df.therunelords-第11部分
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ry； after all； and he was heir apparent to the wealthiest nation in Rofehavan。
〃Just go； will you？〃 Gaborn urged them； smiling。 〃If it makes you feel better； I promise that as soon as I lunch； I will go to my room and bolt the door。〃
〃We'll be back well before dark；〃 Myrrima said。
Gaborn said； 〃No； I'll seek out your home。 I'd like to meet your kind sisters； and your mother。〃
Myrrima urged； breathlessly； 〃Across the Himmeroft Bridgefour miles down the Bluebell Way； a gray cabin in the meadow。〃
Borenson shook his head adamantly。 〃No； I'll e back for you。 I won't have you riding alone。〃
〃Farewell； then； until this afternoon；〃 Gaborn said。 He watched them scurry off through the crowd； hand…in…hand； a certain lightness to their steps。
For a few moments； Gaborn stayed in the market； watching an entertainer who had trained albino doves to do all manner of aerial acrobatics； then he wandered the cobbled streets of Bannisferre； every step dogged by his Days。
In the city's center towered a dozen graystone songhouses； six and seven stories tall； with elaborate friezes and statuary about them。
On the steps of one songhouse； a handsome young woman sang a delicate aria； acpanied by woodwinds and harp。 A group of peasants crowded round。 Her voice drifted hauntingly； echoing from the tall stone buildings； mesmerizing。 She merely advertised； of course。 She hoped to attract an audience for her performance later tonight。
Gaborn decided he would attend； bring Borenson and Myrrima。
Sturdy bathhouses and gymnasiums squatted farther down the street。 On the broad avenues； several carriages could maneuver with ease。 Fine shops displayed bone china； silver goods； and gentlemen's weaponry。
Bannisferre was a young city； less than four hundred years old。 It had started simply as a meeting ground for local farmers to exchange wares； until iron was discovered along the Durkin Hills。 The ironsmiths opened a foundry； where the quality of the goods soon attracted a wealthy clientele who demanded fine acmodations and entertainment。
So Bannisferre had grown to be a center for the arts； attracting smiths who worked iron； silver； and gold； ceramists famed for their cloisonné and bone china； glassblowers who constructed bewitching mugs and vases in magnificent colorsuntil finally； the city became crowded with craftsmen and performers from all walks of life。
Bannisferre was a fine place； a city free of grime。 Now everywhere it was festooned with images of the Earth Kingelaborate wooden images； painted and dressed with loving care。 The streets had no urchins running about underfoot。 And the reeves hereabout were dressed in fine leather coats with gold brocade； as if they were just another adornment to Bannisferre； not working lawmen。
Somehow； the loveliness of this place saddened Gaborn。 The city's defenses seemed woefully inadequate。 It was built beside a river； without benefit of a fortress。 A low wall of rocks around the city would barely repel a cavalry chargeand then only if the cavalry was not riding force horses； perhaps a few soldiers could hold out for a bit in the songhouses； skirmishing among the statuary。
No； in a war； Bannisferre would be overrun； its beauty defiled。 The graceful songhouses and bathhouses were made of stone； but the stonework was wrought for ornament； not with defense in mind。 The doorways were too wide； the windows too expansive。 Even the bridges across River Dwindell were wide enough so carriages could drive across four abreast。 They could not be easily defended。
Gaborn returned to the South Market； ambled back through the cloud of honeybees into the shade of his hostel。
He intended to keep his promise to Borenson； keep safe。 He found a corner table； ordered a dinner suitable to a refined palate； then rested his feet on the table。
His Days sat across from him。 Gaborn felt like celebrating Borenson's good fortune。 He tossed a silver coin to a towheaded servant boy perhaps five years younger than himself。 〃Bring us wine。 Something sweet for the Days。 Addleberry for me。〃
〃Yes； sir；〃 the boy answered。 Gaborn looked around。 The room was fairly empty。 Three dozen chairs； but only a few of them filled。 At the far end of the room； two gentlemen of dark plexion sat talking softly about the relative virtues of different inns in town。 A few greenbottle flies wheeled in slow circles。 Outside； a pig squealed in the market。
Toward evening； the inn would fill。
