df.therunelords-第37部分

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　if　the　whole　city　might　burst　into　flame；　and　for　the　moment　the　nomen　were　somewhat　blinded。
　Gaborn　hugged　the　shadows。　He　pointed　out　twigs　for　Rowan　to　avoid　with　each　step。
　He　heard　a　branch　snap。　He　spun；　drew　his　saber。　One　of　Raj　Ahten's　hunters　stood　on　the　ridge　above；　half…hidden　by　trees；　framed　by　firelight　from　the　wizard's　burning　garden。
　The　man　didn't　rush　Gaborn　and　Rowan；　only　stood　silently；　trusting　to　the　night　to　hide　him。　Rowan　stopped　at　the　sound；　looked　uphill。　She　apparently　couldn't　see　the　fellow。
　He　wore　a　dark　robe；　and　held　a　naked　sword；　with　a　lacquered　leather　vest　for　armor。　Only　the　eyebright　Binnesman　had　given　Gaborn　let　him　spot　the　hunter。
　Gaborn　didn't　know　what　endowments　the　man　might　have；　how　strong　or　swift　he　might　be。　But　the　hunter　would　be　equally　wary　of　Gaborn's　attributes。
　Gaborn　let　his　gaze　flicker　past　the　hunter；　searched　the　woods　to　the　man's　right；　as　if　he　hadn't　spotted　him。　After　a　long　moment；　Gaborn　turned　his　back；　watched　the　far　bank。
　He　set　his　bundle　of　forcibles　on　the　ground；　then　pretended　to　scratch　himself　and　drew　the　dagger　from　his　belt　with　his　left　hand。　He　held　the　haft　in　his　grip；　the　blade　flat　against　his　wrist；　so　that　it　remained　concealed。
　Then　he　just　listened。　The　mill　wheel　made　a　noise　like　the　rumble　of　rocks　sliding　down　a　slope；　and　Gaborn　could　hear　distant　shouts；　perhaps　the　sound　of　folks　fighting　a　fire　in　the　city。　〃Let's　wait　here；〃　Gaborn　told　Rowan。
　He　stilled　his　breathing　as　the　hunter　drew　closer。
　Stealthy；　a　stealthy　man；　but　quick。　The　man　had　an　endowment　of　metabolism。
　Gaborn　had　no　extra　metabolism。　He　moved　with　the　speed　of　youth；　but　he　was　no　match　for　a　force　warrior。
　Gaborn　couldn't　risk　letting　the　man　cry　an　alarm；　attract　the　attention　of　the　nomen。
　He　waited　till　the　hunter　drew　close；　twenty　feet。　A　twig　crunched　softly。　Gaborn　pretended　not　to　hear。　Waited　half　a　second。
　He　waited　until　he　judged　that　the　hunter　would　be　gazing　at　his　feet；　concentrating　on　not　making　another　sound；　then　Gaborn　spun　and　leapt　past　Rowan。
　The　hunter　raised　his　sword　so　fast　it　blurred。　He　took　a　ready　stanceknees　bent；　swordpoint　forward。　Gaborn　was　outmatched　in　speed。　But　not　in　cunning。
　He　flicked　his　dagger　from　ten　feet；　and　its　pommel　hit　the　man's　nose。　In　that　split　second；　when　the　hunter　was　distracted；　Gaborn　lunged；　aimed　a　devastating　blow　at　the　hunter's　knee；　slicing　his　patella。
　The　hunter　countered　by　dropping　the　tip　of　his　sword；　trying　too　late　to　parry。　On　the　backstroke　Gaborn　whipped　his　blade　up；　slashing　the　warrior's　throat。
　The　hunter　lunged；　not　yet　realizing　he　was　dead。　Gaborn　twisted　away　from　the　blade；　felt　it　graze　the　left　side　of　his　rib　cage。　Fire　blossomed　there；　and　Gaborn　swept　aside　the　warrior's　sword　with　his　own；　danced　back。
　Gurgling　escaped　the　hunter's　throat；　and　he　staggered　forward　a　step。　Blood　spurted　from　his　neck；　a　fountain　that　gushed　in　time　with　the　warrior's　heartbeat。
　Gaborn　knew　the　man　couldn't　live　much　longer；　tried　to　back　away；　afraid　of　taking　another　wound。　He　tripped　over　a　root　and　fell　on　the　ground；　his　sword　tip　still　held　high　to　parry　any　attacks。
　As　the　hunter's　brain　drained　of　blood；　he　began　to　lose　his　sight；　looked　around　dumbly　for　half　a　second。　He　grasped　at　a　sapling　and　missed；　dropped　his　sword　and　fell　forward。
　Gaborn　watched　the　ridge　above。　He　could　see　no　more　of　Raj　Ahten's　hunters。　Silently　he　thanked　Binnesman　for　the　spices　that　masked　his　scent。
　Gaborn　felt　his　ribs。　They　bled；　but　not　badly；　not　as　bad　as　he　had　feared。　He　stanched　the　blood；　then　retrieved　his　forcibles。
　Rowan　was　panting　in　fear。　She　studied　him　in　the　darkness　as　he　climbed　back　down　toward　her；　as　if　terrified　that　his　wound　would　kill　him。
　He　stood　a　little　straighter；　trying　to　calm　her；　then　led　her　down　the　steep　bank　to　the　river's　edge　and　they　hid　among　the　pussy　willows。　The　fires　burned　brighter。
