tw.thestoneoffarewell-第27部分

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　friend　Elias；　here　in　the　empty　hours　of　night　when　men　told　the　truth。　He　would　demand　to　know　about　Pryrates　and　about　the　horrible　army　Elias　has　summoned；　the　host　that　had　e　down　on　Naglimund　like　a　plague　of　white　locusts。　Guthwulf　and　the　king　had　been　rades　in　arms　too　long　for　the　earl　to　allow　their　friendship　to　fall　apart　like　rusting　armor。　Tonight　they　would　talk。　Guthwulf　would　find　out　just　what　dire　troubles　caused　his　old　rade　to　act　so　strangely。　It　would　be　their　first　chance　in　a　year　to　speak　without　Pryrates　hovering　close　by；　watching　with　those　black　ferret's　eyes；　listening　to　every　word。
　　The　courtyard　doorway　was　locked；　but　the　great　key　Elias　had　given　him　on　his　succession　to　the　throne　still　hung　on　a　cord　around　Guthwulf　s　neck。　His　soldier's　practicality　had　not　allowed　him　to　take　it　off；　even　though　it　had　been　many　months　since　Elias　had　called　on　him　to　undertake　a　secret　mission。
　　The　locks　had　not　been　changed。　The　heavy　door　swung　inward　without　a　sound；　Guthwulf　was　grateful　for　that；　although　he　did　not　know　why。　As　he　mounted　the　stairs　toward　the　king's　residence；　he　was　astonished　to　find　not　even　a　single　guard　in　place　before　the　inner　door。　Was　Elias　so　sure　of　his　power　that　he　did　not　even　fear　assassination？　Surely　that　did　not　accord　with　his　behavior　since　he　had　returned　from　the　siege　of　Naglimund？
　　At　the　top　of　the　stairs　Guthwulf　heard　muffled　voices。　Suddenly　full　of　misgivings；　he　leaned　forward；　placing　his　ear　near　the　keyhole。
　　He　frowned。　I　should've　known；　he　thought　sourly。　I　would　recognize　Pryrates'　jackal…barking　anywhere。　Curse　the　unnatural　bastard；　can　he　give　the　king　no　peace？
　　As　he　debated　whether　he　should　knock；　he　heard　the　king's　low　murmur。　A　third　voice　froze　Guthwulfs　hand　in　midair；　knuckles　poised　before　the　doorframe。
　　This　last　voice　was　high…pitched　and　sweet；　but　there　was　something　alien　in　its　tone；　something　inhuman　in　its　music。　It　acted　on　his　senses　like　a　plunge　in　cold　water；　bringing　up　the　hair　on　the　back　of　his　arms　and　setting　a　shiver　into　his　breath。　He　thought　he　recognized　the　words　〃sword〃　and　〃mountains〃　before　the　numbing　fear　overcame　him。　He　stepped　back　from　the　door　so　quickly　he　almost　tumbled　down　the　stairs。
　　Have　those　hell…things　e　here？　he　wondered。　He　wiped　his　sweating　palms　on　his　nightshirt　and　retreated　a　step　down　from　the　landing。　What　devil's　work　is　this？　Has　Elias　lost　his　mind？　His　soul？
　　The　voices　rose　in　volume；　then　the　door　squeaked　as　someone　lifted　the　inside　bolt。　All　thought　of　confronting　Elias　gone；　the　Earl　of　Utanyeat　knew　only　that　he　did　not　want　to　be　found　listening　at　the　keyhole…did　not　want　to　meet　the　thing　that　spoke　so　strangely。　He　looked　around　distractedly　for　a　place　to　hide；　but　the　staircase　was　narrow。　He　vaulted　down　the　steps　in　a　rush；　but　had　only　just　reached　the　outer　door　when　he　heard　footsteps　on　the　landing　above。　Guthwulf　ducked　into　the　alcove　beneath　the　stairway；　pushing　himself　back　into　the　shadows　as　the　steps　creaked。　Two　figures；　one　more　distinct　than　the　other；　paused　in　the　doorway。
　　〃The　king　is　pleased　with　this　news；〃　Pryrates　was　saying。　The　darker　shape　beside　him　said　nothing。　A　smear　of　white　face　gleamed　in　the　depths　of　its　dark　hood。　Pryrates　stepped　through　the　door；　his　scarlet　garments　showing　deep　violet…blue　in　the　moonlight　as　he　pivoted　his　bald　head　this　way　and　that；　looking　carefully。　A　shadow　followed　him　out　into　the　garden。
