rj.thepathofdaggers-第9部分

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t。　Much　more　plex　than　tcheran　or　no'ri。　The　first　object　was　capture　of　the　Fisher。　Only　then　did　the　game　truly　begin。
　　　　　　　A　servant　approached；　a　slim　graceful　young　man　clad　all　in　white；　impossibly　handsome；　bowing　as　he　presented　a　crystal　goblet　on　a　silver　tray。　He　smiled；　but　it　did　not　touch　his　black　eyes；　eyes　more　lifeless　than　simply　dead。　Most　men　would　have　felt　unfortable　having　that　gaze　on　them。　Moridin　merely　took　the　goblet　and　motioned　the　servant　away。　The　vintners　of　this　time　produced　some　excellent　wines。　He　did　not　drink；　though。
　　　　　　　The　Fisher　held　his　attention；　baiting　him。　Several　pieces　had　varying　moves；　but　only　the　Fisher's　attributes　altered　according　to　where　it　stood；　on　a　white　square；　weak　in　attack　yet　agile　and　far…ranging　in　escape；　on　black；　strong　in　attack　but　slow　and　vulnerable。　When　masters　played；　the　Fisher　changed　sides　many　times　before　the　end。　The　green…and…red　goal…row　that　surrounded　the　playing　surface　could　be　threatened　by　any　piece；　but　only　the　Fisher　could　move　onto　it。　Not　that　he　was　safe；　even　there；　the　Fisher　was　never　safe。　When　the　Fisher　was　yours；　you　tried　to　move　him　to　a　square　of　your　color　behind　your　opponent's　end　of　the　board。　That　was　victory；　the　easiest　way；　but　not　the　only　one。　When　your　opponent　held　the　Fisher；　you　attempted　to　leave　him　no　choice　for　the　Fisher　but　to　move　onto　your　color。　Anywhere　at　all　along　the　goal…row　would　do；　holding　the　Fisher　could　be　more　dangerous　than　not。　Of　course；　there　was　a　third　path　to　victory　in　sha'rah；　if　you　took　it　before　letting　yourself　be　trapped。　The　game　always　degenerated　in　a　bloody　melee；　then；　victory　ing　only　with　plete　annihilation　of　your　enemy。　He　had　tried　that；　once；　in　desperation；　but　the　attempt　had　failed。　Painfully。
　　　　　　　Fury　boiled　suddenly　in　Moridin's　head；　and　black　flecks　swam　across　his　eyes　as　he　seized　the　True　Power。　Ecstasy　that　amounted　to　pain　thundered　through　him。　His　hand　closed　around　the　two　mindtraps；　and　the　True　Power　closed　around　the　Fisher；　snatching　it　into　the　air；　a　hair　from　crushing　it　to　powder；　crushing　the　powder　out　of　existence。　The　goblet　shattered　in　his　hand。　His　grip　bordered　on　crushing　the　cour'souvra。　The　saa　were　a　blizzard　of　black；　but　they　did　not　hinder　his　sight。　The　Fisher　was　always　worked　as　a　man；　a　bandage　blinding　his　eyes　and　one　hand　pressed　to　his　side；　a　few　drops　of　blood　dripping　through　his　fingers。　The　reasons；　like　the　source　of　the　name；　were　lost　in　the　mist　of　time。　That　troubled　him　sometimes；　enraged　him；　what　knowledge　might　be　lost　in　the　turnings　of　the　Wheel；　knowledge　he　needed；　knowledge　he　had　a　right　to。　A　right！
　　　　　　　Slowly　he　set　the　Fisher　back　on　the　board。　Slowly　his　fingers　uncurled　from　around　the　cour'souvra。　There　was　no　need　for　destruction。　Yet。　Icy　calm　replaced　rage　in　the　blink　of　an　eye。　Blood　and　wine　dripped　from　his　gashed　hand；　unnoticed。　Perhaps　the　Fisher　did　e　from　some　dim　remnant　of　a　memory　of　Rand　al'Thor；　the　shadow　of　a　shadow。　It　did　not　matter。　He　realized　he　was　laughing；　and　made　no　effort　to　stop。　On　the　board；　the　Fisher　stood　waiting；　but　in　the　greater　game；　al'Thor　moved　already　to　his　wishes。　And　soon；　now。。。　It　was　very　hard　to　lose　a　game　when　you　played　both　sides　of　the　board。　Moridin　laughed　so　hard　that　tears　rolled　down　his　face；　but　he　was　not　aware　of　them。
　　　　　　　
　　　　　　　
Chapter　1
　（Star　and　Birds）　
To　Keep　the　Bargain　
　　　　　　　
　　　　　　　The　Wheel　of　Time　turns；　and　Ages　e　and　pass；　leaving　memories　that　bee　legend。　Legend　fades　to　myth；　and　even　myth　is　long　forgotten　when　the　Age　that　gave　it　birth　es　again。　In　one　Age；　called　the　Third　Age　by　some；　an　Age　yet　to　e；　an　Age　long　past；　a　wind　rose　above　the　great　mountainous　island　of　Tremalking。　The　wind　was　not　the　beginning。　There　are　neither　beginnings　nor　endings　to　the　turning　of　the　Wheel　of　Time。　But　it　was　a　beginning。
