rj.theshadowrising-第17部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


life。　With　chill　certainty　he　knew　that　if　he　died；　that　would　not　end　the　struggle。　The　three　would　turn　on　one　another　until　only　one　remained；　and　that　one　would　have　his　life；　his　memories；　would　be　him。
　　　　　　　Stubbornly　he　fought；　struggling　harder　the　weaker　he　became。　He　pulled　on　saidin；　trying　to　fill　himself　with　its　heat。　Even　the　stomach…turning　taint　was　wele；　for　the　more　of　it　he　felt；　the　more　saidin　suffused　him。　If　his　stomach　could　rebel；　then　he　was　still　alive；　and　if　he　lived；　he　could　fight。　But　how？　How？　What　did　I　do　before？　Saidin　raged　through　him　till　it　seemed　that　if　he　survived　his　attackers；　he　would　only　be　consumed　by　the　Power。　How　did　I　do　it？　All　he　could　do　was　pull　at　saidin；　and　try。。。　reach。。。　strain。。。　
　　　　　　　One　of　the　three　vanished　…　Rand　felt　it　slide　into　him；　it　was　as　if　he　had　fallen　from　a　height；　flat　onto　stony　ground　…　and　then　the　other　two　together。　The　impact　flung　him　onto　his　back；　where　he　lay　staring　up　at　the　worked　plaster　ceiling　with　its　gilded　bosses；　lay　luxuriating　in　the　fact　that　he　was　still　breathing。
　　　　　　　The　Power　still　swelled　in　every　crevice　of　his　being。　He　wanted　to　spew　up　every　meal　he　had　ever　eaten。　He　felt　so　alive　that；　by　parison；　life　not　soaked　in　saidin　was　living　a　shadow。　He　could　smell　the　beeswax　of　the　candles；　and　the　oil　in　the　lamps。　He　could　feel　every　fiber　of　the　carpet　against　his　back。　He　could　feel　every　gash　in　his　flesh；　every　cut；　every　nick；　every　bruise。　But　he　held　on　to　saidin。
　　　　　　　One　of　the　Forsaken　had　tried　to　kill　him。　Or　all　of　them　had。　It　must　have　been　that；　unless　the　Dark　One　was　free　already；　in　which　case　he　did　not　think　he　would　have　faced　anything　as　easy　or　as　simple　as　this。　So　he　held　his　link　to　the　True　Source。　Unless　I　did　it　myself。　Can　I　hate　what　I　am　enough　to　try　to　kill　myself？　Without　even　knowing　it？　Light；　I　have　to　learn　to　control　it。　I　have　to！
　　　　　　　Painfully；　he　pushed　himself　up。　Leaving　bloody　footprints　on　the　carpet；　he　limped　to　the　stand　where　Callandor　rested。　Blood　from　hundreds　of　cuts　covered　him。　He　lifted　the　sword；　and　its　glassy　length　glowed　with　the　Power　flowing　into　it。　The　Sword　That　Is　Not　a　Sword。　That　blade；　apparently　glass；　would　cut　as　well　as　the　finest　steel；　yet　Callandor　truly　was　not　a　sword；　but　instead　a　remnant　of　the　Age　of　Legends；　a　sa'angreal。　With　the　aid　of　one　of　the　relatively　few　angreal　known　to　have　survived　the　War　of　the　Shadow　and　Breaking　of　the　World；　it　was　possible　to　channel　flows　of　the　One　Power　that　would　have　burned　the　channeler　to　ash　without　it。　With　one　of　the　even　rarer　sa'angreal；　the　flows　could　be　increased　as　much　over　those　possible　with　an　angreal　as　an　angreal　increased　them　over　channeling　naked。　And　Callandor；　usable　only　by　a　man；　linked　to　the　Dragon　Reborn　through　three　thousand　years　of　legend　and　prophecy；　was　one　of　the　most　powerful　sa'angreal　ever　made。　Holding　Callandor　in　his　hands；　he　could　level　a　city's　walls　at　a　blow。　Holding　Callandor　in　his　hands；　he　could　face　even　one　of　the　Forsaken。　It　was　them。　It　must　have　been。
　　　　　　　Abruptly　he　realized　he　had　not　heard　a　sound　from　Berelain。　Half　fearing　to　see　her　dead；　he　turned。
　　　　　　　Still　kneeling；　she　flinched。　She　had　donned　her　robe　again；　arid　hugged　it　around　her　like　steel　armor；　or　stone　walls。　Face　as　white　as　snow；　she　licked　her　lips。　〃Which　one　are。。。　？〃　She　swallowed　and　began　again。　〃Which　one。。。　？〃　She　could　not　finish　it。
