rj.thegreathunt-第3部分

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　you　must　know；　for　each　is　a　thread　in　the　pattern　I　mean　to　weave；　and　it　will　be　up　to　you　to　see　that　they　are　placed　as　I　mand。　Study　them　well；　that　you　will　know　them。〃
　　　　　　　Abruptly　all　sound　was　gone。　The　man　who　called　himself　Bors　shifted　uneasily；　and　saw　others　doing　the　same。　All　but　the　Illianer；　woman；　he　realized。　With　her　hands　spread　over　her　bosom　as　if　to　hide　the　rounded　flesh　she　exposed；　eyes　wide；　half　frightened　and　half　ecstatic；　she　was　nodding　eagerly　as　though　to　someone　face…to…face　with　her。　Sometimes　she　appeared　to　give　a　reply；　but　the　man　who　called　himself　Bors　heard　not　a　word。　Suddenly　she　arched　backwards；　trembling　and　rising　on　her　toes。　He　could　not　see　why　she　did　not　fall；　unless　something　unseen　held　her。　Then；　just　as　abruptly；　she　settled　back　to　her　feet　and　nodded　again；　bowing；　shivering。　Even　as　she　straightened；　one　of　the　women　wearing　a　Great　Serpent　ring　gave　a　start　and　began　nodding。
　　　　　　　So　each　of　us　hears　his　own　instructions；　and　none　hears　another's。　The　man　who　called　himself　Bors　muttered　in　frustration。　If　he　knew　what　even　one　other　was　manded；　he　might　be　able　to　use　the　knowledge　to　advantage；　but　this　way。。。　Impatiently　he　waited　for　his　turn；　forgetting　himself　enough　to　stand　straight。
　　　　　　　One　by　one　the　gathering　received　their　orders；　each　walled　in　silence　yet　still　giving　tantalizing　clues；　if　only　he　could　read　them。　The　man　of　the　Atha'an　Miere；　the　Sea　Folk；　stiffening　with　reluctance　as　he　nodded。　The　Shienaran；　his　stance　bespeaking　confusion　even　while　he　acquiesced。　The　second　woman　of　Tar　Valon　giving　a　start；　as　of　shock；　and　the　gray…swathed　figure　whose　sex　he　could　not　determine　shaking　its　head　before　falling　to　its　knees　and　nodding　vigorously。　Some　underwent　the　same　convulsion　as　the　Illianer　woman；　as　if　pain　itself　lifted　them　to　toe　tips。
　　　　　　　〃Bors。〃
　　　　　　　The　man　who　called　himself　Bors　jerked　as　a　red　mask　filled　his　eyes。　He　could　still　see　the　room；　still　see　the　floating　shape　of　Ba'alzamon　and　the　three　figures　before　him；　but　at　the　same　time　all　he　could　see　was　the　red…masked　face。　Dizzy；　he　felt　as　if　his　skull　were　splitting　open　and　his　eyes　were　being　pushed　out　of　his　head。　For　a　moment　he　thought　he　could　see　flames　through　the　eyeholes　of　the　mask。
　　　　　　　〃Are　you　faithful　。。。　Bors？〃
　　　　　　　The　hint　of　mocking　in　the　name　sent　a　chill　down　his　backbone。　〃I　am　faithful；　Great　Lord。　I　cannot　hide　from　you。〃　I　am　faithful！　I　swear　it！
　　　　　　　〃No；　you　cannot。〃
　　　　　　　The　certainty　in　Ba'alzamon's　voice　dried　his　mouth；　but　he　forced　himself　to　speak。　〃mand　me；　Great　Lord；　and　I　obey。〃
　　　　　　　〃Firstly；　you　are　to　return　to　Tarabon　and　continue　your　good　works。　In　fact；　I　mand　you　to　redouble　your　efforts。〃
　　　　　　　He　stared　at　Ba'alzamon　in　puzzlement；　but　then　fires　flared　again　behind　the　mask；　and　he　took　the　excuse　of　a　bow　to　pull　his　eyes　away。　〃As　you　mand；　Great　Lord；　so　shall　it　be。〃
　　　　　　　〃Secondly；　you　will　watch　for　the　three　young　men；　and　have　your　followers　watch。　Be　warned；　they　are　dangerous。〃
　　　　　　　The　man　who　called　himself　Bors　glanced　at　the　figures　floating　in　front　of　Ba'alzamon。　How　can　I　do　that？　I　can　see　them；　but　I　can't　see　anything　except　his　face。　His　head　felt　about　to　burst。　Sweat　slicked　his　hands　under　his　thin　gloves；　and　his　shirt　clung　to　his　back。　〃Dangerous；　Great　Lord？　Farmboys？　Is　one　of　them　the　…　〃
