fs.thefirstbookofswords-第45部分

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pen　only　on　one　side；　that　would　perhaps　be　defensible　by　three　or　four　determined　fighters。
　　　The　people　Nestor　was　calling　to　now；　who　paused　in　their　frightened　flight　at　the　sight　of　his　figure　in　their　path　with　a　sword；　probably　did　not　understand　his　language　any　more　than　he　knew　theirs。　But　they　were　ready　to　follow　shouts　and　gestures；　to　grasp　at　any　straw　of　hope。　In　obedience　to　Nestor's　energetic　waves；　they　came　running　to　him　now；　and　past　him。　Then　they　let　him　get　ahead　and　lead　them；　at　a　run　over　piled　rubble　and　up　tilted　slabs　and　collapsing　stairs；　to　reach　the　place　he　had　in　mind。
　　　This　was　one　of　the　highest；　surviving　rooms　of　what　had　once　been　a　towering　structure。　The　only　way　to　approach　it　now　was　up　a　long；　rough　slope　of　rubble。　When　Nestor　had　led　the　whole　group　toiling　up　this　ascent；　and　had　them　gathered　in　the　high　room；　they　came　to　a　reluctant　stop；　looking　about　them　in　bewilderment。
　　　He　gestured　with　sword　and　empty　hand。　〃I'm　afraid　this　is　it；　my　friends。　This　is　the　best　that　we　can　do。〃
　　　He　could　see　the　understanding　growing　in　the　adults'　faces；　and　the　renewed　terror　and　despair　that　came　with　it。
　　　Nestor　turned　away　from　those　looks；　facing　downslope　and　to　the　north　as　he　looked　out　of　the　room's　open　side。　Not　a　very　large　width　to　defend；　hardly　more　than　a　wide　doorway；　but　it　was　a　little　more　space　than　any　one　man　with　any　one　sword　could　cover。　From　this　high　place　he　could　see　now　that　which　made　his　heart　sink：　the　ranks　of　the　larvae；　that　had　e　sweeping　across　the　swamp　from　the　north；　extended　to　both　east　and　west　across　and；　beyond　the　entire　width　of　the　island；　and　farther；　for　some　indeterminate　but　great　distance　out　into　the　swamp。　There　must　certainly　be　thousands　of　them。
　　　There　was　movement　among　the　people　behind　Nestor；　and　he　turned　around。　Slowly　the　four　or　five　males　of　fighting　age　among　the　group　of　refugees　were　taking　their　places　on　his　right　and　left；　their　bows　and　clubs　as　ready　as　they　were　ever　going　to　be。　Nestor　looked　at　them；　and　they　at　him。　Fortunately　there　seemed　to　be　no　need　to　discuss　strategy　or　tactics。
　　　The　wave　of　the　enemy　had　some　time　ago　reached　the　island；　and　was　now　sweeping　across　it。　The　gray　ones　had　swarmed　into　the　temple；　perhaps　in　extra　numbers　because　of　fleeing　prey　in　sight；　the　ranks　looked　thicker　than　ever　when　they　came　into　Nestor's　view　at　the　foot　of　the　long　slope　of　rubble。　They　paused　there；　continuing　to　thicken　with　reinforcements　behind　the　steady　upward　stare　of　a　hundred　faceless　heads　that　gazed　upslope　as　if　already　aware　of　determined　resistance　waiting　at　the　top。　What　sounded　like　a　thousand　larval　voices　were　whistling；　whining；　mocking；　making　a　drone　as　of　discordant　bagpipes　that　seemed　to　fill　the　world。
　　　The　ranks　of　the　Gray　Horde　paused　briefly　to　strengthen　themselves　at　the　foot　of　the　long　hill　of　rubble。　Then　they　began　to　mount。
　　　The　women　behind　Nestor；　brought　to　bay　now　with　their　young；　were　arming　themselves　too。　He　glanced　back　…　and　saw　them　picking　up　sharp　fragments　from　the　rubble；　ready　to　throw　and　strike。　Something　flashed　across　Nestor's　mind　about　all　the　concern　that　warriors；　himself　included；　had　for　their　own　ing　deaths；　all　the　wondering　and　worrying　and　fretting　that　they　gave　the　subject　whether　they　talked　about　it　or　not。　And　these　women；　now；　had　never　had　a　thought　in　their　lives　about　image　and　honor　and　courage；　and　they　were　doing　as　well　as　any。。。
　　　As　for　Nestor　himself；　the　thousand　voices　of　the　larvae　assured　him　that　his　time　was　now；　that　he　was　never　going　to　have　to　worry　about　it　again。　Just　behind　Nestor；　a　baby　cried。
　　　And　at　the　same　moment　something　thrummed　faintly　in　Nestor's　right　hand。　The　swordhilt。　His　own　imagination？　Wishful　thinking？　No。。。
　　　The　gray　wave　was　ing　up　on　limping；　ill…made　legs；　brandishing　its　dead　forest　of　handless　arms；　aiming　its　mad　variety　of　weapons；　shrieking　its　song　of　terror。
