rj.thepathofdaggers-第96部分

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　　　　　　　I　would　not　mind　you　in　my　head；　Lews　Therin　said；　sounding　almost　sane；　if　you　were　not　so　dearly　mad。
　　　　　　　Ebou　Dar。　Rand　tightened　his　hand　on　the　Dragon　Scepter；　and　Lews　Therin　cackled。
　　　　　　　
　　　　　　　
Chapter　24　
（Dragon）　
A　Time　for　Iron　
　　　　　　　
　　　　　　　A　dozen　leagues　east　of　Ebou　Dar；　raken　glided　in　out　of　the　cloud…streaked　sunrise　to　land　in　a　long　pasture　marked　as　the　fliers'　field　by　colored　streamers　on　tall　poles。　The　brown　grasses　had　been　trampled　and　scored　days　since。　All　of　the　creatures'　grace　in　the　air　was　lost　as　soon　as　their　claws　touched　the　ground　in　a　lumbering　run；　leathery　pinions　thirty　paces　or　more　wide　held　high　as　if　the　animal　wanted　to　sweep　itself　back　upward。　There　was　little　beauty；　either；　in　the　raken　that　ran　awkwardly　down　the　field　beating　ribbed　wings；　fliers　crouching　in　the　saddle　as　if　to　pull　the　beast　up　by　main　force；　ran　on　until　at　last　they　stumbled　into　the　air；　wingtips　barely　clearing　the　tops　of　the　olive　trees　at　the　end　of　the　field。　Only　as　they　gained　height　and　turned　toward　the　sun；　soared　toward　the　clouds；　did　the　raken　regain　dignified　grandeur。　Fliers　who　landed　did　not　bother　to　dismount。　While　a　groundling　held　a　basket　up　for　the　raken　to　gulp　whole　shriveled　fruits　by　the　double…handful　at　a　time；　one　of　the　fliers　would　hand　down　their　scouting　report　to　a　still　more　senior　groundling；　and　the　other　bent　on　the　other　side　to　receive　new　orders　from　a　flier　too　senior　to　handle　reins　personally　very　often。　Almost　that　quickly　after　ing　to　a　halt；　the　creature　was　reined　around　to　waddle　over　to　where　four　or　five　others　waited　their　turn　to　make　that　long；　ungainly　run　to　the　sky。
　　　　　　　At　a　dead　run；　dodging　between　moving　formations　of　cavalry　and　infantry；　messengers　carried　the　scouting　reports　to　the　huge　red…bannered　mand　tent。　There　were　haughty　Taraboner　lancers　and　stolid　Amadician　pikemen　in　well…ordered　squares；　breastplates　striped　horizontally　in　the　colors　of　the　regiments　they　were　attached　to。　Altaran　light　horse　in　disordered　bunches　made　their　mounts　prance；　vain　of　the　red　slashes　crisscrossing　their　chests；　so　different　from　the　markings　anyone　else　wore。　The　Altarans　did　not　know　those　indicated　irregulars　of　doubtful　reliability。　Among　the　Seanchan　soldiers；　named　regiments　with　proud　honors　were　represented；　from　every　corner　of　the　Empire；　pale…eyed　men　from　Alqam；　honey…brown　men　from　N'Kon；　men　black　as　coal　from　Khoweal　and　Dalenshar。　There　were　morat'torm　on　their　sinuous　bronze…scaled　mounts　that　made　horses　whicker　and　dance　in　fright；　and　even　a　few　morat'grolm　with　their　squat；　beak…mouthed　charges；　but　one　thing　that　always　acpanied　a　Seanchan　army　was　conspicuous　by　it　absence。　The　sul'dam　and　damane　were　still　in　their　tents。　Captain…General　Kennar　Miraj　thought　of　sul'dam　and　damane　a　great　deal。
　　　　　　　From　his　seat　on　the　dais　he　could　see　the　map　table　clearly；　where　helmetless　under…lieutenants　checked　the　reports　and　placed　markers　to　represent　the　forces　in　the　field。　A　small　paper　banner　stood　above　each　marker；　inked　symbols　giving　the　size　and　position　of　the　force。　Finding　decent　maps　in　these　lands　was　next　to　impossible；　but　the　map　copied　atop　the　large　table　was　sufficient。　And　worrying；　in　what　it　told　him。　Black　discs　for　outposts　overrun　or　dispersed。　Far　too　many　of　those；　dotting　the　whole　eastern　half　of　the　Venir　range。　Red　wedges；　for　mands　on　the　move；　marked　the　western　end　as　thickly；　all　pointed　back　toward　Ebou　Dar。　And　scattered　among　the　black　discs；　seventeen　stark　white。　As　he　watched；　a　young　officer　in　the　brown…and…black　of　a　morat'torm　carefully　placed　an　eighteenth。　Enemy　forces。　A　few　might　be　the　same　group　seen　twice；　but　for　the　most　part　they　were　much　too　far　apart；　the　timing　of　the　sightings　wrong。
