Dragonsword #3 2 страница

She shrugged and stepped back just behind and to the side of the chair. Cvinthil and Seena had taken seats on the dais next to one another, and their hands were clasped. The captains that had been chosen for the new wartroops stood nearby, and the members of the King's Guard had assembled also.

Up on the dais, Cvinthil was brooding; and if today there was a viciousness to his black mood, Relys shared it willingly. Marrget had been her captain and her friend. Alouzon had been a support and an example. Wykla—even Wykla—had grown to be as dear to her as a daughter—

Relys flushed at the thought. A daughter. As if her womb—thrust upon her by an angry sorcerer—would ever bear anything save a monthly flow.

How far from then forethought of, little Wykla, when on the road to the Heath I ridiculed you for what I called your effeminate ways.

Did her eyes suddenly smart? Relys thrust the tears from her as though they might suddenly" strip her of her title and chain her to a man's bed. But the thought stayed with her: Wykla, too, was gone, and Vaylle would pay.

Cvinthil lifted his head. " Speak, lad, " he said to Helwych. " I wish to hear from your own lips what occurred in Vaylle. "

Helwych squirmed in his seat, and his voice was hardly more than a whisper as he began. The weather, he said, had been calm during the crossing, and when the barge had approached Vaylle, Alouzon had ordered it beached at the first opportunity, so as not to give the inhabitants a chance to raise any forces. Nonethe-

less, the Vayllens had appeared shortly after the party had disembarked: a delegation from Lachrae, the capital.

" They seemed friendly, my lord, " said Helwych, " though beneath their gracious exterior, I detected a certain ambivalence, as though their words, actions, and thoughts were not in accord. ''

" Duplicity, " said Cvinthil. The blackness deepened about him.

" Aye... " Helwych coughed. " Though the Vayllens appear to possess a few potent sorcerers, they could not cloak their lies against me. "

Relys's brow furrowed, and she spoke without thinking. " And what of Kyria? "

A flash of annoyance crossed Helwych's face. " The Vayllens are not all-powerful, my maid, " he said smoothly, " and neither was Kyria. Her foul temper and arrogance betrayed her into a false security. "

" Continue, " said Cvinthil. He glanced at Relys, puzzled. Relys shrugged and folded her arms, trying to ignore the condescension in Helwych's my maid.

Across the room, though, Hahle, who had been stroking his beard thoughtfully, now lifted his head. His expression, though, was noncommittal, and he did not speak.

Alouzon's party, Helwych continued, had been escorted to Lachrae with great courtesy. The attacks, the Vayllens had explained, came from yet another land, one called Broceliande. The Vayllens themselves— according to the Vayllens—were innocent, even pacifistic.

Helwych paused meaningfully. A fit of coughing suddenly shook him and he collapsed to the side. Only the arm of the chair kept him from sliding to the floor.

Relys stepped forward and offered a hand. Helwych hesitated, then, with a nod, grasped it and allowed himself to be hoisted upright once again. " I am weak, " he said.

" No doubt, " said Cvinthil. " If you wish to rest—"

" Nay, nay, " said Helwych. " I must speak. If Gryylth and Corrin are to have vengeance, I must speak. " For an instant, he glanced sidelong, almost slyly, at Relys, and she was once again struck by the discrepancy between his words and his manner.

All had been peaceful, Helwych went on in a hoarse voice, and after three days the party had been lulled into unguarded acceptance of the Vayllens' customs. And therefore, when Pellam, the king, had requested that they give up their weapons as a gesture of peace, they had assented.

Cvinthil blinked. " Marrget and Alouzon gave up their swords? I find it difficult to believe that they would do such a thing. "

Helwych shrugged. " Women are frequently ruled by more gullible hearts than their male kindred. ''

Relys sensed that those present in the room had become suddenly divided into two camps. The veterans were shocked and insulted by Helwych's casual and bigoted generality. The untried soldiers from the distant villages and the frontiers, however, were nodding. Relys herself did her best to conceal her rage; but Timbrin was dark with anger, and the lieutenant's brown eyes said that, given a chance, she would have gladly knocked the sorcerer to the floor.

