tw.thestoneoffarewell-第9部分

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　　When　the　last　crumbs　were　licked　from　her　fingers　and　she　was　pondering　whether　she　was　hungry　enough　to　eat　a　pigeon　pie；　a　shadow　fell　across　the　bench　she　and　the　monk　shared。
　　The　raw…boned　face　of　Death　stared　down　at　them　from　a　black　cowl。
　　Miriamele　gasped　and　Cadrach　sputtered　ale　on　his　gray　robe；　but　the　stranger　in　the　skull　mask　did　not　move。
　　〃A　very　pretty　joke；　friend；〃　Cadrach　said　angrily；　〃and　merry　mid…summer　to　you；　too。〃　He　swiped　at　the　front　of　his　garments。
　　The　mouth　did　not　move。　The　flat；　unexcited　voice　issued　from　behind　the　bared　teeth。　〃You　e　with　me。〃
　　Miriamele　felt　the　skin　on　the　back　of　her　neck　crawl。　Her　recently…consumed　meal　felt　very　heavy　in　her　stomach。
　　Cadrach　squinted。　She　could　see　tension　in　his　neck　and　fingers。　〃And　who　might　you　be；　mummer？　Were　you　truly　Brother　Death；　I　would　expect　you　clad　in　finer　clothing。〃　The　monk　pointed　a　slightly　trembling　finger　at　the　tattered　black　cloak　the　figure　wore。
　　〃Stand　up　and　e　with　me；〃　the　apparition　said。　〃I　have　a　knife。　If　you　shout；　things　will　be　very　bad　for　you。〃
　　Brother　Cadrach　looked　at　Miriamele　and　grimaced。　They　rose；　the　princess　on　wobbly　knees。　Death　gestured　for　them　to　walk　ahead；　through　the　press　of　tavern　guests。
　　Miriamele　was　entertaining　disconnected　thoughts　of　making　a　bolt　for　freedom　when　two　other　figures　slipped　discreetly　out　of　the　crowd　near　the　doorway。　One　wore　a　blue　mask　and　the　stylized　garb　of　a　sailor；　the　other　was　dressed　as　a　rustic　peasant　in　an　oversized　hat。　The　somber　eyes　of　the　newers　belied　their　gaudy　costumes。　
　　With　the　sailor　and　peasant　on　either　side；　Cadrach　and　Miriamele　followed　black…cloaked　Death　out　into　the　street。　Before　they　had　gone　three　dozen　paces；　the　little　caravan　turned　into　an　alley　and　down　a　flight　of　stairs　to　the　next　street　below。　Miriamcle　slipped　for　a　moment　on　one　of　the　rainwashed　stone　steps　and　felt　a　thrill　of　horror　as　her　skull…faced　captor　reached　out　a　hand　to　steady　her。　The　touch　was　fleeting　and　she　could　not　draw　away　without　falling　down；　so　she　suffered　it　silently。　A　moment　later　they　were　off　the　stairway；　then　quickly　into　another　alleyway；　up　a　ramp；　and　around　a　corner。
　　Even　with　the　faint　moon　overhead　and　the　cries　of　late　revelers　echoing　from　the　tavern　above　and　the　harbor　district　below；　Miriamele　quickly　lost　any　sense　of　where　she　was。　They　traveled　down　tiny　back　streets　like　a　string　of　skulking　cats；　ducking　in　and　out　of　hidden　courtyards　and　vine…shrouded　walkways。　From　time　to　time　they　heard　the　murmur　of　voices　from　a　darkened　house；　and　once　the　sound　of　a　woman　crying。
　　At　last　they　reached　an　arched　gateway　in　a　tall　stone　wall。　Death　produced　a　key　from　his　pocket　and　opened　the　lock。　They　stepped　through　into　an　overgrown　courtyard　roofed　with　leaning　willow　trees；　from　whose　trailing　branches　rainwater　dripped　patiently　onto　the　cracked　stone　cobbles。　The　leader　turned　to　the　others；　gestured　briefly　with　his　key；　then　indicated　that　Miriamele　and　Cadrach　should　walk　ahead　of　him　toward　a　shadowed　doorway。
　　〃We　have　e　with　you　so　far；　man；〃　the　monk　said；　whispering　as　if　he；　too；　were　a　conspirator。　〃But　there　is　no　benefit　to　us　in　walking　into　an　ambush。　Why　should　we　not　fight　you　here　and　die　beneath　open　sky；　if　we　must　be　dying？〃
