df.therunelords-第13部分
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The Days stared down at his mug； knowing he'd said too much； needing to say one thing more。 〃Your Lordship； perhaps it is well that you do not value virtue in your friends。 You will know not to trust them。 And if you are wise； you will not trust yourself。〃
〃How so？〃 Gaborn asked； wondering。 With each Days twinned to another； they were never alone； never had the luxury of trusting themselves。 Gaborn wondered if this pairing was really an advantage。
〃Men who believe themselves to be good； who do not search their own souls； most often mit the worst atrocities。 A man who sees himself as evil will restrain himself。 It is only when we do evil in the belief that we do good that we pursue it wholeheartedly。〃
Gaborn grunted； considering。
〃If I may be so bold； Your Lordship； I'm glad you question yourself。 Men don't bee good by performing an occasional kindly deed。 You must constantly reexamine your thoughts and acts； question your virtue。〃
Gaborn stared at the thin scholar。 The man's eyes were getting glassy； and he could barely hold his head up。 His thinking seemed somewhat clearer than a mon drunk's； and he offered his advice in a kind tone。 No Days had ever offered Gaborn advice before。 It was a singular experience。
At that moment； the inn door opened。 Two more men entered； both with dark plexion； both with brown eyes。 They were dressed as merchants fresh off the road； but both wore rapiers at their side； and' both had long knives strapped at their knees。
One man smiled； one frowned。
Gaborn remembered something his father had taught him as a child。 〃In the land of Muyyatin； assassins always travel in pairs。 They talk with gestures。〃 Then Gaborn's father had taught him the assassins' codes。 One man smiling； one man frowningNo news； either good or bad。
Gaborn's eyes flicked across the room； to the two dark men in the far corner。 Like himself； they had chosen a secure position； had put their backs to the wall。
One man in the corner scratched his left ear： We have heard nothing。
The newcorners sat at a table on the far side of the room from their patriots。 One man put his hands on the table； palms down。 We wait。
Yet this man moved with a casual quickness that could only be associated with someone who had an endowment of metabolism。 Few men had such an endowmentonly highly trusted warriors。
Gaborn almost could not believe what he was seeing。 The gestures were so mon； so casual。 The speakers did not stare at one another。 Indeed； what Gaborn thought was a discussion could have been nothing。
Gaborn glanced around the room。 No one in the room could be a target for assassinsno one but him。 Yet he felt certain he was not their target。 He'd traveled in disguise all day。 Bannisferre was full of wealthy merchants and petty lordsthe assassins could be hunting one of them； or could even be tracking one of their kinsmen from the South。 Gaborn was not properly armed to fight such men。 He rose without explanation and left the inn to search for Borenson。 Just as he stood； the serving boy brought a passable dinner of roast pork and fresh bread with plums。
Gaborn left it； made his way into the streets； his Days rising drunkenly to follow after。
Whereas in the morning the city had seemed cool； invigorating； alive； now the heat of the day had intensified the odor。 The smell of evaporating urine from pack animals filled the market； along with the scents of dirt and human sweat。 The closeness of the buildings in the market held the stench in。
Gaborn hurried down the street to the stables； where an old horseman from Fleeds brought Gaborn his dun…colored stallion。 The horse neighed on seeing Gaborn； held its head high； and raised its blond tail。 It seemed as eager to be off as Gaborn did。
Reaching out a hand to stroke his horse's muzzle； Gaborn inspected the stallion。 It had been well tended。 Its coat was brushed； tail and mane plaited。 Even the teeth were clean。 Its belly was fat； and it was still chewing hay。
A few moments later； the stablemaster brought out the Days' white mule。 Though it was no force stallion with runes of power branded into its neck； the mule looked as if it had been well groomed； too。
Gaborn kept glancing over his shoulder； looking for signs of more assassins； but spotted nothing out of the ordinary here by the stables。
Gaborn asked the stablemaster； 〃Have you noticed any men ride into townmen of dark plexion； traveling in pairs？〃
The stablemaster nodded thoughtfully； as if just struck by the answer； 〃Aye； now that you mention it； four like men 'ave their horses stabled wit' me； and I seen four more ride nor'； through Hay Row。〃
