Part 25 (1/2)

Wykla, too, was tired, but when she sat down with her food, a slump to her shoulders and a set to her face said that there was more to her weariness than simple physical exhaustion. Alouzon knew the cause, though: Wykla, rejected though she had been by her father, had just lost her own family.

Alouzon rilled her bowl and cup, then wandered over to the young woman. ”Can I join you?”

Wykla's food lay untouched beside her, but she mustered a smile. ”Aye Dragonmaster. Of course.”

Alouzon settled down, crossed her legs. Coming from someone like Wykla, the t.i.tle disturbed her. ”Are we back to Dragonmaster now?''

Wykla's eyes turned questioning. ”But ...”

”But nothing. Yeah, there's some h.e.l.lacious stuff going on, but let's stay friends. I just want to be friends. That okay?”

Wykla nodded. ”It is well, Alouzon.”

”Good.” Alouzon tore off a piece of bread, dipped it in the stew in her bowl. ”Where's Manda?”

”She is seeing that the Vayllens are provided for.” Wykla picked up her own food. ”They are frightened of us, and Manda has a good smile and a way with words.”

”She's a fine woman. I'm glad you two found one another.”

Wykla blushed. Still wearing her t-s.h.i.+rt and jeans, she still looked like a coed. Young, pretty . . . sad.

”I'm . . . uh . . .” Alouzon swirled the wine in her cup. ”I'm sorry about your father.”

Wykla fingered her bowl. ”I . . .do not know what to say, Alouzon. He, I am sure, no longer considered himself my father. I suppose I showed myself foolish when I insisted upon claiming him as such.”

”I can understand why you did, though. We only get one father.”

”Well ...” Wykla lifted her head as though searching. Off near the fire stood Darham, his beard sparkling in the light. He was. speaking with Cvinthil, but he seemed to become aware of Wykla, and he smiled at her and bowed.

Wykla dropped her eyes quickly. ”It seems that I have been provided with two,” she said. ”Darham offered to adopt me when I was in Benardis.”

”He's one h.e.l.l of a guy.”

”I wounded him at the Circle.”

' 'Just goes to show, doesn't it?''

Wykla set down her bowl, covered her face with her hands. ”What shall I do, Dragonmaster?” she whispered. ' 'What shall I do? I cannot unmake the past. I cannot deny what has been. And yet Darham ...” She sobbed for a moment. ”When he put his hand on my head and called me daughter, my heart filled near to bursting. I ... I think I loved him from that moment. But . . .”

She stopped, swallowed her tears, wiped her eyes.

”Advise me, Alouzon,” she said.

”You love him?”

”I do. He is a fine and n.o.ble man.”

Alouzon looked up at the stars, considering. Wykla had been rejected. Back in 1970, a whole generation had been rejected, and some had been killed. But here was a chance for renewal, a chance, despite Wykla's words, to unmake the past. ”We grow up,” she said. ”Sometimes we have to leave things behind. Sometimes we have to take on others.”

Distantly, she sensed a smile. The Grail.

”You ...” Wykla sniffled. ”You think that I should accept?''

Fl.u.s.tered by the divine approval, Alouzon fumbled for words. ”I think that you've got to follow your heart. You can't do something like this for profit, or for n.o.bility, or any of that c.r.a.p. You just have to do it because it's the right thing to do.”

Again the smile.

”But ... my father . . . Yyvas.”

”He's dead, Wykla. Sometimes ...” Alouzon looked up at the stars again. ”Sometimes you have to take family where you can find it.” Or, she thought as the smile widened, a world. ”But don't rush it. Take your time. Anything or anybody who loves you that much will wait for you.” She picked up Wykla's bowl-yet another manifestation of that all-nouris.h.i.+ng Cup-and put it into her hands. ”Eat now. You need it. It's gonna get hairy in L.A., and you and Manda will have to show everyone the ropes.”

Wykla's eyes had turned thoughtful. ”Thank you, Alouzon.”

”I hope I helped.”

The young woman hugged her.

But late that night, Alouzon sat by the fire, keeping a lonely personal vigil amid the sleeping camp. Wyk- la's love and trust were unquestioning, unconditional. And so, for that matter, were everyone else's. And she was going to be leading them all off through a worm-hole in s.p.a.ce that should not exist, into an incomprehensible city, and then back through another wormhole and into the h.e.l.lish devastation and demonic attack of a world that might not even continue to exist after she met the Specter for the last time. ”It's too much responsibility,” she murmured to the Grail. ”I'm still not sure I can handle it. No matter what you say, I'm not a G.o.d ...”

”Not yet,” said Kyria from behind her.

Alouzon looked up. ”I'm going to be leaning on you a lot in Los Angeles. And then there's Gryylth . . . There's no way I can do this by myself.”

”I think you devalue yourself, Alouzon, for I think you can indeed do it by yourself.” Kyria smiled encouragingly. ”Indeed, you will more than likely have to.”

”Oh, great. You just signed the death warrant for this whole G.o.ddam planet.''

A howl drifted through the night.

Alouzon was on her feet instantly, her sword in her hand. ”Sentries.”

”Hounds in the distance, my lady, but no attack yet,'' came the reply.

The howl, repeated, was joined by others. The camp started to stir: men and women struggling out of sleep, reaching for weapons, tightening armor.

Kyria spoke. ”Hold, please.” She hardly raised her voice, but her words cut through the night with a razor edge.

The camp fell silent. With Alouzon following, the sorceress went towards the edge of camp closest to the disturbance. The moon was full and bright, and the Vayllen fields gleamed like polished gla.s.s. Off in the distance, yellow shapes were milling, yelping, gathering into a pack.

Kyria's face was a mask of moonlight and night- shadow as she lifted her right hand. The moon appeared to flare, and the rain of its silver light turned the color of steel. The hounds' yelps and howls suddenly changed pitch, became a frantic whining, vanished. The fields were empty. The hounds were gone.

”That's ...” Alouzon was staring. Kyria stood proud and unfatigued. Her powers now came to her effortlessly. Maybe the army would indeed make it through Los Angeles. ”That's pretty good.”

”Such is the power with which Helwych will be comfronted,” said Kyria softly. ”I am not the hag, nor am I Helen, but I share some of the sympathies of both. And one who allows women and children to perish will himself die.” She turned to Alouzon. ”Fear not, G.o.ddess. Your people will triumph.”

Alouzon paled. ”I'm not a-”she started, but there was black fire in Kyria's eyes, fire of a strength and pa.s.sion that stilled the protests even of a frightened and incipient deity.

Slumped in his chair in Hall Kingsbury, surrounded by the expressionless forms of the Grayfaces, Helwych did not have to lift his head to see the wattle and daub walls about him, to examine the thatched roof above his head, to scrutinize the flagstones on the floor or the gray plastic gas-masks of the beings who guarded him. It was all there in his mind, all one with the magic that he had wrested from the Specter.

And also within his mind were the battles: the virulent conflicts that crawled across the land like so many poisonous slugs. He saw Grayface pitted against Grayface. He saw the swarming packs of hounds. He saw the Skyhawks and the F-16s spraying bullets and dropping napalm.