df.therunelords-第84部分

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　Three　hours　after　he　entered　the　Dedicates'　Keep；　he　finished　the　deed。　It　was　inevitable　that　some　of　the　Dedicates　woke　and　fought　him。　It　was　inevitable　that　some　women　he　killed　were　beautiful；　and　some　men　were　young　and　should　have　had　full　lives　before　them。　It　was　inevitable　that　no　matter　how　hard　he　tried　to　block　the　memories　of　their　faces　from　his　mind；　moments　would　e　that　he　knew　he'd　never　forget：　a　blind　woman　clutching　at　his　surcoat；　begging　him　to　wait；　the　smile　of　a　drinking　panion　from　the　hunts；　Captain　Derrow；　who　bid　him　a　final　goodbye　with　a　knowing　wink。
　Halfway　through　the　deed；　Borenson　recognized　that　this　was　wanted　of　him；　that　Raj　Ahten　had　left　the　Dedicates　unguarded　knowing　they　would　be　killed。　He　had　no　passion　for　these　people；　valued　them　not　at　all。
　Let　friend　dispose　of　friend；　brother　raise　knife　against　brother。　Let　the　nations　of　the　North　be　torn　asunder。　That　was　what　Raj　Ahten　wanted；　and　Borenson　knew　that　even　as　he　slaughtered　these　innocents；　he　had　bee　a　tool　in　Raj　Ahten's　hand。
　Leaving　the　Dedicates　totally　unguarded　was　not　necessary。　Four　or　five　good　men　could　have　provided　some　protection。　Could　the　monster　take　such　delight　in　this？
　Borenson　felt　his　mind　tear　open　like　a　seeping　wound；　every　moment　became　a　pain。　Yet　it　was　his　duty　to　obey　his　lord　without　question。　His　duty　to　kill　these　people；　and　even　as　he　revolted　at　the　slaughter；　he　found　himself　wondering　time　and　time　again；　Have　I　killed　them　all？　Have　I　fulfilled　my　duty？　Is　this　all；　or　has　Raj　Ahten　hidden　some　of　them？
　For　if　he　could　not　reach　the　vectors　that　Raj　Ahten　had　taken；　Borenson　needed　to　kill　every　Dedicate　who　fed　Raj　Ahten's　power。
　Thus；　when　he　finally　unlocked　the　portcullis　to　the　keep；　blood　covered　Borenson　from　helm　to　boot。
　He　walked　into　Market　Street；　dropped　his　knives　to　the　pavement；　then　stood　for　a　long　time；　letting　rain　wash　over　his　face；　letting　it　wash　over　his　hands。　The　coldness　of　it　felt　good；　but　during　the　past　hours　the　blood　had　clotted　in　gobbets。　A　little　rainwater　would　not　wash　it　free。
　A　fey　mood　took　Borenson。　He　no　longer　wanted　to　be　a　soldier　for　Orden；　or　for　any　king。　His　helm　felt　too　constraining；　as　if　it　would　crush　his　head；　it　hurt　so。　He　threw　it　to　the　ground　so　that　it　rattled　and　clattered　as　it　rolled　along　the　paving　stones；　down　the　street。
　Then　he　walked　out　of　Castle　Sylvarresta。
　No　one　stopped　him。　Only　a　pitiful　guard　had　been　set。
　When　he　reached　the　city　gate；　the　young　fellow　on　guard　took　one　look　at　his　blood…covered　face　and　fell　back；　crying；　raising　his　index　finger　and　the　thumb　as　a　ward　against　ghosts。
　Borenson　shouted　a　cry　that　rang　from　the　walls；　then　ran　out　into　the　rain；　across　the　burned　fields　toward　the　distant　copse　where　he'd　hidden　his　horse。
　In　the　darkness　and　rain；　a　half…dozen　nomen　with　long　spears　made　the　mistake　of　jumping　him。　They　came　rushing　toward　him　in　a　little　vale；　leaping　from　the　blackened　earth　like　wild　things；　running　forward　with　their　longspears。
