tw.thestoneoffarewell-第92部分

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　　The　castellain　looked　at　him　queerly；　as　though　Guthwulf　had　suddenly　asked　which　direction　was　up。　〃Why？　Because　of　the　wars　and　looting　on　their　border；　the　chaos　of　the　Frostmarch。　And　the　White　Foxes；　of　course。〃
　　〃The　White　Foxes？〃
　　〃Surely　you　know　of　the　White　Foxes；　Lord。〃　The　castellain　was　almost　openly　skeptical。　〃Surely；　since　they　came　to　the　aid　of　the　army　you　manded　at　Naghmund。〃
　　Guthwulf　looked　up；　pawing　reflectively　at　his　upper　lip。　〃The　Norns；　you　mean？〃
　　〃Yes；　Lord。　White　Foxes　is　the　name　the　mon　people　give　them；　because　of　their　corpse…pale　skin　and　foxy　eyes。〃　He　suppressed　a　shudder　〃White　Foxes。〃
　　〃But　what　of　them；　man？〃　the　earl　demanded。　When　there　was　no　immediate　answer；　his　voice　began　to　rise。　〃What　do　they　have　to　do　with　my　harvest；　Aedon　shake　your　soul？〃
　　〃Why；　they　are　ing　south；　Earl　Guthwulf；〃　the　castellain　said；　surprised。　〃They　are　leaving　their　nest　in　Naglimund's　ruins。　People　who　must　sleep　in　the　open　have　seen　them　walking　the　hills　by　darkness；　like　ghosts。　They　travel　at　night；　a　few　at　a　time；　and　always　moving　southward…heading　for　the　Hayholt。〃　He　looked　around　nervously；　as　if　only　now　realizing　what　he　had　said。　〃ing　here。〃
　　After　the　castellain　left；　Guthwulf　sat　a　long　time　drinking　from　a　stoup　of　wine。　He　picked　up　his　helm　to　polish　it；　staring　at　the　ivory　tusks　that　lifted　from　the　crest；　then　put　it　back　down；　untouched。　His　heart　was　not　in　the　task；　even　though　the　king　expected　him　to　lead　the　Erkynguard　into　the　field　a　few　days　hence　and　his　armor　had　not　been　thoroughly　looked…to　since　the　siege　of　Naglimund。　Things　had　not　gone　right　at　all　since　the　siege。　The　castle　seemed　ghost…ridden；　and　that　damnable　gray　sword　and　its　two　blade…brothers　haunted　his　dreams　until　he　almost　feared　to　go　to　bed；　to　fall　asleep。。。
　　He　set　the　wine　down　and　stared　at　the　flickering　candle；　then　felt　his　melancholy　spirits　lift　a　little。　At　least　he　had　not　been　imagining　things。　The　countless　odd　night…sounds；　the　untethered　shadows　in　the　halls　and　mons；　Ellas'　vanishing　midnight　visitors；　all　these　and　more　had　begun　to　make　the　Earl　of　Utanyeat　doubt　his　own　good　mind。　When　the　king　had　forced　him　to　touch　that　cursed　sword；　Guthwulf　had　bee　sure　that；　whether　by　sorcery　or　no；　some　crack　in　his　thoughts　had　let　madness　in　to　destroy　him。　But　it　was　no　whim；　no　fancy…the　castellain　had　confirmed　it。　The　Norns　were　ing　to　the　Hayholt。　The　White　Foxes　were　ing。
　　Guthwulf　pulled　his　knife　from　his　sheath　and　sent　it　whickering　end　over　end　into　the　door。　It　stuck；　quivering　in　the　heavy　oak。　He　shuffled　across　the　chamber　and　pulled　it　loose；　then　threw　again；　fetching　it　out　with　a　swift　jerk　of　his　hand。　The　wind　shrilled　in　the　trees　outside。　Guthwulf　bared　his　teeth。　The　knife　thumped　into　the　wood　once　more。
　　
　　
　　Simon　lay　suspended　in　a　sleep　that　was　not　sleep；　and　the　voice　in　his　head　spoke　on。
　　〃。　。　。　You　see；　Hakatri；　my　quietest　son；　perhaps　that　was　where　our　troubles　began。　I　spoke　a　moment　ago　of　the　Two　Families；　as　though　we　twain　were　the　only　survivors　of　Venyha　Do'sae；　but　it　was　the　boats　of　the　Tinukeda'ya　that　brought　us　across　the　Great　Sea。　Neither　we　Zida'ya　nor　our　brethren　the　Hikeda'…ya　would　have　lived　to　reach　this　land　had　it　not　been　for　Ruyan　the　Navigator　and　his　people…but　to　our　shame；　we　treated　the　Ocean　Children　as　badly　here　as　we　had　in　the　garden…lands　beyond　the　sea。　When　most　of　Ruyan's　folk　at　last　departed；　going　forth　into　this　new　land　on　their　own；　that；　I　think；　was　when　the　shadow　first　began　to　grow。　Oh；　Hakatri；　we　were　mad　to　bring　those　old　injustices　to　this　new　place；　wrongs　that　should　have　died　with　our　home　in　the　Uttermost　East。　。。。〃
