fs.thefirstbookofswords-第11部分

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。　Nothing　about　how　Vulcan　had　taken　his　right　arm　off；　or　with　what　implement；　or　what　explanation；　if　any；　the　god　had　given　for　what　he　did。　That　was　one　scene　that　Mark　had　always　forbidden　his　own　imagination　to　attempt。
　　　The　inlaid　decoration；　white　on　black；　going　round　the　handle　of　the　sword；　had　always　suggested　to　Mark　a　crenelated　castle　wall　seen　from　the　outside。　Or　perhaps　it　was　the　wall　of　a　fortified　town。　Mark　had　heard　of　cities　and　big　towns　that　boasted　defensive　walls　like　that；　though　he'd　never　e　very　close　to　seeing　one。　Castles　of　course　were　a　different　matter。　Everyone　saw　at　least　one　of　those；　at　least　once　in　a　while。
　　　There　was　the　name；　of　course：　Townsaver。　And；　in　one　spot　on　the　handle；　just　above　the　depicted　wall；　there　was　a　small　representation　of　what　might　very　well　be　intended　as　a　swordblade。　It　looked　as　if　some　unseen　hand　inside　the　town　or　castle　were　brandishing　a　sword。。。
　　　Mark　came　to　himself　with　a　small　start。　How　long　had　he　been　standing　here　on　the　pathway　gazing　at　the　thing？　Even　if　this　weapon　was　the　magical　handiwork　of　a　god；　he　couldn't　afford　to　spend　all　day　gawping　at　it。　Hurriedly　he　performed　his　simple　packing…up；　and　once　more　got　moving　upstream。
　　　Several　times　during　the　morning's　travel　that　followed；　the　unhandy　burden　threatened　to　unbalance　Mark's　steps　when　he　was　wading。　And　it　kept　snagging　itself　by　cloth　or　cord　on　bushes　beside　the　path。　That　morning；　for　the　first　time；　the　idea　suggested　itself　to　Mark　that　he　might　be　able　to　rid　himself　of　the　sword　and　not　have　to　carry　it　any　farther。　He　could　find　a　deep　pool　somewhere　in　which　to　drown　it；　or　else　hide　it　in　a　crevice　behind　a　waterfall　…　by　now　he'd　e　upstream　far　enough　for　waterfalls。　The　idea　was　tempting；　in　a　way。　But　Mark　soon　rejected　it。　Disposing　of　this　sword　would　not；　could　not；　be　as　easy　as　throwing　away　a　broken　knife。　He　did　not　know　yet；　perhaps　would　not　yet　allow　himself　to　know；　what　he　meant　to　do　with　it　finally。　But　he　did　know　that　something　more　than　simply　discarding　it　was　required　of　him。　Besides；　he'd　seen　often　enough　the　successful　working　of　finding…spells；　the　minor　enchantments　of　a　local　part…time　wizard。　If　that　country　fellow　could　locate　wedding　rings　down　wells；　and　pull　lost　coins　out　of　haystacks；　what　chance　would　Mark　have　of　hiding　a　great　sword　like　this　one　from　the　real　wizards　that　the　Duke　must　be　able　to　mand。
　　　Toward　midday；　Mark　cautiously　moved　out　of　the　riverbank　thickets；　and　entered　high　empty　pasture　land　for　long　enough　to　stalk　and　kill　a　rabbit。　He　felt　proud　of　the　efficiency　of　this　hunt；　for　which　he　needed　only　one　clean　shot。　But　as　he　released　the　bowstring　he　saw　for　one　frightening　moment　the　falling　seneschal。。。
　　　The　food；　familiar　hunter's　fare　cooked　on　a　small　fire；　helped　a　great　deal。　It　strengthened　Mark　against　the　pointless　tricks　of　his　shocked　imagination；　against　struggling　in　his　mind　with　events　over　which　he　now　could　have　no　control。　He　told　himself　firmly　that　he　should　instead　be　consciously　deciding　where　he　was　going　to　go。
　　　But　he　had　still　reached　no　such　decision　when　he　finished　his　meal；　put　out　his　little　fire；　and　moved　on。　He　knew　that　if　he　continued　to　follow　the　river　upstream　for　another　full　day；　he'd　be　quite　close　to　the　village　in　which　his　father　had　grown　up。。。　the　place　where　Jord　had　worked　as　a　two…armed　black　smith；　and　from　which　he'd　been　summoned　one　dark　night　by　a　god；　to　trade　his　right　arm　for　this　cursed　weapon。　Mark　felt　sure　that　village　was　not　where　he　was　really　headed　now。
　　　All　right；　he'd　wait　to　think　things　out。　He'd　just　keep　going。　When　plans　were　really　needed；　they'd　just　have　to　make　themselves。
