tw.thestoneoffarewell-第44部分

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hould　she　feel　any　differently　about　Simon？　It　didn't　change　anything。　The　boy　was　undeniably　dead；　killed　by　his　love　for　hanging　about　with　that　mad　alchemist　Morgenes；　and　that　was　that。
　　But　things　had　certainly　seemed　to　go　wrong　since　then。　A　cloud　had　descended　on　her　beloved　Hayholt；　a　fog　of　disfort　that　crept　into　every　corner。　The　battle　against　untidiness　and　dirt　had　swung　against　her；　being　lately　a　thoroughgoing　rout。　All　this；　despite　the　fact　that　the　castle　seemed　emptier　than　it　had　any　time　she　could　remember…at　least　at　night。　In　daylight；　when　the　clouded　sun　shone　through　the　high　windows　and　lit　the　gardens　and　mons；　the　Hayholt　was　still　a　knot　of　activity。　In　fact；　with　the　Thrithings　mercenaries　and　South　Islanders　now　flooding　in　to　replace　the　soldiers　Elias　had　lost　at　Naglimund；　the　castle's　environs　were　noisier　than　ever。　Several　of　her　girls；　frightened　by　the　scarred；　tattooed　Thrithings…men　and　their　rough　manners；　had　left　the　Hayholt　entirely　to　live　with　country　relatives。　To　Rachel's　disgust　and　increasing　dismay；　despite　the　hordes　of　hungry　mendicants　roaming　Erchester　and　camped　around　the　walls　of　the　Hayholt　itself；　it　was　almost　impossible　to　replace　the　departing　chambermaids。
　　But　Rachel　knew　that　it　was　not　just　the　castle's　wild　new　inhabitants　that　made　it　hard　to　find　new　girls。　Crowded　with　brawling　soldiers　and　disdainful　nobles　as　it　was　during　the　light　of　day；　by　night　the　Hayholt　seemed　as　uninhabited　as　the　graveyard　beyond　Erchester's　walls。　Echoes　and　strange　voices　floated　through　the　corridors。　Footfalls　sounded　where　no　one　walked。　Rachel　and　her　remaining　wards　now　locked　themselves　in　at　night。　Rachel　told　them　it　was　to　keep　out　the　drunken　soldiery；　but　she　and　her　chambermaids　both　knew　that　the　carefully…checked　door　bolt　and　shared　prayers　before　retiring　did　not　e　from　fear　of　anything　as　easy　to　name　as　a　besotted　Thrithings…man。
　　Even　stranger…although　she　would　never；　never　admit　it　to　her　Blessed…Rhiap…preserve…them　charges…Rachel　had　found　herself　lost　a　few　times　in　recent　weeks；　wandering　in　corridors　she　did　not　recognize。　Rachel　herself；　she　who　had　bestrode　this　castle　as　confidently　as　any　ruler　for　decades；　now　lost　in　her　own　home。　This　was　either　madness　or　the　folly　of　age；　or　some　demon's　curse。
　　Rachel　thumped　down　the　sack　of　wet　sheets　and　leaned　against　a　wall。　A　trio　of　older　priests　eddied　around　her　in　their　passage；　talking　heatedly　in　Nabbanai。　They　gave　her　no　more　of　a　glance　than　they　would　a　dog　dead　in　the　road。　She　stared　after　them　as　she　fought　to　catch　her　breath。　To　think　that　at　her　age；　after　all　her　years　of　service；　she　should　be　carrying　around　sodden　bed　linens　like　the　lowliest　downstairs　maid！　But　it　had　to　be　done。　Someone　had　to　carry　on　the　fight。
　　Yes；　things　had　been　going　wrong　ever　since　the　day　Simon　died；　and　did　not　look　to　get　better　soon。　She　frowned　and　hoisted　her　burden　once　more。
　　
　　Rachel　had　finished　hanging　out　the　wet　bedding。　Watching　the　linen　flap　m　the　late…afternoon　breeze；　she　marveled　at　such　cool　weather　Tiyagar…month；　the　middle　of　summer；　and　still　the　days　were　as　cold　as　early　spring。　It　was　certainly　better　than　the　deadly　drought　that　had　ended　last　year；　but　even　so；　she　felt　herself　longing　for　the　hot　days　and　warm　nights　that　were　the　yearly　summer's　due。　Her　joints　hurt　and　chill　mornings　only　made　the　hurting　worse。　The　dampness　seemed　to　slip　stealthily　into　her　very　bones。