　　
　　
　　The　clown　mask　bobbed　before　Tiamak's　eyes；　gleaming　with　firelight；　covered　with　strange　plumes　and　horns。　For　a　moment　he　felt　confused。　How　had　the　Wind　Festival　e　so　soon？　Surely　the　annual　celebration　of　He　Who　Bends　the　Trees　was　months　away？　But　here　was　one　of　the　wind…clowns　bowing　and　dancing　before　him…and　what　other　explanation　could　there　be　for　the　way　Tiamak's　head　ached　but　an　excessive　intake　of　fern　beer；　a　sure　sign　that　Festival　Days　were　here？
　　The　wind…clown　made　a　soft　clicking　noise　as　it　tugged　at　something　in　Tiamak's　hand。　What　could　the　clown　be　doing？　Then　he　remembered。　It　wanted　his　coin；　of　course：　everyone　was　expected　to　carry　beads　or　pieces　of　money　for　He　Who　Bends　the　Trees。　The　clowns　gathered　these　glittering　tributes　in　clay　jars　to　shake　at　the　sky；　making　a　rattling；　roaring　noise　that　was　the　chief　music　of　the　Festival…a　noise　that　brought　the　good　will　of　the　Tree…Bender；　so　that　he　would　keep　harmful　winds　and　floods　at　bay。
　　Tiamak　knew　he　should　let　the　clown　have　his　coin…wasn't　that　what　he　had　brought　it　for？…but　still；　there　was　something　about　the　insinuating　way　the　wind…clown　pawed　at　him　that　made　Tiamak　unfortable。　The　clown's　mask　winked　and　leered；　Tiamak；　fighting　a　growing　sense　of　unease；　clutched　the　metal　more　tightly。　What　was　wrong。。。　？
　　As　his　vision　suddenly　cleared；　his　eyes　widened　in　horror。　The　bobbing　clown　mask　became　the　chitinous　face　of　a　ghant；　hanging　only　a　scant　cubit　above　his　boat；　suspended　by　a　vine　from　a　branch　that　overhung　the　river。　The　ghant　was　prodding　gently　with　its　insectile　claw；　patiently　trying　to　poke　Tiamak's　knife　loose　from　his　sleep…sweaty　grasp。
　　The　little　man　shouted　with　disgust　and　threw　himself　back　toward　the　stern　of　his　flatboat。　The　ghant　rasped　and　clicked　its　mouth…feelers；　waving　a　plated　foreleg　as　chough　trying　to　reassure　him　that　it　had　all　been　a　mistake。　A　moment　later　Tiamak　swept　up　his　steering　pole；　swinging　it　broadside　so　that　he　caught　the　ghant　before　it　could　scurry　back　up　the　vine。　There　was　a　loud　clack　and　the　ghant　flew　out　across　the　river；　legs　curled　like　a　singed　spider。　It　made　only　a　small　splash　as　it　disappeared　into　the　green　water。
　　Tiamak　shuddered　in　repugnance　as　he　waited　for　it　to　bob　back　to　the　surface。　A　chorus　of　dry　clacking　came　from　above　his　head　and　he　looked　up　quickly　to　see　half　a　dozen　more　ghants；　each　the　size　of　a　large　monkey；　staring　down　at　him　from　the　safety　of　the　upper　branches。　Their　expressionless　black　eyes　glittered。　Tiamak　had　little　doubt　that　if　they　guessed　he　could　not　stand；　they　would　be　upon　him　in　a　moment；　still；　it　seemed　strange　for　ghants　to　attack　any　full…grown　human；　even　an　injured　one。　Strange　or　not；　he　could　only　hope　they　didn't　realize　how　weak　he　really　was；　or　what　sort　of　injuries　the　bloody　bandage　on　his　leg　signified。
　　〃That's　right；　you　ugly　bugs！〃　he　shouted；　brandishing　his　steering　pole　and　knife。　Hi'i　own　cry　made　his　head　hurt。　Wincing；　he　prayed　silently　that　he　didn't　faint　from　the　exertion；　if　he　did；　he　felt　sure　he　would　never　wake　up。　〃e　on　down　and　I'll　give　you　the　same　lesson　I　did　your　friend！〃
