tw.togreenangeltower2-第162部分

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him　quiver　so。　The　prince　waded　in　again；　and　for　long　moments　he　strove　to　break　through　his　brother's　guard。　Elias　seemed　to　fight　in　a　sort　of　dream；　moving　in　sudden　spasms；　but　only　enough　to　block　Josua's　attacks；　waiting　until　the　last　moment　each　time　as　though　he　knew　where　the　prince　would　strike。
　　　　　　　Josua　at　last　drew　back；　gasping　for　breath。　The　sweat　on　his　brow　gleamed　as　lightning　flickered　in　the　distance。
〃You　see；〃　Elias　said；　〃it　is　too　late　for　such　crude　methods。〃　He　paused　for　a　moment；　a　rumble　of　thunder　gently　shook　the　bells。　〃Too　late。〃　The　smoky　light　in　his　eyes　flared　as　he　lifted　Sorrow。　〃But　it　is　not　too　late　for　me　to　enjoy　a　little　repayment　for　all　the　evil　you　have　done　me…my　wife　dead；　my　throne　made　unsafe；　my　daughter's　heart　poisoned　against　me。　Later　I　will　have　other　concerns。　But　for　this　time　I　can　think　on　you；　once…brother。〃　He　stepped　forward；　the　sword　a　shadowy　blur。
　　　　　　　Josua　fought　a　desperate　battle　of　resistance；　but　the　king　had　a　more　than　human　strength。　He　quickly　backed　Josua　against　the　southern　window；　then；　despite　the　strange　stiffness　of　his　movements；　kept　the　prince　pinned　there　with　heavy　blows　that　Josua　only　barely　managed　to　keep　from　his　vital　spots。　Slender　Naidel　was　not　enough　to　hold　the　king　away；　and　within　instants　Josua　tottered　against　the　window…ledge；　unable　to　protect　himself　any　longer。　Elias　abruptly　reached　out　and　grasped　Naidel　by　the　blade；　then　yanked　it　from　Josua's　grip。　Tiamak；　desperate　beyond　sense；　clambered　up　out　of　the　stairwell　and　flung　himself　at　the　king's　back　as　Sorrow　rose　overhead。　The　Wrannaman　dragged　at　Elias'　sword　arm。
　　　　　　　It　was　not　enough　to　save　the　prince。　Josua　flung　up　his　arms　to　protect　himself；　but　the　gray　blade　hammered　down　at　his　neck。　Tiamak　did　not　see　the　sword　bite；　but　he　heard　the　awful　smash　of　impact　and　felt　it　shiver　up　the　king's　arm。　Josua's　head　jerked　and　he　flew　to　one　side；　blood　streaming　from　his　neck。　He　collapsed　like　an　empty　sack；　then　lay　still。
　　　　　　　Thrown　off　his　balance；　the　king　staggered　sideways；　then　reached　up　and　grasped　the　back　of　Tiamak's　neck　with　his　free　hand。　For　a　moment　the　Wrannaman's　hands　closed　on　Sorrow；　the　sword　was　so　cold　that　it　burned　him。　A　horrible　lance　of　chill　pierced　Tiamak's　chest　and　his　arms　lost　their　feeling。　He　had　time　only　to　let　out　a　scream　of　anguish　for　his　pain；　for　Josua；　for　all　that　had　gone　so　terribly　wrong；　then　the　king　tugged　him　free　and　threw　him　aside。　Tiamak　felt　himself　skid　across　the　bellchamber's　stone　floor；　helpless；　then　something　smashed　against　his　head　and　neck。
　　　　　　　He　lay　on　his　side；　crumpled　against　the　wall。　
　　　　　　　Tiamak　was　unable　to　speak　or　move。　His　already　fading　vision　blurred　as　his　eyes　filled　with　tears。　A　great　noise　suddenly　boomed　through　the　chamber；　shaking　even　the　floor　beneath　him。　Red　light　bloomed　even　more　brightly　beyond　the　windows；　as　though　flames　surrounded　the　tower…for　a　moment　they　leaped　high　enough　that　he　could　see　them；　and　see　the　king's　fire…drawn　silhouette　in　the　window。　Then　they　were　gone。　The　bell　had　rung　a　third　time。

