ggk.asongforarbonne-第124章

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　in　the　midst　of　war　there　is　a　sense　that　this　bat　must　take　place。　And　so　Ademar　of　Gorhaut　begins　his　second　single…challenge　of　this　day。
　　Wordlessly；　for　he　is　beyond　words　now　and　none　could　be　heard　in　any　case；　he　swings　his　sword　in　a　huge；　sweeping　arc　towards　the　helmeted　head　of　the　duke　of　Miraval。　He　misses；　as　Urté；　unexpectedly　quick　for　a　man　of　his　size　and　past　sixty　years　of　age；　ducks　beneath　the　blade。　A　second　later　Ademar　rocks　wildly　in　the　saddle　as　he　absorbs　a　colossal　blow　on　his　own　helm。　He　feels　the　world　go　momentarily　black。　His　helmet　has　been　knocked　askew；　he　cannot　see。　There　is　a　sticky；　warm　running　of　blood　down　the　side　of　his　face。
　　Roaring　like　a　man　beset　by　furies；　Ademar　hurls　away　his　shield　and　rips　his　helm　off　with　both　hands；　feeling　a　tearing　and　then　a　fierce　pain　at　his　left　ear。　He　throws　the　helmet　at　de　Miraval's　face　and　then　the　king　of　Gorhaut　follows　that　up　with　the　hardest　blow　with　a　sword　he　has　ever　delivered　in　all　his　days。
　　The　descending　blade　catches　the　armour　of　the　duke　just　where　it　shields　neck　and　shoulder　and　it　drives　straight　down　through　the　mesh；　biting　deeply　into　flesh。　Ademar　sees；　through　the　blurring　and　darkening　of　his　own　vision；　how　the　duke　of　Miraval　lurches　heavily　over　to　one　side　in　his　saddle；　and　knowing　the　cursed；　deceiving　old　man　is　falling；　is　as　good　as　dead　already；　he　rips　free　his　blade；　nonetheless；　to　blot　him　out　of　life。
　　The　king　of　Gorhaut　never　does　see　the　arrow　that　kills　him。
　　The　arrow　that　es　down　out　of　the　empty　heavens　above　to　take　him　in　the　eye…exactly　as　his　own　father　was　killed　two　years　ago　among　the　ice　and　the　piled　bodies　by　Iersen　Bridge。
　　The　king　of　Gorhaut；　dead　instantly；　never　does　see　that　the　shaft　of　that　arrow　is　a　deep　crimson　hue；　like　blood。　Nor　does　he　ever　realize；　as　others　do　soon　after；　ing　up　to　where　the　dead　king　lies　on　the　ground　beside　the　mortally　wounded　figure　of　Urté　de　Miraval；　that　the　feathers　with　which　that　arrow　has　been　fletched　are…a　thing　without　known　precedent…the　feathers　of　an　owl；　crimson…hued　as　well。
　　Men　see　these　things　and　cannot　understand　them；　nor　can　they　prehend　whence　that　terrifying；　death…dealing　arrow　might　have　been　loosed；　to　have　fallen；　as　it　truly　seems；　straight　down　upon　the　king　from　the　sky。　Corans　in　both　armies　can　be　seen　to　be　making　the　warding　sign　against　darkness　and　the　unknown。
　　The　king　of　Gorhaut　is　dead　of　a　crimson　arrow　fallen　from　the　heavens；　fletched　with　the　feathers　of　an　owl。　Even　the　warriors　of　Gorhaut　know　what　bird　is　sacred　to　Rian。　The　tale　of　an　immortal　goddess's　vengeance　for　her　servants　defiled　and　slain　begins　to　sweep　immediately　across　the　valley。　It　will　not　stop　there。　The　story　has　a　long　way　to　travel。　Such　tales；　of　the　deaths　of　kings；　always　do。
　　
　　After　that　it　became　easy；　in　fact。　Easier　than　it　ought　to　have　been；　Blaise　thought。　At　Iersen　Bridge；　King　Duergar　had　died　yet　Gorhaut　had　still　prevailed　on　a　bitter　field。　The　death　of　a　king　need　not　mean　utter　disarray　among　the　ranks　of　his　army。
　　That　afternoon；　though；　it　did。　Blaise　could　have　offered　many　reasons　why；　and　any　and　all　of　those　reasons　might　have　been　a　part　of　it；　but　the　truth…brilliantly　clear　in　the　afternoon　light…was　that　the　army　of　Gorhaut　was　undone　from　the　time　Urté　de　Miraval　appeared　against　them　and　that　red　arrow　came　down　to　kill　their　king。
　　Blaise；　battling　in　towards　Bertran；　began　to　recognize　individual　men　in　both　armies　nearer　to　the　centre　of　the　fighting。　Sunset；　he　had　said　to　Ademar。　He　had　been　denied　that　battle　after　all。　Looking　around；　he　remembered　that　there　was　someone　else　on　this　field　he　wanted　for　his　own。　Then　he　saw　that　man；　some　distance　away；　and　realized　that　this；　too；　was　going　to　be　denied　him。