Cvinthil, though, seemed more interested in facts about Vaylle than in opinions about women. " They gave up their weapons, then, " he said. " What happened? ''

" I myself, " said Helwych, " was suspicious. And therefore I made sure that I kept a large dagger with me that night. " He attempted a triumphant grin and sat up straight. " And it is well that I did, for it was that night that the Vayllens broke into our rooms and slaughtered the members of the expedition. "

" All but you, " said Hahle in a deep, thoughtful voice.

Helwych stared at him as though to memorize his

face. " All but me, " he said at last, and there was defiance in his tone.

Helwych's words said one thing, but Relys's intuition said another. Let the boy go on about a woman's heart, she thought. He knows nothing. A woman's heart can tell a great deal, it is something holy. . . is—

She brought herself up short. She had been guarding Seena too long, and the quiet femininity of the queen was infectious.

In detail, Helwych described how he had escaped through an unguarded window, fled through the gardens and the streets, and eluded the guards at the city gate. He had then set off across country until he had reached the coast, and had followed the shore southward until he had come upon a fisher readying his nets at dawn.

" I was weak, " said Helwych. " But I fought him. And I killed him. Gryylth and—" He fought for a moment with a rebellious tongue. " —Corrin were in danger, and so I set off that very hour, without even tending to my wounds. The winds were bad—"

Hahle started noticeably, his eyebrows rising towards his bare scalp.

" —and it took me three days to cross the White Sea. I was near death when Hahle and his men found me. "

Hahle spoke up. " Three days, you say. "

" Aye. Three days with only a cold, stiff corpse to keep me company, " said Helwych.

A long silence. Finally: " I see, " said Hahle.

Timbrin spoke. She had a quick temper, and Helwych's remark had stung, but she kept her voice even. " Three days in Vaylle, Helwych? And three days to return? But it was the middle of February when you reached Quay. Where did the time go? "

Helwych's mouth worked. " Well, perhaps it was a little more than three days in Vaylle. "

" You said three days. "

Helwych glared at the lieutenant. " Well, girl, I must have made a mistake. "

Timbrin's brown eyes did not falter. " You were wounded, of course. "

" I was indeed. " Helwych coughed weakly, and as though to confirm his words, he shuddered and slumped in his chair, gasping for breath.

" Enough, lieutenant, " said Cvinthil. " I daresay I also would be hard pressed to tell one day from another were I in Helwych's condition. " His words were soft, but they carried the weight of a reprimand.

Timbrin was silent, but Relys shared her thought: He was not in that condition when he was in Lachrae.

Cvinthil had heard enough, though. " The people of Vaylle have shown themselves cowards and traitors. We have done them no ill, and yet they destroy one of our cities and damage another. Their hounds prowl through our countryside in growing numbers, slaughtering cattle and breaking into steadings and manors to attack our people. " He turned to the captain of his Guard. " Parrlen, did you sight hounds during your journey to Quay? "

Parrlen had a jaundiced eye but a steady hand. 'Aye, " he said slowly. " A number of times. We drove them off with burning sticks, but... " His eyes narrowed. "... but I do not recall that we were troubled with them on the return journey. ''

Cvinthil nodded. " But now we have sent an embassy to Vaylle, and our people have been killed in their beds. Their deaths will not go unavenged. "

The company in the hall, divided for a minute over the question of women's hearts, united once again. A murmur, a nodding of heads, and the question was settled.

Hahle, though, remained aloof from the general sentiment. Folding his arms, he appeared to sink into his own thoughts, his chin dropping towards his breast as though dragged down by a heavy heart. He opened

his mouth once as though to speak, but he shut it again, then turned and started for the door of the Hall.

Cvinthil's voice brought him to a halt. " Councilman. "

" My king. "

" I will need to speak to you regarding the matter of ships. We will need many. "

" My king, all shall be done according to your command. "

" Come and see me this evening. "

Hahle nodded slowly. " I will do that, my king. "

But his expression told Relys that, though he would speak to the king of ships and of ship building, he would voice other concerns, too.

