Dragon Sword Series - Dragon Sword Part 38

The Dragonsword was bright where it was not dripping. "I'm with you," she said. "Let's go."

With Wykla and a few others, they spurred down the bank and through the ditch. Sword up, power surging .

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through her like a dipper of molten steel, Alouzon closed on the flank of the Corrinian army. The faces of the men ahead blurred into a single hostile ent.i.ty, and she crashed through the lines.

Corrinians all around her. Swords and spears flashing.

So G.o.ddam many.

The Dragonsword moved her body like an intricate marionette, attacking, retreating, guiding Jia with knee pressure as though she had been born in the saddle. Dust went up, raised by scuffling feet and falling bodies, and her hand turned slimy with blood and brains.

Nearby, Wykla was fighting with deadly grace. Too small of stature now to meet force with force, she sideslipped rather than clashed, her sword snaking in through unguarded openings, the blades of her opponents bypa.s.sing her harmlessly.

But her horse was cut out from beneath her. Swinging Jia around to deal with spears from behind, Alouzon saw the girl go down, and she forced a way through the press to find her on her feet, ringed by arms and armor. She had caught the end of her pony tail in her teeth to keep it away from grasping hands, and her blue eyes were searching for openings.

Alouzon kicked her way through the men, riding over one who refused to move, severing the arm of another who attempted to pull her down. "I don't want to hurt you, dammit! Get the f.u.c.k out of my way!"

Wykla grabbed hold and swung up. Alouzon went out the way she had gone in. No one tried to-stop her.

Vorya was galloping toward her along the fringe of the fighting. "Back to the bank," he called. "We are finished out here."

The mounted counterattack had disrupted the Corrinians once more, and when they reached the lip of the embankment, they found that only three of the King's Guard had been killed. Still, Alouzon felt the hopelessness. Three out of a hundred was a sizable loss, and there was nothing to stop the phalanxes from forming up again and advancing. As had been the case for the last ten years, the war would drag on, the atrocities mounting on both 336.

sides, fueled by the frustration, by the uselessness of a struggle that appeared capable of burying everybody involved and then continuing.

She looked at her hands, looked away quickly. She was part of it now.

Marrget and Santhe were returning, leading their warriors up the bank as Alouzon slid, shaking, from Jia's back. She returned their hearty waves with a short, dizzy nod and turned around to find that Silbakor had settled a short distance away across the open ground that surrounded the stones. The Dragon was crouched in the gra.s.s, its wings folded. Standing beside it was Dythra-gor.

* CHAPTER 23 *

At first, Alouzon stared at Dythragor numbly, her interior battle of power and sickness raging unabated, draining her of comprehension. Then, reluctantly, she pushed herself away from Jia and stumbled toward him, unsure whether she wanted to hug him or beat him senseless.

He stood, waiting for her, and she noticed that, in spite of his youth, his stature, his armor and sword, he seemed now more like Solomon Braithwaite, the scholar, than Dythragor Dragonmaster, the braggart warrior. He was shaking, and as she approached, he looked toward her as though he held a drowned child in his arms and was praying that she had brought a miracle with her.

"Suzanne," he said suddenly. "You've got to help me. You've got to explain this place."

Her old name was a drink of clear water. She had almost forgotten that she was Suzanne, that Alouzon and battle and blood were but recent arrivals. But his words were also the most human thing he had ever said to her, and she stopped short, her head clearing. "I've got to explain what?"

As he came toward her, she saw that his eyes were frantic, terrified. The words spilled out of him as though a wine skin had been slit. "This place. Gryylth. It's crazy. It drops off. No ... it just vanishes. It isn't a world. It's just a piece of something."

"What did you see?"

"It's crazy."

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"Answer me, dammit, I don't have time for this."

Silbakor spoke. "We have flown the length and breadth of Gryylth. We have followed the coasts, journeyed along the promontories, examined the islands and the seas. Dy-thragor has seen the Great Ending."

"What did you tell him?"

"He asked nothing."

She wanted to kick the Dragon between the eyes. "You could have said something, you G.o.ddam lizard!''

