df.therunelords-第94部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


　or　forty　men。
　And　the　hope　that　Orden　offered　his　men　was　this：　that　if　he　himself　managed　to　survive　the　battle；　the　serpent　ring　would　remain　unbroken；　and　each　man　in　the　ring　would　thus　be　able　to　continue　his　life　with　some　degree　of　normalcy。
　But　still　it　was　a　dangerous　gambit。　If　any　other　man　in　the　ring　were　forced　into　battle；　that　man　might　well　draw　away　metabolism　that　Orden　needed　at　a　critical　moment；　sabotaging　Orden's　chances　in　the　fight。　Even　worse；　if　a　member　of　the　serpent　ring　were　slain；　Orden　might　find　himself　a　mere　vector　to　another　man；　might　suddenly　fall　in　battle；　unable　to　move。
　No；　if　anyone　died　in　this　battle；　it　would　best　be　the　serpent's　headOrden　himself。　For　if　Orden　died；　if　the　ring　broke；　then　the　burden　of。　metabolism　would　fall　to　the　person　who　had　granted　Orden　his　endowment。
　This　next　man　in　line　would　bee　the　new　serpent's　head。　And　he　could　continue　to　fight　Raj　Ahten's　forces；　spreading　destruction。
　Yet　even　if　Orden　won　his　battle　with　Raj　Ahten；　even　if　the　serpent　ring　remained　intact　today；　Orden　was　still　calling　upon　all　his　men　to　make　a　terrible　sacrifice。　For　at　some　time；　hopefully　on　some　distant　morning；　the　circle　would　break。　A　man　from　the　circle　would　die　in　some　battle；　or　would　fall　prey　to　illness。　When　that　happened；　all　other　vectors　would　fall　into　the　deep　slumber　of　those　who'd　given　metabolism；　with　the　exception　of　one　man；　the　new　serpent's　head；　doomed　to　age　and　die　in　a　matter　of　months。
　Regardless　of　how　the　battle　played　out　today；　every　man　in　the　ring　would　be　called　upon　to　sacrifice　some　portion　of　his　life。
　Knowing　all　this；　Orden　felt　gratified　when　his　captain　bent　low　at　the　waist；　smiling；　and　said；　〃I　would　be　pleased　to　serve　with　you；　if　you　would　have　me　in　this　ring。〃
　〃Thank　you；〃　Orden　said；　〃but　you'll　have　to　miss　this　opportunity　to　waste　your　life。　Duty　calls　you　elsewhere。〃
　Captain　Stroecker　turned　smartly　and　left　the　great　hall。　Orden　followed　him　out　to　gather　his　troops　for　battle。
　Already　his　captains　had　set　men　on　the　walls。　Artillerymen　had　pushed　the　catapults　out　from　beneath　the　protective　enclosures　in　the　towers　above　the　gates；　had　begun　firing；　testing　their　ranges　in　the　dark。　It　was　a　poor　time　for　such　tests；　but　Orden　did　not　know　if　they'd　ever　get　a　chance　to　test　the　catapults　in　daylight。
　At　that　moment；　a　horn　sounded　in　the　western　hills；　off　toward　the　road　from　Castle　Dreis。
　Orden　smiled　grimly。　So；　he　thought；　the　Earl　es　at　last；　hoping　for　a　share　of　the　treasure。
　
　Chapter　34
　THE　RUNNING　MAN
　　
　In　Khuram　it　is　said　that　a　running　man　with　a　knife　can　kill　two　thousand　men　in　a　single　night。　Borenson　worked　faster　than　that；　but　then　he　was　a　force　soldier；　and　he　carried　a　knife　in　each　hand。
　He　did　not　think　about　what　he　did；　did　not　watch　the　quivering　of　his　victims　or　listen　to　the　thrash　of　limbs　or　gurgle　of　blood。　For　most　of　the　night；　he　hurried　through　the　job　in　a　mindless　horror。
　Three　hours　after　he　entered　the　Dedicates'　Keep；　he　finished　the　deed。　It　was　inevitable　that　some　of　the　Dedicates　woke　and　fought　him。　It　was　inevitable　that　some　women　he　killed　were　beautiful；　and　some　men　were　young　and　should　have　had　full　lives　before　them。　It　was　inevitable　that　no　matter　how　hard　he　tried　to　block　the　memories　of　their　faces　from　his　mind；　moments　would　e　that　he　knew　he'd　never　forget：　a　blind　woman　clutching　at　his　surcoat；　begging　him　to　wait；　the　smile　of　a　drinking　panion　from　the　hunts；　Captain　Derrow；　who　bid　him　a　final　goodbye　with　a　knowing　wink。
　Halfway　through　the　deed；　Borenson　recognized　that　this　was　wanted　of　him；　that　Raj　Ahten　had　left　the　Dedicates　unguarded　knowing　they　would　be　killed。　He　had　no　passion　for　these　people；　valued　them　not　at　all。
　Let　friend　dispose　of　friend；　brother　raise　knife　against　brother。　Let　the　nations　of　the　North　be　torn　asunder。　That　was　what　Raj　Ahten　wanted；　and　Borenson　knew　that　even　as　he　slaughtered　these　innocents；　he　had　bee　a　tool　in　Raj　Ahten's　hand。
