rj.thepathofdaggers-第1部分

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…　Anonymous　notation　found　inked　in
the　margin　of　a　manuscript　history
（believed　to　date　to　the　time　of　Artur
Hawkwing）　of　the　last　days　of　the
Tovan　Conclaves

On　the　heights；　all　paths　are　paved　with　daggers。
…　Old　Seanchan　saying
　　　　　　　
　　　　　　　
PROLOGUE　
（Serpent　and　Wheel）
Deceptive　Appearances　
　　　　　　　
　　　　　　　Ethenielle　had　seen　mountains　lower　than　these　misnamed　Black　Hills；　great　lopsided　heaps　of　half…buried　boulders；　webbed　with　steep　twisting　passes。　A　number　of　those　passes　would　have　given　a　goat　pause。　You　could　travel　three　days　through　drought…withered　forests　and　brown…grassed　meadows　without　seeing　a　single　sign　of　human　habitation；　then　suddenly　find　yourself　within　half　a　day　of　seven　or　eight　tiny　villages；　all　ignorant　of　the　world。　The　Black　Hills　were　a　rugged　place　for　farmers；　away　from　the　trade　routes；　and　harsher　now　than　usual。　A　gaunt　leopard　that　should　have　vanished　at　the　sight　of　men　watched　from　a　steep　slope；　not　forty　paces　away；　as　she　rode　past　with　her　armored　escort。　Westward；　vultures　wheeled　patient　circles　like　an　omen。　Not　a　cloud　marred　the　blood…red　sun；　yet　there　were　clouds　of　a　sort。　When　the　warm　wind　blew；　it　raised　walls　of　dust。
　　　　　　　With　fifty　of　her　best　men　at　her　heels；　Ethenielle　rode　unconcernedly；　and　unhurriedly。　Unlike　her　near　legendary　ancestor　Surasa；　she　had　no　illusion　that　the　weather　would　heed　her　wishes　just　because　she　held　the　Throne　of　the　Clouds；　while　as　for　haste。。。　Their　carefully　coded；　closely　guarded　letters　had　agreed　on　the　order　of　march；　and　that　had　been　determined　by　each　person's　need　to　travel　without　attracting　notice。　Not　an　easy　task。　Some　had　thought　it　impossible。
　　　　　　　Frowning；　she　considered　the　luck　that　had　let　her　e　this　far　without　having　to　kill　anyone；　avoiding　those　flyspeck　villages　even　when　it　meant　days　added　to　the　journey。　The　few　Ogier　stedding　presented　no　problem　…　Ogier　paid　little　heed　to　what　happened　among　humans；　most　times；　and　less　than　usual　of　late；　it　seemed　…　but　the　villages。。。　They　were　too　small　to　hold　eyes…and…ears　for　the　White　Tower；　or　for　this　fellow　who　claimed　to　be　the　Dragon　Reborn　…　perhaps　he　was；　she　could　not　decide　which　way　would　be　worse　…　too　small；　yet　peddlers　did　pass　through；　eventually。　Peddlers　carried　as　much　gossip　as　trade　goods；　and　they　spoke　to　people　who　spoke　to　other　people；　rumor　flowing　like　an　ever…branching　river；　through　the　Black　Hills　and　into　the　world　outside。　With　a　few　words；　a　single　shepherd　who　had　escaped　notice　could　light　a　signal　fire　seen　five　hundred　leagues　off。　The　sort　of　signal　fire　that　set　woods　and　grasslands　aflame。　And　cities；　maybe。　Nations。
　　　　　　　〃Did　I　make　the　right　choice；　Serailla？〃　Vexed　at　herself；　Ethenielle　grimaced。　She　might　not　be　a　girl　any　longer；　but　her　few　gray　hairs　hardly　counted　her　old　enough　to　let　her　mindless　tongue　flap　in　the　breeze。　The　decision　was　made。　It　had　been　on　her　mind；　though。　Light's　truth；　she　was　not　so　unconcerned　as　she　wanted　to　be。
