tw.togreenangeltower2-第24部分

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　　　　　　　There　was　a　crash　from　behind；　Simon；　startled；　almost　lost　sight　of　the　foe　before　him。　Seeing　this；　the　man　aimed　another　whirling　blow　at　his　head。　Simon　managed　to　get　his　blade　up　in　time　to　deflect　it；　then；　as　the　Fire　Dancer　raised　the　staff　once　more；　Simon　brought　his　sword　up；　sweeping　the　cudgel　even　farther　upward　so　that　it　struck　the　low　timbers　of　the　roof　and　caught　in　the　netting　below　the　thatch。　The　Fire　Dancer　stared　up　for　a　moment　in　surprise；　in　that　instant；　Simon　took　a　step　forward；　lodged　the　sword　against　the　man's　midsection　and　pushed　it　home。　He　struggled　to　pull　the　blade　free；　conscious　that　at　any　moment　the　other　attacker；　or　even　the　leader；　might　be　upon　him。
　　　　　　　Something　struck　him　from　the　side；　flinging　him　against　a　table。　For　a　moment；　he　was　staring　into　the　alarmed　face　of　one　of　the　mon…room　drinkers。　He　whirled　to　see　that　the　person　who　had　shoved　him；　the　bald　man　Maefwaru；　was　pushing　his　way　between　the　tables；　headed　toward　the　door；　he　did　not　pause　to　look　down　at　either　of　his　minions；　the　one　Simon　had　slain　or　the　other；　who　lay　in　a　curious　position　near　the　doorway。
　　　　　　　〃It　will　not　be　so　easy；〃　Maefwaru　shouted　as　he　vanished　through　the　door　and　into　the　rainy　night。
　　　　　　　A　moment　later　Miriamele　stepped　back　into　the　room。　She　looked　down　at　the　Fire　Dancer　laying　there；　the　one　Simon　had　wounded　on　the　arm。　〃I've　broken　our　jug　on　his　head；〃　she　said；　excited　and　breathless。　〃But　I　think　the　one　who　just　ran　out　is　going　to　e　back　with　more　of　his　friends。　Curse　my　luck！　I　couldn't　find　anything　to　hit　him　with。　We'll　have　to　run。〃
　　　　　　　〃The　horses；〃　Simon　panted。　〃Are　they？〃　〃A　few　steps　away；〃　replied　Miriamele。　〃e。〃　Simon　bent　and　snatched　up　the　supper　sack　he　had　left　on　the　floor。　The　kerchief　was　wet；　soaked　by　the　ale　that　had　splashed　from　the　jug　which　lay　in　pieces　around　the　limp　Fire　Dancer。　He　looked　around　the　room。　The　man　and　woman　that　Maefwaru　and　his　henchmen　had　threatened　were　cringing　against　the　far　wall；　staring　as　bewilderedly　as　any　of　the　inn's　other　customers；
　　　　　　　〃You　had　better　get　out　of　here；　too；〃　he　called　to　them。　'That　bald　one　will　bring　back　more。　Go　on…run！〃
　　　　　　　Everyone　was　looking　at　him。　Simon　wanted　to　say　something　clever　or　brave…heroes　usually　did…but　he　couldn't　think　of　anything。　Also；　there　was　real　blood　on　his　sword　and　his　stomach　seemed　to　have　crawled　up　into　his　throat。　He　followed　Miriamele　out　the　door；　leaving　behind　two　bodies　and　a　room　full　of　wide　eyes　and　open；　speechless　mouths。

6
The　Circle　Narrows

　　　　　　　The　swirl　of　snow　had　lessened；　but　the　wind　still　moved　angrily　across　the　hillside　beneath　Naglimund；　fluting　in　the　teeth　of　the　broken　wall。　Count　Eolair　nudged　his　horse　toward　Maegwin's　mount；　wishing　he　could　shield　her　somehow；　not　just　from　the　cold　but　also　from　the　horror　of　the　naked　stone　towers；　the　windows　now　flickering　with　light。
