tw.togreenangeltower2-第35部分

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　　　　　　　Miriamele　could　give　him　nothing。　She　had　nothing　left　inside　of　her　but　stifling　dread。

8
A　Confession

〃Unto　her　side　he　came；　he　came；〃　sang　Maegwin；

〃A　youth　dressed　all　in　sable　black
With　golden　curls　about　his　head
And　silken　cape　upon　his　back。

'And　what　would　you　my　lady　fair？'
That　golden　youth　did　smile　and　say。
'What　rare　gift　may　I　give　to　you；
So　you　will　be　my　bride　this　day？

The　maiden　turned　her　face　aside。
'There　is　no　gift　so　rich；　so　fine；
That　I　would　give　you　in　return
That　rare　thing　that　is　only　mine。'

The　youth　he　shook　his　golden　head
And　laughed　and　said；　'Oh；　maiden　sweet
You　may　turn　me　away　today；
But　soon　find　that　you　can't　say　no。
My　name　is　Death；　and　all　you　have
Will　e　to　me　anyway　。。。'　〃

　　　　　　　It　was　no　use。　Over　the　sound　of　her　own　melody；　she　could　still　hear　the　odd　wailing　that　seemed　to　portend　so　much　unhappiness。
　　　　　　　Maegwin's　song　trailed　off　and　she　stared　into　the　flames　of　the　campfire。　Her　cold…cracked　lips　made　it　painful　to　sing。　Her　ears　stung　and　her　head　hurt。　Nothing　was　as　it　should　be…nothing　was　as　she　had　expected。
　　　　　　　It　had　seemed　at　first　that　things　were　going　the　way　they　should。　She　had　been　a　dutiful　daughter　to　the　gods：　it　was　no　surprise　that　after　her　death　she　should　be　raised　up　to　live　among　them…not　as　an　equal；　of　course；　but　as　a　trusted　subordinate；　a　beloved　servant。　And　in　their　strange　way　the　gods　had　proved　every　bit　as　wondrous　as　she　had　imagined　they　would；　with　their　inhuman；　flashing　eyes　and　their　rainbow…hued　armor　and　clothing。　Even　the　land　of　the　gods　had　been　much　as　she　had　expected；　like　her　own　beloved　Hernystir；　but　better；　cleaner；　brighter。　The　sky　in　the　godlands　seemed　higher　and　more　blue　than　a　sky　could　be；　the　snow　whiter；　the　grass　so　green　that　its　verdancy　was　almost　painful。　Even　Count　Eolair；　who　had　also　died　and　e　to　this　beautiful　eternity；　seemed　more　open；　more　approachable；　she　had　been　able　to　tell　him　without　fear　or　shyness　that　she　had　always　loved　him。　Eolair；　relieved　like　her　of　the　burden　of　mortality；　had　listened　with　kind　concern…almost　like　a　god　himself！
　　　　　　　But　then　things　had　begun　to　go　wrong。
　　　　　　　Maegwin　had　thought　mat　when　she　and　the　other　living　Hernystiri　had　faced　their　enemies；　and　by　doing　so　brought　the　gods　out　into　the　world；　they　had　somehow　tipped　a　balance。　The　gods　themselves　were　at　war；　just　as　the　Hernystiri…but　the　gods'　war　had　not　been　won。　The　worst；　it　seemed；　was　yet　to　e。
　　　　　　　And　so　the　gods　had　ridden　across　the　broad　white　fields　of　Heaven；　searching　for　Scadach；　the　hole　into　outer　darkness。　And　they　had　found　it。　Cold　and　black　it　was；　bounded　in　stone　quarried　from　eternity's　darkest　recesses；　just　as　the　lore…masters　had　taught　her…and　full　of　the　gods'　direst　enemies。
　　　　　　　She　had　never　believed　that　such　things　could　exist；　creatures　of　pure　evil；　shining　vessels　of　emptiness　and　despair。　But　she　had　seen　one　stand　on　the　ageless　wall　of　Scadach；　heard　its　lifeless　voice　prophesy　the　destruction　of　gods　and　mortals　alike。　All　that　was　wrong　lay　behind　that　wall　。。。　and　now　the　gods　were　trying　to　bring　the　wall　tumbling　down。
Maegwin　would　have　guessed　that　the　ways　of　gods　were　mysterious。　What　she　would　not　have　guessed　was　just　how　mysterious　they　could　be。
　　　　　　　She　raised　her　voice　in　song　again；　still　hoping　that　she　could　blot　out　the　disturbing　noise；　but　gave　it　up　after　a　few　moments。　The　gods　themselves　were　singing；　and　their　voices　were　much　stronger　than　hers。
Why　don't　they　stop？　she　thought　desperately。　Why　don't　they　leave　it　alone？！
　　　　　　　But　it　was　useless　to　wonder。　The　gods　had　their　reasons。　They　always　did。

