rj.thepathofdaggers-第68部分

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to　what　they　had　been　before。　He　wanted　desperately　to　seize　the　Source　again　and　wring　the　One　Power　out　of　it。　Always　it　was　so　when　the　Power　left　him。
　　　　　　　No　sooner　had　saidin　gone；　though；　than　rage　bubbled　in　its　place；　white…hot　and　searing；　nearly　as　hot　as　the　Power　had　been。　The　Seanchan　were　not　enough；　and　brigands　hiding　behind　his　name？　Deadly　distractions　he　could　not　afford。　Was　Sammael　reaching　out　from　the　grave？　Had　he　sown　the　Shaido　to　sprout　like　thorns　wherever　Rand　laid　a　hand？　Why？　The　man　could　not　have　believed　he　would　die。　And　if　half　the　tales　Rand　heard　were　true；　there　were　more　in　Murandy　and　Altara　and　the　Light　alone　knew　where！　Many　among　the　Shaido　already　taken　prisoner　had　spoken　of　an　Aes　Sedai。　Could　the　White　Tower　be　involved　somehow？　Would　the　White　Tower　never　give　him　peace？　Never？　Never。
　　　　　　　Battling　fury；　he　was　blind　to　Gregorin　and　the　rest　catching　up。　When　they　topped　the　ridge　among　the　waiting　nobles；　he　drew　rein　so　abruptly　that　Tai'daishar　reared；　pawing　the　air　and　flinging　mud　from　his　hooves。　The　nobles　edged　their　mounts　back；　from　his　gelding；　from　him。
　　　　　　　〃I　gave　them　to　midday；〃　he　announced。　〃Watch　them。　I　don't　want　this　lot　breaking　into　fifty　smaller　bands　and　slipping　away。　I'll　be　in　my　tent。〃　Except　for　wind…tossed　cloaks　they　might　have　been　stone；　rooted　to　one　spot　as　if　he　meant　the　mand　to　watch　for　them　personally。　At　that　moment；　he　did　not　care　if　they　stayed　there　till　they　froze　or　melted。
　　　　　　　Without　another　word　he　trotted　down　the　back　slope　of　the　ridge；　followed　by　the　two　black…coated　Asha'man　and　his　Illianer　banner…bearers。　Fire　and　ice；　and　death　was　ing。　But　he　was　steel。　He　was　steel。
　　　　　　　
　　　　　　　
Chapter　14　
（Dragon's　Fang）　
Message　from　the　M'Hael　
　　　　　　　
　　　　　　　A　mile　west　of　the　ridge；　the　camps　began；　men　and　horses　and　cook　fires；　wind…flailed　banners　and　a　few　scattered　tents　clumped　by　nationality；　by　House；　each　camp　a　lake　of　churned　mud　separated　from　the　others　by　stretches　of　brushy　heath。　Men　mounted　and　afoot　watched　Rand's　streaming　banners　pass；　and　peered　toward　other　camps　to　gauge　reactions。　When　the　Aiel　had　been　present；　these　men　had　made　a　single　huge　camp；　driven　together　by　one　of　the　few　things　they　truly　shared　in　mon。　They　were　not　Aiel；　and　feared　them　however　much　they　denied　it。　The　world　would　die　unless　he　succeeded；　but　he　had　no　illusions　that　they　shared　any　loyalty　to　him；　or　even　believed　that　the　fate　of　the　world　could　not　be　made　to　acmodate　their　own　concerns；　their　own　desires　for　gold　or　glory　or　power。　A　handful　did；　perhaps；　a　bare　handful；　but　for　the　most　part；　they　followed　because　they　feared　him　far　more　than　they　did　the　Aiel。　Maybe　more　than　they　did　the　Dark　One；　in　whom　some　did　not　really　believe；　not　in　the　depths　of　their　hearts；　not　that　he　could　and　would　touch　the　world　harder　than　he　had　already。　Rand　stood　before　their　faces；　and　they　believed　in　that。　He　accepted　it；　now。　He　had　too　many　battles　ahead　of　him　to　waste　effort　on　one　he　could　not　win。　So　long　as　they　followed　and　obeyed；　it　had　to　be　enough。