The serving boy returned with two brown clay mugs and two genuine bottles of yellow glass； not the hide flasks used in the south。 Each bottle had a red wax seal over the cap； with the initial B inscribed。 It seemed a fine vintage； the bottles well aged and covered with grime。 Gaborn was not used to such nice drink。 Wine laid up in bags turned vinegary after six months。
The boy poured a draught for each man； then left the bottles on the table。 Moisture began to condense on the bottles。 They were that cold。
Gaborn studied the bottles absently； reached out with an index finger and touched the dust on a bottle； tasted the soil。 Good； sweet earth。 Good for planting。
The Days took a swallow of wine； regarded it carefully。 〃Hmmm。。。〃 he said。 〃I've never tasted anything so fine。〃 In seconds he downed the whole mug； thought a moment； then poured himself a second。
Gaborn simply stared at the Days。 He'd never seen the like。 The Days was such a sober manhe never drank to excess。 Neither did he womanize or waste time with any other form of diversion。 He was singularly mitted to his discipline； to chronicling the lives of kings on behalf of the Time Lords。 Since he was twinned with anothereach man having given the other an endowment of witthe two pleted a circle。 Both men shared a single mind； knowing the same things。 Such sharing usually led to madness； both members of the pair struggling for control of the joint minds。 But somewhere； in a monastery in the isles beyond Orwynne； Days' partner transcribed all that Days learned。 It was only because the two Days had given plete control of their own identities to their order that they both survived。
So it was odd to watch a Days guzzle wine。 It was an extraordinarily selfish act。
Gaborn tasted his own wine。 Addleberry wine was not truly made with any kind of berry； only with sweet grapes that were treated with herbssuch as vervain； evening primrose； and elderflowerthat stimulated thought and reduced the detrimental effects of alcohol。 It tasted spicier； less sweet than mon wine； and the cost tended to be prohibitive。 Its name was a jest： ironically； addleberry wine did not dull the wits； but instead stimulated them。 If one were to be intoxicated； Gaborn reasoned； it was best to be intoxicated on insight。
Here in the inn； with the pleasant smells of cooking bread and pork； Gaborn felt a little more at ease。 He took a couple of sips of wine； found it surprisingly good； but not as addictive as the vintage Days guzzled。
Yet Gaborn still worried。 Outside； an hour earlier； he'd felt an odd rush of power。 Outside； he'd just married off his bodyguard； and he'd congratulated himself on doing so。 But inside the hostel； it seemed。。。so peculiar。 An impulsive； childish thing to do。
Though he'd someday be sovereign over one of the world's great realms； under normal circumstances he'd never have dared use his position to act as a matchmaker。
Gaborn wondered。 He was shouldered with the responsibility of being a king。 But what kind of king would he make； if he did such foolish things？
In the House of Understanding； in the Room of the Heart； Hearthmaster Ibirmarle had once said； 〃Not even a Runelord can rule affairs of the heart。 Only a fool would try。〃
Yet Gaborn had convinced Borenson to take a wife。
What if he ends up hating her？ Gaborn wondered。 Will he resent what I've done？
It was such a muddling thought。 And what of Myrrima？ Would she love Borenson？
The Days began drinking his second mug of wine； downed it in a few gulps despite his attempts at restraint。
〃I did a good thing； didn't I？〃 Gaborn said。 〃I mean； Borenson is a good man； isn't he？ He'll love her。〃
The Days smiled a tight…lipped smile； watching Gaborn from slitted eyes。 〃There is a saying among our kind： Good deeds portend good fortune。〃
Gaborn considered the words 〃our kind。〃 Though the Days were human； they considered themselves as creatures apart。 Perhaps they were right。
Their service to the Time Lords required great sacrifices。 They forsook home and family； loyalties to any king。 Instead； these mysterious men and women simply studied the great lords； wrote the chronicles； published the deeds of a man's life when he died； and in all other ways remained aloof from mon politics。
Yet Gaborn did not entirely trust these watchers； with their secretive smiles。 They only feigned aloofness in the affairs of men； of that Gaborn felt certain。 Every Runelord was followed by a Days who recorded his words and deeds。 Sometimes； when two Days met； they reported to one another in coded phrases。 Gaborn's ancestors had been studying the Days for generations； trying to break their codes。
But how aloof were they really？ Gaborn suspected that the Days had sometimes betrayed secrets to enemy kings。 Certain battles
