Dragon Sword Series - Dragon Sword Part 39

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"My lady?" Wykla stared with wide blue eyes, and Alouzon saw the confidence draining away from her. If the Dragonmaster could not stand, then neither could Wykla, nor, more than likely, the First Wartroop.

But it's not my responsibility.

They were all looking at her now. She felt the bulk of the Dragon at her side. It was waiting. Wykla was waiting. Dythragor was waiting.

7 can't let this craziness take over my life.

"My lady Alouzon?"

At last, her vision blurred, tears br.i.m.m.i.n.g, stinging their way down her face as though they might cleanse the madness from her life. The nimbus of the Circle became, to her eyes, a haloed glory that beat and shimmered with all the vigor of the Grail. Half dazzled, she looked up at Wykla. "I ..."

She loved the girl. She loved them all: Vorya, his hand and arm cut to pieces, still fighting on; Marrget and Re-lys and the wartroop, pushing themselves toward sanity in spite of a fear that ate at their very souls; Cvinthil, the gentle warrior who held his wife and daughter tenderly and who had stood with her in Bandon. And there was Adyssa, too, the simple midwife who had dared to question her own existence, who had given her life for a woman she hardly knew.

The land, rolling and green, as fresh and bright as a new penny, holding within itself the living, breathing presence of the Grail . . .

. . . threatened with ending, termination ...

Still, she fought. It's crazy. I'm tired of giving. That's all I do.

A flare burst all about them, followed by another concussion. Wykla and Dythragor fought to calm the horses, but Alouzon had fallen to the side, her face pressed now against the cool gra.s.s, yellow b.u.t.tercups and dandelions, bright even in the Tree's murk, waving before her streaming eyes.

With sudden resolution, she pushed herself up and grabbed Jia's bridle. Yes, everything could end. But the Tree was still attacking along the vacant line of the Av- 344.

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enue, and the Corrinians were still coming on, numerous and vengeful. She understood the puzzle: what difference did it make?

Her heart caught. There was a great difference. Now there was hope, both for Gryylth and for herself. There was the Grail.

Silbakor watched her. "Suzanne h.e.l.ling?"

"Later," she snapped. "I've got things to do."

Jia had been fighting Wykla, but he settled when he felt Alouzon's hand. Swinging into the saddle, she loosened her sword and touched Wykla's shoulder to rea.s.sure her. "Stay with me, warrior."

"Aye, lady."

The rim of the embankment flared into light, kindled by a flash of fire from the Circle. Memyl was attempting to filter the ranks of attacking soldiers again, but this time, as quickly as his shield formed, it was shivered into a thousand corposant shreds by a blast from the Tree.

With a shout, the phalanxes covered the remaining ground, but they mounted the embankment only to be met head-on by the forces of Gryylth. The first wave, off-balance from the steep climb, was thrown back, the men tumbling back into their comrades and knocking them down.

The Avenue, though, was level ground, an easy entrance, and it was here that Marrget was making her stand. Disregarding the fact that the position placed the wartroop squarely within the conflict of Tree and Circle, she had led her women out to plug the gap in the defenses.

Dense, close-packed, the Corrinians surged forward along the Avenue, pushing through a gap in the ditch and bank that was not more than twenty feet wide. For the First Wartroop to have its enemies so disorganized by lack of s.p.a.ce was an immeasurable advantage, but as Al-ouzon spurred Jia toward the gap, she became increasingly aware of a subtle change in the atmosphere. The air seemed electrified, and her body tingled, her hair, dusty though it was, bristling with static.

The smell of ozone hung thickly. She looked ahead and -aw Tireas at work. The sorcerer seemed to be locked in 2 more subtle combat with Mernyl, and Alouzon doubted :nat he would send a blast straight into his own men.

She jumped Jia into the fray with Dythragor and Wykla directly behind her. Marrget was busy with her sword and did not look up, but a shout of "Hail, Dragonmas-:ers!" rose above the tumult of shouts, screams, and the Heavy clangs of sword and spear.

Alouzon killed. Her sword moved, inserted bright and withdrew dripping, lashed out and broke skulls. Jia took r.er where she willed as though the horse's brain was ?lugged directly into her own, and she killed, and killed -gain.

