Alouzon allowed an edge to creep into her voice. "I don't think they had much choice in the matter. You got a problem?''

Kyria was muttering angrily. "You're damned right I have a problem. I went along with this idiocy because I thought I was dealing with women. I thought that maybe there was some saving grace to this place. But now I find out that I 'm riding around with a bunch of transsexuals."

"They're women, dammit. They fought good and hard to survive."

"Once a man, always a man."

"Yeah, sure. And the System isn't the solution; it's the problem. I know slogans too."

"Listen, honey, aren't you the least bit worried about them?"

"Worried about what?"

"Well . . . they're men. They don't think like we do."

Alouzon resisted the temptation to backhand her. "Where the fuck do you get this stuff?"

Kyria regarded her evenly. "Experience." Alouzon snorted with derision and made as if to put distance between them, but Kyria went on. "I got my start in writing doing columns for one of the local women's papers. Big Mama Rag, or something like that. It was a strictly volunteer thing, and it showed it, but it gave us a space where we didn't have to deal with men. Not in the paper, not in the offices. One day, though, this sex-change showed up."

Alouzon bristled. Kyria was no longer trying to keep her voice down.

"He thought he could pass as a woman and get his two cents into our paper. He ran around, trying to tell everyone what to do: typical male bullshit. Well, I told him right where he could get off. It was women-only space in the editorial offices, and it was going to stay women-only space. Bobbi-I think that's the name he was using-went off crying, but ..."

She faltered for a moment, a-genuine hesitation, but her face steeled again. "My God, Alouzon! Surely you don't expect that we're just supposed to welcome people like that with open arms?"

People like that. The same words had been used to describe her classmates at Kent State. Sandy had been a quiet Jewish girl, more interested in marriage and a future career in speech and hearing therapy than in politics. Bill had been in ROTC. Jeff had been a boy who was. trying to answer some questions about life. Allison had been in love with a man and with humanities.

No matter. With their deaths, they became simply people like that, and drugs, lice, dirt, casual sex, communism-anything at odds with the prevailing dispensation suddenly characterized them. Martyred once by bullets, they were murdered again by rumor.

"If that's the way you operate," Alouzon said quietly, "I think that your experience isn't worth shit."

Kyria snorted, "You sound just like Sol. Go on, play with the boys. You'll learn."

Alouzon left the sorceress to ride alone and fell in beside Marrget. "Is that shelter anywhere nearby?"

"Ahead, Alouzon. And very close."

"I. . ." Alouzon groped for words and found none.

"I heard, friend. I have heard worse." Marrget brooded for a moment, then glanced up at Karthin. He smiled. She smiled, too. "And better."

But she glanced back at Manda uneasily. The Cor-rinian girl had known of the fate of the wartroop all along, and she had nonetheless befriended Wykla. Something deeper than mere prejudice, therefore, was the cause of her dark mood.

Marrget led the company toward the mountains and brought it at last to a slope covered with tumbled boulders, the remnants of an eroded cliff face. The house-sized stones would provide enough shelter to trap the heat of a fire and keep everyone tolerably warm through the night.

Kyria, a prisoner of her politics, did not even deign to speak to Marrget or Wykla. As a result, though, she found herself generally ostracized, and even Santhe- who took it upon himself to make sure that she had food and a place to sleep-said no more to her than what was absolutely necessary.

Karthin questioned him later, after most of the others had gone to sleep. "Are you not afraid that she will snap at you like a rabid dog?''

Santhe seemed immersed in some memory. "I feel heartily sorry for her, Karthin. And even rabid dogs must eat."

Manda had drawn first watch, and she stood just outside the range of the firelight. "I suppose they must," she said. It was the first she had spoken since the noon meal, and there was a well of bitterness in her voice that made Karthin glance at Marrget protectively. Marrget, though, was already asleep, her face quiet, her breathing even.

Alouzon listened to Manda's tone with dismay. Unlike Kyria, Manda had not withdrawn from the company. She had taken on her share of the chores and had even taken the first watch upon herself so as to spare those who had been exhausted by the day's ride. But her silence. And then, when she had spoken, her tone . . .

Could I leave one of these problems in Quay ? It would be a hard decision. Manda, for all her roiling and unspecified anger, had turned into Wykla's confidante, and Wykla had fairly blossomed as a result. Kyria was the hinge of the entire expedition, and could no more be left behind than the Dragonsword.

And though Helwych was an unknown quantity, he had done nothing that she could call negative or evil. He was merely immature, and resentful.

But that hound in Kingsbury had been eating something.

Dithering in her blankets, she fell asleep. The moon and stars had moved when she was next aware, and Manda was shaking her. "Dragonmaster, you are needed."

Her voice was expressionless. Behind her, Alouzon could make out Karthin, and Santhe and his men. Marrget appeared next, wearing the armor that she had not taken off, not even to sleep.

I'll bet that's hard on Karthin . . . But she pulled her thoughts into order quickly, for a long, mournful howl drifted out of the dark plains to the east.