　The　nomen　were　poised　high　on　the　far　bank；　looking　anxiously　in　his　direction。　They　had　heard　the　ringing　swords；　but　so　long　as　the　fire　blinded　them；　so　long　as　Gaborn　and　Rowan　hid　in　the　shadows；　the　nomen　searched　in　vain。　Perhaps　the　sound　of　the　mill　wheel　upriver　confused　them；　perhaps　they　were　not　sure　if　a　fight　had　been　fought　in　the　woods。　None　seemed　desirous　to　brave　the　river；　to　fight　half…blind。　Gaborn　recalled　vaguely　that　nomen　feared　the　water。
　Wading　among　pussy　willows　into　water　up　to　his　waist；　Gaborn　looked　downstream。
　Three　Frowth　giants　stood　knee…deep　in　the　water　at　the　river's　bend。　One　held　a　fiery　brand　aloft；　while　the　other　two　held　their　huge　oak　rods　poised　like　spears。　They　peered　into　the　water　like　fishermen　waiting　for　someone　to　try　to　escape。
　The　firelight　that　blinded　the　nomen　would　only　help　the　giants　to　see　better。　For　a　moment　Gaborn　studied　them。　The　water　downstream　could　not　be　more　than　three　feet　deep。　There　was　no　way　that　he　and　Rowan　could　make　it　past　the　giants。
　Rowan　suddenly　gasped　in　pain　and　doubled　over；　clutching　her　stomach。
　
　Chapter　10
　THE　FACE　OF　PURE　EVIL
　　
　Iome　stood　atop　the　south　tower　of　the　Dedicate's　Keep　as　Raj　Ahten　and　his　guard　rode　up　to　the　gates。　Out　in　the　fields；　night　was　falling；　and　the　flameweavers　had　begun　heading　for　town；　walking　across　the　dry　grasses。　A　small　range　fire　burned　in　their　passage；　but　to　Iome's　surprise；　it　did　not　rage　uncontrollably。　Instead；　a　hundred　yards　behind　them；　the　fire　extinguished；　so　that　the　flameweavers　looked　like　ets；　with　trails　of　dying　fire　in　their　wake。
　Behind　them　came　a　great　wain　from　the　forest；　filled　with　men　in　robes；　bouncing　over　the　rutted　mud　road　that　led　from　the　castle　into　the　Dunnwood。
　Raj　Ahten's　legendary　Invincibles　also　began　marching　into　the　city；　forming　up　in　twenty　ranks　of　a　hundred　each。
　But　others　stayed　behind；　out　on　the　plains。　The　shaggy　Frowth　giants　kept　to　the　tree　lines　and　stalked　along　the　rivers；　while　the　dark　nomen；　their　naked　bodies　blacker　than　night；　circled　the　castle；　squatting　on　the　fields。　There　would　be　no　escaping　them　this　night。
　To　the　credit　of　the　guards　at　the　gates　of　the　Dedicates'　Keep；　they　did　not　open　to　Raj　Ahten　immediately。　When　the　Wolf　Lord　made　his　way　up　the　city　streets　to　this；　the　most　protected　keep　within　the　castle；　the　guards　held　fast。
　They　waited　for　King　Sylvarresta　to　descend　from　the　tower；　with　Iome　walking　at　his　side；　hand…in…hand。　Two　Days　followed　immediately　behind；　and　Chemoise　trailed。
　Good；　Iome　thought。　Let　the　Wolf　Lord　sit　outside　the　gates　for　a　moment　longer；　waiting　on　the　true　lord　of　Castle　Sylvarresta。　It　was　a　small　retribution　for　what　she　knew　would　e。
　Though　Iome　saw　no　outward　sign　of　fear　in　her　father's　face；　he　held　her　hand　too　tightly；　clenching　it　in　a　death　grip。
　In　a　moment　they　descended　from　the　tower　to　the　gates　of　the　Dedicates'　Keep。　The　guards　here　were　the　best　warriors　in　the　kingdom；　for　this　was　the　sanctum；　the　heart　of　Sylvarresta's　power。　If　a　Dedicate　were　killed；　Sylvarresta's　power　would　be　diminished。
　The　guards　looked　smart　with　their　black…and…silver　livery　over　their　hauberks。
　As　King　Sylvarresta　strode　to　them；　both　men　held　their　pikes；　tips　pointed　to　the　ground。　On　the　far　side　of　the　keep　wall；　Raj　Ahten　could　be　seen　through　the　portcullis　gates。
　〃My　lord？〃　Captain　Ault　asked。　He　was　ready　to　fight　to　the　death；　if　Iome's　father　so　desired。　Or　to　slay　both　the　King　and　Iome；　save　them　from　the　torturous　end　Iome　feared。
　〃Put　them　away；〃　Sylvarresta　said；　his　voice　shaken　with　uncertainty。
　〃Do　you　have　any　orders？〃　Ault　asked。
　Iome's　heart　pounded。　She　feared　that　her　father　would　ask　him　to　slay　them　now；　rather　than　let　them　fall　into　enemy　hands。
　A　debate　had　long　raged　among　the　lords　in　Rofehavan　as　to　what　one　should　do　in　such　circumstances。　Often　a　conquering　king　would　try　to　take　endowments　from　those　he　defeated。　In　doing　so；　he　became　stronger。　And　Raj　Ahten　was　far　too　powerful　already。　Some　thought　it　more　noble　to　kill　themselves　than　to　submit　to　domination。
　Others　said　that　one　had　a　duty　to　live　in　the　hope　of　serving　one's　Peo