df.therunelords-第124章

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　But　to　what　purpose？　If　Raj　Ahten　could　simply　shatter　the　castle　with　a　shout？
　She　looked　up　on　the　hill；　saw　Gaborn　kneeling　in　a　patch　of　snow；　in　the　field。　Gaborn　had　laid　his　father's　body　out　on　the　hill　above　the　castle；　beneath　a　great　oak　tree。　A　huge　limb　lay　near　them。
　Gaborn　had　collected　dozens　of　spears；　and　he　ringed　these　about　his　father's　corpse；　creating　a　fence　of　sorts；　to　keep　out　the　wolves。
　In　the　tree　above　his　father's　corpse；　he　had　hung　his　father's　golden　shield。　He　took　his　father's　helm；　laid　it　in　the　snow　at　his　father's　feeta　sign　that　his　father　had　fallen　in　battle。
　She　turned　her　horse；　went　to　him；　leading　her　father's　stallion。　Behind　King　Sylvarresta　followed　the　three　Days：　hers；　her　father's；　and　Gaborn's。　King　Sylvarresta　had　verged　on　falling　dead　asleep　in　his　saddle　a　few　minutes　before；　but　now　stared　about；　grinning　broadly　at　the　snow　through　bleary　eyes；　a　child　filled　with　delight。
　Gaborn　looked　up　at　Iome　as　she　approached；　his　face　looked　bleak；　desolate。　Iome　knew　then　that　she　would　find　no　words　to　fort　him。　She　had　nothing　to　offer　him。　In　the　past　few　days；　she'd　lost　nearly　everythingher　home；　her　parents；　her　beauty。。。and　things　less　tangible。
　How　will　I　ever　sleep　again？　she　wondered。　In　her　mind；　the　castle　had　always　been　the　supreme　icon　of　security。　In　a　world　fraught　with　danger；　it　had　always　been　a　safe　haven。
　No　more。
　She　felt　now　that　she'd　lost　her　childhood；　her　innocence。　Her　peace　of　mind　was　torn　from　her。
　Not　just　because　her　mother　lay　dead　and　one　of　her　castles　lay　in　ruins。　As　she　rode　that　morning；　she　considered　what　had　happened。　Yesterday；　she'd　feared　that　Borenson　would　sneak　into　Castle　Sylvarresta；　kill　her　Dedicates。　She　imagined　that　secretly　she'd　known　what　he　would　do；　though　she　hated　it。
　By　not　challenging　him；　not　confronting　him；　Iome　had　agreed　to　it。　The　horror　of　it　had　all　been　creeping　up　on　her　since　noon　yesterday。　Now　she　found　herself　defenseless。　She　hadn't　slept　for　two　nights。　She'd　felt　dizzy　for　hours；　had　feared　she　would　topple　from　her　horse。
　Now　it　seemed　as　if　a　great　invisible　beast；　lurking　beneath　her　consciousness；　suddenly　sprang　and　seized　her。
　Iome　had　meant　to　say　some　word　of　fort　to　Gaborn；　but　suddenly　found　icy　tears　coursing　down　her　cold　cheeks。　She　tried　to　wipe　them；　began　shuddering　quietly。
　Gaborn　had　prepared　his　father's　body　well。　The　King's　hair　was　bed；　his　face　was　pale　in　death。　The　glamour　he'd　worn　had　died　with　him；　so　that　the　man　she　saw　was　not　the　King　Orden　who　had　seemed　so　regal；　so　powerful；　during　life。
　He　looked　like　some　aging　statesman；　with　a　broad　face；　skin　somewhat　weather…beaten。　He　smiled　enigmatically。　He　was　dressed　in　his　armor；　and　lay　on　a　plank。　His　richly　embroidered　cape　of　shimmering　samite　covered　him　like　a　robe。
　In　his　hands；　he　clasped　the　bud　of　a　single　blue　rose；　perhaps　taken　from　the　Duke's　garden。
　Gaborn　turned　to　look　up　at　Iome；　saw　the　expression　on　her　face；　then　stood　slowly；　as　if　the　effort　pained　him。　He　walked　to　her；　grabbed　her　shoulders　as　she　slid　from　her　horse；　and　held　her　close。
　She　thought　he　would　kiss　her；　tell　her　not　to　weep。
　Instead　his　voice　sounded　hollow　and　dead　as　he　whispered　fiercely；　〃Grieve　for　us。　Grieve。〃
　Borenson　thundered　into　Longmont　in　a　red　fury。　From　the　moment　he　had　crested　a　ridge　five　miles　back　and　seen　the　ruined　towers；　the　crowd　milling　on　the　downs　outside　the　castle；　he'd　known　the　news　would　be　bad。　Among　the　crowd；　many　colors　flew；　but　none　for　Raj　Ahten。
　He　wished　Raj　Ahten　were　dead；　wanted　to　strike　against　him　with　a　rage　so　burning　that　Borenson　had　never　felt　its　like。
　So　he　was　still　in　a　frustrated　rage　when　he　galloped　down　the　north　road　into　Longmont　and　met　the　ragged　moners　milling　about　by　the　thousands。　He　looked　among　the　crowd　for　the　colors　of　Orden；　saw　them　nowhere。