　Their　red　eyes　nearly　glowed　in　the　darkness；　and　their　thick　manes　made　them　look　somehow　wolfish。　They　snarled　and　loped　forward　on　short　legs；　sometimes　putting　a　knuckle　to　the　ground。
　For　a　moment；　Borenson　considered　letting　them　kill　him。
　But　instantly　an　image　of　Myrrima　formed　in　his　mind：　her　silk　dress　the　color　of　clouds；　the　mother…of…pearl　bs　in　her　dark　hair。　He　recalled　the　smell　of　her；　the　sound　of　her　laugh　when　he'd　kissed　her　roughly　outside　her　little　cottage。
　He　needed　her　now；　and　saw　the　nomen　as　mere　extensions　of　Raj　Ahten。　They　were　his　agents。　He'd　brought　them　here　to　kill；　and　though　Borenson's　men　had　driven　and　scattered　the　nomen　through　the　hills；　they　would　bee　a　scourge　on　this　land　for　months。
　It　did　not　matter　to　Raj　Ahten。　The　nomen　would　do　his　will　as　they　sought　to　feed　on　human　flesh。　They　would　do　all　the　killing　he'd　asked；　but　they'd　take　the　weak　firstthe　children　from　cradles；　the　women　at　their　wash。
　The　first　noman　rushed　Borenson；　hurled　its　spear　at　close　range；　so　that　the　stone　blade　shattered　against　Borenson's　mail。
　Quick　as　a　snake；　Borenson　drew　the　battle…axe　at　his　hip；　began　swinging。
　He　was　a　force　warrior　to　be　reckoned　with。　He　cleaved　the　arm　off　one　noman；　spun　and　hit　another　full　in　the　chest。
　He　began　smiling　as　he　did　so；　considered　each　move　in　the　battle。　It　was　not　enough　to　kill　the　nomen；　he　wanted　to　do　it　well；　to　turn　the　battle　into　a　dance；　a　work　of　art。　When　one　noman　rushed　him；　Borenson　slammed　his　left　mailed　fist　into　its　fangs；　then　grabbed　its　tongue　and　pulled。
　Another　tried　to　run。　Borenson　gauged　its　pace；　watched　the　bobbing　of　its　upright　ears；　and　threw　his　axe　with　all　his　might。　It　was　not　enough　to　split　the　beast's　skull；　he　wanted　to　do　it　perfectly；　to　hit　the　target　just　so；　so　the　bone　would　make　that　splitting　noise　and　part　like　a　melon。
　The　noman　went　down。　Only　two　stood；　rushing　him　as　a　pair；　spears　ready。　Without　his　endowments　of　sight；　Borenson　would　never　have　been　able　to　evade　those　black　spears。
　As　the　nomen　lunged；　Borenson　simply　slapped　the　speartips　away；　so　the　jabs　went　wide；　then　he　grabbed　a　spear；　launched　himself　forward　and　spun；　impaling　both　beasts　through　the　navel。
　Both　nomen　stood　in　shock；　pinned　together。
　When　he　finished；　Borenson　stepped　back　and　observed　the　nomen。　They　knew　they　would　die。　They　couldn't　heal　from　such　a　wound。　The　creature　in　back　fainted；　dragging　its　panion　to　its　knees。
　Borenson　walked　on；　considered　the　way　he'd　fought；　the　precise　movements。　His　deed　had　been　as　close　to　poetry　or　dance　as　he　could　achieve。
　He　began　laughing；　chuckling　a　throaty　rumble；　for　this　was　the　way　war　should　have　beenmen　fighting　for　their　lives。　A　good　man　struggling　to　protect　home　and　family。
　The　skirmish　itself　somehow　seemed　more　a　balm　for　his　troubles　than　the　rain。　Borenson　retrieved　his　axe　and　helm　and　hurried　to　his　horse；　running　through　the　downpour。
　I　will　not　wash　these　hands；　he　told　himself。　I　will　not　wash　my　face；　until　I　stand　before　my　prince　and　my　king　again；　so　they　can　see　what　they　have　done。