　　Anger　suddenly　rose　inside　Guthwulf；　overwhelming　even　his　unreasoning　fear。　That　the　master　of　Utanyeat　should　cower　under　stairs…and　from　something　that　the　cursed　priest　treated　as　panionably　as　a　country　uncle！
　　〃Pryrates！〃　Guthwulf　cried；　stepping　out　from　beneath　the　stairway。　〃I　would　have　a　word　with　you　。。。〃
　　The　earl's　slippered　feet　crunched　to　a　halt　on　the　gravel。　The　priest　stood　before　him；　alone　in　the　middle　of　the　path。　The　wind　sighed　in　the　hedges；　but　there　was　no　other　sound；　no　other　movement　but　the　faint　rippling　of　leaves。
　　〃Earl　Guthwulf；〃　Pryrates　said；　wrinkling　his　hairless　brow　in　apparent　surprise；　〃what　are　you　doing　out　here？　And　at　such　an　hour。〃　He　looked　Guthwulfs　costume　up　and　down。　〃Have　you　had　trouble　sleeping？〃
　　〃Yes　。。。　no　。。。　damn　you；　priest；　that's　not　important！　I　was　just　on
　　my　way　to　see　the　king！〃
　　Pryrates　nodded。　〃Ah。　Well；　I've　just　left　His　Majesty。　He's　just　taken　his　sleeping　draught；　so　whatever　you　desire　to　speak　of　should　wait　until　morning。〃
　　Guthwulf　looked　up　at　the　mocking　moon；　then　around　the　courtyard。　It　was　empty　but　for　the　two　of　them。　He　felt　dizzy；　betrayed　by　his　own　senses。　〃You　were　alone　with　the　king？〃　he　asked　at　last。
　　The　priest　stared　at　him　for　a　moment。　〃But　for　his　new　cupbearer；　yes。　And　a　few　body…servants　in　the　outer　rooms。　Why？〃
　　The　earl　felt　the　last　bit　of　ground　sliding　from　beneath　his　feet。　〃Cupbearer？　That　is；　I　just　wanted　to　know　。。。　I　thought。。。〃　Guthwulf　struggled　to　regain　his　poise。　〃There's　no　guard　posted　on　that　door。〃　He　pointed。
　　〃With　such　a　doughty　warrior　as　yourself　stalking　the　gardens；〃　Pryrates　smiled；　〃there　is　scarce　need　for　one…but　you　are　correct。　I　will　speak　to　the　chief　constable　about　it。　Now；　if　you'll　excuse　me；　my　lord；　I　must　go　to　my　narrow　bed。　1　have　had　a　long；　wearying　day　of　statecraft。　Good　night。〃
　　With　a　swirl　of　his　robe；　the　priest　turned　and　walked　away；　vanishing　in　a　cluster　of　shadows　at　the　far　side　of　the　courtyard。
　　
　　
　　The　traveler's　spirit　came　back　to　him　as　he　rode　through　the　endless　snows；　but　his　name　did　not。　He　could　not　remember　how　he　came　to　be　riding　the　horse；　or　if　the　beast　was　his。　Neither　did　he　know　where　he　had　been；　or　what　had　happened　to　cause　the　dreadful　pain　that　ran　through　his　body；　twisting　and　crippling　his　limbs。　He　knew　only　that　he　must　ride　on　toward　a　spot　behind　the　horizon；　following　a　curved　seam　of　stars　that　burned　in　the　northwestern　skies　at　night。　He　could　not　remember　what　place　he　would　find　there。
　　He　stopped　only　seldom　for　sleep：　the　ride　itself　was　a　kind　of　waking　dream；　a　long　white　tunnel　of　wind　and　ice　that　seemed　never…ending。　Ghosts　attended　him；　a　vast　crowd　of　homeless　dead　walking　at　his　stirrups。　Some　of　these　were　of　his　own　making…or　so　it　seemed　from　the　reproach　written　on　their　pale　faces…others　were　the　importuning　spirits　for　whom　he　had　killed。　But　none　of　them　held　any　power　over　him　now。　Without　his　name；　he　was　as　much　a　phantom　as　were　they。
　　So　they　traveled　together；　the　unnamed　man　and　the　nameless　dead；　a　lone　rider　and　a　whispering；　insubstantial　horde　that　acpanied　him　like　foam　carried　on　before　an　ocean　wave。
