srdonaldson.theillearthwar-第87部分

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　made　another　mistake。　If　he　were　killed；　no　one　would　know　how　to　save　the　Warward。　His　final　plan　would　die　with　him；　and　every　man　and　woman　of　his　army　would　be　butchered　as　a　result。
　The　realization　seemed　to　push　him　over　an　edge。　He　plunged　to　his　knees。　The　sirocco　and　the　dust　were　strangling　him。
　Ruel　shouted；　〃Warmark！　Corruption　attacks！〃
　At　the　word　Corruption；　a　plete　lucidity　came　over　Troy。　Fear　filled　all　his　thoughts　with　crystalline　incisiveness。　At　once；　he　perceived　that　the　Bloodguard　was　trying　to　undo　him；　Ruel's　impenetrable　fidelity　was　a　deliberate　assault　upon　his　fitness　for　mand。
　The　understanding　made　him　reel；　but　he　reacted　lucidly；　adroitly。　He　took　one　last　look　around　him；　saw　one　or　two　figures　still　surging　back　and　forth　through　the　livid　anguish　of　the　dust。　Ruel　was　moving　to　capture　him。　Overhead；　the　dark　birds　dropped　toward　the　ruins。　Troy　picked　up　a　rock　and　climbed　to　his　feet。　When　Ruel　touched　him；　he　suddenly　gestured　away　behind　the　Bloodguard。　Ruel　turned　to　look。　Troy　hit　him　on　the　back　of　the　skull　with　the　rock。
　Then　the　Warmark　ran。　He　could　not　make　progress　against　the　wind；　so　he　worked　across　it。　The　walls　of　buildings　loomed　out　of　the　dust　at　him。　He　started　toward　a　door。
　Without　warning；　he　stumbled　into　First　Haft　Amorive。
　She　caught　at　him；　buffeted　him　with　cries　like　fear。　But　she；　too；　was　someone　faithful；　someone　who　threatened　him。　He　lunged　at　her　with　his　shoulder；　sent　her　sprawling。　Immediately；　he　dodged　into　the　maze　of　the　masterplace。
　He　fell　several　times　as　the　wind　sprang　at　him　through　unexpected　gaps　in　the　walls。　But　he　forced　himself　ahead。　The　clarity　of　his　terror　was　plete；　he　knew　what　he　had　to　do。
　After　a　swift；　chaotic　battle；　he　found　what　he　needed。　With　a　rush；　he　lurched　out　into　the　center　of　a　large；　open　space…the　remains　of　one　of　Doriendor
　Corishev's　meeting　halls。　In　this　unsheltered　expanse；　the　force　of　the　wind　belabored　him　venomously。　He　weled　it。　He　felt　a　paradoxical　glee　of　fear；　his　own　terror　delighted　him。　He　stood　like　an　exalted　fanatic　in　the　open　space；　and　looked　up　to　see　how　long　he　would　have　to　wait。
　When　he　glanced　behind　him；　his　heart　leaped。　One　of　the　birds　glided　effortlessly　toward　him；　as　if　it　were　in　total　mand　of　the　wind。　It　had　a　clear　approach　to　him。　The　ease　of　its　movement　thrilled　him；　and　he　poised　himself　to　jump　into　its　jaws。
　But　as　it　neared　him；　he　saw　that　it　carried　Ruel's　crumpled　body　in　its　mighty　talons。　He　could　see　Ruel's　flat；　dispassionate　features。　The　Bloodguard　looked　as　if　he　had　been　betrayed。
　A　convulsion　shook　Troy。　As　the　bird　swooped　toward　him；　he　remembered　who　he　was。　The　strength　of　terror　galvanized　his　muscles；　he　snatched　out　his　sword　and　struck。
　His　blow　split　the　bird's　skull。　Its　weight　bowled　him　over。　Green　blood　spewed　from　it　over　his　head　and　shoulders。　The　hot　blood　burned　him　like　a　corrosive；　and　it　smelled　so　thickly　of　attar　that　it　asphyxiated　him。　With　a　choked　cry；　he　clawed　at　his　forehead；　trying　to　tear　the　pain　away。　But　the　acid　fire　consumed　his　headband；　burned　through　his　skull　into　his　brain。　He　lost　consciousness。
　He　awoke　to　silence　and　the　darkness　of　night。
　After　a　long　lapse　of　time　like　an　interminable　scream；　he　raised　his　head。　The　wind　had　piled　dust　over　him；　and　his　movement　disturbed　it。　It　filled　his　throat　and　mouth　and　lungs。　But　he　bit　back　a　spasm　of　coughing；　and　listened　to　the　darkness。
　All　around　him；　Doriendor　Corishev　was　as　still　as　a　cairn。　The　wind　and　the　vortex　were　gone；　leaving　only　midnight　dust　and　death　to　mark　their　path。　Silence　lay　over　the　ruins　like　a　bane。
　Then　he　had　to　cough。　Gasping；　retching；　he　pushed　himself　to　his　knees。　He　sounded　explosively　loud　to　himself。　He　tried　to　control　the　violence　of　his　coughing；　but　he　was　helpless　until　the　spasm　passed。
　As　it　released　him；　he　realized　that　he　was　still　clutching　his　sword。　Instinctively；　he　tightened　his　grip　on　it。　He　cursed　his　night　blindness；　then　told　himself　that　the　darkness　was　his　only　hope。
