tw.thestoneoffarewell-第141部分

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　　And　she　had　sent　him　away　in　anger；　had　she　not？
　　The　wind　picked　restlessly　at　the　unsettled　snow。
　　
　　He　rode　past　Ach　Samrath　on　a　morning　when　the　storm　had　abated　somewhat；　stopping　his　horse　on　a　rise　above　the　ancient　battlefield　where　Prince　Sinnach　and　ten　thousand　of　his　Hernystirmen　had　been　destroyed　by　Fingil　of　Rimmersgard　and　the　treachery　of　the　Thrithings…lord　Niyunort。　As　on　the　few　other　occasions　he　had　visited　this　site；　Eolair　felt　a　shiver　climb　through　him　as　he　looked　down　at　the　great；　flat　field；　but　this　time　it　was　not　prompted　by　the　grisly　past。　With　the　freezing　wind　on　his　face　and　the　cold；　blank　face　of　the　north　staring　down　at　him；　he　suddenly　realized　that　by　the　time　this　new　and　greater　war　had　ended…whether　on　a　battlefield　or　beneath　a　remorseless　tide　of　black　winter…it　might　be　in　a　frenzy　of　death　that　would　make　Ach　Samrath　seem　a　petty　dispute。
　　He　rode　on；　his　anger　turning　to　ice　inside　him。　Who　had　set　this　great　thing　in　motion？　Who　had　set　this　evil　wheel　to　turning？　Had　it　been　Elias；　or　his　pet　serpent　Pryrates？　If　so；　there　should　be　a　special　Hell　prepared　for　them。　Eolair　only　hoped　he　would　be　around　to　see　them　sent　there…　maybe　on　the　end　of　Prester　John's　Bright…Nail；　if　the　subterranean　dwarrows　spoke　rightly。
　　As　Eolair　came　to　the　edge　of　Aldheorte；　he　reverted　once　more　to　night　riding。　The　storm's　teeth　seemed　a　little　duller　here　in　Elias'　realm；　only　a　dozen　leagues　from　the　outskirts　of　Erchester；　and　he　also　thought　it　safer　not　to　count　on　the　infrequency　of　meeting　other　travelers　any　longer…　here；　that　infrequent　other　traveler　was　likely　to　be　one　of　the　High　King's　Erkynguard。
　　Beneath　the　shadow　of　the　great　wood；　the　silent；　snow…blanketed　farmlands　seemed　to　wait　apprehensively　for　whatever　might　e　next；　as　though　this　storm　were　only　the　precursor　of　some　darker　deed。　Eolair　knew　that　these　were　his　own　feelings；　but　also　felt　strongly　that　they　were　not　his　alone：　a　sense　of　dread　hung　over　Erkynland；　filling　the　air　like　a　terrible；　will…sapping　fog。　The　few　lone　farmers　and　woodsmen　whose　wagons　he　saw　on　the　road　did　not　respond　to　his　greetings　except　to　make　the　sign　of　the　Tree　as　they　passed　him　on　the　moonless　roads；　as　though　Eolair　might　be　some　demon　or　walking　dead　man。　But　their　torches　revealed　that　it　was　their　own　faces　that　had　gone　slack　and　pale　as　the　masks　of　corpses；　as　though　the　fearful　winds　and　constant　snow　had　leached　the　very　life　from　them。
　　He　approached　Thisterborg。　The　great　hill　stood　only　a　few　leagues　from　Erchester's　gates；　and　was　the　closest　he　would　e　to　the　Hayholt…　from　which；　on　certain　of　the　blackest　nights；　he　could　almost　feel　Elias'　sleepless　malice　burning　like　a　torch　in　a　high　tower。　It　was　only　the　High　King；　he　reminded　himself；　a　mortal　man　whom　he　had　once　respected；　although　never　liked。　Whatever　mad　plans　Elias　had　made；　whatever　dreadful　bargains；　he　was　still　only　a　man。
