srdonaldson.theillearthwar-第83章

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


you　live。　Of　course；　to　gain　life　you　must　change　your　allegiance。　Repeat　these　words…　‘I　worship　Lord　Foul　the　Despiser。　He　is　the　one　word　of　truth。'　〃
　Lord　Verement's　lips　remained　clamped　shut。　Within　the　paralyzing　fire；　his　cheek　muscles　bulged　as　he　set　his　jaws。
　〃Speak　it！〃　Fleshharrower　roared。　With　a　jerk　of　the　Stone；　he　tightened　the　corona　around　Verement。　A　gasp　of　agony　tore　the　Lord's　lips　apart。　He　began　to　speak。
　〃I…worship…〃
　He　went　no　further。　Behind　him；　Thomin　jumped　up　to　carry　out　his　last　duty。　With　one　kick；　the　Bloodguard　broke　Lord　Verement's　back。　Instantly；　the　Lord　fell　dead。
　Thomin's　face　was　taut　with　murder　as　he　sprang　again　at　Fleshharrower's　throat。
　This　time；　the　Bloodguard's　attack　was　so　swift　and　ruthless　that　it　broke　past　the　Raver's　defenses。　He　caught　Fleshharrower；　dug　his　fingers　into　the　Giant's　neck。　For　a　moment；　the　Giant　could　not　tear　him　away。　He　ground　his　fingers　into　that　thick　throat　with　such　passion　that　Fleshharrower　could　not　break　his　hold。
　But　then　the　Raver　brought　the　Stone　to　his　aid。　With　one　blast；　he　burned　Thomin's　bones　to　ash　with
　in　him。　The　Bloodguard　collapsed　in　a　heap　of　structureless　flesh。
　Then　for　a　time　Fleshharrower　seemed　to　go　mad。　Roaring　like　a　cataclysm；　he　jumped　and　stamped　on　Thomin's　form　until　the　Bloodguard's　bloody　remains　were　crushed　into　the　grass。　And　after　that；　he　sent　the　vast　hordes　of　his　wolves　howling　into　the　gullet　of　Doom's　Retreat。　Driven　by　his　fury；　they　ran　blindly　down　the　canyon；　and　hurtled　into　the　Word　of　Warning。
　The　first　wolf　to　touch　the　Word　triggered　it。　In　that　instant；　the　piled　rock　within　the　walls　seemed　to　blow　apart。　The　power　which　Verement　had　placed　there　threw　down　the　sloped　sides　of　the　defile。　A　deadly　rain　of　boulders　and　shale　fell　into　the　canyon；　crushing　thousands　of　wolves　so　swiftly　that　the　pack　had　time　for　only　one　yowl　of　terror。
　When　the　dust　blew　clear；　Fleshharrower　could　see　that　the　Retreat　was　now　blocked；　crowded　with　crumbled　rock　and　scree。　An　army　might　spend　days　struggling　through　the　rubble。
　The　setback　appeared　to　calm　him。　The　hunger　for　vengeance　did　not　leave　his　eyes；　but　his　voice　was　steady　as　he　shouted　his　mands。　He　called　forward　the　griffins。　Flying　heavily　with　ur…viles　on　their　backs；　they　went　into　the　Retreat　to　fight　Verement's　Word。　And　behind　them　Fleshharrower　sent　his　rock…wise　Cavewights　to　clear　the　way　for　the　rest　of　the　army。
　pelled　by　his　power；　the　creatures　worked　with　headlong　desperation。　Many　of　the　griffins　were　destroyed　because　they　flew　mindlessly　against　the　Word。　Scores　of　Cavewights　killed　each　other　in　their　frenzy　to　clear　the　debris　from　the　canyon　floor。　But　lore…wise　ur…viles　finally　tore　down　the　Word　of　Warning。　And　the　Cavewights　acplished　prodigious　feats。　Given　sufficient　time　and　numbers；　they　had　the　strength　and　skill　to　move　mountains。　Now　they　heaved　and　tore　at　the　rubble。　They　worked　through　the　night；　and　by　dawn　they　had　cleared　a　path　ten　yards　wide　down　the　center　of　the　Retreat。
　Holding　the　Stone　high；　Fleshharrower　led　his　army　through　the　canyon。　At　the　south　end　of　the　Retreat；
　he　found　the　Warward　gone。　The　last　of　his　enemies　…a　small　band　of　riders　including　two　Lords…were　galloping　away　out　of　reach。　He　howled　imprecations　after　them；　vowing　that　he　would　pursue　them　to　the　death。
　But　then　his　farseeing　Giantish　eyes　made　out　the　Warward；　seven　or　eight　leagues　beyond　the　riders。　He　marked　the　direction　of　their　march…saw　where　they　were　headed。　And　he　began　to　laugh　again。　Peals　of　sarcasm　and　triumph　echoed　off　the　blank　cliffs　of　Doom's　Retreat。
　The　Warward　marched　toward　Garroting　Deep。
　
　
　NINETEEN：　The　Ruins　of　the　Southron　Wastes
　
　BY　the　time　Warmark　Troy　rode　away　from　Doom's　Retreat　with　the　Lords　Mhoram　and　Callindrill　and　a　group　of　Bloodguard；　he　had　put　aside　his　enervation；　his　half…conscious　yearning　to　hide　his　head。　Gone；　too；　was　the　sense　of　horror　which　had　paralyzed　him　when　Lord　Verement　died。　He　had　pushed　these　things　down　during　the　dark　night；　while　Mhoram　and　Callindrill　fought　to　maintain　the　Word　of　Warning。　Now　he　felt　strangely　cauterized。　He　was　the　Warmark；　and　he　had　returned　to　his　work。　He　was　thinking…measuring　distances；　gauging　relative　speeds；　forecasting　the　Warward's　attrition　rate。　He　was　in　mand。