　　　　　　　Eolair　had　long　since　given　up　trying　to　understand　the　Sithi。　He　knew　they　were　not　gods；　whatever　Maegwin's　poor；　fevered　mind　might　see；　but　neither　were　they　a　great　deal　more　prehensible　than　the　Lords　of　Heaven。
　　　　　　　The　count　turned　away　from　the　fire；　turned　his　back　on　Maegwin。　She　had　been　singing　to　herself；　but　had　fallen　silent。　She　had　a　sweet　voice；　but　set　against　the　chanting　of　the　Peaceful　Ones　it　sounded　thin　and　discordant。　It　was　not　her　fault。　No　mortal　voice　would　sound　like　much　when　set　against　。。。　this。
　　　　　　　The　Count　of　Nad　Mullach　shivered。　The　chorus　of　Sithi　voices　rose　again。　Their　music　was　as　impossible　to　ignore　as　were　their　catlike　eyes　when　they　stared　you　in　the　face。　The　rhythmic　song　gained　in　volume；　pulsing　like　the　oar…master's　call　to　his　rowers。
　　　　　　　The　Sithi　had　been　singing　for　three　days；　clustered　before　the　bleak　walls　of　Naglimund　in　the　flurrying　snow。　Whatever　they　were　doing；　the　Norns　within　the　castle　did　not　ignore　them：　several　times　the　white…faced　defenders　had　mounted　to　the　tops　of　the　walls　and　let　fly　a　volley　of　arrows。　A　few　of　the　Sithi　had　been　killed　in　these　attacks；　but　they　had　their　own　archers。　Each　time；　the　Norns　were　driven　from　the　walls　and　the　Sithi　voices　would　rise　once　more。
　　　　　　　〃I　don't　know　that　I　can　stand　this　much　longer；　Eolair。〃　Isorn　appeared　out　of　the　whirl　of　mist；　his　beard　jeweled　with　frost。　〃I　had　to　go　hunting　just　to　get　away；　but　the　noise　followed　me　as　far　as　I　went。〃　He　dropped　a　hare　onto　the　ground　near　the　fire。　Red　dribbled　from　the　arrow…wound　in　its　side；　staining　the　snow。　〃Good　day；　Lady；〃　the　duke's　son　said　to　Maegwin。　She　had　stopped　singing；　but　did　not　look　up　at　him。　She　seemed　incapable　of　seeing　anything　but　the　wavering　fire。
　　　　　　　Eolair　received　Isorn's　curious　look　and　shrugged。　〃It　is　not　really　such　a　terrible　sound。〃
　　　　　　　The　Rimmersman　raised　his　eyebrows。　〃No；　Eolair；　it　is　beautiful　in　its　way。　But　it　is　too　beautiful　for　me；　too　strong；　too　strange。　It　is　making　me　ill。〃
　　　　　　　The　count　frowned。　〃I　know。　The　rest　of　the　men　are　unsettled；　too。　More　than　unsettled…frightened。〃
　　　　　　　〃But　why　are　the　Sithi　doing　this？　They　are　risking　their　lives…two　more　were　killed　yesterday！　If　this　is　some　fairy　ceremony　they　must　perform；　can　they　not　sing　out　of　bowshot？〃
　　　　　　　Eolair　shook　his　head　helplessly。　〃I　do　not　know。　Bagba　bite　me；　I　do　not　know　anything；　Isorn。〃
　　　　　　　As　continual　as　the　noise　of　the　ocean；　the　voices　of　the　Sithi　washed　across　the　camp。

