Manda, who had remained within her icy detachment, turned away suddenly. Wykla put an arm about her shoulders, but she might as well have embraced a stone.

"...but the kids . . . the kids never do anything."

Kyria's voice was hardening again. "They just suffer. War, incest, abuse, rape . . . the damned adults drag them into everything. And then they grow up ... if they have a chance ..." She turned to Alouzon, and the anger was back in her eyes. "Now you see why I hate him?"

Alouzon turned away, fighting back tears. Solomon Braithwaite had nothing to do with Bandon. The city- children and adults both-had perished because of Suzanne Helling.

Marrget was speaking. "I agree with you, lady Kyria." She seemed to look elsewhere for a moment. "Indeed, there are actions of my own that I would gladly undo."

Manda stiffened, fists clenched. Wykla took her hands. "Manda, Manda ..." she said softly. "The war is over."

"Which one?" Alouzon muttered bitterly.

They left Bandon in the early afternoon. Marrget guided them west through a pass in the Camrann Mountains that led to the coast and to Quay. The high ground was dry, and the roads were good, but night caught them on the downhill side of the pass, with no shelter except that of scrub oak and scrawny pine.

Alouzon and Marrget set watches, but Kyria shook her head. "We won't be bothered tonight."

"I'm not going to sleep without watches," said Alouzon.

Kyria shrugged. "Suit yourself." She ate quickly, ignoring the camaraderie that the others had offered since she had healed Manda; and afterward she wrapped herself in her cloak at some distance from the fire. Her dark garments made her effectively invisible: she wanted to be left alone.

But Alouzon sought her out. "Look, I hate to bother you about this, but I think we're going to need those weapons enchanted. And soon."

Kyria did not look up. "Why? The standard issue stuff seems to work all right."

"You saw what that phosphor did to Manda. I don't want that happening again, I didn't have that problem with the Dragonsword."

Kyria held her staff across her knees, but in the faint light of the rising moon, Alouzon saw her regarding it dubiously. "I don't like this thing," she said abruptly. ' 'It runs me just like Sol did."

"What does that have to do with the weapons?"

"Lots. It's just like you said: out in L.A., you cut yourself on butter knives. Here you can handle a sword. Well, here I do pretty good with a staff, but it costs me." She gestured at the Dragonsword. "You don't like what that does to you, do you?" She did not wait for an answer. "The staff is the same way. You saw what happened last night.''

It was an improvement, Alouzon wanted to say, but she bit back the words.

"I'm not sure how much help I'm going to be to you anymore," Kyria continued, "because I don't like the side effects."

"Dammit, Kyria, we could get killed!"

"Yeah, and I could lose my mind."

"So what happens if Manda takes another faceful of phosphor?" A thought struck Alouzon. "And what happens if it's Marrget or Wykla?"

Kyria's mouth was pursed up like a miser's pouch. "I don't know. I'll have to decide then."

"You told me once that you cared about the kids. You said you'd protect them."

Kyria's eyes flickered uneasily, but her voice was defiant. "I care about myself. I make my own choices."

Alouzon stood over her, wishing again that she could be rid of the sorceress. But then the party would be protected only by the dubious talents of Helwych, and with everything from jet fighters to hell-hounds running loose in Gryylth-not to mention what was waiting in Vaylle-that was certain suicide.

But if Kyria simply refused to help anyway . . . "Then you'd better tell me about Helwych, if that's who we're going to have to count on."

Silence. Then: "My dreams I keep to myself.',' "I'm not asking about that. You saw that hound last night. It wouldn't attack even when he wounded it." Kyria shrugged. "Sol's cagey. He likes to play. This is probably his idea of a good laugh. He laughed about that kid who got shot at Berkeley. Some things don't change.'' "Come on, Kyria." The sorceress's hard-boiled persona was patently artificial, a melange of feminist politics, bull-dyke bravado, and moneyed cynicism. Alouzon was losing patience. "I saw Helwych getting eaten in Kingsbury.''

Kyria started. "You didn't tell me about that." "How the hell am I supposed to tell you anything? When I found that hound in the alleyway, it had its teeth buried in his chest. When it took off, the kid was gone. But a few minutes later he showed up looking like he always does. You got any ideas?"

Kyria glanced at Helwych. The young man was preparing for sleep, and he moved with some assurance, as though the blow he had struck against the hound had validated his membership in the company. "He doesn't seem hurt."