　　　　　　　〃I　am　the　only　one　there　is；〃　he　said　gently。　〃The　one　you　were　treating　as　if　we　were　betrothed。〃　He　meant　it　to　soothe　her；　perhaps　make　her　smile　…　surely　a　woman　as　strong　as　she　had　shown　herself　to　be　could　smile；　even　facing　a　blood…drenched　man　…　but　she　bent　forward；　pressing　her　face　to　the　floor。
　　　　　　　〃I　apologize　humbly　for　having　most　grievously　offended　you；　Lord　Dragon。〃　Her　breathy　voice　did　sound　humble；　and　frightened。　pletely　unlike　herself。　〃I　beg　you　to　forget　my　offense；　and　forgive。　I　will　not　bother　you　again。　I　swear　it；　my　Lord　Dragon。　On　my　mother's　name　and　under　the　Light；　I　swear　it。〃
　　　　　　　He　loosed　the　knotted　flow；　the　invisible　wall　confining　her　became　a　momentary　stir　that　ruffled　her　robe。　〃There　is　nothing　to　forgive；〃　he　said　wearily。　He　felt　very　tired。　〃Go　as　you　wish。〃
　　　　　　　She　straightened　hesitantly；　stretched　out　a　hand；　and　gave　a　relieved　gasp　when　it　encountered　nothing。　Gathering　the　skirts　of　her　robe；　she　began　to　pick　her　way　across　the　glass…littered　carpet；　shards　grating　under　her　velvet　slippers。　Short　of　the　door；　she　stopped；　facing　him　with　an　obvious　effort。　Her　eyes　could　not　quite　meet　his。　〃I　will　send　the　Aiel　in　to　you；　if　you　wish。　I　could　send　for　one　of　the　Aes　Sedai　to　tend　your　wounds。〃
　　　　　　　She　would　as　soon　be　in　a　room　with　a　Myrddraal；　now；　or　the　Dark　One　himself；　but　she's　no　milksop。　〃Thank　you；〃　he　said　quietly；　〃but　no。　I　would　appreciate　it　if　you　told　no　one　what　happened　here。　Not　yet。　I　will　do　what　needs　to　be　done。〃　It　had　to　be　the　Forsaken。
　　　　　　　〃As　my　Lord　Dragon　mands。〃　She　gave　him　a　tight　curtsy　and　hurried　out；　perhaps　afraid　he　might　change　his　mind　about　letting　her　go。
　　　　　　　〃As　soon　the　Dark　One　himself；〃　he　murmured　as　the　door　closed　behind　her。
　　　　　　　Limping　to　the　foot　of　the　bed；　he　lowered　himself　into　the　chest　there　and　laid　Callandor　across　his　knees；　bloody　hands　resting　on　the　glowing　blade。　With　that　in　his　hands；　even　one　of　the　Forsaken　would　fear　him。　In　a　moment　he　would　send　for　Moiraine　to　Heal　his　wounds。　In　a　moment　he　would　speak　to　the　Aiel　outside；　and　bee　the　Dragon　Reborn　again。　But　for　now；　he　only　wanted　to　sit；　and　remember　a　shepherd　named　Rand　al'Thor。

Chapter　3
（Dragon's　Fang）
Reflection

　　　　　　　Despite　the　hour；　a　good　many　people　were　hurrying　through　the　Stone's　wide　corridors；　a　steady　trickle　of　men　and　women　in　the　black　and　gold　of　Stone　servants　or　the　livery　of　one　High　Lord　or　another。　Now　and　again　a　Defender　or　two　appeared；　bareheaded　and　unarmed；　some　with　their　coats　undone。　The　servants　bowed　or　curtsied　to　Perrin　and　Faile　if　they　came　close；　then　hurried　on　with　hardly　a　pause。　Most　of　the　soldiers　gave　a　start　on　seeing　them。　Some　bowed　stiffly；　hand　to　heart；　but　one　and　all　quickened　their　steps　as　if　eager　to　be　away。
　　　　　　　Only　one　lamp　in　three　or　four　was　lit。　In　the　dim　stretches　between　their　tall　stands；　shadows　blurred　the　hanging　tapestries　and　obscured　the　occasional　chest　against　the　wall。　For　any　eyes　but　Perrin's；　they　did。　His　eyes　glowed　like　burnished　gold　in　those　murky　lengths　of　hall。　He　walked　quickly　from　lamp　to　lamp　and　kept　his　gaze　down　unless　he　was　in　full　light。　Most　people　in　the　Stone　knew　about　his　strangely　colored　eyes；　one　way　or　another。　None　of　them　mentioned　it；　of　course。　Even　Faile　seemed　to　assume　the　color　was　part　of　his　association　with　an　Aes　Sedai；　something　that　simply　was；　to　be　accepted　but　never　explained。　Even　so；　a　prickling　always　ran　across　his　back　whenever　he　realized　that　a　stranger　had　seen　his　eyes　shining　in　the　dark。　When　they　held　their　tongues；　the　silence　only　emphasized　his　apartness。
