df.therunelords-第84章

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asted　the　mineral　tang　of　earth　scent。　Almost　he　turned　to　follow　the　wizard。　But　the　sound　of　the　horses'　hooves　was　lost　in　the　night。
　He　stared　at　his　master。
　For　years　Jureem　had　given　his　all　to　the　Great　One；　had　followed　his　every　whim。　He　had　struggled　to　be　a　good　servant。　Now；　he　looked　into　his　own　heart　and　began　to　wonder　why。
　There　was　a　time；　a　decade　ago；　when　Raj　Ahten　had　talked　often　of　consolidating　forces；　of　uniting　the　kings　of　the　South　under　a　single　banner　to　repel　the　attacks　of　reavers。　Somehow；　over　the　years；　the　dream　had　changed；　bee　twisted。
　The　〃Great　Light；〃　Jureem　had　called　him；　as　if　Raj　Ahten　were　a　Bright　One　or　a　Glory　from　the　netherworld。
　Jureem　turned　his　own　horse。
　I　am　the　weakest　man　here；　he　told　himself。　Yet　perhaps　Orden　will　accept　my　service。
　I　will　be　branded　a　traitor；　Jureem　thought。　If　I　leave　now；　Raj　Ahten　will　believe　that　I　am　the　spy　who　warned　Orden　where　to　find　the　forcibles。
　Jureem　considered。　So　be　it。　If　I　am　branded　a　traitor；　I　will　bee　one。　He　had　many　secrets　that　he　could　divulge。　And　if　he　left　Raj　Ahten's　service；　then　it　meant　that　the　Wolf　Lord　would　still　have　a　spy　in　his　midst。
　He　will　expect　me　to　head　south；　to　Longmont；　Jureem　thought。　And　in　time　I　will　head　south；　to　seek　out　Orden。　But　for　tonight；　I　will　head　north　to　find　a　barn　or　a　shed　to　sleep　in。
　He　felt　weary　to　the　bone；　and　had　no　strength　for　a　long　ride。　He　rode　hard　into　the　night。
　
　BOOK　4
　　
　DAY　22　IN　THE　MONTH　OF　HARVEST
　A　DAY　OF　SLAUGHTER
　
　Chapter　30
　DEATH　ES　TO　THE　HOUSE　OF　A　FRIEND
　　
　Wind　gusted　from　the　southeast；　carrying　the　smell　of　rain；　dark　clouds　rushed　behind　it；　covering　the　forest。　Borenson　heard　distant　thunder；　but　he　could　also　hear　neighing　on　the　wind　that　afternoon；　smell　horses。　Raj　Ahten's　troops　were　marching　over　the　blackened　hills。
　It　had　been　but　half　an　hour　since　Gaborn　mounted　his　horse；　and　with　a　nod；　Borenson　wished　them　good　speed。　In　a　moment　Gaborn；　Iome；　and　King　Sylvarresta　spurred　up　the　ash…covered　hill；　into　the　shelter　of　the　woods。　A　few　snaps　of　branches　and　the　snort　of　a　horse　announced　their　departure；　yet　the　horses　moved　so　swiftly；　in　a　moment　even　those　sounds　faded。
　Borenson　also　rode　his　warhorse　to　the　edge　of　the　silent　woods；　taking　a　different　track。　Ahead　lay　a　line　of　ancient　oaks　and　ashmany　of　which　had　the　tips　of　branches　burned　to　nothing。
　But　as　he　neared　the　tree　line；　Borenson　noticed　something　that　only　now　struck　him　as　incredibly　odd：　It　looked　as　if　there　were　an　invisible　wall　before　him；　and　the　trees　beyond　it　had　not　caught　fire。　Not　a　brown　twig　had　kindled；　not　a　spider's　web　burned。
　As　if。。。the　flames　had　raged　before　the　trees；　incinerating　everything；　until　the　trees　had　said；　〃These　woods　are　ours。　You　can　e　no　farther。〃
　Or　perhaps；　Borenson　reasoned；　the　unnatural　fire　had　turned　aside　for　reasons　of　its　own。　An　elemental　had　consciously　directed　the　flames　for　a　time；　before　it　lost　focus；　faded。
　Borenson　halted　just　outside　the　line　of　trees；　listening；　afraid　to　go　in。　No　birds　sang　under　the　trees。　No　mice　or　ferrin　rustled　through　dead　leaves　under　the　boughs。　Old　man's　beard　hung　from　the　hoary　oaks　in　an　odd　way；　like　great　curtains。　This　was　an　ancient　forest；　vast。
　Borenson　had　hunted　these　haunted　woods；　but　he'd　never　ridden　through　them　alone。　He　knew　the　dangers　of　doing　so。
　No；　it　was　not　the　fire　that　turned　away；　Borenson　reasoned。　The　forest　had　confounded　it。　Old　trees　lived　here；　trees　old　enough　to　remember　when　the　duskins　first　raised　the　Seven　Stones。　Ancient　spirits　walked　here；　powers　that　no　man　should　face　alone。
　He　thought　he　could　feel　them　now；　regarding　him。　A　malevolent　force　that　caused　the　air　to　weigh　heavy。　He　looked　up　at　the　graying　skies；　the　lowering　clouds　sailing　in　from　the　southeast。　Wind　buffeted　him。
　〃I'm　not　your　enemy；〃　Borenson　whispered　to　the　trees。　〃If　you　seek　enemies；　you'll　find　them　soon　enough。　They　e。〃