"I know," said Alouzon. "What's going on?" Kyria shrugged impatiently. "I don't know." She held the staff as though it were a stiff-but very alive-rattlesnake. ' 'I've lost enough of myself in the last day and a half. I'm not going to lose any more just because of your curiosity. If he gets in the way-my way-I'll handle him. But I'm not using this thing without a good reason." She stared off at the rising moon, her pale face set. "Sol would be a real good reason. I can't think of too many others.''

* CHAPTER 10 *

Quay was a large cluster of white houses and buildings that wrapped round the tip of a wide arm of ine sea as though pale hands cupped the cold, gray water. It was a peaceful sight, one that wanted only the skimming sails of fishing and trading boats to complete the picture, but as Alouzon's party descended the slopes down to the foothills, they began to notice disturbing details. There were no people in the streets: only the smoke of kitchen fires indicated that the town had not been deserted. Large blocks of houses and shops had been burnt black. And ringing the main body of dwellings was a deep ditch backed by defenses of timber and earth. Quay might have been under siege.

Kyria touched Alouzon's arm and pointed to the northern edge of the town. Where the houses gave way to small steadings and patches of farmland, two fresh craters marred the landscape.

In the late morning, they approached the ditch and the earthworks. "This is new," said Marrget. "Unlike Bandon, Quay was never a walled town. It had the goodwill of its neighbors and a good remove from the war."

"Well, it's walled now," said Alouzon.

The drawbridge was raised, and the road terminated in a twelve-foot drop to the bottom of the ditch. But before Marrget could call out, a man stood up from behind the defenses. He was strong and stocky, and his skin had been browned by the sun and weathered by the sea. He held a great bow in his hands. The tip of the arrow gleamed with the brightness of steel.

"Who comes?" His voice was flat, uncompromising.

"Hahle?" said Marrget.

"Who comes?" The arrow was nocked, and Alouzon did not doubt that he could draw the bow and send it off within seconds.

The captain hesitated. Hahle had once been her teacher, and she had already expressed doubt about this meeting. Karthin made as if to join her, but she waved him back. "Marrget of Crownhark," she said to Hahle. "With my companions Alouzon Dragon-master, Santhe of Kingsbury, Karthin of Rutupia, and others. We bear the king's signet, and ask aid."

At her name, Hahle had lowered the bow. "Marrget?"

She smiled thinly, and nodded. "The same, master."

"Then the story was true."

"Aye. You have a woman among your students now. I . . ." She lowered her head, shook it slightly, and sighed.

But Hahle was motioning to others who were hidden behind the earthworks, and the drawbridge swung down. "If you are Marrget," he said, "then that is enough, even without the king's ring."

"I thank you, master."

The bridge thumped into place, and Hahle advanced across it with an outstretched hand. "Now I know you are Marrget. You still call me master even though you have bested me a hundred times in sword practice. Always the polite lad-"

He stopped, coloring under his tan, but Marrget pretended not to hear the reference. She took his hand. "I am pleased to see you again, my teacher. I regret that we seem to have come in tune of loss."

"Aye . . . Marrget. Loss it was." Hahle peered at her, searching for the gray-eyed boy he had known.

He gave up. "Come in, all of you. Let us do you what honor we can."

There were at least fifty men behind the earthworks, armed and ready to repulse an attack. Many of them bore scars, as of acid burns, on their arms and faces. Several joined Hahle to lead the travelers up the street as Marrget performed introductions.

Hahle bowed deeply to Alouzon. "I have heard of your valor, lady," he said. "You saved our land."

Alouzon wondered. Saved it? Or had she merely prolonged its existence so as to subject it to a slow, torturous death? She did not know, could not say anything about it. "I had lots of help, Hahle."

Marrget hesitated when she came to Manda, for the maid's seemingly unprovoked anger had, if anything, increased over time. She would not even look at Marrget, and she acknowledged the introduction with a curt nod.

And when she reached Kyria, Marrget hesitated again. Kyria had virtually withdrawn from the company, and presenting her as a sorceress would only arouse vain hopes.

Hahle looked at Kyria, eyebrow lifted. She glared back with hostility.

"She is a noble lady of wisdom who travels with us," said Marrget.

Even Kyria blinked. Given the sentiments she had expressed about the First Wartroop, the description was over-generous.

"I bid you all welcome," said Hahle. "Since yesterday, food is scarce, as are lodgings, but you may stay in my own house until the council can provide for your comfort and aid.''

His eyebrow lifted again, inquiring as to the aid they sought, but Marrget had a question of her own. ' 'What happened, master? It looks as though we should be the ones bestowing aid."