　　　　　　　Ethenielle's　First　Councilor　heeled　her　dun　mare　closer　to　the　Queen's　sleek　black　gelding。　Round　face　placid；　dark　eyes　considering；　Lady　Serailla　could　have　been　a　farmwife　suddenly　stuck　into　a　noblewoman's　riding　dress；　but　the　mind　behind　those　plain；　sweaty　features　was　as　sharp　as　any　Aes　Sedai's。　〃The　other　choices　only　carried　different　risks；　not　lesser；〃　she　said　smoothly。　Stout　yet　as　graceful　in　her　saddle　as　she　was　at　dancing；　Serailla　was　always　smooth。　Not　oily；　or　false；　just　pletely　unflappable。　〃Whatever　the　truth；　Majesty；　the　White　Tower　appears　to　be　paralyzed　as　well　as　shattered。　You　could　have　sat　watching　the　Blight　while　the　world　crumbled　behind　you。　You　could　have　if　you　were　someone　else。〃
　　　　　　　The　simple　need　to　act。　Was　that　what　had　brought　her　here？　Well；　if　the　White　Tower　would　not　or　could　not　do　what　had　to　be　done；　then　someone　must。　What　good　to　guard　the　Blight　if　the　world　did　crumble　behind　her？
　　　　　　　Ethenielle　looked　to　the　slender　man　riding　at　her　other　side；　white　streaks　at　his　temples　giving　him　a　supercilious　air；　the　ornately　sheathed　Sword　of　Kirukan　resting　in　the　crook　of　one　arm。　It　was　called　the　Sword　of　Kirukan；　at　any　rate；　and　the　fabled　warrior　Queen　of　Aramaelle　might　have　carried　it。　The　blade　was　ancient；　some　said　Power…wrought。　The　two…handed　hilt　lay　toward　her　as　tradition　demanded；　though　she　herself　was　not　about　to　try　using　a　sword　like　some　fire…brained　Saldaean。　A　queen　was　supposed　to　think；　lead；　and　mand；　which　no　one　could　manage　while　trying　to　do　what　any　soldier　in　her　army　could　do　better。　〃And　you；　Swordbearer？〃　she　said。　〃Do　you　have　any　qualms　at　this　late　hour？〃
　　　　　　　Lord　Baldhere　twisted　in　his　gold…worked　saddle　to　glance　back　at　the　banners　carried　by　horsemen　behind　them；　cased　in　tooled　leather　and　embroidered　velvet。　〃I　don't　like　hiding　who　I　am；　Majesty；〃　he　said　fussily；　straightening　around。　〃The　world　will　know　us　soon　enough；　and　what　we've　done。　Or　tried　to　do。　We'll　end　dead　or　in　the　histories　or　both；　so　they　might　as　well　know　what　names　to　write。〃　Baldhere　had　a　biting　tongue；　and　he　affected　to　care　more　for　music　and　his　clothes　than　anything　else　…　that　well…cut　blue　coat　was　the　third　he　had　worn　already　today　…　but　as　with　Serailla；　appearances　deceived。　The　Swordbearer　to　the　Throne　of　the　Clouds　bore　responsibilities　much　heavier　than　that　sword　in　its　jeweled　scabbard。　Since　the　death　of　her　husband　some　twenty　years　ago；　Baldhere　had　manded　the　armies　of　Kandor　for　her　in　the　field；　and　most　of　her　soldiers　would　have　followed　him　to　Shayol　Ghul　itself。　He　was　not　counted　among　the　great　captains；　but　he　knew　when　to　fight　and　when　not；　as　well　as　how　to　win。
　　　　　　　〃The　meeting　place　must　be　just　ahead；〃　Serailla　said　suddenly；　just　as　Ethenielle　saw　the　scout　Baldhere　had　sent　forward；　a　sly　fellow　named　Lomas　who　wore　a　foxhead　crest　on　his　helmet；　rein　in　atop　the　peak　of　the　pass　ahead。　With　his　lance　slanted；　he　made　the　arm　gesture　for　〃assembly　point　in　sight。〃
　　　　　　　Baldhere　swung　his　heavy…shouldered　gelding　and　bellowed　a　mand　for　the　escort　to　halt　…　he　could　bellow；　when　he　had　a　mind　to　…　then　spurred　the　bay　to　catch　up　to　her　and　Serailla。　It　was　to　be　a　meeting　between　long…standing　allies；　but　as　they　rode　past　Lomas；　Baldhere　gave　the　lean…faced　man　a　curt　order　to　〃Watch　and　relay〃；　should　anything　go　wrong；　Lomas　would　signal　the　escort　forward　to　bring　their　queen　out。
　　　　　　　Ethenielle　sighed　faintly　when　Serailla　nodded　approval　at　the　mand。　Allies　of　long　standing；　yet　the　times　bred　suspicion　like　flies　on　a　midden。　What　they　were　about　stirred　the　heap　and　set　the　flies　swirling。　Too　many　rulers　to　the　south　had　died　or　vanished　in　the　last　year　for　her　to　feel　any　fort　in　wearing　a　crown。　Too　many　lands　had　been　smashed　as　thoroughly　as　an　army　of　Trollocs　could　have　achieved。　Whoever　he　was；　this　al'Thor　fellow　had　much　to　answer　for。　Much。
