"This cannot continue," said Pellam when she had finished. "Therefore I have given orders that earthworks and palisades be erected, encircling the city from north coast to south."

Orlen spoke. "My king," he said dully, "Armaeg did that thing months ago, to no avail."

"Speak, then, sir," said Pellam. "The hounds and Grayfaces have made news of the distant parts of my land hard to come by. I am shamed by my ignorance of what passes in my realm." But he set his face as though preparing for a tale worse than that which had gone before.

Orlen's voice was a monotone. Faced with ditches and fences, he explained, those who besieged Armaeg had taken to the air. Burnings and explosions were now a common occurrence each night, and the last state of Armaeg was far worse than the first.

"Only the hardiest now look for the bodies of the slain," said the dark man, "for they are a terrible sight. Some of the women the Grayfaces take for sport, and they cry out through the night. Our magistrate and healer are ill from overwork, but there is little that they can do. I have come to ask for aid, if there is any aid that can be given, but I perceive that those of the great cities are as helpless as ..." He broke off, despair overwhelming him.

Helpless. Surely, thought Dindrane, Orlen spoke accurately. Bit by bit, Vaylle was being devoured by an implacable enemy who knew nothing of reason or mercy. And even if the people of Vaylle could bring themselves to strike a blow in return, what good would it do? At present, death would at least bring the Goddess and the God, and rest in the Far Lands, and rebirth. Killing would end even that, and the forces of Broceliande, the land beyond the Cordillera, would triumph in a wasteland that would be at once physical and spiritual.

Footsteps in the outer court: light, quick. A young girl wearing the tunic and trews of a boy ran into the hall, her blond braids dancing. "Father! Father! A kelp fisher from Daelin is here! He says that there is a boat coming from pryylth!''

Hard behind her was the man: tall, lanky, his hair bleached almost white by the sun. At the sight of the king and the great hall, he stopped, pulled his cap from his head, and found himself speechless.

"This is so?" Pellam said to him.

The man bowed deeply and bobbed his head.

Dindrane's heart caught. From Gryylth. And the flying thing had not returned. Evil news either way.

The girl ran to Pellam and leaped into his lap. "He told me all about it, father. The boat is still some leagues offshore, but there is a strong wind, and it will arrive by afternoon."

"And what of the sailors in this boat, sir?" said Pellam to the fisher. "Come they in peace?"

The man found his voice at last. "My king ... I saw swords . . . and armor ..."

Dindrane went to him and embraced him solemnly. "Our thanks for this news, friend." But when she turned back, her face was as drawn as that of the man of Armaeg. "My king," she said, "I know my duty. I will go with Baares and meet these people, be they good or ill."

Pellam shook his head, his arms wrapped about his daughter as though to shield her. "They might kill you both."

"Then the blood is on their hands, not ours," she said. "Should they come to attack Vaylle, though, they can do no better than to kill me first, for I am Vaylle. Should they desire to break our spirits, why then they should start with Baares, for he is the soul of my flesh, and the spirit of the land. Should they come as friends, well ..."

She shrugged. Swords. And armor. What kind of friends could they be?

"Take with you also the wise, the learned, and the skilled," said Pellam. "I would have the Gryylthans see us as we are. They might slaughter us, true, but they will know who it is that they slaughter, and perhaps by our deaths we might bring to them some knowledge of the sanctity of life. So the God teaches us: so we will, in return, teach others."

"My king is wise," said Dindrane softly. "It shall be done." She turned to the fisherman. "The Goddess bless you, sir. Will you take now the role of the God and guide us into the dark lands?"

The fisherman nodded and set off as though glad to be away from such frightful grandeur as that of the King's House. Clutching her staff, Dindrane followed.

The vessel that Hahle provided was more a barge than a boat, and though it was capable of holding ten people and their horses, it was not designed for sea travel. Nonetheless, Kyria was now as driven by the prospect of finding Solomon as Alouzon was by the Grail, and she insisted upon an immediate departure.