"The last weeks have been difficult." Hahle's voice was as blunt as the rest of him, and he told his story without frills or ornament.

Up until Midwinter, the town's existence had been relatively uneventful. But with the turning of the year had come nocturnal visits from things that had snuffled about the houses at night, bayed in the darkness, and left behind puddles of corrosive slime. There had been no direct assaults on either people or property, but a man who had gone out to see what so disturbed the town had been found the next morning without a face.

Quay had slowly turned into a town under siege from unknown entities, but yesterday had brought an indescribable attack in broad daylight. There had been explosions and fire, and houses had collapsed, burying their occupants in stone and burning timber.

"There was roaring in the sky, and things that flew like birds, but which were not birds," Hahle said. "Those within doors died in the falling rubble; those without were covered with fire and torn to pieces by weapons that I do not understand. Perhaps a sorcerer might have knowledge of such things." He looked at Helwych, but the lad could only put on a grave face and appear thoughtful.

Kyria shifted uneasily.

They passed a burned-out section, and Hahle indicated the shattered ruins. "This was the house of Nallren, the leatherworker, and his family. Seven children, four of them sons. His daughters were strong and brave." He nodded to Marrget. "The king would have liked that. But they are all dead. I tried to rescue them, but though I could hear them screaming, the flames were too thick."

"Kids ..." Kyria looked bleak.

Again, Alouzon wanted to crawl away and be sick, but she knew that no simple physical release could cleanse her.

"We buried the dead yesterday," Hahle continued. "Today was spent in council and in tending the wounded."

"You ..." Kyria was staring fixedly, struggling with herself. "You have wounded?"

"Aye, lady."

"Children?"

"Many."

Despair crossed the sorceress's face. She spoke quickly, as though afraid that the words would flee if she did not utter them. "I can heal," she said. "Take me to them."

Alouzon touched her arm. "Kyria."

"Leave me alone, dammit. I'm screwed up enough by all of this. I don't need two of you meddling now."

Alouzon did not understand. Two?

"You do us honor, lady," said one of the guards.

"Just take me to them."

Hahle motioned to the man who had spoken. "Show her the way, Myylen."

Kyria dismounted and handed the bridle of her horse to Hahle. "Her name is Grayflank," she said simply. Myylen set off, and she followed, but she paused at a corner. "Kids," she said to them. "Kids again." She went off after her guide, then turned once more. ' 'Why is it always the goddam kids?" Her voice was half strangled, and her hand was white on the pale wood of her staff as she followed Myylen around the corner.

Hahle's house was large and relatively undamaged. Nonetheless, a section of wall that faced away from the street was pocked with bullet holes, and the west front showed signs of a desperate struggle to stem a fire.

"I regret that my home is so comfortless," he said, showing them in. "My wife is tending the wounded, and life in general has turned hard."

"We can fend for ourselves, master," said Marrget. "I lived here when I apprenticed with you. I know where everything is."

"Aye . . . aye ..." Hahle stared at her again. "You slept up in the loft. Such a strong lad you were."

"A strong woman, now, master."

He seemed sad. "Aye."

Despite the long journey, Manda and Wykla insisted that they be allowed to help at the infirmaries, and Hahle-obviously chagrined that guests should con- sider themselves forced into even voluntary labor-sent them off with a guide.

Helwych insisted that he go also. Alouzon was reluctant to let him out of her sight, but Karthin gave her a wink and accompanied him. Santhe and his men left to examine the damage that had been done to the town, and Marrget went to see to the horses.

Alouzon was sitting on a low stool before the fire-less hearth, her face in her hands. She heard her host approach. "We have a guest room, Dragonmaster. I respectfully offer it to you."

She looked up from thoughts of napalm and twenty-millimeter bullets. "Thanks, Hahle. I appreciate it."

"There is no food for the time. May I offer you drink?"

"Uh . . . yeah. Cyanide, if you've got any."

"My lady, there is beer."

She shook her head. "That's OK, Hahle. Thanks just the same."

He watched her for a few moments, as though trying to decipher both her language and her mood, then bowed slightly and departed.

Wearily, she unfastened her armor and dropped it to the floor, leaned her sword against the wall. It was a relief not to feel the weight of either, and she wished that she could put off her guilts as easily.

A step at the door. Marrget entered. "The horses are provided for, Alouzon."

Hahle's words and Manda's manner had both told on Marrget. There was an uneasy look in her eye, and she glanced about the house as though afraid that, here on the coast, in a conservative town that held itself aloof from Cvinthil's reforms, the former lot of Gryylthan women might somehow overtake her.