"Have you seen anything like that before?"

"Ah ..." Dindrane and Baares exchanged looks. "Once."

Alouzon frowned. "About two weeks ago?"

"Indeed."

Something told Alouzon that Dindrane was not saying everything. "Did you see the Dragon and the Worm?" she demanded.

"We ..." Reluctantly, Dindrane nodded. "We did."

"They headed over the mountains, then."

"Surely."

The wind swept down from the west with an odor as of stagnant pools. Alouzon looked past the shamefaced Vayllens and caught Kyria's eye. The sorceress weighed her staff as though it were a revolver. "I will ..." She sucked in a breath and squared her shoulders. "I will do whatever I can."

They pressed on, but within a few minutes the wind was boiling dust and chaff into seething clouds of debris. Alouzon looked for shelter, but the land, gently rolling where it was not flat, offered none. "What do you people do in a windstorm?"

"We do not have windstorms," said Baares.

The clouds scudded across the sky, bringing a premature dusk. "Is there a village?" Alouzon persisted. "A stone wall?" Plainly worried about the effect of barbaric foreigners upon their people, Dindrane and Baares hesitated. "Is there a fucking ditch in this godforsaken land?"

Stung by the Dragonmaster's blasphemy, Dindrane thrust her doubts aside. "There is a village. Mullaen. It lies on the shore of Lake Innael."

"Will it hold up in this?"

Dindrane's eyes flashed. "It is built of stone, like all villages in Vaylle. We do not live in huts. And if the Goddess and God declare that it shall not stand, why then my husband and I shall die among our own people.''

With that, the priestess swatted her horse and galloped off down the road, Baares at her side. As though summoned, the party's mounts followed.

The clouds surged eastward. The light went from the sky, but the horses sped on; and Alouzon wondered by what powers Dindrane led the animals down the now invisible road, through a landscape enveloped in darkness, across bridges and fords that could only be felt. Regardless of her opinions, Dindrane was a holy woman-a priestess and a healer both-and she apparently had her methods.

Kyria had her own as well. Over the thunder that now cracked across the sky, Alouzon heard the sorceress utter a word of command, and light from her staff suddenly split the darkness.

Lapped about by absolute night, torn at by the shrieking wind, buffeted by the thunder that broke from the clouds, the company raced through a landscape of colorless grass and spectral trees that flickered briefly through Kyria's pool of light.

Just outside the illumination, though, something else flickered. A yellow glow was keeping pace with the company. Alouzon shivered. Of all the damned luck. . .

Dindrane led the way still, Baares at her side. Girlish she might have been, and with a deep femininity that was the product of religion and culture both, but she did not blench at galloping through a storm that seemed compounded of equal parts wind, cloud, and nightmare. As though to demonstrate that Vayllens possessed their own pride and courage, she forged ahead, staff lifted, hair streaming.

More flickers. Now to the left.

"Alouzon!" came Marrget's shout. "Hounds!"

"To both flanks," cried Karthin. "And behind. Santhe! Birk!"

The councilor and his man had already turned to meet the needle teeth and glowing jaws that were snapping at their horses. Their freshly enchanted blades bit deep, and there was no spurt of phosphor, but more hounds were coming.

Dindrane, riding pell-mell down the road, was unable to stop when one rose up directly before her. Her horse did not even have time to rear before it smacked directly into the glowing beast and sent the priestess sprawling onto the stone pavement. She rolled over twice and lay still. The hounds closed on her.

Alouzon swerved toward her. "Make a stand!" she shouted. "Kyria!"

The sorceress reined in, dismounted in a flutter of sable and silver, and grounded her staff. A sudden starburst drove the hounds back for a moment, but the concussion made Jia stumble. Alouzon swung to the ground at what was almost a full gallop and fought for her footing as Baares, still mounted, made for his wife. Again, Kyria supplemented her radiance with a burst of light, but the hounds were too close for anything more lethal. Nonetheless, their hesitation allowed the harper to leap down beside Dindrane's still form and seize her staff.