　　　　　　　〃A　sword　is　dangerous　to　the　man　at　the　point；　but　not　to　the　man　at　the　hilt。　Unless　the　man　holding　the　sword　is　a　fool；　or　careless；　or　unskilled；　in　which　case　it　is　twice　as　dangerous　to　him　as　to　anyone　else。　It　is　enough　that　I　have　told　you　to　know　them。　It　is　enough　that　you　obey　me。〃
　　　　　　　〃As　you　mand；　Great　Lord；　so　shall　it　be。〃
　　　　　　　〃Thirdly；　regarding　those　who　have　landed　at　Toman　Head；　and　the　Domani。　Of　this　you　will　speak　to　no　one。　When　you　return　to　Tarabon　。。。〃
　　　　　　　The　man　who　called　himself　Bors　realized　as　he　listened　that　his　mouth　was　sagging　open。　The　instructions　made　no　sense。　If　I　knew　what　some　of　the　others　were　told；　perhaps　I　could　piece　it　together。
　　　　　　　Abruptly　he　felt　his　head　grasped　as　though　by　a　giant　hand　crushing　his　temples；　felt　himself　being　lifted；　and　the　world　blew　apart　in　a　thousand　starbursts；　each　flash　of　light　being　an　image　that　fled　across　his　mind　or　spun　and　dwindled　into　the　distance　before　he　could　more　than　barely　grasp　it。　An　impossible　sky　of　striated　clouds；　red　and　yellow　and　black；　racing　as　if　driven　by　the　mightiest　wind　the　world　had　ever　seen。　A　woman　…　a　girl？　…　dressed　in　white　receded　into　blackness　and　vanished　as　soon　as　she　appeared。　A　raven　stared　him　in　the　eye；　knowing　him；　and　was　gone。　An　armored　man　in　a　brutal　helm；　shaped　and　painted　and　gilded　like　some　monstrous；　poisonous　insect；　raised　a　sword　and　plunged　to　one　side；　beyond　his　view。　A　horn；　curled　and　golden；　came　hurtling　out　of　the　far　distance。　One　piercing　note　it　sounded　as　it　flashed　toward　him；　tugging　his　soul。　At　the　last　instant　it　flashed　into　a　blinding；　golden　ring　of　light　that　passed　through　him；　chilling　him　beyond　death。　A　wolf　leaped　from　the　shadows　of　lost　sight　and　ripped　out　his　throat。　He　could　not　scream。　The　torrent　went　on；　drowning　him；　burying　him。　He　could　barely　remember　who　he　was；　or　what　he　was。　The　skies　rained　fire；　and　the　moon　and　stars　fell；　rivers　ran　in　blood；　and　the　dead　walked；　the　earth　split　open　and　fountained　molten　rock。。。
　　　　　　　The　man　who　called　himself　Bors　found　himself　half　crouching　in　the　chamber　with　the　others；　most　watching　him；　all　silent。　Wherever　he　looked；　up　or　down　or　in　any　direction；　the　masked　face　of　Ba'alzamon　overwhelmed　his　eyes。　The　images　that　had　flooded　into　his　mind　were　fading；　he　was　sure　many　were　already　gone　from　memory。　Hesitantly；　he　straightened；　Ba'alzamon　always　before　him。
　　　　　　　〃Great　Lord；　what　…　？〃
　　　　　　　〃Some　mands　are　too　important　to　be　known　even　by　he　who　carries　them　out。〃
　　　　　　　The　man　who　called　himself　Bors　bent　almost　double　in　his　bow。　〃As　you　mand；　Great　Lord；〃　he　whispered　hoarsely；　〃so　shall　it　be。〃
　　　　　　　When　he　straightened；　he　was　alone　in　silence　once　more。　Another；　the　Taren　High　Lord；　nodded　and　bowed　to　someone　none　else　saw。　The　man　who　called　himself　Bors　put　an　unsteady　hand　to　his　brow；　trying　to　hold　on　to　something　of　what　had　burst　through　his　mind；　though　he　was　not　pletely　certain　he　wanted　to　remember。　The　last　remnant　flickered　out；　and　suddenly　he　was　wondering　what　it　was　that　he　was　trying　to　recall。　I　know　there　was　something；　but　what？　There　was　something！　Wasn't　there？　He　rubbed　his　hands　together；　grimacing　at　the　feel　of　sweat　under　his　gloves；　and　turned　his　attention　to　the　three　figures　hanging　suspended　before　Ba'alzamon's　floating　form。
