"Do you then join me," said Seena, "in the keeping of the house?"

"Wife," said Cvinthil, "prepare a meal. I will serve the Dragonmaster."

Alouzon heard the effort in his voice. "Look," she said, "I don't want to put you two to any trouble. I can go out and ..." And what? Crazies in the town, Dremords in the countryside, Dythragor running around like a little kid with a big sword, and Relys and Marrget disliking her from square one: where was she going to go? ". . . and, uh, get something from the Dragon."

Cvinthil rubbed his forehead abstractedly. "Your customs are indeed different from ours," he murmured. Seena scuttled away to the pantry, casting glances back at Alouzon. She seemed more bewildered than angry, an echo of the uncertainty that Alouzon herself had felt ever since she had slid from the Dragon and discovered the changes wrought in her body.

76.She stumbled back to the stool, pa.s.sed a hand over her strangely altered face. "I think I need a drink."

Cvinthil brought her beer in a wooden cup. It was warm, but it cleared her head. She lowered the cup and watched Seena chopping onions and leeks. Ayya was helping. The girl was plainly frightened, and Alouzon felt her brow furrow.

"I am sorry that my household grieves you, Dragon-master," Cvinthil said softly.

She caught back the words on her tongue. She could hardly insult her host by questioning his customs. Yet the sight of Seena and Ayya shuffling across the floor, heads bent and eyes downcast, made the beer sit badly in her stomach.

She looked for something to take her mind off the woman and the girl. "What is this Blasted Heath they were talking about?"

Cvinthil settled himself on a stool beside her. He seemed glad of the change of subject. "No one goes there. Mernyl, perhaps, has dared its borders upon occasion, but it is a foolish warrior who attempts to penetrate its interior."

"You think Dythragor's wrong to go there, then? Should he take Mernyl?"

Cvinthil shook his head. "I trust Dythragor. I believe he has only the best interests of Gryylth in his heart, though he is at times rash and imperious. He and Marrget are brave men. Marrget, I believe, is braver than all of us together, and the finest captain the First Wartroop has ever had. Even old Helkyying, the previous captain, admitted that. But ... the Heath ..."

Seena seemed to be listening. At the first mention of the Heath, she had drawn Ayya close to her side, as though to shield the girl from harm.

"Having never been there," said the councilor, "I can only speak from hearsay. There are dark tales of panic and fear . . . and . . . and . . ."He waved his hands to signify his lack of words. "It is as though I speak of my own death when I speak of the Heath. I think of things which are not hounds baying in the night. I see the mur- .

77.der of those I love. I smell betrayal and dishonest thoughts of blood. I feel the murder of babes."

Seena had stopped her cooking. She was watching Cvinthil, trembling. Ayya hid in her ap.r.o.n. "Husband."

"Seena." Cvinthil extended his arms, and his wife and daughter came to him. Silently, he folded them in his embrace, stroked their hair comfortingly. "Seena, Ayya," he murmured. "Have I not told you that these things are confined to the Heath? They do not trouble the land because of that."

"Forgive us for intruding, husband." Her voice was m.u.f.fled in his tunic, and his hand rested upon her head as lightly as a benediction.

Cvinthil looked at Alouzon. "I, too, fear the Heath."

But she hardly heard him, for in watching Seena and Ayya, she had become aware of the pouch that Cvinthil wore on his belt. The lid was of enameled copper, and it was figured with cloisonne designs of beasts and birds and men, bordered with Celtic-style knotwork. She had seen that lid before, in a photograph. The original was in a museum, and it dated from fifth-century Britain.

Details suddenly crowded at her. The brooch that fastened the councilor's cloak, silver and inlaid with garnets, was strikingly British in design, as were Seena's bracelets, as was her own leather armor. She suddenly knew why everything seemed so familiar: her field of study was Arthurian Britain.

But this was Gryylth, not Britain. This was a place of magic and Dragons and bizarre transformations, not the heroic but very mundane fifth century. And more: these were real men and women, not suppositions drawn from digs and textbooks.

Where was Gryylth? What was Gryylth?

'' Dragonmaster?''

She realized how hard she had been staring, and she looked away quickly. "Sorry. I ... was thinking."

"Are you not well?"

She shook her head. "I'm . . . OK. Don't worry." She mustered a smile for Seena and Ayya. "I'm safe, really," she a.s.sured them. "I don't bite."

