tw.thestoneoffarewell-第5部分

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he　nodded。　〃We　cannot　refuse　this；　Elder　Brother。　So　shall　it　be。　Two　days；　then；　when　the　boy　is　stronger…but　even　if　this　strange　young　man　had　brought　us　Igjarjuk's　toothy　head　in　a　saddlebag；　that　would　not　change　what　must　be。　Binabik；　apprentice　of　the　Singing　Man；　has　mitted　a　terrible　crime。〃
　　〃So　I　have　been　told；〃　Jiriki　replied。　〃But　the　brave　hearts　of　the　Qanuc　were　not　the　only　thing　that　gained　them　the　esteem　of　the　Sithi。　We　loved　the　kindness　of　trolls　as　well。〃
　　Nunuuika　touched　the　bs　in　her　hair；　her　gaze　hard。　〃Kind　hearts　must　never　overthrow　just　law；　Prince　Jiriki；　or　all　Sedda's　spawn…Sithi　as　well　as　mortals…will　return　naked　to　the　snows。　Binabik　shall　have　his　judgment。〃
　　Prince　Jiriki　nodded　and　made　another　brief　bow　before　turning　away。
　　Haestan　half…carried　the　stumbling　Simon　as　they　walked　back　across　the　cavern；　down　the　gauntlet　of　curious　trolls；　back　out　into　the　cold　wind。
　　
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　　Masks　and　Shadows
　　
　　THE　FIRE　popped　and　spat　as　snowflakes　drifted　down　into　the　flames　to　boil　away　in　an　instant。　The　surrounding　trees　were　still　striped　with　orange；　but　the　campfire　had　burned　down　almost　to　embers。　Beyond　this　fragile　barrier　of　firelight；　mist　and　cold　and　dark　waited　patiently。
　　Deornoth　held　his　hands　closer　to　the　embers　and　tried　to　ignore　the　vast　living　presence　of　Aldheorte　Forest　all　around；　the　twining　branches　that　blotted　the　stars　overhead；　the　fog…shrouded　trunks　swaying　somberly　in　the　cold；　steady　wind。　Josua　sat　across　from　him；　facing　away　from　the　flames　toward　the　unfriendly　darkness；　the　prince's　angled　face；　red…washed　by　rippling　firelight；　was　contorted　in　a　silent　grimace。　Deornoth's　heart　went　out　to　his　prince；　but　it　was　too　difficult　to　look　at　him　just　now。　He　turned　his　eyes　away；　kneading　his　chilled　fingers　as　though　he　could　rub　away　all　suffering…his；　his　master's；　and　that　of　the　rest　of　their　pitiful；　lamed　flock。
　　Someone　moaned　nearby；　but　Deornoth　did　not　look　up。　Many　in　their　party　were　suffering；　and　some…the　little　handmaiden　with　the　terrible　throat　wound；　and　Helmfest；　one　of　the　Lord　Constable's　men；　gut…bitten　by　those　unholy　creatures…he　doubted　would　live　through　the　night。
　　Their　troubles　had　not　ended　when　they　had　escaped　the　destruction　of　Josua's　castle　at　Naglimund。　Even　as　the　prince's　party　had　staggered　down　the　last　broken　steps　of　the　Stile；　they　had　been　set　on。　Mere　yards　from　the　outer　stand　of　Aldheorte；　the　ground　had　erupted　around　them　and　the　false；　storm…carried　night　had　rung　with　chirping　cries。
　　There　had　been　diggers　everywhere…Bukken；　as　young　Isorn　called　them；　shouting　the　name　hysterically　as　he　lay　about　him　with　his　sword。
　　Even　in　his　fear　the　duke's　son　had　killed　many；　but　Isorn　had　also　taken　a　dozen　shallow　wounds　from　the　diggers'　sharp　teeth　and　crude；　jagged　knives。　That　was　something　else　to　worry　about：　in　the　forest；　even　small　wounds　were　likely　to　fester。
　　Deornoth　shifted　uneasily。　Those　small　shapes　had　clung　to　his　own　arm　like　rats。　In　his　choking　fear；　he　had　almost　cut　his　hand　loose　from　his　body　to　get　the　chittering　things　off。　Even　now；　the　thought　made　him　squirm。　He　rubbed　at　his　fingers；　remembering。
