rj.thepathofdaggers-第59部分

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r　of　Light；　and　the　bright　standards　of　nobility　from　Illian　and　Cairhien　and　Tear。　The　nobles　kept　to　their　own　kind；　three　widely　spaced　knots　awash　in　gilt　and　silver…plated　steel；　silks　and　velvets　and　laces；　but　in　mon　they　looked　around　uneasily。　Even　the　best…trained　of　their　horses　tossed　heads　and　stamped　hooves　on　the　muddy　ground。　The　wind　was　cold；　and　colder　seeming　for　the　heat　it　had　replaced　so　abruptly；　just　as　the　rain　had　been　a　shock　after　so　long　without。　From　whatever　nation；　they　had　prayed　for　the　baking　drought　to　break；　but　none　knew　what　to　make　of　unrelenting　storms　in　answer　to　their　prayers。　Some　glanced　at　Rand　when　they　thought　he　would　not　notice。　Perhaps　wondering　if　he　had　answered　them　so。　The　thought　made　him　laugh　softly；　bitterly。
　　　　　　　He　patted　his　black　gelding's　neck　with　a　leather…gauntleted　hand；　glad　that　Tai'daishar　did　not　show　nerves。　The　massive　animal　might　have　been　a　statue；　awaiting　the　pressure　of　reins　or　knees　to　move。　It　was　good　that　the　Dragon　Reborn's　horse　seemed　as　cold　as　he　did；　as　though　they　floated　in　the　Void　together。　Even　with　the　One　Power　raging　through　him；　fire　and　ice　and　death；　he　was　barely　aware　of　the　wind；　though　it　flailed　his　gold…embroidered　cloak　about　and　cut　through　his　coat；　green　silk　thickly　worked　with　gold　and　not　intended　for　wear　in　such　weather。　The　wounds　in　his　side　ached　and　throbbed；　the　old　and　the　new　cutting　across　it；　the　wounds　that　would　never　heal；　but　that　was　distant；　too；　another　man's　flesh。　The　Crown　of　Swords　might　have　been　pricking　someone　else's　temples　with　the　sharp　points　of　the　tiny　blades　among　its　golden　laurel　leaves。　Even　the　filth　woven　through　saidin　seemed　less　obtrusive　than　it　once　had；　still　vile；　still　loathsome；　but　no　longer　worth　notice。　The　nobles'　eyes　on　his　back　were　palpable；　though。
　　　　　　　Shifting　his　sword　hilt；　he　leaned　forward。　He　could　see　the　tight　cluster　of　low；　wooded　hills　half　a　mile　to　the　east　as　clearly　as　if　he　were　using　a　looking　glass。　The　land　was　flat；　here；　the　only　prominences　those　forested　hills　and　this　long　ridge；　thrusting　up　from　the　heath。　The　next　thicket　dense　enough　to　truly　deserve　the　name　lay　close　to　ten　miles　off。　Only　storm…battered　half…leafless　trees　and　tangles　of　undergrowth　were　visible　on　the　hills；　but　he　knew　what　they　hid。　Two；　perhaps　three　thousand　of　the　men　Sammael　had　gathered　to　try　to　stop　him　from　taking　Illian。
　　　　　　　That　army　had　disintegrated　once　they　learned　that　the　man　who　had　summoned　them　was　dead；　that　Mattin　Stepaneos　had　vanished；　perhaps　into　the　grave　as　well；　and　that　there　was　a　new　king　in　Illian。　Many　had　scattered　back　to　their　homes；　yet　just　as　many　clung　together。　Usually　no　more　than　twenty　here；　thirty　there；　but　a　great　army　if　they　came　together　again；　and　countless　armed　bands　otherwise。　Either　way；　they　could　not　be　allowed　to　roam　the　countryside。　Time　weighed　down　on　his　shoulders　like　lead。　There　was　never　enough　time；　but　maybe　this　once。。。　Fire　and　ice　and　death。
　　　　　　　What　would　you　do？　he　thought。　Are　you　there？　And　then；　doubtfully；　hating　the　doubt；　Were　you　ever　there？　Silence　answered；　deep　and　dead　in　the　emptiness　that　surrounded　him。　Or　was　there　mad　laughter　somewhere　in　the　recesses　of　his　mind？　Did　he　imagine　it；　like　the　feel　of　someone　looking　over　his　shoulder；　someone　just　on　the　brink　of　touching　his　back？　Or　the　colors　that　swirled　just　out　of　sight；　more　than　colors；　and　were　gone？　A　thing　of　madmen。　His　gloved　thumb　slid　along　the　carvings　that　serpentined　the　Dragon　Scepter。　The　long　green…and…white　tassels　below　the　polished　spearpoint　fluttered　in　the　wind。　Fire　and　ice；　and　death　would　e。