"Would you wake Kyria, Dragonmaster?" said Santhe. He smiled thinly at Karthin. "I have been told that I have already risked my fingers this night."

Alouzon crossed the camp and bent over her, but the sorceress was already awake. "Dogs, right?"

"It sounds like it."

Her staff was already glowing, but she switched it off with a word. "I was out looking around and ran into one," she said.

"Out?"

"On the astral. Or dreamland. Or whatever they call it here." Kyria tried to sound offhand, but Alouzon could sense that she was disturbed about her abilities. Just another adaptation that made her fit in more perfectly with what she saw as her ex-husband's fantasy.

"Is that what Helwych was doing in your dreams?"

Kyria shook her head violently. "Leave it. Just leave it."

When they rejoined the group, everyone was awake except for Helwych. No one had been able to rouse him.

' 'I have heard that he makes a practice of this,'' said Santhe, keeping his voice low. Plainly audible now, the howls were drawing closer.

' 'What if we need him?'' said Karthin.

' 'Need him?'' Kyria had turned surly. ' 'I can handle it."

Santhe kept his smile gentle. "I do not doubt that, lady. But I daresay you cannot be all places at all times. Pray, do not deprive us of some crumbs of glory.''

The sorceress looked him full in the face, found his smile unnerving, and gave up and turned away. "Crazy . . . just crazy ..."

They spread out, forming a perimeter around the camp. From the sound of the howls, Alouzon estimated that there were at least a half dozen of the beasts. She suddenly recalled that Kyria had not taken the time to enchant the mundane weapons.

"Kyria-"

"I said I'll handle it." Kyria had climbed to the top of a boulder and was peering into the night. Off in the distance, distinct in the moonlight, shapes were moving.

With a glance back at Helwych, Alouzon drew sword. Kyria was murmuring to herself, and her staff had taken on an odd sheen, as though it were glowing in spectra imperceptible to human eyes.

The howling stopped. Fifty yards away, the hounds milled about on the grass.

"Can we cut them with regular blades?" whispered Alouzon.

"Shut up, will you? I'm busy."

The shapes milled a little more. Then, with a chorus of sharp yelps, they headed directly for the camp. "Arms, warriors," came Marrget's voice.

But with a sharp crack, Kyria's staff spewed out a shaft of brilliance as blindingly invisible as a burst of gamma rays. The beasts' howls turned to piteous whines as the meadow about them pulsed at the edge of sight, and their shadowy forms seethed into shapeless blobs. An odor as of fetid pools hung in the air.

Alouzon stared. "Damn ..." Maybe Kyria could indeed handle it all alone.

The night was silent. Kyria sighed. "That wasn't easy. I . . ." She sat down on the rock, hands to her face. "I could use a break."

A soft sniff behind Alouzon made her turn, and she caught her breath at the sight of the single hound that was nuzzling at Helwych's motionless body. She thought fast, recalled the positions of the company. Manda was closest.

"Manda! Helwych!"

The maid leaped lightly down behind the beast, her sword ready. The hound paid no attention. But rather than attacking Helwych, it seemed to be entreating the young sorcerer to follow it. Grinning and growling softly, it seized the hem of his robe and tugged, then retreated a few paces and crouched, whining plain- lively. The sorcerer was now wide awake, but petrified with fear.

Manda put an end to the game. Bravely, she advanced and cut the hound's hind legs out from under it with a single swing. With a roar, it turned on her. Her return stroke caught it in the chops, but as the beast fell back, phosphor from the wound sprayed her in the face.

She screamed and clawed at her eyes. "I cannot see!"

Santhe and Birk were closing quickly. With the precision of warriors who had fought long in one another's company, they separated so as to confront the enemy from two sides. Dragging the stumps of its legs behind it, its muzzle a seething mass of phosphor, the hound turned first toward one, men toward the other, hesitating.

Helwych got to his feet. His face said that he was terrified, but his staff was burning yellow. Wykla was pulling Manda away. Parl had taken her place. Alouzon backed up Helwych. Karthin and Marrget closed off the only exit from the camp. Unless the hound could add flight to its list of abilities, it was trapped.

As though to prove himself, Helwych jumped in and swung wife his staff. The magical wood sank deep into the beast and crushed its ribs, but though it yelped in pain, it refused to attack him. Instead it made for Parl, who was armed only with a black knife.

He stood his ground until it was almost upon him, then ducked to the side, evading its spring, and simultaneously struck with the razor-sharp blade, allowing the hound's own momentum to open its side. Phosphor was suddenly everywhere, but Parl threw himself clear.

' 'Back off!'' Kyria's voice was sharp, but there was a tremor in it.

The beast was wheeling again. Parl did not hesitate. With a lithe grace, he dived behind a boulder just as a flash of incandescence struck the hound, turned it white, then transparent, then invisible . . . and left nothing behind save a charred patch in the dead grass.