　　　　　　　Jiriki　came　in　the　dark　before　dawn。　The　slumbering　coals　picked　out　his　sharp　features　in　scarlet　light。
　　　　　　　〃This　morning；〃　he　said；　then　squatted；　staring　at　the　embers。　〃Before　noon。〃
Eolair　robbed　his　eyes；　trying　to　bring　himself　fully　awake。　He　had　been　sleeping　fitfully；　but　sleeping　nonetheless。　〃This。。。　this　morning？　What　do　you　mean？〃
　　　　　　　〃The　battle　will　begin。〃　Jiriki　turned　and　gave　Eolair　a　look　that　on　a　more　familiar　face　might　have　betokened　pity。　〃It　will　be　dreadful。〃
　　　　　　　〃How　do　you　know　that　the　battle　will　start　then？〃
　　　　　　　〃Because　that　is　what　we　have　been　working　toward。　We　cannot　fight　a　siege…we　are　too　few。　Those　you　call　Norns　are　fewer　than　we　are；　but　they　sit　inside　a　great　shell　of　stone；　and　we　do　not　have　the　engines　mortals　make　for　such　battles　nor　the　time　to　build　them。　So　we　will　do　it　our　way。〃
　　　　　　　〃Does　it　have　something　to　do　with　the　singing？〃
　　　　　　　Jiriki　nodded　in　his　oddly　avian　way。　〃Yes。　Make　your　men　ready。　And　tell　them　this：　whatever　they　may　think　or　see；　they　are　fighting　against　living　creatures。　The　Hikeda'ya　are　like　you　and　like　us…they　bleed。　They　die。〃　He　fixed　Eolair　with　an　even；　golden　stare。　〃You　will　tell　them　that？〃
　　　　　　　〃I　will。〃　Eolair　shivered　and　leaned　closer　to　the　fire；　warming　his　hands　before　the　dreaming　coals。　〃Tomorrow？〃
　　　　　　　Jiriki　nodded　again；　then　stood。　〃We　will　have　our　best　chance　while　the　sun　is　high。　If　we　are　lucky；　it　will　be　over　before　the　darkness　es。〃
　　　　　　　Eolair　couldn't　imagine　rugged　Naglimund　being　brought　down　in　so　short　a　time。　〃And　if　it's　not　over？　What；　then？〃
　　　　　　　〃Things　will　be　。。。　difficult。〃　Jiriki　took　a　step　backward　and　vanished　into　the　mist。
　　　　　　　Eolair　sat　before　the　coals　for　a　little　while；　clenching　his　teeth　to　keep　them　from　chattering。　When　he　was　sure　he　would　not　embarrass　himself；　he　went　to　waken　Isorn。

　　　　　　　Buffeted　by　brisk　winds；　the　gray　and　red　tent　rode　the　peak　of　the　hill　like　a　sailing　ship　breasting　a　high　wave。　A　few　other　tents　shared　the　hilltop；　many　more　were　scattered　down　the　slope　and　clustered　in　the　valley。　Beyond　them　lay　Lake　Clodu；　a　vast　blue…green　mirror；　still　as　a　contented　beast。
　　　　　　　Tiamak　stood　outside　the　tent；　lingering　despite　the　chill　breeze。　So　many　people；　so　much　movement；　so　much　life！　It　was　disturbing　to　look　down　on　that　great　sea　of　people；　frightening　to　know　that　he　was　so　close　to　the　grinding　stones　of　History；　but　still　it　was　somehow　hard　to　turn　away。　His　own　little　story　had　been　quite　swallowed　up　by　the　great　tales　that　stalked　through　Osten　Ard　in　these　days。　It　sometimes　seemed　that　a　sack　full　of　the　mightiest　dreams　and　nightmares　had　been　emptied　out。　That　Tiamak's　own　small　acplishments；　fears；　and　desires　seemed　likely　to　be　ignored　was　the　best　he　could　hope　for。　An　equally　strong　possibility　was　that　they　might　be　trampled　entirely。
　　　　　　　Shivering　a　little；　he　finally　lifted　the　tent　flap　and　stepped　through。
　　　　　　　It