It was a long crossing. Up the coast first, skirting the rocky shores of western Gryylth, and then out across the open ocean. The weather was fair-Kyria saw to that-and Helwych knew enough magic to keep a fresh breeze in the sails; but darkness found the party floating midway between land and land, and in this indeterminate condition they spent the night, holding a course to the northwest and soothing the nervous horses in shifts.

Kyria kept to herself, using just enough magic to keep the sea calm and the sky clear. Still, her spines had been somewhat blunted over the last few days, and she spoke civilly to Marrget and Wykla, and even found it in herself to thank them for their help and efforts in the aftermath of the attack on Quay.

Marrget, though, had no such luck with Manda. Indeed, the Corrinian hardly spoke to her. Alouzon had to admit that Manda's rage, though futile, was justified, and even Marrget seemed to agree, for the captain had withdrawn into contemplative solitude, eschewing at times even Karthin's company.

On the second day, Vaylle was a winter-pale presence lying across the western horizon. The party members saw farmland and the faint tracks of stone walls and roads. Farther inland were mountains that looked as though they surely must touch the sky-elfin pinnacles and craggy peaks and cliffs-but on the coast were towns and cities and the obvious handiwork of men and women.

"It doesn't look that bad," said Alouzon.

Kyria grimaced. "Sol didn't look that bad."

The barge drove onward, forging through the waves. Swift sails appeared in the distance, tacked for a better view, then fled back toward the coast. "So much for secrecy,'' said Alouzon.

"I can handle it," said Kyria bluntly. "They try anything, I'll blast them like I did that jet."

His strong hand on the rudder, Parl tipped his head back and checked the position of the sun. "It will be afternoon before we land," he said simply.

"They've seen us, Parl."

"True," he said quietly, "and we have seen them." With his free hand, he pulled his long knife and checked its edge.

Alouzon would have preferred an isolated landing, but towns and villages spotted the Vayllen coast. Parl and Birk piloted the barge some distance northward, but they found nothing better than a short stretch of beach that lay within the lee of a rocky promontory. "If we continue, night will find us still on the water," observed Santhe. "And the wind may push us ashore."

Alouzon cocked a thumb over her shoulder. "How are the horses?''

Santhe grinned. "As nervous as their riders, Dragonmaster."

She nodded. "Then let's go for it. Battle stations, everyone. Parl, Birk: take us in."

As they approached, Alouzon was again struck by Vaylle's apparent innocence. White sand gave way to thick grass, and then trees and bushes rose up, sparkling with the buds of early spring. Crocuses and optimistic hyacinths and daffodils unfurled at the base of gray and brown trunks, and the sea breeze fluttered blossoms in a shimmer of color and movement.

This was Vaylle, her own land. Regardless of the horrors that might lurk in its depths, Alouzon found herself responding instinctively to the beauty and tranquillity of what she had created. Perhaps, then, she had not done such a bad job after all. Perhaps there was hope.

Within the promontory the bay was quiet, the waves rolling in smooth as oil. Parl and Birk heaved on the rudder together, asking for changes of sail in monosyllables. The barge turned clumsily toward the shore, picked up speed, and then crunched to a stop on the gently shelving beach.

Santhe nodded, and his men let go of the rudder and hit the sand with swords unsheathed and ready. In moments, they had vanished into the tree line, and there came the sound of a shrill whistle.

Santhe lifted his head. The whistle was repeated. "That is Birk," said the councilor. "There are people coming."

Staff in hand, Kyria dropped off the bow of the boat and, holding her skirts up, waded to shore. Manda and Wykla were not far behind. Escorted by the warriors, the sorceress crossed the beach, her staff a shaft of violet. If violence were offered, Kyria would strike the first-and final-blow.

Marrget, Karthin, and Helwych were struggling with the horses and packs, and Santhe and Alouzon ran to help them. "Can we depend on Kyria?" said Santhe.

Alouzon grabbed Jia's halter and led him down the ramp. "She's scared of that staff. But I think she means business."

Her land: her people. What would they be like? Alouzon suddenly felt fiercely protective toward beings she had never met, and the thought of battle was an icy hand on her heart.

She brought Grayflank off the boat. There was no sign of the warriors or the sorceress. "How long do we have?"