　　Each　time　the　sun　died　and　the　star…crescent　bloomed　in　the　shimmering　northwest　sky；　he　made　a　slash　with　his　knife　in　the　leather　of　his　saddle。　Sometimes　when　the　sun　vanished；　the　wind　filled　the　dark　sky　with　sleet　and　the　stars　did　not　appear。　Still；　he　marked　his　saddle。　Seeing　the　pale　weals　in　the　oil…darkened　leather　reassured　him；　proved　that　something　could　change　in　this　eternal　sameness　of　mountains　and　stones　and　snowy　plain；　and　suggested　that　he　was　not　merely　crawling　in　a　pointless　circle　like　a　blind　insect　on　the　rim　of　a　cup。　The　only　other　measure　of　time's　passage　was　his　hunger；　which　now　shouted　above　even　the　most　terrible　of　his　other　pains。　And　that；　too；　was　a　queer　fort。　To　starve　was　to　live。　Dead；　he　might　find　himself　condemned　to　join　the　throng　of　whispering　shades　that　surrounded　him；　doomed　to　flitter　and　sigh　in　this　lifeless　waste　forever。　While　he　lived；　there　was　at　least　a　faint；　cold　hope…although　what　it　was　that　he　might　hope　for　he　could　not　quite　recall。
　　There　were　eleven　slashes　on　the　saddle　when　his　horse　died。　One　moment　they　were　striding　forward；　breasting　a　drift　of　new　snow；　the　next　moment　his　mount　sank　slowly　to　its　knees；　quivering；　then　toppled　over；　a　silent　spray　of　white　thrown　up　all　around。　After　a　while　he　pulled　himself　free；　his　pain　a　voice　as　distant　as　the　stars　he　followed。　He　clambered　to　his　feet　and　began；　unsteadily；　to　walk。
　　Two　more　suns　rose　and　fell　as　he　trudged　on。　Even　his　ghosts　disappeared　at　last；　scrubbed　away　by　the　howling　snows。　He　thought　the　weather　might　be　getting　colder；　but　could　not　remember　for　certain　what　cold　was。
　　When　the　next　sun　climbed；　it　was　into　a　freezing；　slate…gray　sky。　The　wind　had　subsided　and　the　swirling　snows　had　dropped　back　down　into　feathery　drifts。　Before　him；　looming　jagged　and　severe　as　a　shark's　tooth　against　the　horizon；　stood　the　mountain。　A　grim　crown　of　iron…gray　clouds　hung　about　its　shadowed　peak；　fed　by　smokes　and　steam　that　issued　from　cracks　along　its　icy　flanks。　Seeing　it；　he　fell　forward　onto　his　knees　and　uttered　a　silent　prayer　of　thanks。　He　still　did　not　know　his　name；　but　he　knew　that　this　was　what　he　sought。
　　When　another　darkness　and　light　had　passed；　he　found　himself　nearing　the　mountain's　shadow；　walking　in　a　land　of　icy　hills　and　dark　dales。　Mortal　men　and　women　lived　here；　pale…haired；　suspicious…eyed；　huddling　in　clan…houses　made　of　muddied　stone　and　heavy　black　beams。　He　did　not　pass　through　their　bleak　villages；　though　he　thought　them　dimly　familiar。　When　the　inhabitants　hailed　him　and　approached；　ing　no　closer　than　superstition　allowed；　he　ignored　them　and　stumbled　on。
　　Another　day　of　painful　trudging　carried　him　beyond　the　dwellings　of　the　pale…haired　folk。　Here　the　mountain　blocked　the　sky　so　that　even　the　sun　seemed　small　and　remote；　and　a　kind　of　perpetual　evening　covered　the　land。　Sometimes　staggering；　sometimes　crawling；　he　climbed　the　steps　of　the　old；　old　road　through　the　hills　at　the　mountain's　foot；　through　the　silvery；　frost…veiled　ruins　of　a　long…dead　city。　Pillars　like　broken　bones　pushed　up　through　the　snowy　crust。　Arches　like　the　long…vacant　eyes　of　skulls　loomed　against　the　mountain's　shadowed　ridges。
　　His　strength　was　fading　at　last；　so　near　to　his　goal。　The　crumbling；　icy　road　ended　at　a　great　gate　in　the　face　of　the　mountain；　a　gate　taller　than　a　tower；　made　of　chalcedony　quartz；　shining　alabaster；　and　witchwood；　hung　on　hinges　of　black　granite　and　graven　with　strange　shapes　and　stranger　rune