His face was crimson, and he came up with the staff just as a hound leaped for him. A dull crunch, and the beast rolled to the side, twitching.

Baares stared at the staff, at the dead hound . . .

Alouzon ran to help. Man, that's going to cost you.

Santhe and Birk had been joined by Wykla and Manda, and the four were covering the party's flanks. Marrget and Karthin were at the rear, and their blades rang together as they severed the head of an attacking hound with simultaneous strokes.

Perhaps a dozen or more of the beasts were milling at the sides of the road, rushing in singly or in small packs. Hacking her way toward Baares, Alouzon called encouragement to Kyria, who was looking increasingly frustrated. Hampered though the sorceress was, her illumination was a priceless gift, for without it the hounds would have had a clear and lethal advantage.

Baares was on his knees beside Dindrane. Another hound lunged for them, but it wound up spitted on the Dragons word. Alouzon threw the carcass aside with a heave of her shoulders. "Is she alive?"

"Oh, Goddess ..."

"Come out of it," she snapped. "Are we lighting for a corpse?"

He looked up, his eyes hot. "She lives."

A hound broke through Santhe's defense and made for Kyria, and darkness flooded the road as the sorceress turned her potencies on it. Violet erupted out of the pitch, and when the light returned, a pool of phosphor smoked at her feet.

But the other hounds had used the moment to their advantage. As though sensing Dindrane's wound, they began to congregate around Alouzon and Baares, swamping the Dragonmaster's defense.

"Grab that staff, Baares," Alouzon snapped.

The harper blinked at her, his face now as pale as that of the woman he held in his arms.

"You goddam peacenik freak, grab that staff!"

A shrill whistle sounded as Wykla summoned her horse. In a moment, she was astride. The animal leapt over the clusters of hounds, and, with a bound, cleared the ring of beasts about Alouzon and found its footing beside Baares.

The dogs attacked, and the horse reared and shattered the skull of one while Wykla's quick blade settled another. But while the enchanted sword stanched the flow of corrosive phosphor as it cut, the hooves of Wykla's mount were not so protected. The animal's face was suddenly covered with corrosives. With a sharp whinny of pain, it fell.

Wykla landed amid the hounds and rolled to her feet as they turned on her. One reached for her arm, but she killed it with a thrust between the eyes. Another closed on her from behind. She spun and nearly decapitated it.

Santhe battled his way toward her. His humor transformed now into ruthlessness, he kicked hounds aside as though they were puppies, and the muscles of his shoulders knotted as he swung his sword back and forth, straight into needle teeth and glowing eyes. Phosphor flowed, and the road turned slippery with unnatural viscera.

Motivated at last, Baares seized Dindrane's staff and tried to repeat his previous success. But whereas before his instincts and rage had guided his body, now his uncertainty had gained a foothold. Dithering over a place to strike, he was knocked down by a rushing hound. For a moment the beast straddled him, staring down into his eyes, and Alouzon was afraid that she was going to see the harper's throat ripped out. But the hound grinned and sprang instead for Dindrane, who lay unconscious and unguarded.

Alouzon reversed course. Wykla, though, sidestepped a lunge from one hound, launched herself over the back of another, and smashed her full weight into the ribs of the beast that was dipping its massive jaws toward the unconscious priestess.

The hound toppled sideways, snapping, and its teeth found Wykla's sword arm and bared the bone from elbow to shoulder. Dropping to her knees from the pain, Wykla stared at the wound, horrified, but she mastered her fear in a moment and calmly shifted her sword to her left hand as she rose to defend Dindrane.

Wheeling, the hound darted a bite at Wykla and managed to get past her blade. Wykla instinctively brought up her knee, slamming the glowing jaws shut as the hound's momentum carried it into her full-force and put her on the ground again.

Manda and Santhe had broken through, though they too were bleeding from bites that smoked and burned into their flesh. The Corrinian maid severed the spine of Wykla's assailant with a single blow.

Kyria was calling, her voice faint in the shrieking wind but loud in the minds of the party. Drive the hounds to one side.