She tried not to think, but she had little success this :ime. Actions seemed slowed in the press, and she had -.:me to see her foes' faces, note their individual stances, their tactics: the twisting lunge of this one, the side-step -f this other. Young men, middle-aged men. She watched herself kill them.

What else can I do ?

Treading on the bodies of the fallen, Jia missed his footing and stumbled. Alouzon, overbalanced, fell. The ;iusty Avenue came up quickly and felt like fresh concrete -A hen she hit. She was not hurt, but when she opened her jyes, she saw, besides the startled eyes of a white-faced corpse, booted feet-and the sweep of a sword aimed at her neck.

"d.a.m.n you, h.e.l.ling! Move your a.s.s!"

Dythragor's voice roused her, and she got her feet beneath her and came up, blocking the sword and several >pears with her wrist guards, slashing out with her own weapon and clearing a s.p.a.ce for herself.

Dythragor was pushing toward her, hacking murderously through the confusion. Pikes were flashing all about ner, but she was fending them off with strokes that were flavored with the cold precision of the Dragonsword. A Corrinian jumped on her from behind, trying to hold her so that others could strike. She did not hesitate. Driving ner elbows back, she heard the crunch of breaking ribs, 346.

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and his grip loosened. She whirled around and ripped him open.

The ozone was stronger now, and so was the tingling. She was reminded strongly of the signals that precede a lightning strike. The Dragonsword echoed the thought.

Lightning strike.

Dythragor reached her at last, a Corrinian hanging to his leg like a limpet. Alouzon beat the man away and clambered up behind. "Listen," she shouted above the noise, "we've got to get everyone off the Avenue."

"What?"

"Look at the Tree!"

The branches and leaves were enveloped in a violet glow, and Tireas was staring straight along the Avenue. For an instant, Alouzon met his gaze and was shaken by the absolute lack of anything human she saw in it. Mernyl was right: the Tree was controlling the Corrinian sorcerer.

The tingling increased, and the odor of ozone turned as thick as the haze of blood that hung in the air. Holding to Dythragor as he backed and spurred his horse through the battle, Alouzon searched the confusion for Marrget, and found her at the middle of the Avenue, surrounded by dead and dying men. Her face was smeared and grim, and blood ran down her arm from a deep cut in her shoulder.

"Marrget," Alouzon shouted, "get the women oif the Avenue! The Tree!"

Marrget sliced deeply into a soldier, glanced at the Tree, turned her horse. Her clear voice rang above the clamor like a bell. "To flanks!"

The wartroop and the Dragonmasters forced a slow pa.s.sage through the phalanxes and had barely reached the cover of the ditch when the Avenue exploded into light. With a roar, a crater opened up in the area they had just left, earth and rock hailing through the air. The Corri-nians had continued to press forward into the undefended gap, and when the detonation faded, the ground was littered with torn and mutilated bodies.

Dythragor was aghast. "Doesn't he care about his own limned men?"

* 'I think if we'd been caught, he would have considered worthwhile," said Alouzon.

"What a b.l.o.o.d.y waste. You don't throw lives away like -at. You just ..." He looked stricken. "You just ,.,'t."

The Corrinians had withdrawn at the explosion, and r.e siege had fallen off. Alouzon expected another charge -om Vorya, but none came. Marrget signaled a return to r.e area within the embankment; Dythragor urged his *rse up the slope. "We can't go on like this," he mut-.-red.

"You got any ideas?" He shook his head impatiently. "It's just attrition until -ere all dead ... or until the sorcerers destroy each :her. Then that's it for everything." She bowed her head. She did not want to think about -e Guardianship at the moment, but it was forcing itself - her. Even now, the Tree was moving forward again, "d Tireas was increasing the fury of his a.s.sault. Mernyl knew about the consequences of a magical de-cat for either side. He had, she reflected, always known.

-.nd he knew about her, about Kent State, about Solomon .-* raithwaite and his despair. Did he then know about the luardianship, too? Probably. And he had kept the ..nowledge from her so that she would not reject it before -e was so intimately involved with Gryylthan affairs that refuse would be tantamount to the betrayal of a lover. And he was fighting . . . and that meant that he was -oping. d.a.m.n. As she jumped down from Dythragor's horse, she heard - crackle and saw that Mernyl had thrown up another -*.-reen. It was promptly shattered by the Tree. She began .* understand Tireas's strategy: Mernyl, engaged by the Tree, would be unable to deal with the phalanxes. Out-umbered, the Gryylthans would eventually be de- -:royed, and then it would be a simple matter of magic -gainst magic.