　　Death　leaned　forward　without　a　word。　Cadrach　started　back；　but　the　skull…masked　man　only　leaned　past　him　and　knocked　on　the　door　with　black…gloved　knuckles；　then　pushed　it　inward。　It　swung　open　silently　on　oiled　hinges。
　　A　dim；　warm　light　burned　inside　the　portal。　Miriamele　stepped　past　the　monk　and　through　the　doorway。　Cadrach　followed　a　moment　later；　muttering　to　himself。　Skull…face　came　last　of　all　and　pushed　the　door　shut　behind　him。
　　It　was　a　small　sitting　room；　lit　only　by　a　fire　in　the　grate　and　one　candle　burning　in　a　dish　beside　a　decanter　of　wine　on　the　table　top。　The　walls　were　covered　with　heavy　velvet　tapestries；　their　designs　distinguishable　in　the　firelight　only　as　swirls　of　color。　Behind　the　table；　in　a　high　backed　chair；　sat　a　figure　fully　as　strange　as　any　of　their　escorts：　a　tall　man　in　a　russet…brown　cloak；　wearing　the　sharp…featured　mask　of　a　fox。　The　fox　leaned　forward；　indicating　two　chairs　with　a　graceful　sweep　of　his　velvet…gloved　fingers。
　　〃Sit　down。〃　His　voice　was　thin　but　melodious；　〃Sit　down。　Princess
　　Miriamele　…　I　would　rise；　but　my　crippled　legs　do　not　permit　it。〃
　　〃This　is　madness；〃　Cadrach　blustered；　but　kept　an　eye　on　the　skull…faced　specter　at　his　shoulder。　〃You　have　made　a　mistake；　sir…this　is　a　boy　you　address；　my　acolyte　。。。〃
　　〃Please。〃　The　fox　gestured　amiably　for　silence。　〃It　is　time　to　doff　our　masks。　Is　that　not　how　Midsummer　Night　always　ends？〃
　　He　lifted　the　fox　face　away；　revealing　a　shock　of　white　hair　and　a　face　seamed　with　age。　As　his　unmasked　eyes　glittered　in　the　fireglow；　a　smile　quirked　his　wrinkled　lips。
　　〃Now　that　you　know　who　1　am　。　。　。〃　he　began；　but　Cadrach　interrupted　him。
　　〃We　do　not　know　you；　sir；　and　you　have　mistaken　us！〃
　　The　old　man　laughed　dryly。　〃Oh；　e。　You　and　I　may　not　have　met　before；　my　dear　fellow；　but　the　princess　and　I　are　old　friends。　As　a　matter　of　fact；　she　was　my　guest；　once…long；　long　ago。〃
　　〃You　are　。。。　Count　Streawe？〃　Miriamele　breathed。
　　〃Indeed；〃　the　count　nodded。　His　shadow　loomed　on　the　wall　behind　him。　He　leaned　forward；　clasping　her　wet　hand　in　his　velvet…sheathed　claw。　〃Perdruin's　master…　And；　beginning　the　moment　you　two　touched　foot　on　the　rock　over　which　I　rule；　your　master　as　well。〃
　　
　　3
　　Oath…Breaker
　　
　　LATER　in　the　day　of　his　meeting　with　the　Herder　and　Huntress；　when　the　sun　was　high　in　the　sky；　Simon　felt　strong　enough　to　go　outside　and　sit　on　the　rocky　porch　before　his　cave。　He　wrapped　a　corner　of　his　blanket　about　his　shoulders　and　tucked　the　remainder　of　the　heavy　wool　beneath　him　as　a　cushion　against　the　mountain's　stony　skin。　But　for　the　royal　couch　in　Chidsik　ub　Lingit；　there　seemed　to　be　nothing　like　a　chair　in　all　of　Yiqanuc。
　　The　herders　had　long　since　led　their　sheep　out　of　the　protected　valleys　where　they　slept；　taking　them　down…mountain　in　search　of　fodder。　Jiriki　had　told　him　that　the　spring　shoots　on　which　the　animals　usually　fed　had　been　all　but　destroyed　by　the　clinging　winter。　Simon　watched　one　of　the　flocks　milling　on　a　slope　far　below　him；　tiny　as　ants。　A　faint　clacking　sound　wafted　up　to　him；　the　rams　butting　horns　as　they　contested　for　mastery　of　the　herd。
　　 The　troll　women；　their　black…haired　babies　strapped　to　their　backs　in　pouches　of　finely　stitched　hide；　had　taken　up　slender　spears　and　gone　out　hunting；　stalking　marmots　and　other　animals　whose　meat　could　help　to　eke　out　the　mutton。　Binabik　had　often　said　that　the　sheep　were　the　Qanuc　people's　true　wealth；　that　they　ate　only　such　members　of　their　flocks　as　were　good　for　nothing　else；　the　old　and　the　barren。
