fs.thethirdbookofswords-第3部分

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　his　feet。
　But　one　voice　in　the　council　was　still　roaring　on；　bellowing　with　monotonous　urgency。　Against　all　odds；　its　owner　was　at　last　able　to　achieve　something　like　an　attentive　silence　among　the　handful　of　deities　who　remained。
　〃Look！　Look！〃　was　all　that　voice　was　saying。　And　with　one　mighty　arm　the　roaring　god　was　pointing　steadily　downslope；　indicating　a　single；　simple　line　of　markings　in　the　snow；　tracks　that　the　mundane　wind　was　rapidly　effacing。
　There　could　be　no　doubt　about　those　markings。　They　were　a　line　of　departing　footprints；　heading　straight　down　the　mountainside；　disappearing　behind　snow…buried　rocks　before　they　had　gone　more　than　a　few　meters。　Though　they　marked　strides　too　long　and　impressions　too　broad　and　deep　to　have　been　made　by　any　human　being；　there　was　no　doubt　that　they　had　been　left　by　mortal　feet。
　Chapter　2
　The　one…armed　man　came　stumbling　along　through　midnight　rain；　following　a　twisted　cobblestone　alley　into　the　lightless　heart　of　the　great　city　of　Tashigang。　He　was　suffering　with　fresh　wounds　now　…　one　knife…gash　bleeding　in　his　side　and　another　one　in　his　knee　…　besides　the　old　maiming　loss　of　his　right　arm。　Still　he　was　better　off　than　the　man　who　had　just　attacked　him。　That　blunderer　was　some　meters　back　along　the　twisted　alley；　face　down　in　a　puddle。
　Now；　just　when　the　one…armed　man　was　about　on　the　point　of　going　down　himself；　he　steered　toward　a　wall　and　leaned　against　it。　Standing　with　his　broad　back　in　its　homespun　shirt　pressed　to　the　stone　wall　of　somebody's　house；　he　squeezed　himself　in　as　far　as　possible　under　the　thin　overhang　of　roof；　until　the　eaves　blocked　at　least　some　of　the　steady　rain　from　hitting　him　in　the　face。　The　man　felt　frightened　by　what　had　happened　to　his　knee。　From　the　way　the　injured　leg　felt　now　when　he　tried　to　put　his　weight　on　it；　he　wasn't　going　to　be　able　to　walk　much　farther。
　He　hadn't　had　a　chance　yet　to　start　worrying　about　what　might　have　happened　when　the　knife　went　into　his　side。
　The　one…armed　man　was　tall；　and　strongly　built。　Still；　by　definition；　he　was　a　cripple；　and　therefore　the　robber　…　if　that　was　all　he　had　been　…　might　have　taken　it　for　granted　that　he'd　be　easy　game。　Even　had　the　attacker　guessed　that　his　intended　victim　carried　a　good　oaken　cudgel　tucked　into　his　belt　under　his　loose　shirt；　he　could　hardly　have　predicted　how　quickly　his　quarry　would　be　able　to　draw　that　club　and　with　what　authority　he'd　use　it。
　Now；　leaning　against　the　building　for　support；　he　had　tucked　his　cudgel　away　in　his　belt　again；　and　was　pressing　his　fingers　to　his　side　under　his　shirt。　He　could　feel　the　blood　ing　out；　a　frighteningly　fast　trickle。
　Except　for　the　rain；　the　city　around　him　was　silent。　And　all　the　windows　he　could　see　through　the　rain　were　dark；　and　most　of　them　were　shuttered。　No　one　else　in　the　huge　city　appeared　to　have　taken　the　least　notice　of　the　brief　clash　he　had　just　survived。
　Or　had　he　survived　it；　air　all？　Real　walking；　he　had　to　admit；　was　no　longer　possible　on　his　damaged　knee。　For　the　present；　at　least；　he　could　still　stand　upright。　He　thought　he　must　be　near　his　destination　now；　and　it　was　essential　that　he　reach　it。　Pushing　himself　along　the　wall　that　he　was　leaning　on；　and　then　the　next　wall；　one　stone　surface　after　another；　he　stumbled　on；　hobbled　on。
　He　remembered　the　directions　he　had　been　given；　and　he　made　progress　of　a　sort。　Every　time　his　weight　came　on　the　knee　at　all　he　had　to　bite　back　an　outcry　of　pain。　And　now　dizziness；　lightheadedness；　came　welling　up　inside　his　skull。　He　clenched　his　will　like　a　fist；　gripping　the　treasure　of　consciousness；　knowing　that　if　that　slipped　from　him　now；　life　itself　was　likely　to　drain　quickly　after　it。
　His　memorized　directions　told　him　that　at　this　point　he　had　to　cross　the　alley。　Momentarily　forsaking　the　support　of　walls；　divorcing　his　mind　from　pain；　he　somehow　managed　it。
　Leaning　on　another　wall；　he　rested；　and　rebuilt　his　courage。　He'd　crawl　the　rest　of　the　way　to　get　there　if　he　had　to；　or　do　what　crawling　he　could　on　one　hand　and　one　knee。　But　once　he　went　down　to　try　crawling　he　didn't　know　he'd　ever　get　back　up　on　his　feet　again。
