tw.thestoneoffarewell-第1部分

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　　 THE　WIND　sawed　across　the　empty　battlements；　howling　like　a　thousand　condemned　souls　crying　for　mercy。　Brother　Hengfisk；　despite　the　bitter　cold　that　had　sucked　the　air　from　his　once…strong　lungs　and　withered　and　peeled　the　skin　of　his　face　and　hands；　took　a　certain　grim　pleasure　in　the　sound。
　　 Yes；　that　is　what　they　will　all　sound　like；　all　the　sinful　multitude　who　scoffed　at　the　message　of　Mother　Church…including；　unfortunately；　the　less　rigorous　of　his　Hoderundian　brothers。　How　they　will　cry　out　before　God's　just　wrath；　begging　for　mercy；　when　it　is　far；　far　too　late。　。　。　。
　　 He　caught　his　knee　a　wicked　blow　on　a　stone　lying　tumbled　from　a　wall；　and　pitched　forward　into　the　snow　with　a　crack…lipped　squeal。　The　monk　sat　whimpering　for　a　moment；　but　the　painful　bite　of　tears　freezing　on　his　cheek　forced　him　back　onto　his　feet。　He　hobbled　forward　once　more。
　　 The　main　road　that　climbed　through　Naglimund…town　toward　the　castle　was　full　of　drifting　snow。　The　houses　and　shops　on　either　side　had　nearly　disappeared　beneath　a　smothering　blanket　of　deadly　white；　but　even　those　buildings　not　yet　covered　were　as　deserted　as　the　shells　of　long…dead　animals。　There　was　nothing　on　the　road　but　Hengfisk　and　the　snow。
　　 As　the　wind　changed　direction；　the　whistling　of　the　fluted　battlements　at　the　top　of　the　hill　rose　in　pitch。　The　monk　squinted　his　bulging　eyes　up　at　the　walls；　then　lowered　his　head。　He　trudged　on　through　the　gray　afternoon；　the　crunch　of　his　footsteps　a　near…silent　drumbeat　acpanying　the　skirling　wind。
　　 It's　no　wonder　the　townspeople　have　fled　to　the　keep；　he　thought；　shivering。　All　around　him　gaped　the　black　idiot…mouths　of　roofs　and　walls　staved　in　by　the　weight　of　snow。　But　inside　the　castle；　under　the　protection　of　stone　and　great　timbers；　there　they　must　be　safe。　Fires　would　be　burning；　and　red；　cheerful　faces…sinners'　faces；　he　reminded　himself　scornfully：　damned；　heedless　sinners'　faces…would　gather　around　him　and　marvel　that　he　had　walked　all　this　way　through　the　freakish　storm。
　　 It　is　Yuven…month；　is　it　not？　Had　his　memory　suffered　so；　that　he　could　not　remember　the　month？
　　 But　of　course　it　was。　Two　full　moons　ago　it　had　been　spring…a　little　cold；　perhaps；　but　that　was　nothing　to　a　Rimmersman　like　Hengfisk；　reared　in　the　chill　of　the　north。　No；　that　was　the　freakish　thing；　of　course；　that　it　should　be　so　deadly　cold；　the　ice　and　snow　flying；　in　Yuven…the　first　month　of　summer。
　　 Hadn't　Brother　Langrian　refused　to　leave　the　abbey；　and　after　all　Hengfisk　had　done　to　nurse　him　back　to　health？　〃It's　more　than　foul　weather；　Brother；〃　Langrian　had　said。　〃It's　a　curse　on　God's　entire　creation。　It's　the　Day　of　Weighing…Out　e　in　our　lifetimes。〃
　　 Ah；　that　was　well　enough　for　Langrian。　If　he　wanted　to　stay　in　the　burned　wrack　of　Saint　Hoderund's　abbey；　eating　berries　and　such　from　the　forest…and　how　much　fruit　would　there　be　anyway；　in　such　unseasonable　cold？…then　he　could　do　as　he　pleased。　Brother　Hengfisk　was　no　fool。　Naglimund　was　the　place　to　go。　Old　Bishop　Anodis　would　wele　Hengfisk。　The　bishop　would　admire　the　monk's　clever　eye　for　what　he　had　seen；　the　stories　that　Hengfisk　could　tell　of　what　had　happened　at　the　abbey；　the　unseasonable　weather。　The　Naglimunders　would　wele　him　in；　feed　him；　ask　him　questions；　let　him　sit　before　their　warm　fire。　。　。　。
