Dragon Sword Series - Dragon Sword Part 37

"It would indeed."

Something was approaching along the Avenue. Darham did not have to look to know that it was the Tree. The cursed thing radiated unhealth like a fire radiated heat, and he could have had his head in a sack and still told of its pa.s.sage.

When Tireas had first brought the Tree out of the Heath, he had been able to govern it, and though it had been a terrifying ent.i.ty, Darham had been able to find nothing in its presence or use to which he could object. But since the transformation of the First Wartroop and the wholesale slaughter of the forces of Gryylth, it had acquired an aura of pain and disease that filled him with revulsion. Tireas, he was sure, was no longer quite sane. That Tarwach still condoned the use of such a deadly thing indicated only that the war had degenerated to depths that Darham was afraid to contemplate.

/ would rather have all of Vorya 's land in ruins than allow one child ofCorrin to cry for a mouthful of bread, Tarwach had said. Judging from the slaughter and the whirlwind of darkness that rose up from the Tree, Tarwach might get his ruins. And Darham feared greatly that, in the end, there would be neither bread nor children to cry for it.

The Tree pa.s.sed, swaying bulbously in its cart. Karthin 326.

watched. "The d.a.m.ned thing," he said. "Have the people of Gryylth and Corrin not suffered enough? It is time to end all of this."

"The wheat, Karthin ..." Darham shrugged helplessly. Maybe he was indeed getting old. There did not seem to be much that he could do.

"We could share, Gryylth and Corrin both. I am a farmer: I know my kine and my crops. It would be a hard winter, but we could all live."

Horn calls went up, and both men could see Tarwach gesturing the phalanxes back. Tireas had taken up a position a short distance from the Heel Stone and was squaring off against Mernyl.

"This is madness, lord. Utter madness." Karthin stood up, lifted a hand to Marrget. "I would be your friend, Gryylthan!" he called, though the distance was too great for her to hear him.

Dervyhl pushed him gently back into his seat. "Captain, your side will not stand it."

"I am not a captain. I-"

Darham interrupted. "You are now, man of Rutupia. From this moment, I name you a captain of Corrin. We will fight together, no?"

Dervyhl scowled. "Fighting? I said-"

Karthin waved aside the physician's protest. "Perhaps the time has come to fight with words rather than swords," he said. He leaned over to Darham and took his hand. "You do me great honor, my lord."

"None that is not deserved, captain."

The phalanxes were still retreating, and Tireas waited beside the Tree. A shaft of sunlight fell on the women of the wartroop. The amber-haired girl was there, and, beside her, Marrget stood straight and slender. She regarded the sorcerer defiantly, as though daring him to smite her again.

"Tell me." Darham pointed at her. "What would you do if you were her friend?"

Karthin was submitting to Dervyhl's ministrations. He looked up, watched Marrget. "I would . . ."He mused 327.

for a time. "I am a rude farmer. I do not know the niceties of heroes. Perhaps I would bring her flowers."

"Flowers?"

"In hopes of a better time," he said. "Besides ..." Marrget's sword flashed as she brandished it at the Tree. "She looks as though she could use some."

Hovering by necessity between the mundane world and the magical, half in and half out of his body, Mernyl saw the Tree not as a ligneous growth in a wain, nor as the genesis of Tireas's conjuration. He was confronted instead with a staring eye of transformation, a maelstrom of ravening change. Wheels within wheels, starbursts of rank growth, a gaping mouth of b.l.o.o.d.y wounds, it rose up before him, wrapping carrion wings about the world, an embodiment of elemental force.

Even the great stone beside him was dwarfed by the t.i.tanic energies that were poised like a wave about to break. Mernyl felt isolated, alone, and the Circle, though linked with him along the Avenue, seemed altogether too distant, too remote to be of any help.

But that, he knew, was an illusion. The Circle was itself an elemental manifestation, and it stood behind him as a champion might bolster an embattled retainer. Mentally, he reached back to it, was received with an embrace that thrust into perspective the snarling images of the Tree, and was folded into arms that could have encircled the Universe.

