tw.thestoneoffarewell-第12部分

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　a　stern　finger　at　the　speechless　Simon。　〃But　do　not　think　to　summon　me　in　a　puff　of　smoke；　as　in　one　of　your　folk's　goblin　stories。　I　have　no　such　magical　powers。　I　cannot　even　promise　you　I　will　be　able　to　e。　But　if　I　hear　of　your　need；　I　will　do　what　is　in　my　power　to　help。　The　Zida'ya　are　not　totally　without　friends；　even　in　this　bold　young　world　of　mortals。〃
　　Simon's　mouth　worked　for　a　moment。　〃Thank　you；〃　he　said　at　last。　The　small　gray　glass　suddenly　seemed　a　thing　of　great　weight　indeed。　〃Thank　you。〃
　　Jiriki　smiled；　showing　a　stripe　of　white　teeth。　Again　he　seemed　what　he　was　among　his　own　folk…a　youth。　〃And　you　have　your　ring；　as　well。〃　He　gestured　at　Simon's　other　hand；　to　the　thin　gold　band　with　its　fish…shaped　sign。　〃Talk　of　goblin　stories；　Seoman！　The　White　Arrow；　the　black　sword；　a　golden　ring；　and　a　Sithi　seeing…glass…you　are　so　weighted　down　with　significant　booty　that　you　will　clank　when　you　walk！〃　The　prince　laughed；　a　trill　of　hissing　music。
　　Simon　stared　at　the　ring；　saved　for　him　from　the　wrack　of　the　doctor's　chambers；　sent　on　to　Binabik　as　one　of　Morgenes'　final　acts。　Grimy　with　the　oil　of　the　gloves　Simon　had　been　wearing；　it　sat　unflatteringly　on　a　dirt…blackened　finger。
　　〃I　still　don't　know　what　the　writing　inside　means；〃　he　said。　On　a　whim；　he　twisted　it　off　and　handed　it　to　the　Sitha。　〃Binabik　couldn't　read　it　either；　except　for　something　about　dragons　and　death。〃　He　had　a　sudden　thought。　〃Does　it　help　the　person　wearing　it　to　slay　dragons？〃　It　was　an　oddly　depressing　idea；　especially　since　he　didn't　think　he'd　actually　managed　to　slay　the　ice…worm。　Had　it　only　been　a　magical　spell　after　all？　As　he　recovered　his　strength；　he　found　himself　more　and　more　proud　of　his　bravery　in　the　face　of　the　terrible　Igjarjuk。
　　〃Whatever　happened　on　Urmsheim　was　between　you　and　ancient　Hidohebhi's　child；　Seoman。　There　was　no　magic。〃　Jiriki's　smile　had　disappeared。　He　shook　his　head　solemnly；　passing　the　ring　back。　〃But　I　cannot　tell　you　more　about　the　ring。　If　the　wise　man　Morgenes　did　not　provide　for　your　understanding　when　he　sent　it　to　you；　then　I　will　not　presume　to　tell。　I　have　perhaps　already　burdened　you　unfairly　during　our　short　acquaintance。　Even　the　bravest　mortals　grow　sick　with　too　much　truth。〃
　　〃You　can　read　what　it　says？〃
　　〃Yes。　It　is　written　in　one　of　the　languages　of　the　Zida'ya…although；　interestingly　for　a　mortal　trinket；　one　of　the　more　obscure。　I　will　tell　you　this；　however。　If　I　understand　its　meaning；　it　does　not　concern　you　now　in　any　direct　fashion；　and　knowing　what　it　said　would　not　help　you　in　any　palpable　way。〃
　　〃And　that's　all　you'll　tell　me？〃
　　〃For　now。　Perhaps　if　we　meet　again；　I　will　have　more　understanding　of　why　it　was　given　to　you。〃　The　Sitha's　face　was　troubled。　〃Good　fortune　to　you；　Seoman。　You　are　an　odd　boy…even　for　a　mortal。。。〃
　　At　that　moment　they　heard　Haestan's　shout　and　saw　the　Erkynlander　striding　up　the　path　toward　them；　waving　something。　He　had　caught　a　snow　hare。　The　fire；　he　called　happily；　was　ready　for　cooking。
　　
　　Even　with　a　stomach　fortably　full　of　broiled　meat　and　herbs；　it　took　Simon　a　long　time　to　fall　asleep　that　night。　As　he　lay　on　his　pallet　looking　up　at　the　flickering　red　shadows　on　the　cave　ceiling；　his　mind　tumbled　with　all　that　had　happened；　the　maddening　tale　in　which　he　had　been　caught　up。