　　　　　　　The　muscular；　curly…haired　youth；　the　farmer　with　the　sword；　and　the　lad　with　the　look　of　mischief　on　his　face。　Already；　in　his　mind；　the　man　who　called　himself　Bors　had　named　them　the　Blacksmith；　the　Swordsman；　and　the　Trickster。　What　is　their　place　in　the　puzzle？　They　must　be　important；　or　Ba'alzamon　would　not　have　made　them　the　center　of　this　gathering。　But　from　his　orders　alone　they　could　all　die　at　any　time；　and　he　had　to　think　that　some　of　the　others；　at　least；　had　orders　as　deadly　for　the　three。　How　important　are　they？　Blue　eyes　could　mean　the　nobility　of　Andor…unlikely　in　those　clothes…and　there　were　Borderlanders　with　light　eyes；　as　well　as　some　Tareni；　not　to　mention　a　few　from　Ghealdan；　and；　of　course　。。。　No；　no　help　there。　But　yellow　eyes？　Who　are　they？　What　are　they？
　　　　　　　He　started　at　a　touch　on　his　arm；　and　looked　around　to　find　one　of　the　white…clad　servants；　a　young　man；　standing　by　his　side。　The　others　were　back；　too；　more　than　before；　one　for　each　of　the　masked。　He　blinked。　Ba'alzamon　was　gone。　The　Myrddraal　was　gone；　too；　and　only　rough　stone　was　where　the　door　it　had　used　had　been。　The　three　figures　still　hung　there；　though。　He　felt　as　if　they　were　staring　at　him。
　　　　　　　〃If　it　please　you；　my　Lord　Bors；　I　will　show　you　to　your　room。〃
　　　　　　　Avoiding　those　dead　eyes；　he　glanced　once　more　at　the　three　figures；　then　followed。　Uneasily　he　wondered　how　the　youth　had　known　what　name　to　use。　It　was　not　until　the　strange　carved　doors　closed　behind　him　and　they　had　walked　a　dozen　paces　that　he　realized　he　was　alone　in　the　corridor　with　the　servant。　His　brows　drew　down　suspiciously　behind　his　mask；　but　before　he　could　open　his　mouth；　the　servant　spoke。
　　　　　　　〃The　others　are　also　being　shown　to　their　rooms；　my　Lord。　If　you　please；　my　Lord？　Time　is　short；　and　our　Master　is　impatient。〃
　　　　　　　The　man　who　called　himself　Bors　ground　his　teeth；　both　at　the　lack　of　information　and　at　the　implication　of　sameness　between　himself　and　the　servant；　but　he　followed　in　silence。　Only　a　fool　ranted　at　a　servant；　and　worse；　remembering　the　fellow's　eyes；　he　was　not　sure　it　would　do　any　good。　And　how　did　he　know　what　I　was　going　to　ask？　The　servant　smiled。
　　　　　　　The　man　who　called　himself　Bors　did　not　feel　at　all　fortable　until　he　was　back　in　the　room　where　he　had　waited　on　first　arriving；　and　then　not　much。　Even　finding　the　seals　on　his　saddlebags　untouched　was　small　fort。
　　　　　　　The　servant　stood　in　the　hallway；　not　entering。　〃You　may　change　to　your　own　garments　if　you　wish；　my　Lord。　None　will　see　you　depart　here；　nor　arrive　at　your　destination；　but　it　may　be　best　to　arrive　already　properly　clothed。　Someone　will　e　soon　to　show　you　the　way。〃
　　　　　　　Untouched　by　any　visible　hand；　the　door　swung　shut。
　　　　　　　The　man　who　called　himself　Bors　shivered　in　spite　of　himself。　Hastily　he　undid　the　seals　and　buckles　of　his　saddlebags　and　pulled　out　his　usual　cloak。　In　the　back　of　his　mind　a　small　voice　wondered　if　the　promised　power；　even　the　immortality；　was　worth　another　meeting　like　this；　but　he　laughed　it　down　immediately。　For　that　much　power；　I　would　praise　the　Great　Lord　of　the　Dark　under　the　Dome　of　Truth。　Remembering　the　mands　given　him　by　Ba'alzamon；　he　fingered　the　golden；　flaring　sun　worked　on　the　breast　of　the　white　cloak；　and　the　red　shepherd's　crook　behind　the　sun；　symbol　of　his　office　in　the　world　of　men；　and　he　almost　laughed。　There　was　work；　great　work；　to　be　done　in　Tarabon；　and　on　Almoth　Plain。


Chapter　1
The　Flame