df.therunelords-第12部分

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g　into　his　back；　feel　the　keen　edge　of　the　plow　biting　into　the　soil；　turning　over　dark　dirt；　discovering　worms。　He　could　taste　the　metallic　tang　of　soil　in　his　mouth；　see　fields　and　forests　streaming　out　before　him。　His　pockets　were　heavy　with　seeds；　ready　to　plant。
　He　felt　as　if　he　were　experiencing　all　these　things　at　once；　and　he　wondered　if　any　gardener　had　really　ever　felt　such　a　keen　thrill　of　anticipation　as　the　one　that　assailed　him　at　this　moment。　Oddest　of　all；　Gaborn　had　never　done　these　thingshad　never　hitched　himself　to　a　plow　or　stooped　to　plant　the　earth。
　Yet　he　wished　at　this　moment　that　he　had。　He　wished　that　at　this　very　second；　he　stood　in　the　earth。
　Myrrima　looked　at　him　strangely。　Gaborn's　Days　gave　no　reply；　playing　the　invisible　observer。
　But　Borenson's　eyes　shone　with　laughter。　〃Milord；　I　think　you　have　had　too　much　air　today。　Your　face　is　pale　and　sweaty。　Do　you　feel　well？〃
　〃I　feel。。。very。。。healthy；〃　Gaborn　said；　wondering　if　he　was　ill。　Wondering　if　he　was　mad。　Few　weaknesses　ever　impaired　a　Runelord。　An　endowment　of　wit　could　repair　a　lord　with　poor　memory；　an　endowment　of　stamina　could　bolster　a　sickly　king。　But　madness。。。
　〃Well　then；〃　Gaborn　said；　suddenly　wanting　to　be　alone　with　his　thoughts；　to　consider　what　could　cause　these　profound　feelings　of。。。planting；　〃I　think　you　two　should　spend　some　time　getting　acquaintedthe　afternoon。〃
　〃My　lord；　I　am　your　body〃　Borenson　said；　not　willing　to　leave　his　side。　Gaborn　could　count　the　times　on　his　fingers　when　Borenson　had　been　away　for　more　than　a　night。
　〃And　I　will　be　lounging　in　a　hostel；　with　nothing　more　dangerous　than　a　joint　of　pork　before　me。〃　Borenson　could　hardly　refuse。　Custom　dictated　that　he　go　privately　to　the　woman's　house　to　beg　her　hand　in　marriage。　With　a　witless　mother　and　no　father；　custom　might　be　somewhat　circumvented　in　this　case；　but　it　could　not　be　put　aside　entirely。
　〃Are　you　certain？　I　don't　think　this　is　wise；〃　Borenson　said；　his　manner　being　deadly　earnest。　Gaborn　was　in　a　strange　country；　after　all；　and　he　was　heir　apparent　to　the　wealthiest　nation　in　Rofehavan。
　〃Just　go；　will　you？〃　Gaborn　urged　them；　smiling。　〃If　it　makes　you　feel　better；　I　promise　that　as　soon　as　I　lunch；　I　will　go　to　my　room　and　bolt　the　door。〃
　〃We'll　be　back　well　before　dark；〃　Myrrima　said。
　Gaborn　said；　〃No；　I'll　seek　out　your　home。　I'd　like　to　meet　your　kind　sisters；　and　your　mother。〃
　Myrrima　urged；　breathlessly；　〃Across　the　Himmeroft　Bridgefour　miles　down　the　Bluebell　Way；　a　gray　cabin　in　the　meadow。〃
　Borenson　shook　his　head　adamantly。　〃No；　I'll　e　back　for　you。　I　won't　have　you　riding　alone。〃
　〃Farewell；　then；　until　this　afternoon；〃　Gaborn　said。　He　watched　them　scurry　off　through　the　crowd；　hand…in…hand；　a　certain　lightness　to　their　steps。
　For　a　few　moments；　Gaborn　stayed　in　the　market；　watching　an　entertainer　who　had　trained　albino　doves　to　do　all　manner　of　aerial　acrobatics；　then　he　wandered　the　cobbled　streets　of　Bannisferre；　every　step　dogged　by　his　Days。
　In　the　city's　center　towered　a　dozen　graystone　songhouses；　six　and　seven　stories　tall；　with　elaborate　friezes　and　statuary　about　them。
　On　the　steps　of　one　songhouse；　a　handsome　young　woman　sang　a　delicate　aria；　acpanied　by　woodwinds　and　harp。　A　group　of　peasants　crowded　round。　Her　voice　drifted　hauntingly；　echoing　from　the　tall　stone　buildings；　mesmerizing。　She　merely　advertised；　of　course。　She　hoped　to　attract　an　audience　for　her　performance　later　tonight。
　Gaborn　decided　he　would　attend；　bring　Borenson　and　Myrrima。
　Sturdy　bathhouses　and　gymnasiums　squatted　farther　down　the　street。　On　the　broad　avenues；　several　carriages　could　maneuver　with　ease。　Fine　shops　displayed　bone　china；　silver　goods；　and　gentlemen's　weaponry。
　Bannisferre　was　a　young　city；　less　than　four　hundred　years　old。　It　had　started　simply　as　a　meeting　ground　for　local　farmers　to　exchange　wares；　until　iron　was　discovered　along　the　Durkin　Hills。　The　ironsmiths　opened　a　foundry；　where　the　quality　of　the　goods　soon　attracted　a　wealthy　clientele　who　demanded　fine　acmodations　and　entertainment。
