fs.thefirstbookofswords-第7部分

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　to　death　before　his　eyes。　Now　the　charging　men；　bandits　or　whatever　they　were；　had　joined　their　warbeasts　in　a　semicircle　round　the　beleaguered　seneschal；　and　were　calling　on　him　to　throw　down　his　sword　and　surrender。
　　　But　one　of　the　attackers'　number　had　turned　aside　from　this　important　business；　and　was　about　to　deal　with　the　yokel　who　still　stood　holding　a　sword。　The　bandit　grinned；　probably　at　the　inept　way　in　which　Kenn's　hands　gripped　the　weapon；　still　grinning；　he　stepped　forward　with　his　short　spear　ready　for　a　thrust。
　　　At　that　point　Mark's　shaking　fingers　fumbled　away　the　arrow　that　he　had　just　nocked。　He　knelt；　in　an　uncontrolled　movement　that　was　almost　a　collapse；　and　with　his　right　hand　groped　in　the　dust　of　the　road　for　the　arrow。　He　was　unable　to　take　his　eyes　from　what　was　about　to　happen　to　his　brother。
　　　A　moaning　had　for　some　moments　been　growing　in　the　air；　the　sound　of　some　voice　that　was　not　human；　perhaps　not　even　alive。　The　sound　rose；　quickly；　into　a　querulous；　unbreathing　shriek。
　　　It　issued；　Mark　realized；　from　the　sword　held　in　his　brother's　hands。　And　a　visual　phenomenon　had　grown　in　the　air　around　the　sword。　It　was　not　exactly　as　if　the　blade　were　smoking；　but　rather　as　if　the　air　around　it　had　begun　to　burn；　and　the　steel　was　drawing　threads　of　smoke　out　of　the　air　into　itself。
　　　The　spearthrust　came。　The　sound　in　the　air　abruptly　swelled　as　the　spear　entered　the　swifter　blur　made　by　the　sideways　parry　of　the　sword。　Mark　saw　the　spearhead　spinning　in　midair；　along　with　a　handsbreadth　of　cleanly　severed　shaft。　And　before　the　spearhead　fell；　Townsaver's　backhanded　passage　from　the　parry　had　torn　loose　the　chainmail　from　the　spearman　s　chest；　bursting　fine　steel　links　into　the　air　like　a　handful　of　summer　flowers'　fluff。　The　same　sweep　of　the　swordpoint　caught　the　small　shield　strapped　to　the　man's　left　arm；　and　with　a　bonebreak　snap　dragged　him　crying　into　the　air　behind　its　arc。　His　body　was　dropped　rolling　in　the　dust。
　　　Now　Mark's　groping　fingers　found　his　dropped　arrow；　and　he　rose　with　it　in　his　hand。　He　could　feel　his　own　body　moving　with　what　seemed　to　him　terrible　slowness。
　　　Townsaver　had　e　smoothly　back　to　guard　position；　the　sound　that　issued　from　it　subsiding　to　a　mere　purring　drone。　Kenn's　face　was　anguished；　his　eyes　were　fixed　in　astonishment　on　the　blade　that　grew　out　of　his　hands；　as　if　it　were　something　that　he　had　never　seen　before。　There　was　a　vibration　in　his　arms；　as　if　he　were　holding　something　that　he　could　not　control；　but　could　not　or　dared　not　drop。
　　　One　of　the　invaders；　who　must　have　been　the　warbeasts'　master；　aimed　a　gesture　toward　Kenn。　Obediently　the　orange…furred　beast　turned　and　sprang。　At　that　moment　Mark　loosed　his　arrow。　Mark　had　not　yet　learned　to　reckon　with　the　animals'　speed；　and　the　streaking　furry　form　was　out　of　the　arrow's　path　before　the　small　missile　arrived。　As　if　guided　by　some　profound　curse；　Mark's　arrow　flew　straight　on　between　two　bandits'　backs；　to　strike　the　embattled　seneschal　squarely　in　the　throat。　Without　even　a　cry；　the　Duke's　cousin　let　go　of　his　sword　and　fell。
