fs.thefirstbookofswords-第31章
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The pair of them were leaving the stair now； on a high level of the castle that held Sir Andrew's favorite general…purpose meeting room。 He caught up with Dame Yoldi and took her arm。 〃I hardly supposed she would。 Well； let's have them in here。 Grapes of Bacchus； do you suppose there's any of that good ale left？ No； don't call for it now； I didn't； mean that。 Later； after the Duke's dear emissaries have departed。〃
The emissaries were shortly being ushered in。 The Lady Marat was tall and willowy and dark of hair and skin。 Again； as in Dame Yoldi's case； what must once have been breathtaking beauty was still considerable in the case of Lady Marat； thought Sir Andrew； nature had almost certainly been fortified in recent years by a touch of enchantment here and there。
Hugh of Semur； a step lower than Her Ladyship in the formal social scale； was chunkilv built and much pore mundanelooking； though； as his clothes testified； he was something of a dandy too。 Sir Andrew recalled Hugh as having more than a touch of self…importance； but he was probably trying to suppress this characteristic at the moment。
Formal greetings were quickly got out of the way； and refreshment perfunctorily offered and declined。 Lady Marat wasted no time in beginning the real discussion； for which she adopted a somewhat patronizing tone： 〃As you will have heard； cousin； the Duke's beloved kinsman； the Seneschal Ibn Gauthier； was assassinated some days ago。〃
〃Some word of that has reached us； yes；〃 Sir Andrew admitted。 Having got that far he hesitated； trying to find some truthful ment that would not sound too impolite。 He preferred not to be impolite without deliberate purpose and good cause。
Her Ladyship continued： 〃We have good reason to believe that the assassin is here in your domain； or at least on his way。 He is a moner； his name is Mark； the son of Jord the miller of the village of Arin…on…Aldan。 This Mark is twelve years old； and he is described as large for his age。 His hair and general coloring are fair； his face round； his behavior treacherous in the extreme。 He has with him a very valuable sword； stolen from the Duke。 A reward of a hundred gold pieces is offered for the sword； and an equal amount for the assassin…thief。〃
〃A boy of twelve； you say？〃 The furrow of unhappiness that had marked Sir Andrew's brow since the mencement of the interview now deepened。 〃How sad。 Well； we'll do what we must。 If this lad should appear before me for any reason； I'll certainly question him closely。〃
The Lady Marat was somehow managing to look down her nose at Sir Andrew； though the chair in which he sat as host and ruler here was somewhat higher than her own。 〃Good Cousin Andrew； I think that His Grace expects a rather more active co…operation on your part than that。 It will be necessary for you to conduct an all…out search for this killer； throughout your territory。 And when the assassin is found； to deliver him speedily to the Duke's justice。 And； to find and return the stolen sword as well。〃
Sir Andrew was frowning at her fixedly。 〃Twice now you've called me that。 Are we really cousins？〃 he wondered aloud。 And his bass voice warbled over the suggestion in a way that implied he found it profoundly disturbing。
Dame Yoldi； seated at Sir Andrew's right hand； looked disturbed too； but also half amused。 While Hugh of Semur； showing no signs but those of nervousness； hastened to offer an explanation。 〃Sir Andrew； Her Ladyship meant only to speak in informal friendship。〃
〃Did she； hah？ Had m'hopes up high there for a minute。 Thought I was about to bee a member of the Duke's extended family。 Could count on his fierce vengeance to track down anyone； any child at least； who did me any harm。 Tell me； will you two be staying to enjoy the fair？〃
The Lady Marat's visage had turned to dark ice； and she was on the verge of rising from her chair。 But Dame Yoldi had already risen； perhaps some faint noise from outside that had made no impression on the others had still caught her attention； for she had gone to the window and was looking out into the approaching sunset。
Now she turned back。 〃Good news； Sir Andrew；〃 she announced in an almost formal voice。 〃I believe that your dragon…hunters have arrived。〃
Yoldi's eyes； Sir Andrew thought； had seen more than she had announced。
Chapter 9
Nestor； struck on the head with stunning force for the second time in as many minutes； lost consciousness。 But not for long。 When he regained his senses he found himself being carried only a meter or two above the surface of a fogbound marsh； his body still helplessly clutched to the breast of a flying dragon of enormous wingspan。 His left shoulder and upper arm were still in agony； though the animal had shifted its powerful grip and was no longer holding him directly by the damaged limb。
He thought that the dragon was going to drop him at any moment。 He knew that a grown man must be a very heavy load … five minutes ago he would have said an impossible load for any creature that flew on wings and not by magic。 And obviously his captor was having a slow and difficult struggle to gain altitude with Nestor aboard。 Now the mists below were thick enough to conceal flat ground and water； but the tops of trees kept looming out of the mists ahead； and the flyer kept swerving between the trees。 No matter how its great wings labored； it was unable as yet to rise above them。
From being sure that the creature was going to drop him； Nestor quickly moved to being afraid that it was not。 Then； as it gained more altitude despite the evident odds； he progressed to being fearful that it would。 Either way there appeared to be nothing he could do。 Both of his arms were now pinned between his own body and the scaly toughness of the dragons。 He could turn his head； and when he turned it to the right he saw the hilt of the sword； along with half the blade； still protruding from between tough scales near the joining of the animal's left leg and body。 The wound was lightly oozing iridescent blood。 If Nestor had been able to move his right arm； he might have tried to grab the hilt。 But then； at this increasing altitude； he might not。
The great wings beat majestically on； slowly winning the fight for flight。 Despite the color of the creature's blood； its scales； and everything else about it； Nestor began lightheadedly to wonder if it was truly a dragon after all。 He had thought that by now； after years of hunting them； he knew every subspecies that existed。。。 and Dragonslicer had never failed to kill before； not when he had raised it against the real thing。 Could this be some hybrid creature； raised for a special purpose in some potentate's private zoo？
But there was something he ought to have remembered about the sword。。。 dazed as Nestor was； his mind filled with his shoulder's pain and the terror of his fantastic situation； he couldn't put together any clear and useful chain of thought。 This thing can't really carry me； he kept thinking to himself； and kept expecting to be dropped at any moment。 No flying creature ought to be able to scoop up a full…grown man and just bear him away。 Nestor realized that he was far from being the heaviest of full…grown men； but still。。。
Now； for a time； terror threatened to overe his mind。 Nestor clutched with his fingernails at the scales of the beast that bore him。 Now he could visualize it planning to drop him when it had reached a sufficient height； like a seabird cracking shells on rocks below。 In panic he tried to free his arms； but it ignored his feeble efforts。
Once more Nestor's consciousness faded and came back。 On opening his eyes this time he saw that he and his captor were about to be engulfed by a billow of fog thicker than any previously encountered。 When they broke out of the fog again； he could see that at last they had gained real altitude。 Below； no treetops at all could now be seen； nothing but fog or cloud of an unguessable depth。 Overhead； a dazzling white radiance was trying to eat through whatever layers of fog remained。 The damned ugly wounded thing has done it； Nestor thought； and despite himself he had to feel a kind of admiration。。。
