fs.thethirdbookofswords-第12部分

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　be　at　the　moment；　you　can　probably　guess　as　well　as　I。〃
　〃I'll　take　the　Sword　on　with　me；　then；　to　the　Princess。〃　Mark　raised　his　voice；　calling　after　the　Beastlord；　Draffut；　moving　at　a　giant's　walk　considerably　faster　than　a　human　run；　was　already　growing　distant。　Mark　sighed；　swallowing　more　questions　that　were　obviously　not　going　to　be　answered　now。
　Splashing　through　the　shallow　river；　Draffut　turned　once　more；　for　just　long　enough　to　wave　farewell。　Then　he　began　to　climb　the　far　wall　of　the　great　canyon。　He　climbed　like　a　mountain　goat；　going　right　up　the　steep　rocks。　Mark　thought　he　could　see　the　rock　itself　undergoing　temporary　change；　wherever　Draffut　touched　it；　starting　to　flow　with　the　impulses　of　life。
　Then　Draffut　was　gone；　up　and　over　the　canyon　rim。
　Left　alone；　Mark　was　suddenly　exhausted。　He　stared　for　a　long　moment　at　the　Sword　left　in　his　hands。　Then　he　bent　to　enjoy；　at　last；　the　drink　he　needed　from　the　river　whose　name　he　did　not　know。　He　cooled　himself　with　splashing。　Then　he　stretched　himself　out　on　a　shady　moss；　with　Sightblinder　tucked　under　his　head；　and　slept　securely。　Any　enemy　ing　upon　him　now　would　not　see　him；　but　instead　some　person　or　thing　that　they　loved　or　feared；　or　at　any　rate　would　not　harm。　Of　course　there　might　e　a　sudden　thunderstorm　upstream；　a　canyon　flood；　and　he'd　be　drowned；　but　he　had　lived　much　of　his　life　with　greater　risks　than　that。
　Mark　did　not　awake　until　the　sun　had　dropped　behind　the　high　stone　western　wall　and　it　was　nearly　dark。　Before　the　light　had　faded　entirely；　he　managed　to　get　a　rabbit　with　one　of　his　two　remaining　arrows。　He　even　managed　to　retrieve　the　arrow　undamaged；　which　convinced　him　that　his　luck　was　definitely　improving。　After　cooking　his　rabbit　on　a　small　fire；　he　devoured　most　of　it　and　slept　again。
　It　was　deep　night　when　he　awoke　the　second　time；　and　he　lay　looking　up　at　the　stars　and　wondering　about　Draffut。　The　Beastlord　was　a　magnificent　and　unique　being；　and　it　was　small　wonder　that　most　folk　thought　he　was　a　god。　His　life　had　begun　so　long　ago　that　even　Ardneh's　struggle　with　the　demon　Orcus　was　recent　by　parison。　Mark；　holding　the　Sword　of　Stealth　while　he　looked　at　Draffut；　had　seen　that　that　was　true。
　The　Sword　had　allowed　Mark　to　see　something　more　wonderful　still。
　He　had　seen；　very　plainly；　though　only　for　a　moment；　and　in　a　mode　of　seeing　impossible　to　explain；　that　the　Beastlord　had　begun　his　long　life　as　a　dog。　A　plain；　four…footed　dog；　and　nothing　more。
　That　was　a　mystery　beyond　wondering　about。　Mark　slept　yet　again；　and　awoke　beneath　turned　stars。　Just　after　his　eyes　opened　he　saw　a　brilliant　meteor；　as　if　some　power　had　awakened　him　to　witness　it。
　He　lay　awake　for　some　time；　pondering。
　Who；　after　all；　was　the　Emperor？　And　why；　and　how　did　the　Emperor　e　to　be　aware　of　Mark；　son　of　Jord？　Of　course　Mark's　late　father　was　himself　a　minor　figure　in　legends；　through　his　unwilling　conscription　by　Vulcan　to　help　in　the　forging　of　the　Swords。　And　Mark　had　taken　part　in　the　celebrated　raid　of　four　years　ago　on　the　Blue　Temple　treasury。　But　why　should　either　of　those　dubious　claims　to　fame　have　caused　the　Emperor　to　send　him　a　Sword？
　All　the　stories　agreed　that　the　Emperor　liked　jokes。
　Mark　was　no　closer　to　an　answer　when　he　once　more　fell　asleep。
　In　the　morning　he　was　up　and　moving　early。　Soon　he　found　a　side　canyon　that　appeared　passable；　and　led　off　to　the　east。　He　refilled　his　water　bottle　before　leaving　the　river；　then　followed　the　side　canyon's　gradually　ascending　way。　When；　after　some　kilometers；　the　smaller　canyon　had　shallowed　enough　to　let　him　climb　out　of　it　easily；　he　did　so。　Now　eastern　mountains；　blue　as　if　with　forests；　were　visible　in　the　distance。　Tasavalta；　he　thought。　Or　somewhere　near　to　it。
　He　was　a　day　closer　to　those　mountains　when　he　saw　the　mounted　patrol。　He　was　sure　even　at　a　considerable　distance　that　these　riders　were　the　Dark　King's　soldiers。　He　had　fought　against　such　often　enough　to　be　able　to　distinguish　them；　he　thought；　by　no　more　than　the　fold　of　a　distant　cloak；　the　shape　of　a　spearhead　carried　high。　The　patrol　was　between　him　and　his　goal；　and　was　heading　almost　directly　toward　him；　but　he　did　not　think　that　they　had　seen　him　yet。
