Part 26 (2/2)

Cvinthil was riding at her side. ”We can,” he said. ' 'The warriors of Gryylth have been force-marched for greater distances than this. And I am sure, Dragon-master, that you remember the drive for the Circle.”

Yes, Alouzon remembered. But Roman roads in Gryylth were very different from streets in Los Angeles: tonight's journey stretched through a broad band of urbanization that could not but exact a psychological toll on veteran and novice alike. She hoped that Dindrane could help, but the priestess herself was un- familiar with the metropolitan nightmare in which the troops moved.

Lafayette Park was dark and shadowed as they pa.s.sed by a few minutes later, the palms and the maple trees an impenetrable canopy that blocked out the sight of the too-bright Los Angeles sky. Ahead, the First Congregational Church was a tall, illuminated, gothic presence.

Sixth Street curved to the left, then straightened out. It would take the army a good distance, but Alouzon knew that, just beyond San Vicente Boulevard, she would have to lead her people away from it, picking a way north through the residential sections of Beverly Hills and even traversing part of westbound Sunset Boulevard at its widest and most luxurious.

One thing at a time, she told herself. For now, it was Sixth Street and its battered office buildings. That was enough.

A stop light ahead changed, and there was a lull in traffic. Alouzon turned around. ”Everyone keep together,” she called. ”Come on, people, close it up. Don't wear out your sorceress.”

Westmoreland, then Vermont. Alouzon checked her watch and wondered how much time had pa.s.sed in Gryylth, how many more had died.

Lytham stood over the remains of the Grayfaces and hounds. The days had been hot, and the unnatural flesh was fragrant with decay. He had to turn upwind and catch a breath of fresh air before he could speak. ”Hounds,” he said at last, ”might feed, but they do not shoot one another.”

Haryn, still in his saddle, nodded without reply. He was busy scanning the horizon, looking for signs of movement. This far from Kingsbury, away from friends and support, movement could mean only attack and death.

Helwych had told Lytham to take ten men to search for Gelyya; but, unwilling to order anyone into the wastes and the battlefields, the captain had only been able to find but four who would accompany him voluntarily. All were glad to be away from the helplessness and despair of Kingsbury, and small difference it made in any case to be in open country rather than behind earthworks and wooden defenses that would do little against napalm or bombs.

The land was silent save for the whining of the wind in the withered bracken. The hot sun glared down as though pasted in the sky. Lytham considered the remains. Gelyya, resourceful and brave, had obviously learned the use of Grayface weapons. He would have to remember that.

”Which way do you think she went?” said Haryn.

”North, I would say,” Lytham replied. ”She was making for Quay.”

”Then she should have angled towards the mountains long ago.”

”She is a girl,” said Lytham. A few months ago, swaggering, gloating, he would have uttered the statement in a tone of derision. Now it was only simple fact. ”She knows the streets of Bandon and of Kings-bury, but little else. Quay is but a name to her.”

”Then she could be anywhere.”

”True.” Anywhere. And with an M16 in her hand. ”But I will wager she continued north.”

Haryn slumped on his horse. ”And do you expect that any of us will collect any bets, my friend?”

Were it not for the fact that constant death had taken the tears from their eyes as much as the dry wind that swept across the desiccated plains, they all would have wept. Somewhere out there was Gelyya, but Lytham was no longer sure that he wanted to find her. She had become a reason to continue the search, a reason not to return to Kingsbury, a reason to keep living for another hour, another day. And if, by some chance, she was actually found, Lytham knew that he would be hard pressed to decide what to do with her.

Back to Kingsbury? Where else was there to go?

Quay would only last a few more months. Winter would see it bombed and napalmed. And even Corrin-even a.s.suming for a moment that that woman-dominated land would take them in-would be as Gryylth by spring.

Perhaps, Lytham considered slowly, the girl would buy their re-entry into Kingsbury, and maybe their survival. For a little while. That was something.

One of the men straightened in his saddle and peered off across the plain, shading his eyes from the glare. ”There is something to the south,” he said. ”Gray-faces, I think.”