32
The　Tower

　　　　　　　Simon　paused　at　the　throne　room　door。　Despite　the　strange　calm　he　had　felt　on　his　trip　through　the　Hayholt's　underbelly；　despite　Bright…Nail　hanging　on　his　hip；　his　　eart　was　thudding　in　his　chest。　Would　the　king　be　waiting　silently　in　the　dark；　as　in　Hjeldin's　Tower？
　　　　　　　He　pushed　through　the　doorway；　one　hand　falling　to　his　sword　hilt。
　　　　　　　The　throne　room　was　empty；　at　least　of　people。　Six　silent　figures　flanked　the　Dragonbone　Chair；　but　Simon　knew　them　of　old。　He　stepped　inside。
　　　　　　　The　heraldic　banners　that　had　hung　along　the　ceiling　had　fallen；　worried　free　by　the　teeth　of　the　wind　that　streamed　in　through　the　high　windows。　Flattened　beasts　and　birds　lay　in　tangled　piles；　a　few　of　them　even　draped　limply　across　the　bones　of　the　great　chair。　Simon　stepped　over　a　waterstained　pennant；　the　falcon　stitched　upon　it　stared；　eye　wide　as　though　shocked　by　its　tumble　from　the　heavens。　Nearby；　partially　covered　by　other　damp　banners；　lay　a　black　cloth　with　a　stylized　golden　fish。　As　Simon　looked　at　it；　a　memory　came　drifting　up。
　　　　　　　The　tumult　was　growing　outside。　He　knew　he　had　little　time　to　spare；　but　the　wisp　of　memory　teased　him。　He　moved　toward　the　black　malachite　statues。　The　pulsing　storm　light　made　their　features　seem　to　writhe；　and　for　a　moment　Simon　worried　that　the　same　magics　that　made　the　entire　castle　shift　and　change　might　be　bringing　the　stone　kings　to　life；　but　to　his　relief　they　remained　frozen；　dead。
　　　　　　　Simon　stared　at　the　figure　standing　just　to　the　right　of　the　great　chair's　yellowed　arm。　Eahlstan　Fiskerne's　face　was　lifted　as　though　he　looked　to　a　glory　beyond　the　windows；　beyond　the　castle　and　its　towers。　Simon　had　gazed　many　times　at　the　martyr…king's　face；　but　this　time　was　different。
He's　the　one　I　saw；　he　realized　suddenly。　In　the　dream　Leieth　showed　me。　He　was　reading　his　book　and　waiting　for　the　dragon。　She　said：　〃This　is　a　part　of　your　story；　Simon。　〃　His　eyes　dropped　to　the　thin　circlet　of　gold　around　his　own　finger。　The　fish　symbol　scribed　on　the　band　looked　back　at　him。　What　was　it　Binabik　had　told　him　the　Sithi　writing　on　the　ring　meant？　Dragons　and　death？　
　　　　　　　〃The　dragon　was　dead。〃　That　was　what　Leieth　had　whispered　in　that　not…place；　the　window　onto　the　past。
　　　　　　　And　King　Eahlstan　is　a　part　of　my　story？　Simon　wondered。　Is　that　what　Morgenes　entrusted　to　me　when　he　sent　this　ring　to　me？　The　greatest　secret　of　the　League　of　the　Scroll…that　its　founder　killed　the　dragon；　not　John？　
　　　　　　　Simon　was　Eahlstan's　messenger；　across　five　centuries。　It　was　a　weight　of　honor　and　responsibility　he　could　scarcely　think　of　now；　a　richness　to　savor　if　he　survived；　a　delicate　secret　that　could　change　the　lives　of　almost　everyone　he　knew。
But　Leieth　had　shown　him　something　else；　too。　She　had　given　him　a　vision　of　Ineluki；　with　Sorrow　in　his　hands。　And　all　Ineluki's　malice　was　bent　upon　。。。
　　　　　　　The　tower！　The　peril　of　the　present　hour　suddenly　rushed　back。　I　must　take　Bright…Nail　there。　I　have　been　wasting　time？
Simon　turned　to　look　again　at　Eahlstan's　stone　face。　He　bowed　to　the　League's　founder　as　to　a　liege…lord；　relishing　the　strangeness　of　it　all；　then　turned　his　back　on　the　statue…flanked　throne　and　walked　quickly　across　the　stone　tiles。
The　tapestries　in　the　standing　room　were　gone；　and　the　stairway　to　the　privy　was　exposed。　Simon　scrambled　up　the　stairs　and　out　through　the　privy's　window…slit；　nervous　excitement　struggling　with　terror　inside　him。　The　bailey　might　be　full　of　armed　men；　but　they　had　forgotten　about　Simon　the　Ghost…Boy；　who　knew　the　Hayholt's　every　nook　and　cranny。　No；　not　just　Simon　the　Ghost…Boy…Sir　Seoman；　Bearer　of　Great　Secrets！
The　cold　wind　hit　him　like　a　battering　ram；　almost　toppling　him　from　the　ledge。　The　wind　threw　snow　almost　sideways；　stinging　his　eyes　and　face　so　that　Simon　could　scarcely　see。　He　held　on　to　the　window…slit；　squinting。　The　wall　outside　the　window　was　a　pace　wide。　Ten　cubits　below；　armored　men　were　shouting　and　metal　clashed　against　metal。　Who　was　fighting？　Were　those　giants　that　he　heard　roaring；　or　was　that　only　the　storm？　Simon　thought　he　could　make　out　huge　white　shapes　thrashing　in　the　murk；　but　he　dared　not　look　too　long　or　too　closely　at　what　waited　for　him　if　he　tumbled　from　the　wall。
　　　　　　　He　turned　his　eyes　upward。　Green　Angel　Tower　loomed　overhead；　thrusting　out　from　the　muddle　of　the　Hayholt's　roofs　like　the　trunk　of　a　white　tree；　the　lord　of　an　ancient　forest。　Black　clouds　clung　to　its　head；　lightning　split　the　sky。
　　　　　　　Simon　let　himself　down　from　the　ledge；　then　inched　forward　along　the　wall　on　his　hands　and　knees。　His　fingers　rapidly　grew　numb；　and　he　cursed　the　luck　that　had　lost　his　gloves。　He　clung　to　the　icy　stone　and　tried　to　keep　low　so　the　incessant　winds　would　not　pluck　him　loose。
　　　　　　　Usires　on　the　Tree！　This　wall　was　never　so　long　before！
He　might　have　been　on　a　bridge　above　the　pits　of　Hell。　Screams　of　pain　and　rage；　as　well　as　less　definable　sounds；　drifted　up　from　the　murk；　some　of　them　loud　enough　to　make　him　flinch　and　almost　lose　his　grip。　The　cold　was　terrible