srdonaldson.theillearthwar-第103章

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iffs。　Covenant　rolled　over　on　his　back。　At　first；　he　watched　with　a　kind　of　dour　satisfaction　as　darkness　climbed　the　east　wall。　He　felt　ready　for　the　isolation　of　night　and　loss。
　But　then　the　memory　of　Joan　returned　with　redoubled　force。　It　stung　him　into　a　sitting　position。　Once　again；　he　found　himself　gaping　at　the　cruelty　of　his　delusion；　the　malice　which　tore　him　away　from　Joan…for　what？　Hellfire！　he　gasped。　The　gloaming　made　him　feel　that　he　was　going　blind　with　anger。　When　he　saw　Elena　walking　into　the　gully　toward　him；　she　seemed　to　move　through　a　haze　of　leprosy。
　He　looked　away　from　her；　tried　to　steady　his　sight　against　the　failing　light　on　the　eastern　cliff；　and　while　his　face　was　averted；　she　approached；　seated　herself　on　the　grass　by　his　feet。　He　could　feel　her　presence　vividly。　At　first　she　did　not　speak。　But　when　he　still　refused　to　meet　her　gaze；　she　said　softly；　〃Beloved。　I　have　made　a　sculpture　for　you。〃
　With　an　effort；　he　turned　his　head。　He　saw　her　bent　forward；　with　a　hopeful　smile　on　her　lips。　Both　her　hands　extended　toward　him　a　white　object　that　appeared　to　be　made　of　bone。　He　paid　no　attention　to　it；　his　eyes　slapped　at　her　face　as　if　that　were　his　enemy。
　In　a　tone　of　entreaty；　she　continued；　〃I　formed　it　for　you　from　Myrha's　bones。　I　cremated　her…to　do　her　what　honor　I　could。　Then　from　her　bones　I　formed　this。　For　you；　beloved。　Please　accept　it。〃
　He　glanced　at　the　sculpture。　It　caught　his　unwilling　interest。　It　was　a　bust。　Initially；　it　appeared　too　thick　to　have　been　made　from　any　horse's　bone。　But　then　he　saw　that　four　bones　had　been　in　some　way　fused　together　and　molded。　He　took　the　work　from　her　hands　to　view　it　more　closely。　The　face　interested　him。　Its　outlines　were　less　blunt　than　in　other　marrowmeld　work　he　had　seen。　It　was　lean　and　gaunt　and　impenetrable　…a　prophetic　face；　taut　with　purpose。　It　expressed　someone　he　knew；　but　a　moment　passed　before　he　recognized　the　countenance。　Then；　gingerly；　as　if　he　feared　to　be　wrong；　he　said；　〃It's　Bannor。　Or　one　of　the　other　Bloodguard。〃
　〃You　tease　me；〃　she　replied。　〃I　am　not　so　poor　a　crafter。〃　There　was　a　peculiar　hunger　in　her　smile。　〃Beloved；　I　have　sculpted　you。〃
　Slowly；　his　ire　faded。　After　all；　she　was　his　daughter；　not　his　wife。　She　was　entitled　to　any　reproach　that　seemed　fit　to　her。　He　could　not　remain　angry　with　her。　Carefully；　he　placed　the　bust　on　the　grass；　then　reached　out　toward　her　and　took　her　into　his　arms　as　the　sun　set。
　She　entered　his　embrace　eagerly；　and　for　a　time　she　clung　to　him　as　if　she　were　simply　glad　to　put　their　anger　behind　them。　But　gradually　he　felt　the　tension　of　her　body　change。　Her　affection　seemed　to　bee　grim；　almost　urgent。　Something　taut　made　her　limbs　hard；　made　her　fingers　grip　him　like　claws。　In　a　voice　that　shook　with　passion；　she　said；　〃This　also　Fangthane　would　destroy。〃
　He　lifted　his　cheek　from　her　hair；　moved　her　so　that　he　could　see　her　face。
　That　sight　chilled　him。　Despite　the　dimness　of　the　light；　her　gaze　shocked　him　like　an　immersion　in　polar　seas。
　The　otherness　of　her　sight；　the　elsewhere　dimension
　of　its　power；　had　focused；　concentrated　until　it　became　the　crux　of　something　savage　and　illimitable。　A　terrible　might　raved　out　of　her　orbs。　Though　her　gaze　was　not　directed　at　him；　it　bored　through　him　like　an　auger。　When　it　was　gone；　it　left　a　bloody　weal　across　him。
　It　was　a　look　of　apocalypse。
　He　could　not　think　of　any　other　name　for　it　but　hate。
　
　
　TWENTY…THREE：　Knowledge
　
　THE　sight　sent　him　stumbling　up　the　gully　away　from　her。　He　had　trouble　keeping　himself　erect；　he　listed　as　if　a　gale　had　left　him　aground　somewhere。　He　heard　her　low　cry；　〃Beloved！〃　but　he　could　not　turn　back。　The　vision　made　his　heart　smoke　like　dry　ice；　and　he　needed　to　find　a　place　where　he　could　huddle　over　the　pain　and　gasp　alone。
　For　a　time；　smoke　obscured　his　self…awareness。　He　ran　into　Bannor；　and　fell　back　as　if　he　had　smashed　against　a　boulder。　The　impact　surprised　him。　Bannor's　flat　mien　had　the　force　of　a　denunciation。　Instinctively；　he　recoiled。　〃Don't　touch　me！〃　He　lurched　off　in　another　direction；　stumbled　through　the　night　until　he　had　placed　a　steep　hill　between　himself　and　the　Bloodguard。　There　he　sat　down　on　the　grass；　wrapped　his　arms　around　his　chest；　and　made　a　deliberate　effort　to　weep。
