Dragon Sword Series - Dragon Sword Part 18

Breathing hard, he sheathed the weapon with a sharp clang. "Leave it. Drop it. I don't want to hear it. Leave Mernyl out of it, leave your d.a.m.ned academics out of it, ieave your antiwar sentiment and your hippie philosophy out of it. Dammit, this is Gryylth. This is my country. The only thing standing between you and a job scrubbing pots is the Dragon's word, and if you keep pus.h.i.+ng, that won't hold."

The Dragonsword was heavy in her hand. Something more than Silbakor's word kept her from the scullery. It was a satisfying knowledge, but she was ashamed to think of it.

"OK," she said. "Fine. We found a pit that might have held a tree, and we've got a couple of corpses. What's next?"

"The Dremords have something in mind," said Dythragor. "They'll probably attack soon. We'll return to Kingsbury and gather the wartroops. We'll strike first." He looked at Alouzon, jaw set, eyes unyielding. "Do you have any objections?''

"You know I've got objections," she said. She turned and started back toward the wartroop, her spine straight and, she hoped, accusing.

* CHAPTER 11.

They went out the way that they went in, but they went out with two bodies. Marrget himself hoisted one of the corpses onto his shoulders and, his back unbent, walked slowly along, leading his wartroop through the plain of sand. Their footsteps were still visible, leading impossibly off into what seemed to be infinite distances, but before they had traveled fifty yards, the dull gra.s.s and trees of the Heath's outskirts were once again about them, and the horses were nearby.

Dythragor walked slightly apart, as though to demonstrate that he was not afraid of anything more befalling him. But he was acutely aware that the men of the war-troop were not concerned about him. Their thoughts, instead, were on the companions that they had lost, and on Alouzon, who had done her best to save them all, while Dythragor . . .

He kept his eyes straight ahead, feeling their resentment and grief, recalling Marrget's words: It is important to remember that we deal in lives, Dragonmaster, else we might be inclined to squander them uselessly.

What had he expected to accomplish, he wondered, in the Heath? If his goal was to waste lives, then he had succeeded very well. If, however, he had wanted to help Gryylth, he had failed miserably. Maybe he should have questioned Mernyl: the wartroop might have been spared a trip and the loss of two of its warriors.

"He should have told us," he muttered. "Why didn't he tell us at the Hall?"

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Unthinkingly, he mounted his horse, but Marrget informed him that their start would be delayed while the men of the wartroop buried their comrades. The captain spoke carefully, but did not attempt to conceal his feelings about the unnecessary deaths.

Dythragor gave no indication that he noticed. He nodded curtly and remained on his horse, apart, during the half hour or so that it took to raise mounds over the bodies.

He noticed that Alouzon was helping, and that her help was welcomed.

When the graves were done, Marrget and the rest stood around them, bowed their heads briefly. The captain unsheathed his belt knife, made a shallow cut in his wrist, and let the blood fall on the graves. "Awake and live again someday," he said.

"Awake and live again," repeated the men.

Lives unvalued were lives wasted, but if the actions of the First Wartroop were any indication, then these two lives had not been wasted.

The wartroop mounted. Dythragor turned his horse away and moved out across the rolling land. His head pounded heavily, as though he were keeping himself going on one hour's sleep and three pots of coffee. He had slept soundly the night before, but the Heath had drained him.

"Trees," he snorted. Maybe he should have listened to Alouzon before he dismissed her idea. Now, if he asked her directly, he would be admitting that he was wrong. He could not face that. "What the h.e.l.l do they want with a tree?''

Marrget was riding alongside now, his gray eyes scanning the horizon. His face was set, guarded.

"What do you think, Marrget?" Dythragor asked suddenly. "Do you really think there was a tree growing in the Heath?"

The captain glanced back at the twin columns of the wartroop, his expression that of a father reading battle reports in the morning paper, seeking news of his sons. "I admit that it does not seem likely that a tree would grow there. Still . . ." He looked back at the wartroop again.

Alouzon was at the end of the columns, riding beside Wykla. She would not hear. "Marrget," Dythragor said with some hesitation, "I'm sorry about the men. If I had known that it was going to be like this, I would have gone alone."

"We would not have known of the Tree if you had." Marrget was trying to ease the blame, but his words stung. With a brief nod, the captain moved off, slowed, and began speaking with his men, making his way down the columns slowly as the wartroop continued southward. Dythragor could not hear what he said, but his tone held a manly gentleness, and he supposed that they were remembering the fallen.

