fs.thefirstbookofswords-第14部分

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responsible　interference。〃
　　　〃A　miller's　son？　A　miller's　son；　you　say？〃　That；　for　some　reason；　provoked　laughter。　〃Ah；　hahaaa！。。。　anyway；　he's　protected　here　by　the　fire　that　he's　kindled；　using　magical　materials　and　tools。　Not　that　he　had　the　least　idea　of　what　he　was　doing　when　he　did　it。〃
　　　〃What　is　so　amusing？　I　still　say　that　he　must　die　tonight。　He　must。　Otherwise　I　foresee　trouble；　in　the　game　and　out　of　it；　trouble　for　us　all。〃　〃Trouble　for　yourself；　you　mean。〃
　　　And　another　new　voice：　〃Hah；　if　you　say　he　must　die；　then　I　say　he　must　live。　Whatever　your　position　is　in　this；　I　must　maintain　the　opposite。〃
　　　They're　just　like　people；　Mark　thought。　His　next　thought　was：　I'm　almost　gone；　I'm　dying。　Now　the　idea　was　not　only　acceptable；　but　brought　with　it　a　certain　feeling　of　relief。
　　　During　the　rest　of　the　night　…　his　gentle　dying　went　on　for　a　long；　long　time　…　Mark　kept　revising　…　his　opinion　of　the　wrangling　gang　of　gods　who　surrounded　him　on　his　deathbed。　Sometimes　it　seemed　to　him　that　they　were　conducting　their　debate　on　a　high　level；　using　words　of　great　wisdom。　At　these　times　he　wanted　to　make　every　effort　to　remember　what　they　said；　but　somehow　he　never　could。　At　other　times　what　they　were；　saying　struck　him　as　the　most　foolish　babble　that　he　had　ever　heard。　But　he　could　not　manage　to　retain　an　example　of　their　foolishness　either。
　　　Anyway；　he　pletely　missed　the　end　of　the　argument；　because　instead　of　dying　he　finally　awoke　to　behold　the　whole　vast　reach　of　the　sky　turning　light　above　the　great　bowl　of　rock　that　made　the　world。　The　near　rim　of　the　bowl　was　very　near　in　the　east；　almost　overhead；　while　the　northwest　portion　of　the　rim　was　far；　far　away；　no　more　than　a　little　pinkish　sawtooth　line　on　the　horizon。　And　to　the　southwest　the　rim　was　so　distant　that　it　could　not　be　seen　at　all。
　　　Mark　was　shivering　again；　or　shivering　still；　when　he　woke　up。　Now　he　was　cold　on　both　sides。　The　fire　was　nearly　out；　and　he　immediately　started　to　rebuild　it。　Somewhat　to　his　surprise；　his　body　moved　easily。　For　whatever　reason；　he　had　awakened　with　a　feeling　of　achievement；　a　sense　that　something　important　had　been　acplished　while　he　lay　before　the　fire。　Well；　for　one　thing；　his　life　had　been　preserved；　whether　by　accident　or　through　the　benevolence　of　certain　gods。　He　was　not　at　all　sure　of　the　reality　of　the　presences　he'd　seen。　There　was　no　sign　of　gods　around　him　now；　nothing　but　the　mountain　and　the　sky；　and　the　high；　keening　wind。
　　　Except　for　the　obscure　symbols　on　the　wall　of　stone；　and　the　remnants　of　that　large　and　ancient　fire。
　　　The　need　for　food　had　now　settled　deep　in　Mark's　bones；　and　he　thought；　with　the　beginning　of　fear；　that　soon　he　might　be　too　weak　to　make　his　way　back　down　the　mountain。　He　had　to　implement　his　final　decision　about　the　sword　before　that　happened；　so　as　soon　as　he　had　warmed　himself　enough　to　stop　his　shivering；　he　turned　his　back　on　his　renewed　fire　and　the　old　forge…place　of　the　gods。　Keeping　the　blanket　wrapped　around　himself；　he　slung　bow　and　quiver　on　his　back　again；　and　took　up　Townsaver。　He　carried　the　blade　as　if　he　meant　to　fight　with　it。
　　　Testing　the　wind；　he　tried　to　follow　the　smell　of　sulphur　to　where　it　was　the　strongest。　It　took　him　only　a　few　moments　to　stumble　right　against　what　he　was　looking　for；　in　the　form　of　a　chest…high　broken　column　of　black　rock。　The　middle　of　the　broad　black　stump　was　holed　out；　as　if　it　were　a　real　treestump　rotting；　and　up　out　of　the　central　cavity　there　drifted　acrid　fumes；　along　with　some　faintly　visible　smoke。　At　certain　moments　the　smoke　was　lighted　from　beneath　with　a　reddish　glow；　visible　here　at　close　range　even　in　broad　daylight。　A　breath　of　warmth　came　from　the　fumarole；　along　with　something　that　smelled　even　worse　than　sulphur；　as　foul　as　the　breath　of　some　imagined　monster。
　　　Somewhere　far　below；　the　mountain　sighed；　and　the　wave　of　rising　heat　momentarily　grew　great。
