gc.thewhiterose-第7部分

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　　　Bomanz　sneered　at　his　back。　Of　course　Besand　enjoyed　his　job。　It　let　him　play　dictator。　He　could　do　anything　to　anyone　without　having　to　answer　for　it。
　　　Once　the　Dominator　and　his　minions　fell　and　were　buried　in　their　mounds　behind　barriers　wrought　of　the　finest　magicks　of　their　day；　the　White　Rose　decreed　that　an　eternal　guard　be　posted。　A　guard　beholden　to　none；　charged　with　preventing　the　resurrection　of　the　undead　evil　beneath　the　mounds。　The　White　Rose　understood　human　nature。　Always　there　would　be　those　who　would　see　profit　in　using　or　following　the　Dominator。　Always　there　would　be　worshippers　of　evil　who　wished　their　champion　freed。
　　　The　Resurrectionists　appeared　almost　before　the　grass　sprouted　on　the　barrows。
　　　Tokar　a　Resurrectionist？　Bomanz　thought。　Don't　I　have　enough　trouble？　Besand　will　pitch　his　tent　in　my　pocket　now。
　　　Bomanz　had　no　interest　in　reviving　the　old　evils。　He　merely　wanted　to　make　contact　with　one　of　them　so　as　to　illuminate　several　ancient　mysteries。
　　　Besand　was　out　of　sight。　He　should　stomp　all　the　way　back　to　his　quarters。　There　would　be　time　for　a　few　forbidden　observations。　Bomanz　realigned　his　transit。
　　　The　Barrowland　did　not　have　the　look　of　great　evil；　only　of　neglect。　Four　hundred　years　of　vegetation　and　weather　had　restructured　that　once　marvelous　work。　The　barrows　and　mystical　landscaping　were　all　but　lost　amidst　the　brush　covering　them。　The　Eternal　Guard　no　longer　had　the　wherewithal　to　perform　adequate　upkeep。　Monitor　Besand　was　fighting　a　desperate　rearguard　action　against　time　itself。
　　　Nothing　grew　well　on　the　Barrowland。　The　vegetation　was　twisted　and　stunted。　Still；　the　shapes　of　the　mounds；　and　the　menhirs　and　fetishes　which　bound　the　Taken；　were　often　concealed。
　　　Bomanz　had　spent　a　lifetime　sorting　out　which　mound　was　which；　who　lay　where；　and　where　each　menhir　and　fetish　stood。　His　master　chart；　his　silken　treasure；　was　nearly　plete。　He　could；　almost；　thread　the　maze。　He　was　so　close　he　was　tempted　to　try　before　he　was　truly　ready。　But　he　was　no　fool。　He　meant　to　try　nursing　sweet　milk　from　the　blackest　of　cows。　He　dared　make　no　mistake。　He　had　Besand　on　the　one　hand；　the　poisonous　old　wickedness　on　the　other。　But　if　he　succeeded　。　。　。　　Ah；　if　he　succeeded。　If　he　made　contact　and　nursed　away　the　secrets　。　。　。　　Man's　knowledge　would　be　extended　dramatically。　He　would　bee　the　mightiest　of　living　mages。　His　fame　would　course　with　the　wind。　Jasmine　would　have　everything　she　quarreled　about　sacrificing。　If　he　made　contact。
　　　He　would；　by　damn！　Neither　fear　nor　the　infirmity　of　age　would　stay　him　now。　A　few　months　and　he　would　have　the　last　key。
　　　Bomanz　had　lived　his　lies　so　long　he　often　lied　to　himself。　Even　in　his　honest　moments　he　never　confessed　his　most　powerful　motive；　his　intellectual　affair　with　the　Lady。　It　was　she　who　had　intrigued　him　from　the　beginning；　she　whom　he　was　trying　to　contact；　she　who　made　the　literature　endlessly　fascinating。　Of　all　the　lords　of　the　Domination　she　was　the　most　shadowed；　the　most　surrounded　by　myth；　the　least　encumbered　by　historical　fact。　Some　scholars　called　her　the　greatest　beauty　ever　to　have　lived；　claiming　that　simply　to　have　seen　her　was　to　have　fallen　into　her　thrall。　Some　called　her　the　true　motive　force　of　the　Domination。　A　few　admitted　that　their　documentaries　were　really　little　more　than　romantic　fantasies。　Others　admitted　nothing　while　demonstrably　embellishing。　Bomanz　had　bee　perpetually　bemused　while　still　a　student。
　　　Back　in　his　attic；　he　spread　his　silken　chart。　His　day　had　not　been　a　plete　waste。　He　had　located　a　previously　unknown　menhir　and　had　identified　the　spells　it　anchored。　And　he　had　found　the　TelleKurre　site。　That　would　buy　the　mutton　and　beans。
　　　He　glared　at　the　chart；　as　if　pure　will　might　conjure　the　information　he　needed。
　　　There　were　two　diagrams。　The　upper　was　a　five…pointed　star　within　a　slightly　larger　circle。　Such　had　been　the　shape　of　the　Barrowland　when　newly　constructed。　The　star　had　stood　a　fathom　above　the　surrounding　terrain；　retained　by　limestone　walls。　The　circle　represented　the　outer　bank　of　a　moat；　the　earth　from　which　had　been　used　to　build　the　barrows；　the　star；　and　a　pentagon　within　the　star。　Today　the　moat　was　little　more　than　boggy　ground。　Besand's　predecessors　had　been　unable　to　keep　up　with　Nature。