　　　　　　　〃I　wish　they　wouldn't　look　at　me　like　that；〃　he　muttered　as　a　grizzled　Defender　twice　his　age　came　close　to　running　once　he　had　passed。　〃As　though　they　are　afraid　of　me。　They　haven't　before；　not　this　way。　Why　aren't　all　these　people　in　bed？〃　A　woman　carrying　a　mop　and　a　bucket　bobbed　a　curtsy　and　scurried　by　with　her　head　down。
　　　　　　　Her　arm　twined　through　his；　Faile　glanced　at　him。　〃I　would　say　the　guards　are　not　supposed　to　be　in　this　part　of　the　Stone　unless　they　are　on　duty。　A　good　time　to　cuddle　a　maid　on　a　lord's　chair；　and　maybe　pretend　they　are　the　lord　and　lady；　while　lord　and　lady　are　asleep。　They　are　probably　worried　that　you　might　report　them。　And　servants　do　most　of　their　work　at　night。　Who　would　want　them　underfoot；　sweeping　and　dusting　and　polishing；　in　daylight？〃
　　　　　　　Perrin　nodded　doubtfully。　He　supposed　she　would　know　about　such　things　from　her　father's　house。　A　successful　merchant　likely　had　servants；　and　guards　for　his　wagons。　At　least　these　folk　were　not　out　of　their　beds　because　what　had　happened　to　him　had　happened　to　them；　too。　If　that　were　the　case；　they　would　be　out　of　the　Stone　altogether；　and　likely　still　running。　But　why　had　he　been　a　target；　singled　out；　as　it　seemed？　He　was　not　looking　forward　to　confronting　Rand；　but　he　had　to　know。　Faile　had　to　stretch　her　stride　to　keep　up　with　him。
　　　　　　　For　all　its　splendor；　all　the　gold　and　fine　carving　and　inlays；　the　interior　of　the　Stone　had　been　designed　for　war　as　much　as　its　exterior　had　been。　Murderholes　dotted　the　ceiling　wherever　corridors　crossed。　Never　used　arrowslits　peeked　into　the　halls　at　places　where　they　might　cover　an　entire　hallway。　He　and　Faile　climbed　narrow；　curving　staircase　after　narrow；　curving　staircase；　all　built　into　the　walls　or　else　enclosed；　with　more　arrowslits　looking　down　on　the　corridor　below。　None　of　this　design　had　hampered　the　Aiel；　of　course；　the　first　enemy　ever　to　get　beyond　the　outer　wall。
　　　　　　　As　they　trotted　up　one　of　the　winding　stairs　…　Perrin　did　not　realize　they　were　trotting；　though　he　would　have　been　moving　faster　if　not　for　Faile　on　his　arm　…　he　caught　a　whiff　of　old　sweat　and　a　hint　of　sickly…sweet　perfume；　but　they　registered　only　in　the　back　of　his　brain。　He　was　caught　up　in　what　he　was　going　to　say　to　Rand。　Why　did　you　try　to　kill　me？　Are　you　going　mad　already？　There　was　no　easy　way　to　ask；　and　he　did　not　expect　easy　answers。
　　　　　　　Stepping　out　into　a　shadowed　corridor　nearly　at　the　top　of　the　Stone；　he　found　himself　staring　at　the　backs　of　a　High　Lord　and　two　of　the　nobleman's　personal　guards。　Only　the　Defenders　were　allowed　to　wear　armor　inside　the　Stone；　but　these　three　had　swords　at　their　hips。　That　was　not　unusual；　of　course；　but　their　presence　here；　on　this　floor；　in　the　shadows；　staring　intently　at　the　bright　light　at　the　far　end　of　the　hall；　that　was　not　usual　at　all。　That　light　came　from　the　anteroom　in　front　of　the　chambers　Rand　had　been　given。　Or　taken。　Or　maybe　been　pushed　into　by　Moiraine。
　　　　　　　Perrin　and　Faile　had　made　no　effort　to　be　quiet　in　climbing　the　stairs；　but　the　three　men　were　so　intent　in　their　watching　that　none　of　them　not