　　　Mark　lifted　the　sword。　He　used　both　hands　on　the　hilt；　just　as　his　brother　Kenn　had　held　it　with　two　hands　during　the　fight。　But　no　power　flowed　from　the　weapon　now；　and　Mark　could　do　with　it　as　he　liked。　Without　delaying；　without　giving　the　gods　another　moment　in　which　to　act；　he　thrust　the　sword　down　into　the　rising　smoke　and　let　it　fall。　Father；　Kenn；　I've　done　it。
　　　The　sword　fell　at　once　into　invisibility。　Mark　heard　the　sharp　impact　that　it　made　on　nearby　rock；　followed　by　another　clash　a　little　farther　down。　Holding　his　breath；　he　listened　a　long　time　for　some　final　impact；　perhaps　a　splash　into　the　molten　rock　that　an　Elder　had　once　told　Mark　lay　at　tire　bottom　of　these　holes　of　fire。　But　though　he　listened　until　he　could　hold　his　breath　no　more；　he　heard　no　more　of　the　falling　sword。
　　　Mark　looked　up　into　the　morning　sky；　clear　but　for　a　few　small　clouds。　They　were　just　clouds；　with　nothing　remarkable　about　them。　He　realized　that　he　was　waiting　for　a　reaction；　for　lightning；　for　something　to　embody　what　must　be　the　anger　of　the　gods　at　what　he　had　just　done。　He　was　waiting　to　be　struck　dead。　But　no　blow　came。
　　　What　did　e　instead　was；　in　a　sense；　even　worse。　It　was　just　the　beginning　of　a　sickening　suspicion　that　his　throwing　the　sword　down　into　the　volcano　had　been　a　horrible　mistake。　Now　he　had　made　his　gesture；　of　striking　back　at　the　gods　for　what　they　had　done　to　him。　And　what　harm　had　his　gesture　done　them？　And　what　good　had　it　done　himself？
　　　In　thirteen　years；　Jord　had　never　made　this　awful　trek；　had　never　thrown　the　gods'　payment　for　his　right　arm　back　into　their　teeth。　For　whatever　reason；　Mark's　father　had　kept　his　arm…price　hanging　on　the　wall　at　home　instead。　Never　trying　to　use　it；　never　trying　to　sell　it；　not　bragging　about　it　…　but　still　keeping　it。　Mark　had　never　really；　until　this　moment；　tried　to　fathom　why。
　　　One　thing　was　sure；　Mark's　father　had　never　tried　to　rid　himself　of　the　sword。
　　　The　spell　of　shock　that　had　been　put　on　Mark　in　the　village　street　by　the　evil　magic　of　violence　began　at　last　to　lift。　He　realized　that　he　was　alone　upon　a　barren　mountainside；　almost　too　weak　to　move；　many　kilometers　from　the　home　to　which　he　dared　not　return。　And　that　he'd　just　done　something　awesome　and　inprehensible；　pleted　a　mad　gesture　that　would　make　him　the　enemy　of　gods　as　well　as　men。
　　　He　hung　weakly　on　the　edge　of　the　smoking；　stinking　stone　stump；　growing　sicker　and　more　frightened　by　the　moment；　until　he　began　to　imagine　that　the　voices　of　the　gods　were　ing　up　out　of　the　central　hole　along　with　the　mind…clouding　smoke。　Yes；　the　gods　were　angry。　In　Mark　the　feeling　grew　of　just　having　made　an　enormous　blunder。　The　feeling　escalated　gradually　into　black　terror。
　　　Only　his　lack　of　energy　saved　him　from　real　panic。　Doing　what　he　could　to　flee　the　wrath　of　the　gods；　leaning　shakily　on　the　black　rocky　stump；　Mark　started　round　it　to　reach　its　far　side；　from　which　the　mountainside　went　rather　steeply　down。　As　Mark　moved　onto　the　descending　slope；　the　stump　he　leaned　on　turned　into　a　high　crooked　column；　the　way　around　it　into　a　definite　descending　path。
　　　Mark　had　not　followed　this　path　for　twenty　steps　before　he　came　upon　the　sword。　It　was　lying　directly　in　his　way；　right　under　a　jagged　hole　in　the　side　of　the　crooked　chimney…column；　through　which　it　had　obviously　dropped　out。　One　bounce　on　rock；　the　first　impact　that　he'd　heard；　then　this。　Altogether　the　sword　had　fallen　no　farther　than　if　he'd　dropped　it　from　the　millhouse　roof。
Even　in　that　short　time　it　had　encountered　heat　enough　to　leave　it　scorching。　Mark　burned　his　fingers　when　he　tried　to　pick　it　up；　and　had　to　let　it　drop　again。　He　had　to　wait；　shivering　in　the　mountain's　morning　shadow；　and　blowing　on　his　fingers；　until　the　unharmed　metal　had　cooled　enough　for　him　to　handle　it。
Chapter　3
　　　〃I　am　still　amazed　at　the　extent　of　your　recent　failure；　Wearer…of…Blue；〃　Duke　Fraktin　said。　〃Indeed；　the　more　I　think　about　it；　the　more　amazed　I　grow。〃
　　　The　blue…robed　wizard's　real　name　was　not　the　one　by　which　he　had　just　been　addressed。　But　his　real　name　…　or；　indeed；　even　his　next…to…real　name　…　were　not　to　be　casually　uttered；　not　even　by　the　lips　of　a　duke；　and　the　wizard　was　used　t