Dragon Sword Series - Dragon Sword Part 9

"You what?" Tarwach stood. "You left one of my soldiers in Gryylthan territory without aid or succor? What is the meaning of this, Calrach?" The captain clenched his jaw. His shame was etched deeply in his face. "I will have an answer, sir."

"My king," said Tireas, "I must myself take full personal responsibility for the decision. Calrach acted on my orders. Much as it grieved us to leave Flebas, alas, we had little choice. We were deep in Gryylthan lands, and Vorya and his men knew of our presence. The Dragon, Silbakor, was also near."

"What of Dythragor?"

"Nay, he was not present. But given our situation, I decided that haste was of the utmost importance. Taking Flebas with us would have caused the loss of more men, perhaps the whole phalanx." There might have been tears in his eyes.

Tarwach did not speak for sonie time. The light from the setting sun turned his hair into a golden halo, but it did not warm his eyes at all. "I, too, am grieved," he said at last. "Manda?"

A young woman in battle leathers stepped out of the shadows. "My king?"

"See to it that Flebas's family is provided for. Bring them to me this evening. I will speak with them."

Manda bowed to him, turned to go.

"And please bring us some wine, Manda," Darham added. "I fear the news will grow grimmer as the tale unfolds."

"Immediately, lord," she said, and she was gone, her .

85.blond braid bouncing over her shoulder as she hurried off.

"Continue, Calrach," said the king. His voice was flat, toneless.

"Flebas was a man of the Third Phalanx," said Calrach softly. His mouth was set in the manner of a captain who has known defeat. "Maybe he was not the best, but he was by no means the worst. He was loyal, and his comrades trusted him."

"He will have suitable honors, captain. Whoever the G.o.ds are, they will hear his name this night. Pray, continue."

Calrach went on with his report. The phalanx had headed south, swinging wide toward the mountains in an effort to evade Gryylthan patrols. A slightly better plan, Darham considered, would have been to turn east, but then he remembered that the Gryylthan towns of Dear-bought and Pounce lay in that direction, and the men there had been hardened by years of skirmishes. Calrach had made the right choice.

Even more right than was first apparent, it seemed, for Calrach began to describe another encounter, one that made Tarwach lift his head. Darham found himself dragged out of his thoughts.

"The other rider seemed to be Mernyl, the Gryylthan sorcerer," Calrach was saying. "Santhe was escorting him southward, and I judged they were making for Kingsbury."

"It seemed fitting that we attack, and I gave such orders," said Tireas. "If we could capture Mernyl, I reasoned, we would have less trouble with Gryylthan magic."

"We have very little trouble as it is," said Darham. "Mernyl is not held in great esteem by Vorya ... or rather by Dythragor, if I understand aright."

The captain went on. ' 'We were almost successful, but the men were worn, and Dythragor Dragonmaster appeared and drove us off. He is ... skilled with a sword."

Tarwach examined him coolly. Then: ' 'How many did you lose, captain?"

86."Two at that encounter. I made the mistake of following the Dragonmaster when he left-on foot-and we closed in for another try. But we lost three then, and not just to Dythragor."

"To whom, then? Is the Dragon fighting now?"

"No, my king. There was a woman with him when we found him in the foothills. She wore armor like his, and she also carried a Dragonsword. She slew Lyron, the new man of the phalanx."

The news was growing grimmer indeed. Tarwach pa.s.sed a hand across his face. "Two Dragonmasters? What an evil fortune!"

"And Santhe continued south with Mernyl," added Tireas.

Darham shook his head. "Doubtless, Vorya sent for Mernyl after our attack on the Dike. Dythragor will have him sent home again. But two Dragonmasters might bring us as much sorrow as one Dragonmaster and one sorcerer."

Tireas actually smiled. "A little less, I would hope, my lord."

Tarwach shrugged. "So you lost Santhe and Mernyl, and the Dragonmasters drove you off."

"Yes, my king. The woman fights like Dythragor."