Another whistle, shriller than before, repeated more quickly. "Long enough to saddle the horses, I think," said Santhe. His eyes were bright, but his humor was edging slowly toward calculation. Alouzon had seen it before: for all his laughter, Santhe was a deadly presence in a fight.

Alouzon was reaching out to Jia and Grayflank soothingly, reassuring the beasts that dry land was once again beneath their hooves, but the thought of the hair-trigger lethality of her companions made her queasy. "Santhe," she said quickly. "We won't attack unless it's necessary. It's got to be that way.''

The councilor looked mildly shocked. "My lady Alouzon, we are warriors. We do not act without reason."

"Just wait for a little better reason than usual, OK?"

Santhe furrowed his brow. "As you wish, Dragon-master."

Manda, Wykla, and Kyria appeared then, running back to the barge. "About fifty," called Wykla. "On horses."

Marrget gestured for Wykla to saddle her horse and handed Manda her harness without comment. "Armed?"

"I did not see arms, my captain. But a woman among them carries a staff."

To Wykla, Alouzon realized, a staff could be any- thing from a dry stick to an M-16 automatic rifle. "Kyria?"

The sorceress shrugged. "It looked like a staff. I'm not taking any chances, though. If the bitch moves, she's dead."

"Kyria, please be careful."

"Honey, I intend to survive this welcoming committee."

Her stomach twisting, Alouzon mounted Jia, waited for the others to ready themselves, and then gave the signal to move out.

They did not have far to go. Despite the deserted appearance that the area presented from shore, there was a road just on the other side of the line of trees, and a short distance away, whitewashed huts and houses gleamed in the afternoon sun. The village folk were keeping indoors, though, and the only people to be seen were those in the party that had been sighted by Santhe's men.

The Vayllens advanced cautiously down the road. Most were blond and fair, but there was a sprinkling of redheads and brunettes, and the party was made up equally of men and women arrayed in silks and linens of many colors, their clothing and persons ornamented with jewelry that Alouzon recognized as being of fifth-century Celtic design. The woman who held a staff was riding in the lead, her head uncovered and her hair shining in the sun. She was small, pretty, even winsome; but she carried herself with an air of authority, and there was a torque of gold about her neck.

No one looked particularly threatening. The large man beside the staff-bearer, in fact, carried a harp.

Alouzon and Kyria brought their horses to a stop and waited side by side. Loath as she was to contemplate violence, Alouzon moved her hand to cover the Dragonsword. Kyria's staff was a lethal, violet glow.

Marrget trotted forward with Karthin and positioned herself next to Alouzon. Her gray eyes were narrowed. She examined the Vayllen party with suspicion.

"What do you make of it, Marrget?" said Alouzon.

"No arms, no armor," Marrget mused. "And harpers and-I would guess-poets, and learned men and wise women. Cvinthil might greet Darham in such a fashion, but to meet strangers whose purpose is unknown without any display of strength seems to me to be the action of a fool."

"Blondie there has a staff," said Kyria.

"Aye. I do not understand this."

' 'It's a trap,'' said the sorceress. She let her staff tip forward until it was leveled at the Vayllens.

"No, Kyria," said Alouzon, quickly. "Don't. It's too easy. Any place with jet fighters doesn't have to worry about traps."

The sorceress did not look convinced. Her staff shaded into the ultraviolet sheen that Alouzon had seen before. "Just try it, bitch," she muttered.

"Dammit, Kyria ..."

"Alouzon," said Marrget softly, "we do not know them, and Gryylth has suffered mightily."

The blond woman gestured for her party to halt, then rode forward alone. Twenty feet from Alouzon, she reined in and, drawing herself up, nodded gracefully to the Gryylthans. "In the name of King Pellam," she said, her voice high and clear, "I greet you. I am Dindrane, magistrate of Lachrae and chief priestess of Vaylle. Come you in friendship, or in enmity?"

Alouzon looked at Kyria. "Will you quit playing Dirty Harry with that staff? She's a woman, a magistrate, and a priestess to boot. What more do you want?"

