rj.thepathofdaggers-第46部分

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　did　not　know　it。
　　　　　　　He　dressed　in　the　dark　and　scrubbed　his　teeth　with　salt；　needing　no　lamps；　and　when　he　left　the　tent；　stamping　his　feet　into　his　boots；　Faile　had　her　new　servants　gathered　around　her　in　the　deep　grayness　of　early　morning；　some　holding　lighted　lanterns。　A　lord's　daughter　needed　servants；　he　should　have　arranged　for　it　before　this。　There　were　Two　Rivers　folk　in　Caemlyn　that　Faile　had　trained　herself；　but　with　the　need　for　secrecy　there　had　been　no　way　to　fetch　them　along。　Master　Gill　would　want　to　go　home　as　soon　as　possible；　and　Lamgwin　and　Breane　with　him；　but　maybe　Maighdin　and　Lini　would　stay。
　　　　　　　Aram　straightened　from　where　he　had　been　sitting　cross…legged　beside　the　tent；　and　waited　silently　on　Perrin。　If　Perrin　had　not　stopped　him；　Aram　would　have　slept　across　the　entrance。　This　morning　his　coat　was　striped　red…and…white；　though　the　white　was　a　trifle　dingy；　and　even　here　that　wolfhead…pommeled　sword　hilt　rose　over　his　shoulder。　Perrin　had　left　his　axe　in　the　tent；　and　grateful　to　be　rid　of　it。　Tallanvor　still　wore　his　sword　belted　over　his　coat；　but　not　Master　Gill　or　the　other　two。
　　　　　　　Faile　must　have　been　watching；　because　no　sooner　did　Perrin　e　out　than　she　gestured　toward　the　tent；　clearly　issuing　orders。　Maighdin　and　Breane　came　bustling　past　him　and　Aram　with　lanterns；　their　jaws　set；　smelling　of　determination　for　some　reason。　Neither　curtsied；　a　pleasant　surprise。　Lini　did；　a　quick　bend　of　the　knee　before　she　darted　after　the　other　two　muttering　about　〃knowing　their　place。〃　Perrin　suspected　Lini　was　one　of　those　women　who　saw　her　〃place〃　as　being　in　charge。　e　to　think　of　it；　most　women　did。　That　was　the　way　of　the　world；　it　seemed；　not　just　the　Two　Rivers。
　　　　　　　Tallanvor　and　Lamgwin　followed　close　behind　the　women；　and　Lamgwin　was　as　serious　about　bowing　as　Tallanvor；　who　was　almost　grim。　Perrin　sighed　and　bowed　back；　and　they　both　gave　a　start；　gaping　at　him。　A　curt　shout　from　Lini　jerked　them　into　the　tent。
　　　　　　　With　only　a　quickly　flashed　smile　for　him；　Faile　strode　off　toward　the　carts；　talking　alternately　to　Basel　Gill　on　one　side　of　her　and　Sebban　Balwer　on　the　other。　The　men　each　held　a　lantern　out　to　light　her　way。　Of　course；　a　double　handful　of　those　idiots　kept　pace　where　they　could　hear　if　she　raised　her　voice；　strutting　and　stroking　sword　hilts　and　staring　about　in　the　dimness　as　though　they　expected　an　attack　or　hoped　for　one。　Perrin　tugged　at　his　short　beard。　She　always　found　plenty　of　work　to　fill　her　hours；　and　nobody　took　it　out　of　her　hands。　Nobody　would　dare。
　　　　　　　Not　so　much　as　the　first　fingers　of　dawn　showed　on　the　horizon　yet；　but　the　Cairhienin　were　beginning　to　stir　around　the　carts；　and　moving　more　quickly　the　closer　Faile　came。　By　the　time　she　reached　them；　they　appeared　to　be　trotting；　their　lanterns　bobbing　and　swinging　in　the　dimness。　The　Two　Rivers　men；　used　to　farmers'　days；　were　already　making　breakfast；　some　laughing　and　roughhousing　around　their　cook　fires；　some　grumping；　but　most　getting　the　work　done。　