srdonaldson.thepowerthatpreserves-第19部分

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！


　Sagging　again；　Mhoram　turned　back　to　his　fellow　Lords。　To　forestall　any　further　probing；　he　said；　〃The　Giant　knows　he　cannot　breach　these　walls　with　swords　and　spears。　But　he　will　not　stand　idle；　waiting　for　hunger　to　do　his　work。　He　is　too　avid　for　blood。　He　will　attempt　us。　We　must　be　prepared。　We　must　stand　constant　watch　within　the　tower…to　counter　any　force　which　he　may　bring　against　us。〃
　　　　Lord　Trevor；　eager　for　any　responsibility　which　he　believed　to　be　within　his　ability；　said；　〃I　will　watch。〃
　　　　With　a　nod；　Mhoram　accepted。　〃Summon　one　of　us　when　you　are　weary。　And　summon　us　all　when　Satansfist　chooses　to　act。　We　must　see　him　at　work；　so　that　we　may　learn　our　defense。〃　Then　he　turned　to　a　warrior　standing　nearby。　〃Warhaft；　bear　word　to　the　Hearthralls　Tohrm　and　Borillar。　Ask　the　Hirebrands　and　Gravelingases　of　Lord's　Keep　to　share　the　watch　of　the　Lords。　They　also　must　learn　our　defense。〃
　　　　The　warrior　saluted　and　walked　briskly　away。　Mhoram　placed　a　hand　on　Trevor's　shoulder；　gripped　it　firmly　for　a　moment。　Then；　with　one　backward　look　at　the　winter…stricken　sky；　he　left　the　balcony　and　went　to　his　chambers。
　　　　He　intended　to　rest；　but　the　sight　of　Elena's　marrowmeld　sculpture　standing　restlessly　on　his　table　disturbed　him。　It　had　the　fanatic；　vulnerable　look　of　a　man；　chosen　to　be　a　prophet；　who　entirely　mistakes　his　errand…　who；　instead　of　speaking　to　glad　ears　the　words　of　hope　with　which　he　was　entrusted；　spends　his　time　preaching　woe　and　retribution　to　a　wilderland。　Looking　at　the　bust；　Mhoram　had　to　force　himself　to　remember　that　Covenant　had　rejected　the　Land　to　save　a　child　in　his　own　world。　And　the　Unbeliever's　ability　to　refuse　help　to　tens　of　thousands　of　lives…to　the　Land　itself…for　the　sake　of　one　life　was　a　capacity　which　could　not　be　easily　judged。　Mhoram　believed　that　large　balances　might　be　tipped　by　the　weight　of　one　life。　Yet　the　face　of　the　sculpture　seemed　at　this　moment　taut　with　misapprehended　purpose…crowded　with　all　the　people　who　would　die　so　that　one　young　girl　might　live。
　　　　As　he　gazed　at　this　rendition　of　Covenant's　fate；　High　Lord　Mhoram　experienced　again　the　sudden　passion　which　had　enabled　him　to　draw　a　gleam　from　Loric's　krill。　Danger　filled　his　eyes；　and　he　snatched　up　the　sculpture　as　if　he　meant　to　shout　at　it。　But　then　the　hard　lines　of　his　mouth　bent；　and　he　sighed　at　himself。　With　conflicting　intensities　in　his　face；　he　ore　the　anundivian　yajna　work　to　the　Hall　of　Gifts；　where　he　placed　it　in　a　position　of　honor　high　on　one　of　the　rude；　rootlike　pillars　of　the　cavern；　after　that；　he　returned　to　his　chambers　and　slept。
　　　　He　was　awakened　shortly　after　noon　by　Trevor's　summons。　His　dreamless　slumber　vanished　instantly；　and　he　was　on　his　way　out　of　his　rooms　before　the　young　warrior　who　brought　the　message　was　able　to　knock　a　second　time。　He　hastened　up　out　of　the　recesses　of　Revelstone　toward　the　battlements　over　the　gates　of　the　main　Keep；　where　he　chanced　upon　Hearthrall　Tohrm。　Together；　they　crossed　to　the　tower　and　climbed　the　stairs　to　its　top。　There　they　found　Trevor　Loerya…mate　with　Warmark　Quaan　and　Hirebrand　Borillar。
　　　　Quaan　stood　between　the　Lord　and　the　Hearthrall　like　an　anchor　to　their　separate　tensions。　Trevor's　whole　face　was　clenched　white　with　apprehension；　and　Borillar's　hands　trembled　on　his　staff　with　mixed　dread　and　determination；　but　Quaan　held　his　arms　folded　across　his　chest　and　frowned　stolidly　downward　as　if　he　had　lost　the　capacity　to　be　surprised　by　anything　any　servant　of　the　Gray　Slayer　did。　As　the　High　Lord　joined　them；　the　old　Warmark　pointed　with　one　tanned；　muscular　arm；　and　his　rigid　finger　guided　Mhoram's　eyes　like　an　accusation　to　a　gathering　of　ur…viles　before　the　gates　of　the　tower。
　　　　The　ur…viles　were　within　arrow　reach；　but　a　line　of　red…eyed　Cavewights　bearing　wooden　shields　protected　them　by　intercepting　the　occasional　shafts　which　Quaan's　warriors　loosed　from　the　windows　of　the　tower。　Behind　this　cover；　the　ur…viles　were　building。