　　　　　　　The　largest　of　the　camps　was　his　own；　and　here　Illianer　panions　in　green　coats　with　yellow　cuffs　rubbed　shoulders　with　Tairen　Defenders　of　the　Stone　in　fat…sleeved　coats　striped　black…and…gold　and　an　equal　number　of　Cairhienin　drawn　from　forty…odd　Houses；　in　dark　colors；　some　with　con　stiff　above　their　heads。　They　cooked　at　different　fires；　slept　apart；　picketed　their　horses　apart；　and　eyed　one　another　warily；　but　they　mingled。　The　safety　of　the　Dragon　Reborn　was　their　responsibility；　and　they　took　the　job　seriously。　Any　of　them　might　betray　him；　but　not　while　the　others　were　there　to　watch。　Old　hatreds　and　new　dislikes　would　bring　betrayal　of　any　plot　before　the　betrayer　stopped　to　think。
　　　　　　　A　ring　of　steel　stood　guard　around　Rand's　tent；　a　huge　peaked　thing　of　green　silk　embroidered　all　over　with　bees　in　thread…of…gold。　It　had　belonged　to　his　predecessor；　Mattin　Stepaneos；　and　had　e　with　the　crown；　in　a　manner　of　speaking。　panions　in　burnished　conical　helmets　stood　side　by　side　with　Defenders　in　helmets　ridged　and　rimmed；　and　Cairhienin　in　bell…shaped　helms；　ignoring　the　wind；　barred　faceguards　hiding　their　features；　halberds　slanted　precisely。　Not　one　moved　a　hair　when　Rand　drew　rein；　but　a　bevy　of　servants　came　running　to　attend　to　him　and　the　Asha'man。　A　bony　woman　in　the　green…and…yellow　vest　of　a　groom　from　the　Royal　Palace　in　Illian　took　his　bridle；　while　his　stirrup　was　held　by　a　bulbous…nosed　fellow　in　the　black…and…gold　livery　of　the　Stone　of　Tear。　They　tugged　forelocks　to　him；　and　cast　only　one　sharp　look　at　one　another。　Boreane　Carivin；　a　stout　pale　little　woman　in　a　dark　dress；　self…importantly　offered　him　a　silver　tray　of　damp　cloths　from　which　steam　rose。　Cairhienin；　she　watched　the　other　two；　though　more　as　if　making　sure　they　did　their　tasks　properly　than　with　the　animosity　for　each　other　they　barely　hid。　But　with　care；　still。　What　worked　with　the　soldiers　worked　with　the　servants　as　well。
　　　　　　　Drawing　off　his　gauntlets；　Rand　waved　away　Boreane's　tray。　Damer　Flinn　had　risen　from　an　ornately　carved　bench　in　front　of　the　tent　as　Rand　dismounted。　Bald　except　for　a　ragged　white　fringe；　Flinn　looked　more　a　grandfather　than　an　Asha'man。　A　leather…tough　grandfather　with　a　stiff　leg；　who　had　seen　more　of　the　world　than　a　farm。　The　sword　at　his　hip　looked　as　if　it　belonged；　as　well　it　should　on　a　former　soldier　of　the　Queen's　Guard。　Rand　trusted　him　more　than　most。　Flinn　had　saved　his　life；　after　all。
　　　　　　　Flinn　saluted；　fist　to　chest；　and　when　Rand　acknowledged　him　with　a　nod；　limped　closer　and　waited　until　the　grooms　left　with　the　horses　before　speaking　in　a　low　voice。　〃Torval's　here。　Sent　by　the　M'Hael；　he　says。　He　wanted　to　wait　in　the　council　tent。　I　told　Narishma　to　watch　him。〃　That　had　been　Rand's　mand；　though　he　was　not　sure　why　he　had　given　it；　no　one　who　came　from　the　Black　Tower　was　to　be　left　alone。　Hesitating；　Flinn　fingered　the　Dragon　on　his　black　collar。　〃He　wasn't　happy　to　hear　you'd　raised　all　of　us。〃