　　　The　sword　in　Kenn's　hands　screamed；　almost　the　way　a　fast…geared　millsaw　screamed　sometimes　when　biting　a　tough　log。　Again　it　drew　its　smoking　arc；　to　meet　the　leaping　animal。　One　orange…furred　paw　leapt　…severed　in　midair；　with　a　fine　spray　of　blood。　The　same　stroke　caught　the　beast's　armored　torso；　heavier　than　a　man's。　It　went　down；　as　Mark　had　seen　a　rabbit　fall　when　hit　in　mid…leap　by　a　slinger's　stone。　Mark　was　fumbling　for　his　last　arrow　as　the　furred　body　rolled　on　its　back　with　legs　in　the　air；　claws　in　reflex　convulsions　taloning　the　air　above　its　belly。
　　　Now　three　men　had　Kenn　surrounded。　Mark；　with　his　last　arrow　nocked；　was　at　the　last　moment　afraid　to　shoot　at　any　of　them　for　fear　of　hitting　his　brother　in　their　midst。　He　saw　blades　flash　toward　his　brother；　but　Kenn　did　not　fall。　Kenn's　eyes　were　still　wide　with　bewilderment；　his　face　a　study　of　fear　and　horror。　Townsaver　sang　vicious　circles　in　the　air　around　him；　smashing　aside　brandished　weapons　right　and　left。　The　sword　seemed　to　twist　Kenn's　body　after　it；　so　that　he　had　to　leap；　turning　in　midair；　ing　down　with　feet　planted　in　the　reverse　direction。　The　sword　pulled　him　forward；　dragging　him　in　wide…stanced；　stiff…legged　strides　to　the　attack。
　　　The　sound　of　its　screaming　went　up　and　up。
　　　The　swordplay　was　much　too　fast　for　Mark　to　follow。　He　saw　another　of　the　attacking　men　go　staggering　backward　from　the　fight；　the　man's　feet　moving　in　a　reflex　effort　to　regain　balance　until　his　back　struck　a　house　wall　and　he　pitched　forward　and　lay　still。　Mark　heard　yet　another　man　cry　out；　a　gurgling　yell　for　help　and　mercy。　Mark　did　not　see　the　brindled　warbeast　leap　at　Kenn；　but　saw　the　beast　go　running　back　toward　the　riverbank；　in　a　limping　but　still　terribly　fast　flight。　It　howled　the　agony　of　its　wounds；　even　above　the　fretful　millsaw　shrieking　of　the　sword。　And　now　two　of　the　invading　men；　weaponless；　were　also　running　away；　leaving　the　village　on　divergent　paths。　Mark　got　a　close　look　at　the　face　of　one　of　them；　and　saw　wide　eyes；　wide　mouth；　an　expression　intent　on　flight　as　on　a　problem。
　　　The　other　invaders　were　all　lying　in　the　street。　Four；　five…it　seemed　impossible　to　count　exactly。
　　　Mark　looked　up　and　down　the　street；　to　west　and　east。　Only　himself　and　his　brother　were　still　standing。
　　　A　little　summer　dust　hung　in　the　air；　played　by　a　quiet　breeze。　For　a　long　moment；　nothing　else　moved。　Then　Kenn's　quivering　arms　began　to　droop；　lowering　the　sword。　The　machine…whine　that　still　proceeded　from　the　red　blade　trailed　slowly　down　into　silence。　And　now　the　atmosphere　around　the　sword　no　longer　smoked。
　　　The　swordpoint　sagged　to　the　ground。　A　moment　later；　the　whole　weapon　fell　inertly　from　Kenn's　relaxing　fingers。　Another　moment；　and　Kenn　sat　down　in　the　dust。　Mark　could　see；　now；　how　his　brother's　blood　was　soaking　out　into　his　homespun　shirt。