With Dindrane and Wykla both unconscious and wounded, driving the hounds anywhere was an impossibility. But the pack had thinned to one side, and Alouzon pointed at the fallen women and swept her arm out toward the gap. Baares nodded and picked up his wife, and Manda gathered Wykla into her arms. As Alouzon and Santhe opened a gap in the hounds' ranks, Baares and Manda carried their lovers through. In a moment, the beasts milled in an isolated cluster. Kyria had her opportunity.

The sorceress's frustration found expression in an eruption of magic that knocked Alouzon flat and filled her vision with a coruscation of violet in all its permutations. The living light reached out to the hounds, enveloped and incinerated them. The stench of charred flesh and phosphor rose in a nauseating cloud, but the attack was over.

The wind swept the odor out into the darkness. Thunder sounded across the land from the upper reaches of the Cordillera. Staggering to her feet, Alouzon thought she saw lights moving among the distant peaks, but her immediate thoughts dragged her to Wykla. The girl lay in Manda's lap, soaking them both in a growing pool of blood.

Kyria's staff punched a hole through the cloud layer with a sharp crack. The afternoon sun spilled down, pale and watery, as she ran to help, and Manda looked up at her approach. "She is too brave, sometimes," she said hoarsely. "She would not be thought weak."

"Here, child," said Kyria, though her hands were shaking with strain. "Give her to me." Manda hesitated.

"Please, child. Quickly. Neither of us may have much time."

Reluctantly, Manda relinquished her wounded lover. Kyria sat down in the fading light, cradled Wykla in her arms, bent her head. "Oh, Gods," she murmured. "I am weary of this. Helen, stay your hand, I pray you."

She lifted her staff, and the glow that ran its length told of healing and strength. Manda watched anxiously, but Alouzon had turned to Dindrane and Baares. "Harper? How is she?"

"Unconscious," he said. "I do not know the depth of her wounds."

"Kyria will take care of her when she's done with Wykla. But-" She broke off and stared. "Marrget? Karthin? Birk?"

Tripping over severed limbs that still oozed a slime of phosphor, she stumbled back along the road. At the names, Santhe too had roused himself, and he followed after, his eyes mirroring fear.

The wind was dying, but the clouds were forcing their way back into the hole that Kyria had created. The shadows had closed in once again. "Here, friends." Marrget's voice came to them from the obscurity. Her face, even close up, was no more than a faint blur, but she reached a hand to them, and her grip was strong. Karthin was invisible, but his basso told of his presence.

' 'Birk.'' Santhe said the name as though he knew, and he sagged and put his bleeding hands to his face.

"He is with Parl, Santhe." Marrget said no more. Her sword still in her hand, she held the councilor as he sobbed. "Fear not, the Gods will hear his name, and he is at peace."

Santhe choked. "Did he die well, then?"

"Aye," said Marrget. "The dogs had surrounded me. He saved my life."

Santhe shook his head slowly. "He saved both your lives."

' 'But Karthin-'' Marrget understood and caught herself. Santhe was not referring to Karthin. She was silent for a minute. Finally: "If the child is a boy," she said, her voice a whisper, "I shall name him Birk."

More rumblings from the mountains. Lightning flickered from peak to peak. The lights Alouzon had seen were still moving, and they were drawing closer. Quickly.

Silbakor. The White Worm.

The Great Dragon was fleeing the opalescent talons of its foe, pausing in its flight only to turn its own claws on the pallid face behind it. Neither showed any visible wounds, nor did they seem wearied by a battle that had lasted for ten days and nights.

Alouzon leaned on her sword. Physical law did not show injury or fatigue either, no matter how much it was tattered by the workings of magic or despair. There was little difference.

The Dragon's voice thrummed in her head. Flee, Dragonmaster.

Flee? Flee where? "Dammit," said Alouzon, "I'm trying to fix this."