　　　　　　　〃I　will　go　talk　to　them　myself；〃　he　announced。　Which　produced　a　furor。
　　　　　　　Lord　Gregorin；　the　green　sash　of　the　Council　of　Nine　slanted　across　his　ornately　gilded　breastplate；　hurried　his　fine…ankled　white　gelding　forward　from　the　Illianers；　followed　closely　by　Demetre　Marcolin；　First　Captain　of　the　panions；　on　a　solid　bay。　Marcolin　was　the　only　man　among　them　without　silk　or　a　speck　of　lace；　the　only　man　in　plain　if　brightly　burnished　armor；　though　the　conical　helmet　resting　on　his　saddle's　high　pommel　did　bear　three　thin　golden　plumes。　Lord　Marac　lifted　his　reins；　then　let　them　fall　uncertainly　when　he　saw　no　others　of　the　Nine　move。　A　wide　man　with　a　stolid　manner；　and　new　to　the　Council；　he　often　seemed　more　craftsman　than　lord　despite　the　rich　silks　beneath　his　lavish　armor　and　the　falls　of　lace　spilling　over。　High　Lords　Weiramon　and　Tolmeran　spurred　together　from　the　Tairens；　as　crusted　with　gold　and　silver　as　any　of　the　Nine；　and　Rosana；　newly　raised　to　High　Lady　and　wearing　a　breastplate　worked　with　the　Hawk…and…Stars　of　her　House。　There；　too；　others　half　made　as　if　to　follow　then　hung　back；　looking　worried。　Blade…slender　Arae　and　blue…eyed　Maraconn　and　bald…headed　Gueyam　were　dead　men；　they　did　not　know　that；　but　however　much　they　wanted　to　be　at　the　center　of　power；　they　feared　Rand　would　kill　them。　Only　Lord　Semaradrid　came　from　the　Cairhienin；　on　a　gray　that　had　seen　better　days；　his　armor　battered；　its　gilding　chipped。　His　face　was　gaunt　and　hard；　the　front　of　his　head　shaved　and　powdered　like　a　mon　soldier；　and　his　dark　eyes　shone　with　contempt　for　the　taller　Tairens。
　　　　　　　There　was　plenty　of　contempt　to　go　around。　Tairens　and　Cairhienin　hated　one　another。　Illianers　and　Tairens　despised　each　other。　Only　Cairhienin　and　Illianers　got　along　to　any　degree；　and　there　was　a　certain　amount　of　prickle　even　there。　Their　two　nations　might　not　have　near　the　long　history　of　bad　blood　shared　by　Tear　and　Illian；　yet　the　Cairhienin　still　were　foreigners；　armed　and　armored　on　Illian's　soil；　weled　halfheartedly　at　best　and　only　that　much　because　they　followed　Rand。　But　despite　all　the　frowning　and　bristling　and　trying　to　talk　at　once　as　they　milled　about　Rand　in　a　flurry　of　windblown　cloaks；　they　had　a　mon　goal　now。　After　a　fashion。
　　　　　　　〃Majesty；〃　Gregorin　said　hastily；　bowing　in　his　gold…tooled　saddle；　〃I　do　beg　you　let　me　go　in　your　stead；　or　First　Captain　Marcolin。〃　The　square…cut　beard　that　left　his　upper　lip　bare　framed　a　round　face　creased　with　worry。　〃These　men　must　know　you　are　King　…　the　proclamations　do　be　read　in　every　village；　at　every　crossroads；　as　we　do　speak　…　yet　they　may　no　show　proper　respect　for　your　crown。〃　Lantern…jawed　Marcolin；　clean…shaven；　studied　Rand　with　dark；　deep…set　eyes；　giving　no　hint　what　lay　behind　his　impassive　face。　The　panions'　loyalty　was　to　the　crown　of　Illian；　and　Marcolin　was　old　enough　to　remember　when　Tarn　al'Thor　had　been　Second　Captain　over　him；　but　only　he　knew　what　he　thought　of　Rand　al'Thor　as　King。