A　few　tried　to　stay　in　their　blankets　and　were　unceremoniously　tumbled　out。　Grady　and　Neald　were　up；　too；　as　always　off　by　themselves；　shadows　in　black　coats　among　the　trees。　Perrin　could　not　recall　seeing　them　without　those　coats；　always　buttoned　to　the　neck；　always　clean　and　unwrinkled　e　sunrise；　whatever　they　had　looked　like　the　night　before。　Stepping　through　the　forms　in　unison；　the　pair　were　practicing　the　sword　as　they　did　every　morning。　That　was　better　than　their　evening　practice；　when　they　would　sit　cross…legged；　hands　on　knees；　staring　at　some　distant　nothing。　They　never　did　anything　then　that　anyone　could　see；　yet　not　a　man　in　the　camp　but　knew　what　they　were　about　and　kept　as　far　off　as　possible。　Not　even　the　Maidens　would　step　into　their　line　of　sight　then。
　　　　　　　Something　was　missing；　Perrin　realized　with　a　start。　Faile　always　had　one　of　the　men　meet　him　first　thing　with　a　bowl　of　the　thick　porridge　they　breakfasted　on；　but　it　seemed　she　had　been　too　busy　this　morning。　Brightening；　he　hurried　toward　the　cook　fires；　hoping　at　least　to　be　able　to　dip　up　his　own　porridge　for　once。　A　small　hope。
　　　　　　　Flann　Barstere；　a　lanky　fellow　with　a　dent　in　his　chin；　met　him　halfway　and　shoved　a　carved　bowl　into　his　hands。　Flann　was　from　up　toward　Watch　Hill；　and　Perrin　did　not　know　him　well；　but　they　had　been　hunting　together　a　time　or　two；　and　once　Perrin　had　helped　him　dig　one　of　his　father's　cows　out　of　a　bog…hole　in　the　Waterwood。　〃The　Lady　Faile　told　me　to　bring　this　to　you；　Perrin；〃　Flann　said　anxiously。　〃You　won't　tell　her　I　forgot；　will　you？　You　won't　tell？　I　found　some　honey；　and　I　put　in　a　good　dollop。〃　Perrin　tried　not　to　sigh。　At　least　Flann　had　remembered　his　name。
　　　　　　　Well；　maybe　he　could　not　get　away　with　doing　the　simplest　chores　for　himself；　but　he　was　still　responsible　for　the　men　eating　beneath　the　trees。　Without　him；　they　would　be　with　their　families；　getting　ready　for　the　day's　chores　around　the　farm；　milking　cows　and　cutting　firewood　instead　of　wondering　whether　they　might　have　to　kill　or　be　killed　before　sunset。　Gulping　down　the　honeyed　porridge　quickly；　he　told　Aram　to　take　his　ease　over　breakfast；　but　the　man　looked　so　miserable　that　he　relented；　so　Aram　followed　as　he　made　his　way　around　the　camp。　The　journey　was　not　one　Perrin　enjoyed。
　　　　　　　Men　put　down　their　bowls　when　he　approached；　or　even　stood　until　he　passed。　He　gritted　his　teeth　whenever　somebody　he　had　grown　up　with；　or　worse；　a　man　who　had　sent　him　on　errands　as　a　boy；　called　him　Lord　Perrin。　Not　everyone　did；　but　too　many。　Far　too　many。　After　a　time；　he　gave　up　telling　them　to　stop　out　of　sheer　weariness；　all　too　often　the　reply　was　〃Oh！　Whatever　you　say；　Lord　Perrin。〃　It　was　enough　to　make　a　man　howl！
　　　　　　　Despite　that；　he　made　himself　pause　to　speak　a　word　or　two　to　every　man。　Mainly；　though；　he　kept　his　eyes　open。　And　his　nose。　They　all　knew　enough　to　keep　their　bows　in　good　repair　and　tend　the　fletching　and　points　on　their　arrows；　but　some　would　wear　the　soles　out　of　their　boots　or　the　bottom　out　of　their　breeches　without　noticing；　or　let　blisters　fester　because　they　could　not　be　bothered　to　do　anything　about　them　just　yet。　Several　had　the　habit　of　picking　up　brandy　when　they　could；　and　two　or　three　of　those　had　no　head　for　it　at　all。　There　had　been　a　small　village　the　day　before　reaching　Bethal　that　held　no　fewer　than　three　inns。