　　Thisterborg's　peak　seemed　to　flicker　as　the　count　drew　nearer；　as　though　high　on　the　hillcrest　great　watchfires　burned。　Eolair　wondered　if　Elias　had　made　it　a　guard　post；　but　could　think　of　no　reason　why。　Did　the　High　King　fear　some　invasion　from　the　ancient　forest；　the　Aldheorte？　It　mattered　little；　in　any　case。　Eolair　was　firmly　resolved　to　circle　Thisterborg　on　the　far　side　from　Erchester；　and　felt　no　urge　whatsoever　to　investigate　the　mysterious　lights。　The　black　hill　had　an　evil　reputation　that　extended　back　far　beyond　the　days　of　even　Elias'　father；　King　John。　Stories　about　Thisterborg　were　many；　none　of　them　pleasant　to　hear。　In　such　days　as　these；　Eolair　wished　he　could　avoid　ing　any　closer　than　a　league　or　so；　but　the　forest…another　dubious　place　to　be　at　night…and　the　walls　of　Erchester　prevented　such　a　judiciously　wide　swing。
　　He　had　just　started　around　the　north　of　the　hill；　his　mount　picking　its　way　through　the　ever…thickening　trees　of　Aldheorte's　fringe；　when　he　felt　a　wave　of　fear　sweep　over　him　that　was　unlike　anything　he　had　ever　experienced。　His　heart　hammered　and　a　chill　sweat　broke　out　on　his　face；　then　turned　almost　immediately　to　fragile　ice；　Eolair　felt　like　a　fieldmouse　that；　too　late　for　escape；　suddenly　perceived　the　stooping　hawk。　He　had　to　restrain　himself　from　digging　in　his　spurs　and　riding　madly　in　whatever　direction　he　was　already　facing。　He　whirled；　looking　wildly　for　whatever　might　be　the　cause　of　such　dreadful　terror；　but　could　see　nothing。　
　　At　last　he　slapped　his　horse's　flank　and　rode　a　short　distance　farther　into　the　shielding　trees。　Whatever　had　caused　him　to　feel　this　way；　it　seemed　a　product　of　the　unprotected　snows　rather　than　the　shadowy　forest。　
　　The　storm　was　much　less　fierce　here；　as　it　had　been　since　he　had　entered　Aldheorte's　lee：　but　for　a　sprinkling　of　snow；　the　sky　was　clear。　A　vast　yellow　moon　hung　in　the　eastern　sky；　turning　all　the　landscape　to　a　sickly　shade　of　bone。　The　Count　of　Nad　Mullach　looked　up　at　the　looming　bulk　of　Thisterborg；　wondering　if　that　could　be　the　source　of　his　sudden　fright；　but　could　see　or　hear　nothing　extraordinary。　A　part　of　him　wondered　if　he　had　not　been　riding　too　long　alone　with　his　morbid　thoughts；　but　that　part　was　easily　ignored。　Eolair　was　a　Hernystirman。　Herynstiri　remembered。
　　A　thin　sound；　an　unidentifiable　but　persistent　scraping；　began　to　make　itself　heard。　He　looked　down　from　secretive　Thisterborg　and　turned　his　gaze　westward　across　the　snows；　toward　the　direction　from　which　he　had　e。　Something　was　moving　slowly　across　the　white　plain。
　　The　chill　of　fear　grew　deeper；　spreading　through　him　like　a　prickling　frost。　As　his　horse　moved　unfortably；　Eolair　put　a　trembling　hand　on　its　neck；　the　beast；　as　if　it　perceived　his　own　terror；　suddenly　became　very　still。　Their　twin　plumes　of　breath　were　the　only　moving　things　in　the　shadow　of　the　trees。
　　The　scraping　grew　louder。　Eolair　could　now　see　the　shapes　moving　closer　over　the　snows；　a　mass　of　luminous　white　followed　by　a　lump　of　blackness。　Then；　with　the　stark　unreality　of　a　nightmare；　the　gleaming　shapes　came　clear。
　　It　was　a　team　of　white　goats；　shaggy　pelts　glowing　as　though　with　captured　moonlight。　Their　eyes　were　red　as　embers；　and　their　heads　seemed　somehow　gravely　wrong：　when　he　thought　of　it　afterward　he　could　never　say　why；　except　that　the　shapes　of　their　hairless　muzzles　seemed　to　suggest　some　kind　of　unpleasant　intelligence。　The　goats；　nine　in　all；　drew　behind　them　a　great　black　sled；　it　was　the　sound　of　the　runners　crunching　through　the　snow　that　he　had　heard。　Seated　on　the　sled　was　a　hooded　figure　that　even　across　a　distance　of　some　hundred　cubits　seemed　too　large。　Several　other；　smaller　black…robed　figures　marched　solemnly　alongside；　hoods　tilted　downward　like　monks　in　meditation。