　　Bertran　de　Talair　came　up　to　the　Portezzan；　Borsiard　d'Andoria；　on　a　tummock　of　grass　in　the　midst　of　the　sideslipping　centre　of　the　battle。　It　was　clear　that　words　were　exchanged；　but　Blaise　was　too　far　away　to　hear　them。　Then　he　watched　Bertran；　who　had　set　out　on　the　road　of　a　fighter　more　than　twenty　years　ago　after　Aelis　de　Miraval　had　died　in　her　husband's　castle；　dispatch　the　lord　of　Andoria　with　a　precision　that　almost　made　a　mockery　of　the　notion　of　single　bat。　Two　blows　on　the　forehand；　a　feint；　and　then；　slipping　past　the　parry；　a　straight…ahead　thrust　that　took　Borsiard　in　the　throat。　It　was　more　an　execution　than　a　duel；　and　when　it　was　over　Blaise's　first　thought　was　that　Lucianna　had　just　been　widowed　again。
　　His　second　thought；　as　he　saw　the　Andorians　begin；　predictably；　to　throw　down　their　weapons　and　hastily　submit　themselves　as　prisoners　to　the　nearest　of　Bertran's　men；　was　that　he　had　something　to　do　now　that　was　going　to　be　harder　than　any　bat　had　been。　He　looked　quickly　around　for　Rudel　and　realized　that　his　friend　was　no　longer　by　his　side。　He　had　no　time　to　wonder　about　that。　Even　as　he　watched；　the　battle　of　Lake　Dierne　was　being　a　slaughter。
　　And　he　had　to　stop　it。　Stop　it；　even　though　the　men　of　Arbonne　could　see　the　severed　heads　spitted　on　pikes　at　the　back　of　the　Gorhaut　ranks；　could　still　see　what　a　hideous　ruin　had　been　made　of　the　singer　named　Aurelian；　and　would　all　be　carrying　within　them　anguished　images　of　women　burning　through　the　north　of　their　land。　They　would　not　be　inclined　to　clemency　and　moderation　in　this　moment　when　certain　defeat　had　turned　into　victory。　Every　man　in　the　army　of　Arbonne　would　know　what　his　fate　and　that　of　his　family　would　have　been　had　Gorhaut　triumphed　here。
　　Bertran　was　going　to　be　no　help　to　him　now；　Blaise　saw。　The　duke　had　turned　from　his　ruthless　dispatching　of　Borsiard　and；　moving　straight　past　the　surrendering　Portezzans；　was　cutting　a　deadly　swath　through　the　nearest　men　of　Gorhaut。　Valery；　beside　him；　was　doing　exactly　the　same　thing。
　　Urging　his　horse　after　them；　Blaise　lifted　his　voice　over　the　screams　of　the　dying　and　the　fierce；　wild　shouts　of　the　corans　of　Arbonne：　〃Enough！〃　he　cried。　〃Bertran；　it　is　enough！〃
　　Valery　slowed；　and　turned。　The　duke　did　not　hear　him　or；　if　he　did；　paid　no　heed　at　all。　Over　to　his　left；　behind　the　Gorhaut　centre；　Blaise　saw　Fulk　de　Savaric　lift　his　head　to　his　cry；　raise　a　hand　in　response；　and　then　turn　to　relay　urgent　orders　to　his　men。　The　corans　of　Miraval　were　still　attacking；　driving　in　to　meet　Bertran；　with　panic…stricken　soldiers　of　Gorhaut　spinning　and　wheeling　between　them；　implacable　foes　on　all　sides　now；　and　men　from　their　own　ranks　gone　over　to　their　enemies。
　　Blaise　came　up　to　the　nearest　of　the　Garsenc　corans；　the　ones　who　had　rallied　to　him　when　Rudel　first　raised　the　banner。　〃No　more　killing！〃　he　ordered　the　nearest　of　them。　〃Make　them　throw　down　their　weapons！　They　won't　be　killed　if　they　do！〃　He　was　almost　certain　that　was　true；　but　not　entirely　so。　There　was　a　mood　in　the　army　of　Arbonne　that　was　near　to　being　out　of　control。
　　He　moved　on；　churning　in　the　wake　of　the　duke　of　Talair。　He　understood　very　well　what　had　happened　to　Bertran；　how　battle…fury　could　overmaster　the　most　clear…sighted　of　men…and　he　also　knew　that　Bertran　de　Talair　had　more　reason　than　a　man　should　ever　need　to　be　killing　men　of　Gorhaut　just　now。
　　In　the　end　it　was　Thierry　de　Carenzu；　over　on　the　right　flank；　nearest　the　severed　heads　and　the　maimed；　dead　troubadour；　who　had　the　horns　sounded　to　put　a　halt　to　the　slaughter　of　men。
　　It　was　Thierry　who　did　it；　Blaise　would　always　remember　that；　he　himself　was　of　Gorhaut；　he　could　not　have　halted　the　army　of　Arbonne　that　day。
　　Even　Bertran　pulled　up　his　horse　when　he　heard　the　high　clear　sweet　notes　of　those　horns　rising　above　the　valley。　It　was　music　of　a　sort；　among　the　dying　and　the　dead。　Blaise；　forcing　his　way　forward；　was　finally　able　to　catch　up　with　him。
　　〃Bertran　stop；　you　must　stop。　These　are　only　soldiers　now。　Farmers　and　villagers。　Ademar　is　dead；　it　is　over！〃　The　duke　of　Talair　turned　then　to　look　at　him　and　Blaise　was　sobered　and　chilled　by　what　he　saw　in　the　other　man's　eyes。
　　〃But　I　did　not　kill　him；〃　Bertran　said　slowly；　as　if　in　a　trance。　There　was　something　terrible　in　the　words。
　　Drawing　a　deep　breath；　Blaise　said　care