　　　　　　　It　was　very　strange。　Having　Mistress　Luhhan　or　his　mother　tell　him　he　needed　new　boots　or　his　breeches　mended　had　always　been　embarrassing；　and　he　was　sure　he　would　have　been　irritated　at　the　same　from　anybody　else；　but　from　grizzled　old　Jondyn　Barran　on　down；　the　Two　Rivers　men　just　said　〃Why；　right　you　are；　Lord　Perrin；　I'll　see　to　it　straight　away〃　or　some　such。　He　caught　a　number　of　them　grinning　at　one　another　when　he　moved　on。　And　they　smelled　pleased！　When　he　rooted　a　clay　jar　of　pear　brandy　out　of　Jori　Congar's　saddlebags　…　a　skinny　fellow　who　ate　twice　as　much　as　anyone　else　and　always　looked　as　if　he　had　not　had　a　bite　in　a　week；　Jori　was　a　good　shot　with　a　bow；　but　given　a　chance　he　would　drink　until　he　could　not　stand；　and　he　had　light　fingers　besides　…　Jori　gave　him　a　wide…eyed　look　and　spread　his　hands　as　if　he　did　not　know　where　the　jar　had　e　from。　But　as　Perrin　walked　on；　emptying　the　brandy　onto　the　ground；　Jori　laughed；　〃You　can't　put　anything　over　on　Lord　Perrin！〃　He　sounded　proud！　Sometimes；　Perrin　thought　he　was　the　only　sane　person　left。
　　　　　　　Another　thing；　he　noticed。　One　and　all；　they　were　very　interested　in　what　he　did　not　say。　Man　after　man　cast　an　eye　toward　the　two　banners　that　occasionally　flapped　atop　their　poles　in　a　brief　gust；　Red　Wolfhead　and　Red　Eagle。　They　eyed　the　banners　and　watched　him；　waiting　for　the　order　he　had　given　every　time　the　things　had　e　out　since　reaching　Ghealdan。　And　often　enough　before　that。　Except　that　he　had　said　nothing　yesterday；　and　he　said　nothing　today；　and　he　saw　speculation　blooming　on　men's　faces。　He　left　behind　clusters　of　men　peering　at　the　banners　and　at　him；　murmuring　excitedly　among　themselves。　He　did　not　try　to　listen。　What　would　they　say　if　he　was　wrong；　if　the　Whitecloaks　or　King　Ailron　decided　they　could　look　away　from　the　Prophet　and　the　Seanchan　long　enough　to　snuff　out　a　supposed　rebellion？　They　were　his　responsibility；　and　he　had　already　gotten　too　many　of　them　killed。
　　　　　　　The　sun　was　more　than　peeking　above　the　horizon；　spreading　a　sharp　morning　light；　by　the　time　he　finished；　and　over　at　the　tent；　Tallanvor　and　Lamgwin　were　lugging　out　chests　under　Lini's　direction；　while　Maighdin　and　Breane　appeared　to　be　sorting　the　contents　out　on　a　broad　patch　of　dead　grass；　blankets　and　linens　mainly；　and　long　bright　swaths　of　silk　satin　that　had　been　intended　to　drape　the　bed　he　had　misplaced。　Faile　must　have　been　inside；　because　that　gaggle　of　idiots　were　cooling　their　heels　not　far　off。　No　carrying　and　hauling　for　them。　Useful　as　rats　in　the　barn。
　　　　　　　Perrin　thought　about　taking　a　look　at　Stayer　and　Stepper；　but　when　he　glanced　through　the　trees　at　the　horselines；　he　was　seen。　No　fewer　than　three　of　the　farriers　stepped　out　anxiously；　watching　him。　They　were　blocky　men　in　leather　aprons；　alike　as　eggs　in　a　basket；　though　Falton　had