"Were I a woman," said Tarwach, "I would be reluctant to strike a blow for Gryylth.'' Manda had returned with wine, and he took his cup from her. "Did you hear, Manda?" he said. "There appears to be a female Dragonmaster in Gryylth now."

Her bright eyes flickered. "I would she come to Corrin. She might find out which side she was on."

"Could a woman accomplish much in Gryylth," Darham asked, "Dragonmaster or no?"

"Perhaps we are not so badly off, then," said Tarwach. "But to a.s.sume a respite would be foolish. The second Dragonmaster might be bringing confusion of her own to Gryylth, or maybe not. Either way, I believe we should move quickly.'' He considered, swirling his wine in its golden cup, looking out across the broad valley where the Long River pursued its leisurely course to the Eastern Sea. "The Tree .

87.we have, the Circle is Gryylth's, but with Tree and Circle both . . ." He eyed Tireas, who bowed. "Might we be able to neutralize the Dragonmasters, sorcerer?"

"It is quite possible, my king." Tireas's attention was suddenly focused on the question, as though he were studying a complicated spell. "It would certainly give us a total control of the magic of the land. And in spite of the Dragonswords, Dragonmasters are but human."

"And," put in Darham, "such a clear advantage might allow us to forgo the use of the Tree. That would be a great good."

Calrach shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I would like that, my lord. I have seen what the Tree can do."

"Please," said Tireas. "Do not a.s.sume that the Tree can only destroy. The Tree is change. All change. We must all admit that there is good change as well as bad. Flebas took the full force of the Tree into his body, un-filtered, uncontrolled. But with care, the Tree can do much for Corrin."

"I hope you are right, Tireas," said the king, "for with the presence of another Dragonmaster, I intend to hasten our move on the Circle."

"More battle, lord?" said Tireas. He shook his head, looked at the ground.

"We will strike tomorrow morning, all together," said Tarwach. "We will take the Circle, and then we will offer terms for peace. Our terms. But until we are in a position of strength, we will not settle." He nodded to those present. "Darham, Manda, give the necessary orders."

Darham nodded, and Manda bowed deeply. But the girl watched her king depart with a crooked mouth. "And will I be able to fight for my land with the King's Guard?"

"It would not be wise, Manda," Darham said gently. "Other women have fought for us, and the Gryylthan men have singled them out for particular ferocity, disregarding wisdom and even their own safety. It would be a useless sacrifice."

"Then I am no better off than a Gryylthan woman,"

88.she cried. "I might as well be tending the cooking fires for all the battle I've seen since I donned my armor."

Tireas was pale, his eyes downcast. ' 'I would find some other way than by battle."

Manda's fists were clenched. "I would settle for battle and be glad. Gryylth owes me a debt."

"Must it be paid in blood, child?" said Tireas gently.

She whirled on him. "Aye, master sorcerer. My blood flowed for three days when Dythragor and his friend were done, and Kasi bled for four. She found refuge in home and family. I found none save in arms. I will not forget."

Darham put an arm about her, felt the hard muscles that battle training had given Manda. Tall, broad-shouldered, the daughter of a farmer family of Bubris, she was quite capable of holding her own in any fair fight. "I understand," he said.

She bent her head, fighting back the rage.

But Tireas had grown thoughtful. "I wonder . . ."He eyed Manda. "Gryylth thinks so little of its women. I wonder if there might not be a way to end all this without the loss of so much life."

"I would that one be lost," said Manda. "I do not know his name, but I know his face and the emblems on his armor. One was that of the First Wartroop. I-"

"Peace," said Tireas. "The First Wartroop . . ."He was lost in thought, his voice drifting like a leaf in a breeze. "You may have your revenge yet, Manda of Dub-ris. I pray that you will recognize it."

"Revenge?" Her eyes were eager.

"Some kinds are worse than others," said the sorcerer.

Marrget disdained the confinement of urban life, and he had built his small house on a low rise to the south of the hill that held Kingsbury. Standing at his front door, he could, and often did, fold his arms and look up at the town as though he were its guardian spirit. And, in a sense, he was exactly that, for Marrget of Crownhark was the captain of the First Wartroop of Gryylth, the main attack force of the land, twenty-one men who knew all .