　　Josua's　beleaguered　pany　had　finally　escaped；　hacking　free　long　enough　to　make　a　dash　for　the　forest。　Strangely；　the　forbidding　trees　seemed　to　provide　a　sort　of　sanctuary。　The　swarming　diggers；　far　too　numerous　to　have　been　defeated；　did　not　follow。
　　Is　there　some　power　in　the　forest　that　prevented　them？　Deornoth　wondered。
　　Or　more　likely；　does　something　live　here　more　fearsome　even　than　they　are？
　　Fleeing；　they　had　left　behind　five　torn　things　that　had　once　been　human　beings。　The　prince's　troop　of　survivors　now　numbered　perhaps　a　dozen…and　judging　by　the　tortuous；　gasping　breaths　of　the　soldier　Helmfest；　who　lay　wrapped　in　his　cloak　near　the　fire；　they　would　be　fewer　than　that　soon。
　　Lady　Vorzheva　was　dabbing　the　blood　away　from　Helmfest's　ghost…pale　cheek。　She　had　the　distant；　distracted　look　of　a　madman　Deornoth　had　once　seen；　who　had　sat　in　the　Naglimund…town　square　pouring　water　from　one　bowl　to　another　for　hours　at　a　time；　back　and　forth；　never　spilling　a　drop。
　　Tending　this　living　dead　man　was　just　as　useless　a　thing　to　do；　Deornoth　felt　sure；　and　it　showed　in　Vorzheva's　dark　eyes。
　　Prince　Josua　had　been　paying　no　greater　heed　to　Vorzheva　than　to　anyone　else　in　the　battered　pany。　Despite　the　terror　and　weariness　she　shared　with　the　rest　of　the　survivors；　it　was　obvious　that　she　was　also　furiously　angry　about　his　inattention。　Deornoth　had　long　been　a　witness　to　Josua　and　Vorzheva's　stormy　relationship；　but　was　never　quite　sure　how　he　felt　about　it。　Sometimes　he　resented　the　Thrithings…woman　as　a　distraction；　a　hindrance　to　his　prince's　duties；　at　other　moments　he　found　himself　pitying　Vorzheva；　whose　sincere　passions　often　outstripped　her　patience。
　　Josua　could　be　maddeningly　careful　and　deliberate；　and　even　at　the　best　of　times　tended　toward　melancholy。　Deornoth　guessed　that　the　prince　would　be　a　very　difficult　man　for　a　woman　to　love　and　live　with。
　　The　old　jester　Towser　and　Sangfugol　the　harper　were　talking　dispiritedly　nearby。　The　jester's　wine　sack　lay　empty　and　flattened　on　the　ground　beside　them；　it　was　the　only　wine　any　of　the　survivors　would　see　for　a　while。　Towser　had　drained　it　dry　himself　in　just　a　few　gulps；　occasioning　more　than　a　few　sharp　words　from　his　fellows。　His　rheumy　eye　had　blinked　angrily　as　he　drank；　like　an　old　rooster　warning　away　a　henyard　interloper。
　　The　only　ones　engaged　in　useful　activity　at　this　moment　were　the　Duchess　Gutrun；　Isgrimnur's　wife；　and　Father　Strangyeard；　the　archivist　of　Naglimund。　Gutrun　had　slit　the　front　and　back　of　her　heavy　brocade　skirt　and　was　now　sewing　the　open　pieces　together；　making　something　like　a　pair　of　breeches　for　herself；　the　better　to　travel　through　Aldheorte's　clinging　brush。　Strangyeard；　recognizing　the　good　sense　of　this　idea；　was　sawing　away　at　the　front　of　his　own　gray　robe　with　Deornoth's　dulled　knife。
　　The　brooding　Rimmersman　Einskaldir　sat　near　Father　Strangyeard；　between　them　lay　a　quiet　shape；　a　dark　bump　below　the　wash　of　firelight。
　　That　was　the　little　handmaiden　whose　name　Deornorh　could　not　remember。　She　had　fled　with　them　from　the　residence；　and　had　cried　quietly　all　the　long　way　up　and　down　the　Stile。
　　Cried；　that　is；　until　the　diggers　had　reached　her。　They　had　clung　to　her　throat　like　terriers　to　a　boar；　even　after　their　bodies　had　been　sheared　loose　by　the　blades　other　would…be　rescuers。　Now　she　cried　no　longer。　She　was　very；　very　still；　holding　precariously　to　life。
