fs.thethirdbookofswords-第16章
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talking and gesturing freely among themselves。 Occasionally when they thought he was not watching one of them would make a sign in his direction； that Mark interpreted as some kind of charm to ward off danger。 Gradually he decided that they must see him as some powerful and dangerous wizard they knew to be in Vilkata's service。
Upon recovering from their first surprise at his approach； they had been quick to offer him food and drink； and his pick of their riding beasts for his own use … they had been traveling with a couple of spare mounts。 Each night when they halted； Mark built his own small fire； a little apart from theirs。 He had soon decided that they would feel somewhat easier that way； and in truth he felt easier himself。
The country grew higher； and the nights； under a Moon waxing toward full； grew chill。 Using the blanket that had been rolled up behind the saddle of his borrowed mount； Mark slept in reasonable fort。 He slept with one hand always on the hilt of Sightblinder； though he felt confident that the mere presence of the Sword in his possession would be enough to maintain his magical disguise。 He was vaguely reassured to see that the patrol always posted sentries at night； in a professional manner。
The journey proceeded swiftly。 On the afternoon of the fourth day after Mark had joined them； the patrol rode into sight of Vilkata's main encampment。
As the riders topped a small； barren rise of land； the huge bivouac came into view a kilometer ahead； on slightly lower ground。 The sprawling camp was constructed around what looked to Mark like a large parade ground of scraped and flattened earth。 The camp appeared to be laid out in good order； but it was not surrounded by a palisade or any other defensive works。 Rather it sprawled arrogantly exposed； as if on the assumption that no power on earth was going to dare attack it。 Mark considered gloomily that the assumption was probably correct。
As he and his escort rode nearer to the camp； he realized that it probably contained not only more human troops than he had ever seen in one place before； but a greater variety of them as well； housed in a wild assortment of tents and other temporary shelters。 The outer pickets of the camp； men and women patrolling with leashed warbeasts； made no attempt to challenge Mark and his escort as they approached。 And Mark observed that when the human sentries were close enough to get a good look at him； they； like his escort originally； shrank back perceptibly。
He had to wonder again： Who； or what； did they see？ And who or what would Vilkata see when Mark entered his presence； if Mark succeeded in pushing matters that far？ It was hard for Mark to imagine that there could be anyone the Dark King either feared or loved。
Only now； at last； did Mark clearly consider that he might be headed for a personal encounter with the Dark King。 He had first approached the patrol with no more than a vague idea of eavesdropping on the enemy's secret councils； just as Draffut said he had moved unrecognized among the gods。 Now for the first time Mark saw that it might be his duty to acplish something more than that。 The thought was vastly intriguing and at the same time deeply frightening； and he did not try now to think it through to any definite conclusion。
He rode on； still surrounded by his escort； until they were somewhere deep inside the vast encampment。 There the patrol halted； and its members began an animated discussion among themselves； in some dialect that Mark could not really follow。 Judging that the debate might be on how to separate themselves from him as safely and properly as possible； he took the matter into his own hands by dismounting； and then dismissing both his steed and his escort with what he hoped looked like an arrogantly confident wave of his hand。
Turning his back on the patrol then； Mark stalked away on foot； heading for a tall flagpole that was visible above the nearby tents。 The pole supported a long banner of black and gold； hanging limp now in the windless air。 Mark hoped and expected that this flag marked the location of some central headquarters。 As he walked toward it he saw the heads of soldiers and camp…followers turn； their attention following him as he passed； and he saw too that some people either speeded up or slowed their own progress； in order not to cross his path too closely。
Now he had to detour around some warbeasts' pens； the smell and the mewing of the great catlike creatures ing out of them in waves。 Now he was in sight of one corner of the vast parade ground。 From the farther reaches of its expanse； somewhere out of Mark's sight； there sounded the chant and drumbeat of some hapless infantry unit condemned to drilling in the heat。 Looking across the nearest corner of the field； he could now see the tall flagpole at full length。 There was a wooden reviewing stand beside the flagpole； and behind the stand a magnificent pavilion。 This was a tent larger than most houses； of black and gold cloth。
Mark stalked directly toward the great pavilion； considering that it had to be the Dark King's head… quarters。 His right hand； riding on the hilt of sheathed Sightblinder； could feel a new hum of power in the Sword； perhaps there were guardian spells here that had to be overe。
The front of the reviewing stand displayed another copy of Vilkata's flag； this one stretched out to reveal the design； a skull of gold upon a field of black。 The eyesockets of the skull stared forth sightlessly； twin windows into night。
Again Mark had to make a small detour； round more low cages that he at first thought held more warbeasts。 But the wood…slatted cages looked too small for that。 All but one of them were empty； and that one held。。。 the naked body confined inside was human。
Abruptly something shimmered in the air above Mark's head； broadcasting torment。 As Mark moved instinctively to step aside； this presence moved with him。 Only at this moment did he realize that it was sentient。
And only a moment after that did he realize that he was being confronted by a demon。
And the demon was addressing him； demanding something of him； though not in human speech。 Whether its munication was meant for his ears or to enter his mind directly he could not tell。 Nor could he grasp more than fragments of the meaning。 It was basically a challenge： Why was he here？ Why was he here now； when he ought to be somewhere else？ Why was he as he was？
He realized with a shock that he was going to have to answer it； to offer something analogous to a password before it would allow him to pass this point； or even release him。 What image it saw when it looked at him evidently did not matter。 Here； approaching the pavilion； everyone must be stopped。 And he doubted there was anything； or anyone； that this demon feared or loved。
Mark could no more answer the demonic voice intelligently； in its own terms； than he could have held converse with a bee。 He knew fear； exploding into terror。 He ought to have foreseen that here there might be such formidable guardians； here at the heart of Vilkata's power and control； the Dark King himself was most likely in that huge tent ahead。 Here； perhaps； they had even been able to plan defenses against the Sword of Stealth。 Here its powers were not going to be enough。。。
Only moments had passed since the demon had first challenged him； but already Mark could sense the creature's growing suspicion。 Now it sent an even more urgent interrogation crashing against Mark's mind。 Now it was probing him； searching for evidence of the signs and keys of magic that he did not possess。 In a moment it would be certain that he was some imposter； not a wizard after all。
In his desperation Mark grasped at a certain memory； four years old but still vivid。 It was the recollection of his only previous close encounter with a demon； in the depths of the buried treasure…vaults of the Blue Temple。 Now； in desperate imitation of what another had done then； Mark gasped out a mand into the shimmering air：
〃In the Emperor's name； depart and let me pass！〃
There was a momentary howling in the air。 Simultaneously there came a tornado…blast of wind； lasting only for an instant。 Mark caught a last shred of muni