Kyria tightened her grip. "I got fooled before. I want to see what she really is."

Dindrane was waiting patiently. The man with the harp rode up to join her, but Dindrane shook her head. "Do not, Baares," she said softly. "Flesh feels the blow first." He nodded unwillingly and remained a half-length behind her. She met Alouzon's gaze. " 'Tis the favor of a reply I would beg of you. Are you friends, or enemies?"

"That ... uh ... depends. . . ."Alouzon was taken aback. These were not monsters or savages: they were people. Her own people. In fact, regardless of her caution, she felt her loyalties shifting rapidly toward them.

Dindrane waited patiently. Her staff was of white wood, but it did not glow like Kyria's. It might have been a symbol of rank and no more. Alouzon hoped that that was indeed the case: Kyria was a frightened child with an atomic bomb.

Marrget spoke. "It depends upon your intentions toward us, my lady. Should you offer us welcome, you will find us the fastest of friends. But if you attempt to harm us, you will fall to our swords."

The captain's words were no more and no less than the greeting of a cautious emissary, but Dindrane paled and glanced to the sky. "O Great Lady," she said. "That friendship and swords should be presented as one." With an effort, she forced herself to nod to Marrget. "We mean you no harm, lady." She suddenly looked more carefully at the captain and seemed faintly horrified. "Forgive me, mother," she stammered. "The Goddess . . . the Goddess bless your time."

Marrget looked puzzled. Alouzon put a hand on Kyria's shoulder. "I think they're OK."

"You're nuts. When do the jets get here?"

"I don't think these people have anything to do with the jets."

"Whose goddam side are you on, anyway?" The staff's light shifted further into invisibility as its power grew.

"Our side," Alouzon said urgently. She nudged Jia forward. "I'm Alouzon Dragonmaster, the leader of this expedition. I believe you."

Dindrane examined her for a moment. ' 'I wish that I could be reassured by your words, my lady," she said. "But your weapons speak as loudly as you."

"We're from Gryylth. Things are different there. I have to say I'm surprised that ..." Alouzon swept the Vayllens with her eyes. Not a sword, not a spear, hardly a knife was in evidence. "... that you're unarmed. ''

Dindrane looked stricken. ' 'What kind of people are you?"

Much as she instinctively loved these people, Alouzon found impatience creeping into her voice. "Dindrane, Gryylth has been attacked. The signs point to Vaylle. What do you expect from us?"

Dindrane met her gaze with blue eyes that did not flinch or falter. "Something other than death, Dragon-master. But so be it.'' Proudly, almost disdainfully, she lifted her staff. "In the name of the Goddess and-"

Alouzon heard Kyria's voice behind her. It hissed like a knife sliding from a sheath. "Nice try, little girl."

Energy crackled suddenly, and Alouzon whirled to see the staff's discharge leaping along its length, driving straight for Dindrane and her company. Desperate to protect, heedless of the consequences of the action, Alouzon threw up an arm and caught the tip of the staff, flinging it skyward just as the bolt of energy roared out in a torrent of death.

For an instant, Alouzon saw nothing but violet and darkness, the reified incandescence of the forces that made and unmade worlds. Her arm seemed immersed in a pool of molten steel that tipped suddenly and inundated her with white fire.

' 'Alouzon!'' Marrget threw herself at Alouzon so as to pull her away from the blast, but Alouzon was hardly aware of it. She felt herself falling, and she was only mildly surprised when the ground opened up and swallowed her in a darkness so profound that it did not allow for such meaningless questions as those of identity ... or of consciousness.

* CHAPTER 13 *

Stars. The chime of harpstrings played by an expert hand. Cool wind.

Alouzon turned away from all three and trudged slowly back into the safer realms of darkness into which she had fallen. Here in the shadows, the battles were all finished. Here there was peace-and a freedom that had eluded her in the course of a life of forced decisions.

"Alouzon Dragonmaster." The voice of a woman: soft, gentle, an embodiment of all that was feminine. Alouzon did not recognize it, and in any case, it called to her from the lands of life. She did not want life anymore. Much better to follow this path on down into the shadows. There was rest ahead.