　So　Bannisferre　had　grown　to　be　a　center　for　the　arts；　attracting　smiths　who　worked　iron；　silver；　and　gold；　ceramists　famed　for　their　cloisonné　and　bone　china；　glassblowers　who　constructed　bewitching　mugs　and　vases　in　magnificent　colorsuntil　finally；　the　city　became　crowded　with　craftsmen　and　performers　from　all　walks　of　life。
　Bannisferre　was　a　fine　place；　a　city　free　of　grime。　Now　everywhere　it　was　festooned　with　images　of　the　Earth　Kingelaborate　wooden　images；　painted　and　dressed　with　loving　care。　The　streets　had　no　urchins　running　about　underfoot。　And　the　reeves　hereabout　were　dressed　in　fine　leather　coats　with　gold　brocade；　as　if　they　were　just　another　adornment　to　Bannisferre；　not　working　lawmen。
　Somehow；　the　loveliness　of　this　place　saddened　Gaborn。　The　city's　defenses　seemed　woefully　inadequate。　It　was　built　beside　a　river；　without　benefit　of　a　fortress。　A　low　wall　of　rocks　around　the　city　would　barely　repel　a　cavalry　chargeand　then　only　if　the　cavalry　was　not　riding　force　horses；　perhaps　a　few　soldiers　could　hold　out　for　a　bit　in　the　songhouses；　skirmishing　among　the　statuary。
　No；　in　a　war；　Bannisferre　would　be　overrun；　its　beauty　defiled。　The　graceful　songhouses　and　bathhouses　were　made　of　stone；　but　the　stonework　was　wrought　for　ornament；　not　with　defense　in　mind。　The　doorways　were　too　wide；　the　windows　too　expansive。　Even　the　bridges　across　River　Dwindell　were　wide　enough　so　carriages　could　drive　across　four　abreast。　They　could　not　be　easily　defended。
　Gaborn　returned　to　the　South　Market；　ambled　back　through　the　cloud　of　honeybees　into　the　shade　of　his　hostel。
　He　intended　to　keep　his　promise　to　Borenson；　keep　safe。　He　found　a　corner　table；　ordered　a　dinner　suitable　to　a　refined　palate；　then　rested　his　feet　on　the　table。
　His　Days　sat　across　from　him。　Gaborn　felt　like　celebrating　Borenson's　good　fortune。　He　tossed　a　silver　coin　to　a　towheaded　servant　boy　perhaps　five　years　younger　than　himself。　〃Bring　us　wine。　Something　sweet　for　the　Days。　Addleberry　for　me。〃
　〃Yes；　sir；〃　the　boy　answered。　Gaborn　looked　around。　The　room　was　fairly　empty。　Three　dozen　chairs；　but　only　a　few　of　them　filled。　At　the　far　end　of　the　room；　two　gentlemen　of　dark　plexion　sat　talking　softly　about　the　relative　virtues　of　different　inns　in　town。　A　few　greenbottle　flies　wheeled　in　slow　circles。　Outside；　a　pig　squealed　in　the　market。
　Toward　evening；　the　inn　would　fill。
　The　serving　boy　returned　with　two　brown　clay　mugs　and　two　genuine　bottles　of　yellow　glass；　not　the　hide　flasks　used　in　the　south。　Each　bottle　had　a　red　wax　seal　over　the　cap；　with　the　initial　B　inscribed。　It　seemed　a　fine　vintage；　the　bottles　well　aged　and　covered　with　grime。　Gaborn　was　not　used　to　such　nice　drink。　Wine　laid　up　in　bags　turned　vinegary　after　six　months。
　The　boy　poured　a　draught　for　each　man；　then　left　the　bottles　on　the　table。　Moisture　began　to　condense　on　the　bottles。　They　were　that　cold。
　Gaborn　studied　the　bottles　absently；　reached　out　with　an　index　finger　and　touched　the　dust　on　a　bottle；　tasted　the　soil。　Good；　sweet　earth。　Good　for　planting。
　The　Days　took　a　swallow　of　wine；　regarded　it　carefully。　〃Hmmm。。。〃　he　said。　〃I've　never　tasted　anything　so　fine。〃　In　seconds　he　downed　the　whole　mug；　thought　a　moment；　then　poured　himself　a　second。
　Gaborn　simply　stared　at　the　Days。　He'd　never　seen　the　like。　The　Days　was　such　a　sober　manhe　never　drank　to　excess。　Neither　did　he　womanize　or　waste　time　with　any　other　form　of　diversion。　He　was　singularly　mitted　to　his　discipline；　to　chronicling　the　lives　of　kings　on　behalf　of　the　Time　Lords。　Since　he　was　twinned　with　anothereach　man　having　given　the　other　an　endowment　of　witthe　two　pleted　a　circle。　Both　men　shared　a　single　mind；　knowing　the　same　things。　Such　sharing　usually　led　to　madness；　both　members　of　the　pair　struggling　for　control　of　the　joint　minds。　But　somewhere；　in　a　monastery　in　the　isles　beyond　Orwynne；　Days'　partner　transcribed　all　that　Days　learned。　It　was　only　because　the　two　Days　had　given　plete　control　of　their　own　identities　to　their　order　that　they　both　survived。
　So　it　was　odd　to　watch　a　Days　guzzle　wine。　It　was　an　extraordinarily　selfish　act。