　　　　　　　〃Wasn't　he；　now；〃　Rand　said　softly；　tucking　his　gloves　behind　his　sword　belt。　And　because　Flinn　still　looked　uncertain；　he　added；　〃You　all　earned　it。〃　He　had　been　about　to　send　one　of　the　Asha'man　to　Taim　…　the　Leader；　the　M'Hael；　as　the　Asha'man　all　called　him　…　but　now　Torval　could　carry　the　message。　In　the　council　tent？　〃Have　refreshments　sent；〃　he　told　Flinn；　then　motioned　Hopwil　and　Dashiva　to　follow。
　　　　　　　Flinn　saluted　again；　but　Rand　was　already　striding　away；　black　mud　squelching　around　his　boots。　No　cheers　rose　for　him　in　the　blustering　wind。　He　could　recall　when　there　had　been。　If　that　was　not　one　of　Lews　Therin's　memories。　If　Lews　Therin　had　ever　been　real。　A　flash　of　color　just　beyond　the　edge　of　sight；　the　feel　of　someone　about　to　touch　him　from　behind。　With　an　effort；　he　focused　himself。
　　　　　　　The　council　tent　was　a　large　red…striped　pavilion　that　had　once　sat　on　the　Plains　of　Maredo；　now　pitched　in　the　middle　of　Rand's　encampment；　surrounded　by　thirty　paces　of　bare　ground。　There　were　never　guards　here；　not　unless　Rand　was　meeting　with　the　nobles。　Anyone　trying　to　slip　in　would　have　been　seen　instantly　by　a　thousand　prying　eyes。　Three　banners　on　tall　poles　formed　a　triangle　around　the　tent；　the　Rising　Sun　of　Cairhien；　the　Three　Crescents　of　Tear；　and　the　Golden　Bees　of　Illian；　and　above　the　crimson　roof；　higher　than　the　rest；　stood　the　Dragon　Banner；　and　the　Banner　of　Light。　The　wind　made　them　all　stand　out；　rippling　and　snapping；　and　the　tent　walls　shivered　in　the　gusts。　Inside；　colorful；　fringed　carpets　made　a　floor；　and　the　only　furniture　was　a　huge　table；　thickly　carved　and　gilded；　inlaid　with　ivory　and　turquoise。　A　jumble　of　maps　almost　hid　the　tabletop。
　　　　　　　Torval　lifted　his　head　from　the　maps；　plainly　ready　to　give　the　rough　side　of　his　tongue　to　whoever　had　barged　in　on　him。　Close　to　his　middle　years　and　tall　beside　anyone　save　Rand　or　an　Aiel；　he　stared　coldly　down　a　sharp　nose　that　practically　quivered　with　indignation。　The　Dragon　and　the　Sword　glistened　on　his　coat　collar　in　the　light　of　the　stand…lamps。　A　silk　coat；　shining　black；　cut　fine　enough　for　a　lord。　His　sword　had　silver　mountings　washed　with　gold；　and　a　glittering　red　gem　capped　the　hilt。　Another　gleamed　darkly　on　a　finger　ring。　You　could　not　train　men　to　be　weapons　without　expecting　a　certain　amount　of　arrogance；　yet　Rand　did　not　like　Torval。　But　then；　he　had　no　need　of　Lews　Therin's　voice　to　be　suspicious　of　any　man　in　a　black　coat。　How　far　did　he　truly　trust　even　Flinn？　Yet　he　had　to　lead　them。　The　Asha'man　were　his　making；　his　responsibility。
　　　　　　　When　Torval　saw　Rand；　he　straightened　casually　and　saluted；　but　his　expression　barely　changed。　He　had　had　a　sneering　mouth　the　first　time　Rand　ever　saw　him。　〃My　Lord　Dragon；〃　he　said　in　the　accents　of　Tarabon；　and　he　might　have　been　greeting　an　equal。　Or　being　gracious　to　an　inferior。　His　swaggering　bow　took　in　Hopwil　and　Dashiva　as　well。　〃I　give　congratulations　on　the　conquest　of　Illian。　A　great　victory；　yes？　There　would　have　been　wine　to　greet　you；　but　this　young。。。　Dedicated。。。　does　not　seem　to　understand　orders。〃
　　　　　　　In　the　corner；　silver　bells　on　the　ends