Carrying the bowl of gruel in both hands as much from a sense of responsibility as from the awkwardness that had pursued him from childhood into late adolescence, Lytham made his way across the open space between the buttery and the King's Hall and approached the side door closest to the guest chambers.

The lads who kept watch this evening were friends: young men who—like Lytham, like many in the King's Guard and the wartroops—had been farmboys and herdboys only a year before. They and their fellows had put on leather armor and the king's emblems, and they had quickly learned the use of implements more warlike than dung forks and shovels, but still they shared a common origin, common memories, common beliefs, and the swaggering irritation of young men slowly discovering that the affairs of the wide world take little notice of them.

Dryyim peered into Lytham's bowl. " Are you going to eat that? I am not sure we should allow someone with such tastes into the hall. "

" We have responsibilities, " said his fellow, a tall, gangling youth named Haryn.

Lytham held the bowl carefully. " This is not for

me. This is for the sorcerer. He is still weak, and must eat gruel. "

Dryyim snorted. " We may all be eating gruel after Vaylle is done with us. "

" You heard the tale? ",

" Of course I heard! I was standing at the side of the dais this afternoon. The sorcerer looked like a trampled puppy. ''

Having never fought in a war, Lytham assumed that fighting was fighting, just as he assumed that conflicts between nations were conducted in a fashion similar to the arguments between village bullies: with shouting, and catcalls, and pummeling with fists, and rolling about in the dust of a shabby little street while a crowd of excited admirers looked on. " Cvinthil would not lead us into Vaylle if certain death waited there, " he said. " And he has wise councilors. "

" Had wise councilors, you mean, " said Dryyim. " Santhe and Karthin went off to Vaylle. " He glanced over his shoulder as though expecting to see hounds materializing at his back. " And they did not return. "

" Marrget and Alouzon, too, " said Lytham.

A sniff. " What good are they? "

" Well. . . they were councilors... "

" Far better they should have gotten themselves husbands and left the fighting to men. " Dryyim scowled, Shook his head. " Marrget was the worst: she gave herself such airs that I am surprised Cvinthil did not put her on the block. " '

Lytham shrugged. " She is dead now. "

" I would have given a great deal to see her in my village. My father never tolerated insolence in women. He beat my mother regularly. ''

Haryn stifled a grin. " And was beaten back upon occasion. "

Dryyim glared at him, then turned back to Lytham. " She should have been taught her place from the beginning. And Alouzon... " Dryyim's mouth tight-

ened. " Kerlsen was a friend. She killed him in cold blood. "

Lytham frowned. " I thought the hound killed Keri-sen. He was drunk, and—"

" Alouzon killed him, " Dryyim insisted. " She stood aside and let the hound tear out his throat while he was helpless. It is better that she is dead. She brought nothing but grief to this land, and then Cvinthil began his reign with his decrees. " He spat. " Women! "

The gruel was growing cold. Lytham bettered his grip on the bowl and shrugged. " I like it no more than you, but we can do nothing. "

Haryn straightened. " Here comes Relys. Look out: she is playing the man again. "

Dryyim snickered. " It would be interesting to bed her—if one could knock some sense into her first. ''

Lytham glanced over his shoulder as the new captain of the First Wartroop passed by, head bowed as though in thought. When she looked up, though, the young men felt the immediate scrutiny of her dark eyes, and they hid their laughter and looked attentive.

Lytham stepped quickly through the door and made his way hastily down the corridor to the guest chambers. There he found the sorcerer sitting propped up in a chair, furs and blankets piled up about him in spite of the large fire that roared on the hearth a few feet away. Helwych's eyes, half closed as though in meditation, flicked fully open as Lytham entered. " Ah, my brave guard, " said Helwych, " come with my supper. My thanks. "

Lytham put the bowl into Helwych's hands and shuddered at the sight of the lacerated flesh. Even Helwych's hair was shredded and patchy.