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Regardless of who won that contest, Gryylth would end. What happened to souls, she wondered, if their existence was literally negated?

She looked up at Dythragor. "You said this wasn't your idea."j Another screen, and the Tree fragmented it in a mo- f ment. ''It wasn't,'' he said. "I'm afraid it was the Dragon ' that chose you."i "Why me?"'

"I don't know." He spoke calmly, but sadly. The constant rage and swagger was gone. "I couldn't find anyone I thought suitable, and Silbakor was pressuring me. But I don't think it picked you out of desperation."

"You . . . you think I'm meant for this?"

He hesitated, shrugged. "All I can say is that, from what I've seen, I've made a hash out of everything. I kept the conflict up so long that the Dremords were forced into this just to preserve their lives. I can't stop it now, and there's a good chance that Gryylth might not exist because of that." He offered his hand, and she took it. "It's your choice, not mine. I won't blame you for what's happened . . . or what will."

"Don't blame yourself, either."

"Can you say that, girl? Keeping the pot on the boil for as long as I have? Any civilized, reasonable man would have moved for a settlement. My G.o.d! we had a settlement ten years ago, but I . . ." His face turned haunted for an instant, and his grip on her hand tight-ened. "I wouldn't argue with Silbakor's choice."

"Oh?" The Tree inched forward, shattered another one of Mernyl's screens.

"You seem to have done well enough with Marrget and the wartroop. I don't know what you did, but you pulled them through. I've never seen them fight so well as they have today.''

"Yeah, thanks . . ." Jia had found his way back to the Circle, and now he nosed her. There seemed to be a trace of shame in the horse's eyes. "No blame on you, either, guy." She took his bridle. "Happens to all of us."

Out beyond the embankment, the phalanxes were re- forming, but Mernyl was not acting at all: there was a dim humming from the rings of stones, no more. Closer to her, Vorya was conferring with Marrget, Cvinthil, and Santhe. Dythragor was joining them.

Nothing from Memyl?

Wary of the waves of energy that rolled out from the Circle even when it was not actively engaged, she crawled into Jia's saddle and tried to find an angle at which she could see the center of the monument through gaps in the outer peristyle and the inner trilithons. Not until she had covered nearly a quarter of the circ.u.mference did she find one, and when she did she wished that she had not.

Mernyl was a wreck. Shaken by his defeat at the Heel Stone, blasted by the power of the Tree, sapped further by his exertions within the Circle, he was weak, shaking, his eyes as hollow as his cheeks. If he remained on his feet it was only because he was using his staff as a crutch.

He looked up and saw her. "I am not finished yet," he called, his voice hoa.r.s.e but defiant.

She murmured to herself. "Yeah . . .but how long can you keep this up, man?"

He could not hear her. Stretching out his arms, he straightened and seemed to gather strength from the stones. Behind him, the three central trilithons, their uprights stretching over twenty feet into the air and their lintels adding further height to that, were radiant, crackling with power, shining as though they mirrored the sun that was now sinking toward the horizon.

A subterranean rumble shook the stones as though it might topple them, but the Circle held. Mernyl tottered for an instant before he braced himself with his staff. "Go, Alouzon! This is the great fight!" He swept an arm out and was lost in a shimmer as the interstices of the peristyle filled with light.

The Tree was barely ten yards from the bank now, and as she rode to join the others, Alouzon noticed that the tension in the Gryylthan ranks was back. Marrget and the First Wartroop were too visible, and the Tree was an ominous reminder of their transformation. Although the men of Gryylth no longer balked at fighting beside them, 1.350.

it was obvious that they did not wish to become women warriors themselves.

Energy flared at the lip of the bank, but it came from the Tree, not from Mernyl. Behind it, the phalanxes advanced through the ditch and began to climb. The Gryyl-thans tried to push through the shield to attack, but it was too dense, and the slope of the embankment was too treacherous.

The Circle erupted in a burst of blue, shattering the wall. Before the defenders could attack, though, it was reinstated by the Tree. Again, Mernyl struck, but the phalanxes had gained the embankment.

