df.therunelords-第73部分

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　the　winding　road；　their　colored　tunics　making　them　look　like　a　golden　snake　twisting　through　a　black　forest。
　Chancellor　Jureem　knelt　over　the　fallen　soldier；　robes　smudged；　studying　tracks　in　the　ashes。　It　took　no　skill　to　see　what　had　happened：　One　man。　One　man　slew　his　master's　Invincible；　then　stole　his　horse；　rode　off　with　Gaborn；　King　Sylvarresta；　and　his　daughter。　Jureem　recognized　the　dead　mare　on　the　ground　nearby。　It　had　been　ridden　by　Orden's　surly　messenger。
　The　sight　sickened　him。　If　a　few　more　soldiers　had　kept　up　the　chase；　Gaborn　would　surely　have　fallen　into　their　hands。
　〃There　are　but　five　of　them；〃　Feykaald　said。　〃Heading　cross…country；　rather　than　over　the　road。　We　could　send　trackersa　dozen　or　so；　but　with　Orden's　soldiers　in　the　wood；　perhaps　we　should　just　let　them　go。。。〃
　Raj　Ahten　licked　his　lips。　Jureem　saw　that　Feykaald　couldn't　even　count。　Only　four　people　were　heading　over　the　trail。　His　master　had　lost　two　scouts　to　Gaborn　already；　along　with　war　dogs；　giants；　a　pyromancerand　now　an　Invincible。　Prince　Orden　looked　to　be　not　much　more　than　a　boy；　but　Jureem　began　to　wonder　if　he　had　secretly　taken　a　great　number　of　endowments。
　Raj　Ahten's　men　had　misjudged　King　Orden's　whelp　far　too　often。　From　the　mounts　he'd　chosen；　it　appeared　Gaborn　would　head　into　the　woods；　shun　the　highway。
　But　why？　Because　he　wanted　to　lead　Raj　Ahten　into　a　trap？　Did　the　boy　have　soldiers　hidden　in　the　forest？
　Or　did　he　merely　fear　to　travel　by　road？　Raj　Ahten　had　a　few　powerful　force　horses　left　in　his　retinue。　Fine　horses；　bred　for　the　plains　and　the　desert；　each　with　a　lineage　that　went　back　a　thousand　years。　Perhaps　the　lad　knew　his　mounts　could　not　outrun　the　Wolf　Lord's　horses　over　even　ground。
　But　Gaborn's　mountain　hunters；　running　without　armor；　with　their　thick　bones　and　strong　hindquarters；　would　be　almost　impossible　to　catch　in　this　terrain。　Jureem　suspected　that　Gaborn　and　Iome　would　know　these　woods　far　better　than　even　the　most　informed　spy。
　Jureem　drew　a　ragged　breath；　calculating　how　many　men　to　send。　Gaborn　Val　Orden　would　make　a　fine　hostage；　if　the　Wolf　Lord　found　things　at　Longmont　to　be　as　he　suspected。
　Though　the　woods　were　silent；　little　more　than　an　hour　ago　Jureem　had　heard　Orden's　war　horns　blow　in　the　Dunnwood。
　In　all　likelihood；　Gaborn　had　already　gained　the　pany　of　Orden's　soldiers；　was　surrounded　by　hundreds　of　guards。　Yet。。。he　could　not　just　let　Gaborn　go。　At　the　thought　of　Gaborn　escaping；　a　rage　burned　in　Jureem。　Mindless；　seething。
　〃We　should　send　men　to　find　the　boy；〃　Jureem　counseled。　〃Perhaps　a　hundred　of　our　best　scouts？〃
　Raj　Ahten　straightened　his　back。　〃No。　Get　twenty　of　my　best　Invincibles；　and　strip　their　horses　of　armor。　I'll　also　want　twenty　mastiffs　to　track　the　Prince。〃
　〃As　you　wish；　milord；〃　Jureem　said；　turning　away；　as　if　to　shout　the　orders　down　to　the　army　that　marched　below。　But　a　thought　hit　him。　〃Which　of　your　captains　shall　lead？〃
　〃I'll　be　the　captain；〃　Raj　Ahten；　said。　〃Hunting　the　Prince　should　prove　an　interesting　diversion。〃
　Jureem　glanced　at　him　sideways；　raising　a　single　dark　brow。　He　bowed　slightly；　in　acquiescence。　〃Do　you　think　it　wise；　milord？　Others　could　hunt　him。　Even　I　will　e。〃　The　thought　of　such　a　ride；　of　the　pain　his　buttocks　would　have　to　endure；　gave　Jureem　pause。
　〃Others　might　hunt　him；〃　Raj　Ahten　said；　〃but　none　as　tenaciously　as　I。〃
　　
　Chapter　24
　HOPE　FOR　A　RAGGED　PEOPLE
　　
　The　road　to　Longmont　turned　muddy　in　the　late　morning　as　storms　rolled　across　the　sky。　King　Orden　raced　south　all　the　way　to　the　village　of　Hayworth；　a　distance　of　ninety…eight　miles。　It　was　a　peaceful　town　spread　along　the　banks　of　the　River　Dwindell；　a　village　with　a　small　mill。　Green　hills　rolled　as　far　south　as　one　could　see；　each　hill　covered　in　broad　oaks。
　People　here　led　a　quiet　life。　Most　were　coopers　who　made　barrels　for　wine　and　grain。　In　the　spring；　when　the　river　swelled　in　flood；　one　could　often　see　men　on　rafts　made　from　hundreds　of　barrels　all　tied　together；　floating　their　goods　down　to　market。
