fs.thefirstbookofswords-第12部分

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all　prayers。
　　　Maybe　tomorrow　he'd　be　high　enough　on　the　mountain　to　get　some　direct　divine　attention。　At　any　previous　time　in　Mark's　life；　such　a　prospect　would　have　frightened　him。　But；　as　it　was；　the　shock　that　had　driven　him　from　his　home　still　insulated　him　against　the　theoretical　terrors　that　might　appear　tomorrow。
　　　Not　far　above　the　shrine；　the　Aldan　had　its　origin　in　the　confluence　of　two　brooks；　both　of　which　flowed　more　or　less　out　of　the　north。　At　their　junction　Mark　tried　his　luck　at　fishing；　and　found　his　luck　was　bad。　He　grubbed　around　for　edible　roots；　and　came　up　with　nothing　that　he　could　eat。　He　searched　for　some　fresher　berries　than　the　shrine　had　provided；　and　found　a　few　that　birds　had　spared。　If　any　human　dwelling　had　been　in　sight　he　would　have　tried　his　skill　at　burglary　or　begging　to　get　food。　But　there　was　no　such　habitation　to　be　seen　on　any　of　the　vast　hills　under　the　enormous　sky；　and　Mark　was　not　going　to　turn　aside　now　to　look　for　one。
　　　He　spent　the　fourth　night　of　his　journey；　sleeping　little；　amid　a　tumble　of　huge　rocks　at　timberline。　Tonight　the　lights　of　Vulcan's　forge…fires　appeared　to　Mark　to　be　almost　overhead；　startlingly　near　and　at　the　same　time　dishearteningly　far　above　him。　Near　midnight　some　large　animal　came　prowling　near；　staying　not　far　beyond　the　glow　of　a　small　fire　that　Mark　had　built　in　a　sheltering　crevice。　When　he　heard　the　hungry　snuffling　of　the　beast　he　unwrapped　Townsaver　and　gripped　the　hilt　of　the　weapon　in　both　hands。　No　sound　came　from　the　blade；　and　the　air　around　it　remained　clear　and　quiet。　Mark　could　feel　no　hint　of　magical　protection　in　its　steel；　yet　in　the　circumstances　the　simple　weight　and　razor　sharpness　of　it　were　a　considerable　fort。
　　　In　the　morning　there　were　no　animals　of　any　kind　in　sight；　nor　could　Mark　even　find　a　significant　track。　The　air　at　dawn　was　bitter　cold　but　almost　windless。　During　the　night　Mark　had　wrapped　himself　again　in　the　sword's　cloth；　but　now　he　swathed　the　weapon　again　and　tied　it　for　carrying。　Then　he　climbed；　heading　up　between　foothills；　following　a　dry　ravine；　moving　now　on　knees　that　quivered　from　his　need　for　food。　Once　he　was　moving；　he　was　no　longer　quite　sure　just　how　he'd　spent　the　night　just　past；　whether　he'd　slept　at　all　or　not。　It　seemed　to　him　quite　possible　that　he'd　been　walking　without　a　pause　since　yesterday。
　　　Shortly　he　came　upon　a　small　spring　that　gave　him　good　water　to　drink。　He　took　this　discovery　as　a　good　omen；　drank　deeply；　and　pressed　on。
　　　All　streams　were　behind　him　now；　as　far　as　he　could　tell。　He　kept　following　what　looked　like　an　ill…defined　trail　up　through　the　ravine。　Often　he　wasn't　sure　that　he　was　really　following　a　trail　at　all。　By　now　he　was　unarguably　on　the　slopes　of　the　mountain　itself；　but　so　far　the　climbing　was　not　nearly　as　difficult　as　he　had　feared　that　it　might　be。　There　were　no　sheer　cliffs　or　treacherous　rockslides　that　could　not　be　avoided。　Even　so；　the　going　soon　became　murderously　hard　because　of　sheer　physical　exhaustion。
　　　Mark　considered　ways　to　lighten　the　load　that　he　was　carrying。　But　it　consisted　of　only　a　few　things；　none　of　which　he　felt　willing　yet　to　leave　behind。　The　idea　that　he　might　be　able　to　discard　the　sword；　somehow；　along　the　way　had　itself　already　been　discarded。　The　sword　was　connected　with　his　goal；　and　it　would　go　with　him　to　the　end。　At　one　point；　with　his　head　spinning；　he　did　decide　to　divest　himself　of　bow　and　quiver。　But　he　changed　his　mind　and　went　back　for　them　before　he'd　gone　ten　steps。
　　　The　climb　became　a　blur　of　weariness　and　hunger。　At　some　timeless　bright　hour　near　the　middle　of　the　day　Mark　was　jarred　back　to　full　awareness　of　his　surroundings　by　the　realization　that　he'd　run　into　a　new　feature　of　the　mountain。　Just　ahead　was　the　bottom　of　a　cliff　face；　very　nearly　vertical；　a　surface　that　he　was　never　going　to　be　able　to　climb。。。　gradually　he　understood　that　there　was　no　need　for　him　to　try。