〃Is this mon； to see such men？〃 Gaborn asked。
The stablemaster raised a brow。 〃To tell ye true； I would not 'ave noticed them； 'adn't you mentioned it。 But two like gentlemen galloped through town late last night； too。〃
Gaborn frowned。 Assassins all along the road； heading north。 To where？ Castle Sylvarresta； a hundred miles away？
As he left town； Gaborn became more concerned。 He took his dun stallion over the Himmeroft Bridge； a picturesque bridge of stone that spanned the broad river。 From its top； Gaborn could see large brown trout sunning in the deeper pools； rising up to leap at flies in the shallows； in the shade of the willows。 The river here was deep； with cold pools。 Peaceful。
He saw no sign of assassins here at the bridge。
On the far side of the river； the cobbles gave way to a dirt road that wound off through the country west； A side road went north。 The roads met in the woods； and bluebells grew in the woods to the north。 So late in the season； none were in bloom。 Only a couple of dead flowers stood； ragged and faded to violet。 Gaborn turned onto Bluebell Way； let the horse run。 It was a force stallion； and had runes of metabolism； brawn； grace； and wit branded on its neck； giving it the speed of three； the strength and grace of two； the wit of four。 The stallion was a field hunter by body typea spirited animal bred for running and jumping through woodland trails。 Such a beast was not made to rest in Bannisferre's stables； growing fat on grain。
The Days struggled to keep up on his own white mule； a vile creature that bit at Gaborn's stallion at every opportunity。 It soon fell far behind。
Then a bizarre thing happened： Gaborn had been riding through fields； where the newly stacked haycocks hunched beside the river。 And the fields were fairly empty； now that the heat of the day was on。
But as Gaborn topped one small hill； three miles out of Bannisferre； he suddenly found himself confronted by a low wispy fog that clung to the ground； shrouding the haycocks ahead in mist。
It was a strange sight； fog rolling in on a sunny day； in the early afternoon。 Oak trees and haycocks rose from the mist。 The fog seemed off in color； too blue。 He'd never seen the like。
Gaborn halted。 His horse whinnied； nervous at the sight。 Gaborn entered the wall of fog slowly； sniffing。
There was an odd scent in the air； something hard to define。 Gaborn had but two endowments of smell； wished he had more。 Sulfur； he thought。 Perhaps there were hot pools around； and the fog rose from those。
Gaborn spurred his horse forward； along the fields for another half…mile； and the fog grew steadily thicker； until the sun in the sky was only a single yellow eye peering through the haze。 Crows cawed in the lonely oak trees。
A mile farther； Gaborn saw a gray house through the mist。 A young woman with hair that hung out like straw was chopping wood in front of it。 She looked up。 From a distance her skin looked as rough as burlap； her features plain and skeletal； her eyes yellow and sickly。 This was one of the sisters who had given Myrrima her beauty。
He spurred his stallion； called out to the young woman。
She gasped； put one arm up to hide her face。
Gaborn rode to her； looked down with pity。 〃No need to hide。 One who diminishes herself to enlarge another is worthy of honor。 A foul face often hides a fair heart。〃
〃Myrrima is inside；〃 the girl mumbled。 She fled into the house。 Borenson quickly came out； Myrrima on his arm。
〃It is a beautiful autumn day。〃 Gaborn smiled at Borenson。 〃I smell sunbaked wheat fields on the wind； and autumn leaves； and。。。treachery。〃
Borenson gaped at the fog； perplexed。 〃I thought it was getting cloudy；〃 he said； 〃I had no idea。。。〃 He would not have been able to see the fog through the house's parchment windows。 He sniffed。 Borenson had four endowments of scent。 His nose was far keener than Gaborn's。 〃Giants。 Frowth giants。〃 He asked Myrrima； 〃Do you have many giants around here？〃
〃No；〃 she said； surprised。 〃I've never seen one。〃
〃Well； I smell them。 A lot of them；〃 Borenson said。
He looked into Gaborn's eyes。 They both knew something odd was afoot。 Gaborn had e hours ahead of schedule。
Gaborn whispered； 〃Assassins rode into town。 Muyyatin。 At least ten are on the road north to Castle Sylvarresta； but I saw none on my way here。〃
〃I'll scout this out；〃 Borenson said。 〃It could well be that someone is laying a trap for your father。 His retinue will pass through town tomorrow。〃
〃Wouldn't I be safer with you？〃 Gaborn asked。
Borenson considered； nodded。 He retrieved his own horse from behind