Silbakor blinked yellow eyes. Dythragor was holding his head as though it might burst. "You've got to explain. I think I'm going crazy."

The hum from the Circle rose in pitch, increased in volume. Alouzon glanced behind. The Tree was back on its wagon and was being moved slowly closer. Turning back, she took Dythragor by the shoulders and shook him until some of the blankness left his eyes. "You're not going crazy. You don't have time to go crazy.''

"But, then-" Dythragor was looking past her at the glowing Tree. He seemed to become aware that there were more pressing concerns than his. "What's going on?"

"Tireas has the Tree, and he's out for blood. Mernyl's trying to cook up something that'll stop him."

The wagon halted by the remains of the Heel Stone. The Tree swayed against its ropes, then settled. "Is that what they took out of the Heath?" said Dythragor.

"That's it." Tireas appeared to be debating his next move. Tarwach approached him, but the sorcerer waved him away peremptorily. "I guess I should thank you. You saved our lives with that strafing run you did.''

He shook his head. "That was Silbakor's idea, not mine. I was too far gone for decisions." The fear crossed his face again, and he went on tonelessly. "But two pa.s.ses were all I could handle. When it went down on the second run, I thought someone was trying to ... to tear my mind out of my head."

"There's a reason for that." She did not want to explain, had to, went on without stopping. "That thing out there is a part of you. It's your deepest unconscious. It's .

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the Tree of Creation, Dythragor. In fighting it, you're fighting yourself.''

He did not appear to comprehend at first, then suddenly raged. "Garbage! What is this c.r.a.p you're giving me? More of Mernyl's d.a.m.ned fairy tales?"

She wanted to strike him. "Get off the Mernyl s.h.i.t. He didn't do this. Gryylth is your baby."

He was livid, and she noticed that his leather armor was thick and crackling with dried blood. She remembered that he had slaughtered an old man in Crownhark, and held back the accusations that she wanted to throw at him.

The Dragon spoke again. "It is the truth."

Dythragor stopped, gasped. Fighting with his rage, he turned to Silbakor. "My friend," he choked. "You have never lied to me."

"I do not lie. I cannot lie."

Alouzon prodded it with her foot. "Go on," she said. "Quit waiting for questions. Tell him what you told me. I don't care if he asked you or not."

Its tail twitched like that of a nervous cat. "Gryylth was created in its entirety on the night that your divorce was finalized. Confronted at last with the wreckage of your life, you tried to kill yourself with sleeping pills. In the resultant delirium, your unconsciousness was freed. It created a piece of a world: a land in which your enemy was plain, in which you could fight as you wished, in which you would not be bound by what you perceived as the restrictions of civilization."

Dythragor tottered, his face that of a dead man. "This is ... this is all a dream?''

"It's real, Dythragor," said Alouzon. "I haven't been killing illusions."

"I . . . don't know. I can't believe it."

The earth quaked, and from its depths came the sound of rumbling and snapping. A bolt of green light flashed from the Tree and struck the rim of the embankment. It tore up the ground, sent chunks of turf high in the air, and began burrowing toward the Circle. But before it could dig very far, Mernyl countered.

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A mountain could not have been more ma.s.sive, nor a sheet of lighting quicker than the energies unleashed by the Gryylthan sorcerer. Mernyl was no longer trying to defend away from his power source. He was at the heart of it now, with his hands virtually holding the controls of the existence of the world. The Circle throbbed and the humming mounted into a roar as his counterstroke ripped into the Tree.

Alouzon pulled words from her throat: "Everybody down!"

The Gryylthans had no choice. The concussion was tremendous, a shimmering pressure wave that rippled through air and earth alike, throwing men and women and horses to the ground, sending them skidding across the gra.s.s. Alouzon slammed into Silbakor, and it wrapped a protective wing about her. Dythragor rolled, putting the Dragon between himself and the blast.

The echoes died away. Silence. Then a few faint groans.

Bruised and breathless, Alouzon peered out from the folds of Silbakor's wing. "G.o.ds," she said. "It hasn't been touched.''