　He　could　see　his　army's　need　for　leadership　as　clearly　as　if　it　were　in　some　way　atrocious。　Ahead　of　him；　the　Warward　had　swung　slightly　south　to　avoid　the　immediate　foothills　of　the　mountains；　and　across　this　easier　ground　it　moved　at　a　pace　which　would　cover　no　more　than　seven　leagues　a　day。　But　still　the　conditions　of　the　march　were　horrendous。　His　army
　was　traveling　into　the　dry　half…desert　of　the　Southron　Wastes。
　No　vestige　or　hint　of　autumn　ameliorated　the　arid　breeze　which　blew　northward　off　the　parched；　lifeless　Gray　Desert。　Most　of　the　grass　had　already　failed；　and　the　few　rills　and　rivulets　which　ran　down　out　of　the　mountains　evaporated　before　they　reached　five　leagues　into　the　Wastes。　And　even　south　of　the　foothills　the　terrain　was　difficult…eroded　and　rasped　and　cut　by　long　ages　of　sterile　wind　into　jagged　hills；　gullies；　arroyos。　The　result　was　a　stark；　heat…pale　land　possessed　by　a　weird　and　unfriendly　beauty。　The　Warward　had　to　march　over　packed　ground　that　felt　as　hard　and　hostile　as　rock　underfoot；　and　yet　sent　up　thick　dust　as　if　the　soil　were　nothing　but　powder。
　Within　three　leagues　of　the　Retreat；　Troy　and　his　panions　found　the　first　dead　warrior。　The　Woodhelvennin　corpse　lay　contorted　on　the　ground　like　a　torture　victim。　Exhaustion　blackened　its　lips　and　tongue；　and　its　staring　eyes　were　full　of　dust。　Troy　had　a　mad　impulse　to　stop　and　bury　the　warrior。　But　he　was　sure　of　his　calculations；　in　this　acrid　heat；　the　losses　of　the　Warward　would　probably　double　every　day。　None　of　the　living　could　afford　the　time　or　strength　to　care　for　the　dead。
　By　the　time　the　Warmark　caught　up　with　his　army；　he　had　counted　ten　more　fallen　warriors。　Numbers　thronged　in　his　brain：　eleven　dead　the　first　day；　twenty…two　the　second；　forty…four　the　third…six　hundred　and　ninety…three　human　beings　killed　by　the　cruel　demands　of　the　march　before　he　reached　his　destination。　And　God　alone　knew　how　many　more　He　found　himself　wondering　if　he　would　ever　be　able　to　sleep　again。
　But　he　forced　himself　to　pay　attention　as　Quaan　and　Amorine　reported　on　their　efforts　to　keep　the　warriors　alive。　Food　was　rationed；　all　water　jugs　were　refilled　at　every　stream；　however　small；　every　Haft　and　Warhaft　moved　on　foot；　so　that　their　horses　could　carry　the　weakest　men　and　women；　Quaan's　remaining　riders　also　walked；　and　their　damaged　mounts　bore　packs　and　collapsed　warriors；　all　scouting　and　water
　gathering　were　done　by　the　Bloodguard。　And　every　warrior　who　could　go　no　farther　was　supplied　with　food；　and　ordered　to　seek　safety　in　the　mountains。
　There　was　nothing　else　the　manders　could　do。
　All　this　filled　Troy　with　pain。　But　then　Quaan　described　to　him　how　very　few　warriors　chose　to　leave　the　march　and　hide　in　the　hills。　That　news　steadied　Troy；　he　felt　it　was　both　terrible　and　wonderful　that　so　many　men　and　women　were　willing　to　follow　him　to　the　utter　end　of　his　ideas。　He　mustered　his　confidence　to　answer　Quaan's　and　Amorine's　inevitable　questions。
　Quaan　went　bluntly　to　the　immediate　problem。　〃Does　Fleshharrower　pursue　us？〃
　〃Yes；〃　Troy　Replied。　〃Lord　Verement　gained　us　about　a　day。　But　that　Giant　is　ing　after　us　now　he's　ing　fast。〃
　Quaan　did　not　need　to　ask　what　had　happened　to　Lord　Verement。　Instead；　he　said；　〃Fleshharrower　will　move　swiftly。　When　will　he　overtake　us？〃
　〃Sometime　tomorrow　afternoon。　Tomorrow　evening　at　the　latest。〃
　〃Then　we　are　lost；〃　said　Amorine；　and　her　voice　shook。　〃We　can　march　no　faster。　The　warriors　are　too　weary　to　turn　and　fight。　Warmark；〃　she　implored；　〃take　this　matter　from　me。　Give　the　First　Haft's　place　to　another。　I　cannot　bear…I　cannot　give　these　mands。〃
　He　tried　to　fort　her　with　his　confidence。　〃Don't　worry。　We're　not　beaten　yet。〃　But　to　himself　he　sounded　more　hysterical　than　confident。　He　had　a　sudden　desire　to　scream。　〃We　won't　have　to　march　any　faster　than　th