　Thus　Borenson　took　horse　and　began　racing　through　the　darkness。　Four　miles　down　the　road　east　of　town；　he　found　a　dead　knight　of　Orden；　took　the　man's　lance。
　His　mount　could　not　equal　Gaborn's　fine　hunter。　But　the　road　was　clear；　if　somewhat　muddy；　and　on　a　night　like　this；　with　rain　to　cool　them；　Borenson's　horse　could　run　forever。
　So　Borenson　raced　over　the　hills　until　the　rain　stopped　and　the　clouds　dispelled　and　stars　shone　bright　and　clean。
　He'd　planned　to　head　to　Longmont。　But　when　the　road　branched　both　east　and　south；　the　fey　mood　was　still　on　him；　and　he　suddenly　turned　east；　toward　Bannisferre。
　Dawn　found　him　riding　over　green　fields　that　held　no　sign　of　war；　through　vineyards　twenty　miles　north　of　Bannisferre　where　young　women　stooped　to　fill　baskets　of　ripe　grapes。
　He　stopped　in　such　a　field　and　ate；　found　the　grapes　dripping　with　water　from　the　night's　rain；　they　tasted　as　succulent　as　the　first　grape　must　have　tasted　to　the　first　man　who　ate　it。
　The　river　here　was　wide；　a　broad　silver　ribbon　gleaming　beneath　the　green　fields。　Borenson　had　thought　last　night　to　leave　himself　bloody；　but　now　he　did　not　want　Myrrima　to　see　him　this　way；　to　ever　guess　what　he'd　done。
　He　went　down　to　the　river　and　swam；　naked；　unmindful　of　the　pig　farmers　who　herded　animals　past　on　the　road。
　When　the　sun　dried　him；　Borenson　put　on　his　armor；　but　threw　his　bloodied　surcoat　into　the　water；　letting　the　river　carry　away　the　image　of　the　green　knight　on　the　blue　field。
　Surely；　he　thought；　Raj　Ahten's　troops　have　reached　Longmont。　I'm　so　far　behind　them；　I'm　too　late　to　join　the　battle。　In　truth；　he　no　longer　cared。　No　matter　what　the　oute　at　Longmont；　he　planned　to　renounce　his　lord。
　In　assassinating　innocent　Dedicates；　men　and　women　who　had　mitted　no　crime　but　that　of　loving　a　good　and　decent　king；　Borenson　had　done　more　than　any　master　had　a　right　to　ask。　So　now　he'd　renounce　his　vows　to　Orden；　bee　a　Knight　Equitable。　Of　his　own　free　will　he'd　fight　as　he　deemed　best。
　Borenson　went　on　to　a　pear　tree　beside　an　abandoned　farm；　and　climbed；　taking　the　fattest　pears　from　the　topsame　for　himself；　some　for　Myrrima　and　her　family。
　From　the　treetop　he　saw　something　interesting：　over　a　rise　lay　deep　pools　with　steep　sides　beneath　a　grove　of　willow　trees；　pools　as　blue　as　the　sky。　Yellow　willow　leaves　had　fallen　into　water　in　great　drifts；　floating　over　the　surface。　But　also　on　the　pools　were　roses　bobbing；　red　and　white。
　A　wizard　lives　there；　Borenson　realized；　dully。　A　water　wizard；　and　people　have　thrown　roses　into　the　water；　seeking　its　blessings。
　He　climbed　quickly　down　from　the　tree；　ran　over　the　rise　to　the　still　waters；　and　approached　solemnly；　hopefully。　He　had　no　roses　or　flowers　to　sweeten　the　wizard's　water；　but　he　had　pears　that　it　might　eat。
　So　he　went　to　the　edge　of　the　pool；　where　the　willow　roots　twisted　down　a　gravel　bank；　and　there　he　sat　on　a　broad　black　root。　The　crisp　leaves　of　the　trees　above　him　blew　in　a　small　breeze；　rustling；　and　Borenson　called　for　long　minut