　He　could　not　do　it。　His　weakness；　his　perpetual　leprosy；　dammed　that　emotional　channel；　he　had　spent　too　long　unlearning　the　release　of　grief。　And　the　frustration　of　failure　made　him　savage。　He　brimmed　with　old；　unresolved　rage。　Even　in　delusion；　he　could　not　escape　the　trap　of　his　illness。　Leaping　to　his　feet；　he　shook　his　fists　at　the　sky　like　a　reefed　and　lonely　galleon　firing　its
　guns　in　bootless　defiance　of　the　invulnerable　ocean。　Damnation）
　But　then　his　self…consciousness　returned。　His　anger　became　bitterly　cold　as　he　bit　off　his　shout；　clamped　shut　that　outlet　for　his　fury。　He　felt　that　he　was　waking　up　after　a　blind　sleep。　Snarling　extremely　between　his　teeth；　he　stalked　away　toward　the　stream。
　He　did　not　bother　to　take　off　his　clothes。　Fiercely；　he　dropped　flat　on　his　face　in　the　water　as　if　he　were　diving　for　some　kind　of　cauterization　or　release　in　the　glacial　frigidity　of　the　brook。
　He　could　not　endure　the　cold　for　more　than　a　moment；　it　burned　over　all　his　flesh；　seized　his　heart　like　a　convulsion。　Gasping；　he　sprang　up　and　stood　shuddering　on　the　rocky　streambed。　The　water　and　the　breeze　sent　a　ravenous　ache　through　his　bones；　as　if　cold　consumed　their　marrow。　He　left　the　stream。
　The　next　instant；　he　saw　Elena's　gaze　again；　felt　it　sear　his　memory。　He　halted。　A　sudden　idea　threw　back　the　chill。　It　sprang　practically　full…grown　into　view　as　if　it　had　been　maturing　for　days　in　the　darkness　of　his　mind；　waiting　until　he　was　ready。
　He　realized　that　he　had　access　to　a　new　kind　of　bargain…an　arrangement　or　promise　distantly　similar；　but　far　superior；　to　the　one　which　he　had　formed　with　the　Ranyhyn。　They　were　too　limited；　they　could　not　meet　his　terms；　fulfill　the　contract　he　had　made　for　his　survival。　But　the　person　with　whom　he　could　now　bargain　was　almost　ideally　suited　to　help　him。
　It　was　just　possible　that　he　could　buy　his　salvation　from　the　High　Lord。
　He　saw　the　difficulties　at　once。　He　did　not　know　what　the　Seventh　Ward　contained。　He　would　have　to　steer　Elena's　apocalyptic　impulse　through　an　unpredictable　future　toward　an　uncertain　goal。　But　that　impulse　was　something　he　could　use。　It　made　her　personally　powerful…powerful　and　vulnerable；　blinded　by　obsession…and　she　held　the　Staff　of　Law。　He　might　be　able　to　induce　her　to　take　his　place；　assume　his　position　at　the　onus　of　Lord　Foul's　machinations。　He　might　be　able　to　lead　her　extravagant　passion　to　replace　his　white　gold　at　the　crux　of　the　Land's　doom。　If　he　could
　get　her　to　undertake　the　bitter　responsibility　which　had　been　so　ineluctably　aimed　at　him；　he　would　be　free。　That　would　remove　his　head　from　the　chopping　block　of　this　delusion。　And　all　he　had　to　do　in　return　was　to　place　himself　at　Elena's　service　in　any　way　which　would　focus　rather　than　dissipate　her　inner　drives　keep　her　under　control　until　the　proper　moment。
　It　was　a　more　expensive　bargain　than　the　one　he　had　made　with　the　Ranyhyn。　It　did　not　allow　him　to　remain　passive；　it　required　him　to　help　her；　manipulate　her。　But　it　was　justified。　During　the　Quest　for　the　Staff　of　Law；　he　had　been　fighting　merely　to　survive　an　impossibly　pelling　dream。　Now　he　understood　his　true　peril　more　clearly。
　So　much　time　had　passed　since　he　had　thought　freedom　possible　that　his　heart　almost　stopped　at　the　thrill　of　the　conception。　But　after　its　first　excitement；　he　found　that　he　was　shivering　violently。　His　clothes　were　pletely　soaked。
　Aching　with　every　move；　he　started　back　toward　the　gully　and　the　High　Lord。
　He　found　her　sitting　despondent　and　thoughtful　beside　a　bright　campfire。　She　wore　one　blanket　over　her　robe；　the　others　were　spread　out　by　the　blaze　for　warmth。　When　he　entered　the　gully；　she　looked　up　eagerly。　He　could　not　meet　her　eyes。　But　she　did　not　appear　to　notice　the　chagrin　behind　his　blue　lips　and　taut　forehead。　Snatching　up　a　warm　blanket　for　him；　she　drew　him　close　to　the　fire。　Her　few　low　ments　were　full　of