The Dragon streaked across the sky, looping back toward the mountains. The White Worm caught sight of the humans on the ground and started to dive, but Silbakor flung itself at the eyes of void and darkness. The Worm screamed and mounted upward.

You cannot fix it. Flee. Return to Gryylth.

"What about the Grail?"

Forget the Grail. Preserve your life. You are Gryylth-and Vaylle also. Your death is the death of all.

Alouzon was shouting. "Forget the Grail? Forget you, you son of a bitch. Whose side are you on, anyway?"

But Silbakor was already turning back toward the blackness that enveloped the Cordillera. The White Worm followed with pale wings and glowing talons.

* CHAPTER 19 *

They took what horses had been left alive by the hounds and, bearing their wounded and dead, rode for Mullaen under a sky streaked with black tendrils and patched with whorls of darkness. The sun was setting over the mountains in a crimson tide when they spied the town ahead, and by nightfall the horses' hooves were striking sparks on the cobbles of the town square as Baares shouted urgently for help.

Ceinen and Enite, the magistrate and priestess, could not but be startled by the mounted warriors who swept into town in the wake of a preternatural storm; but when they saw the wounds inflicted by the hounds, the unconscious forms of Dindrane and Wykla, and Birk's torn body, they did not concern themselves with questions of barbarity or nocturnal danger. Shouting for the townsfolk to come and help, they set about caring for their guests by the light of hastily kindled torches.

Kyria alone showed no wounds, but she was nonetheless in a bad way. Faced with both inner and outer battles, she had overextended herself even before she had turned her energies to healing. Slumped in the saddle, she watched as the priestess and warrior were carried into the magistrate's house by Baares and several men of the village, and when she slid from Gray-flank's back, she staggered and nearly fell.

Santhe dismounted and turned to help her, but she shoved him away with a snarl. "Get your goddam hands off me, man."

He dropped his arms, unruffled. He had seen this before. "Lady," he said gently, in spite of the wounds that, smoking and bleeding, covered his arms and legs, "I think you need rest."

Kyria shuddered. "I know I do, Santhe," she said, her voice softening. "Forgive me."

"Always." He smiled, took her willing hand, and caught her as her legs suddenly gave way beneath her. "Is there a bed for the lady Kyria?" he said to the Vayllens who had gathered. An elderly couple exchanged nervous glances, then nodded to him. He took her away to their house.

Enite had returned from ministering to Dindrane and Wykla, and she now set to work on the other members of the party. Wielding her healer's staff and her magic with the gruff efficiency of a peasant, she beckoned them to her one by one, closing and stanching their wounds. Under her hands, much of the phosphor melted into clear fluid, and at Alouzon's suggestion, the remainder was neutralized with vinegar.

"Where did you learn of this, Dragonmaster?" asked Ceinen as the dilute acid slowly turned the corrosives into water and assorted salts.

Alouzon shrugged, too worried about the others to care about her answer. Wykla, though healed, was still a mess: it had been necessary to cut the smoking armor from her body. Manda was frantic. Baares was useless for anything. And Marrget, pondering Santhe's words about Birk's motivations, had grown increasingly silent, her eyes those of a wild thing that had suddenly found itself caged.

"High school chemistry," she said simply.

Ceinen blinked and shook his head. "You are wise, Dragonmaster.''

She wanted to cry. "If I'm so smart, how come I'm so fucked up?"

Ceinen, as solid and bluff as his wife, ignored the despair in her voice, though his face said that he un- derstood it well. He rinsed the vinegar from her legs with fresh water. "Is it sleep you and yours will be wanting now?"

Though night had fallen like an anthracite wall, Alouzon still felt the presence of the Cordillera . . . and whatever lay beyond. Sleep, she decided, was a good idea. It was probably better to die well-rested. "Yeah. You got a pile of straw somewhere?"

Enite finished working on Santhe. Even though the night was cold, her brow was damp when she stood up. "Straw, she says? And is it barbarians you think we are that we would send you to sleep among the cattle?"

"Enite, my love," said Ceinen quickly, " 'tis in jest I am sure she spoke."