df.therunelords-第3部分

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h　of　its　lands；　the　hardiness　of　its　people。
　Gaborn　glanced　back　toward　his　bodyguard　Borenson。　The　streets　here　were　crowded；　made　narrow　by　the　vendors'　stalls。　A　beefy；　bronze…skinned　young　man　with　no　shirt　and　red　pants　was　herding　a　dozen　goats　through　the　throng；　whipping　them　with　a　willow　switch。　Across　the　road；　beneath　a　stone　arch　beside　the　door　to　the　inn；　Borenson　stood　grinning　broadly　at　Gaborn's　predicament。　He　was　tall　and　broad…shouldered；　with　a　balding　head　of　red　hair；　a　thick　beard；　and　laughing　blue　eyes。
　Beside　Borenson　stood　a　skeletal　fellow　with　blond　hair　cropped　short。　To　match　his　chestnut　eyes　he　wore　a　historian's　austere　brownish　robes　and　a　disapproving　scowl。　The　man；　simply　called　by　his　vocation；　Days；　was　a　chronicler　of　sortsa　devotee　of　the　Time　Lordswho　had　been　following　Gaborn　now　since　Gaborn　was　an　infant；　recording　his　every　word　and　deed。　He　took　his　name　from　the　order　of　〃the　Days。〃　Like　every　man　of　his　sect；　Days　had　given　up　his　own　name；　his　own　identity；　when　he'd　twinned　his　mind　with　that　of　another　of　his　order。　Days　watched　Gaborn　now；　keenly。　Alert；　eyes　flickering　about。　Memorizing　everything。　The　woman　who　held　Gaborn's　hand　followed　his　glance；　noting　the　bodyguard　and　Days。　A　young　merchant　lord　with　a　guard　was　mon。　One　shadowed　by　a　Days　was　rare。　It　marked　Gaborn　as　someone　of　wealth　and　import；　perhaps　the　son　of　a　guildmaster；　yet　this　woman　could　not　possibly　have　known　Gaborn's　true　identity。
　She　pulled　his　hand；　invited　him　to　stroll。　He　hesitated。　〃Do　you　see　anything　in　market　that　interests　you？〃　she　asked；　smiling。　Her　sweet　voice　was　as　inviting　as　the　cardamom…flavored　pastries　sold　here　in　the　market；　yet　slightly　mocking。　Clearly；　she　wanted　to　know　if　she　interested　him。　Yet　those　around　her　would　mistakenly　believe　she　spoke　of　the　wine　chillers。
　〃The　silver　shows　some　decent　handiwork；〃　Gaborn　said。　Using　the　powers　of　his　Voice；　he　put　a　slight　emphasis　on　hand。　Without　ever　recognizing　why；　she　would　believe　that　in　Understanding's　House；　he　had　studied　in　the　Room　of　Hands；　as　rich　merchants　did。　Let　her　believe　me　to　be　a　merchant。
　The　vendor　of　the　stall；　who　had　patiently　ignored　Gaborn　until　now；　lurched　from　under　the　shade　of　his　rectangular　umbrella；　calling；　〃The　sir　would　like　a　fine　chiller　for　the　madam？〃
　Until　a　moment　ago　Gaborn　had　seemed　only　a　merchant　boy；　one　who　might　have　reported　to　his　father　any　interesting　wares。　Now　perhaps　the　merchant　thought　him　a　newlywed；　with　a　wife　far　more　handsome　than　himself。　Merchant　lords　often　married　their　children　off　young；　seeking　monetary　alliances。
　So　the　vendor　thinks　I　must　buy　the　silver　to　humor　my　wife。　Of　course　such　a　lovely　woman　would　rule　her　household。　Since　the　merchant　did　not　know　her；　Gaborn　imagined　that　she　would　also　have　to　be　a　stranger　to　Bannisferre。　A　traveler　from　the　north？
