Part 27 (1/2)
”Why do they not just kill her?” whispered Timbrin. ”They have bombs.”
”They wish to take her alive,” Relys said tone-lessly.
”But why?”
Relys's mangled hand throbbed. ”For reasons that I
know well.”
Timbrin flared, a spark of her hot temper taking sudden fire. ”Those dogs! We cannot let them-”
Relys held up her good hand. The Gray faces were moving. Having obviously decided that a single, unarmed girl could be captured without caution, they stepped out of the trees and closed in on Mernyl's old cottage. If Gelyya stayed where she was, she would be caught. If she ran, she would be caught.
But Gelyya suddenly opened up with a burst of machine gun fire that scythed them down as though they were ripe wheat. In a moment, the two men who had circled to the rear were the only members of the troop left.
”Timbrin,” said Relys, ”quickly.”
Timbrin followed her around to the back of the house. Silently, they circled wide and approached the remaining Gray faces from behind. Relys heard the men conferring, peered through a screen of ferns and saw them reaching to their belts for grenades.
Relys deliberated quickly. Shouting to Gelyya would merely turn the grenades and bullets on her and Timbrin, and Gelyya would be killed eventually in any case; but doing nothing was not an acceptable alternative.
Relys mouthed a silent question. Can you help? Timbrin shrugged, shook her head helplessly: her shackles had loosened a little, but they still bound her. Relys nodded. It was up to her alone.
She drew her sword and slipped towards the Gray-faces as they prepared to throw their explosives. A single grenade would do, but they were taking no chances. ”You put yours on the right,” one was saying in the distant, pa.s.sionless voice that characterized them. ”I'll take care of the left.”
”You got it.”
The bloodlessness of their tone made Relys shudder. The Grayfaces moved like men asleep, like dream walkers who were playing out a role of which they knew nothing, their movements as unconscious as those of infants.
The pins came out of the grenades. Relys's sword swept in. Her left arm was weak, but its strength was sufficient to sever the arm of the first soldier, and it cut deeply into the wrist of the second. Primed, lethal, seconds away from detonation, the grenades fell at the feet of the wounded men.
”Timbrin!” Relys cried. ”Down!” She pivoted and ran, expecting at any moment to feel a hot blast of wind on her back, the jagged peppering of steel slivers.
Behind her, the Grayfaces were crying out and fumbling for the grenades. Ahead was a dip in the ground, and Relys rolled into it just as the two grenades went off and knocked the wind out of her even where she lay. Shrapnel sang through the air like a flock of deadly birds, and then silence returned.
Relys opened her eyes. On the dry brush a few feet away was hanging a sc.r.a.p of what could only have been a face. She gagged. She had seen worse in her days of battle, but it was the thought of the weapon that had produced such a thing that made her retch, not the thing itself.
She struggled to her feet, her maimed hand throbbing. ”Timbrin!” she called. ”Are you well?”
”Aye.”
”Gelyya?”
”Who is that?” The girl's voice sounded thin and weak.
”Relys of Ba-” No. Not that name. Another. Hahle had made a generous offer, and now Relys accepted it. She took a deep breath. ”Relys and Timbrin,” she said. ”Of Quay.”
Gelyya's head appeared at the sagging door of the cottage. Her malnourished face was dirty, and her red hair was matted with leaves and dust. ”Relys? Timbrin?”
”Aye, we are here.” Relys detoured around what was left of the Gray faces and stepped into the cottage's overgrown garden. Dropping her rifle, Gelyya ran to her.
”I thought that surely I would die in there,” said the girl, embracing her. ”I knew they had bombs, but there was nothing I could do against them.”
”It is well, Gelyya,” said Relys. ”You did what you could with the weapon you had. In you Gryylth can claim a resourceful warrior.”
”I? A warrior?”
Relys allowed herself a thin smile, gave Gelyya's shoulders a squeeze. ”I would call you that.”
Gelyya's eyes were bright. ”My thanks, Relys.”
”It is no more than you deserve.” Relys looked up. Timbrin was not in sight. Where was she? ”But . . . what are you doing out here?”
Gelyya's face turned bleak. ”Kallye-” she started, but her words suddenly froze on her tongue and she stared away to the left. Relys followed her eyes and saw a man standing at the edge of the trees. He was dressed in the armor of the King's Guard. His face was one that she would never forget.
Lytham.
Relys swallowed her sudden nausea and bettered her grip on her sword. ”It would be unwise for you to approach, man,” she said.
But Lytham's swaggers and arrogance had deserted him. Sword in hand, he stood at the edge of the Mernyl's overgrown and withered garden, his face as gray as the piece of flesh that had confronted Relys from the bushes a minute before. ”I am not here for you, Relys,” he said. ”I am here to take Gelyya back to Kingsbury.''
”By whose authority?”
”Helwych's.”
Relys spat. ' 'If I had been more clever, I would have spitted him on my sword months ago.”
Lytham was guarded. ”But you were not, and now he has sent me for Gelyya. I have tracked her the length of Gryylth, and now she must come with me.”
Gelyya moved suddenly, sprinting for the cottage in a flurry of skirts and flying hair. In a moment, she had reached the M16 and aimed it at Lytham. Her finger found the trigger, squeezed . . .
But nothing happened. The gun had jammed, or perhaps the clip was empty.
Lytham approached cautiously. ”I will leave you alone, Relys, if you allow me to take the girl.”
”You settled any question of leaving me alone some weeks ago, Lytham. If you approach, I will smite you.”
”With your left hand?”
”With my teeth if need be.”
Lytham paused, licked his lips. ”Come now. This does neither of us any good.”
”Stay where you are,” said Relys. ”You are but one man, and I am armed.”
”I am but one man, indeed,” said Lytham. ”But I have others. More than enough to deal with you.”