　Mark　had　automatically　taken　concealment　behind　a　bush　at　his　first　sight　of　the　riders；　and　he　continued　watching　them　from　hiding。　He　was　planning；　almost　unthinkingly；　how　best　to　remain　out　of　their　sight　as　they　passed；　when　he　recalled　what　Sword　it　was　that　now　swung　at　his　side。　He　had　used　Sightblinder　once　before；　and　he　trusted　its　powers　fully。
　Boldly　he　stood　up；　hand　on　the　hilt　of　the　Sword；　feeling　a　stirring　of　its　power　as　he　approached　his　enemies；　he　marched　straight　toward　the　oning　riders。　But　before　the　patrol　saw　him　they　altered　course　slightly；　perversely　turned　aside。　Mark　muttered　oaths。　If　he　had　been　helpless　and　endeavoring　to　hide；　he　thought；　they　would　have　stumbled　over　him　without　trying。
　They　were　pletely　out　of　sight　when　he　reached　their　trail；　but　he　followed　it　into　the　setting　sun；　blue　mountains　now　at　his　back。　His　messages　for　Princess　Rimac　were　really　routine。　His　soldier's　instincts　told　him　that　here　he　might　have　an　excellent　target　of　opportunity。
　An　hour　or　so　later　he　found　the　patrol；　a　dozen　tough…looking　men；　gathered　by　their　evening　fire；　which　was　large　enough　to　show　that　they　had　no　particular　fear　of　night　attack。　The　hilt　of　Sight　blinder　was　vibrating　smoothly　in　Mark's　hand　as　he　strode　into　the　firelight　to　stand　before　them。
　They　looked　up　at　him；　and　they　all　sat　still。　Hard　warriors　though　they　were；　he　could　see　that　they　were　instantly　afraid。　Of　what；　he　did　not　know；　except　that　it　was　some　image　that　they　saw　of　him。　Looking　down　at　his　own　body；　he　saw；　as　he　had　known　he　would；　himself　unchanged。
　Mark　left　it　to　them　to　break　the　silence。　At　last　one　who　was　probably　their　sergeant　stood　up；　bowed；　and　asked　him：　〃Lord；　what　will　you　have　of　us？〃
　〃In　what　direction　do　your　orders　take　you？〃　Mark's　voice；　to　his　own　ears；　sounded　no　different　than　before。
　〃Great　Lord；　we　are　bound　for　the　encampment　of　the　Dark　King　himself。　There　we　are　to　report　to　our　captain　the　results　of　our　patrol。〃
　Mark　drew　in　a　deep　breath。　〃Then　you　will　take　me　with　you。〃
　Chapter　4
　Jord　scratched　delicately　at　his　itching　arm…stump；　then　grimaced　at　the　unaccustomed　soreness　there。　He　rubbed　at　the　place；　more　delicately　still；　with　a　rough　fingertip。　There　was　some　kind　of　minor　swelling；　too。
　Not　that　he　was　plaining。　On　the　contrary。　He　was　lying　on　a　soft　couch　covered　with　fine　fabric；　in　morning　sunshine。　Birds　sang　pleasantly　nearby。　Otherwise　he　was　alone　on　the　elegant　rooftop　terrace；　largely　a　garden　of　plants　and　birds；　fresh　from　last　night's　rain。　The　terrace　covered　most　of　the　flat　roof　of　the　House　of　Courtenay。　A　plate　of　food；　second　helpings　that　Jord　had　been　unable　to　finish；　rested　on　a　small　table　at　his　side。　He　was　wearing　a　fine　white　nightshirt；　of　a　material　strange　to　him；　that　felt　as　what　he　supposed　silk　must　feel。　Well；　he'd　obviously　and　very　fortunately　reached　wealthy　and　powerful　friends；　so　none　of　these　details　were　really　all　that　surprising。
　What　did　surprise　him　…　what　left　him　in　fact　almost　numb　with　astonishment　…　was　what　had　happened　to　his　wounds。
　The　husky　men；　obviously　some　kind　of　servants；　who　had　carried　Jord　up　here　to　the　terrace　this　morning　had　told　him　that　he'd　arrived　here　at　the　House　of　Courtenay　only　last　night。　Jord　hadn't　questioned　the　servants　beyond　that；　because　he　wasn't　sure　how　much　they　knew　about　their　master's　secret　affairs；　and　about　who　he；　Jord；　really　was；　in　terms　of　his　business　here。
　Jord's　last　memories　from　last　night　were　of　being　afraid　of　bleeding　to　death；　and　of　trying　to　pound　on　the　back　door　of　his　house；　knowing　that　if　he　fainted　before　he　got　help　he'd　likely　never　to　wake　up。　Well；　he　must　have　fainted。　And　he　had　certainly　awakened；　feeling　almost　healthy；　ravenously　hungry　…　and　with　his　wounds　well　on　the　way　to　being　pletely　healed。
　The　sun；　rising　higher　now；　would　have　begun　to　grow　unfortably　hot；　but　at　just　the　proper　angle　a　leafy　bower　now