df.therunelords-第15章
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unes of power branded into its neck； the mule looked as if it had been well groomed； too。
Gaborn kept glancing over his shoulder； looking for signs of more assassins； but spotted nothing out of the ordinary here by the stables。
Gaborn asked the stablemaster； 〃Have you noticed any men ride into townmen of dark plexion； traveling in pairs？〃
The stablemaster nodded thoughtfully； as if just struck by the answer； 〃Aye； now that you mention it； four like men 'ave their horses stabled wit' me； and I seen four more ride nor'； through Hay Row。〃
〃Is this mon； to see such men？〃 Gaborn asked。
The stablemaster raised a brow。 〃To tell ye true； I would not 'ave noticed them； 'adn't you mentioned it。 But two like gentlemen galloped through town late last night； too。〃
Gaborn frowned。 Assassins all along the road； heading north。 To where？ Castle Sylvarresta； a hundred miles away？
As he left town； Gaborn became more concerned。 He took his dun stallion over the Himmeroft Bridge； a picturesque bridge of stone that spanned the broad river。 From its top； Gaborn could see large brown trout sunning in the deeper pools； rising up to leap at flies in the shallows； in the shade of the willows。 The river here was deep； with cold pools。 Peaceful。
He saw no sign of assassins here at the bridge。
On the far side of the river； the cobbles gave way to a dirt road that wound off through the country west； A side road went north。 The roads met in the woods； and bluebells grew in the woods to the north。 So late in the season； none were in bloom。 Only a couple of dead flowers stood； ragged and faded to violet。 Gaborn turned onto Bluebell Way； let the horse run。 It was a force stallion； and had runes of metabolism； brawn； grace； and wit branded on its neck； giving it the speed of three； the strength and grace of two； the wit of four。 The stallion was a field hunter by body typea spirited animal bred for running and jumping through woodland trails。 Such a beast was not made to rest in Bannisferre's stables； growing fat on grain。
The Days struggled to keep up on his own white mule； a vile creature that bit at Gaborn's stallion at every opportunity。 It soon fell far behind。
Then a bizarre thing happened： Gaborn had been riding through fields； where the newly stacked haycocks hunched beside the river。 And the fields were fairly empty； now that the heat of the day was on。
But as Gaborn topped one small hill； three miles out of Bannisferre； he suddenly found himself confronted by a low wispy fog that clung to the ground； shrouding the haycocks ahead in mist。
It was a strange sight； fog rolling in on a sunny day； in the early afternoon。 Oak trees and haycocks rose from the mist。 The fog seemed off in color； too blue。 He'd never seen the like。
Gaborn halted。 His horse whinnied； nervous at the sight。 Gaborn entered the wall of fog slowly； sniffing。
There was an odd scent in the air； something hard to define。 Gaborn had but two endowments of smell； wished he had more。 Sulfur； he thought。 Perhaps there were hot pools around； and the fog rose from those。
Gaborn spurred his horse forward； along the fields for another half…mile； and the fog grew steadily thicker； until the sun in the sky was only a single yellow eye peering through the haze。 Crows cawed in the lonely oak trees。
A mile farther； Gaborn saw a gray house through the mist。 A young woman with hair that hung out like straw was chopping wood in front of it。 She looked up。 From a distance her skin looked as rough as burlap； her features plain and skeletal； her eyes yellow and sickly。 This was one of the sisters who had given Myrrima her beauty。
He spurred his stallion； called out to the young woman。
She gasped； put one arm up to hide her face。
Gaborn rode to her； looked down with pity。 〃No need to hide。 One who diminishes herself to enlarge another is worthy of honor。 A foul face often hides a fair heart。〃
〃Myrrima is inside；〃 the girl mumbled。 She fled into the house。 Borenson quickly came out； Myrrima on his arm。