　　　　　　　Along　the　walls　of　the　tent；　clerks　in　plain　brown　coats；　marked　only　with　insignia　of　rank　among　clerks　on　the　wide　collars；　waited　at　their　writing　tables；　pens　in　hand；　for　Miraj　to　issue　orders　that　they　would　copy　out　for　distribution。　He　had　already　given　what　orders　he　could。　There　were　as　many　as　ninety　thousand　enemy　soldiers　in　the　mountains；　nearly　twice　what　he　could　muster　here　even　with　the　native　levies。　Too　many　for　belief；　except　that　scouts　did　not　lie；　liars　had　their　throats　slit　by　their　fellows。　Too　many；　springing　out　of　the　ground　like　trap…worms　in　the　Sen　T'jore。　At　least　they　had　a　hundred　miles　of　mountain　yet　to　cover　if　they　intended　to　threaten　Ebou　Dar。　Almost　two　hundred；　for　the　white　discs　furthest　east。　And　hill　country　after　that　for　another　hundred　miles。　Surely　the　enemy　general　could　not　mean　to　let　his　dispersed　forces　be　confronted　one　by　one。　Gathering　them　together　would　take　more　time。　Time　alone　was　on　his　side；　right　then。
　　　　　　　The　entry　flaps　of　the　tent　swept　open；　and　the　High　Lady　Suroth　glided　in；　black　hair　a　proud　crest　spilling　down　her　back；　pleated　snow…white　gown　and　richly　embroidered　over…robe　somehow　untouched　by　the　mud　outside。　He　had　thought　her　still　in　Ebou　Dar；　she　must　have　flown　out　by　to'raken。　She　was　acpanied　by　a　small　entourage；　for　her。　A　pair　of　Deathwatch　Guards　with　black　tassels　on　their　sword　hilts　held　the　tentflaps；　and　more　were　visible　outside；　stone…faced　men　in　red…and…green。　The　embodiment　of　the　Empress；　might　she　live　forever。　Even　the　Blood　took　note　of　them。　Suroth　sailed　past　as　if　they　were　as　much　servants　as　the　lushly　bodied　da'covale　in　slippers　and　a　nearly　transparent　white　robe；　her　honey…yellow　hair　in　a　multitude　of　thin　braids；　who　carried　the　High　Lady's　gilded　writing　desk　a　meek　two　paces　behind。　Suroth's　Voice　of　the　Blood；　Alwhin；　a　glowering　woman　in　green　robes　with　the　left　side　of　her　head　shaved　and　the　remainder　of　her　pale　brown　hair　in　a　severe　braid；　followed　close　on　her　mistress's　heels。　As　Miraj　stepped　down　from　the　dais；　he　realized　with　shock　that　the　second　da'covale　behind　Suroth；　short　and　dark…haired　and　slim　in　her　diaphanous　robe；　was　damane！　A　damane　garbed　as　property　was　unheard　of；　but　odder　still；　it　was　Alwhin　who　led　her　by　the　a'dam！
　　　　　　　He　let　none　of　his　amazement　show　as　he　went　to　one　knee；　murmuring；　〃The　Light　be　upon　the　High　Lady　Suroth。　All　honor　to　the　High　Lady　Suroth。〃　Everyone　else　prostrated　themselves　on　the　canvas　groundcloth；　eyes　down。　Miraj　was　of　the　Blood；　if　too　low　to　shave　the　sides　of　his　scalp　like　Suroth。　Only　the　nails　of　his　little　fingers　were　lacquered。　Much　too　low　to　register　surprise　if　a　High　Lady　allowed　her　Voice　to　continue　acting　as　sul'dam　after　being　raised　to　the　so'jhin。　Strange　times　in　a　strange　land；　where　the　Dragon　Reborn　walked　and　marath'damane　ran　wild　to　kill　and　enslave　where　they　would。