　Leaving　the　Dedicates　totally　unguarded　was　not　necessary。　Four　or　five　good　men　could　have　provided　some　protection。　Could　the　monster　take　such　delight　in　this？
　Borenson　felt　his　mind　tear　open　like　a　seeping　wound；　every　moment　became　a　pain。　Yet　it　was　his　duty　to　obey　his　lord　without　question。　His　duty　to　kill　these　people；　and　even　as　he　revolted　at　the　slaughter；　he　found　himself　wondering　time　and　time　again；　Have　I　killed　them　all？　Have　I　fulfilled　my　duty？　Is　this　all；　or　has　Raj　Ahten　hidden　some　of　them？
　For　if　he　could　not　reach　the　vectors　that　Raj　Ahten　had　taken；　Borenson　needed　to　kill　every　Dedicate　who　fed　Raj　Ahten's　power。
　Thus；　when　he　finally　unlocked　the　portcullis　to　the　keep；　blood　covered　Borenson　from　helm　to　boot。
　He　walked　into　Market　Street；　dropped　his　knives　to　the　pavement；　then　stood　for　a　long　time；　letting　rain　wash　over　his　face；　letting　it　wash　over　his　hands。　The　coldness　of　it　felt　good；　but　during　the　past　hours　the　blood　had　clotted　in　gobbets。　A　little　rainwater　would　not　wash　it　free。
　A　fey　mood　took　Borenson。　He　no　longer　wanted　to　be　a　soldier　for　Orden；　or　for　any　king。　His　helm　felt　too　constraining；　as　if　it　would　crush　his　head；　it　hurt　so。　He　threw　it　to　the　ground　so　that　it　rattled　and　clattered　as　it　rolled　along　the　paving　stones；　down　the　street。
　Then　he　walked　out　of　Castle　Sylvarresta。
　No　one　stopped　him。　Only　a　pitiful　guard　had　been　set。
　When　he　reached　the　city　gate；　the　young　fellow　on　guard　took　one　look　at　his　blood…covered　face　and　fell　back；　crying；　raising　his　index　finger　and　the　thumb　as　a　ward　against　ghosts。
　Borenson　shouted　a　cry　that　rang　from　the　walls；　then　ran　out　into　the　rain；　across　the　burned　fields　toward　the　distant　copse　where　he'd　hidden　his　horse。
　In　the　darkness　and　rain；　a　half…dozen　nomen　with　long　spears　made　the　mistake　of　jumping　him。　They　came　rushing　toward　him　in　a　little　vale；　leaping　from　the　blackened　earth　like　wild　things；　running　forward　with　their　longspears。
　Their　red　eyes　nearly　glowed　in　the　darkness；　and　their　thick　manes　made　them　look　somehow　wolfish。　They　snarled　and　loped　forward　on　short　legs；　sometimes　putting　a　knuckle　to　the　ground。
　For　a　moment；　Borenson　considered　letting　them　kill　him。
　But　instantly　an　image　of　Myrrima　formed　in　his　mind：　her　silk　dress　the　color　of　clouds；　the　mother…of…pearl　bs　in　her　dark　hair。　He　recalled　the　smell　of　her；　the　sound　of　her　laugh　when　he'd　kissed　her　roughly　outside　her　little　cottage。
　He　needed　her　now；　and　saw　the　nomen　as　mere　extensions　of　Raj　Ahten。　They　were　his　agents。　He'd　brought　them　here　to　kill；　and　though　Borenson's　men　had　driven　and　scattered　the　nomen　through　the　hills；　they　would　bee　a　scourge　on　this　land　for　months。
　It　did　not　matter　to　Raj　Ahten。　The　nomen　would　do　his　will　as　they　sought　to　feed　on　human　flesh。　They　would　do　all　the　killing　he'd　asked；　but　they'd　take　the　weak　firstthe　children　from　cradles；　the　women　at　their　wash。
　The　first　noman　rushed　Borenson；　hurled　its　spear　at　close　range；　so　that　the　stone　blade　shattered　against　Borenson's　mail。
　Quick　as　a　snake；　Borenson　drew　the　battle…axe　at　his　hip；　began　swinging。
　He　was　a　force　warrior　to　be　reckoned　with。　He　cleaved　the　arm　off　one　noman；　spun　and　hit　another　full　in　the　chest。
　He　began　smiling　as　he　did　so；　considered　each　move　in　the　battle。　It　was　not　enough　to　kill　the　nomen；　he　wanted　to　do　it　well；　to　turn　the　battle　into　a　dance；　a　work　of　art。　When　one　noman　rushed　him；　Borenson　slammed　his　left　mailed　fist　into　its　fangs；　then　grabbed　its　tongue　and　pulled。
　Another　tried　to　run。　Borenson　gauged　its　pace；　watched　the　bobbing　of　its　upright　ears；　and　threw　his　axe　with　all　his　might。　It　was　not　enough　to　split　the　beast's　skull；　he　wanted　to　do　it　perfectly；　to　hit　the　target　just　so；　so　the　bone　would　make　that　splitting　noise　and　part　like　a　melon。
　The　noman　went　down。　Only　two　stood；　rushing　him　as　a　pair；　spears　ready。　Without　his　endowments　of　sight；　Borenson　would　never　have　been　able　to　evade　those　black　spears。
　As　the　nomen　lunged；　Borenson　simply　slapped　the　speartips　away；　so　the　jabs　went　wide；　the