78.From the shelter of her husband's arms, Seena nodded slowly. "I believe you, Dragonmaster."

"Tell me about Gryylth," Alouzon said to Cvinthil. Fifth-century Britain? Seena made as if to rise. "No, stay. It's all right. The food can wait."

Cvinthil nodded to his wife and she, together with her daughter, snuggled back into his arms. "Gryylth is the inhabited lands of men between the seas," he explained.

"What's beyond it?"

"The sea. And mist. There is nothing else."

"Where did the Dremords come from?" The name rankled. "Do they really call themselves Dremords?"

"Actually, my lady, no. Their lands they call Corrin."

"They're Corrinians, then."

"If you will. But we have always called them Dremords."

"Where did they come from? The Dre-" No, she was not going to play along with the game. "The Corrinians."

He seemed to struggle with little-used thoughts. "They came from lands across the East Sea. As long as even the oldest among us can remember, though, they have dwelt in the southeastern parts of Gryylth, preying on us, taking our wives and daughters, murdering our sons ..."

The young face of the man she had killed swam up out of her thoughts, blank, pale, lifeless in the unpitying light of the full moon. Like her, he was a human being. And as Suzanne h.e.l.ling, a disillusioned and broken activist, Alouzon had heard enough facts warped to fit political expediency to be suspicious. There were always two sides to any war. What, she wondered, was the Corrinian view of all of this?

"They just . . . come out and murder?" she asked. "For no reason?"

"They do."

"You've seen them do this?"

"My lady, it is common knowledge."

"But, have you seen them? I mean, a totally unprovoked attack where they, like, came out and just burned .

79.down a whole village? Or did in all the crops or something?"

He was silent for some time. Then: "No, not personally."

She found herself remembering a conversation she had had with Solomon Braithwaite in his office at UCLA. He had been characterizing the Saxons as barbaric and destructive, holding to that conviction even in the face of contradictory evidence. Everyone knew the Saxons were devils. It was common knowledge.

And everyone knew that the student protestors were unwashed, commie sympathizers. Everyone knew that the Viet Cong were murdering cowards. Everyone knew that the U.S. Marines and the National Guard were squeaky-clean, patriotic, all-American boys. Everyone knew. Common knowledge.

Alouzon was beginning to handle pieces of the puzzle, slowly examining them with the attention of a scholar, looking for patterns, fitting them together by trial and error. There was something wrong with this place, but as yet she could not say what it was. What did Britain have to do with Gryylth? Jewelry, building design, and an ongoing conflict with an invading tribe that everyone knew was savage and barbaric . . .

Dythragor probably loves all of this. But how much did he actually know about it? How much did anyone know?

A knock came to the door. "It is Kallye, the midwife," said Seena.

"We had best be away," said Cvinthil. "It is unseemly for a man to be near such things."

"You're pregnant?" said Alouzon.

Seena lifted her head. In spite of her shuffling and her bent head, there was a flicker of pride in her eyes. "I am."

It had been four years since her abortion. Her child would have been about the same age as Ayya. "Congratulations," she said, her tongue suddenly thick.

"My thanks, Dragonmaster." Seena rose and, after hesitating, bowed to her as to a man, then went to the door.

80.Kallye was a tall woman with dark hair that she wore loose. She had a more confident step than either Seena or Ayya, and Alouzon sensed that she made her own decisions.

The midwife bobbed her head slightly as she entered. "G.o.ds bless," she said. Her voice was matter-of-fact. "Lord Cvinthil? Are you here? On a Tuesday?"

Tuesday. And Cvinthil had said that market was held on Thursday. English. Come to think of it, everyone in Gryylth spoke fairly modern English. Alouzon 's head was almost spinning. Was she going mad?

Cvinthil was laughing. "I am guesting Alouzon Drag-onmaster, Kallye. Fear not: we will depart. Is Seena well?"

"Well enough, lord. I will see to her today and give you word when next I see you. But I have heard of Alouzon Dragonmaster."

Alouzon shoved aside her mental vertigo. "It's probably all over town by now," she said, standing. English?

Kallye bowed slightly, but with a smile. "G.o.ds bless."

Alouzon nodded in return. "Thanks. You too."

"We have ..." Kallye 's smile broadened. "We have few women to whom we give honor in Gryylth. How should I call you?"