Awake and live again . . . What did that mean? They did not even know the names of their G.o.ds, and here they were, praying for an afterlife. He himself had never given much thought to such things-Helen had been the religious one-but he had always supposed that something happened after death. But here in Gryylth . . .

He had no idea. He had never asked.

His hand went to the hilt of the Dragonsword. Celtic. Fifth-century Britain. Alouzon was absolutely right. Now that she had pointed it out to him, he recognized it well. And he was recognizing other things, too: the armor, the designs of boss and buckle, of saddle and spear, even the double dragons of his own sword hilt, were in the best British style, with just a hint of Roman flavoring to it.

"I'll figure it out, Alouzon," he said softly. "There's an explanation for all this. I know there is. And you can take your magic and shove it up your cute little a.s.s."

Alouzon was tired, and as she rode, she stared at Jia's mane as though she could lose herself in sleep amid the sun-warmed hair. Burying the men had reminded her of the Dremord she had killed-killed and left unburied. She and Dythragor had not even taken the time to raise a heap of stones over him, and, in this strange place, she 164.

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wondered if it were not necessary to throw a handful of soil over a corpse in order to release the soul.

Marrget was beside her, trotting along in silence. He did not speak until she lifted her eyes. "Are you well, my lady?"

He was making the rounds of his warriors, giving encouragement and kind words. With a start, she realized that he now included her needs among those of his men. "I'm OK, Marrget. I'm sorry."

"It is a soldier's life to be prepared to die. Hedyn and Yyarb knew that. And it is a captain's to witness it. Still ... I would we had not visited this place." He nodded to her. "You are indeed a warrior, my lady. Forgive my earlier words. And ..." He looked pointedly at Wykla. "And I am proud to say that all the men of my wartroop are valiant.''

He gave the boy a grin, flicked his reins, and moved off under a sun that had pa.s.sed the zenith.

"Well, Wykla," said Alouzon, "I think you're in." But he was working his mouth, unable to make a sound. "Hey, this is an honor. This is what you've been waiting for, isn't it?"

"Then you must always ride with us, my lady," he managed. "I did it for you."

"Oh, boy ..." Wykla was stiffen his horse, as though terrified of th& magnitude of his admission. Alouzon resolved to be gentle: the boy certainly could not be faulted for having emotions. "Uh . . . Wykla . . . you know, I'm not really available for ... uh ... relations.h.i.+ps. I've got my hands full as it is."

Privately, she was almost amused. Would Joe Epstein have led a charge on a ravening v.u.l.v.a? Not b.l.o.o.d.y likely. Wykla was generous and loyal. Suzanne h.e.l.ling, she decided, had rotten taste.

"Relations.h.i.+ps, my lady?"

"Like ... uh ... love ..."

"Love? Oh, no, my lady. You are too pure and n.o.ble for the likes of any of us." He lifted his head proudly. ' 'My service is meager, but I offer what I have.''

Pure and n.o.ble? What would he say if he knew about the string of faceless men and nameless cities that she had unrolled from the blood of Kent? What about her abortion? Would he still think so highly of her if he met Joe and discovered that Alouzon Dragonmaster slept with a nerd?

"Christ," she muttered. "This is crazy."

Wykla looked wounded. "My lady?"

"Nothing. Never mind. I'm proud of you for what you did in the Heath, and I'm grateful to you for saving me." It came to her that she had never thanked the photographer at Kent State. When the shooting had started, he had thrown himself on her, knocking her to the ground. Like Wykla, he had saved her life.

/ wouldn 't be here today otherwise. She looked up. Some of the men of the Troop met her eyes, nodded. And Marrget thought of her as a warrior. Jesus. Maybe it would have been better.

Dythragor suddenly raised his hand and the columns halted. At the top of the next rise was a man on horseback, riding hard toward them.

Alouzon gave Wykla a pat on the shoulder and went up to the front of the line. "Marrget," said Dythragor. "Dremord?"

The captain squinted. "No, my lord. Unless my eyes are very bad, it is Cvinthil."

Marrget gave the order to proceed, and they met Cvinthil at the bottom of a shallow valley. Alouzon saw that his eyes were red with dust and lack of sleep. He looked as though he had been riding for days.

"Cvinthil! What news from Kingsbury brings you so far?" Marrget's question was abrupt and official, but his tone was laden with worry. He obviously feared the worst.

"Dremords," said Cvinthil hoa.r.s.ely. Marrget muttered a curse and handed him a water skin. Cvinthil drank, poured a little over his face. "They have attacked," he said, his voice stronger for the drink. "They have broken through the southwest end of the Great Dike. They make for the Circle."