　　　　　　　Suroth　barely　glanced　at　him　before　turning　to　study　the　map　table；　and　if　her　black　eyes　tightened　at　what　she　saw；　she　had　cause。　Under　her；　the　Hailene　had　done　far　more　than　had　been　dreamed；　reclaiming　great　stretches　of　the　stolen　lands。　All　they　had　been　sent　for　was　to　scout　the　way；　and　after　Falme；　some　had　thought　even　that　impossible。　She　drummed　fingers　on　the　table　irritably；　the　long　blue…lacquered　fingernails　on　the　first　two　clicking。　Continued　success；　and　she　might　be　able　to　shave　her　head　entirely　and　paint　a　third　nail　on　each　hand。　Adoption　into　the　Imperial　family　was　not　unheard　of　for　achievements　so　great。　And　if　she　stepped　too　far；　overstepped；　she　might　find　her　fingernails　clipped　and　herself　stuffed　into　a　filmy　robe　to　serve　one　of　the　Blood；　if　not　sold　to　a　farmer　to　help　till　his　fields；　or　sweat　in　a　warehouse。　At　worst；　Miraj　would　only　have　to　open　his　own　veins。
　　　　　　　He　continued　to　watch　Suroth　in　patient　silence；　but　he　had　been　a　scout　lieutenant；　morat'raken；　before　being　raised　to　the　Blood；　and　he　could　not　help　being　aware　of　everything　around　him。　A　scout　lived　or　died　by　what　he　saw　or　did　not；　and　so　did　others。　The　men　lying　on　their　faces　around　the　tent；　some　hardly　seemed　to　breathe。　Suroth　should　have　taken　him　aside　and　let　them　continue　with　their　work。　A　messenger　was　being　turned　back　by　the　soldiers　at　the　entrance。　How　dire　was　the　message　that　the　woman　tried　to　push　past　Deathwatch　Guards？
　　　　　　　The　da'covale　with　the　writing　desk　in　her　arms　caught　his　eye。　Scowls　flashed　across　her　pretty　doll's　face；　never　pushed　down　for　more　than　moments。　Property　showing　anger？　And　there　was　something　else。　His　gaze　flickered　to　the　damane；　who　stood　with　her　head　down　but　still　looked　around　with　curiosity。　Brown…eyed　da'covale　and　pale…eyed　damane　looked　about　as　different　as　two　women　could；　yet　there　was　something　about　them。　Something　in　their　faces。　Strange。　He　could　not　have　said　how　old　either　was。
　　　　　　　Quick　as　his　glance　was；　Alwhin　noticed。　With　a　twitch　of　the　a'dam's　silvery　leash　she　put　the　damane　facedown　on　the　groundcloth。　Snapping　her　fingers；　she　pointed　to　the　canvas　with　the　hand　not　encumbered　by　the　a'dam's　bracelet；　then　grimaced　when　the　honey…haired　da'covale　did　not　move。　〃Down；　Liandrin！〃　she　hissed　almost　under　her　breath。　With　a　glare　for　Alwhin　…　a　glare！　…　the　da'covale　sank　to　her　knees；　features　painted　with　sulkiness。
　　　　　　　Most　strange。　But　hardly　important。　Face　impassive；　and　otherwise　bursting　with　impatience；　he　waited。　Impatience　and　no　little　disfort。　He　had　been　raised　to　the　Blood　after　riding　fifty　miles　in　a　single　night　with　three　arrows　in　him　to　bring　word　of　a　rebel　army　marching　on　Seandar　itself；　and　his　back　still　pained　him。
　　　　　　　Finally；　Suroth　turned　from　the　map　table。　She　did　not　give　him　leave　to　rise；　much　less　embrace　him　as　one　of　the　Blood。　Not　that　he　had　expected　that。　He　was　far　beneath　her。　〃You　are　ready　to　march？〃　she　demanded　curtly。　At　least　she　did　not　speak　to　him　through　her　Voice。　Before　so　many　of　his　officers；　the　shame　would　have　put　his　eyes　on　the　ground　for　months　if　not　years。
　　　　　　　〃I　will　be；　Suroth；〃　he　replied　calmly；　meeting　her　gaze。　He　was　of　the　Blood；　however　low。　〃They　cannot　bine　in　fewer　than　ten　days；　with　at　least　another　ten　before　they　can　exit　the　mountains。　Well　before　then；　I　…　〃
　　　　　　　〃They　could　be　here　tomorrow；〃　she　snapped。　〃Today！　If　they　e；　Miraj；　they　will　e　by　the　ancient　art　of　Traveling；　and　it　seems　very