df.therunelords-第104部分

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f　a　man。
　Thus　a　slim　spot　opened　beside　Eremon；　and　now　the　facilitators　muttered　in　their　own　tongue；　〃Mazza；　halabdaoabo〃〃Here；　move　this　brick　of　camel　dung。〃
　One　man　nudged　Eremon's　stiff　legs　aside；　as　if　he　were　the　brick　in　question。　They　lay　the　new　Dedicate　beside　him。
　Eremon　stared　into　the　fat　face　of　the　eunuch　Salim　al　Daub；　not　five　inches　from　his　own。　The　fat　man　breathed　oh　so　slowly；　in　the　way　of　one　who　has　given　metabolism。　The　man　who　held　Eremon's　endowment　lay　next　to　him；　defenseless。　A　vector　for　metabolism。　A　vector；　Eremon　suspected；　for　Raj　Ahten。
　Salim　slept　a　deep　slumber　from　which　Eremon　swore　he'd　never　wake。
　A　guard　sat　in　the　wagon；　an　Invincible　on　a　stool　in　the　far　corner；　wearing　a　curved　dagger　and　bored　expression。　Eremon　could　not　risk　moving　quickly；　could　not　attract　attention；　but；　then；　he'd　not　moved　quickly　in　six　years。
　For　long　minutes　Eremon　slowly　tried　to　unclench　his　right　hand。　This　unclenching　came　hard。　He　felt　too　excited；　too　wrathful。　A　thrill　took　him；　for　if　he　could　destroy　this　man；　he　would　win　a　double　boonhis　own　endowments　back；　while　he　robbed　Raj　Ahten　of　metabolism。
　Yet　outside；　a　battle　raged。　Darkness　strobed　the　sky；　glimpsed　as　shadows　and　light　breaking　into　the　wagon。　Men　were　screaming　on　the　castle　walls。
　Eremon　wished　that　he　still　had　his　endowments　of　strength；　wished　he　could　throttle　Salim　with　supernatural　finesse。　But　those　had　been　lost　last　night。
　For　many　long　minutes　he　worked　to　open　his　damned；　useless　hand。
　Suddenly；　as　he　struggled；　Eremon　felt　a　great　burning　desire。　Strike。　Strike　now　if　you　can！
　And　as　the　thought　filled　him；　his　hand　suddenly　unclenched　as　effortlessly　as　a　flower　opening。
　　
　Chapter　51
　ON　A　MOUNTAIN　TRACK
　　
　Borenson　felt　more　than　half…crazed　when　he　rode　from　Bannisferre。　He　was　possessed；　only　partly　conscious。　He　imagined　the　havoc　he'd　wreak　upon　Raj　Ahten's　troops。
　ing　from　the　north；　he　saw　no　signs　of　battle。　Too　many　hills　and　mountains　sheltered　Longmont　from　his　view。　He　could　see　no　darkening　skies；　for　the　low　clouds　sweeping　over　the　mountains　blackened　everything。　Once　he　thought　he　heard　cries；　but　he　heard　them　distantly　and　thought　them　voices　from　some　waking　dream；　a　remnant　of　the　fantasies　of　destruction　that　played　in　his　mind。
　South　of　the　mountain　village　of　Kestrel；　he　turned　aside　on　his　trail；　spurred　his　mount　over　the　forest　track；　hoping　to　make　better　time。　He　had　hunted　these　hills　often　with　his　king。　He　was　a　bit　north　of　Groverman's　hunting　retreat；　a　lodge　both　large　and　fortable。
　He　did　not　fear　wights　or　beasts　of　the　wood。　He　feared　only　that　he'd　reach　Longmont　too　late。
　As　he　climbed　the　mountains；　the　day　turned　cold。　An　icy　drizzle　soaked　him；　made　the　mountain　trail　slippery。　Soon　rain　turned　to　sleet　and　snow；　so　that　he　lost　more　time　by　taking　this　trail　than　if　he'd　stayed　to　the　road。