　He　rode　up　to　a　pair　of　teens　who　scrambled　among　the　snow　outside　the　castle；　robbing　the　corpse　of　one　of　Raj　Ahten's　soldiers。　One　young　man　was　perhaps　fourteen；　another　eighteen。　At　first　he　thought　the　vermin　were　stealing　money　pouches　or　rings；　and　he'd　have　belittled　them　for　doing　so。　Then　he　recognized　that　one　lad　was　wrestling　the　armor　from　the　corpse；　while　the　other　helped　lift　the　dead　weight。
　Good。　They　sought　armor　and　weapons　that　they　could　never　otherwise　purchase。
　〃Where　is　King　Orden？〃　Borenson　asked；　trying　to　keep　the　emotion　from　his　voice。
　〃Dead；　like　all　them　buggers　in　the　castle；〃　the　youngest　lad　answered。　He　had　his　back　to　Borenson；　hadn't　seen　to　whom　he　was　speaking。
　A　sound　escaped　Borenson's　throat；　something　like　a　growl　or　a　snort。　〃Everyone？〃
　Pain　must　have　sounded　in　his　voice；　for　the　lad　turned　and　looked　up；　eyes　widening　in　fear。　He　dropped　the　body　and　backed　away；　raising　a　hand　in　salute。　〃Yesyes；　sir；〃　his　older　friend　said　formally。　〃Only　one　man　lived　to　tell　the　tale。　Everyone　else　is　dead。〃
　〃A　man　survived？〃　Borenson　asked　distantly；　though　he　wanted　to　cry　out；　call　Myrrima's　name　and　see　if　she　would　answer。　Myrrima　had　been　in　this　castle。
　〃Yes；　sir；〃　the　older　lad　said。　He　staggered　backward；　afraid　Borenson　would　strike。　〃Youyour　men　fought　bravely。　King　Orden　made　a　serpent；　and　fought　the　Wolf　Lord　man…to…man。　Theywe　won't　forget　such　sacrifice。〃
　〃Whose　sacrifice？〃　Borenson　asked。　〃My　king's；　or　the　buggers'？〃
　The　young　men　turned　and　ran　as　if　Borenson　would　strike　them　both　down；　and　he　very　nearly　did；　but　he　felt　little　anger　toward　them。
　Borenson　scanned　the　downs　wildly；　as　if　Myrrima　might　stand　on　the　brow　of　a　hill　waving　to　him；　or　as　if　he　might　see　one　of　Raj　Ahten's　scouts　crest　a　ridge。　Instead；　as　he　looked　up；　he　spotted　Gaborn　beneath　an　oak。
　The　Prince　had　laid　out　King　Orden's　body；　ringed　it　with　spears　from　his　fallen　guards；　as　was　the　custom　in　Mystarria。　He　just　stood　there；　over　his　dead　father；　hugging　Iome。　The　Princess　had　her　back　to　Borenson；　and　wore　a　hood；　but　there　could　be　no　mistaking　the　curves　of　her　body。　A　knot　of　three　Days　all　huddled　a　few　yards　off　to　the　side；　watching　the　scene　with　studied　patience。
　The　idiot　King　Sylvarresta　had　e　off　his　horse；　was　in　the　circle　of　spears；　fawning　over　King　Orden；　gazing　about　dumbly；　as　if　to　beg　for　help。
　A　sense　of　horror　and　desolation　swept　Borenson；　so　that　he　cried　out　in　astonishment　and　despair。
　The　fallen　castle；　the　fallen　king。
　I　may　have　killed　him；　Borenson　thought　wildlymy　own　king。　Orden　had　fought　Raj　Ahten　hand…to…hand；　and　lost。　I　could　have　followed　my　king's　orders；　slain　all　the　Dedicates。　Had　I　obeyed　in　every　detail；　perhaps　it　would　have　changed　something。　Perhaps　Raj　Ahten　would　have　died　in　that　battle。
　I　let　my　king　die。
　The　guilt　that　welled　up　in　Borenson　was　a　wild　thing；　a　storm　that　came　from　everywhere　and　seemed　to　uproot　every　fiber　of　his　sanity。
　An　ancient　law　in　Mystarria　said　the　last　mand　of　a　king　must　be　obeyed；　even　if　the　king　falls　in　battle。　The　mand　must　be　obeyed。
　The　air　seemed　to　grow　thick　around　Borenson。　From　deep　in　his　throat；　the　battle　chuckle　issued　as　he　lowered　his　lance；　flipped　down　the　visor　of　his　helm　with　a　rapid　nod　of　his　chin；　then　spurred　his　horse　into　a　gallop。
　His　lips　clenched　tight　against　his　teeth。
　White　had　fallen　from　gray　clouds　earlier。　Soft　cold。　Frozen　beauty；　covering　everything；　sparkling　when　a　patch　of　sunlight　struck　it。
　King　Sylvarresta　gaped　in　wonder；　sometimes　moaning　in　delight　when　he　saw　a　new　beautythe　mounds　of　snow　crusting　a　pool　in　the　road；　or　clumps　of　melting　snow　dropping　from　a　tree。　He　had　no　word　for　〃snow；〃　could　not　recall　it。
　Everything　seemed　new；　brimming　with　wonder。　He　felt　very　tired；　but　could　not　sleep　once　he　came　to　the　castle。
　There　were　too　many　oddities　here；　people　behind　him　crying　out　in　pain。　He　looked　at　the　castle；　saw　fallen　towers。　He　could　only　marvel　at　how　they　had　fallen。
　A　woman　led　his　horse　up　a　hill；　to　a　great　tree　where　spears　stood　about　in　a　circle。
　Sylvarresta　listened　to　the　young　man　talk　to　the　woman；　then　gazed　up　in　the　tree。　An　orange　cat；　the　kind　of　half…wild　mouser　mon　to　farms；　sat　on　a