　　　　　　　East　the　wind　blew　across　Tremalking；　where　the　fair…skinned　Amayar　farmed　their　fields；　and　made　fine　glass　and　porcelain；　and　followed　the　peace　of　the　Water　Way。　The　Amayar　ignored　the　world　beyond　their　scattered　islands；　for　the　Water　Way　taught　that　this　world　was　only　illusion；　a　mirrored　reflection　of　belief；　yet　some　watched　the　wind　carry　dust　and　deep　summer　heat　where　cold　winter　rains　should　be　falling；　and　they　remembered　tales　heard　from　the　Atha'an　Miere。　Tales　of　the　world　beyond；　and　what　prophecy　said　was　to　e。　Some　looked　to　a　hill　where　a　massive　stone　hand　rose　from　the　earth；　holding　a　clear　crystal　sphere　larger　than　many　houses。　The　Amayar　had　their　own　prophecies；　and　some　of　those　spoke　of　the　hand　and　the　sphere。　And　the　end　of　illusions。
　　　　　　　Onward　the　wind　blew　into　the　Sea　of　Storms；　eastward　beneath　a　searing　sun　in　a　sky　abandoned　by　clouds；　whipping　the　tops　of　green　sea　swells；　battling　winds　from　the　south　and　westward　winds；　shearing　and　swirling　as　the　waters　below　heaved。　Not　yet　the　storms　of　winter's　heart；　though　winter　should　have　been　half　gone；　much　less　the　greater　storms　of　a　dying　summer；　but　winds　and　currents　that　could　be　used　by　ocean…faring　folk　to　coast　around　the　continent　from　World's　End　to　Mayene　and　beyond；　then　back　again。　Eastward　the　wind　howled；　over　rolling　ocean　where　the　great　whales　rose　and　sounded；　and　flying　fish　soared　on　outstretched　fins　two　paces　and　more　across；　eastward；　now　whirling　north；　east　and　north；　over　small　fleets　of　fishing　ships　dragging　their　nets　in　the　shallower　seas。　Some　of　those　fishermen　stood　gaping；　hands　idle　on　the　lines；　staring　at　a　huge　array　of　tall　vessels　and　smaller　that　purposefully　rode　the　wind's　hard　breath；　shattering　swells　with　bluff　bows；　slicing　swells　with　narrow；　their　banner　a　golden　hawk　with　talons　clutching　lightning；　a　multitude　of　streaming　banners　like　portents　of　storm。　East　and　north　and　on；　and　the　wind　reached　the　broad；　ship…filled　harbor　of　Ebou　Dar；　where　hundreds　of　Sea　Folk　vessels　rode　as　they　did　in　many　ports；　awaiting　word　of　the　Coramoor；　the　Chosen　One。
　　　　　　　Across　the　harbor　the　wind　roared；　tossing　small　ships　and　large；　across　the　city　itself；　gleaming　white　beneath　the　unfettered　sun；　spires　and　walls　and　color…ringed　domes；　streets　and　canals　bustling　with　the　storied　southern　industry。　Around　the　shining　domes　and　slender　towers　of　the　Tarasin　Palace　the　wind　swirled；　carrying　the　tang　of　salt；　lifting　the　flag　of　Altara；　two　golden　leopards　on　a　field　of　red　and　blue；　and　the　banners　of　ruling　House　Mitsobar；　the　Sword　and　Anchor；　green　on　white。　Not　yet　the　storm；　but　a　harbinger　of　storms。
　　　　　　　Skin　prickled　between　Aviendha's　shoulder　blades　as　she　strode　ahead　of　her　panions　through　palace　hallways　tiled　in　dozens　of　pleasing　bright　hues。　A　sense　of　being　watched　that　she　had　last　felt　while　still　wed　to　the　spear。　Imagination；　she　told　herself。　Imagination　and　knowing　there　are　enemies　about　I　cannot　face！　Not　so　long　ago　that　crawling　sensation　had　meant　someone　might　be　intending　to　kill　her。　Death　was　nothing　to　fear　…　everyone　died；　today　or　on　another　…　but　she　did　not　want　to　die　like　a　rabbit　kicking　in　a　snare。　She　had　toh　to　meet。
　　　　　　　Servants　scurried　by　close　along　the　walls；　bobbing　bows　and　curtsies；　dropping　their　eyes　almost　as　if　they　understood　the　shame　of　the　lives　they　lived；　yet　surely　it　could　not　be　them　that　made　her　want　to　twist　her　shoulders。　She　had　tried　schooling　herself　to　see　servants；　but　even　now；　with　the　skin　creeping　on　her　back；　her　gaze　slid　around　them。　It　had　to　be　imagination；　and　nerves。　This　was　a　day　for　imagination　and　nerves。
　　　　　　　Unlike　the　servants；　rich　silk　tapestries　snagged　at　her　eye；　and　the　gilded　stand…lamps　and　ceiling　lamps　lining　the　corridors。　Paper…thin　porcelain　in　reds　and　yellows　and　greens　and　blues　stood　in　wall　niches　and　tall　openwork　cabinets　alongside　ornaments　of　gold　and　silver；　ivory　and　crystal；　scores　upon　scores　of　bowls　and　vases　and　caskets　and　statuettes。　Only　the　most　beautiful　truly　caught　her　gaze；　whatever　wetlanders　thought；　beauty　held　more　worth　than　gold。　There　was　much　beauty　here。　She　would　not　have　minded　taking　her　share　of　the　fifth　from　this　place。
　　　　　　　Vexed　with　herself；　she　frowned。　That　was　not　an　honora