　　　　　　　Yizashi　Grayspear　rode　forward　from　the　ranks　of　the　Sithi；　his　lance　couched　beneath　one　arm。　He　lifted　the　other　and　waved　something　that　looked　like　a　silver　baton。　His　hand　flashed　in　a　wide　arc；　making　a　loud　musical　noise　which　had　something　of　the　metallic　in　it；　the　silver　thing　in　his　hand　opened　like　a　lady's　fan；　spreading　into　a　glittering；　semicircular　shield。
　　　　　　　〃A　y'ei　g'eisu！〃　he　shouted　up　at　the　blankly　staring　keep。　〃　Yas　'a　pripuma　jo…shoi！〃
　　　　　　　The　lights　in　Naglimund's　windows　seemed　to　waver　like　wind…fluttered　candles　as　shadows　moved　in　their　depths。　Eolair　felt　himself　almost　overwhelmed　with　the　urge　to　turn　and　ride　away。　This　was　no　longer　a　human　place；　and　the　poisonous　terror　he　was　feeling　was　nothing　like　the　anticipatory　fear　before　any　human　battle。　He　turned　to　Maegwin。　Her　eyes　were　closed　and　her　mouth　moved　in　silent　speech。　Isorn　seemed　similarly　unnerved；　and　when　Eolair　turned　in　his　saddle　and　looked　back；　the　pale　faces　of　his　fellow　Hernystiri　were　as　gape…mouthed　and　hollow…eyed　as　a　row　of　corpses。
Brynioch　preserve　us；　the　count　thought　desperately；　we　do　not　belong　in　this。　They　will　bolt　in　a　moment　if　I　do　the　wrong　thing。
　　　　　　　Deliberately；　he　tugged　his　sword　from　its　scabbard　and　showed　it　to　his　men；　then　held　it　high　over　his　head　for　a　moment　before　dropping　it　to　his　side。　It　was　only　a　small　show　of　bravery；　but　it　was　something。
　　　　　　　Now　Jiriki　and　his　mother　Likimeya　rode　forward；　halting　on　either　side　of　Yizashi。　After　a　moment's　whispered　conversation；　Likimeya　spurred　her　horse　a　few　paces　ahead。　Then；　startlingly；　she　began　to　sing。
　　　　　　　Her　voice；　thin　at　first　against　the　rude　piping　of　the　wind；　grew　slowly　stronger。　The　impenetrable　Sithi　tongue　flowed　out；　slurring　and　clicking　yet　somehow　as　smooth　as　warm　oil　poured　from　a　jar。　The　song　rose　and　fell；　pulsed；　then　rose　again；　each　time　growing　more　powerful。　Although　Eolair　understood　nothing　of　the　words；　there　was　something　clearly　denunciatory　to　the　roll　and　swoop　of　it；　something　challenging　in　the　cadence。　Likimeya's　voice　chimed　like　a　herald's　brazen　horn；　and　as　with　the　call　of　a　horn；　there　was　a　ring　of　cold　metal　beneath　the　music。
　　　　　　　〃What　goes　on　here？〃　whispered　Isorn。
　　　　　　　Eolair　gestured　for　silence。
The　mist　floating　before　the　walls　of　Naglimund　seemed　to　thicken；　as　though　one　dream　was　ending　and　another　beginning。　Something　changed　in　Likimeya's　voice。　It　took　a　moment　before　Eolair　recognized　that　the　mistress　of　the　Sithi　had　not　altered　her　song；　but　rather　that　another　voice　had　joined　it。　At　first　the　new　thread　of　melody　clung　close　to　the　challenge…song。　The　tone　was　as　strong　as　Likimeya's；　but　where　hers　was　metal；　this　new　voice　was　stone　and　ice。　After　some　long　moments　the　second　voice　began　to　sing　around　the　original　melody；　weaving　a　strange　pattern　like　a　glass　filigree　over　Likimeya's　belling　tones。　The　sound　of　it　made　the　Count　of　Nad　Mullach's　skin　stretch　and　tingle　and　his　body　hair　lift；　even　beneath　the　layers　of　clothing。
　　　　　　　Eolair　raised　his　eyes。　His　heart　began　to　beat　even　more　swiftly。
