fs.thethirdbookofswords-第3章
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his feet。
But one voice in the council was still roaring on； bellowing with monotonous urgency。 Against all odds； its owner was at last able to achieve something like an attentive silence among the handful of deities who remained。
〃Look！ Look！〃 was all that voice was saying。 And with one mighty arm the roaring god was pointing steadily downslope； indicating a single； simple line of markings in the snow； tracks that the mundane wind was rapidly effacing。
There could be no doubt about those markings。 They were a line of departing footprints； heading straight down the mountainside； disappearing behind snow…buried rocks before they had gone more than a few meters。 Though they marked strides too long and impressions too broad and deep to have been made by any human being； there was no doubt that they had been left by mortal feet。
Chapter 2
The one…armed man came stumbling along through midnight rain； following a twisted cobblestone alley into the lightless heart of the great city of Tashigang。 He was suffering with fresh wounds now … one knife…gash bleeding in his side and another one in his knee … besides the old maiming loss of his right arm。 Still he was better off than the man who had just attacked him。 That blunderer was some meters back along the twisted alley； face down in a puddle。
Now； just when the one…armed man was about on the point of going down himself； he steered toward a wall and leaned against it。 Standing with his broad back in its homespun shirt pressed to the stone wall of somebody's house； he squeezed himself in as far as possible under the thin overhang of roof； until the eaves blocked at least some of the steady rain from hitting him in the face。 The man felt frightened by what had happened to his knee。 From the way the injured leg felt now when he tried to put his weight on it； he wasn't going to be able to walk much farther。
He hadn't had a chance yet to start worrying about what might have happened when the knife went into his side。
The one…armed man was tall； and strongly built。 Still； by definition； he was a cripple； and therefore the robber … if that was all he had been … might have taken it for granted that he'd be easy game。 Even had the attacker guessed that his intended victim carried a good oaken cudgel tucked into his belt under his loose shirt； he could hardly have predicted how quickly his quarry would be able to draw that club and with what authority he'd use it。
Now； leaning against the building for support； he had tucked his cudgel away in his belt again； and was pressing his fingers to his side under his shirt。 He could feel the blood ing out； a frighteningly fast trickle。
Except for the rain； the city around him was silent。 And all the windows he could see through the rain were dark； and most of them were shuttered。 No one else in the huge city appeared to have taken the least notice of the brief clash he had just survived。
Or had he survived it； air all？ Real walking； he had to admit； was no longer possible on his damaged knee。 For the present； at least； he could still stand upright。 He thought he must be near his destination now； and it was essential that he reach it。 Pushing himself along the wall that he was leaning on； and then the next wall； one stone surface after another； he stumbled on； hobbled on。
He remembered the directions he had been given； and he made progress of a sort。 Every time his weight came on the knee at all he had to bite back an outcry of pain。 And now dizziness； lightheadedness； came welling up inside his skull。 He clenched his will like a fist； gripping the treasure of consciousness； knowing that if that slipped from him now； life itself was likely to drain quickly after it。
His memorized directions told him that at this point he had to cross the alley。 Momentarily forsaking the support of walls； divorcing his mind from pain； he somehow managed it。
Leaning on another wall； he rested； and rebuilt his courage。 He'd crawl the rest of the way to get there if he had to； or do what crawling he could on one hand and one knee。 But once he went down to try crawling he didn't know he'd ever get back up on his feet again。
At last the building that had been described to him as his goal； the House of Courtenay； came into sight； limned by distant lightning。 The description had been accurate： four stories tall； flat…roofed； half…timbered construction on the upper levels； stone below。 The house occupied its own small block； with streets or alleys on every side。 The seeker's first view was of the front of the building； but the back was where he was supposed to go in order to get in。 Gritting his teeth； not letting his imagination try to count up how many steps there might be yet to take； he made the necessary detour。 He splashed through puddles； out of one alley and into an even narrower one。 From that he passed to one so narrow it was a mere paved path； running beside the softly gurgling； stone…channeled Corgo。 The surface of the river； innocent now of boats； hissed in the heavier bursts of rain。
The man had almost reached the building he wanted when his hurt knee gave way pletely。 He broke his fall as best he could with his one arm。 Then； painfully； dizzily； he dragged himself along on his one arm and his one functioning leg。 He could imagine the trail of blood he must be leaving。 No matter； the rain would wash it all away。
Presently his slow progress brought him in out of the rain； under the roof of a short； narrow passage that connected directly with the door he wanted。 He crawled on and reached the narrow door。 It was of course locked shut。 He propped himself up in a sitting position against it； and began to pound on the door with the flat of his large hand。 The pounding of his calloused hand seemed to the man to be making no noise at all。 At first it felt like he was beating uselessly； noiselessly； on some thick solid treetrunk。。。 and then it felt like nothing at all。 There was no longer any feeling in his hand。
Maybe no one would hear him。 Because he was no longer able to hear anything himself。 Not even the rain beating on the flat passage roof。 Nor could he see anything through the gathering grayness。 Not even his hand before his face 。。。
At a little after midnight Denis the Quick was lying awake； listening to the rain。 That usually made him sleepy； as long as he knew that he was securely warm and dry indoors。 But tonight he was having trouble sleeping。 The images of two attractive women were ing and going like provocative dancers in his imagination。 If he tried to concentrate on one； then the other intruded as if jealous。 He knew both women in real life； but his real…life problem was not that he had to choose between them。 No； he was not so fortunate； he told himself； as to have problems of just that kind。
Denis was well accusomed to the normal night sounds of the house。 The sound he began to hear now； distracting him from the pleasant torment of waking dreams； was certainly not one of them。 Denis got up quickly； pulled on a pair of trousers； and went out of his small bedchamber to investigate。
His room on the ground floor of the house gave almost directly on the main workshop； which was a large chamber now illumined faintly by a sullen smoldering of coals banked in the central forge。 Faint ghost…gleams of firelight touched tools around the forge and weapons racked on the walls。 Most of the work down here was on some form of weaponry。
Denis paused for a moment beside the fire； intending to light a taper from its coals。 But then he changed his mind； and instead reached up to the high wall niche where the Old World light was kept。
The back door leading into the shop from outside ground level was fitted with a special peephole。 This was a smooth little bulge of glass； cleverly shaped so that anyone looking through it from inside saw out at a wide angle。 Another lens； set into the door near its very top； was there to let the precious flameless torch shine out。 Denis now lifted the antique instrument into position there and turned it on； immediately the narrow passage just outside the door was flooded with clear； brilliant light。 And even as Denis did this； the sound that had caught his attention came again； a faint