She shrugged. It seemed a strange question until she remembered that proper respect was a cornerstone of heroic culture. "Alouzon is OK. Uh . . . Dragonmaster if you really want."

Kallye laughed. "I am honored to meet you, Dragon-master." Her manner was pleasant, full of strength and humor, and she managed to give even the formal t.i.tle a casual tone, as though she were addressing a friend. "I hope we can talk at a later time. At present, though ..." She stood, waiting.

Cvinthil took the hint, gestured Alouzon to the door. The work of a midwife had nothing to do with men ... or Dragonmasters.

They had just stepped out onto the street again when they heard a voice calling: "Lord Cvinthil!" Alouzon looked off down the way and recognized one of the sol- .

81.diers who had escorted her and Dythragor to the hall. He was running, dodging dogs and men, leaping over puddles. But although in coming he seemed much like a boy, in drawing near he put on a gravity that was at odds with his. years. "My lord ..." He eyed Alouzon. "And Dragonmaster. The First Wartroop rides tomorrow morning for the Blasted Heath."

"And will you be riding also, Wykla?"

He straightened. "I am a man of the First Wartroop," he said proudly. "Marrget named me so this very morning."

Cvinthil clapped him on the shoulder. "All Kingsbary knows how hard you have worked, Wykla of Burnwood. My congratulations."

"My thanks, lord. I will try to be worthy."

"I'll be going, too," said Alouzon. "Someone with some sense better be there."

Wykla looked nervous. There was obviously a second part to his message. "Dythragor Dragonmaster said . . . ah . . ."

"Go on," said Alouzon, though she knew exactly what Dythragor had said.

"He said, lady, that you are to stay behind."

"That's OK, Wykla. Alouzon Dragonmaster says that she's going. Tough s.h.i.t for Dythragor."

"Lady," said Cvinthil, "perhaps it is wiser-"

"If Dythragor kicks about it, Wykla, ask him who saved him from getting spitted on a Dremord sword the first night here."

She winced at her own words. How casually she spoke of it now! Soon, she would be bragging about it all, notching her sword in neat little rows. And how many did you kill today? Is that all? Come on, let's have a round of drinks and show off our collections of ears.

Wykla bowed, then turned and went back towards the hall.

Alouzon felt a pang. "He's not going to get in trouble for reporting that, is he?"

"Marrget is just," said Cvinthil. "He would never fault a man of the First Wartroop for speaking the truth, 82.unpleasant though Dythragor might find it. I only wish that . . ."

His voice trailed off, and he looked sad. Some things in Gryylth, apparently, bothered him also. Alouzon remembered the look on Vorya's face when Dythragor had ordered him to dismiss Mernyl.

"Come on," she said, taking his arm and leading him down the street. "I've got some more questions to ask you."

* CHAPTER 6 *

The late afternoon sun hovered over the downs that undulated off into the west, and it shone warmly on Benardis, the capital of Corrin. On the top of the hill at the center of the city, the walls of King Tarwach's lodge had been rolled back to let in the air and the light, and Darham, brother to the king, leaned against a pillar and looked out over the town that rambled down to the edge of the Long River in a confusion of thatched roofs. Behind him, Calrach was making his report, and Darham rubbed at his beard-slowly, contemplatively-as he listened.

"Tireas showed us the way out of the Heath," Calrach was saying. He gestured to the sorcerer who stood, white-bearded and white-robed, off to one side. "We were all but clear, but then we were attacked again." Darham turned around, shaking his head. "Again?" Tarwach sat, leaning forward, elbows on knees and chin cupped in his hands. The blue of his eyes was icy, calculating.

"Aye, my lord," said Calrach. "Again." "Such is the way of the Heath," said Tireas. "It strikes when one least expects it, and always in a way that brings terror."

"Well, it terrified me, sorcerer," said Calrach. Sweat turned his thin, blond hair into damp ringlets. "And it took Flebas from us. The creatures of the Heath toppled the Tree out of the wagon, and Flebas tried to prop it up-with his bare hands."

83.84.Even Tarwach winced at that. Tireas had told them much about the Tree. They all knew what it could do.

"It . . . changed him, my king." Calrach was pale. "I am not sure his mind was sound after that. His body was not. He was . . ." He fell silent with a shudder.

"Did he die, then?" said Darham. "Was he buried decently?"

Calrach dropped his eyes. Tireas spoke.

"He was not dead, my lord. But ... we had to leave him."