　　Deornoth　felt　a　shudder　of　trapped　horror　surge　up　within　him。　Merciful　Usires；　what　had　they　done　to　deserve　such　dreadful　retribution？　Of　what　abominable　sin　were　they　guilty；　to　be　punished　by　the　harrowing　of　Naglimund？
　　He　fought　down　the　panic　that　he　knew　showed　plainly　on　his　face；　then　looked　around。　No　one　was　watching　him；　thank　Usires：　no　one　had　seen　his　shameful　fear。　Such　conduct　was　not　fitting；　after　all。　Deornoth　was　a　knight。　He　was　proud　that　he　had　felt　his　prince's　gauntlet　upon　his　head；　had　heard　the　pronouncement　of　service。　He　only　wished　for　the　clean　terror　of　battle　with　human　enemies…not　tiny；　squealing　diggers；　or　the　stone…faced；　fish…white　Norns　who　had　destroyed　Josua's　castle。　How　could　you　battle　creatures　out　of　childhood　bogey…tales？
　　It　must　be　the　Day　of　Weighing…Out　e　at　last。　That　was　the　only　explanation。　These　might　be　living　things　they　fought…they　bled　and　died；　and　could　demons　be　said　to　do　so？…but　they　were　forces　of　Darkness；　nevertheless。　The　final　days　had　e　in　truth。
　　Oddly；　the　idea　made　Deornoth　feel　a　little　stronger。　Was　this　not；　after　all；　a　knight's　true　calling；　to　defend　his　lord　and　land　against　enemies　spiritual　as　well　as　corporeal？　Hadn't　the　priest　said　so　before　Deornoth's　vigil　of　investiture？　He　forced　his　fearful　thoughts　back　into　their　proper　track。　He　had　long　prided　himself　on　his　calm　face；　his　slow　and　measured　anger；　for　just　that　reason；　he　had　always　felt　very　fortable　with　the　reserved　manners　of　his　prince。　How　could　Josua　lead；　except　by　the　mastery　of　his　own　person？
　　Thinking　of　Josua；　Deornoth　stole　another　look　at　him　and　felt　worry　e　surging　back。　It　seemed　that　the　prince's　armor　of　patience　was　at　last　breaking　apart；　wracked　by　forces　no　man　should　bear。　As　his　liegeman　watched；　Josua　stared　out　into　the　windy　darkness；　lips　working　as　he　spoke　soundlessly　to　himself；　brow　wrinkled　in　pained　concentration。
　　The　watching　became　too　difficult。　〃Prince　Josua；〃　Deornoth　called　softly。　The　prince　finished　his　silent　speech；　but　did　not　turn　his　eyes　to　the　young　knight。　Deornoth　tried　again。　〃Josua？〃
　　〃Yes；　Deornoth？〃　he　replied　at　last。
　　〃My　lord；〃　the　knight　began；　then　realized　he　had　nothing　to　say。　〃My　lord；　my　good　lord　。。。〃
　　As　Deornoth　bit　at　his　lower　lip；　hoping　inspiration　might　strike　his　weary　thoughts；　Josua　suddenly　sat　forward；　eyes　fixed　where　moments　before　they　had　aimlessly　roved；　staring　at　the　dark　beyond　the　fire…reddened　breakfront　of　the　forest。
　　〃What　is　it？〃　Deornoth　asked；　alarmed。　Isorn；　who　had　been　slumbering　behind　him；　roused　with　an　incoherent　cry　at　the　sound　of　his　friend's　voice。　Deornoth　fumbled　for　his　sword；　pulling　it　free　from　the　scabbard；　half…standing　as　he　did　so。
　　〃Be　silent。〃　Josua　raised　his　arm。
　　A　thrill　of　dread　swept　through　the　camp。　For　stretching　seconds　there　was　nothing；　then　the　rest　heard　it；　too：　something　breaking　clumsily
　　through　the　undergrowth　just　beyond　the　ring　of　light。
　　〃Those　creatures！〃　Vorzheva's　voice　rose　up　out　of　a　whisper　into　a　wavering　cry。　Josua　turned　and　grasped　her　arm　tightly。　He　gave　her　a　single　harsh　shake。
　　〃Quiet；　for　the　love　of　God！〃
　　The　sound　of　branches　breaking　came　nearer。　Now　Isorn　and　the　soldiers　were　on　their　feet；　too；　hands　clutching　fearfully　at　sword…hilts。　Some　of　the　rest　of　the　pany　were　quietly　weeping　and　praying。
　　Josua　hissed：　〃No　forest　dweller　would　go　so　noisily　。　。　。〃　His　anxiousness　was　poorly　hidden。　He　pulled　Naidel　out　of　the　sheath。　〃It　walks　two…legged　。。。〃
　　〃Help　m