Marrget's voice was cool and efficient. "Wykla, stay with Manda. Karthin, Santhe, Birk: circle the camp and look for further hounds. Alouzon, please throw me the water skin.''

Manda's face and throat were black and smoking, and Alouzon doubted that water was going to be of much help, but she tossed the empty bag to Marrget, who caught it and ran off in the direction of a stream.

"Kyria?" said Alouzon. "Can you help Manda?"

The sorceress was tottering, and her hand was pressed to her forehead as though her brain was attempting to batter its way out. "I ... I may be able to ... I know not... I am ... weak ..."

Again, her tone was different. As she made her way blindly toward Manda, she fell into Alouzon's arms, and her eyes stared up at the sky. Their angry glint was gone. What Alouzon saw was relaxed, tranquil.

"I . . ." She seemed to strain inwardly, then gave up. "I am not myself, Alouzon."

Boy, I'll say. ''What can I do? "

Kyria considered. "Forgive me."

While Alouzon stared at the stranger in her arms, Marrget returned with a full skin and bathed Manda's face. The maid held herself stoically, wincing but not crying out when the stream of water struck her wounds; but what was left by the slime was a ruin of raw tissue and bare bone.

"Oh . . . Manda ..." Wykla bent over her friend, but Manda was hardly recognizable. Only patches of her golden hair remained, and she did not have enough left of her lips to form words.

Helwych spread his hands helplessly. Kyria shuddered. "I cannot wait." She wrenched herself out of Alouzon's grasp and, crawling, started toward Manda, but Alouzon and Santhe took her by the arms and half dragged, half carried her the rest of the way.

"Child," said the sorceress as she touched Manda's face lightly, "I would heal you."

The maid's sightless eyes registered nothing but pain, but Kyria did not wait for a reply. Gripping her staff with a pale hand, she laid her head against Man- da's and whispered softly, singsonging the syllables of what seemed a children's lullaby. The words hung in the air like a shimmering veil, and Alouzon had a sudden vision of Manda as she had been before the phosphor had ruined her: her face sound and whole, her hair bright, her eyes deep blue.

Then Kyria was lifting her head, and Alouzon saw that the vision had been made real. Manda was healed.

Weeping, Wykla hugged her friend. Manda straightened up and passed her hands over her face as though unbelieving. Her hair hung down in damp ringlets, as though she were a little girl fresh out of her bath. "Mistress sorceress," she said. "My thanks ..."

"It is nothing." Kyria got to her feet slowly, her eyes still full of that curious peace. She turned to Marrget. "I hope that you will forgive me also ..."

The captain stood beside Karthin, her arm about his waist and her head resting wearily against his chest. "Forgive you?"

"For my words. I will say them again, I am sure. But I ask pardon while I can.''

And while Marrget puzzled, Kyria smiled softly and collapsed. Santhe, who had been hovering nearby, caught her, led her to her blankets, and made her lie down near the fire, away from the smoldering phosphor that stained the ground like the sins of an impure heart.

Kyria was still dazed and quiet the next morning, but she insisted that the party push on. Santhe took it upon himself to care for her, and the warrior and the sorceress rode side by side. Kyria's eyes were clenched with something that seemed to partake equally of both pain and pleasure. Santhe was watchful, as though afraid that his charge might suddenly waver and pitch headlong off her horse.

They reached Bandon by late morning, and when Alouzon entered and examined the blackened ruins, she found her fears confirmed. The evidence glared at her from every bullet-riddled wall, spoke from every bomb crater, revealed itself in the smudged and black- ened crisscrossings of multiple napalm strikes. But for a few peculiarities of architectural style, Bandon could well have been a burned-out village in the central highlands of Vietnam. Or a city along the coast. Quang Tri had looked like this-powdered stone mixed with charred timbers, muddy water pooling in the craters that dimpled the ground like a smallpox infection- and so had parts of Hanoi.

Kyria had stayed with the party. Addled still, and touched with uncharacteristic gentleness, she poked through the ruins, nodding absently at a line of bullet holes, weeping over the burned corpse of a little girl who had died in the flames halfway up the main street.

Kneeling in the ashes and rubble, she held the small body to herself, and though she bent her head down to the withered and charred remnants of a face as though she thought to heal, the time for healing was long past, the gesture one of hopelessness. Alouzon recalled her hysterical cries in the night: Where are my babies?

They were not here. There was nothing here. Kyria shook her head slowly, sadly, placed the remains of the child on the ground and turned away. "Is there ...is there any chance that there are more survivors?" she said, laying a hand on Marrget's shoulder.

The captain shook her head. "We found who we could," she said softly, meeting-both Kyria's distress and courtesy with cautious acceptance. "The rest..."

"You found the children, didn't you?"

"Some, lady. Gelyya, and others."

"But not all."

"Nay. For many it was too late."

The afternoon sky was cold and gray. Kyria passed a hand over her face. "Why is it always the kids? The adults do it to themselves, but the kids ..."