　His　face　throbbed　painfully；　but　he　ignored　it。
　He　kept　himself　still　while　he　thought。
　This　long　after　the　vortex；　he　reasoned；　all　his　allies　were　either　dead　or　gone。　If　the　vortex　and　the　birds　had　not　killed　them；　they　had　been　swept　from　the　ruins　by　Fleshharrower's　army。　So　they　could　not　help　him。　He　did　not　know　how　much　of　that　army　had　stayed　behind　in　the　masterplace。
　And　he　could　not　see。　He　was　vulnerable　until　daylight。　Only　the　darkness　protected　him；　he　could　not　defend　himself。
　His　first　reaction　was　to　remain　where　he　was；　and　pray　that　he　was　not　discovered。　But　he　recognized　the　futility　of　that　plan。　At　best；　it　would　only　postpone　his　death。　When　dawn　came；　he　would　still　be　alone　against　an　unknown　number　of　enemies。　No；　his　one　chance　was　to　sneak　out　of　the　city　now　and　lose　himself　in　the　Wastes。　There　he　might　find　a　gully　or　hole　in　which　to　hide。
　That　escape　was　possible；　barely　possible；　because　he　had　one　advantage；　none　of　Fleshharrower's　creatures　except　the　ur…viles　could　move　through　the　ruins　at　night　as　well　as　he。　And　the　Raver　would　not　have　left　ur…viles　behind。　They　were　too　valuable。　If　Troy　could　remember　his　former　skills…his　sense　of　ambience；　his　memory　for　terrain…he　would　be　able　to　navigate　the　city。
　He　would　have　to　rely　on　his　hearing　to　warn　him　of　enemies。
　He　began　by　sliding　his　sword　quietly　into　its　scabbard。　Then　he　started　groping　his　way　over　the　hot　sand。　He　needed　to　verify　where　he　was；　and　knew　only　one　way　to　do　it。
　Nearby；　his　hands　found　a　patch　of　ground　that　felt　burned。　The　dirt　which　stuck　to　his　fingers　reeked　of　attar。　And　in　the　patch；　he　located　Ruel's　twisted　body。　His　sense　of　touch　told　him　that　Ruel　was　badly　charred。　The　dark　bird　must　have　caught　fire　when　it
　died；　and　burned　away；　leaving　the　Bloodguard's　corpse　behind。
　The　touch　of　that　place　nauseated　him；　and　he　backed　away　from　it。　He　was　sweating　heavily。　Sweat　stung　his　burns。　The　night　was　hot；　sunset　had　brought　no　relief　to　the　ruins。　Folding　his　arms　over　his　stomach；　he　climbed　to　his　feet。
　Standing　unsteadily　in　the　open；　he　tried　to　clear　his　mind　of　Ruel　and　the　bird。　He　needed　to　remember　how　to　deal　with　blindness；　how　to　orient　himself　in　the　ruins。　But　he　could　not　determine　which　way　he　had　e　into　this　open　place。　Waving　his　arms　before　him；　he　went　in　search　of　a　wall。
　His　feet　distrusted　the　ground…he　could　not　put　them　down　securely…and　he　moved　awkwardly。　His　sense　of　balance　had　deserted　him。　His　face　felt　raw；　and　sweat　seared　his　eye　sockets。　But　he　clenched　his　concentration；　and　measured　the　distance。
　In　twenty　yards；　he　reached　a　wall。　He　touched　it　at　an　angle；　promptly　squared　himself　to　it；　then　moved　along　it。　He　needed　a　gap　which　would　permit　him　to　touch　both　sides　of　the　wall。　Any　discrepancy　in　temperature　between　the　sides　would　tell　him　his　directions。
　After　twenty　more　yards；　he　arrived　in　a　corner。　Turning　at　right　angles；　he…followed　this　new　wall。　He　kept　himself　parallel　to　it　by　brushing　the　stone　with　his　fingers。　Shortly；　he　stumbled　into　some　rubble；　and　found　an　entryway。
　The　wall　here　was　thick；　but　he　could　touch　its　opposite　sides　without　stretching　his　arms。　Both　sides　felt　very　warm；　but　he　thought　he　discerned　a　slightly　higher　temperature　on　the　side　facing　back　into　the　open　space。　That　direction　was　west；　he　reasoned；　the　afternoon　sun　would　have　heated　the　west　side　of　a　wall。
　Now　he　had　to　decide　which　way　to　go。
　If　he　went　east；　he　would　be　less　likely　to　meet　enemies。　Since　they　had　not　already　found　him；　they　might　be　past　him；　and　their　search　would　move　from　east　to　west　after　the　Warward。　But　if　any　chance　of
　help　from　his　friends　or　Mehryl　remained；　it　would　be　on　the　west　side。
　The　dilemma　seemed　to　have　no　solution。　He　found　himself　shaking　his　head　and　moaning　through　his　teeth。　At　once；　he　stuffed　his　throat　with　silence。　He　decided　to　move　west　toward　Mehryl。　The　added　risk　was　preferable　to　a　safe　escape　eastward…an　escape　which　would　leave　him　alone　in　the　Southron　Wastes；　without　food　or　water　or　a　mount。
　He　leaned　against