Mernyl tightened his grip on his staff, and watched as the Corrinian sorcerer placed his hands on one half of the cosmos. The world rippled as though it were a layer of moss upon an unquiet lake, and though he knew full well that such a course would, in the end, prove futile, Mernyl fought to stabilize it with the Circle.

At one time, Tireas might have known of the insub-stantiality of Gryylth, but his present actions indicated that he had forgotten. The Tree was perfectly capable of generating energies that would destroy everything, even if the Circle negated them. The negation itself would be the end.

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There was one hope: Suzanne h.e.l.ling. Stripped of the heroic guise that had been thrust upon her, it was the quiet, sorrowing student who held the world in her hands. Dythragor had thrown his Guardianship to the winds and left the great magics to battle to utter destruction. But if Suzanne took the Guardianship onto herself, a different set of archetypes could come into existence; and as she was conscious of their origin, she had some hope of reconciling them. Suzanne could be healed. Gryylth could be healed.

It was an urgent need, but one that lay still in the future. Beyond her hazy knowledge of the Grail, Suzanne was not even yet conscious of what she had to do, and he had been unwilling to confront her with the truth. All he could do was give her as much of a future as possible to find within herself the affections and the loyalty that had been so deeply buried on a May morning in Kent. She had made progress already. He could hope.

To all the G.o.ds that are. To whatever G.o.ds might hear.

Mernyl did not know what G.o.ds there might be, but he knew compa.s.sion. Perhaps that was enough.

"May you find the Grail, Suzanne," he whispered. "For your sake, and that of my world."

Lifting his staff, he locked the Circle and the tree in combat.

As Tireas continued his conjuration, his white head bent close to the glowing trunk of the Tree, Alouzon felt fear enveloping the Gryylthan forces like a killing frost. Even Vorya had stiffened, and the old king stared at the Tree as though expecting at any moment to feel its magic burrow into his flesh and blood.

Alouzon grabbed him roughly and shook him. "Vorya!"

He seemed to fight his way out of a trance and shook his head as though to clear it. But his face was still tight. "Whatever fate comes in battle is an honorable one," he murmured.

Motion to the right of the Avenue: the First Wartroop was in action. Marrget called several women to her side, .

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instructed them with quick words and gestures, and sent them running to the rear. Wykla was among those sent, and her hair streamed out behind like an amber ori-flamme. In a moment, she and the others had disappeared around the far side of the Circle.

There was a soundless flash of lurid light, and the defenders dropped behind the embankment as a crimson tide swept out from the Tree like a surging breaker. Mer-nyl's hemisphere was under attack, its colors shifting as the Tree fastened upon them and forced them toward blue and violet, invisibility and destruction.

The Corrinians had either pushed their way back to their fellows or had thrown themselves face down on the ground like cast-off pieces of statuary. Between the Tree and the Circle seemed to be a no-man's-land of trampled gra.s.s, still forms, and seething crimson light. On the rise, the ma.s.sed phalanxes were watching. It was an oddly silent scene--only a single, choking cry went up from one of the King's Guard.

"No . . . no ... no . . ."

Alouzon turned on him, nearly cuffed him. "Shut up, you idiot, or I'll do the f.u.c.king job myself."

That silenced him. She heard the sound of cantering horses and saw that Wykla and the other women were returning to the front with the wartroop's mounts. They were spirited animals, and they did not shy at being led toward the conflict. They seemed almost eager.

Memyl counterattacked, sending a sheet of fire up between himself and the Tree. The shaft of radiance connecting him with the Circle flared as the color shift was put to flight. The hemisphere shone pure once more.

The red flood swelled and the fire grew to combat it, but, as the battle went on, Alouzon realized that Tireas's flood and Mernyl's fire were only a side effect of something much bigger. Transparent yet palpable, insubstantial yet ponderous, the conflict grew-ma.s.sless, ephemeral, immeasurably potent-neither side giving or yielding, the sorcerers' wills stretched as taut as a spring at the breaking point.

With a crack that echoed off the standing monoliths of 330.

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the Circle, the Heel Stone suddenly split from top to bottom and fell back as though shoved by a giant hand. Hot, searing wind blasted across the open s.p.a.ce between the two armies, and Memyl's defenses crumbled as Tireas's flood rose into the sky and turned once again to darkness.