　　An　almost　uncontrollable　horror　ran　up　Eolair's　spine。　His　horse　had　turned　to　stone　beneath　him；　as　if　fright　had　stopped　its　heart　and　left　it　dead　upon　its　feet。　The　ghastly　procession　scraped　past；　agonizingly　slow；　silent　but　for　the　noise　of　the　sled。　Just　as　the　robed　figures　were　about　to　vanish　into　the　darkness　of　Thistcrborg's　lowest　slopes；　one　of　the　hooded　shapes　turned；　showing　Eolair　what　he　fancied　was　a　flash　of　skeletal　white　face；　black　holes　that　might　have　been　eyes。　The　part　of　his　shrieking　thoughts　that　was　still　coherent　thanked　the　gods　of　his　and　all　other　peoples　for　the　shadows　of　the　forest's　fringe。　The　hooded　eyes　turned　away　at　last。　The　sled　and　its　escort　vanished　into　the　snowy　woods　of　Thisterborg。
　　Eolair　stood　a　long　time；　allowing　himself　to　tremble；　but　did　not　move　from　the　spot　until　he　was　sure　it　was　safe。　His　teeth　had　been　so　tightly　clenched　that　his　jaws　ached。　He　felt　as　though　he　had　been　stripped　raw　and　tumbled　down　a　long　black　hole。　When　he　dared　to　move　at　last；　he　threw　himself　onto　his　horse's　neck　and　galloped　away　into　the　east　as　swiftly　as　he　could。　His　mount；　eager　as　he；　needed　no　spurs；　no　crop。　They　whirled　away　in　a　cloud　of　snow。
　　As　Eolair　fled　Thisterborg　and　its　mysteries；　running　eastward　beneath　the　mocking　moon；　he　knew　that　everything　he　had　feared　was　true；　and　that　there　were　things　in　the　world　that　were　worse　even　than　his　fears。
　　
　　Ingen　Jegger　stood　beneath　the　spreading　arms　of　a　black　hemlock；　unmindful　of　the　bitter　wind　or　the　frost　growing　in　his　close…cropped　beard。　But　for　the　impatient　life　in　his　pale　blue　eyes；　he　might　have　been　a　luckless　traveler；　frozen　to　death　waiting　for　a　morning's　warmth　that　came　too　late。
　　The　huge　white　hound　crouching　in　the　snow　at　his　feet　stirred；　then　made　an　inquiring　sound　like　the　scrape　of　rusty　hinges。
　　〃Hungry；　Niku'a？〃　A　look　almost　of　fondness　ran　across　Ingen's　taut　features。　〃Quiet。　Soon；　you　will　have　your　fill。〃
　　Motionless；　Ingen　watched　and　listened；　sifting　the　night　like　a　whiskered　beast　of　prey。　The　moon　crept　from　one　gap　in　the　overhanging　trees　to　another。　The　forest；　but　for　the　wind；　was　silent。
　　〃Ah。〃　Satisfied；　he　took　a　few　steps　and　shook　the　snow　from　his　cloak。　〃Now；　Niku'a。　Call　your　brothers　and　sisters。　Howl　up　the　Stormspike　pack！　It　is　time　for　the　last　chase。〃
　　Niku'a　leaped　up；　quivering　with　excitement。　As　if　it　had　understood　Ingen's　every　word；　the　great　hound　trotted　out　into　the　middle　of　the　clearing　before　settling　back　on　its　haunches　and　lifting　its　snout　to　the　sky。　Powerful　throat　muscles　convulsed；　and　a　coughing　howl　shattered　the　night。　Even　as　the　first　echoes　died；　Niku'a's　strident　voice　burst　out　again；　hacking　and　baying。　The　very　branches　of　the　trees　trembled。
　　They　waited；　Ingen's　gloved　hand　resting　on　the　dog's　wide　head。　Time　passed。　Niku'a's　cloudy　white　eyes　gleamed　as　the　moon　slid　along　between　the　trees。　At　last；　as　night's　coldest　hour　crept　in；　the　faint　cries　of　hounds　came　sweeping　down　the　wind。
　　The　belling　rose　until　it　filled　the　forest。　A　host　of　white　shapes　appeared　from　the　darkness；　filtering　into　the　clearing　like　four…legged　ghosts。　The　Stormspike　hounds　wove　in　and　out　among　the　tree　roots；　narrow；　sharkhke　heads　questing　and　sniffing。　Starlight　gleamed　on　muzzles　smeared　with　blood　and　spittle。　Niku'a　went　among　them；　nipping；　snarling；　until　at　last　the　whole　pack　crouched　or　lay　in　the　snow　aroun