Slow, insidious movement. The Gryylthan forces were reduced to watching and waiting as the Corrinians advanced. As often as Mernyl destroyed the wall, it was remade, and the phalanxes had covered nearly a quarter of the distance from the bank to the outer peristyle before Mernyl changed his tactics.

The blast thrown out by the Circle shook the ground, and several women of the wartroop, though nowhere near the Avenue, were thrown from their horses. Blazing, furious, the energies drove through the wall and the advancing men, incinerating several where they stood, and struck directly for Tireas.

For a moment, the Tree was lost in an incandescence that roared into the sky like a gas explosion, rising and mushrooming and riving the darkness with light. As the sorcerer, enveloped in flame, fought for his life, his protective wall crumbled, and the defenders threw themselves on the Corrinians.

Marrget led another charge, attempting the same tactics that had disrupted the previous attacks, but this time, they were going awry. The soldiers were not acting. They stood uncertainly, eyeing the Tree which, as the flames dissipated, was once again becoming visible. Weapons hanging useless at their sides, they ignored Cvinthil's efforts to rally them. Some were even inching to the rear, leaving the wartroop isolated.

Without the foot soldiers to engage them, the phalanxes were free to turn their full strength upon Marrget .

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and her women. Alouzon saw two fall, one dead, the other fighting to regain her horse. Ahead, Dythragor was plunging into the phalanxes, cutting down a wide swath of men as he went to help. Cvinthil gave up on the foot soldiers and followed him, and Alouzon spurred close behind.

"Comic book hero," she muttered just before she met the first ranks. "We're all f.u.c.king comic book heroes."

She hacked her way through the lines, trying to open an escape route for the beleaguered wartroop. Dythragor was guarding the woman who had been unhorsed while she remounted. Her black hair and hard eyes offered the Dragonmaster the faintest gleam of a smile of grat.i.tude before she was off again, fighting.

"King's Guard," Alouzon shouted as she opened the needed pa.s.sage. "King's Guard to the front. Come on, dammit! Show some b.a.l.l.s!"

Marrget and Cvinthil were bringing the wartroop through the gap, but on either side, the Corrinians were swamping the plain surrounding the Circle. Mernyl threw up shields in a desperate effort to slow the flood, but the Tree shattered them instantly.

Dythragor waved Alouzon back, gestured to Marrget, and shook his head, tight-lipped. The Circle was lost.

Abruptly, a portion of the King's Guard rallied and charged. It was a quixotic gesture at best, since there was little that ten or twelve could do against hundreds, but Alouzon guessed that they were trying to give their wounded comrades some extra time in which to escape the phalanxes.

As she watched, though, the air seemed to shimmer before them, their movements slowed down, and they began screaming as the flesh melted from their bones and the ground under their feet turned into a quagmire of white-hot magma. Tireas was using the Tree again, attacking in a manner that would confirm the Gryylthans' panic.

The wailing cries of incinerating- throats filled the air, and Alouzon's anger, pent and banked and controlled with the intimate knowledge of the results of violence, 352.

was unleashed suddenly at the sight, its embers blazing up in a moment into blinding, mindless hate.

Her hand was on the Dragonsword. Do it. Do it now.

A Corrinian pikeman was running by, and she turned and slew him outright, s.n.a.t.c.hing his weapon from his lifeless hand as he fell, his eyes wide and his throat open. It was a good spear-balanced, straight-and it seemed to come to life in her hand, to become a part of her.

She poised herself on Jia's back and braced herself. Her gaze was focused on Tireas as though through a gun-sight, and had she held an M-l instead of a spear, she would have pulled the trigger without hesitating, just as, now, she hurled the bronze-tipped shaft with all her strength, striking straight for Tireas's heart.

As it intersected the flow of energy from the Tree, it burst into flame, but its speed was such that its course wavered only slightly. Burning like a bolt from the hand of a G.o.d, it plunged through the trunk of the Tree and pierced the sorcerer's groin, spun him around, and broke his connection with the Tree. Fire licked at his robe from the burning shaft, and where there was not fire, there was blood.

But as Alouzon watched, her anger replaced by a sick horror, he was staggering to his feet, his hair blazing, his robe smoldering against his charred flesh. As though he were dragged by unseen chains, he approached the Tree once more, his inhuman eyes fixed on Alouzon.