　It　displeased　Mendellas　Orden　to　have　to　burn　the　bridge。　He'd　stopped　here　often　in　his　journeys；　savoring　the　fine　ale　brewed　in　the　Dwindell　Inn；　which　sat　beside　the　bridge　on　a　promontory；　overlooking　the　river。
　But　by　the　time　Orden　reached　town；　rain　had　soaked　the　bridge。　Great　rolling　drops　pelted　his　troops；　dripped　between　the　cracks　of　the　four…inch　planks。　His　men　tried　to　light　a　fire　where　berry　vines　grew　thick　beneath　the　north　end　of　the　bridge。　But　the　banks　of　the　river　were　steep　and　the　road　sloped　so　that　water　draining　down　the　street　became　a　veritable　creek。
　Orden　had　supposed　a　couple　of　well…oiled　torches　would　do　the　job；　but　even　they　proved　to　be　of　little　use。
　Orden　was　cursing　his　fortune　when　a　couple　of　local　boys　pulled　the　innkeeper；　old　Stevedore　Hark；　out　of　the　inn。　Orden　had　been　blessed　by　this　man's　hospitality　many　times。
　〃Here；　here；　Your　Highness；　what　are　you　and　your　men　about？〃　the　innkeeper　said　in　a　belligerent　tone；　waddling　down　the　street。　Orden's　fifteen　hundred　troops　seemed　not　to　alarm　the　innkeeper　in　the　least。　He　was　a　heavy　man　in　baggy　pants；　an　apron　over　his　broad　belly。　His　fat　face　showed　red　beneath　his　graying　beard；　and　rain　streamed　over　his　cheeks。　〃I　fear　we　must　burn　your　bridge；〃　Orden　answered。　〃Raj　Ahten　will　e　down　the　highway　tonight。　I　can't　have　him　on　my　tail。　I'll　gladly　reimburse　the　town　for　the　inconvenience。〃
　〃Oh；　I　don't　think　you'll　burn　that　bridge　any　time　soon；〃　the　innkeeper　laughed。　〃Perhaps　you'd　better　e　in　and　have　a　drink。　I　can　get　you　and　some　of　your　captains　a　nice　stew；　if　you　don't　mind　a　thin　broth。〃
　〃Why　won't　it　burn？〃　King　Orden　asked。
　〃Magic；〃　the　innkeeper　said。　〃Lightning　struck　it　fifteen　years　back；　burned　it　to　the　ground。　So　when　we　built　it　back　again；　we　had　a　water　wizard　put　a　spell　on　it。　Fire　won't　hold　to　that　wood。〃
　Orden　stood　in　the　pouring　rain；　and　the　innkeeper's　words　took　the　heart　from　him。　If　he　had　had　his　own　water　wizard；　he　could　easily　have　countered　the　spell。　But　he　had　no　water　wizard　here。　The　way　the　rain　was　falling；　perhaps　the　bridge　could　not　be　burned　anyway。
　〃We'll　have　to　chop　it　through　then；〃　Orden　said。
　〃Here　now；〃　the　innkeeper　grumbled；　〃no　call　for　that。　If　you　want　the　bridge　down；　pull　it　down；　but　leave　the　planks　so　we　can　build　it　back　again；　after　tomorrow。　We　can　store　them　over　in　the　mill。〃
　Orden　considered　his　proposition。　Stevedore　Hark　was　more　than　the　innkeeper；　Orden　recalled。　He　was　also　the　mayor；　a　man　with　a　keen　eye　for　business。　The　bridge　was　made　of　huge　planks；　bored　and　doweled　together。　Three　stone　pillars　planted　in　River　Dwindell　held　the　bridge。　Pulling　the　bridge　down　piece　by　piece　would　take　a　bit　longer；　but　with　fifteen　hundred　men　to　perform　the　labor；　it　would　e　down　fast　enough。　The　Powers　knew　that　even　his　force　horses　needed　to　rest。
　There　was　also　a　matter　of　friendship。　Orden　could　not　easily　destroy　the　man's　bridge。　If　he　did；　on　the　next　trip　through　the　town；　he'd　find　that　the　ale　had　somehow　all　gone　to　vinegar。　〃I'd　thank　you　to　get　me　some　dinner；　then；　my　old　friend；〃　Orden　said；　〃while　we　hide　the　bridge　for　you。〃
　The　bargain　was　struck。
　While　the　rain　poured　and　his　men　worked；　Orden　went　into　the　Dwindell　Inn；　and　sat　brooding　before　a　huge　fire　in　the　hearth。
　He'd　been　promised　a　quick　dinner　of　undercooked　stew；　but　half　an　hour　later；　the　master　of　the　inn　himself　brought　out　some　bread　pudding　and　a　warmed　joint　of　porkfrom　one　of　the　great　boars　that　made　hunting　in　the　Dunnwood　famous。　The　meat　smelled　delicious；　sprinkled　with　pepper　and　rosemary；　marinated　in　dark　beer；　then　baked　on　a　bed　of　carrots；　wild　mushrooms；　and　hazelnuts。　It　tasted　as　fine　as　it　smelled。
　And　of　course；　it　was　strictly　illegal。　moners　were　not　allowed　to　hunt　the　King's　boars；　Stevedore　Hark　could　have　been　whipped　for　doing　so。
　The　meat　was　a　fine　and　fitting　gift。　Though　Hark　had　obviously　hoped　to　lift　Orden's　spirits；　his　kind　gesture　had　the　opposite　effect；　throwing　Orden　into　a　dire　melancholy　that　made　him　sit　beside　the　fire；　stroking　his　beard　with　his　fingers；　won