　Cautiously；　reverently；　Borenson　urged　his　mount　to　walk　under　the　dark　boughs。　Only　a　few　yards；　far　enough　so　he　could　tie　the　big　warhorse　in　a　shallow　ravine；　then　creep　back　to　the　wood's　edge　to　watch　Raj　Ahten's　army　pass　on　the　road　below。
　He　did　not　have　to　wait　long。
　In　a　few　moments；　twenty　men　raced　over　the　hills　below；　war　dogs　leaping　to　keep　ahead。　To　Borenson's　horror；　Raj　Ahten　himself　led　them。
　For　a　moment；　Borenson　feared　the　trackers　would　follow　his　trail；　but　down　by　the　river　they　stopped　for　a　long　time；　searching　the　ground　at　the　spot　where　Gaborn　had　taken　Torin's　armor。
　Borenson　made　out　some　muffled　shouting；　but　did　not　understand　the　dialect　of　Indhopalese　the　men　spoke。　They　hailed　from　a　Southern　province；　but　Borenson　knew　only　a　few　curse　words　in　the　Northern　dialect。
　Raj　Ahten　recognized　that　Gaborn's　party　had　split。
　They　followed　Gaborn。　Borenson　felt　terrified；　wondered　why　Raj　Ahten　himself　would　head　a　party　to　capture　Gaborn。　Perhaps　the　Wolf　Lord　valued　Iome　and　Sylvarresta　more　than　Borenson　imagined。　Or　perhaps　he　wanted　Gaborn　as　a　hostage。
　Silently；　he　willed　Gaborn　to　hurry；　to　ride　hard　and　fast　and　never　slow　till　he　reached　Longmont。
　The　trackers　had　hardly　raced　over　the　hills　to　Borenson's　left　when　the　army　of　the　Wolf　Lord　came　marching　down　the　road；　their　golden　surcoats　bright　in　the　last　rays　of　sunlight　before　the　oning　storm。
　Archers　came　first；　thousands　strong；　marching　four　abreast。　Mounted　knights　followed；　a　thousand。　Then　came　Raj　Ahten's　counselors　and　magicians。
　Borenson　cared　little　for　the　Wolf　Lord's　soldiers。　Instead　he　watched　what　followed　next。　A　huge　wain；　encased　in　wood。　A　wagon　to　hold　Dedicatesprobably　fewer　than　three　dozen　of　them。　The　wagon　was　guarded　closely　by　hundreds　of　Invincibles。
　An　arrow　could　not　pierce　its　wooden　walls。　Borenson　could　see　that　one　man　alone　would　find　it　impossible　to　assault　the　wagon's　occupants。　No；　he　knew　the　truth。
　Raj　Ahten　could　haul　only　a　few　vectors　with　him；　hoping　no　one　would　slaughter　the　hundreds　of　poor　Dedicates　in　Sylvarresta's　keep；　or　in　other　castles　he　might　have　taken　here　in　the　North。
　When　the　Dedicates'　wagon　passed；　when　the　cooks　and　armorers　and　camp　followers　and　another　thousand　swordsmen　hurried　past；　followed　by　the　last　thousand　archers　in　the　rear　guard；　Borenson　grimly　realized　that　killing　Raj　Ahten's　vectors　would　be　impossible。
　He　would　have　to　concentrate　on　breaking　into　the　Dedicates'　Keep　in　Castle　Sylvarresta。　He　worried　at　how　many　guards　waited　for　him。
　He　sat　at　the　edge　of　the　wood　for　long　hours；　while　the　storm　brewed　and　clouds　engulfed　the　sky。　Winds　began　to　send　dry　leaves　skittering　from　the　trees。　As　evening　neared；　the　clouds　hurled　bolts　of　lightning　through　the　heavens。　Rain　fell　thick；　unrelenting。
　Borenson　drew　a　blanket　over　his　head　and　wondered　about　Myrrima；　back　in　Bannisferre。　She　had　three　Dedicatesher　witless　mother　and　two　ugly　sisters。　They'd　given　up　much　to　unite　the　family；　to　win　their　fight　against　poverty。　Myrrima　had　told　Borenson；　on　the　trip　to　her　house；　how　her　father　had　died。
　〃My　mother　was　raised　in　a　manor；　and　had　endowments　of　her　own；〃　she　said。　〃And　my　father　was　a　man　of　wealth；　at　one　time。　He　sold　fine　clothes　in　the　market；　made　winter　coats　for　ladies。　But　a　fire　burned　his　shop；　and　his　coats　burned　with　him。　All　the　family　gold　must　have　burned　in　that　fire；　too；　for　we　never　found　any　of　it。〃
　It　was　a　proud　way　to　say　that　her　father　had　been　murdered；　killed　in　a　robbery。
　〃My　grandfather　is　still　alive；　but　he　has　taken　a　young　wife　who　spends　more　than　he　brings　in。〃
　Borenson　had　wondered　what　she　was　getting　at；　until　she　whispered　part　of　an　old　adage。　〃Fortune　is　a　boat。。。〃　on　a　stormy　sea；　which　rises　and　falls　with　each　mountainous　wave。
　Myrrima；　he'd　realized；　had　been　telling　him　that　she　did　not　trust　fortune。　Though　their　arranged　marriage　might　seem　fortunate　at　the　moment；　it　was　only　because；　for　the　moment；　they　crested　the　wave；　and　she　feared　that　at　any　second　her　little　boat　would　crash　down　deep　in　some　trough；　perhaps　be　submerged　forever。
　That　was　how　Borenson　felt