　　 But　they　must　know　about　the　cold；　mustn't　they？　Hengfisk　thought　dully　as　he　pulled　his　ice…crackling　robe　closer　about　him。　He　was　in　the　very　shadow　of　the　wall　now。　The　white　world　he　had　known　for　so　many　days　and　weeks　seemed　to　have　e　to　an　ending；　a　precipice　that
　　vanished　into　stony　nothingness。　That　is；　they　must　know　about　the　snow　and　all。　That's　why　they've　all　left　the　town　and　moved　into　the　keep。　It's　the　damnable；　demon…cursed　weather　that's　keeping　the　sentries　off　the　walls；　isn't　it？
　　 Isn't　it！？
　　 He　stood　and　surveyed　with　mad　interest　the　pile　of　snow…mantled　rubbish　that　had　been　Naglimund's　greater　gate。　The　huge　pillars　and　massive　stones　were　charred　black　beneath　the　drifts。　The　hole　in　the　sagging　wall　stood　large　enough　to　hold　twenty　Hengfisks　standing　abreast；　shoulder　to　bony；　trembling　shoulder。
　　 Look　how　they've　let　things　go。　Oh；　they'll　shriek　when　their　judgment　es；　shriek　and　shriek　with　never　a　chance　to　make　amends。　Everything　has　been　let　go…the　gate；　the　town；　the　weather。
　　 Somebody　must　be　scourged　for　such　negligence。　Doubtless　Bishop　Anodis　had　his　hands　full　crying　to　keep　such　an　unruly　flock　in　line。　Hengfisk　would　be　only　too　happy　to　help　that　fine　old　man　minister　to　such　slackers。　First；　a　fire　and　some　warm　food。　Then；　a　little　monasterial　discipline。　Things　would　soon　be　brought　to　rights。　。　。　。
　　 Hengfisk　stepped　carefully　through　the　splintered　posts　and　white…
　　covered　stones。　
　　 The　thing　of　it　was；　the　monk　slowly　realized；　in　a　way　it　was　quite　。　。　。　beautiful。　Beyond　the　gate；　all　things　were　covered　in　a　delicate　tracery　of　ice；　like　lacy　veils　of　spiderweb。　The　sinking　sun　embellished　the　frosted　towers　and　ice…crusted　walls　and　courtyards　with　rivulets　of　pale　fire。
　　 The　cry　of　the　wind　was　somewhat　less　here　within　the　battlements。　Hengfisk　stood　for　a　long　while；　abashed　by　the　unexpected　quiet。　As　the　weak　sun　slid　behind　the　walls；　the　ice　darkened。　Deep　violet　shadows　welled　up　in　the　corners　of　the　courtyard；　stretching　laterally　across　the　faces　of　the　ruined　towers。　The　wind　softened　to　a　feline　hiss；　and　the　pop…eyed　monk　lowered　his　head　in　numb　recognition。
　　 Deserted。　Naglimund　was　empty；　with　not　a　single　soul　left　behind　to　greet　a　snow…bewildered　wanderer。　He　had　walked　leagues　through　the　storm…ridden　white　waste　to　reach　a　place　that　was　as　dead　and　dumb　as　stone。
　　 But；　he　wondered　suddenly；　if　that　is　so　。　。　。　then　what　are　those　blue　lights　that　flicker　in　the　windows　of　the　towers？
　　 And　what　were　these　figures　who　approached　him　across　the　shambles　of　the　courtyard；　moving　as　gracefully　over　the　icy　stones　as　blowing　thistledown？
　　 His　heart　raced。　At　first；　as　he　saw　their　beautiful；　cold　faces　and　pale　hair；　Hengfisk　thought　them　angels。　Then；　as　he　saw　the　fell　light　in　their　black　eyes；　and　their　smiles；　he　turned；　stumbling；　and　tried　to　run。
　　 The　Norns　caught　him　effortlessly；　then　carried　him　back　with　them　into　the　depths　of　the　desolated　castle；　beneath　the　shadowed；　ice…mantled　towers　and　the　ceaselessly　flickering　lights。　And　when　Naglimund's　new　masters　whispered　to　him　in　their　secretive；　musical　voices；　his　screams　for　a　while　overtopped　even　the　howling　wind。
　　
　　
　　PART　ONE
　　Stormy　Eye
　　
　　1
　　The　Music　of　High　Places
　　