〃It is a beautiful autumn day。〃 Gaborn smiled at Borenson。 〃I smell sunbaked wheat fields on the wind； and autumn leaves； and。。。treachery。〃
Borenson gaped at the fog； perplexed。 〃I thought it was getting cloudy；〃 he said； 〃I had no idea。。。〃 He would not have been able to see the fog through the house's parchment windows。 He sniffed。 Borenson had four endowments of scent。 His nose was far keener than Gaborn's。 〃Giants。 Frowth giants。〃 He asked Myrrima； 〃Do you have many giants around here？〃
〃No；〃 she said； surprised。 〃I've never seen one。〃
〃Well； I smell them。 A lot of them；〃 Borenson said。
He looked into Gaborn's eyes。 They both knew something odd was afoot。 Gaborn had e hours ahead of schedule。
Gaborn whispered； 〃Assassins rode into town。 Muyyatin。 At least ten are on the road north to Castle Sylvarresta； but I saw none on my way here。〃
〃I'll scout this out；〃 Borenson said。 〃It could well be that someone is laying a trap for your father。 His retinue will pass through town tomorrow。〃
〃Wouldn't I be safer with you？〃 Gaborn asked。
Borenson considered； nodded。 He retrieved his own horse from behind the house； just as the Days rode up through the mist。
〃We'll be back in a bit；〃 Gaborn told Myrrima； then spurred his stallion out into the meadow behind her cottage。 He felt uneasy leaving her； with giants about。 Yet he and Borenson were certainly riding into danger。
A slight breeze sighed from the north； carrying the haze。 They rode toward it； over green meadows。 The river twisted west； and they soon found themselves riding along the banks of River Dwindell； on a hay trail。
Along the river； the unnatural fog deepened； rising in a great cloud； waking it dark； dark enough so swallows quit dipping in the water； and instead a few bats began diving for insects。 Fireflies rose like green sparks out of the bushes。 The grass along the river was deep； lush； but cropped short。
All along here in the floodplain the farmers had harvested hay。 The haycocks stood out along the river； like great rocks in a sea； and each time Gaborn saw one rising from the mist； he wondered if it was a giant； wondered if a giant might be hiding behind it。
Gaborn could smell giants now； too。 Their greasy hair smelled bitter； the musk and dung on their skins overwhelming。 Mold and lichens grew on their aging bodies。
Until a hundred and twenty years ago； no one in all Rofehavan had heard of Frowth giants。 Then； a tribe of four hundred of the huge creatures had e over the northern ice one winter； battle…scarred； fearful。 Many of them wounded。
The Frowth could not speak well in any human tongue； had never quite been able to municate what fearful enemies chased them over the ice。 Yet with a few gestures and the odd spoken mand； the giants had learned to work beside men to some extentlugging huge boulders in quarries； or trees for foresters。 The rich lords of Indhopal in particular had taken to hiring Frowth giants； so that； in time； most of them migrated south。
But the Frowth excelled in only one thingmaking war。
Gaborn and Borenson came to a small croft on a hill beneath some trees； beside the river。 The cottage's windows were dark。 No smoke roiled from its chimney。 A dead farmer lay half in the doorway； hand outstretched。 His head lay as if he'd died trying to reach for it as it rolled away。 The coppery scent of blood hung heavy in the air。
Borenson swore； rode forward。 The mist ahead grew thicker。 Heavier。
In the green grass； they found steaming human footprints。 The grass beneath the footprints was blackened； dead。 Gaborn had never seen the like。
〃Flameweavers；〃 Borenson said。 〃Powerful onespowerful enough to transmute to flame。 Five of them。〃
There were flameweavers in Mystarria； of course； sorcerers who could warm a room or cause a log to burst into flame； but none so powerful that they blackened the ground they trod upon。 Not like this。
These were creatures of legend； wizards of such power that they could pry secrets from men's souls； or summon beings of terror from the netherworld。
Gaborn's heart pounded； he looked at Borenson； who was suddenly wary。 There were no flameweavers like this in the northern kingdoms； nor so many