Dythragor scrambled up on the Dragon's back for a better look. "Jesus." He stiffened, drew his sword, and leapt to the ground. "They're coming, Alouzon. All of them."

She closed her eyes. It was all hopeless. "s.h.i.t."

Tireas was moving again, drawing the Tree closer to the Circle. Behind him and to either side, the phalanxes surged forward. Alouzon saw Dythragor examining them, estimating strengths, calculating battle strategies. With a shake of his head, he seemed to arrive at the inescapable conclusion. "If I made this place," he said to the Dragon, "I can change it, can't I?"

Silbakor shook is head. "It changes of its own accord. You can do nothing to alter it."

"Then ... I've gotten us all killed."

Alouzon bristled. "Don't underestimate Mernyl."

He laughed bitterly. "Mernyl? After the things I've .

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done, I'd be surprised if he didn't blow the whole place away just to get back at me."

"He's not like you, Dythragor." Alouzon regretted her words the moment she had said them. Dythragor seemed to sag, and a shade of pain crossed his face.

Marrget cantered over and noticed Dythragor, regarded him as though she expected him to break and run. When he only stared in return, she shrugged and turned to Alouzon. "We are forming for defense, Dragonmas-ter. Where do you wish to stand?''

"Doesn't matter. If I could be with you, I'd be honored."

"The honor would be mine, friend Alouzon."

Dythragor wavered. "M-Marrget?"

She turned her gray eyes on him without apology. "The same, Dragonmaster."

He swallowed and stepped forward. "If . . . if I could stand with you also ... it would be a greater honor for me than I could decently expect."

Marrget looked off to the side, as though examining the green gra.s.s and the yellow flowers that spotted it. ''You wish to fight with women?"

"I . . .1 don't wish to fight against them."

A hum was rising from the Circle again, a confused sea of voices that overlapped and blended with one another, shouting, singing, calling out. Marrget sighed. "As you wish, Dragonmaster." She started to turn her horse, thought better of it, extended her hand to Dythragor. He hesitated a moment, then took it.

"I will have your horse brought to you," she said.

Dythragor looked after her as she rode away. "I owe Marrget more of an apology than that."

' 'It'll have to do for now.'' Alouzon turned back to the Dragon. "Silbakor, can you help with this?"

"I am one with Gryylth," it said. "The land, not the people. I cannot oppose something that springs directly from the creation of the world." It fixed Dythragor with its yellow eyes I "I must tell you this, Dragonmaster. You do not ask, and yet I will tell you. You imperil yourself in attacking the Tree. Should it perish, you will die. It is 342.

a manifestation of your inmost being. Your lives are one."

"And the Circle also?"

"It is so."

The Corrinian phalanxes drew closer, following and flanking the Tree. Dythragor chose his words carefully. "Dragon, you said I would die soon. Is this what you meant?"

"I have told you before: I do not predict the future. I do not prophesy."

''If the Tree or the Circle perishes, will Gryylth end?''

"It will not, should your successor accept the Guardianship."

Alouzon blinked. '' Successor?''

"One to follow after," said the Dragon. "One who will complete. One who will care."

She understood. All her unthought-of and unasked questions were suddenly answered, and the knowledge fell on her with the crushing weight of a world. "Wait a minute ... is that why you dragged me into this?''

"Suzanne, I swear it wasn't my idea," said Dythragor.

She was not looking at him, did not hear him. "What the f.u.c.k are you trying to do to my life?" she screamed at the Dragon. "You son of a b.i.t.c.h, you want to get me out here all the time, make me into some kind of hero? You've already made me kill. You want more? Aren't you satisfied?"

Revolted by the thought, she sat down heavily on the ground and covered her face with her arms. She wanted to cry. She tried to cry. But her tears were gone along with a great deal more, and her eyes were still dry when she heard the sound of approaching horses and looked up to see Wykla bringing their mounts.

Wykla halted beside her, looked puzzled. "Your horse, my lady." She nodded quickly to Dythragor, as though embarra.s.sed.

"Wykla . . ." said Alouzon. Dythragor started but did not speak. The girl appeared to be frightened by what she was seeing. "Wykla, I ... I don't know what to do."