　　　Within　the　star；　drawn　off　the　points　where　the　arms　met；　was　a　pentagon　another　fathom　high。　It；　too；　had　been　retained；　but　the　walls　had　fallen　and　bee　overgrown。　Central　to　the　pentagon；　on　a　north…south　axis；　lay　the　Great　Barrow　where　the　Dominator　slept。
　　　At　the　points　of　his　chart　star；　clockwise　from　the　top；　Bomanz　had　penned　the　odd　numbers　from　one　to　nine。　Acpanying　each　was　a　name：　Soulcatcher；　Shapeshifter。　Nightcrawler；　Stormbringer；　Bonegnasher。　The　occupants　of　the　five　outer　barrows　had　been　identified。　The　five　inner　points　were　numbered　evenly；　beginning　at　the　right　foot　of　the　arm　of　the　star　pointing　northward。　At　four　was　the　Howler；　at　eight　the　Limper。　The　graves　of　three　of　the　Ten　Who　Were　Taken　remained　unidentified。
　　　〃Who's　in　that　damned　six　spot？〃　Bomanz　muttered。　He　slammed　a　fist　against　the　table。　〃Dammit！〃　Four　years　and　he　was　no　closer　to　that　name。　The　mask　concealing　that　identity　was　the　one　remaining　substantial　barrier。　Everything　else　was　plain　technical　application；　a　matter　of　negating　wardspells；　then　of　contacting　the　great　one　in　the　central　mound。
　　　The　wizards　of　the　White　Rose　had　left　volumes　bragging　about　their　performances　of　their　art；　but　not　one　word　of　where　their　victims　lay。　Such　was　human　nature。　Besand　bragged　about　the　fish　he　caught；　the　bait　he　used；　and　seldom　produced　the　veritable　piscine　trophy。
　　　Below　his　star　chart　Bomanz　had　drawn　a　second　portraying　the　central　mound。　It　was　a　rectangle　on　a　north…south　axis　surrounded　by　and　filled　with　ranks　of　symbols。　Outside　each　corner　was　a　representation　of　a　menhir　which；　on　the　Barrowland；　was　a　twelve…foot　pillar　topped　by　a　two…faced　owl's　head。　One　face　glared　inward；　the　other　out。　The　menhirs　formed　the　corner　posts　anchoring　the　first　line　of　spells　warding　the　Great　Barrow。
　　　Along　the　sides　were　the　line　posts；　little　circles　representing　wooden　fetish　poles。　Most　had　rotted　and　fallen；　their　spells　drooping　with　them。　The　Eternal　Guard　had　no　staff　wizard　capable　of　restoring　or　replacing　them。
　　　Within　the　mound　proper　there　were　symbols　ranked　in　three　rectangles　of　declining　size。　The　outermost　resembled　pawns；　the　next　knights；　and　the　inner；　elephants。　The　crypt　of　the　Dominator　was　surrounded　by　men　who　had　given　their　lives　to　bring　him　down。　Ghosts　were　the　middle　line　between　old　evil　and　a　world　capable　of　recalling　it。　Bomanz　anticipated　no　difficulty　getting　past　them。　The　ghosts　were　there；　in　his　opinion；　to　discourage　mon　grave　robbers。
　　　Within　the　three　rectangles　Bomanz　had　drawn　a　dragon　with　its　tail　in　its　mouth。　Legend　said　a　great　dragon　lay　curled　round　the　crypt；　more　alive　than　the　Lady　or　Dominator；　catnapping　the　centuries　away　while　awaiting　an　attempt　to　recall　the　trapped　evil。
　　　Bomanz　had　no　way　of　coping　with　the　dragon；　but　he　had　no　need；　either。　He　meant　to　municate　with　the　crypt；　not　to　open　it。
　　　Damn！　If　he　could　only　lay　hands　on　an　old　Guardsman's　amulet　。　。　。　　The　early　Guards　had　worn　amulets　which　had　allowed　them　to　go　into　the　Barrowland　to　keep　it　up。　The　amulets　still　existed；　though　they　were　no　longer　used。　Besand　wore　one。　The　others　he　kept　squirreled　away。
　　　Besand。　That　madman。　That　sadist。
　　　Bomanz　considered　the　Monitor　his　closest　acquaintance…but　a　friend；　never。　No；　never　a　friend。　Sad　mentary　on　his　life；　that　the　man　nearest　him　would　be　one　who　would　jump　at　a　chance　to　torture　or　hang　him。
　　　What　was　that　about　retirement？　Someone　outside　this　forsaken　forest　had　recalled　the　Barrowland？
　　　〃Bomanz！　Are　you　going　to　eat？〃
　　　Bomanz　muttered　imprecations　and　rolled　his　chart。
　　　The　Dream　came　that　night。　Something　sirenic　called　him。　He　was　young　again；　single；　strolling　the　lane　that　passed　his　house。　A　woman　waved。　Who　was　she？　He　didn't　know。　He　didn't　care。　He　loved　her。　Laughing；　he　ran　toward　her　。　。　。　　Floating　steps。　Effort　took　him　no　ne