　High　in　the　hills　where　aspens　bordered　a　glade；　he　saw　sign　of　a　reaver…tracks　crossing　the　wooded　trail。　The　reaver　had　dragged　something　heavy　through　here　within　the　past　few　hours；　just　before　dawn。　Red　blood　clots　lay　on　the　ground；　with　bits　of　oily　synovial　fluid　from　a　cracked　joint。　The　scuff　marks　where　the　creature　had　been　dragged　still　had　tiny　balls　of　clay　rolled　in　them。　Very　recent　marks。
　The　imprint　of　the　reaver's　track　was　nearly　three　feet　long；　two　wide。　Four　toes。　A　female。　A　big　female。
　Borenson　stayed　on　his　horse　as　he　studied　the　trail。　Among　a　jumble　of　sharp　stones　lay　some　black　hairs。　It　looked　as　if　the　reaver　had　dragged　a　carcass　across　the　road；　perhaps　a　boar。　But　the　hair　was　too　fine　for　a　boar。　Borenson　sniffed。　Bear；　definitely。　A　big　male。　As　musky　as　the　scent　of　Dunnwood's　boars；　but　not　as　dirty。
　Borenson　sniffed　again；　tried　to　catch　the　scent　of　the　reaver；　but　smelled　nothing。　Reavers　were　uncanny　in　their　ability　to　mimic　the　scent　of　their　surroundings。
　Borenson　looked　up　the　trail；　wishing　that　he　could　track　the　reaverif　only　for　a　moment。
　Myrrima　could　be　in　danger。　Mostly　likely；　Raj　Ahten　would　lay　siege　for　a　bit；　spend　the　day　resting；　preparing　for　battle。　His　occupying　army　should　arrive　soon。
　Borenson　feared　he　couldn't　possibly　reach　the　castle　before　the　siege；　couldn't　help　Myrrima。
　Then　he　had　to　consider　the　challenge　of　hunting　the　reaver。　She'd　be　up　in　the　woods；　near　the　mountaintop；　feeding　on　the　bear。　The　ground　here　was　too　cluttered　for　a　man　to　negotiate　easily：　aspen　limbs　had　blown　from　trees；　underbrush　grew　thick　and　tall　after　a　long　summer。
　Catching　her　would　be　hard。　Reavers　could　sense　movement；　feel　sound　as　a　trembling。　The　only　way　to　get　close　to　one　was　to　sneak；　ever　so　slowly；　letting　footfalls　e　at　uneven　intervals。
　For　a　moment；　Borenson　considered　following　the　reaver。
　Distantly；　as　if　a　voice　called　from　far　off；　he　felt　a　powerful　pulsion。　Strike。　Strike　now　if　you　can！
　His　king　needed　him。　Myrrima　needed　him。
　He　spurred　his　charger　over　the　mountain　trails　as　snow　began　to　pile；　the　first　of　the　season。　The　breath　of　Borenson's　warhorse　came　in　tiny　swirls　of　cloud。　His　heart　pounded。
　Tomorrow　is　the　first　day　of　Hostenfest；　the　first　day　of　the　hunt；　Borenson　realized；　and　he　started　thinking　about　this　in　order　to　keep　calm。　It　would　have　been　a　good　hunt；　with　snow　falling。　The　boars　would　have　moved　to　the　valleys；　leaving　tracks　at　the　edges　of　glades。　He'd　have　bet　with　Derrow　and　Ault　as　to　which　of　their　lords　would　first　put　a　spear　into　a　pig。
　He　longed　for　the　yapping　of　dogs；　the　deep　calls　of　the　horns。　The　nightly　feasts　beside　the　fires。
　But　I　must　strike　now；　he　thought；　spurring　his　mount　faster。　He　wished　to　strike；　wished　he　had　a　target。
　Again　he　worried　whether　he'd　killed　all　the　Dedicates　at　Castle　Sylvarresta。　I've　struck　as　I　can；　he　told　himself。　He'd　killed　all　he'd　seen；　but　some　might　have　been　taken　from　the　keep　into　the　city；　so　that　invisible　lines　of　power　still　tied　Raj　Ahten　to　Dedicates　there。
　A　battle　between　Runelords　could　be　plex。　The　number　of　endowments　played　a　great　part　in　a　battle；　as　did　the　skill　and　training　of　the　warriors。
