Part 28 (1/2)
She approached, threw back her hood. ”The Queen of Gryylth.”
”My lady, I-”
She fixed him with a glance. Her children were all but dead, Gryylth might be dying, and a man who seemed made of equal parts madness and foolishness was sitting in her husband's chair. ”You will be silent, sir,” she said. ”You will open this gate, and you will let me out. And when I return, you will open it again, let me in, and say nothing of it.”
”My queen-”
”The penalty for treason, sir, is death.”
He stared at her. The moon-a few days past full-shone straight down upon her, and she knew her eyes were defiant and commanding.
He let her out.
For an hour, Seena wandered the streets of Kings-bury, alone, undetected. She peered at the hovels, listened to the gasping breaths of the dying, smelled the odors of rot, corruption, and plague. Wanting to scream, wanting nothing so much as to run back to the Hall and rend the sorcerer with her hands, Seena forced herself to walk carefully, un.o.btrusively. She was a Gryylthan woman: she knew how not to be noticed.
But when she re-entered Hall Kingsbury, she went not to her chambers, but to the main room. This late, it was empty, and she wanted to think.
What would Cvinthil do? Vorya? Alouzon? Seena was but one woman, alone and unarmed-her very upbringing, in fact, had conditioned her to eschew anything more deadly than an eating knife-surrounded by men and weapons and magic. What could she do?
Very little, it seemed. But she had seen enough of Kingsbury and had inferred enough about Gryylth to know that doing nothing would be far worse.
Still wrapped in her cloak, she sagged against the wall, sat down on the floor, buried her face in her knees. ”O G.o.ds,” she said. ”Help me. Help my people. Help my children.”
There was no answer. But when, discouraged, despairing, she dropped her hands, her fingers touched something cold and hard that lay in the shadows and rushes against the wall. Curious, trembling, she groped at the thing, learned its shape; and at last she took it up and lifted it.
It was a sword. Not a man's sword, though. Slender and light, it seemed meant for the hand of a woman.
But only the First Wartroop carries weapons like this.
Whose was it? What had happened? With a sudden dizziness, Seena recalled that Relys and Timbrin had stayed behind when the troops had left for Vaylle. She had seen neither of them for months. Where were they now? And how had one of them willingly allowed her sword to be tossed so carelessly away?
Footsteps. Seena recognized the heavy, even tread of Gray faces, and she rose and hurried off down the corridor: back to her rooms, back to her children. But she took the sword with her.
At Highland, elaborate landscaping and topiary gave way to neatly trimmed lawns. Here was archetypal Los Angeles: small bungalows of imitation Spanish design-white walls and red tile roofs-the depression-era housing projects of what had been a modest, Southern California city serviced by the Red Car lines until the automobile had declared its ascendancy amid the growing urban sprawl.
Kyria's s.h.i.+elds were holding admirably, and the sorceress had made herself a constant, cheerful presence among the troops. Somehow, she kept up her spells while trotting along the columns, chatting with the warriors, asking questions of the harpers and healers. It was a long hard march-the heat wave had not abated in the slightest, and asphalt and concrete were unfriendly and unyielding surfaces for feet and hooves both-but Kyria kept everyone's spirits up; and her pale face, lit by an open smile, cheered even Alouzon, who was still wondering what would happen if the Specter suddenly appeared.
Kyria, I hope you've got something up your sleeve, because I sure as h.e.l.l don't.
Past La Brea, the street was flanked by undistinguished apartment buildings, and the traffic and noise increased. There was little danger of odd sounds attracting attention here, and Kyria asked for a tune from the harpers.
”Give us something joyful,” she called. A convertible raced by, leaving behind a trail of blaring rock and roll. Kyria winced, sighed, shoved a tendril of sweat-dampened hair out of her face. ”Surely,” she said, ”we can do better than that.”
The harpers conferred among themselves for a moment, then struck up what turned out to be a hymn to the G.o.ddess.
Though I am a harper and a singer I know not how to praise you, O Great Lady. Therefore, direct me, that I might bring To my music a power mightier than my own.
Kyria smiled. Dindrane nodded. Alouzon felt herself growing warmer than could be accounted for by the heat wave alone.
By midnight, they were approaching San Vicente Boulevard, which terminated many of the smaller east-west streets, Sixth among them. Here, Sixth was dark and quiet, and the harpers had fallen once again into silence.
Alouzon deliberated. ”Kyria?”
The sorceress rode up. ”Is something amiss?”
”We have to turn north here somewhere to get up to Sunset. Sweetzer looks okay, but I'm not sure, and we don't have time to get lost. Do you remember?”
”Some days, Alouzon, I am not sure I can remember where the San Diego Freeway goes. But I think I can recall a few things. I seem to remember riding a bicycle in this area for a long time. Solomon ...” Kyria's eyes clouded, but she shook off the pain: it belonged to another life, to another person. ”Solomon kept the car by the terms of the divorce, and the settlement money was slow in coming. So Helen had to make do with two wheels for a time.” She eyed the surrounding buildings-little chateau-styled apartments with gingerbread and turrets-and folded her arms. ”You did not bring a map?”
”Nah. I had one in the car, but the Specter was on our tail. We didn't even have time to bring our armor.”
”Indeed.”
”By the way, do you have any idea what you're going to do if the Sp-?”
But Kyria had turned thoughtful, necessity forcing her to reach into an old discarded life just as Alouzon had been compelled to carry a driver's license with another woman's name on it. ”I think we would do best to cut north along Sweetzer, then cross San Vicente at Drexel.”
”Traffic.”
”Well, yes ...” Kyria frowned.
”Never mind,” Alouzon said. ”We can cross in small groups. Go on.”
Kyria's brow furrowed with the strain. ”I think that Elevado would be best to take to the west, once we have traveled northward enough on ... say . . . Almont or Lapeer ...” She shook her head with what appeared to be an almost physical pain, but forced herself onward. ”We can take Crescent or Rexford to the north. We will reach Sunset near Will Rogers Park.”
”And then,” said Alouzon, ”it's a pretty straight shot down Sunset.''
”And then into the campus?”
”I figured we'd go down Hilgard and cut in just south of MacGowan Hall.”
Following Kyria's route, the columns reached Will Rogers Park at about three in the morning. Sunset was broad, the gra.s.s on the center divider lush, and though the automatic sprinklers came on and soaked the warriors, the heat was such that no one seemed to mind save the harpers, who yelped in alarm and scrambled to cover their precious instruments.
Off to the right, the Beverly Hills Hotel was set back behind tall pines and palms, floodlights bathing its pink stucco in a daylight glow.
”Is that a king's house, Alouzon?” asked Cvinthil.
”Well . . . some rich people live there. It's actually more of an inn.”
The king's eyebrows lifted. ”How do they sleep with all these lights? ”
”Dunno . . . I prefer Kingsbury.”
”As do I, Dragonmaster.” Cvinthil squinted at the sky, but in the constant false dawn maintained by the city lights, the stars were invisible. ”How much further have we to travel?''
”A few miles. We're making pretty good time.”
Traffic on Sunset, as Alouzon had expected, was light, but heavier than on the side streets. Fortunately, there was plenty of room on the center divider, and by breaking the columns into short lengths, she managed to keep them on the move with little interference from red lights and cross traffic.
Now the city was hidden by trees and high hedges, and aside from the cars and the washed-out sky, the way might have been taking them along a forested section of Gryylth. The troops relaxed. But at Whittier Drive the center divider ended, and the columns bunched up once again on the sidewalk and in the left lane.