”

Marrha's eyes were shrewd. ”In truth, my friend, I do not. But do not fear.”

”Yeah . . . good ...” Confused, unsure of what she had been trying to say, Alouzon trotted to the head of the columns. There, Kyria nodded to her, and Cvinthil and Darham took her hand briefly. Alouzon scanned along the columns of mounted warriors-the pikemen and infantry had been sent ahead-and the square fell silent, waiting for her command.

”Pellam's not coming?” she said suddenly.

Kyria answered. ”He is a priest, Alouzon. He knows nothing of war. His people will need him here.”

At the head of the harpers and healers, Dindrane's cropped hair was a blond gleam. Alouzon could not make out her face. ”But Dindrane ...”

The sorceress shook her head softly. ”Dindrane knows too much of war now,” she said softly.

”Yeah . . . that's true.”

The streets were full of people, come to see the departure. But though there were still smiles among the citizens of Lachrae, they were wistful smiles, and the sadness behind them had deepened. They also knew too much of war now.

And Alouzon, desperately hoping that she could make that knowledge obsolete, had nonetheless to confront the reality of what she faced. Helwych was a problem, true, but the real problem was the Specter.

And she still had no idea how to deal with that reification of her own unconscious fears and hates.

If she attacked it, she attacked herself. If she killed it-or if it killed her-she killed herself and her world. But regardless of her quandary, somewhere at the end of this march that would lead along the west road of Vaylle, the streets of Los Angeles, the corridors of UCLA, and the paths of Gryylth, it was waiting for her: powerful, lethal, undying save by her own death.

Some G.o.d.

She lifted her hand to give the signal to start, wondering as she did how much of Gryylth, of the whole world, would be left after she confronted the Specter.

They traveled throughout the day, and by sunset they were halfway to Lake Innael. Given the time differential between Los Angeles and Gryylth, the trip from MacArthur Park to UCLA would take over a week by the Gryylthan calendar, and conditions in the refugee cities were such that even that obligatory delay might prove fatal. Reluctantly, therefore, Alouzon ordered a stop for the night, and the men and women made camp, the efforts of the day evident in their manner and speech.

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