　　She　crossed　back　across　the　mons；　wondering　where　her　helpers　had　gotten　to。　Having　a　sit…down　and　a　giggling　conversation；　no　doubt；　while　the　Mistress　of　Chambermaids　labored　like　a　yeoman。　Rachel　was　sore；　but　there　was　enough　strength　still　in　her　good　right　arm　to　sting　a　few　girls　into　service。
　　It　was　too　bad；　she　reflected　as　she　made　her　way　slowly　around　the　Outer　Bailey；　that　there　wasn't　somebody　who　could　take　a　strong　hand　to　this　castle。　Elias　had　seemed　like　the　type　after　blessed　old　King　John　had　died；　but　Rachel　had　been　sorely　disappointed。　The　apple；　she　thought；　had　fallen　quite　a　bit　farther　from　the　tree　than　anyone　could　have　guessed。　But　that　was　no　surprise；　really。　It　was　just　men；　was　what　it　was。　Swaggering；　bragging　men…exactly　like　little　boys；　when　you　got　down　to　it；　even　the　grown　ones　acting　no　smarter　than　young　mooncalf　Simon　had　been。　They　didn't　know　how　to　deal　with　things；　men　didn't；　and　King　Elias　was　no　exception。
　　Take　this　madness　with　his　brother。　Now；　Rachel　had　never　much　liked　Prince　Josua。　He　was　a　sight　too　clever　and　solemn　for　her；　obviously　one　who　thought　himself　pretty　blessed　smart。　But　to　think　that　he　was　a　traitor…well；　that　was　just　foolishness　and　anyone　could　tell　it。　Josua　had　been　too　bookish　and　high…minded　for　such　nonsense；　but　what　had　his　brother　Elias　done？　Gone　dashing　off　to　the　north　with　an　army；　and　through　some　trick　pulled　down　Josua's　castle　at　Naglimund　and　slaughtered　and　burned。　And　why？　Some　damned　man's　pride　on　King　Elias'　part。　Now　a　lot　of　Erkynlandish　women　were　widows；　the　harvest　was　going　badly；　and　all　the　Hayholt　and　its　inhabitants　were…Lord　Usires　pardon　for　her　thinking　it；　but　it　was　only　the　truth…going　straight　to　Hell。
　　The　back　of　the　Nearulagh　Gate　loomed　before　her；　its　long　shadow　painting　the　walls　on　either　side　with　darkness。　Quarreling　birds；　kites　and　ravens；　fought　over　the　few　remaining　scraps　of　the　ten　skeletal　heads　fixed　on　pikes　atop　the　gate。
　　Rachel　shuddered　despite　herself　as　she　made　the　sign　of　the　Tree。　This　was　something　else　that　had　changed。　Never　in　all　the　long　years　she　had　kept　house　for　King　John　had　there　been　such　a　show　of　cruelty　as　Ellas　had　made　of　these　traitors。　They　had　all　been　beaten　and　quartered　in　Battle　Square　down　in　Erchester；　before　a　restive　and　uneasy　crowd。　Not　that　any　of　the　executed　nobles　had　been　particularly　popular…Baron　Godwig；　especially；　was　much　hated　for　his　ill…rule　of　Cellodshire…but　everyone　had　sensed　the　wispiness　of　the　king's　accusations。　Godwig　and　the　rest　had　gone　to　their　deaths　like　men　astounded；　shaking　their　heads　and　protesting　their　innocence　until　the　cudgels　of　the　Erkynguards　had　smashed　the　life　out　of　them。　Now　their　heads　had　stood　above　the　Nearulagh　Gate　for　a　full　two　weeks　while　the　carrion　birds；　like　clever　little　sculptors；　slowly　brought　the　skulls　to　the　surface。　Few　of　those　who　passed　beneath　them　stared　for　long。　Most　who　looked　up　turned　away　quickly；　as　if　they　had　glimpsed　something　forbidden　instead　of　the　abject　public　lesson　the　king　desired。
　　Traitors；　the　king　called　them；　and　as　traitors　they　had　died。　Rachel　thought　they　would　be　little　missed；　but　still　their　deaths　brought　the　fog　of　despair　down　a　bit　closer。