As Alouzon watched, aghast, Mernyl lost his footing and fell, tumbling over and over. Tireas kept his hands on the Tree, summoning whatever might he needed to destroy his rival.

Marrget's voice rang out: "Mount! And forward!"

Mernyl's wall had been broken along with his personal defenses, and the phalanxes were rising, forming, surging toward the Circle. But Marrget and the wartroop were horsed, and even now they were charging over the embankment, across the ditch, making straight for the fallen sorcerer. The captain was leading, her sword high. Relys was close behind. So was Wykla.

Vorya stood up. "To battle!"

But the Corrinians were coming in force, Gryylth's defenses were gone, and Mernyl might be dead. Nothing was left but for the phalanxes to roll over the Circle and take it for their own. Above all was the whirlwind of darkness, an obscene stain against the blue sky, growing ever larger and gusting toward the horizon like a storm.

But there was another motion in the sky, too. Off to the north, a black speck had appeared in the blue, and Alouzon thought that she recognized it. Torn between it and the sight of the advancing phalanxes, she at last forced herself to watch until she saw that it was driving toward the Circle at great speed. It seemed to flutter, as with the beating of wings.

"Silbakor!"

I come.

Marrget and the wartroop had already engaged the advance line of Corrinians, which was trying to encircle the sorcerer. Mernyl was not dead, it appeared. In fact, he was trying to crawl towards the Circle, his clothing tattered and his face creased with pain.

A pikeman broke through Marrget's defense, but Mernyl had seemingly lost patience: the man was driven back by a blast of green fire. Another group attempted to interpose themselves between him and the wartroop, but when the sorcerer slashed at two with his staff, sparks coruscated the length of the white wood, and the men crumbled into black ash.

The rest hesitated and drew back instinctively. Marrget sent her horse leaping to the side of the sorcerer, reached down, and dragged him up behind her.

Silbakor was by now a distinct presence in the sky, but the Corrinians had not noticed it: their attention was on Mernyl and Marrget. The captain was slowly working her way back to the Circle with her pa.s.senger, and though the attacking phalanx sought to prevent their return, the women surrounded their captain and kept her and the sorcerer from the pikes and swords.

But they were running into difficulties. With an unhealthy sheen that itself was enough to make the war-troop's horses shy, the ground began to shift beneath their hooves, and they threatened to bolt. The firm hands of the women kept their mounts steady, but forward progress became impossible, and more Corrinians were surrounding them.

A phalanx had reached the embankment, and several ran at Alouzon. She dropped them with her eyes still on the wartroop and the Tree. Tireas could not attack directly without killing his own men, but he knew how to be subtle: slowly and methodically, he was penning the women, keeping them from escape. The soldiers could handle the rest.

But, deep in his trance, the Corrinian sorcerer could not but be startled when Silbakor blazed down out of the sky. Leveling out fifteen feet from the ground, the Dragon streaked over the Tree like a precision bomber, its turbulence raising dust, throwing Tireas to the ground, and nearly toppling the wagon.

As quick as the shadow of-a bird, the Dragon was gone. It roared over the Circle and swept out to the south, its wing beats strong and sure as it gained alt.i.tude. Its pa.s.sage had been sudden and unexpected, and the Corrinian host was thrown into disarray, the phalanxes fragmenting 332.

as the disruption of Tireas's working sent a noticeable shudder through the fabric of the world.

Marrget, though, was acting, using the lull in the fighting to force her way back to the Circle, leaving behind a wake of confused and bleeding soldiers. The phalanxes were too shattered to follow: Silbakor's strafing run had hit the key point in the offensive.

The speed of the Dragon was such that some time pa.s.sed before it could swing around to begin another attack, and it was not yet done when Marrget brought Mer-nyl to the king. The sorcerer was shaken, and his forehead was bruised and cut. Blood turned the dust on his face into black mud.

"I was a fool, my liege," he said. "An utter fool. To attempt to fight the Tree at such a distance from the Circle ... It is fortunate that we were not all killed."

Marrget looked at him over her shoulder. "You will fight from the Circle then?''

