And how was the Grail won? One had to go and look for it, she recalled vaguely. One had to want to look for it.

193.

194.

195.

If that were the case, then her quest had already started without her even being conscious of her choice and her commitment. "OK," she said softly. "I'm here. I want it." She hung her head. "And who do I have to kill now?"

She had not said more than ten words throughout the day, and Cvinthil had grown increasingly concerned at her prolonged silence. '' Alouzon? Is there something that I can do?"

They started up the road that led to the plateau. Alouzon shook her head. "Unless you can change history, I'm stuck."

The councilor did not speak at first, and together they climbed past outposts that he silenced with a gesture. "I know of your reluctance to kill, Alouzon. Yet you fought well last night, for yourself and for me. May I. . ." His tone caused her to turn, and his large brown eyes were serious. "May I call you friend?"

Gryylth was taking her to itself, was wrapping its warm, loving, blood-soaked wings about her. She reached, took his hand. "Yeah. Thanks, Cvinthil. If it weren't for you, I'd be on the block today."

"Somehow, Alouzon," he said with a nod at her sword, "I think not."

The steep road took them around the hill, and they stopped for a moment on the eastern face. Out in the distance, clinging to the horizon like a leech, was a darkness that reminded Alouzon of the Heath. But this was deeper, blacker, as though a corner of the night had caught on some projection and had torn away.

Cvinthil looked worried. "I do not like to think of our men fighting in that murk."

"Any idea what it is?"

"No. Sorcery, perhaps; though never before have I seen sorcery like that."

The Tree, she thought. It has to be the Tree. And Marrget and Wykla and the others are heading straight for it. "Come on," she said aloud, nudging Jia into a faster clirab. "I think we're going to be needed there soon."

When they reached the top of the hill, they found a press of men and weapons about the village. Dust rose thickly, and there was a general sense of ill temper that was a product of heat, dirt, and the certainty of future danger. With all the noise, confusion, and clashing of arms, it might have been a sham battle.

"Only the First and Second Wartroops and the garrisons of frequently attacked towns are held in readiness throughout the year,'' Cvinthil explained as they pushed through the crowd. "The rest, though having permanent captains who train them periodically, live the life of craftsmen and farmers. Only in times of emergency-"

"Where are your children, girl?" someone shouted at her.

Alouzon gritted her teeth, hearing in the voice the accents of a certain Kanol of Bandon. "Shove it, a.s.shole."

"Have we come now to woman-fights?"

The men, strangers to the sight of a female Dragon-master, looked at her suspiciously. One shook his fist at her. ' 'Where is your husband?''

"Back, fool," returned Cvinthil. "Alouzon Dragon-master admits no interference.''

"Dragonmaster? And what trickery is this?" The speaker, a short, burly man, scowled at her, spat on the ground. "Get off that horse, girl. And give me that sword."

She was tempted to give it to him to the hilt, but she held back. Still, the Dragonsword flashed in the sunlight as it slid out of its sheath, and she brought Jia around to face her antagonist. Confronted with an armed warrior, on horseback, he seemed less inclined to dispute questions of gender.

"Look, s.h.i.t-for-brains," she said, "I just got through slicing up a bunch of soldiers in Bandon who thought a lot like you, and I'm getting to the point where I don't give a d.a.m.n about your little h.e.l.l-hole of a country. Right now I'd just as soon castrate you as look at you. So back off."

He had no chance to reply, for a moment later he was shoved to one side by one of Vorya's guards. The king 196.

197.

and his personal soldiers were riding out from the Hall, and when Vorya saw Cvinthil and Alouzon, he hailed them gladly.

"We ride immediately," he called. "I regret that you will have no time for rest. These two hundred or so are the last of those who answered the call. The others have gone on before. The Dremords have put all their strength into this fight, and they will be difficult to stop." He gestured at the men. "These may well turn the battle."

Alouzon glared at the short man who had attempted to take her sword. He edged off and lost himself in the crowd. "Have you seen that shadow out to the east?" she said to Vorya.

"Aye, Dragonmaster. We must make haste."

"Don't you think you ought to send for Mernyl?"

Vorya looked doubtful. His brow was creased, and he was frowning as though weighing a difficult decision. The men milled about them, their captains shouting orders, forming them into lines for the march, checking their supplies. "I would not spare a man here for the journey," he said finally. "And if we summon Mernyl ..."

"You lose Dythragor, right?"

"Aye."

"But you'd still have-" She stopped. Did she have the right to offer herself as a replacement for Dythragor? How much killing did she want to do?

Vorya seemed to understand her offer and her quandary, but he shook his head. "I would see whether Mernyl were truly necessary before I endangered a known alliance."

With a shout, he trotted his horse to the head of the columns, and in minutes, the wartroops were on the march.