　The　young　woman　smiled　kindly　at　the　vendor。　〃I　think　not　today；〃　she　teased。　〃You　have　some　fine　chillers；　but　we　have　better　at　home。〃　She　turned　her　back；　playing　her　role　as　wife　exquisitely。　This　is　how　it　would　be　if　we　married；　her　actions　seemed　to　say。　I'd　make　no　costly　demands。
　The　vendor's　face　fell　in　dismay。　It　was　unlikely　that　more　than　one　or　two　merchants　in　all　the　Kingdoms　of　Rofehavan　had　such　a　fine　wine　cooler。
　She　pulled　Gaborn　along。　Suddenly；　Gaborn　felt　uneasy。　In　the　far　south；　ladies　of　Indhopal　sometimes　wore　rings　or　brooches　with　poisoned　needles　in　them。　They　would　try　to　lure　wealthy　travelers　to　an　inn；　then　murder　and　rob　them。　It　could　be　that　this　beauty　had　nefarious　designs。
　Yet　he　doubted　it。　A　quick　glance　showed　that　Borenson　was　certainly　more　amused　than　concerned。　He　laughed　and　blushed；　as　if　to　ask；　And　where　do　you　think　you're　going？
　Borenson；　too；　was　a　student　of　body　languageparticularly　that　of　women。　He　never　took　risks　with　his　lord's　safety。
　The　woman　squeezed　Gaborn's　hand；　readjusting　her　grip；　holding　him　more　firmly。　Was　she　seeking　a　greater　claim　to　his　attentions？
　〃Pardon　me　if　I　seem　over　familiar；　good　sir；〃　she　said。　〃Have　you　ever　noticed　someone　from　a　distance；　and　felt　a　tug　in　your　heart？〃
　Her　touch　thrilled　him；　and　Gaborn　wanted　to　believe　that；　indeed；　she'd　seen　him　from　afar　and　fallen　in　love。
　〃No；　not　like　this；〃　he　said。　Yet　he　felt　it　a　lie。　He'd　once　fallen　in　love　from　afar。
　The　sun　shone　on　them；　the　skies　were　brilliant。　The　air　blowing　off　the　river　smelled　warm　and　sweet；　carrying　the　scent　of　hay　fields　from　across　the　shore。　On　such　a　fine　day；　how　could　anyone　feel　anything　but　invigorated；　alive？
　The　cobbles　on　the　street　here　were　smooth　with　age。　Half　a　dozen　flower　girls　strolled　barefoot　through　the　crowd；　calling　for　patrons　in　clear　voices。　They　blew　past；　a　breeze　rippling　a　wheat　field。　They　all　wore　faded　dresses　and　white　aprons。　They　held　the　centers　of　their　aprons　up　with　one　hand；　making　their　aprons　into　a　kind　of　sack；　sacks　filled　with　riotous　colorsbrilliant　burgundy　cornflowers　and　white　daisies；　long…stemmed　roses　in　deepest　reds　and　peach。　Poppies　and　bundles　of　sweet…scented　lavender。
　Gaborn　watched　the　girls　drift　by；　feeling　that　their　beauty　was　as　stunning　as　that　of　larks　in　flight；　knowing　he　would　never　forget　their　smiles。　Six　girls；　all　with　blond　or　light…brown　hair。
　His　father　was　camped　with　his　retinue　not　more　than　a　few　hours'　ride　off。　Seldom　did　his　father　let　Gaborn　wander　without　heavy　guard；　but　this　time　his　father　had　implored　him　to　take　a　little　side　excursion；　saying；　〃You　must　study　Heredon。　A　land　is　more　than　its　castles　and　soldiers。　In　Bannisferre　you　will　fall　in　love　with　this　land；　and　its　people；　as　I　have。〃
　The　young　woman　squeezed　his　hand　tighter。
　Pain　showed　in　her　brow　as　she　watched　the　flower　girls。　Gaborn　suddenly　realized　what　she　was；　how　desperately　this　young　woman　needed　him。　Gaborn　nearly　laughed；　for　he　saw　how　easily　she　could　have　bewitched　him。
　He　squeezed　her　hand；　warmly；　as　a　friend。　He　felt　certain　that　he　could　have　nothing　to　do　with　her；　yet　he　wished　her　well。