"It is the only way." His bruises were swelling, and his hands shook so that he could barely hold on to his staff.

Above, Silbakor had aligned itself and was beginning another run. The Corrinians had retreated in the face of the added threat, and even Tarwach was hesitating. While his men stood about in clumps, their eyes on the Dragon, the Corrinian king conferred with his brother and another big man, arguing loudly when they seemed to disagree with what he said.

Tireas appeared to be judging how best to deal with his new adversary. Putting his hands on the Tree again, he sent a lance of light darting up toward the Dragon. It had no effect. As Silbakor began to descend, Tireas considered, then summoned up a black gyre of force from the tree.

In another minute, Tarwach was shouting orders, and the phalanxes were reforming. This time, without the distractions of sorcerers in conflict, the battle would be straightforward, sword to sword and spear to spear.

"They seek our deaths," said Vorya. "I cannot say but that, were I in their position, I would do no different.

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A pity we must fight. I have always thought of the Dre-mords as cowards and barbarians, but I see now that they are no worse than those who have sought to ... exterminate them."

'.'Stupid war." Alouzon's words were replete with contempt.

"Aye, Dragonmaster. And stupid men fight it. But there is no escaping it."

The phalanxes were advancing swiftly. "My lady," came a soft voice, "Wykla of b.u.mwood asks leave to fight beside you." The young woman's sword was b.l.o.o.d.y, and the knuckles of her left fist were bruised and bleeding.

"You OK?"

"I fight for you, my lady."

Mernyl touched Marrget's shoulder, "Get me to the Circle, captain." His weakness was such that he nearly fell when she tugged at the reins, and he had one moment in which to nod to Alouzon. "Farewell, Dragonmaster. Remember me."

His tone struck her cold. He was going to die. He knew it. She knew it. She took a step after him, stopped, sickness rising in her belly.

Relys was shouting. "First Wartroop to the Avenue. Wykla, Marrget gave you leave to stay with the Dragon-master. Alouzon ..."

She looked up at her name. Relys smiled as best she could out of her hard face and lifted her sword.

"Hail, Dragonmaster," she said. She was away then, leading the Troop.

Something large and heavy nudged her, and she found that Jia was nuzzling at her arm. She took his bridle from the man who had brought him, stroked his head for a moment, then swung into the saddle. "Wykla," she said. "I'm afraid we're going to buy it."

Wykla said nothing and remounted her own horse. Her eyes told Alouzon that, having fought herself for two days, battle against five-to-one odds was nothing.

High to the northeast, Silbakor folded its wings and blasted directly into the heart of the black gyre. There 334.

was a brittle, crackling sound, as of meat burning, but the Dragon forged on, battling up the stream of unlight. Its pa.s.sionless eyes glowed through the murk, and Tireas looked up and froze as he realized that it was not going to stop.

Relys's party joined Marrget and the rest of the war-troop at the intersection of the bank and the Avenue. With the phalanxes less than fifty yards away, Marrget led the women forward in a charge, attempting to split the attack.

Silbakor, wings spread just enough to give control, once more streaked over the Tree like a black bullet. The gyre snuffed out, the wagon toppled, and the Tree went down.

As the sky suddenly brightened, someone in the phalanxes looked back, and his open-mouthed fear communicated itself to his companions. The attack wavered. The second's pause gave Marrget and her women the purchase they needed, and the wartroop plowed into the phalanxes, scattering men and weapons. On the other side of the Avenue, Santhe led a charge with the Second War-troop, and the Corrinian advance ground to a confused, gloomy halt.

A low, throbbing hum arose from the Circle, as though a large generator had been switched on. Alouzon looked back to see a blue iridescence creep up the stones. The monument shimmered slightly as though half-slipping into another dimension, then solidified.

"We strike now," said Vorya suddenly. "Disorganized, they will retreat. Are you with us, Dragonmaster?"

It was Bandon all over again. Dragged away from her normal life, she had been thrown into a uniform, issued a lethal weapon, and placed in a hostile environment. Like the Guardsmen who had shot down her cla.s.smates, she was surprised at what she would do under such circ.u.mstances.