df.therunelords-第58部分

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　Why　does　Chemoise　cry？　Iome　wondered。　Then　she　realized　that　she；　too；　had　eyes　filled　with　tears。
　Iome　understood。　Chemoise　cried　because　the　world　had　gone　black。　Black　fields。　Black　woods。　Black　days　ahead。　Iome　drew　her　hooded　robe　more　tightly　around　her；　hiding　her　face。　The　heavy　wool　seemed　thin　protection。
　Some　of　Raj　Ahten's　troops　waited　down　in　the　lower　bailey。　Raj　Ahten　rode　from　the　battlefield　toward　the　city　gates；　to　meet　with　his　flame…weavers　and　counselors。　Even　the　Frowth　giants　ducked　under　the　posterns　of　the　gates　and　came　into　the　lower　bailey；　seeking　protection。
　In　the　hills　to　the　south；　a　hunting　horn　rang　out；　followed　by　another　farther　east；　and　another。　A　few　last　stragglers　from　Orden's　army　perhaps；　calling　to　one　another。
　Iome　waited　for　Raj　Ahten's　men　to　turn　around；　ride　out；　and　mop　up　the　survivors。　Given　the　strength　of　his　forces；　she　did　not　understand　why　so　many　of　his　men　remained　here　in　the　castle。
　Unless　something　had　happened　on　the　battlefield　that　she　couldn't　see。　Perhaps　Raj　Ahten　feared　for　his　own　men。　Perhaps　they　were　weaker　than　she　believed。　The　Wolf　Lord　must　have　feared　to　chase　Orden's　men　any　farther；　for　he　knew　full　well　that　he　could　get　drawn　into　an　ambush。
　Raj　Ahten's　wisdom　went　far　beyond　Iome's。　If　he　was　frightened；　perhaps　he　had　good　reason　to　fear。　Yesterday；　Gaborn　had　told　Iome　that　King　Orden　could　soon　reach　the　castle　with　reinforcements。
　Iome　hadn't　given　it　much　thought。　Orden　often　brought　a　couple　hundred　men　in　his　retinue。　What　could　they　do？
　Yet　Gaborn　clearly　believed　the　force　was　powerful　enough　to　strike　at　Raj　Ahten。　Gaborn　had　never　spoken　the　number　of　his　father's　troops；　she　now　realized。　Wisely　so。　House　Sylvarresta　could　not　divulge　information　it　didn't　have。
　Iome　glanced　at　her　Days；　who　sat　a　few　paces　off；　with　her　mother's　Days；　both　of　them　watching　the　dark　fields。　They　knew　how　many　men　Orden　had　brought；　knew　every　move　each　king　was　making。　Yet　for　good　or　ill；　the　Days　only　watched　the　armies　move　like　pieces　across　a　chessboard。
　How　many　men　had　Orden　brought　to　Hostenfest　this　year？　A　thousand？　Five　thousand？
　Mystarria　was　a　rich　country；　populous。　King　Orden　had　brought　his　son　with　a　proposal　of　marriage。　It　was　mon　with　such　proposals　for　a　royal　family　to　make　some　display　of　wealth；　to　marshal　some　soldiers；　engage　the　knights　in　friendly　petitions。
　Orden　would　have　many　of　his　best　men　on　hand。　Five　hundred　of　them；　perhaps。
　Yet　Orden　was　also　pompous；　given　to　vain　display。　So　double　that　number。
　The　warriors　of　Mystarria　were　fierce。　Their　bowmen　trained　from　youth　to　fire　from　horseback。　The　prowess　of　their　knights　with　their　long…handled　horseman's　axes　and　warhammers　was　legendary。
　Perhaps　the　legend　of　Mystarria's　warriors　would　keep　Raj　Ahten　at　bay；　so　that　he　would　not　dare　leave　the　castle　again。　Or　perhaps　Raj　Ahten　feared　the　Earth　King　that　his　pyromancers　warned　of。
　Iome　watched　for　a　long　moment　from　the　Dedicates'　Tower。　No　one　else　returned　to　the　castlenot　one　black…maned　noman。
　Defiantly　now；　in　the　wooded　hills　to　the　east　and　south　and　west；　battle　horns　blared　in　a　dozen　directions；　sounding　charges；　calling　new　formations。
　Orden's　knights　still　fighting　nomen　in　the　woods。　It　would　be　a　long；　grueling　day　for　those　warriors。
　Down　at　the　city　gate；　Raj　Ahten　turned　in　his　saddle　to　look　back　over　the　fields　one　last　time；　as　if　wondering　if　he　should　ride　once　more；　then　he　entered　the　city；　and　his　men　closed　the　ruined　drawbridge。
　Life　went　on。　From　the　tower；　Iome　could　see　much　of　the　city。　Down　by　the　Soldiers'　Keep；　women　and　children　hunted　for　eggs　left　by　the　hens。　The　miller　was　grinding　wheat　by　the　river。　The　fragrance　of　cooking　fires　mingled　with　the　smoke　and　ash　of　war。　Iome's　own　stomach　felt　tight。　When　Iome　judged　that　she　had　watched　from　the　wall　long　enough；　she　went　down　to　the　bailey　in　the　Dedicates'　Keep；　her　Days　following。　Her　mother's　Days　stood　on　the　tower；　kept　watching　the　fields。