　　As　Rachel　hurried　past　with　eyes　averted；　she　was　almost　knocked　down　by　a　young　squire　sloshing　through　the　muddy　road　leading　a　horse。　After　she　had　scrambled　to　a　position　of　safety　against　the　outer　wall；　Rachel　turned　to　see　the　riders　pass。
　　They　were　all　soldiers…all　but　one。　Where　the　armored　men　wore　the　green　tunics　of　the　king's　Erkynguard；　the　other　wore　a　robe　of　flaming　scarlet；　a　black　traveling　cloak；　and　tall　black　boots。　
　　Pryrates！　Rachel　stiffened。　Where　was　that　devil　going　with　his　honor　guard　of　soldiers？
　　The　priest　seemed　to　float　above　his　panions。　As　the　soldiers　laughed　and　talked；　Pryrates　looked　neither　right　or　left；　his　hairless　head　rigid　as　a　spearpomt；　his　black　eyes　fixed　on　the　gate　before　him。
　　Things　had　truly　begun　to　go　wrong　when　the　red　priest　arrived…as　if　Pryrates　himself　had　put　an　evil　spell　on　the　Hayholt。　Rachel　had　even　wondered　for　a　while　if　Pryrates；　whom　she　knew　had　not　liked　Morgenes；　might　have　burned　down　the　doctor's　rooms。　Could　a　man　of　Mother　Church　do　such　a　thing？　Could　he　kill　innocent　people…like　her　Simon…　for　a　grudge？　But　the　rumors　did　say　that　the　priest's　father　was　a　demon；　his　mother　a　witch。　Rachel　made　the　sign　of　the　Tree　again；　watching　his　proud　back　as　the　party　ambled　past。
　　Could　one　man　bring　evil　down　on　everyone；　she　wondered？　And　why？　Just　to　be　doing　the　devil's　work？　She　looked　around　carefully；　embarrassed；　then　spat　in　the　mud　to　ward　evil。　What　did　it　matter？　There　was　nothing　an　old　woman　like　her　could　do；　was　there？
　　She　watched　Pryrates　and　the　pany　of　soidiers　ride　out　through　the　Nearulagh　Gate；　then　turned　and　began　trudging　toward　the　residences；　thinking　about　curses　and　cold　weather。
　　
　　
　　The　late　afternoon　sun　slanted　in　through　the　trees；　making　the　thin　leaves　glow。　The　forest　mist　had　finally　burned　away。　A　few　birds　trilled　in　the　treetops。　Deornoth；　feeling　the　pain　in　his　head　diminishing；　stood　up。
　　The　wise　woman　Geloe　had　nursed　Einskaldir's　terrible　wounds　all　morning　before　leaving　him　at　last　to　the　ministrations　of　Duchess　Gutrun　and　Isorn。　The　Rimmersman；　feverish　and　raving　while　Geloe　had　applied　poultices　to　the　arrow…spites　in　his　back　and　side；　now　lay　quietly。　She　could　not　say　if　he　would　live。
　　Geloe　had　labored　the　rest　of　the　afternoon　on　the　other　members　of　the　pany；　treating　Sangfugol's　festering　leg　wound　and　the　many　injuries　the　rest　of　the　party　had　suffered　as　well。　Her　knowledge　of　healing　herbs　was　wide　and　her　pockets　were　well…stuffed　with　useful　things。　She　seemed　certain　that　all　except　for　the　Rimmersman　would　be　quickly　improved。
　　The　forest　on　this　side　of　the　hill…tunnel　was　not　much　different　from　that　which　they　had　just　left；　Deornoth　thought…at　least　in　looks。　The　oaks　and　elders　grew　close　here；　too；　and　the　ground　was　powdery　with　the　remains　of　long…dead　trees；　but　there　was　something　different　in　the　heart　of　it；　some　faint　grace　or　inner　liveliness；　as　if　the　air　were　lighter　or　the　sun　shone　more　warmly。　Of　course；　Deornoth　realized；　it　might　only　be　that　he　and　the　others　in　Prince　Josua's　party　had　lived　another　day　longer　than　they　had　expected。
　　Geloe　was　sitting　on　a　log　with　Prince　Josua。　Deornoth　started　to　approach；　then　hesitated；　unsure　of　his　wele。　Josua　smiled　wearily　and　waved　him　over。
　　〃e；　Deornoth；　sit　down。　How　is　your　head？〃
　　〃Sore；　Highness。　〃
　　〃It　was　a　cruel　blow；〃　Josua　said；　nodding。
　　Geloe　looked　up　and　bri