　　　　　　　〃My　Lord　Dragon；〃　Weiramon　intoned　as　he　made　his　bow；　not　waiting　for　Gregorin　to　finish。　The　man　always　intoned；　and　even　on　horseback　he　seemed　to　strut。　His　worked　velvets　and　striped　silks　and　falls　of　lace　almost　overwhelmed　his　armor；　and　his　pointed　gray　beard　gave　off　a　flowery　scent　of　perfumed　oils。　〃This　rabble　is　too　petty　to　concern　the　Lord　Dragon　personally。　Set　dogs　to　catch　dogs；　I　say。　Let　the　Illianers　root　them　out。　Burn　my　soul；　they've　done　nothing　so　far　to　serve　you　but　talk。〃　Trust　him　to　turn　agreement　with　Gregorin　into　an　insult。　Tolmeran　was　lean　enough　to　make　Weiramon　appear　bulky　and　somber　enough　to　dim　the　luster　of　his　garb；　he　was　no　fool；　and　rival　to　Weiramon　besides；　yet　he　nodded　slowly　in　agreement。　No　love　lost　there　for　Illianers；　at　all。
　　　　　　　Semaradrid　curled　a　lip　at　the　Tairens　but　addressed　himself　to　Rand；　cutting　in　hard　on　Weiramon's　heels。　〃This　gathering　is　ten　times　as　large　any　other　we　have　found　so　far；　my　Lord　Dragon。〃　He　cared　nothing　for　the　King　of　Illian；　and　little　enough　for　the　Dragon　Reborn；　except　that　the　throne　of　Cairhien　was　Rand's　to　give；　and　Semaradrid　hoped　it　would　be　given　to　one　he　could　follow　instead　of　fight。　〃Their　loyalties　must　be　to　Brend；　or　so　many　would　not　have　held　together。　I　fear　talking　to　them　is　a　waste　of　time；　but　if　you　must　talk；　let　me　ring　their　position　openly　with　steel　so　they　know　the　price　of　putting　a　foot　out　of　line。〃
　　　　　　　Rosana　glared　right　back　at　Semaradrid；　a　lean　woman；　not　tall　yet　nearly　as　tall　as　he；　with　eyes　like　blue　ice。　She　did　not　wait　for　him　to　finish；　either；　and　she；　too；　spoke　to　Rand。　〃I've　e　too　far　and　invested　too　much　in　you　to　see　you　die　now；　for　nothing；〃　she　said　bluntly。　No　more　a　fool　than　Tolmeran；　Rosana　had　claimed　a　place　in　the　councils　of　the　High　Lords；　though　Tairen　High　Ladies　seldom　did；　and　blunt　was　the　word　for　her。　Despite　the　armor　most　of　the　noblewomen　wore；　none　actually　led　their　armsmen　into　battle；　yet　Rosana　carried　a　flanged　mace　on　her　saddle；　and　sometimes　Rand　thought　she　would　like　a　chance　to　use　it。　〃I　doubt　those　Illianers　lack　for　bows；〃　she　said；　〃and　it　takes　only　one　arrow　to　kill　even　the　Dragon　Reborn。〃　Pursing　his　lips　thoughtfully；　Marcolin　nodded　before　catching　himself；　then　exchanged　startled　looks　with　Rosana；　each　more　surprised　than　the　other　to　find　themselves　of　like　mind　with　an　ancient　enemy。
　　　　　　　〃These　peasants　could　never　have　found　the　mettle　to　stay　under　arms　without　encouragement；〃　Weiramon　continued　smoothly；　ignoring　Rosana。　He　was　skilled　at　ignoring　who；　and　what；　he　did　not　want　to　see　or　hear。　He　was　a　fool。　〃May　I　suggest　my　Lord　Dragon　look　to　these　so…called　Nine　for　the　source？〃
　　　　　　　〃I　do　protest　this　Tairen　pig's　insults；　Majesty！〃　Gregorin　growled　right　atop　him；　one　hand　darting　to　his　sword。　〃I　do　protest　most　heartily！〃
　　　　　　　〃There　are　too　many　this　time；〃　Semaradrid　said　at　the　same　instant。　〃Most　will　turn　against　you　as　soon　as　your　back　is　to　them　in　any　case。〃　By　his　pointed　frown；　he　might　have　been　speaking　of　the　Tairens　as　well　as　the　men　on　the　wooded　hills。　Perhaps　he　was。　〃Better　to　kill　them　and　be　done！〃
　　　　　　　〃Did　I　ask　for　opinions？〃　Rand　snapped　harshly。　Babble　became　silence；　except　for　the　crack　of　cloaks　and　banners　flapping　in　the　wind。　Suddenly　expressionless　faces　regarded　him；　more　than　one　going　gray。　They　did　not　know　he　held　the　Power；　but　they　knew　him。　Not　all　of　what　they　knew　was　truth；　but　it　was　just　as　well　they　believed。　〃You　will　e　with　me；　Gregorin；〃　he　said　in　a　more　normal