Moving as though in pain, Helwych set the bowl on his lap and stirred its contents. The skin that had formed on the surface of the gruel clung to the spoon in a damp clot as pale as the sorcerer's face. Lytham took a step back. Helwych's eyes flicked back to him, dark blue, almost black. " Do I frighten you, lad? "

Lad? Lytham was struck for a moment. Helwych was scarcely older than he himself. But sorcerers, he recalled, were a strange lot. Mernyl, it was said, had often been called womanish by Dythragor; and so perhaps where one man foolishly assumed the concerns of women, another might do better and take on the privileges of age. It was not the business of a soldier to question any of it.

Helwych's question hung, waiting. Lytham felt acutely embarrassed. " I... ah... that is to say. . . "

The sorcerer shrugged. " Vaylle is a terrible place, " he said, dipping up a spoonful of gruel. " I am glad that Gryylth has such men as you to oppose it. "

Helwych's tone was warm and fervid, and it carried with it a deep sense of pride. And feeling suddenly as though praise from a sorcerer was of infinitely more worth than that of even the king himself, Lytham blushed. " I... am glad that you think so, master sorcerer. ''

Helwych bent over his gruel. " Call me Helwych. And your name is... Lytham, is it not? "

" Yes, sir. "

" Helwych. " The sorcerer grinned out of a pale face crisscrossed with welts and patched with scabs.

Lytham swallowed. " Helwych. "

" Good. "

The sorcerer sucked and mumbled the gruel, the fire roared, and Lytham felt the sweat begin to pool beneath his armor. " Is there anything. else I can do for you. . . Helwych? "

The blue-black eyes examined Lytham, and the soldier was suddenly afraid that the praise Helwych had so unexpectedly bestowed was going to be abruptly withdrawn. But the sorcerer only smiled—a little sadly, Lytham thought with a pang of sympathy—and shrugged. " If you could spare a few minutes, Lytham, " he said, " I should be glad of your company. ''

" Ah... "

" Fetch up a chair, now. There is a good fellow. "

Without knowing really why, save that he did not wish to give Helwych reason to regret his compliments, Lytham pulled up a stool and sat down as far away from the fire as he could.

Helwych did not speak for some minutes. Finally: " People have so little time for a wounded man. Cvinthil had me in to tell my tale, and now I do believe he has forgotten me entirely. ''

" I am sure, sir, that he thinks of you a great deal. "

Helwych smiled tiredly. " Helwych. "

" Ah... Helwych. "

" Just so. " Helwych nodded in the manner of an aging grandfather. " I am more than likely wrong. It is so easy to be wrong. . . " He stirred his gruel. " You are afraid, maybe, of Vaylle? "

" I am. . . " Sorcerers could read the truth, it was said, in one's eyes, but Lytham was unwilling to admit weakness. " I am. . . cautious, " he said, trying to sound like an experienced captain of the Guard.

" Ah. . . caution. That is a good thing, caution. " Helwych seemed to savor the word. " And is Cvinthil also cautious? "

" He is a good king. "

" But is he cautious? "

" I. . . " Helwych was asking him to pronounce judgment upon his king. Relys, if she ever heard of such audacity, would make him wish that his tongue had been cut out. But Relys was a woman—she merely played the man by the king's good will—and so Lytham held himself up straight. " I believe he is. "

" Indeed? Has he made no mistakes? "

It occurred to Lytham that that had not been the question, but he answered bravely. " Oh, I am sure he makes mistakes. "

" Everybody makes mistakes, " said Helwych. The blue-black eyes were fixed on Lytham, and the guard was suddenly conscious of nothing save the sorcerer's gaze. " Corrin has made mistakes. "

" Oh. . . well... that.. . "

" I am not speaking of the war, lad. " Helwych leaned toward Lytham with an air of confidentiality. " I am speaking of the women. "

The sweat ran down Lytham's cheek. Helwych might have overheard the conversation at the door of the Hall a few minutes before.

" Now you and your friends, " the sorcerer went on, " are wise beyond you* years, and... "

There it was: pride, respect. Lytham gulped it down and wanted more.