　　　Mechanically　replacing　his　last　arrow；　unused；　in　his　quiver；　Mark　hurried　forward　to　his　brother。　Beyond　Kenn；　Jord　still　lay　in　gory　stillness；　his　head　looked　badly　ruined　by　the　passing　blow　from　a　warbeast's　paw；　Mark　did　not　want　to　prehend　just　what　he　was　seeing　there。
　　　Farther　in　the　background；　the　blue…robed　wizard　was　raising　himself；　apparently　unhurt。　In　each　hand　the　wizard　held　a　small　object；　things　of　magic　doubtless。　His　hands　moved　round　his　body；　wiping　at　the　air。
　　　Mark　crouched　beside　his　brother　and　held　him；　not　knowing　what　else　to　do。　He　watched　helplessly　as　the　blood　welled　out　from　under　Kenn's　slashed　clothing。　The　attackers'　swords　had　reached　him　after　all；　and　more　than　once。　Kenn's　hunting　shirt　was　ghastly　now。
　　　〃Mark；〃　Kenn's　voice　was　lost；　soft；　frightened；　and　frightening　too。　〃I'm　hurt。〃
　　　〃Father！〃　Mark　cried；　calling　for　help。　It　seemed　to　him　impossible　that　his　father　would　not　react；　leap　up；　give　him　aid；　tell　him　what　to　do。　Maybe　he；　Mark；　should　run　home；　get　help　from　his　mother　and　his　sister。　But　he　couldn't　just　let　go　of　Kenn；　whose　hand　was　trying　to　grip　Mark's　arm。
　　　In　front　of　Kenn；　almost　within　touching　distance；　a　dead　bandit　crouched　as　if　in　obeisance　to　his　superior　foe。　Townsaver　had　taken　a　part　of　the　bandit's　face　away；　and　his　hands　and　his　weapons　were　piled　together　before　him　like　an　offering。　It　did　no　good　to　look　away。　There　was　something　very　similar　to　be　seen　in　every　direction。
　　　The　sword　itself　lay　in　the　street；　looking　no　more　dangerous　now　than　a　pruning　hook；　with　dust　blandly　blotting　the　wet　redness　all　along　the　blade。
　　　Mark　let　out　an　inarticulate　cry　for　help；　from　anyone；　anywhere。　He　could　feel　Kenn's　life　departing；　running　out　almost　like　water　between　his　fingers。
　　　Women　were　crying；　somewhere　in　the　distance。
　　　Someone；　walking　slowly；　came　into　Mark's　view　a　little　way　ahead　of　him。　It　was　Falkener。　〃You　shot　the　seneschal；〃　the　leather…worker　said。　〃I　saw　you。〃
　　　〃What？〃　For　a　moment　Mark　could　not　understand　what　the　man　was　saying。　And　now　the　wizard；　who　had　been　bending　over　the　body　of　Ibn　Gauthier；　came　doddering；　as　if　in　fear　or　weakness　（though　graybeard；　he　did　not　look　particularly　old）　to　where　Mark　was。　The　small　objects　he　had　been　handling；　whatever　they　were；　had　now　been　put　away。　With　what　appeared　to　Mark　to　be　unnatural　calm；　he　rested　a　hand　on　Jord's　bloody　head　and　muttered　something；　then　reached　to　do　the　same　for　Elder　Kyril　and　for　Kenn。　His　manner　was　quite　impersonal。
　　　The　women's　crying　voices　were　now　speeding　closer；　with　the　sound　of　their　running　feet。　Mark　had　not　known　that　his　mother　could　still　run　so　fast。　Mala　and　Marian；　both　of　them　dusty　with　mill…work；　threw　themselves　upon　him；　hovered　over　their　fallen　men；　began　to　examine　the　terrible　damage。
　　　〃You　shot　the　seneschal；〃　said　Falkener　to　Mark　again。
　　　This　time；　the　hovering　wizard　took　note　of　the　accusation。　With　an　oath；　he　grabbed　the　last　arrow　from　Mark's　quiver　and　strode　away；　to　pare　it　with　the　shaft　that　still　protruded　from　the　throat　of　the　Duke's　cousin。
　　　Other　villagers　were　now　appearing　in　the　street；　t