　　Marmots；　coneys；　and　other　such　small　game　were　not　the　only　reason　the　troll　women　carried　spears。　One　of　the　furs　ostentatiously　wrapped　around　Nunuuika　had　been　that　of　a　snow　leopard；　dagger…sharp　claws　still　gleaming。　Remembering　the　Huntress'　fierce　eyes；　Simon　had　little　doubt　that　Nunuuika　had　brought　down　that　prize　herself。
　　The　women　were　not　alone　in　facing　danger；　the　task　of　the　herdsmen　was　just　as　perilous；　since　there　were　many　large　predators　that　had　to　be　kept　from　the　precious　sheep。　Binabik　had　once　told　him　that　the　wolves　and　leopards；　although　a　threat；　were　scarcely　parable　to　the　huge　snow　bears；　the　biggest　of　them　heavy　as　two　dozen　trolls。　Many　a　Qanuc
　　herder；　Binabik　had　said；　met　a　swift　and　unpleasant　end　beneath　the　claws　and　teeth　of　a　white　bear。
　　Simon　repressed　a　reflexive　tremor　of　unease　at　this　thought。　Hadn't　he　stood　before　the　dragon　Igjarjuk；　grander　and　deadlier　by　far　than　any　ordinary　animal？
　　He　sat　as　late　morning　passed　into　afternoon；　watching　the　life　of　Mintahoq　as　it　lay　spread　before　him；　as　simultaneously　hectic　yet　organized　as　a　beehive。　The　elders；　their　years　of　hunting　and　herding　past；　gossiped　from　porch　to　porch　or　crouched　in　the　sun；　carving　bone　and　horn；　cutting　and　sewing　cured　hide　into　all　manner　of　things。　Children　too　big　to　be　carried　off　to　the　hunt　by　their　mothers　played　games　up　and　down　the　mountain　under　the　old　folks'　bemused　supervision；　shinnying　up　the　slender　ladders　or　swinging　and　tumbling　on　the　swaying　thong　bridges；　heedless　of　the　fatal　distances　that　stretched　beneath　them。　Simon　found　it　more　than　a　little　difficult　to　watch　these　dangerous　amusements；　but　through　all　the　long　afternoon　not　a　single　troll　child　came　to　harm。　Though　the　details　were　alien　and　unfamiliar；　he　could　sense　the　order　here。　The　measured　beat　of　life　seemed　as　strong　and　stable　as　the　mountain　itself。
　　
　　That　night　Simon　dreamed　once　more　of　the　great　wheel。
　　This　time；　as　in　a　cruel　parody　of　the　passion　of　Usires　the　Son　of　God；　Simon　was　bound　helplessly　to　the　wheel；　a　limb　at　each　quarter　of　the　heavy　rim。　It　turned　him　not　only　topside…down；　as　Lord　Usires　had　suffered　upon　the　Tree；　but　spun　him　around　and　around　in　an　earthless　void　of　black　sky。　The　stars'　bleak　radiance　blurred　before　him　like　the　tails　of　ets。　Something　else…some　shadowy；　icy　thing　whose　laugh　was　the　empty　buzzing　of　flies…danced　just　beyond　his　sight；　mocking　him。
　　He　called　out；　as　he　often　did　in　such　terrible　dreams；　but　no　sound　came　forth。　He　struggled；　but　his　limbs　were　without　strength。　Where　was　God；　who　the　priests　said　saw　every　act？　Why　should　He　leave　Simon　in　the　grasp　of　such　dreadful　darknesses？
　　Something　seemed　to　form　slowly　out　of　the　pale；　attenuated　stars；　his　heart　filled　with　awful　anticipation。　But　what　emerged　from　the　spinning　void　was　not　the　expected　red…eyed　horror；　but　a　small；　solemn　face：　the　little　dark…haired　girl　he　had　seen　in　other　dreams。
　　She　opened　her　mouth。　The　madly　revolving　sky　seemed　to　slow。
　　She　spoke　his　name。
　　It　came　to　him　as　down　a　long　corridor；　and　he　realized　he　had　seen　her　somewhere。　He　knew　that　face…but　who　。　。　。　where。　。　。　？
　　〃Simon；〃　she　said　again；　somehow　clearer　now。　Her　voice　was　filled　with　urgency。　But　something　else