　〃My　name　is　Myrrima。。。〃　she　said；　leaving　a　silence　for　him　in　which　to　offer　his　own　name。
　〃A　beautiful　name；　for　a　beautiful　girl。〃
　〃And　you　are？〃
　〃Thrilled　by　intrigue；〃　he　said。　〃Aren't　you？〃
　〃Not　always。〃　She　smiled；　a　demand　for　his　name。
　Twenty　paces　behind；　Borenson　tapped　the　scabbard　of　his　saber　against　a　passing　goat　cart；　a　sign　that　he'd　left　his　post　at　the　hostel's　doorway　and　was　now　following。　The　Days　would　be　at　his　side。
　Myrrima　glanced　back。　〃He's　a　fine…looking　guardsman。〃
　〃A　fine　man；〃　Gaborn　agreed。
　〃You　are　traveling　on　business？　You　like　Bannisferre？〃
　〃Yes；　and　yes。〃
　She　abruptly　pulled　her　hand　away。　〃You　don't　make　mitments　easily；〃　she　said；　turning　to　face　him；　her　smile　faltering　just　a　bit。　Perhaps　she　sensed　now　that　the　chase　was　up；　that　he　would　not　marry　her。
　〃No。　Never。　Perhaps　it　is　a　weakness　in　my　character；〃　Gaborn　said。
　〃Why　not？〃　Myrrima　asked；　still　playful。　She　stopped　by　a　fountain　where　a　statue　of　Edmon　Tillerman　stood　holding　a　pot　with　three　spigots　that　poured　water　down　over　the　faces　of　three　bears。
　〃Because　lives　are　at　stake；〃　Gaborn　answered。　He　sat　at　the　edge　of　the　fountain；　glanced　into　the　pool。　Startled　by　his　presence；　huge　polliwogs　wriggled　down　into　the　green　water。　〃When　I　mit　to　someone；　I　accept　responsibility　for　them。　I　offer　my　life；　or　at　least　a　portion　of　it。　When　I　accept　someone's　mitment；　I　expect　nothing　less　than　total　mitmenttheir　livesin　return。　This　reciprocal　relationship　is。。。it　must　define　me。〃
　Myrrima　frowned；　made　uneasy　by　his　serious　tone。　〃You　are　not　a　merchant。　You。。。talk　like　a　lord！〃
　He　could　see　her　considering。　She　would　know　he　was　not　of　Sylvarresta's　line；　not　a　lord　from　Heredon。　So　he　would　have　to　be　a　foreign　dignitary；　merely　traveling　in　Heredon；　an　out…of…the…way　country；　one　of　the　farthest　north　in　all　the　Kingdoms　of　Rofehavan。
　〃I　should　have　knownyou　are　so　handsome；〃　she　said。　〃So　you're　a　Runelord；　e　to　study　our　land。　Tell　me；　do　you　like　it　enough　to　seek　betrothal　to　Princess　Iome　Sylvarresta？〃
　Gaborn　admired　the　way　that　she　drew　the　proper　conclusion。　〃I'm　surprised　at　how　green　your　land　is；　and　how　strong　your　people　are；〃　Gaborn　said。　〃It　is　richer　than　I'd　imagined。〃
　〃Will　Princess　Sylvarresta　accept　you？〃　Still；　she　was　searching　for　answers。　She　wondered　which　poor　castle　he　hailed　from。　She　sat　beside　him　on　the　edge　of　the　fountain。
　Gaborn　shrugged；　feigning　less　concern　than　he　felt。　〃I　know　her　only　by　reputation；〃　he　admitted。　〃Perhaps　you　know　her　better　than　I。　How　do　you　think　she　will　look　on　me？〃
　〃You　are　handsome　enough；〃　Myrrima　said；　frankly　studying　his　broad　shoulders；　the　long　dark…brown　hair　that　fell　from　under　his　plumed　cap。　By　now　she　must　have　realized　he　was　not　dark　enough　of　hair　to　be　from　Muyyatin；　or　any　of　the　Indhopalese　nations。
　Then　she　gasped；　eyes　going　wide。
　She　stood　up　quickly　and　stepped　back；　unsure　whether　to　remain　standing；　curtsy；　or　fall　down　and　prostrate　herself　at　his　feet。　〃Forgive　me；　Prince　OrdenI；　uhdid　not　see　your　resemblance　to　your　father！〃
　Myrrima　lurched