89.there was to know about arms and battle and who had given their lives over to the defense of their people and their king.

Dythragor liked Marrget and his ways. Both man and habit were direct, straightforward, without artifice or hidden motive. Marrget embodied in his own person the qualities that made a warrior great, and he worked to foster those virtues in his men. Pride, valor, courage, he possessed them all, and in harmony with them was a clear eye and a discerning mind. Even Relys, who was perfectly willing to state that he admired no man but himself, did not balk when Marrget's evaluation of a battle plan ran counter to his own. In all, he was everything to his men: a stern father, a harsh taskmaster, an understanding counselor, and a wise leader.

And therefore he stood, Dythragor thought, in stark contrast to Mernyl the sorcerer, who knew of nothing save intrigue and mystery, and who even smiled with the expression of one who would not tell everything. Marrget was solid, bluff, alternately dour and generous, his laughter and his frowns in even proportion; but whatever expression he wore, Dythragor was always sure that it was a perfect mirror to his thoughts, that Marrget, manly and forthright, had nothing to conceal.

Tonight, Marrget's laughter was uppermost, and so was Dythragor's. The two were together in the captain's house, and they were drinking and sharing memories, for some time had pa.s.sed since Dythragor had last been in Gryylth.

They spoke mostly of battle, since all their time together had been spent in fighting the Dremords. Dythragor could remember the grand strategies, the sweeping movements of armies. Marrget, on the other hand, could supply names, faces, the way Tarwach held his sword, or how Helkyying, the last captain of the wartroop, had spoken on the day of his death. He knew the name of every man who had died under his command, and he did not hesitate to recall them. "It is important to remember that we deal in lives, Dragonmaster," he said, beckoning for his slave girl to fill their cups again, "else we might be inclined to squander them uselessly. Lives unvalued 90are lives wasted." His gray eyes seemed to look off into the distance for a moment. "Helkyying said that once. I did not know what he meant at the time." His smile looked as though it were more of pain than of pleasure. "I learned."

The girl approached, bowed, filled their cups, bowed again, and retreated to the kitchen. Not really listening to his host, Dythragor watched her. Marrget would lend her to him if he asked, but he was never particularly interested in s.e.x when he was in Gryylth. There was too much else to do-battles to be fought, plans to be made . . . Silbakor usually brought him to the land when there was danger, and he rarely had enough time to relax and enjoy a woman under such circ.u.mstances. He lifted his cup to Marrget. "To Gryylth."

"To Gryylth." Marrget drank, his big hand around the stem of the cup. "What say you, Dythragor?" he said as he wiped his mouth.

"Huh?"

"Do you think Helkyying was wise?"

Dythragor shrugged, tried to recall what Marrget had been talking about. "Helkyying was a good commander. Heaven knows he never wasted his men. I think he was a little miserly sometimes, though. Like that battle up near the north end of the Dike a few years back. If he'd been willing to take a little more loss, we would have driven the Dremords back that much Sooner."

"But they were driven back in the end, with less loss of life."

"Sometimes I think you don't understand, Marrget." The wine was loosening Dythragor's tongue, and he went on, heedless of the expression on the captain's face. "The Dremords are beasts. We don't want them in Gryylth. It's a disgrace just to have them set foot on our lands." Years before, he had felt similarly about the radicals that had invaded his campus. Them and their propaganda . . . and the university had, over his protests, actually capitulated and allowed them to pa.s.s it out on state property. Right outside the Berkeley gates!

"I was pushing for Helkyying to send in the troops,"

91.Dythragor continued. Once, he had pressed the president of the university to do the same. No one ever listened to him then, but things were different here.

Marrget chuckled, set down his cup. "It has been years now, Dythragor. I can tell you this now. It was I who advised Helkyying to hold off.''

Dythragor was struck dumb for a moment. "You, Marrget?"

"Helkyying trusted me, Dragonmaster. I saw no point in losing more men. It was obvious that we would carry the day."

Marrget's treachery stung. "And I suppose you'll be issuing feather beds to them all next thing I know?''