　Iome's　father　sat　in　a　shaft　of　sunlight；　playing　with　a　pup　that　snarled　and　chewed　at　his　hand。　Her　father　had　soiled　his　britches　while　Iome　stood　on　the　wall；　so　Iome　went　to　work　with　bucket　and　rag；　to　clean　her　father。　He　did　not　fight　her；　simply　stared　at　her　ruined　face；　frightened　by　her　ugliness；　not　knowing　who　she　was。
　He　was　handsome　as　ever；　with　his　endowments　of　glamour　intact。　Stronger　than　ever。　A　superman　with　the　mind　of　a　child。　While　she　washed　the　feces　off　him；　King　Sylvarresta　lay　watching　her　with　wide　eyes；　and　made　gawping　noises；　blowing　bubbles。　He　smiled　innocently　at　this　newfound　pleasure。
　Iome　nearly　broke　into　tears。　Twelve　hours。　Her　father　had　given　his　endowments　nearly　twelve　hours　ago。　This　was　a　critical　time；　this　first　daythe　worst　for　him。　Those　who　gave　greater　endowments　went　through　a　time　when　they　were　in　grave　danger。　The　facilitators　called　it　〃endowment　shock。〃　One　who　gave　wit　would　sometimes　forget　to　breathe；　or　his　heart　would　forget　how　to　beat。　But　if　he　survived　through　this　first　day；　if　he　survived　the　shock　of　the　endowment；　he　might　regain　a　small　bit　of　his　wit。　Somehow；　his　body　would　claim　a　tiny　fraction；　enough　to　survive。　At　the　moment；　Iome's　father　was　at　his　weakest；　his　most　helpless；　but　later　today　he　could　go　through　a　〃wakening；〃　a　moment　when　the　endowment　between　lord　and　vassal　became　firm；　when　he　regained　some　small　part　of　his　mind。
　Thankfully；　Iome's　father　had　suffered　none　of　the　worst　effects　of　endowment　shock。　Now　that　twelve　hours　had　passed；　she　hoped　he　might　regain　some　wit。　It　was　possibleif　he　had　not　wished　to　grant　the　endowment　with　all　his　heart；　if　the　forcible　had　not　been　perfectly　fashioned；　if　the　facilitator　had　not　chanted　his　spells　with　precisionit　was　possible　that　he　might　even　remember　her　name。
　So　Iome　sang　to　her　father　softly　as　she　finished　cleaning　and　dressing　him。　Though　he　showed　no　signs　of　recognizing　her；　he　smiled　at　her　songs。
　Even　if　he　never　remembers　who　I　am；　Iome　told　herself；　it　will　be　worth　it　to　sing。　In　time；　he　might　learn　to　love　my　singing。
　When　she　finished　changing　him；　Iome　dressed　him　with　a　cloth　diaper　beneath　his　tunic。
　The　bailey　of　the　Dedicates'　Keep　was　filled　with　ruined　men　and　women；　people　who　had　given　endowments　the　night　before。　The　influx　had　overwhelmed　the　caretakers。　As　quickly　as　Iome　and　Chemoise　finished　caring　for　their　own　fathers；　they　began　caring　for　other　menguards　who'd　faithfully　served　House　Sylvarresta　since　childhood。
　The　cooks　got　breakfast　ready；　and　Iome　carried　plates　of　blackberry…filled　pastries　among　the　Dedicates。　She　knelt　to　waken　one　young　woman　who　slept　in　the　sunlight　beneath　a　green　blanket；　a　guard　named　Cleas；　who'd　escorted　her　on　many　a　trip　into　the　hills。
　Rarely　did　women　serve　as　guards。　Even　less　rarely　did　they　serve　as　soldiers　of　the　line。　Yet　Cleas　had　done　both　in　her　life。　She　had　endowments　of　brawn　from　eight　men；　had　been　one　of　the　strongest　swordmasters　in　Sylvarresta's　service。　Raj　Ahten　had　delighted　in　taking　the　strength　from　her。　Now　Cleas　did　not　breathe。　Sometime　during　the　night；　she'd　bee　too　weak　to　draw　breath。
　Iome　hurt　at　the　sight；　did　not　know　whether　to　feel　angry　or　grateful。　With　Cleas'　death；　fifteen　people　who　had　given　her　endowments　would　have　suddenly　bee　whole；　easing　the　overcrowding　in　the　Dedicates'　Keep。　Yet　Iome　had　lost　someone　she'd　loved。　Iome's　throat　felt　tight。　She　knelt　over　Cleas；　weeping；　looked　back。　Her　Days　stood　watching。　Iome　expected　the　woman　to　be　cold　and　dispassionate　as　ever；　her　little　V　of　a　face　tight…lipped　and　empty。　Instead；　she　could　see　lines　of　sorrow　in　her　expression。
　〃She　was　a　good　woman；　a　good　warrior；〃　Iome　said。
　〃Yes；　it　is　a　terrible　waste；〃　the　Days　agreed。
　〃Will　you　help　me　get　her　to　the　tombs？〃　Iome　asked。　〃I　know　a　vault　we　can　use；　a　place　to　honor　the　guards。　We　will　place　her　with　my　mother。〃
　The　Days　nodded　weakly。　On　such　a　dark　day；　this　small　gesture　struck　Iome　powerfully。　She　felt　grateful。
　So　Iome　finished　feeding　the　Dedicates；　then　she　and　the　Days　got　a　litter；　spread　a　blanket　over　Cleas