　　I'm　in　a　sort　of　story；　just　like　Jiriki　said。　A　story　like　Shem　used　to　tell…or　is　it　History；　like　Doctor　Morgenes　used　to　teach　me。。。　？　But　no　one　ever　explained　how　terrible　it　is　to　be　in　the　middle　of　a　tale　and　not　to　know　the　ending。。。　
　　He　slipped　away　at　last；　awakening　with　a　start　some　time　later。　Haestan；　as　always；　was　snorting　and　sighing　in　his　beard；　deep　in　slumber。　There　was　no　sign　of　Jiriki。　Somehow；　the　cavern's　curious　emptiness　told　Simon　that　the　Sitha　was　truly　gone；　headed　down　the　mountain　to　return　to　his　home。
　　Stung　by　loneliness；　even　with　the　guardsman　grumbling　stuporously　away　nearby；　he　found　himself　crying。　He　did　so　quietly；　ashamed　at　this　failure　of　manhood；　but　he　could　no　more　stop　the　flow　of　tears　than　lift　great　Mintahoq　on　his　back。
　　
　　Simon　and　Haestan　came　to　Chidsik　ub　Lingit　at　the　time　Jiriki　had　told　them…an　hour　after　dawn。　The　cold　had　worsened。　The　ladders　and　thong　bridges　swayed　in　the　cold　wind；　unused。　Mintahoq's　stone　byways　had　bee　even　more　treacherous　than　usual；　covered　in　many　places　by　a　thin　skin　of　ice。
　　As　the　two　outsiders　pressed　their　way　in　through　a　horde　of　chattering　trolls；　Simon　leaned　heavily　on　Haestan's　fur…cloaked　elbow。　He　had　not　slept　well　after　the　Sitha　had　gone。　his　dreams　shot　through　with　the　shadows　of　swords　and　the　pelling　but　inexplicable　presence　of　the　small；　dark…eyed　girl。
　　The　troll　folk　around　them　were　done　up　as　if　for　a　festival；　many　in　shiny　necklaces　of　carved　tusk　and　bone；　the　women　with　their　black　hair　bound　up　in　bs　made　from　the　skulls　of　birds　and　fish。　Men　and　women　both　passed　skins　of　some　highland　liquor　back　and　forth；　laughing　and　gesturing　as　they　drank。　Haestan　watched　this　procedure　gloomily。
　　〃I　talked　one　of　'em　into　givin'　me　sip　o'　that；〃　the　guardsman　said。　〃Tasted　like　horse　piss；　did。　What　I　wouldna　give　for　drop　o'　red　Perdruin。〃
　　At　the　center　of　the　room；　just　within　the　moat　of　unlit　oil；　Simon　and　Haescan　found　four　intricately…worked　bone　stools　with　seats　of　stretched　hide；　which　stood　facing　the　empty　dais。　Since　the　milling　trolls　had　made　themselves　fortable　all　around；　but　had　left　the　seats　empty；　the　interlopers　guessed　that　two　of　the　stools　were　theirs。　No　sooner　had　they　seated　themselves　than　the　Yiqanuc　folk　gathered　around　them　stood　up。　A　strange　noise　rose；　echoing　from　the　cavern　walls…a　sonorous；　humming　chant。　Inprehensible　Qanuc　words；　like　castoff　spars　floating　on　an　uneasy　sea；　bobbed　to　the　surface　and　then　slipped　back　beneath　the　steady　moaning。　It　was　a　strange　and　disturbing　sound。
　　For　a　moment　Simon　thought　the　chanting　had　something　to　do　with　his　and　Haestan's　entrance；　but　the　dark　eyes　of　the　assembled　trolls　were　focused　on　a　door　in　the　far　cavern　wall。
　　Through　this　door　at　last　came　not　the　masters　of　Yiqanuc；　as　Simon　had　expected；　but　a　figure　even　more　exotic　than　the　folk　who　surrounded　him。　The　newer　was　a　troll；　or　at　least　of　troll　size。　His　small；　muscular　body　was　oiled　so　that　it　gleamed　in　the　lamplight。　He　wore　a　fringed　skirt　of　hide　and　his　face　was　hidden　behind　a　mask　made　from　a　ram's　skull　which　had　been　decoratively　carved　and　gouged　until　the　bone　was　scarcely　more　than　a　filigree；　a　white　basket　around　the　black　eye　holes。　Two　enormous；　curving　horns　that　had　been　hollowed　to　near　transparency　stood　out　over　his　shoulders。　A　mantel　of　white　and　yellow　feathers　and　a　necklace　of　curved　black　claws　swung　beneath　the　bony　mask。