　But　a　balance　of　traits　was　also　important。　Raj　Ahten　had　so　many　endowments；　it　seemed　almost　futile　to　slay　his　Dedicates。　But　a　strong　Runelord　stripped　of　wit　and　grace　could　bee　a　mere　lout；　nothing　in　battle。　Take　away　his　metabolism；　and　though　a　Runelord　had　ten　thousand　endowments　of　brawn；　he　moved　so　slowly　pared　to　a　balanced　soldier　that　he　might　as　well　be　a　coat　rack；　he　became　a　〃warrior　of　unfortunate　proportion。〃
　By　killing　men　in　Castle　Sylvarresta；　Borenson　had　robbed　Raj　Ahten　of　many　endowments　of　grace。　The　Runelord　had　been　hoarding　it；　had　drawn　it　from　hundreds　of　men　at　the　castle。　Which　meant　he　felt　overbalanced　in　brawn。　This　would　leave　him　muscle…bound；　lacking　agility。　Perhaps；　given　such　imbalance；　King　Orden　might　stand　a　chance　against　the　Wolf　Lord。
　So　Borenson　hoped　he'd　acplished　his　job。　He　couldn't　bear　to　think　his　inpetence　might　cost　Orden　this　battle。　Couldn't　bearcouldn't　stomach　the　shame　that　coursed　through　him　when　he　thought　of　King　Sylvarresta　and　Iome；　still　alive。
　Sparing　those　two　had　cost　the　lives　of　dozens　of　others。　Sparing　them　lent　power　to　Raj　Ahten。
　A　small　amount　of　power；　true。　But　if　Borenson　and　some　other　assassins　struck　Raj　Ahten's　Dedicates　at　the　right　time；　the　Wolf　Lord　might　reach　some　unfortunate　proportion。
　Today　I　hunt　Raj　Ahten；　Borenson　told　himself；　and　he　let　a　killing　mood　seep　through　every　muscle　and　bone；　blanket　him　like　a　cloak。
　Today　I　am　death。　Today　I　hunt　him；　and　nothing　else。
　In　his　imagination；　he　practiced　killing；　preparing　his　every　fiber；　his　every　response　for　cold　murder。　He　imagined　how　it　would　be　when　he　met　Raj　Ahten's　scouts　here；　miles　north　of　Longmont；　along　the　road。　He'd　ride　them　down；　impale　them　on　his　lance　so　that　their　warm　blood　washed　him　in　a　wave；　leaving　no　witnesses。　Then　he'd　steal　a　uniform　and　ride　pell…mell　to　the　battle　lines；　bursting　in　on　Raj　Ahten；　as　if　delivering　a　message。　His　message　would　be　death。
　The　warriors　of　Inkarra　claimed　that　War　was　a　dark　lady；　and　that　those　men　who　served　her　best　gained　her　favor。　They　claimed　she　was　a　Power；　like　Earth　or　Air；　Fire　or　Water。
　Yet　in　the　Kingdoms　of　Rofehavan；　it　was　said　that　War　was　but　one　aspect　of　Fire；　and　that　no　one　should　serve　it。
　But　the　damned　Inkarrans　should　know；　Borenson　thought。　They　were　masters　of　war。
　Borenson　had　never　sought　the　Dark　Lady's　favor；　had　never　addressed　her　before；　hut　now　a　prayer　formed　on　his　lips；　an　ancient　prayer　he'd　heard　from　others　but　never　dared　voice　himself。
　〃Take　me　in　your　arms；　Dark　Lady；　take　me。　Wrap　me　in　grave　clothes；　and　let　your　sweet　breath　lie　cold　on　my　cheeks。　Let　darkness　steal　over　me；　and　fill　me　with　your　power。　Today；　I　call　to　you。　Today；　I　am　death。〃
　As　he　rode；　Borenson　began　to　smile；　then　to　laugh　a　deep；　throaty　chuckle　that　seemed　to　rumble　from　someplace　outside　him；　to　well　up　from　the　hills　or　from　the　trees。
　　
　Chapter　52
　A　PERFECT　DAY
　　
　Orden　woke　in　pain；　unable　to　tell　how　long　ago　he　had　passed　out。　Th