　At　last　the　building　that　had　been　described　to　him　as　his　goal；　the　House　of　Courtenay；　came　into　sight；　limned　by　distant　lightning。　The　description　had　been　accurate：　four　stories　tall；　flat…roofed；　half…timbered　construction　on　the　upper　levels；　stone　below。　The　house　occupied　its　own　small　block；　with　streets　or　alleys　on　every　side。　The　seeker's　first　view　was　of　the　front　of　the　building；　but　the　back　was　where　he　was　supposed　to　go　in　order　to　get　in。　Gritting　his　teeth；　not　letting　his　imagination　try　to　count　up　how　many　steps　there　might　be　yet　to　take；　he　made　the　necessary　detour。　He　splashed　through　puddles；　out　of　one　alley　and　into　an　even　narrower　one。　From　that　he　passed　to　one　so　narrow　it　was　a　mere　paved　path；　running　beside　the　softly　gurgling；　stone…channeled　Corgo。　The　surface　of　the　river；　innocent　now　of　boats；　hissed　in　the　heavier　bursts　of　rain。
　The　man　had　almost　reached　the　building　he　wanted　when　his　hurt　knee　gave　way　pletely。　He　broke　his　fall　as　best　he　could　with　his　one　arm。　Then；　painfully；　dizzily；　he　dragged　himself　along　on　his　one　arm　and　his　one　functioning　leg。　He　could　imagine　the　trail　of　blood　he　must　be　leaving。　No　matter；　the　rain　would　wash　it　all　away。
　Presently　his　slow　progress　brought　him　in　out　of　the　rain；　under　the　roof　of　a　short；　narrow　passage　that　connected　directly　with　the　door　he　wanted。　He　crawled　on　and　reached　the　narrow　door。　It　was　of　course　locked　shut。　He　propped　himself　up　in　a　sitting　position　against　it；　and　began　to　pound　on　the　door　with　the　flat　of　his　large　hand。　The　pounding　of　his　calloused　hand　seemed　to　the　man　to　be　making　no　noise　at　all。　At　first　it　felt　like　he　was　beating　uselessly；　noiselessly；　on　some　thick　solid　treetrunk。。。　and　then　it　felt　like　nothing　at　all。　There　was　no　longer　any　feeling　in　his　hand。
　Maybe　no　one　would　hear　him。　Because　he　was　no　longer　able　to　hear　anything　himself。　Not　even　the　rain　beating　on　the　flat　passage　roof。　Nor　could　he　see　anything　through　the　gathering　grayness。　Not　even　his　hand　before　his　face　。。。
　At　a　little　after　midnight　Denis　the　Quick　was　lying　awake；　listening　to　the　rain。　That　usually　made　him　sleepy；　as　long　as　he　knew　that　he　was　securely　warm　and　dry　indoors。　But　tonight　he　was　having　trouble　sleeping。　The　images　of　two　attractive　women　were　ing　and　going　like　provocative　dancers　in　his　imagination。　If　he　tried　to　concentrate　on　one；　then　the　other　intruded　as　if　jealous。　He　knew　both　women　in　real　life；　but　his　real…life　problem　was　not　that　he　had　to　choose　between　them。　No；　he　was　not　so　fortunate；　he　told　himself；　as　to　have　problems　of　just　that　kind。
　Denis　was　well　accusomed　to　the　normal　night　sounds　of　the　house。　The　sound　he　began　to　hear　now；　distracting　him　from　the　pleasant　torment　of　waking　dreams；　was　certainly　not　one　of　them。　Denis　got　up　quickly；　pulled　on　a　pair　of　trousers；　and　went　out　of　his　small　bedchamber　to　investigate。
　His　room　on　the　ground　floor　of　the　house　gave　almost　directly　on　the　main　workshop；　which　was　a　large　chamber　now　illumined　faintly　by　a　sullen　smoldering　of　coals　banked　in　the　central　forge。　Faint　ghost…gleams　of　firelight　touched　tools　around　the　forge　and　weapons　racked　on　the　walls。　Most　of　the　work　down　here　was　on　some　form　of　weaponry。
　Denis　paused　for　a　moment　beside　the　fire；　intending　to　light　a　taper　from　its　coals。　But　then　he　changed　his　mind；　and　instead　reached　up　to　the　high　wall　niche　where　the　Old　World　light　was　kept。
　The　back　door　leading　into　the　shop　from　outside　ground　level　was　fitted　with　a　special　peephole。　This　was　a　smooth　little　bulge　of　glass；　cleverly　shaped　so　that　anyone　looking　through　it　from　inside　saw　out　at　a　wide　angle。　Another　lens；　set　into　the　door　near　its　very　top；　was　there　to　let　the　precious　flameless　torch　shine　out。　Denis　now　lifted　the　antique　instrument　into　position　there　and　turned　it　on；　immediately　the　narrow　passage　just　outside　the　door　was　flooded　with　clear；　brilliant　light。　And　even　as　Denis　did　this；　the　sound　that　had　caught　his　attention　came　again；　a　faint