The captain's eyes turned cold, penetrating. "I was Helkyying's lieutenant at that time, as Relys is mine now. Had Relys advice to give me, I would listen to him. Helkyying listened to me, though I believe that he had already made up his mind."

"It was a bad decision," Dythragor insisted. "The Dremords should have felt the full brunt of our forces that day. Holding back only prolonged the battle. We should have smacked them good."

"But we lost fewer men."

"Fewer men, fewer men." Dythragor singsonged Marrget's words back at him. "That's all I hear from you, Marrget. Are you getting faint-hearted? Have you been sleeping with your slave girl too much? Are you getting womanish yourself?"

Marrget stood up, his face set. "Dragonmaster, you insult me."

The night was warm, and quiet. In the silence, Dythragor could hear the crickets chirping outside. The fire on the hearth crackled once, twice.

It's the wine, he thought. I've had a little too much.

Marrget was still on his feet, waiting.

"I didn't mean it that way, Marrget." It was as much of an apology as Dythragor was willing to give. It would have to do.

"What did you mean then, Dragonmaster?"

"I . . ." Dythragor thought quickly. "I think we all 92.have to be careful about women," he said. "You and I- that one time, remember, when we rode way past the Dremord lines? We never told anyone else about those Dremord girls we found doing their washing by the river. But I'll tell you, I don't think I fought as well that day after taking them."

Marrget eyed him carefully, turning over his words. It had been an insipid apology, but Marrget shrugged and sat down. "I have never been easy in my mind about that. In fighting the Dremords, we now seem to perform the same acts of which we accuse them. I do not mink the G.o.ds smile upon such things."

"There aren't any G.o.ds, Marrget. Just men with jobs to do."

"We do not know their names or their faces, Dragon-master, but they are there."

Dythragor was almost tempted to point out that Marrget was talking like Mernyl now, but decided against it. "Look at Cvinthil, though," he said. "He dotes on that woman of his so much that I doubt he's going to be worth anything in a few years."

Marrget's eyes narrowed. Cvinthil was his friend. "Cvinthil has his opinions, Dragonmaster. As I do. As you do. I have not noticed that his advice has proved valueless to the king."

No one understood. Dythragor wondered whether Marrget was going to start listening to Alouzon's foolishness one of these days. That would certainly be the end of it. "Come on," he said. "Let's have some more wine." Maybe he would ask Marrget for the use of his slave after all.

Night. Nightmare, actually. Alouzon had been given a couch near the hearth and rich furs and linen sheets, but she was having little success with sleep. She might have called it homesickness, but that word was too tame to connote such an absolute sundering from everything that was familiar and rational; nor did it convey any of the fear she felt at being trapped in a world where her survival, minute by minute, was predicated upon quick wits, .

93.a ready sword, and social mores about which she knew nothing.

Above her, on the upper floor, she heard Cvinthil snoring softly where he lay curled up with Seena; heard also Ayya, who had finally lost enough of her shyness to talk to the Dragonmaster that night, murmur in her sleep. A horse neighed far off. A cricket had ensconced itself in some crack in the wall and was looking for a mate.

Again she drifted off, and again her dreams were twisted mazes of horror, with a b.l.o.o.d.y Dremord face staring her down from every corner. He smiled at her from above the gash in his throat, and he turned into Jeff Miller, lying on the hot asphalt of the R-58 parking lot, his blood trailing off and away, a small red river, toward the football practice field where the Guardsmen had knelt a few minutes before.

But reality was no better, for, kicked brutally into wakefulness, clutching the sheets in white-knuckled hands, she came to herself only to be faced with Gryylth, with the uncompromisingly mundane interior of Cvin-thil's house: flagstone floor, stone and wicker walls, the coals of the banked fire glowing softly and flickering with stray drafts.

She shivered in spite of the warm night, swung her bare feet off the couch and felt them rustle in the herbs on the floor. Laying the sheathed Dragonsword across her knees, she put her face in her hands, tried to find tears, failed. Sorry, Alouzon. Dragonmasters don't cry. Maybe some other time.