　　Simon　could　not　tell　if　this　man　was　a　priest；　a　dancer；　or　simply　a　herald　for　the　royal　couple。　When　he　stamped　his　gleaming　foot　the　crowd　roared　happily。　When　he　touched　the　tips　of　his　horns；　then　raised　his　palms　to　the　sky；　the　troll　folk　gasped　and　quickly　resumed　their　chanting。　For　long　moments　the　man　capered　across　the　raised　dais；　as　intent　on　his　work　as　any　solemn　craftsman。　At　last　he　paused　as　though　listening。　The　murmuring　of　the　crowd　stopped。　Four　more　figures　appeared　in　the　doorway…three　of　troll　size；　one　towering　over　the　rest。
　　Binabik　and　Sludig　were　brought　forward。　One　troll　guard　stood　on　each　side；　the　heads　of　their　sharp　spears　remaining　at　all　times　near　the　prisoners'　backbones。　Simon　wanted　to　stand　and　shout；　but　Haestan's
　　broad　hand　fell　on　his　arm；　holding　him　down　on　his　stool。
　　〃Quiet；　lad。　They　be　in'　this　way。　Wait　for　'em　t'get　here。　We　make　no　show　for　this　rabble。〃
　　Both　the　troll　and　the　fair…haired　Rimmersman　were　considerably　thinner　than　when　Simon　had　last　seen　them。　Sludig's　bushy…bearded　face　was　pink　and　peeling；　as　though　he　had　been　too　much　in　the　sun。　Binabik　was　paler　than　he　had　been；　his　once…brown　skin　now　the　color　of　porridge；　his　eyes　seemed　sunken；　surrounded　by　shadows。
　　The　pair　walked　slowly；　the　troll　head　down；　Sludig　looking　defiantly　around　the　room　until　he　saw　Simon　and　Haestan；　to　whom　he　offered　a　grim　smile。　As　they　stepped　over　the　moat　into　the　inner　circle；　the　Rimmersman　reached　out　and　patted　Simon's　shoulder；　then　grunted　in　pain　as　one　of　the　guards　following　close　behind　pricked　his　arm　with　a　spear　point。
　　〃Had　I　but　a　sword；〃　Sludig　murmured；　stepping　forward　and　gingerly　seating　himself　on　one　of　the　stools。　Binabik　took　the　seat　at　the　far　end。　He　had　not　yet　raised　his　eyes　to　meet　those　of　his　panions。
　　〃Take　more　than　swords；　friend；〃　Haestan　whispered。　〃They　be　small；　but　stern…an'　look　at　th'Usires…cursed　numbers　of　'em'〃
　　〃Binabik！〃　said　Simon　urgently；　leaning　across　Sludig。　〃Binabik！　We've　e　to　speak　for　you！〃
　　The　troll　looked　up。　For　a　moment　it　seemed　he　might　say　something；　but　his　dark　eyes　were　distant。　He　gave　the　slightest；　gentlest　shake　of　his　head；　then　returned　his　gaze　to　the　cavern　floor。　Simon　felt　rage　burning　inside　him。　Binabik　must　fight　for　his　life！　He　was　sitting　like　old　Rim　the　plow…horse；　waiting　for　the　killing　blow　to　fall。
　　The　growing　buzz　of　excited　voices　was　abruptly　stilled。　Another　trio　of　figures　appeared　in　the　doorway；　moving　slowly　forward：　Nunuuika　the　Huntress　and　Uammannaq　the　Herder；　in　full　ceremonial　trappings　of　fur　and　ivory　and　polished　stones。　Another　troll　followed　them　on　silent；　soft…booted　feet…a　young　woman；　her　large　eyes　expressionless；　her　mouth　set　in　a　firm　line。　Her　shuttered　stare　flicked　across　the　line　of　stools；　then　away。　The　man　with　the　ram　horns　danced　before　the　three　some　until　they　reached　the　dais　and　ascended　to　their　divan　of　hides　and　fur　robes。　The　unfamiliar　troll　woman　sat　just　before　the　royal　pair；　one　step　below　the　top。　The　capering　herald…or　whatever　he　was：　Simon　still　could　not　decide…thrust　a　taper　into　one　of　the　wall　lamps；　then　touched　it　to　the　ring　of　oil；　which　caught　with　a　blazing　huff。　Flames　raced　around　the　circle；　trailing　black　smoke。　A　moment　later　the　smoke　dissipated　upward　into　the　shadowy　reaches　of　the　cavern　ceiling。　Simon　and　the　others