srdonaldson.thepowerthatpreserves-第83部分
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keshift crosswalks were thrown up over the courtyard； and hundreds of archers rushed across to help secure the tower。
Their success gave Mhoram a pride in them that eased his distress for a time。 He doubted that the tower could be held for more than a day or two； but a day or two would be enough； if the rest of his mands were equally met。
Then； during the third day； Amatin returned to work。 She had spent the time in an intense study of certain arcane portions of the Second Ward which High Lord Mhoram himself had never grasped； and there she had found the rites and invocations she sought。 Armed with that knowledge； she went to the abutments directly above the courtyard； made eldritch signs and symbols on the stone； wove rare gestures； chanted songs in the lost language of the Old Lords…and below her the sandy remains of the dead slowly parted。 They pulled back far enough to permit the opening of the gates； far enough to permit an army to ride out of Revelstone。
Her achievement drew Mhoram from his chambers to watch。 When she was done； she collapsed in his arms； but he was so proud of her that his concern was dominated by relief。 When the Healers assured him she would soon recover if she were allowed to rest； he left her and went to the stables to see Drinny。
He found a Ranyhyn that hardly resembled the ragged； worn horse he had ridden into Revelstone。 Good food and treatment had rekindled the light in Drinny's eyes； renewed his flesh； restored elasticity to his muscles。 He pranced and nickered for Mhoram as if to show the High Lord he was ready。
Such things rejuvenated Mhoram。 Without further hesitation； he told Warmark Quaan that he would ride out against the Raver the next morning。
But late that night； while Trevor； Loerya； and Quaan all struggled against a particularly fierce flurry of onslaughts； Lord Amatin came to Mhoram's rooms。 She did not speak； but her wan； bruised aspect caught at his heart。 Her labors had done something to her； in straining herself so severely； she had lost her defenses； left herself exposed to perils and perceptions for which she was neither willing nor apt。 This vulnerability gave her a look of abjection； as if she had e to cast herself at Mhoram's feet。
Without a word； she raised her hands to the High Lord。 In them she held the krill of Loric。
He accepted it without dropping his gaze from her face。 〃Ah； sister Amatin；〃 he breathed gently； 〃you should rest。 You have earned…〃
But a spasm of misery around her eyes cut him off。 He looked down； made himself look at the krill。
Deep in its gem； he saw faint glimmerings of emerald。
Without a word； Amatin turned and left him alone with the knowledge that Covenant's ring had fallen into the power of the Despiser。
When he left his rooms the next morning； he looked like a man who had spent the night wrestling in vain against his own damnation。 His step had lost its conviction； he moved as if his very bones were loose and bending。 And the dangerous promise of his gaze had faded； leaving his eyes dull； stricken。 He bore the krill within his robe and could feel Lord Foul's sick emerald hold upon it growing。 Soon； he knew； the cold of the green would begin to burn his flesh。 But he was past taking any account of such risks。 He dragged himself forward as if he were on his way to mit a perfidy which appalled him。
In the great entrance hall a short distance within Revelstone's still…closed gates； he joined the warriors。 They were ranked by Eoman； and he saw at a glance that they numbered two thousand： one Howard on horseback and four on foot…a third of the surviving Warward。 He faltered at the sight； he had not expected to be responsible for so many deaths。 But the warriors hailed him bravely； and he forced himself to respond as if he trusted himself to lead them。 Then he moved in anguish to the forefront； where Drinny awaited him。
The Lords and Warmark Quaan were there with the Ranyhyn； but he passed by them because he could not meet their eyes； and tried to mount。 His muscles failed him； he was half paralyzed by dread and could not leap high enough to gain Drinny's back。 Shaking on the verge of an outcry； he clung to the horse for support； and beseeched himself for the serenity which had been his greatest resource。
Yet he could not make the leap； Drinny's back was too high for him。 He ached to ask for help。 But before he could force words through his locked throat； he felt Quaan behind him； felt Quaan's hand on his shoulder。 The old Warmark's voice was gruff with urgency as he said； 〃High Lord； this risk will weaken Revelstone。 A third of the Warward…two thousand lives wasted。 High Lord…why？ Have you bee like Kevin Land…waster？ Do you wish to destroy that which you love？〃
〃No！'' Mhoram whispered because the tightness of his throat blocked any other sound。 With his hands； he begged Drinny for strength。 〃I do not…I do not forget… I am the High Lord。 The path of faith is clear。 I must follow it…because it is not despair。〃
〃You will teach us despair…if you fail。〃
Mhoram heard the pain in Quaan's voice； and he pelled himself to answer。 He could not refuse Quaan's need； he was too weak； but he could not refuse。 〃No。 Lord Foul teaches despair。 It is an easier lesson than courage。〃 Slowly； he turned around； met first Quaan's gaze； then the eyes of the Lords。 〃An easier lesson；〃 he repeated。 〃Therefore the counsels of despair and hate can never triumph over Despite。〃
But his reply only increased Quaan's pain。 While knuckles of distress clenched Quaan's open face； he moaned brokenly； 〃Ah； my Lord。 Then why do you delay？ Why do you fear？〃
〃Because I am mortal； weak。 The way is only clear…not sure。 In my time； I have been a seer and oracle。 Now I…I desire a sign。 I require to see。〃
He spoke simply； but almost at once his mortality； his weakness； became too much for him。 Tears blurred his vision。 The burden was not one that he could bear alone。 He opened his arms and was swept into the embrace of the Lords。
The melding of their minds reached him； poured into him on the surge of their united concern。 Folded within their arms and their thoughts； he felt their love soothe him； fill him like water after a long thirst； feed his hunger。 Throughout the siege； he had given them his strength； and now they returned strength to him。 With quiet diffidence； Lord Trevor restored his crippled sense of endurance in service…a fortitude which came； not from the server； but from the preciousness of the thing served。 Lord Loerya shared with him her intense instinct for protection； her capacity for battle on behalf of children…loved ones who could not defend themselves。 And Lord Amatin； though she was still frail herself； gave him the clear； uncluttered concentration of her study； her lore…wisdom…a rare gift which for his sake she proffered separate from her distrust of emotion。
In such melding； he began to recover himself。 Blood seemed to return to his veins； his muscles uncramped； his bones remembered their rigor。 He accepted the Lords deep into himself； and in response he shared with them all the perceptions which made his decision necessary。 Then he rested on their love and let it assuage him。
His appetite for the meld seemed to have no bottom； but after a time the contact was interrupted by a strident voice so full of strange thrills that none of the Lords could refuse to hear it。 A sentry raced into the hall clamoring for their attention； and when they looked at her she shouted； 〃The Raver is attacked！ His army…the encampment…！ It is under attack。 By Waynhim！ They are few…few…but the Raver had no defenses on that side； and they have already done great damage。 He has called his army back from Revelstone to fight them！〃
High Lord Mhoram whirled away； ordering the Warward to readiness as he moved。 He heard Warmark Quaan echo his mands。 A look full of dire consequences for the Raver passed between them； then Quaan leaped onto his own horse； a tough； mountain…bred mustang。 To one side among the warriors； Mhoram saw Hearthrall Borillar mounting。 He started to order Borillar down； Hirebrands were not fighters。 But then he remembered how much hope Borillar ha