"When? " cried Dythragor.

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"The day before yesterday, at dawn. Turi of the Fourth Wartroop reached Kingsbury with the message that evening."

"Turi is a good man," said Marrget. "Hahle of Quay trained him. I am sorry he came with such ill news. What of the garrison? The Fourth Wartroop?"

"The Dike is lost, Marrget. The phalanxes drive for the Circle."

Alouzon wished that she had a map. Dythragor seemed to be calculating. "We won't have time to make for Kingsbury," he said. "We should head for the Circle ourselves."

"Well," said Alouzon, "you got your battle. Satisfied?"

He whirled on her. "Woman, another remark like that and you will make your own way. Gryylth is at stake. My people are in danger. If you won't fight, then you can go on to Kingsbury alone."

She had seen it before: his eyes were hot and his face was set. The fit was on him. "OK, whatever you want. I've killed my man, and I won't do it again."

"You'd leave Gryylth to the Dremords," he said, as though he had caught her perjuring herself.

"I'd find another way than this."

"Yeah, like some antiwar demonstrations? You'll have a hard time with that sort of s.h.i.+t in Kingsbury. They don't just use tear gas here."

She almost spat at him. "They didn't at Kent, either."

Cvinthil spoke up, his voice conciliatory in spite of his fatigue. "King Vorya awaits the muster at Kingsbury."

"Then I'll join him there," said Alouzon.

"And what? Sign a pet.i.tion?" Dythragor laughed harshly. "You'll betray us in our beds the first chance you get."

He was a little rash in his insults, and Alouzon sensed the resentment of the wartroop. His una.s.sailable position had eroded since he had left Kingsbury.

She turned to the captain. "My regrets, Marrget. I can't help you with this." She expected deprecation from him, but it did not come. He gazed at her thoughtfully.

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"Go your ways, my lady Alouzon," he said. "I do not believe you will betray us. I have been fighting the Dremords for as long as I can remember, and sometimes, when my men die about me, I too wish that there might be another way, that I might fight no more." He shook his head and looked suddenly around. "I speak more freely than I ought. You have done strange things to me, my lady."

Dythragor turned to Cvinthil. "Will you ride with us?"

"Alas," he said, "my horse and I are overspent. I will accompany Alouzon Dragonmaster to Kingsbury ... if she will allow it. There we are gathering the last of the militia to reinforce the defense of the Cirele. The countryside has arisen. Fight without fear: we will come."

Marrget smiled grimly, as he had at the border of the Heath. "We always fight without fear." He turned to Dythragor. "My lord? Shall we ride?"

"I go ahead of you," said Dythragor. He straightened, drew his sword and brandished it, and the polished blade caught the afternoon sun and flashed bright beams across the ground. "Silbakor!" he cried. "I call you! By your oath to Gryylth, / call you!"

And a soft voice thrummed in Alouzon's head: "I come."

She felt like screaming. She had been wanting Silbakor's presence for days, and all she had needed to do was lift the Dragonsword and ask. But she found the idea that she alone could summon something like the Dragon to be rather overwhelming, as though she could tell an ocean to come and go at her whim.

She touched the hilt of her sword. How much power did she have here?

From the south came a gust of hot wind, and the sun dimmed. Shading her eyes, Alouzon made out a black shape against the glare. It grew, hurtling toward the ground like a falling stone. In a minute, wings flared and its descent slowed.

She touched Dythragor's shoulder. "What oath?"

"What do you mean?"

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Gael Baudlno "You called Silbakor by its oath to Gryylth. What oath?"

He seemed out of patience. "I call Silbakor, and it comes. I don't know what oath the Dragon might have made. It doesn't matter. Now stay out of my hair."

Silbakor settled to the ground a short distance away. "I answer the summons," it said quietly.

Dythragor dismounted and handed the reins to Cvinthil. "Take my horse," he said to the councilor. "Yours is tired, and you need speed." Cvinthil mustered a smile.

With quick bounds, Dythragor covered the ground to the Dragon. Swinging himself onto its neck, he waved his sword once more. ' 'The Dremords will run when they see me," he shouted. "Ride quickly, my friends, or you will find no battle."

And Silbakor unfurled its wings and rose rapidly into the air. A gust of wind, a shadow, and it was gone.

Man-get turned to the wartroop. "We must ride," he said. "Let it not be said that the First Wartroop was laggard." He offered his hand to Alouzon. "My lady, I regret you do not come with us. Your valor would stand us well."