srdonaldson.theillearthwar-第98部分
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Then； on the sixth day； the thirteenth since he had left Revelstone； he came to himself again after a fashion。 Scowling thunderously； he raised his head； and saw the Westron Mountains ranging above him。 High Lord Elena's party was nearing the southwest corner of Trothgard； where the Rill River climbed up into the mountains； and already the crags and snows of the range filled the whole western sky。 Trothgard lay unrolled behind him like the Lords' work exposed for review； it beamed in the sunlight as if it were confident of approbation。 Covenant frowned at it still more darkly； and turned his attention elsewhere。
The riders moved near the rim of the canyon of the Rill。 The low； incessant rush of its waters； unseen below the edge of the canyon； gave Trothgard a dimension of sound like a subliminal humming made by the mountains and hills。 All the views had a new suggestiveness； a timbre of implication。 It reminded Covenant that he was climbing into one of the high places of the Land…and he did not like high places。 But he clenched his frown to anchor the involuntary reactions of his face； and returned to Elena's side。 She gave him a smile which he could not return； and they rode on together toward the mountains。
Late that afternoon； they stopped； made camp beside a small pool near the edge of the canyon。 Water came splashing out of the mountainside directly before them； and collected in a rocky basin before pouring over the rim toward the Rill。 That pool could have served as a corner marker for Trothgard。 Immediately south of it was the Rill's canyon； on the west； the mountains seemed to spring abruptly out of the ground； like a frozen instant of ambuscade； and Kurash Plenethor lay draped northeastward across the descending terrain。 The aggressive imminence of the mountains contrasted vividly with the quiet panoply of Trothgard…and that contrast； multiplied by the lambent sound of the unseen Rill； gave the whole setting a look of surprise； an aspect or impression of suddenness。 The atmosphere around the pool carried an almost tangible sense of boundary。
Covenant did not like it。 The air contained too much crepuscular lurking。 It made him feel exposed。 And the riders were not forced to stop there； enough daylight remained for more traveling。 But the High Lord had decided to camp beside the pool。 She dismissed Amok； sent the two Bloodguard away with the Ranyhyn and Covenant's horse； then set her pot of graveling on a flat rock near the pool； and asked Covenant to leave her alone so that she could bathe。
Snorting as if the very air vexed him； he stalked off into the lee of a boulder where he was out of sight of the pool。 He sat with his back to the stone； hugged his knees； and gazed down over Trothgard。 He found the woodland hills particularly attractive as the mountain shadow began to fall across them。 The peaks seemed to exude an austere dimness which by slow
degrees submerged Trothgard's luster。 Through simple size and grandeur； they exercised precedence。 But he preferred Trothgard。 It was lower and more human。
Then the High Lord interrupted his reverie。 She had left her robe and the Staff of Law on the grass by her graveling。 Wrapped only in a blanket； and drying her hair with one corner of it； she came to join him。 Though the blanket hung about her thickly； revealing even less of her supple figure than did her robe； her presence felt more urgent than ever。 The simple movement of her limbs as she seated herself at his side exerted an unsettling influence over him。 She demanded responses。 He found that his chest hurt again； as it had at Glimmermere。
Striving to defend himself against an impossible tenderness； he flung away from the boulder； walked rapidly toward the pool。 The itching of his beard reminded him that he also seeded a bath。 The High Lord remained out of sight； Bannor and Morin were nowhere around。 He dropped his clothes by the graveling pot； and went to the pool。
The water was as cold as snow； but he thrust himself into it like a man exacting penance； and began to scrub at his flesh as if it were stained。 He attacked his scalp and cheeks until his fingertips tingled； then submerged himself until his lungs burned。 But when he pulled himself out of the water and went to the graveling for warmth； he found that he had only aggravated his difficulties。 He felt whetted； more voracious； but no cleaner。
He could not understand Elena's power over him； could not control his response。 She was an illusion； a figment； he should not be so attracted to her。 And she should not be so willing to attract him。 He was already responsible for her； his one potent act in the Land had doomed him to that。 How could she not blame him？
Moving with an intemperate jerkiness； he dried himself on one of the blankets； then draped it by the pot to dry； and began to dress。 He put on his clothes fiercely； as if he were girding for battle…laced and hauled and zipped and buckled himself into his sturdy boots； his T…shirt； his tough； protective jeans。 He
checked to be sure that he still carried his penknife and Hearthrall Tohrm's orcrest in his pockets。
When he was properly caparisoned； he went back through the twilight toward the High Lord。 He stamped his feet to warn her of his approach； but the grass absorbed his obscure vehemence； and he made no more noise than an indignant specter。
He found her standing a short distance downhill from the boulder。 She was gazing out over Trothgard。 with her arms folded across her chest； and did not turn toward him as he drew near。 For a time； he stood two steps behind her。 The sky was still too sun…pale for stars； but Trothgard lay under the premature gloaming of the mountains。 In the twilight； the face of the Lords' promise to the Land was veiled and dark。
Covenant twisted his ring； wound it on his finger as if he were tightening it to the pitch of some outbreak。 Water from his wet hair dripped into his eyes。 When he spoke； his voice was harsh with a frustration that he could neither relieve nor repress。
〃Hellfire； Elena！ I'm your father！〃
She gave no sign that she had heard him； but after a moment she said in a low； musing tone； 〃Triock son of Thuler would believe that you have been honored。 He would not utter it kindly…but his heart would speak those words； or hold that thought。 Had you not been summoned to the Land； he might have wed Lena my mother。 And he would not have taken himself to the Loresraat； for he had no yearning for knowledge …the stewardship of Stonedownor life would have sufficed for him。 But had he and Lena my mother borne a child who grew to bee High Lord of the Council of Revelstone； he would have felt honored…both elevated and humbled by his part in his daughter。
〃Hear me； Thomas Covenant。 Triock Thuler…son of Mithil Stonedown is my true father…the parent of my heart； though he is not the sire of my blood。 Lena my mother did not wed him； though he begged her to share her life with him。 She desired no other sharing …the life of your child satisfied her。 But though she would not share her life； he shared his。 He pro
vided for her and for me。 He took the place of a son with Trell Lena's father and Atiaran her mother。
〃Ah； he was a dour parent。 His heart's love ran in broken channels…yearning and grief and； yes； rage against you were diminishless for him； finding new paths when the old were turned or dammed。 But he gave to Lena my mother and to me all a father's tenderness and devotion。 Judge of him by me； Thomas Covenant。 When dreaming of you took Lena's thoughts from me…when Atiaran lost in torment her capacity to care for me； and called to herself all Trell her husband's attention…then Triock son of Thuler stood beside me。 He is my father。〃
Covenant tried to efface his emotions with acid。 〃He should have killed me when he had the chance。〃
She went on as if she had not heard him。 〃He shielded my heart from unjust demands。 He taught me that the anguishes and furies of my parents and their parents need not wrack or enrage me…that I was neither the cause nor the cure of their pain。 He taught me that my life is my own…that I could share in the care and consolation of wounds without sharing the wounds； without striving to be the master of lives o