　　The　ghants　chittered　at　him　with　offhanded　malice；　as　much　as　to　say　that　there　was　no　hurry；　if　they　didn't　get　him　today；　some　other　ghants　would　soon　enough。　Crusty；　lichen…dotted　carapaces　scraped　against　the　willow　branches　as　the　ghants　dragged　themselves　higher　up　into　the　tree。　Resisting　a　fit　of　shivers；　Tiamak　calmly　but　deliberately　poled　his　flatboat　toward　the　center　of　the　watercourse；　out　from　beneath　the　low…hanging　limbs。
　　The　sun；　which　had　been　only　midway　up　the　morning　sky　when　he　noticed　it　last；　had　moved　shockingly　far　past　the　meridian。　He　must　have　fallen　asleep　sitting　up；　despite　the　early　hour。　His　fever　had　taken　a　great　deal　out　of　him。　It　seemed　to　have　abated；　at　least　for　the　present；　but　he　was　still　dreadfully　weak；　and　his　injured　leg　throbbed　as　if　it　were　aflame。
　　Tiamak's　sudden　laugh　was　raw　and　unpleasant。　To　think　that　two　days　ago　he　had　been　making　grand　decisions　about　where　he　would　go；　about　which　of　the　mighty　folk　clamoring　for　his　services　would　be　lucky　enough　to　get　him　and　which　would　have　to　wait！　He　remembered　that　he　had　decided　to　go　to　Nabban　as　his　tribal　elders　had　requested；　and　to　let　Kwanitupul　go　for　now；　a　decision　that　had　caused　him　many　hours　of　worrying　deliberation。　Now　his　careful　choice　had　been　reversed　in　a　freakish　instant。　He　would　be　lucky　if　he　even　made　it　to　Kwanitupul　alive：　the　long　journey　to　Nabban　was　simply　inconceivable。　He　had　lost　blood　and　was　sick　with　wound…spite。　None　of　the　proper　herbs　to　treat　such　an　injury　grew　in　this　part　of　the　Wran。　Also；　just　to　insure　his　continuing　misery；　a　nest　of　ghants　had　now　spotted　him　and　made　him　out　as　soon…to…be　easy　pickings！
　　His　heart　raced。　A　gray　cloud　of　weakness　was　descending　on　him。　He　reached　a　slender　hand　down　into　the　rivercourse；　then　splashed　cold　water　onto　his　face。　That　filthy　thing　had　actually　been　touching　him；　sly　as　a　pickpocket；　trying　to　dislodge　his　knife　so　its　brethren　might　drop　on　him　unresisted。　How　could　anyone　think　that　ghants　were　only　animals？　Some　of　his　tribesmen　claimed　that　they　were　nothing　but　the　overgrown　bugs　or　crabs　they　much　resembled；　but　Tiamak　had　seen　the　terrible　intelligence　lurking　behind　those　remorseless　jet　eyes。　The　ghants　might　be　products　of　They　Who　Breathe　Darkness　rather　than　She　Who　Birthed　Mankind…as　Older　Mogahib　so　often　proclaimed…but　that　did　not　make　them　stupid。
　　He　swiftly　surveyed　the　contents　of　his　boat　to　make　sure　nothing　had　been　taken　by　the　ghants　before　he　had　awakened。　All　his　meager　lot…a　few　rags　of　formal　clothing；　the　Summoning　Stick　from　the　tribal　elders；　a　few　cooking　things；　his　throwing…sling；　and　his　Nisses　scroll　in　its　oilskin　bag…lay　scattered　in　the　bottom　of　the　flatboat。　Everything　seemed　as　it　should　be。
　　Lying　in　the　hull　nearby　were　the　skeletal　remains　of　the　fish　whose　capture　had　begun　these　latest　troubles。　Some　time　during　the　last　two　days　of　chills　and　madness　he　must　have　eaten　most　of　it；　unless　birds　had　picked　the　bones　naked　while　he　slept。　Tiamak　tried　to　remember　how　the　fever…time　had　passed；　but　all　he　could　summon　were　visions　of　poling　endlessly　down　the　watercourse　while　the　sky　and　water　shed　color　like　glaze　running　from　a　poorly…fired　pot。　Had　he　remembered　to　make　a　fire　and　boil　the　marsh…water　before　washing