When the First Wartroop arrived, Darham was almost relieved. Here at last was an end to the waiting and to the almost nonsensical Gryylthan defense. Here were Marrget and his men: any further tactics would follow more predictable patterns.

But the wartroop's appearance also signaled that the real battle was about to begin, that after several days of a fighting advance, the Corrinians' drive on the Circle had been brought to a standstill, and the best warriors of Gryylth were now arrayed against them.

"So much territory Gryylth holds that simple distance defeats us!" said Tarwach. "One would think that a small portion could be spared for Corrin."

"We are not done yet, brother," said Darham. "Tireas is still working for our cause, and if he can keep a Dragonmaster at bay, then he is surely a match for Marrget."

With a crack, the Tree flung a black bolt over their heads. It struck the ground some yards in front of the Gryylthans, ripping up the trampled gra.s.s and sending the chalky earth of the downs geysering into the air. Darham instinctively flinched at its pa.s.sage: he had seen what such things did to human flesh.

Tireas had been using his bolts sparingly: he was trying to demoralize the Gryylthan defense so that more killing would not be necessary. But the Gryylthans were becoming used to his tactics, and though, when the bolts struck, they threw themselves to the ground to avoid flying stones and debris, they had apparently come to consider the bolts more an annoyance than a threat.

On the bill ahead, Marrget was giving orders, snapping out commands that were obeyed instantly. Another bolt struck, nearly at his feet, but the captain hardly glanced at it. He simply mopped the mud from his face and continued with his arrangements.

"Marrget is a brave man," Tarwach'murmured. "I wish sometimes that we were not enemies." He watched the wartroops deploy, then shouted his orders. "First and Third Phalanxes to the right for flanking! Fifth and Eighth up the middle and hold your positions! Kings' Guard to the left!"

King's Guard would, under other circ.u.mstances, have included Manda. What, Darham wondered, was she doing now? Practicing swordwork on a wooden dummy? Or running off her frustration down by the sh.o.r.e of the Long River? Her skills were great, and she habitually kept a level head. He wished that she were here, but Gryylth 198.

Gael Baodino had made its prejudices known long ago: women on the battlefield were singled out and overwhelmed by sheer weight of numbers. If they were lucky, they were killed immediately. If not ...

Consciously, Darham relaxed a clenched jaw. Manda had already experienced the brutal attentions of Gryylth.

"Marrget and his men are without sleep," said Tar-wach. "This will be an even match."

Darham hoped that his brother was right. "We cannot keep on this way."

"The sorcerer is confident," said Tarwach, "and he has something in mind, I guess. I will therefore keep my hope." The darkness clouded the sky again as the Gryyl-thans charged, and another bolt furrowed the ground at the feet of the vanguard, sending men toppling to the ground.

For an instant, the counterattack wavered, and the phalanxes struck.

Even though it presented an overall appearance of flatness, the land east of Kingsbury was deeply undulating. As a result, the road was a succession of climbs and descents. Kingsbury would be hidden from sight and then would reappear farther away, as though a hand had picked it up and moved it like a chess piece.

Unlike the First Wartroop, the men Alouzon traveled with were mostly on foot, with the exception of their captains and the king. They were rough, surly, without any of the professionalism that characterized Marrget and his men, but after she took her position at the king's side, the grumbles that she had heard about women in the company faded into a dull resentment. She had yet to win these men. She was not sure that she wanted to.

But winning them was not an urgent task, for they had more to brood upon than the presence of a woman. In the distance, the darkness lay on the land like a blanket kicked to the floor by a restless sleeper. It was an imponderable ma.s.s, brooding, threatening, at times stirring like a living thing.

Vorya regarded it with unease, conferred often with .

199.

Cvinthil. Alouzon heard Mernyl's name mentioned repeatedly, as well as Dythragor's.

There was no time for leisurely travel. The men were double-timed down the road in the hope of effecting some relief for those ahead. But speed took its toll, and when Vorya called a halt that evening, the soldiers slumped wearily against one another, and, not having the strength to cook, ate cold rations and slept where they had sat down in the fields.

"A pity I cannot allow them even a whole night's sleep," said Vorya. He had ordered that his pavilion not be set up in order to spare the men further fatigue, and he, Cvinthil, and Alouzon sat in the open, talking and debating plans by firelight. "I will give them until the moon is high, and then we must go on."

"When do you think we'll reach the battle?" said Alouzon.

Vorya lifted his head. The darkness was invisible at night, but the flickers of black incandescence that emanated from it told them its precise location. "Afternoon. Not until then."

Alouzon watched it for a moment. "It reminds me of the Heath."

"Tell me about that, lady," said the king. "Cvinthil told me of the First Wartroop's movements, and of Dythragor's. He also told me of the actions of Kanol of Bandon, for which I most heartily apologize."

"Don't mention it. I had to learn eventually." She shrugged, uncomfortable with her new knowledge.