　　　　　　　Beyond　Lomas　the　pass　opened　into　a　shallow　bowl　almost　too　small　to　be　named　a　valley；　with　trees　too　widely　spaced　to　be　called　a　thicket。　Leatherleaf　and　blue　fir　and　three…needle　pine　held　to　some　green　along　with　a　few　oaks；　but　the　rest　were　sheathed　in　brown　if　not　bare…branched。　To　the　south；　however；　lay　what　had　made　this　spot　a　good　choice　for　meeting。　A　slender　spire　like　a　column　of　gleaming　golden　lace　lay　slanting　and　partly　buried　in　the　bare　hillside；　a　good　seventy　paces　of　it　showing　above　the　treetops。　Every　child　in　the　Black　Hills　old　enough　to　run　off　leading　strings　knew　of　it；　but　there　was　not　a　village　inside　four　days'　travel；　nor　would　anyone　e　within　ten　miles　willingly。　The　stories　of　this　place　spoke　of　mad　visions；　of　the　dead　walking；　and　death　at　touching　the　spire。
　　　　　　　Ethenielle　did　not　consider　herself　fanciful；　yet　she　shivered　slightly。　Nianh　said　the　spire　was　a　fragment　from　the　Age　of　Legends；　and　harmless。　With　luck；　the　Aes　Sedai　had　no　reason　to　recall　that　conversation　of　years　ago。　A　pity　the　dead　could　not　be　made　to　walk；　here。　Legend　said　Kirukan　had　beheaded　a　false　Dragon　with　her　own　hands；　and　borne　two　sons　by　another　man　who　could　channel。　Or　maybe　the　same　one。　She　might　have　known　how　to　go　about　their　purpose　and　survive。
　　　　　　　As　expected；　the　first　pair　of　those　Ethenielle　had　e　to　meet　was　waiting；　each　with　two　attendants。　Paitar　Nachiman　had　many　more　creases　in　his　long　face　than　the　stunningly　handsome　older　man　she　had　admired　as　a　girl；　not　to　mention　too　little　hair　and　most　of　that　gray。　Fortunately　he　had　relinquished　the　Arafellin　fashion　for　braids　and　wore　his　hair　cut　short。　But　he　sat　his　saddle　straight…backed；　his　shoulders　needed　no　padding　in　that　embroidered　green　silk　coat；　and　she　knew　he　still　could　wield　the　sword　at　his　hip　with　vigor　and　skill。　Easar　Togita；　square…faced　and　his　scalp　shaved　except　for　a　white　topknot；　his　plain　coat　the　color　of　old　bronze；　was　a　head　shorter　than　the　King　of　Arafel；　and　slighter；　yet　he　made　Paitar　look　almost　soft。　Easar　of　Shienar　did　not　scowl　…　if　anything；　a　touch　of　sadness　seemed　permanent　in　his　eyes　…　but　he　might　have　been　made　from　the　same　metal　as　the　long　sword　on　his　back。　She　trusted　both　men　…　and　hoped　their　familial　connections　helped　secure　that　trust。　Alliances　by　marriage　had　always　bound　the　Borderlands　together　as　much　as　their　war　against　the　Blight　did；　and　she　had　a　daughter　wed　to　Easar's　third　son　and　a　son　to　Paitar's　favorite　granddaughter；　as　well　as　a　brother　and　two　sisters　married　into　their　Houses。
　　　　　　　Their　panions　appeared　as　different　as　their　kings。　As　always；　Ishigari　Terasian　looked　just　risen　from　a　stupor　after　a　drunken　feast；　as　fat　a　man　as　she　had　ever　seen　in　a　saddle；　his　fine　red　coat　was　rumpled；　his　eyes　bleary；　his　cheeks　unshaven。　By　contrast；　Kyril　Shianri；　tall　and　lean；　and　nearly　as　elegant　as　Baldhere　despite　the　dust　and　sweat　on　his　face；　with　silver　bells　on　his　boot　tops　and　gloves　as　well　as　fastened　to　his　braids；　he　wore　his　usual　expression　of　dissatisfaction　and　had　a　way　of　always　peering　coolly　down　his　prominent　nose　at　anyone　but　Paitar。　Shianri　really　was　a　fool　in　many　ways　…　Arafellin　kings　rarely　made　much　pretense　of　listening　to　councilors；　relyin