　　EVEN　in　the　cave；　where　the　crackling　fire　sent　gray　fingers　of　smoke　up　to　the　hole　in　the　stony　roof；　and　red　light　played　across　the　wall　carvings　of　twining　serpents　and　tusked；　staring…eyed　beasts；　the　cold　still　gnawed　at　Simon's　bones。　As　he　floated　in　and　out　of　fevered　sleep；　through　curtained　daylight　and　chill　night；　he　felt　as　though　gray　ice　grew　inside　him；　stiffening　his　limbs　and　filling　him　with　frost。　He　wondered　if　he　would　ever　be　warm　again。
　　Fleeing　the　chill　Yiqanuc　cave　and　his　sickened　body；　he　wandered　the　Road　of　Dreams；　slipping　helplessly　from　one　fantasy　to　the　next。　Many　times　he　thought　he　had　returned　to　the　Hayholt；　to　his　castle　home　as　it　once　had　been；　but　would　never　be　again：　a　place　of　sun…warmed　lawns；　of　shadowed　nooks　and　hiding…holes…the　greatest　house　of　all；　full　of　bustle　and　color　and　music。　He　walked　again　in　the　Hedge　Garden；　and　the　wind　that　sang　outside　the　cave　in　which　he　slept　sang　in　his　dreams　as　well；　blowing　gently　through　the　leaves　and　shaking　the　delicate　hedges。
　　In　one　strange　dream　he　seemed　to　travel　back　to　Doctor　Morgenes'　chamber。　The　doctor's　study　was　now　at　the　top　of　a　tall　tower；　with　clouds　swimming　past　the　high…arched　windows。　The　old　man　hovered　fretfully　over　a　large；　open　book。　There　was　something　frightening　about　the　doctor's　single…mindedness　and　silence。　Simon　did　not　seem　to　exist　at　all　for　Morgenes；　instead；　the　old　man　stared　intently　at　the　crude　drawing　of　three　swords　that　stretched　across　the　splayed　pages。
　　Simon　moved　to　the　windowsill。　The　wind　sighed；　though　he　could　feel　no　breeze。　He　looked　down　to　the　courtyard　below。　Staring　up　at　him　with　wide；　solemn　eyes　was　a　child；　a　small；　dark…haired　girl。　She　lifted　a　hand　in　the　air；　as　ifm　greeting；　then　suddenly　was　gone。
　　The　tower　and　Morgenes'　cluttered　chamber　began　to　melt　away　beneath　Simon's　feet　like　a　receding　tide。　Last　to　vanish　was　the　old　man　himself。　Even　as　he　slowly　faded；　like　a　shadow　m　growing　light；　Morgenes　still　did　not　lift　his　eyes　to　Simon's；　instead；　his　gnarled　hands　busily　traced　the　pages　of　his　book；　as　though　restlessly　looking　for　answers。
　　Simon　called　out　to　him；　but　all　the　world　had　turned　gray　and　cold；　full　of　swirling　mists　and　the　tatters　of　other　dreams。　。　。　。
　　He　awakened；　as　he　had　so　many　times　since　Urmsheim；　to　find　the　cave　night…darkened；　and　to　see　Haestan　and　Jiriki　bedded　down　near　the　rune…scrawled　stone　wall。　The　Erkynlander　was　curled　sleeping　in　his　cloak；　beard　on　breastbone。　The　Sitha　stared　at　something　cupped　in　the　palm　of　his　long…fingered　hand。　Jiriki　seemed　deeply　absorbed。　His　eyes　gleamed　faintly；　as　though　whatever　he　held　reflected　the　last　embers　of　the　fire。　Simon　tried　to　say　something…he　was　hungry　for　warmth　and　voices…but　sleep　was　tugging　at　him　again。
　　The　wind　is　so　loud　。　。　。
　　It　moaned　in　the　mountain　passes　outside；　as　it　did　around　the　tower　tops　of　the　Hayholt。。。　as　it　had　across　the　battlements　of　Naglimund。
　　So　sad　。　。　。　the　wind　is　sad　。　。　。
　　Soon　he　was　asleep　once　more。　The　cave　was　quiet　but　for　faint　breathing　and　the　lonely　music　of　high　places。
　　
　　It　was　only　a　hole；　but　it　made　a　very　sufficient　prison。　It　plunged　twenty　cubits　down　into　the　stone　heart　of　Mintahoq　Mountain；　as　wide　as　two　men　or　four　trolls　lying　head　to　foot。　The　sides　were　polished　like　the　finest　sculptor's　marble；　so　that　even　a　spider　would　have　been　hard…pressed　to　find　a　foothold。　The　bottom　was　as　dark　and　cold　and　damp　as　any　dungeon。
　　Though　the　moon　ranged　above