　　　　They　worked　with　deft　speed；　and　their　construction　quickly　took　shape　in　their　midst。　Soon　Mhoram　saw　that　they　were　making　a　catapult。
　　　　Despite　the　freezing　ire　of　Foul's　wind；　his　hands　began　to　sweat　on　his　staff。　As　the　ur…viles　looped　heavy　ropes　around　the　sprocketed　winches　at　the　back　of　the　machine；　lashed　the　ropes　to　the　stiff　throwing…arm；　and　sealed　with　flashes　of　black　power　a　large；　ominous　iron　cup　to　the　end　of　the　arm；　he　found　himself　tensing；　calling　all　his　lore　and　strength　into　readiness。　He　knew　instinctively　that　the　attackers　did　not　intend　to　hurl　rocks　at　Revelstone。
　　　　The　Demondim…spawn　worked　without　instructions　from　Satansfist。　He　watched　from　a　distance；　but　neither　spoke　nor　moved。　A　score　of　them　clambered　over　the　catapult…adjusting；　tightening；　sealing　it…and　High　Lord　Mhoram　marveled　grimly　that　they　could　build　so　well　without　eyes。　But　they　showed　no　need　for　eyes；　noses　were　as　discerning　as　vision。　In　a　short　time　the　finished　catapult　stood　erect　before　Revelstone's　tower。
　　　　Then　barking　shouts　chorused　through　the　encampment；　and　a　hundred　ur…viles　ran　forward　to　the　machine。　On　either　side；　a　score　of　them　formed　wedges　to　concentrate　their　power　and　placed　themselves　so　that　their　loremasters　stood　at　the　winches。　Using　their　iron　staves；　the　two　loremasters　began　turning　the　sprockets；　thus　tightening　the　ropes　and　slowly　bending　the　catapult's　arm　backward。　The　catapult　dwarfed　the　creatures；　but　by　focusing　their　strength　in　wedges；　they　were　able　to　crank　the　winches　and　bend　the　arm。　And　while　this　was　being　done；　the　other　ur…viles　came　together　and　made　an　immense　wedge　behind　the　catapult。　Against　the　background　of　the　frozen　snow…scud；　they　looked　like　a　spear　point　aimed　at　the　heart　of　the　Keep。
　　　　With　part　of　his　mind；　Mhoram　observed　that　Lord　Amatin　now　stood　beside　him。　He　glanced　around　for　Loerya　and　saw　her　on　a　balcony　of　the　main　Keep。　He　waved　his　approval　to　her；　if　any　holocaust　struck　the　watchtower；　all　the　Lords　would　not　be　lost。　Then　he　cocked　an　eyebrow　at　Quaan；　and　when　the　Warmark　nodded　to　indicate　that　the　warriors　were　ready　for　any　sudden　orders；　High　Lord　Mhoram　returned　his　attention　to　the　ur…viles。
　　　　As　the　arm　of　the　catapult　was　drawn　back；　Gravelingas　Tohrm　knelt　at　the　parapet；　spreading　his　arms　and　pressing　his　palms　against　the　slow　curve　of　the　wall。　In　a　dim；　alien　voice；　he　began　to　sing　a　song　of　granite　endurance　to　the　stone。
　　　　Then　the　arm　reached　its　fullest　arc。　Quivering　as　if　it　were　about　to　splinter；　it　strained　toward　the　tower。　At　once；　it　was　locked　into　place　with　iron　hooks。　Its　wide　cup　had　been　brought　down　to　chest　level　directly　in　front　of　the　loremaster　who　apexed　the　largest　wedge。
　　　　With　a　ringing　clang；　the　loremaster　struck　its　stave　against　the　cup。　Strength　surged　through　scores　of　black　shoulders；　they　emanated　power　as　the　loremaster　labored　over　the　cup。　And　thick；　cruel　fluid；　as　fiery　as　the　vitriol　which　consumes　flesh　and　obsidian　and　teak　alike；　splashed　coruscating　darkly　from　the　stave　into　the　waiting　cup。
　　　　The　High　Lord　had　seen　human　bodies　fall　into　ash　at　the　least　touch　of　fluid　like　that。　He　turned　to　warn　Quaan。　But　the　old　Warmark　needed　no　warning；　he　also　had　watched　warriors　die　in　Demondim　acid。　Before　Mhoram　could　speak；　Quaan　was　shouting　down　the　stairwell　into　the　tower；　ordering　his　warriors　away　from　all　the　exposed　windows　and　battlements。
　　　　At　Mhoram's　side；　Lord　Amatin's　slight　form　began　to　shiver　in　the　wind。　She　held　her　staff　braced　before　her　as　if　she　were　trying　to　ward　the　cold　away。
　　　　Slowly；　the　loremaster's　fluid　filled　the　cup。　It　splashed　and　spouted　like　black　lava；　throwing　midnight　sparks　into　the　air；　but　the　lore　of　the　ur…viles　contained　it；　held　its　dark　force　together；　prevented　it　from　shattering　the　catapult。
　　　　Then　the　cup　was　full。
　　　　The　ur…viles　did　not　hesitate。　With　a　hoarse；　hungry　cry；　they　knocked　free　the　restraining　hooks。
　　　　The　arm　arced　viciously　forward；　slapped　with　flat　vehemence　against　the　stop　at　the　end　of　its　throw。
　　　　A　black　gout　of　vitriol　as　large　as　a　Stonedownor　home　sprang　through　the　air　and　crashed　against　the　tower　a　few