　　　Nestor　opened　his　mouth　and　shouted　something　back　at　them；　some　warcry　bursting　from　he　knew　not　what　almost…buried　memory。　And　now　around　him　the　bowmen　loosed　their　first　pitiful　volley　of　arrows；　that　stuck　in　their　targets　without　effect。　Other　men　murmured　and　swung　their　clubs。　Nestor　realized　that　he　was　holding　the　sword　two…handed　now；　and　he　could　feel　the　power　of　it　flowing　into　his　arms；　as　natural　as　his　own　blood。　Now　the　blade　moved　up　into　guard　position；　in　a　movement　so　smooth　that　Nestor　could　not　really　tell　if　it　had　been　acplished　by　his　own　volition　or　by　the　forces　that　drove　the　sword　itself。　And　now　with　the　blade　high　he　could　see　the　threaded　vapor　ing　out　of　the　air　around　it；　seeming　to　flow　into　the　metal。
　　　He　had　not　a　moment　in　which　to　marvel　at　any　of　these　things；　or　to　try　to　estimate　his　chances；　for　now　a　dart　sang　past　his　shoulder；　and　now　the　awkwardly　clambering　gray　mass　of　the　enemy　was　almost　in　reach。
　　　He　yelled　at　them　again；　something　from　the　wars　of　years　ago；　he　knew　not　what。　Townsaver；　pronounced　a　secret　voice　within　his　mind；　and　he　knew　that　it　had　named　the　sword　for　him。
Townsaver　screamed　exultantly；　and　drew　the　line　of　its　blade　through　a　gray　rank　as　neatly　as　it　had　sliced　the　fruit。　It　mowed　the　weapon…sprouting　limbs　like　grass。
Chapter　14
　　　〃This　is　it；　Your　Grace；〃　said　the　lieutenant　in　blue　and　white。　〃This　is　the　place　where　the　dragon…pack　attacked　us。〃
　　　Duke　Fraktin　halted　his　riding…beast　under　a　tree　still　dripping　from　the　morning's　rain；　and　with　an　easy　motion　dismounted　from　the　saddle。　He　made　a　great　gesture　with　both　arms　to　stretch　the　muscles　in　his　back；　stiffening　somewhat　after　hours　of　riding。　He　looked　about　him。
　　　He　did　not　ask　his　lieutenant　if　he　were　sure　about　the　place；　there　was　no　need。　From　where　the　Duke　now　stood；　surrounded　by　a　strong　force　of　his　mounted　men；　he　could　see　and　smell　the　carcass　of　a　giant　landwalker。　The　dead　beast　lay　forty　meters　or　so　away　among　some　more　trees；　and　now　that　the　Duke　looked　carefully　in　that　direction　he　could　see　a　dead　man　lying　close　to　the　dead　dragon；　and　a　little　farther　on　one　of　his　own　cavalry　mounts　stiffened　with　its　four　feet　in　the　air。
　　　The　pestilential　aftermath　of　war；　thought　the　Duke；　and　stretched　again；　and　started　walking　unhurriedly　closer　to　the　scene　of　carnage。　With　a　war　ing；　indeed　at　hand　already；　he　decided　it　would　be　wise　to　reaccustom　his　senses　as　soon　as　possible　to　what　they　were　going　to　be　required　to　experience。
　　　As　he　walked；　with　his　right　hand　he　loosened　Coinspinner　in　its　fine　scabbard　at　his　side。　〃And　where；〃　he　asked　his　lieutenant；　〃is　the　wagon　you　were　chasing？　Did　you　not　tell　me　that　it　tipped　over　in　the　chase；　and　then　the　dragons　sprang　out　and　attacked　you　before　you　could　gather　up　the　people　who　were　in　it？〃
　　　〃That's　how　it　was；　Your　Grace。〃　And　the　pair　of　survivors　of　that　ill…fated　patrol　who　were　now　acpanying　the　Duke　began　a　low；　urgent　debate　between　themselves　as　to　just　where　that　cursed　wagon　had　been　and　ought　to　be。　The　Duke　listened　with　impatient　attention；　meanwhile　using　his　eyes　for　himself　though　without　result。　According　to　the　best　magical　advice　he　had　been　able　to　obtain；　that　wagon　might　well　have　had　another　of　the　swords　hidden　in　it　somewhere　…　possibly　even　two　of　them。
　　　Before　his　subordinates　argument　was　settled；　the　Duke's　attention　was　drawn　away　from　it　by　a　rider　who　came　cantering　up　with　the　report　that　another　kind　of　wagon　was　arriving　on　the　road　that　led　from　the　southwest。　This；　when　it　presently　came　into　sight；　proved　to　be　a　humble；　battered　vehicle；　a　limping　farm…cart　in　fact；　pulled　by　a　pair　of　loadbeasts　even　more　decrepit　than　itself。　The　Duke　at　first　was　mystified　as　to　why　some　of　his　advance　guard　should　have　doubled　back　to　escort　this　apparition　into　his　presence。
　　　And　then　he　saw　who　was　riding　in　the　middle　of　the　one　sagging　seat；　and　he　understood；　or　began　to　understand。
　　　〃Gentle　kinsman；〃　said　the　Lady　Marat；　as　she　held　out　her　hand　for　the　Duke's　aid　in　dismounting。　His　voice　and　gesture　were　as　casual　as　if　her　humiliation　did　not　con