"... and you know better. Gryylth has been here for a long time, and so have Gryylth's customs. Now you tell me: is it a wise thing to change them? "

" But, ah, Corrin? "

" Corrin is an unhappy place these days, " said Helwych, and Lytham could not but believe him completely. " It is unfortunate that Gryylth cannot learn from the mistakes of its neighbor. Now Cvinthil has to take what weapons he has and go across the sea to Vaylle, leaving an unhappy land and an unhappy people behind him. "

It seemed to Lytham then that Helwych was no longer sitting down. It seemed, rather, that the sorcerer had risen, that his wounds had vanished, that his scars had disappeared. He was suddenly taller, stronger, as arrogant and as swaggering as the most flamboyant bully boy of Lytham's old village; and the guard found himself nodding in agreement and admiration, wondering not at all about the change in the mousy little sorcerer.

" But he himself sails into danger, " said Helwych, and he was back in his chair, sunken among a heap of furs and blankets.

Lytham blinked. " Can you not dissuade him, sorcerer? "

" Helwych. "

" Ah... yes, Helwych. "

" I cannot. But, as I said in the hall, Vaylle is not

all-powerful. It has its weaknesses. And I am sure that Cvinthil will find them. And I am sure that, with such men as you under his command, he will conquer. "

Lytham sighed with relief.

" But, you know, Lytham, " said Helwych as his eyes bored once again into the lad's face, " matters other than Vaylle threaten Gryylth, too. Matters that Cvinthil has brought upon himself. ''

" Cvinthil is a good king, " declared Lytham.

The dark eyes grew wide. " Oh, I am sure that he is, " Helwych said sincerely. " But would you not agree that, should Cvinthil return from an arduous campaign to find a prosperous and happy land, he would be lavish with praise and rewards for the men who made possible that prosperity and happiness? ''

The blue-black eyes, as dark as void, rooted Lytham to his chair, and he saw Helwych's point as clearly as if it had been etched into the sky with liquid fire. It all made sense, perfect sense, and though he swallowed with a dry throat, the words came quickly to his lips. " Yes. Yes, I would. "

Helwych nodded. " You are very wise, Lytham. I think I shall sleep now. If you would, please bring your friends with you tomorrow evening at this same time. I would like to meet them. "

Lytham rose. The world seemed open and easy of a sudden, and the heedlessness he had previously found in its workings had been peeled away to reveal a willingness to serve and to be controlled. " I shall do that, " he said. " Good night, sir. "

Helwych smiled patiently. " Helwych, lad. "

* CHAPTER 3 *

Darham's wish for further knowledge was granted, but not as he had hoped. When a month had passed, another messenger from Cvinthil arrived bearing not only a detailed account of Helwych's report, but also a description of the lad's wounds and an impatient request from Cvinthil that Darham declare whether or not Corrin would aid Gryylth in the invasion planned for the beginning of June.

To be sure, Cvinthil's message was respectfully and formally worded, and Darham found nothing amiss in its content, but there was no mistaking its tone. The king of Gryylth was angry, and, given the circumstances, he had a right to be. So, for that matter, did everyone in Corrin.

Tylha and Calrach conferred softly as Dryyim, the messenger, finished up with the standard formalities. When he was through, Tylha raised her hand to request leave to speak, and at Darham's nod, she addressed Dryyim. ' 'The recent war left both Corrin and Gryylth with few. . . men. . . able to bear arms, " she said, and though the Corrinians in the lodge understood her meaning, Dryyim did not: the women's phalanxes had been kept back during the war with Gryylth. " We of Corrin would like to know what kind of forces Cvinthil expects to raise, that we may better respond in kind. "

Dryyim heard her out with a kind of mixed aston-

ishment and irritation. " We estimate a body of twelve wartroops, " he said. " That is twelve score men, maiden. "

Tylha smiled. " I know well the number of men in a wartroop. And it has been years since I have been a maiden. " She glanced at the Corrinians in the lodge. They were smiling, too.

Dryyim stared at her, annoyance plain on his face.

Darham cleared his throat. " Commander Tylha leads fully half our army, Gryylthan. "

Dryyim folded his arms. " Indeed. "

Tylha's smile turned brittle, an indication that she was seething. But she remained polite. The Gryylthan was, after all, a guest. The Vayllens might kill their visitors: not so Corrin.