　　　　　　　Through　the　dimming　fog；　a　thin　black　shadow　appeared　atop　the　castle　wall；　rising　into　view　as　smoothly　as　though　lifted　by　an　unseen　hand。　It　was　man…sized；　Eolair　decided；　but　the　mist　subtly　distorted　its　shape；　so　that　one　moment　it　seemed　larger；　the　next　smaller　and　thinner　than　any　living　thing。　It　looked　down　on　them；　black…cloaked；　face　invisible　beneath　a　large　hood…but　Eolair　did　not　need　to　see　its　face　to　know　that　it　was　the　source　of　the　high；　stone…edged　voice。　For　long　moments　it　only　stood　in　the　swirling　mist　atop　the　wall；　embroidering　upon　Likimeya's　song。　Finally；　as　if　by　some　prior　agreement；　they　both　fell　still　at　the　same　moment。
　　　　　　　Likimeya　broke　the　silence；　calling　out　something　in　the　Sithi　tongue。　The　black　apparition　answered；　its　words　ringing　like　shards　of　jagged　flint；　and　yet　Eolair　could　hear　that　the　words　they　spoke　were　much　the　same；　the　differences　mainly　in　rhythm　and　the　greater　harshness　of　the　robed　creature's　speech。　The　conversation　seemed　interminable。
　　　　　　　There　was　a　movement　behind　him。　Eolair　flinched；　his　horse　startled；　kicking　snow。　Sky…haired　Zinjadu；　the　lore…mistress；　had　brought　her　own　mount　to　where　the　mortals　stood。
　　　　　　　〃They　speak　of　the　Pact　of　Sesuad'ra。〃　Her　eyes　were　fixed　on　Likimeya　and　her　opposite；　'They　speak　of　old　heartbreaks　and　the　mourning　songs　yet　to　be　sung。〃
　　　　　　　〃Why　so　much　talk？〃　asked　Isorn　raggedly。　〃The　waiting　is　dreadful。〃
〃It　is　our　way。〃　Zinjadu's　lips　tightened；　her　thin　face　seemed　carved　in　pale　golden　stone。　〃Although　it　was　not　respected　when　Amerasu　was　slain。　〃
　　　　　　　She　offered　nothing　more。　Eolair　could　only　wait　in　uneasy　fear　and；　ultimately；　a　kind　of　horrible　boredom　as　challenge　and　response　were　offered。
　　　　　　　Finally　the　thing　on　the　wall　turned　its　attention　away　from　Likimeya　for　a　moment；　its　eyes　lit　on　the　count　and　his　few　scores　of　Hernystirinen。　With　a　movement　almost　as　broad　as　a　traveling　player's；　the　black…robed　one　flung　back　its　hood；　revealing　a　sleet…white　face　and　thin　hair　just　as　colorless　which　rose　in　the　wind；　floating　like　the　strands　of　some　sea…plant。
　　　　　　　〃Shu'do…tkzayha！〃　the　Norn　said　in　a　tone　almost　of　exultation。　〃Mortals！　They　will　yet　be　the　death　of　your　family；　Likimeya　Moon…Eyes！〃　He；　if　it　was　a　he；　spoke　the　Westerling　tongue　with　the　harsh　precision　of　a　gamekeeper　imitating　a　rabbit's　death　squeal。　〃Are　you　so　weak　that　you　summoned　this　rabble　to　aid　you？　It　is　hardly　Sinnach's　great　army！〃
　　　　　　　〃You　have　usurped　a　mortal's　castle；〃　said　Likimeya　coldly。　Beside　her　Jiriki　still　sat　his　horse　stiffly；　his　sharp…boned　face　empty　of　any　recognizable　emotion；　Eolair　wondered　again　how　anyone　could　ever　feel　they　knew　the　Sithi。　〃And　your　master　and　mistress　have　entered　into　the　disputes　of　mortals。　You　have　little　to　crow　about。〃
　　　　　　　The　Norn　laughed；　a　noise　like　fingernails　on　slate。　〃We　use　them；　yes。　They　are　the　rats　that　have　dug　into　the　walls　of　our　house…we　might　skin　them　for　gloves；　but　we　do　not　invite　them　in　to　sup　at　our　table！　That　is　your　weakness；　as　it　was　Amerasu　Ship…Born's。〃
　　　　　　　〃Do　not　speak　of　her！〃　Jiriki　cried。　〃Your