Vorya looked at her curiously. ' 'Of the Heath, he could say nothing."

She told him in brief, omitting Dythragor's occasional ravings. It seemed unfair to expose the man's weaknesses when she had become too conscious of her own. In an effort to strengthen her recommendation that Mernyl be summoned, though, she went into some detail about the question of the Tree.

"A tree," said Vorya. "Interesting." The firelight flecked his white hair and beard with gold and crimson, and he was nodding slowly. "Before he left for the Cots- 200.

woods, Mernyi spoke in private with me. He said that he suspected the Dremords had in their possession an embodiment of most potent magic. He said that it took the form of a Tree."

"That's what he told me too," said Alouzon. "Are you sure you don't want to send for him? From what he said, that Tree can do some pretty horrible things. It did in that Corrinian at the Hall for sure."

Lightning flickered again in the distance. Vorya squinted at it. "Marrget," he whispered, "what is happening?"

But the king deferred his decision again. When the waning moon hung at the zenith, the men were awakened and the march continued with the sounds of booted feet and horses' hooves. The moon crawled down the sky, the stars wheeled overhead, and the night pa.s.sed.

Stalemate.

The knowledge was like a clammy rain in the cold morning, or like the gray smoke from the cooking fires that drifted across the troops, Corrinian and Gryylthan, sleeping and waking, as the dawn brightened the downs.

Tarwach ate quickly, his back to a fire to take the dew from his tunic. Darham had no interest in food. Tireas, called from the Tree by the king's order, sat wearily'on a folding stool. The sorcerer had been at his post for many hours and had hardly slept that night. His face seemed gray against his white robes and beard, and he hung his head and groped at the plate of food in his lap with his eyes closed.

"It is not well with us," said Tarwach. "Have we lost then?"

One of the soldiers had found a stray cow, its udders full. Darham accepted a cup of milk, and he drank, cherishing the warmth. "We are in hostile territory. The enemy has only to reach out to call up more defenders. We, on the other hand, must live off our own supplies, without a roof, without a haven."

"So what do we do, brother? Gaback to our lands ..." Tarwach made a wry face. "Across the sea?"

201.

Darham made a weary noise that was halfway between a laugh and a sob. "We have no place to go. I suppose, therefore, that we must go on. The people of Corrin at least shall know that we tried our best to preserve them ..."

".-. . as they fall to Gryylthan swords?" Tarwach was angry. "No. We will go on, and we will win." He turned to the sorcerer. "Tireas, you have been holding back. You will have to kill in earnest now. You will have to slaughter.''

"Do not torment me, my king." The sorcerer's voice was a whisper. Tireas, though he fought with immaterial weapons, was even more exhausted than the men who fought with swords and spears. "I will do what is necessary. ''

"You do not answer me, sorcerer." Tarwach's voice was cold. "You dissemble."

"Can I look at the pa.s.sing of seasons, can I study the changes of life and love, and not be moved to kill only with great reluctance?''

"Should we lose, Tireas, we have no place to go. The killing then will be by Gryylth, and the dead will be our own people. Is that what you want?"

"Nay, lord." Tireas looked up at the young soldier who was serving him. "Bring me water, please, sir," he said. "I have no stomach for wine today." The boy nodded and ran for the supply wagons. To Tarwach he said: "I have command of the Tree, and that is a great thing. I will no longer say that it is a good thing, for as I use the Tree, so it uses me. Even now, I am no't the sorcerer you knew in Benardis. And should I attempt greater potencies such as might stem this battle, I will lose more of myself. But, so be it. My people are in danger, and I will defend them."

The boy came back with a skin, and Tireas poured water over his face, then drank.

"There has been enough blood already," he said. "I pray you, King Tarwach, allow me one final chance. I confess that I quail at out-and-out killing, and therefore I have sought another way."

"You have often spoken of a plan."

202.

203.

"Aye. I have hesitated to give myself to the Tree as much as I would need to in order to execute it, but it seems that the course is now necessary." He stood up. "I have greater vision than your scouts, my lord. Vorya and several hundred men, and the female Dragonmaster with them, are on their way. They will arrive this afternoon. It will be a fatal blow for Corrin."

Tarwach took the news without flinching. "And therefore . . . ?"

Tireas drank from the skin again, handed it back to the boy. "And therefore will I do what is necessary. Today, when the battle is thickest and you feel a humming in the air like a swarm of bees, call a retreat of the phalanxes as quickly as you can. I will attend to the First Wartroop, and perhaps in so doing will attend to all of Gryylth."

Come morning, the darkness in the east was closer, blotting out the dawn, mocking the new day. Vorya's face was lined with strain, though Alouzon had to admire him: this was no armchair general who gave orders while sitting at home. He rode at the head of his troops, willing to share their fate.