The thought brought Darham straight back to the question of arms and war. He looked at Calrach and Tylha. They nodded. Despite the inconsistencies and the problems inherent in Helwych's story, Vaylle's treachery was clear. Darham had to respond. And he could only respond in one way.

Feeling the hollowness, feeling the loss, he stood and lifted his hand. " Let it be done, then, " he said. " We will gather what phalanxes we have and send them to Vaylle. I myself shall lead them. And if Cvinthil wishes to depart come June, then we shall leave the shearing and the haying and depart with him. ''

Dryyim bowed. " I shall tell my king what you have said. " He glanced at Tylha and the female members of the Guard and shook his head with an almost audible sigh.

Darham sent him off with a male attendant, ostensibly for rest and refreshment, but more because Dryyim's arrogance was driving a number of his more prideful warriors—men and women both—close to violence. Even his scribe looked angry.

But Darham could not but feel that anger—even justified anger—had no place here today; and though, years ago, he had with Tarwach formulated battles and

campaigns against Gryylth with seriousness and gravity, still he had never approached those conferences with such grim emptiness as now characterized his preparations for the assault on Vaylle. As Darham spoke with his commanders and advisors, in fact, he felt as though he were moving through events at an arm's length, as though it were not really Darham of Corrin who spoke of men, transport and invasion, but rather a dancing puppet of a king who was being led through his antics by strings and tethers that willy-nilly jerked him about like a hapless doll.

It was late when he finished. Below the lodge, Benardis lay deeply shadowed. He dismissed his people and sat down before the fire, weary, his head in his hands.

Wykla. Dead. Such a lovely, noble child. But then, all the children he had ever seen had partaken of a sense of nobility. Even when, dirt-streaked, screaming with temper in the marketplace or the town square and plunging their mothers and fathers into the depths of red-faced humiliation, still they were only themselves, as unselfconscious and immanent as a strong stallion that pranced across a spring meadow, rejoicing in his strength.

And at times—fortunate, fortunate times—a few of those children carried with them even into young adulthood some of that immediacy and that presence. Wykla had it. Manda, in spite of her sorrow, had it also. Karthin, too. And so how was it that such as these could be slaughtered in their beds in a far land, leaving a rank weed like Helwych to come home bearing the news of their deaths? It did not make sense.

Some time had passed before he noticed that Tylha had stayed behind. She had been waiting in the silent lodge, standing at attention, not wishing to interrupt yet unwilling to depart.

Darham nodded to her tiredly. " Commander. "

" I do not wish to grieve you, my king. If this time be inopportune for a question... "

Darham leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on the hearth. He might have called for wine, but his stomach was already sour with frustration. " You do not grieve me, Tylha. Vaylle grieves me. Gryylth grieves me. But not you. "

Tylha nodded. Her leather armor creaked. " My king, " she said, " I noticed this evening that you chose your words carefully regarding the forces that would depart for Vaylle. You consistently referred to men, but not to women. Was this an oversight? Or maybe an attempt to be polite to the Gryylthan? ''

" I had sent the Gryylthan off some time before, Tylha. "

" Aye. Indeed. "

Darham sighed. Any appetite for battle he might have once possessed had been thoroughly spoiled by the final drive into Gryylth and the fighting at the Circle, and he looked towards this new conflict with a sense of leaden inertia.

" I dislike all of this greatly, " he said. " I have no other reason for war with Vaylle than the fact that there is now no reason not to. If we plowed our fields with no greater excuse, we should be assured of some hard harvests. "

' 'Manda and Karthin, my lord, are sufficient reason, I think. And then there is also Wykla. You called her daughter. "

Darham was silent for a time. He had called Wykla daughter, but she had never called him father. Now, according to Helwych, she would never have the chance. " Your question, commander: aye, I spoke of men. "

Stocky, matronly, Tylha might have been chiseled out of a block of granite. " Do you forget that my phalanxes, kept back from the war with Gryylth, can still be raised almost to full strength? Peace has sent most of the women home, and some have taken husbands and are raising children, but many are free to come and go and would be quite willing to pick up

their swords and pikes, particularly in reprisal for Kar-thin and Manda, who were much loved. "