　　　As　the　sky　began　to　darken　with　the　second　nightfall　of　Mark's　journey；　he　looked　up　through　the　screen　of　riverbank　trees　to　see　the　glow　of　sunset　reflected　on　the　slowly　approaching　mountains。　Those　mountains　were　near　enough　now　to　let　him　see　how　steep　and　forbidding　their　slopes　were　…　especially　up　near　the　top；　up　there　where　gods　and　goddesses；　or　some　of　them　anyway；　were　said　to　dwell。　The　darkness　of　the　sky　deepened；　and　the　pink　glow　faded　from　even　the　highest　peaks。　Then　Mark　saw　what　he'd　seen　only　a　time　or　two　before　in　all　his　life：　sullen；　glowing　red　spots　near　the　summits；　what　folk　called　Vulcan's　fires。　Those　fires　as　he　saw　them　now　were　still　so　far　away　as　to　be　part　of　another　world。
　　　When　it　was　fully　dark；　Mark　burrowed　into　a　thicket；　and　contrived　for　himself　a　kind　of　nest　to　sleep　in。　For　a　moment　that　evening；　just　as　he　was　dozing　off；　he　thought　that　he　heard　his　father's　voice；　calling　to　him；　with　some　urgent　message。。。
　　　Throughout　the　next　day；　Mark　continued　as　before　to　work　his　way　upstream。　The　way　grew　steeper；　the　going　slower；　the　land　rockier　and　rougher；　the　country　wilder；　trees　scarce　and　people　even　more　so。　On　that　day；　though　he　peered　more　boldly　than　before　out　of　the　riverside　thickets；　Mark　only　once　saw　distant　workers　in　a　field；　and　no　one　else　except　a　single　fisherman。　He　was　able　to　spot　the　fisherman　in　time　to　detour　round　him　without　letting　the　man　suspect　that　anyone　else　was　near。
　　　That　afternoon；　two　full　days　since　he'd　fled　his　home；　Mark　saw　certain　landmarks　…　a　distant　temple　of　Bacchus；　an　isolated　tabletop　butte　…　that　assured　him　he　was　now　quite　near　the　village　in　which　his　father　had　been　born。　Some　few　of　his　father's　kinfolk　still　lived　there；　and　it　was　necessary　now　for　Mark　to　think　about　those　relatives。　The　angry　riders　of　the　Duke　might　well　have　reached　them　already；　might　have　established　a　watch　over　every　house　in　all　the　land　where　they　thought　the　fugitive　would　be　likely　to　turn　for　help。　And　now；　for　the　first　time；　one　clear　idea　about　his　destination　did　e　to　Mark：　safety　for　him　could　lie　only　outside　the　Duke's　territory；　in　that　strange　outer　world　he'd　never　visited。
　　　But　there　was　something　else；　besides　distance　and　dangers；　that　still　lay　between　him　and　that　possibility　of　safety。　He　had；　he　discovered　now；　a　sense　of　terrible　obligation；　connected　of　course　with　the　sword。　The　obligation　was　unclear　to　him　as　yet；　but　it　was　certain。
　　　Mark　held　to　his　course　along　the　river；　and　did　not　approach　his　father's　old　village　closely　enough　to　see　what　might　be　going　on　there。　On　what　he　could　see　of　the　nearby　roads；　there　were　no　swift　riders；　no　signs　of　military　search；　and　his　repeated　scanning　of　the　sky　discovered　no　flying　beasts　that　might　be　looking　for　him。　But　Mark　kept　mainly　to　the　concealing　thickets；　and　traveled　quickly　on。
　　　When　the　last　sunset　glow　had　died　on　the　third　evening　of　his　flight；　he　raised　his　eyes　again　to　the　mountains　ahead　of　him。　Again　he　saw；　more　plainly　now　than　ever　before；　the　tiny；　fitful　sparks　of　Vulcan's　fires。
　　　On　this　third　night　the　air　of　the　high　country　grew　chill　enough　to　keep　Mark　from　sleeping　soundly。　He　wrapped　himself　in　the　sword's　covering；　but　built　no　fire；　for　fear　of　guiding　his　still　hypothetical　pursuers　to　him。　The　next　morning；　wet　from　a　light　drizzle；　he　climbed　wearily　on。　The　country　round　him　grew　ever　wilder；　more　alien　to　what　he　knew。　He　continued　to　follow　the　river　as　it　carved　its　way　across　a　high　plain；　then　up　among　a　series　of　broken　foothills。　Mark's　head　felt　light　now；　and　his　stomach　painfully　empty。　On　top　of　each　shoulder　he　had　a　sore　red　spot；　worn　by　the　cord　from　which　the　sword　was　slung。
　　　Near　midday；　with　timberline　visible　at　what　appeared　to　be　only　a　small　distance　above　him；　Mark　came　upon　a　small　shrine　to　some　god　he　did　not　recognize。　He　robbed　it　of　its　simple　offerings；　dried　berries　and　stale　bread。　As　he　ate　he　tried　to　pose　a　prayer　to　the　anonymous　god　of　the　shrine；　explaining　what　he'd　done；　pleading　his　necessity。　He　might　not　have　bothered　with　the　prayer　were　he　not　getting　so　close　to　the　gods'　high　abode。　Even　here；　so　close；　he　was　not　entirely　sure　that　the　gods　had　either　the　time　or　the　inclination　to　notice　what　happened　at　small　shrines；　or　to　hear　small　prayers。
　　　Maybe　tomorrow　he'd　be　high　enough　on　the　mountain　to　get　some　direct　divine　att