'' Movement by air?''

”Nay. None.”

”If there are Grayfaces,” said Haryn, ”then jets cannot be far off.” He looked at Lytham. ”To the north?”

There was nothing to the north. Nor in any other direction. Lytham shrugged. ”To the north.”

Two weeks of rest in Quay and a meeting with Alouzon had done much for Timbrin. Astride a good horse and clad in the breeches and tunic of a boy, she was sitting straighter, and though she seemed to regard even the small knife at her belt with a sense of unease, the old, frightened timidity that had clung to her since her encounter with Helwych's magic had perhaps cracked a little.

Relys hoped so. Grievous as her concerns were about herself and what might be growing within her womb, the transformation of her comrade from competent warrior into frightened girl had exacerbated them, and the prospect that Timbrin might be recovering was a bright flicker of hope.

They left Quay in the early morning and crossed over the pa.s.s in the Camrann. On fresh horses and with rations enough to see them through to Corrin, they made good time; but once they reached the wastes of craterized and defoliated fields, they had to travel more slowly, for here there was little cover, and the Gray faces and the hounds prowled at will.

On the second day, they saw bath. With cracks and explosions and shrieks of warplanes, the land towards the south erupted into a battle that spread with the pa.s.sage of a few hours to encompa.s.s miles of territory. Each minute brought more jets, and as phosphorus bombs detonated in bursts of blinding white and napalm billowed up in red and black clouds, ground-to-air missiles streaked up to turn the warplanes into shattered metal.

Relys judged times, distances. ”I believe we can make it past if we circle far to the north,” she said.

The sight and sound of gunfire and bombs had brought the fear back to Timbrin's eyes, but she was fighting it. ”Aye,” she said. ”But I am afraid that I will be glad to do that.”

Relys patted her shoulder. There were many things in the world to fear. Timbrin was afraid to be afraid, afraid of even the small knife at her hip. Relys herself was afraid of her own body, afraid that the lot of womankind was falling upon her like a winter avalanche.

Another two weeks, and still no flow. There were a hundred reasons for it, but there was only one that was likely.

They detoured northward, crossing rivers and streams choked with dust and dead branches. A day later, they entered the Cotswood Hills. Here the land was rolling, and in places it still showed green gra.s.s and stands of trees.

”Is this not where Mernyl kept his house?” Timbrin said towards noon.

”A little further on, I think,” said Relys. ”But-”

The sharp crack of a rifle interrupted her. In a moment she and Timbrin had dismounted and led the horses into the cover of a dry stream bed. Timbrin was trembling. ”I am sorry, Relys,” she said. ”I strive to master this, but I fail.”

”Peace, my friend. That you can so strive shows that you are healing.”

Timbrin nodded with wide eyes and attempted to compose herself. Relys reached to her right hip and loosened her sword. The First Wartroop had always trained in the left-handed use of weapons, but her skill could at best be described as merely adequate. She was, she knew, no match for an unmaimed warrior, and it was absurd even to think of facing Grayface weapons.

Another shot. A m.u.f.fled curse, then a call: ”Give it up, girl.”- Relys and Timbrin exchanged glances.

They tethered the horses. Relys started cautiously towards the source of the sounds. Timbrin hesitated, then followed. Together, they inched their way up to the lip of the stream bed, then crawled up the hillside above. Gaining the top, they were just in time to see a young, red-haired woman streak across the valley. Shots and tracers pursued her, but she dodged nimbly and dived at last into the shelter of a ruined stone cottage.

”O you nameless G.o.ds,” said Relys. ”It is Gelyya.”

”What is she doing here?”

”Nay, I know not. But-”

And then came the Grayfaces. There were perhaps ten of them, running in single file, when they came in sight of the cottage, their leader motioned to his men, and they spread out along the tree line.

”Come on, girl,” he called. ”We've got you now.”

Two of the Grayfaces detached themselves and circled to the far side of the ruins. The rest stayed in front.

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