　　　He　was　standing　on　a　high；　irregular　shelf　of　black　rock；　with　the　wind　howling　around　him。　But　the　day　was　still　clear；　and　the　afternoon　sun　on　his　back　was　fortingly　warm。　The　sun　had　warmed　the　black　rocks　here　considerably；　even　if　the　deeper　shadows　still　held　patches　of　snow；　and　there　was　a　chill　in　the　wind　that　played　endlessly　in　the　fantastic　chimneys　of　the　cliff。　Mark　stood　still　for　a　time；　still　holding　the　sword　and　bearing　his　other　burdens；　slowly　getting　his　breath　back　after　the　long　climb。　In　some　of　the　chimneys　he　could　hear　a　roaring　that　was　deeper　than　the　wind；　a　noise　that　he　thought　was　ing　up　from　somewhere　far　below。
　　　Mark　was　wondering　which　of　the　chimneys　might　hold　fire；　when　his　attention　was　caught　by　a　place　he　saw　at　the　rear　of　the　rocky　shelf；　just　at　the　angle　where　the　clifface　went　leaping　up　again。　There　were　signs　of　old　occupancy　back　there。　Mark's　eye　was　caught　by　scattered；　head…sized　lumps　of　some　black　and　gnarled　substance。　The　lumps　were　of　an　unfamiliar；　off…round　shape。　He　went　to　one　and　prodded　it　with　the　soft　toe　of　his　hunter's　boot。　The　object　was　hard；　and　very　massive　for　its　size。　Mark　slowly　understood　that　the　lumps　were　metal　or　ore　that　had　been　melted　and　then　reformed　into　rough　blobs。
　　　He　stood　now　in　the　very　rear　of　a　shallow　half…cave　in　the　face　of　the　rising　cliff；　in　a　place　where　the　sun　struck　now　and　the　wind　was　baffled。　Here　there　were　old；　cold　ashes；　from　what　must　have　been　a　very　large　wood　fire。　The　ashes　looked　too　old；　Mark　thought；　to　have　any　connection　with　the　fires　he'd　seen　up　here　during　the　last　few　evenings。　Anyway；　he　d　assumed；　from　the　stories　he'd　heard；　that　what　people　called　the　lights　of　Vulcan's　forge　were　something　to　do　with　earthfire；　volcanic；　whether　or　not　it　was　the　god　in　person　who　raised　and　tended　them。　Yet　plainly　someone　had　once　built　a　large　blaze；　deliberately；　here　in　this　broad　depression　in　the　rock　floor　against　the　cliff。　The　stain　of　its　smoke　still　marked　the　natural　chumney　above。　The　tone　of　the　old　soot　was　a　different　darkness　from　that　of　the　rock　itself。
　　　In　front　of　the　abandoned　fireplace　Mark　slumped　to　his　knees；　then　let　himself　sink　back　into　a　sitting　position。　The　air　up　here　was　thin；　and　stank　of　sulphur。　It　frosted　the　lungs　and　gave　them　little　nourishment。　At　least　his　stomach　had　now　ceased　its　clamoring　for　food；　he　had　reached　an　internal　balance　with　his　hunger；　a　state　almost　of　fort。。。　with　a　mental　snap　he　came　back　to　full　alertness；　finding　himself　sitting　quietly　on　stone。　Had　he　just　started　to　fall　asleep　or　what？
　　　He　didn't　see　what　difference　it　would　make　if　he　did　doze　off　for　a　rest。　But　no；　there　was　something　to　do；　something　to　be　decided；　now　that　he　was　here。　He　ought　to　see　to　that　first；　think　about　it　a　little　at　least。　He'd　e　up　here　for　some　vital　reason。。。　ah　yes；　the　sword。　When　he　had　warmed　himself　a　little　more；　he'd　think　about　it。
　　　Still　sitting　in　the　faint　sun…warmth　of　the　high；　sheltered　place；　Mark　slowly　began　to　notice　how　much　unburned　wood　was　lying　about　nearby。　There　were　large　chips　and　roughly　broken　scraps；　and　the　half…burnt　ends　of　logs　that　must　once　have　been　too　big　for　a　man　to　lift。　He　realized　that　he　needed　heat。　He　wanted　a　fire；　and　so　he　painfully　began　to　gather　and　arrange　wood　in　the　old　fireplace。
　　　It　should　have　been　an　easy　matter　to　build　a　fire　using　this　available　material；　but　weakness　made　it　hard。　Drawing　his　hunter's　knife；　Mark　tried　to　shave　tinder　and　fine　kindling　but　his　hands　were　shaky；　and　the　blade　slipped　from　the　half…frozen　wood。　He　tried　the　sword　and　found　the　task　much　easier　despite　its　weight　and　size。　With　the　sword　held　motionless；　its　point　resting　on　the　ground　and　the　hilt　on　his　bent　knee；　Mark　could　draw　any　chunk　of　wood　against　the　edge　and　take　off　shavings　as　thin　and　fine　as　he　wanted。　Then　when　he　had　his　tinder　and　his　kindling　ready；　his　flint　struck　a　fat　spark　from　the　rough　flange　of　the　sword's　steel　hilt。
　　　The　fire　caught　from　that　first　spark。　It　burned　well…alrhost　magically　well；　Mark　thought。　Larger　fragments　soon　fed　it　into　respectable　size　and　crackling　strength。　Then；　after　he'd　rested　and　warmed　himsel